#even though it's supposed to be just a week...

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

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Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[2pndr]

CHANCES ARE YOU'RE ABOUT TO LOSE.

A/N: Written for a prompt by @suchsweetstories. Much love for hosting!

Cho Miyeon x Male Reader smut

3.3k words

“I already hate it here.”

“You do not.”

“Well, It’s supposed to be spring, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Then why the fuck is it so cold?”

Miyeon doesn’t look up from her phone. She’s too busy squinting at a map of the racecourse. You wager she’s trying to figure out how far the champagne tent is from the betting tables. To her, those are the kinds of metrics that matter. 

“It’s Melbourne,” she shrugs. “The weather changes every six minutes. A bit like your mood,” she adds cheekily. 

You roll your eyes. “Feels like winter in a wig.”

“Aw,” she mocks, finally sparing you a look, giving your bicep a theatrical squeeze. “Is my big baby cold?”

You glance down at your outfit—four layers deep and still doing fuck-all against the wind. “...Yes.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she says, leaping over a puddle. “This is the perfect weather for betting.”

“I’m sorry, what now?”

“You heard me,” she says, flashing a grin. 

“Betting.”

*

So. Miyeon has this habit.

And no, it’s not the gambling. That one’s more of an addiction—chronic, incurable, and one you’re practically enabling at this point. This is more like a side effect. A telltale symptom of the greater illness: the way she insists on solving every problem she has with her mouth.

Not metaphorically.

Not diplomatically.

Literally.

And you don’t mean that in the sense of persuasive debate, or even manipulation—though she’s proven time and time again she’s more than proficient in both. You mean she actually gets down on her knees, flashes those doe eyes, and opens wide like you’re playing here comes the fucking aeroplane.

Take today.

Much like how she got you to fly across the globe in pursuit of the Melbourne Cup—a four-minute loop of men in silks and tiny hats riding million-dollar livestock and whipping them into cardiac arrest—she’s now “talked” you into letting her bet on it.

You resisted, of course. But when she wants something, Cho Miyeon is an unstoppable force, and you are far from immovable object.

She’d cornered you in one of the racetrack bathrooms, leaned back against the sink, spread her legs, flaunted her hair and pouted like the tragic lead of a noir.

“Just one little bet,” she pleaded and you said “absolutely not,” and she said “pretty please,” and you said “no way in Hell,” and she said “I’ll suck your dick,” and you said “Miyeon, we’ve talked about th—oh fuck, okay, alright, Jesus Christ.”

So now you’re zipping your jeans with a sigh, running a hand through your hair and staring daggers into the man in the mirror. In addition to asking him to change his ways, you’re also asking how the fuck he lets this keep happening.

It's like you’re not even a participant in your own downfall anymore. You’re a spectator—front and centre to watch yourself make the same mistakes with the same woman in differing degrees of filthy bathrooms across time zones.

You wash your hands. Not because they need it—Miyeon did all the work this time—but because it buys you a second. A pause. A breath. A reprieve before stepping out into the light where, you know disaster, (Miyeon), awaits.

That and to ask yourself:

How the fuck did I end up here?

*

“The race that stops the nation,” Miyeon had declared with starry eyes about a week ago. She was lying upside-down on your couch, kicking her feet to the ceiling, tossing grapes into her mouth, and making a mess of the misses on your carpet. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound appealing.”

You sighed—as you always do when Miyeon suggests travelling half-way across the world to bring you half-way to financial ruin.

“Alright, let me get this straight,” you began, already pinching at the bridge of your nose. It’s a gesture usually reserved for tax season and Miyeon-induced headaches. So, it tracks. “Two-dozen jockey’s ride in a shambolic circle for a few kilometres—no obstacles, no jumps, no real turns—and you want to fly a dozen hours to watch it in person?”

She had obviously realised how shitty of an idea this was on paper (or at the very least it looked that way in your eyes) and decided she needed to sweeten the deal. “We can do other stuff while we’re there,” she pouted.

“Like what? Lose even more money playing ‘pokies’ instead?”

Miyeon hesitated for a moment. You could practically see the responsible answer try to claw its way to the surface. But as always, self control eluded her.

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me…” 

“Oh Miyeon,” you groaned. “For the love of Go—,” 

“Okay fiiiiiine. We could… explore the city!” she offered. “Try a museum or two. Go to a vineyard. Maybe pet a kangaroo!”

“Those all sound awfully like things you’ll forget about the moment you see a betting table.”

She rolled onto her side, head in your lap. “Come on. I’ve never been to Australia. And the Melbourne Cup is iconic!”

“So is the Titanic,” you retorted. “Doesn’t mean I want front row seats to the sinking.”

Miyeon simply grinned. “Except instead of drowning in water, it’ll be in our newfound wealth!”

A hand went over your face, you needed to massage your eyeballs. “Let me make something very clear, Miyeon. Even if we do go, there will not be—under any circumstance—any bets placed. No chips traded. No casinos entered. No horses backed. If you so much as glance at a gacha machine, I will not hesitate to cancel every card we have.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez, I can live with that.”

“That includes the secret debit card you keep behind your license.”

“NO! PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THAT,” she was practically screaming, shaking your shoulders like maracas. 

It was your turn to grin. “Then promise me something,”

She was nodding like a puppy.

 “No betting.”

Miyeon straightened like a soldier and folded an arm over her chest. “Hand on my heart,” she declared. 

You nodded, almost satisfied. Obtusely unaware of the mistake you were making.

“Well,” you said, completely smug, “at least that makes your promise valid.”

She blinked. “My what?”

“We haven’t decided on going yet. The trip’s still up in the air.”

Miyeon blinked. You could see the wheels turning. 

“Oh,” she said, full of sudden inspiration.

You barely had time to blink before she was crawling into your lap, lips arriving at yours. “Then maybe I should convince you,” she whispered, one hand dragging down your chest, the other already plotting its path toward your jeans.

And you, in your infinite wisdom, said nothing.

Suffice it to say: you went to bed that night very, very convinced.

*

She talks like she’s an expert.

Like she’s spent years refining her own scientific method. Like she’s read the stats, studied the field, hand-picked the jockeys and trained the horses herself. Like she’s here with a plan—all permutations of intentional, calculated and precise.

She has none of that.

What she does have are the very same things she always brings to the betting table: blind optimism, questionable fashion choices, and a gambling history that reads like a case study in the sunk-cost fallacy.

She’s lost money on mice, cats, dogs, vulturine guinea fowls, fantasy stocks, actual stocks, motorsports, chess, video games, tabletop games, competitive rock-paper-scissors, a crab race in busan, one underground mahjong league in Okinawa, another in Kabukicho, another in Dohtonbori, and about a dozen shogi matches with the homeless in Yokohama.

She put six-thousand dollars on the World Cup final based solely on how hot she thought the coaches were.

There was a brief but financially devastating stint with marble racing.

She’s placed money on rock skipping. Celebrity baby name predictions. Whether or not the next Pope will be left-handed.

(As well as another few dozen cases you didn't end up committing to memory. Tack on another few dozen for the times she's undoubtedly gambled behind your back.)

And yet, no matter how many times she’s been burned by Lady Luck—how many “can’t-lose” bets are lost anyway, or how many hot tips go cold the second they’re placed—Cho Miyeon simply does not quit.

She adjusts her sunglasses—not for the sun, which has yet to make a single appearance today, but for dramatic effect. Then she plants her hand on your shoulder, squares herself toward the track like she’s on a TED stage, and resumes the yap.

“And that’s the neat part,” she’s saying now, continuing on from a spout of nonsense you were lucky enough to have tuned out of, “the odds are just a reflection of the pool, right? It’s not real probability. It’s not math-math, it’s like… vibes-math. It’s what everyone else thinks is going to happen—which is already flawed because people are fucking idiots. So really, by betting on the thing no one bets on, you’re actually smarter than everyone else. It’s kind of meta if you think about it.”

You don’t think about it.

“Like, take today for example. Look at these poor, unfortunate, not-winning-shit, souls.” She scans the crowd for a moment, searching for a target. “Oh, like that guy over there? Fedora and the double Windsor? Amateur. You can tell purely by the way he’s dressed he’s betting based on bloodline and track record. Rookie mistake. That’s how you lose money. The real winners—me for example—we bet with instinct. Intuition. Gut feelings. And sometimes alcohol.”

You raise an eyebrow.

Miyeon nods solemnly, as if that makes it gospel.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she continues, even though you’re very much not thinking anything. “You’re thinking, ‘But Miyeon, didn’t you once lose 700 dollars betting that the royal baby would be named Gundalf?’ And to that I say: yes. But also, the UK had a chance to make history. They chose George. Fucking George. Cowards.”

She doesn’t even pause.

“Or maybe you’re thinking about the crab race in Busan. Which, to be clear, I still maintain was rigged. Oh, and that sperm race in LA? You can’t convince me those weren’t tampered with. You think one swimmer wins by ten lengths without pharmaceutical assistance? Please.”

You try to interrupt.

You choose not to bother.

“Anyway, the point is—betting is about more than just numbers. It’s about story. Narrative. You have to feel the arc: that upward trajectory that comes from being overlooked. You want the underdog, but not too under. You want mystery, but not scandal. You want a horse with baggage, with a little trauma sprinkled in for spice. Something to prove is what I'm saying.”

She gestures toward the big screen showing a replay from the previous race. A horse in bright orange silks is dragging itself over the finish line, dead last.

“Not him though. Orange is the worst color. Proven fact: Bad luck. Studies show it interferes with the horse’s chi or aura or whatever. I don’t remember where I read that—a subreddit, maybe—but still. Reliable source.”

Then she spins around, squints down the stretch, and points at a brown mare doing a very unbothered trot.

“But Whispering Sheila?” she says, near reverent. “That’s a horse that gets it. That’s a horse who’s seen some shit. I mean, just look at her. Not flashy. Not showy. Just focused. Professional. She’s got the legs to take her to the end and back!”

“She was disqualified last race for biting the handler.”

“Exactly! She’s got edge!”

Miyeon folds her arms, completely satisfied, the sunglasses now fully askew on her nose. You stare at her, and consider, deeply, the cosmic imbalance of power between your ability to say no and her ability to not give a fuck.

She smiles. 

“So. Shall we?”

“If I say no, are you going to drag me to the bathroom again?”

“Perhaps,” she beams.

You sigh the deepest sigh.

“Guess I have no choice then.”

Because truly, you don’t.

*

You’re not expecting a lot. That much is a given. 

You’re standing there, arms crossed, mentally preparing yourself to watch twenty-four tiny men in coloured silk slap the shit out of their horses for a couple minutes and call it sport. 

You’re also prepared to lose. 

In fact, you’ve been conditioned to lose. 

You are the emotionally battered war vet of betting by proxy. Weathered by half a decade of Miyeon induced headaches, panic attacks, and bankruptcy scares. So it goes without saying that you’ve long since made peace with the inevitability of financial ruin.

Which is why what happens next makes absolutely no sense.

The gates open with a clang. And then Whispering Sheila—Miyeon’s pride and joy, her bet of the century, her four-figure “hunch”—takes off like a fucking torpedo.

You blink.

Then blink again.

Your mind isn’t playing any tricks. Sheila's in front. Not just in front—she’s leading the charge like a horse-shaped war general. Her strides are long. Her form is beautiful. The wind parts for her like Moses at the Red Sea. And for the first time in her presumably disappointing life, Whispering Sheila isn’t just exceeding expectations.

She’s shattering them.

And beside you, Miyeon is absolutely losing her shit.

“She’s FLYING!” she screams, hopping up and down on the concrete. “Look at her—LOOK AT HER! Did I not say she had the legs?! I TOLD YOU SHE HAD THE LEGS!”

You don’t dare answer. Don’t dare jinx it while the impossible unfolds.

Sheila holds the lead through the turn. The crowd roars. Miyeon screams louder. 

You feel it then.

Not belief, no. Not that strong.

But… suspicion. Suspicion that Miyeon might’ve—against every possible odd, against the universal laws of cause and effect, against the deeply rigged simulation that is your life—actually gotten one right.

God, are you naive.

Because just as the final stretch begins—just as Sheila is poised to make history—

She stops.

Not because she trips. Not because another horse cuts her off. She just… stops. Veers off course. Loses interest. Maybe remembers an existential crisis she was having earlier.

One moment she’s a champion.

The next?

She’s taking a scenic detour near the fence, tail swishing like she’s out for a casual trot—all while the rest of the field barrels past like a freight train.

Miyeon goes silent.

The crowd does not.

Laughter breaks out. Even the drunk guy next to you mutters a heartfelt “Jesus Christ” into his stubby.

You watch, horrified, as the horse Miyeon picked using nothing but “vibes” and a conspiracy theory about saddle colour, trots across the finish line somewhere around a full minute behind the rest of the pack.

Dead. Fucking. Last.

You don’t say anything right away.

You don’t have to.

The anger radiating off your body could power a suburban home.

Broken, shattered, hollowed, you shakily ask:

“…Did we just lose four thousand dollars?”

There’s a pause.

A suspiciously long pause.

Then, from beside you:

“Okay. So.”

You turn.

Don’t fucking say it, Miyeon.

“...I may have added an extra zero.”

*

So. Miyeon has another habit.

 And no, it’s not the rambling, that one’s ingrained in her personality—endless, vexing, endlessly vexing, and one you always just have to kinda sit through. This one is embedded in her DNA:

After every catastrophic loss, every burnt dollar and ruined future, Miyeon’s only instinct is to fuck about it.

Biological, you’ll call it.

It’s like the humiliation hits her bloodstream, and she can’t metabolize it unless she’s writhing on your lap, hissing that she’s “so fucking stupid,” crowing that you “should punish her for it,” and then, in the same breath, telling you to “shut up and fucking choke me.” Perhaps it’s some kind of sick evolutionary adaptation. Perhaps it’s just the way her neurons have always crashed and burned together. Perhaps it’s simply a coping mechanism.

And if so, right now—back at the hotel, with her panties jammed in her mouth, your cock in her cunt, and one hand clamped around her throat—she’s coping.

Hard.

You can feel her smile against your wrist—cheek pressed there, eyes half-lidded, lashes glued with mascara and tears. Her skin is deeply flushed from effort and oxygen deficiency and maybe just a little bit of deranged satisfaction.

Her hips grind back harder.

Because Cho Miyeon doesn’t regret. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t learn.

She fucks.

Like she thinks if she moans loud enough, grinds desperate enough, takes you deep enough, the universe might reverse time. Whispering Sheila will cross the line first. The crowd will roar. She’ll be a genius again. A prophet.

A fucking billionaire.

But right now, she’s just a mess. A mess you’re making messier.

You tighten your grip around her neck. Her eyes roll. And with your other hand gripping her hips, you drag her back into you like this is a problem that can be solved through sheer physics.

She lets out a muffled scream—half pleasure, half penance. The soaked lace in her mouth dampens it, but not enough to keep the neighbours guessing. Her body’s trembling now, pitchforked between orgasm and complete oblivion.

She chooses the former.

It starts with the twitch—spine arching, legs kicking out like they’re trying to run from the heat curling up her nerves. Then, the sound, clawing its way past the gag, echoing around the room and putting a ruthless smile across your face. Her whole body convulses, clamps down, seizes up like your cock is the only thing tethering her to reality. She writhes on it like it owes her money. Like if she cums hard enough, she might get that extra zero back.

You hold her through it. Don’t ease up. Don’t slow down. You fuck her through the climax until she’s gasping through the lace, until tears are dripping onto the sheets, until every broken sob sounds like the word “sorry” in some dialect only she understands.

“Shouldn’t’ve added the zero,” she’s groaning, garbled and guilty and absolutely destroyed. “Shouldn’t’ve—shouldn’t’ve—fuck, I’m so—”

You slam into her again.

Harder.

She chokes on her words.

Good.

Let her regret it. Let her wear it. Let it bleed out of her one desperate cry at a time.

You lean down, lips ghosting her ear.

“Say it,” you growl.

She whines.

“Say what?”

You pull her head up by her hair, your other hand still a noose around her throat.

“That you’re my stupid fucking girl.”

And Miyeon, of course, barely hesitates. Because shame isn’t something she avoids.

You loosen the panties just enough for her to gasp:

“I’m your stupid fucking girl.”

Then—without even being told—she adds:

“Now ruin me for it.”

So you do.

*

After, it’s quiet.

She’s still breathless. Still warm. Still glowing with that dumb post-catastrophe grin like losing forty-thousand on a mare with anger issues was just a minor hiccup in an otherwise flawless plan.

And to her, maybe it was.

You brush a thumb over her temple. She nuzzles into it, half-asleep, humming like she didn’t just obliterate the budget. Like you’re not going to have to explain this on the phone with your bank at 8 a.m. Monday morning. Like she didn’t promise—hand on heart—not to gamble. Again.

And still, some pathetic part of you is already bracing for the next one.

The next bright idea. The next sugar-slick pitch from her upside-down on your couch. The next whispered “babe, hear me out,” followed by airfare, adrenaline, and another financial obituary with her name scrawled across it in hot pink pen.

You’d like to say you’ll draw the line.

You won’t.

Because tomorrow, there’ll be a new scheme.

New odds.

New disaster.

And for some inexplicable reason, you’ll be right there beside her. Wallet lighter. Heart heavier. Lips already forming the words:

“Okay, but this is the last time.”

Even though you know it’s not.

(And it never will be.)

[lxvvie]

Loser!Simon would thrive if you allowed him to eat you out and you acted like you didn’t care. Hook your legs over his should as you’re on the couch munching on some snacks while watching the telly.

Lieutenant in the streets, freaky ass loser in the sheets.

And it's almost laughable how down bad Simon is for you. He's so down bad that it's absolutely pathetic, especially so because all you have to do is practically sit there and exist, and he's all over you like the cunt-struck loser that he is.

You gotta wonder how the fuck he even manages to function in his day-to-day (much less the military) when he's not around you, but time and observation has shown you that he's good for practically little else outside of being an asshole and intimidating people, pissing you off through texts, being a walking chimney what with the way he smokes so fucking much, barking out orders when he can actually be arsed enough to speak because it's a miracle you'd even get a grunt out of him any other time, and... sex. And Simon Riley is fuckin' pathetic when it comes to sex with you. Needs it (and your cunt) like he needs his ciggies.

If the sex wasn't so good, you're certain you'd have dropped his ass long ago. Probably. You think. The attention is good enough, you suppose, and by attention, you mean the fact that he never takes his eyes off you, but you never know if he's trying to devour your soul with his stare or if he's saying "Give me your cunt," in nonverbal Ghost. Whatever.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer," you once said in half-hearted annoyance. No response. He did fuck you until you were too tired to be irritated, though. And then he took a picture. Fucking loser.

But you can't complain. Not too much. Not when he's eating your cunt like a man starved as if he didn't practically beg (as much as he does in Ghost which... fuck if you know) for you to come over, you're pretending you didn't just have a shitty fucking week, and the snacks you're eating hit better than they normally do. Okay then.

He still a fuckin' asshole loser, though, but shit, you figure you're a whole ass clown for entertaining his ass.

Welp.

[cheftsunoda]

hii, i have an idea for Kimi where he has a girlfriend that lives in another country but for his graduation she surprises him there even though he thought she was still in her own country

fairy godmother max— ka12

smau + blurbs

yn and kimi have been together since they were fifteen—growing up side by side, even as life started pulling them in different directions. now, with yn living in another country and kimi chasing his dream in formula 1, time together is rare, and the distance is harder than either of them expected. when kimi’s graduation day arrives, he assumes it’ll be just another milestone, another event she’ll have to miss. but what he doesn't know is that yn has a few surprises up her sleeve…with the help of a certain world champion.

fc : darianka on ig

(a/n) : i was waiting to post this until after kimi graduated and he officially has so yay kimiiiii!!!

—

yourusername

nyc📍

liked by kimi.antonelli, carmenmmundt, franciscagomes and 1,125,007 others.

yourusername : forever in love with the big apple but forever missing my boy 🤧

—

view 187,005 other comments.

georgerussell63 : real question is…when is the reunion and who is gonna tape it? uncle georgie needs a good cry

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : dunno when it’s gonna be but I’ll have someone film just for you george

liked by georgerussell63

↳ yourusername : in the mean time i can just send you those depressing ads with the dogs if you want

liked by kimi.antonelli

↳ georgerussell63 : NO.

↳ carmenmmundt : the last time he watched one it took me 2 hours to get him off the couch

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

maxverstappen1 : i will send air-max to you rn if it means my child will stop being depressed

liked by kimi.antonelli and yourusername

↳ yourusername : thank you for the offer mother goose but sadly i have a shoot tomorrow

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : well whenever you need it, it’s yours

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : can we all just start calling max mother goose?

↳ maxverstappen1 : no. yn is the only one who has that privilege. everyone else runs the risk of getting throat punched.

liked by yourusername

kimi.antonelli : how am i supposed to focus on anything after you posted this 🧍🏻‍♂️

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : sei così meravigliosa😻

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : forever missing my girl, come home to me pls.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : omg i miss you so much. love you to the moon and back😭😭

liked by kimi.antonelli

franciscagomes : the prettiest angel in the world 😍

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : keeeeeeks! it was so good to see you last week. i missed you sm

liked by franciscagomes

↳ franciscagomes : was literally the highlight of my trip! love youuuuu

liked by yourusername

carmenmmundt : I think it is safe to say that we ALL miss you. So get back to us ASAP!

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : trying my best carms 😁

—

The screen lights up with his name just as you’re about to crawl into bed.

Kimi 💙 wants to FaceTime…

You smile instinctively, heart tugging even before you swipe to answer.

“Hi,” you say, and there’s a warmth in your voice that only exists for him.

His face fills the screen a second later — hoodie on, hair slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it, eyes heavy with something unspoken.

“Hey,” he murmurs. And just like that, it’s quiet. The kind of silence that wraps around your chest and squeezes.

You can tell. He’s trying to be fine. But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes tonight.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods once. Then again. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. I miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you too.”

He leans back on his pillow, the phone angling just enough to catch the posters on his wall and the edge of his desk, cluttered with school papers and notes. “Graduation’s in a few weeks and everyone keeps asking who’s coming. And all I wanna say is you, but I don’t even know if you can be here.”

Your heart cracks just a little. “Kimi…”

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly, like he already regrets bringing it up. “I know you’re busy, and the flights suck, and F1 weekends don’t exactly stop for me to wear a silly cap and shake someone’s hand. It’s just… I want you there. Really bad.”

You don’t say anything at first. Because what is there to say? You want to be there too. More than anything. But your schedule’s been insane, and between time zones and obligations, it’s all starting to feel like you’re stuck behind a glass wall you can’t break through.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you tell him honestly. “I swear, I’m looking at flights every day. I want to be there more than you know.”

He nods, eyes flickering down like he’s trying to hide the weight of it all. “It’s not even about graduation. It’s just… I’m tired of missing you. Tired of this screen being the only way I get to see your face.”

You swallow hard. “I know. Me too.”

“I’d give anything just to have you next to me right now,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if we didn’t talk. Just to know you’re here.”

You press your hand to your chest like that might hold it together. “We’re almost there,” you promise. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Promise?”

You smile, aching and real. “Always.”

He lets out a shaky breath and leans in just a little closer to the camera, like if he tries hard enough, he might reach you through the pixels. And you sit there, both quiet, both hurting, but both still trying—because that’s what love looks like from miles apart. Not perfect. Just worth it.

—

You scroll past the name twice before your thumb finally hovers over it. Max Verstappen. You haven’t called him in weeks — not because anything’s wrong, but because life has been busy, chaotic, distant. Still, he’s always made it clear: “For you and Kimi? Anytime. Anywhere. I’ll send the damn jet if I have to.”

And tonight… you need the jet. The phone rings once. Twice. Then you hear his voice — scratchy, tired, but still very Max.

“You’re alive,” he says. “Was starting to think you ran off to join a cult in New York.”

You laugh under your breath. “Hi, Max.”

“Hi,” he echoes, but softer this time. “What’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Not because you don’t know what to say — but because saying it makes it real. Your heart is already in Italy with Kimi, counting down the days to his graduation, to seeing his name called, to the one moment he’s been dreaming of since he was a kid. And you can’t miss it.

“I need to call in that favor,” you say.

There’s a beat of silence. Then a low chuckle. “I knew this day would come.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “I’ve checked every flight, every connection, and nothing gets me there in time. He keeps pretending it doesn’t matter, but it does, Max. I have to be there.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Say less. The jet’s yours.”

Your throat tightens. “Really?”

“Really. I’ll have it waiting. You just tell me where and when. And YN?” His voice softens. “You showing up? That’s going to mean everything to him. You two… you’ve got the real thing. I’ve always known that.”

You blink fast, suddenly overwhelmed. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Good. Then we’re even,” he teases, a smile clear in his voice.

You shake your head, heart full. “I owe you.”

“Just send me a picture of his face when he sees you. That’s payment enough.”

And just like that, the plan’s in motion. Because sometimes, the people who love you don’t need explanations — they just show up. Or, in Max’s case, they send a jet.

—

You pace your room, nerves buzzing in your stomach like bees. Max has already confirmed the jet — it’s happening. You’re going. But there’s one more call you have to make before you start throwing clothes in a suitcase.

You scroll until you find the contact saved as Mamma Antonelli 💕 — because that’s how she insisted you save it after the first summer you stayed with them in Bologna. She picks up after two rings, and before you can even speak, her voice lights up.

“Tesoro! It’s been too long! Kimi told me you’ve been busy with work — are you eating? You always sound tired when you’re not eating.”

You laugh, heart swelling instantly. “Hi, Mamma. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Mm-hm. I don’t trust you. But I love you anyway,” she teases. You can already hear the clatter of dishes in the background — Sunday dinner prep, probably. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You sit on the edge of your bed, smile slipping into something more serious. “I… wanted to tell you something. Actually, I wanted to ask something.”

“Oh no. Are you eloping?”

You snort. “What? No!”

“Okay, okay, just checking. Then what is it?”

You take a breath. “I’m coming to Kimi’s graduation. Max is sending the jet. I haven’t told Kimi — I want to surprise him.”

There’s a pause, and then— “Oh, mio Dio. You’re going to make me cry.”

You smile, a little watery. “I couldn’t miss it. He’s pretending he doesn’t care if I’m there or not, but I know it matters to him. And I just… I need to be there. For him.”

You hear rustling in the background, her calling out something in rapid-fire Italian. Then Kimi’s dad gets on the phone, his voice warm and familiar.

“She told me. You’re coming.”

“I am,” you say, smiling into the phone. “But don’t tell Kimi. Please.”

“I would never,” he promises. “He’s been sulking around like a lost puppy. This will knock the wind out of him — in a good way.”

“He’s going to freak out,” you whisper, grinning now.

“He’s going to cry,” his mom adds in the background.

You laugh. “You really think so?”

“We know so,” they say in unison.

“Okay, then,” you breathe. “Let’s pull this off.”

“We’ll be waiting at the airport,” Mamma says. “And then we’ll get you hidden before he even arrives. We’ll make it perfect.”

You hang up a few minutes later, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. Your chest is lighter now — filled with excitement instead of guilt. This is happening. You’re going to be there. And Kimi? He has no idea what’s coming.

—

The jet is sleek and quiet, and somehow still feels completely surreal. You’re strapped into the soft leather seat with your hoodie pulled tight over your head, window shade half-closed as the engines hum beneath you. You can’t stop checking your phone — triple-confirming the flight path, re-reading texts from Max, and replaying the plan in your head like you’re about to perform a heist. And just as the jet begins to taxi down the runway…

Kimi 💙 is calling…

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“No, no, no, not now,” you mutter, scrambling to answer before the noise gives anything away. You slide down in your seat, like somehow that will make you less suspicious.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady and definitely not like you’re ON A PRIVATE JET.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “What are you doing?”

You blink at the window, watching the airport disappear into motion. “Um. Just… heading somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” he repeats, a soft laugh in his voice. “That’s vague.”

You gulp. “Work stuff. Last-minute thing. Super boring.”

You can hear the smirk. “That why you sound all nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired. Early morning.”

“It’s like… 3PM where you are.”

Shit.

“Time is fake,” you blurt. “It’s a construct.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Kimi laughs, low and warm, and somehow that makes everything worse. “You okay?”

“Totally. Totally fine. Just lots going on. Meetings. Presentations. Jet lag.”

You wince. Jet. Wrong word. Terrible word.

But Kimi, bless his oblivious heart, doesn’t react. “Well, I just wanted to hear your voice. I know things have been hectic.”

Your chest aches. “I’m really proud of you,” you say, suddenly emotional. “I know graduation is coming up and you’re probably pretending it’s not a big deal, but it is. You’re amazing, Kimi.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I wish you could be there.”

“I know,” you whisper, holding your breath so you don’t ruin everything. “Me too.”

Another silence. Then. “Okay. I’ll let you go. Call me later, okay?”

“Promise,” you say, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” he says, before the line goes dead.

You exhale, head dropping back against the seat. Somehow, you didn’t blow the surprise. Barely. And now, you’re flying toward the one person in the world who has no idea you’re about to show up and change everything.

—

The jet touches down with barely a bump, sunlight flooding through the window as the plane slows on the runway. Your heart is pounding, fingers drumming nervously against your thighs. You can’t believe you’re actually here. In Italy. For him. As the cabin door opens and the warm air hits your face, you quickly pull out your phone. There’s only one person you need to call first. Max Verstappen.

He picks up on the second ring.

“You landed?”

“Just now,” you breathe, already smiling. “Max… thank you. I know you always joked about sending the jet, but—”

“I wasn’t joking,” he interrupts casually. “I’d do it again. And again. You two are disgusting and adorable and give the rest of us hope.”

You laugh, a little choked up. “Seriously. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Like I said…all I need is proof of his reaction. I want to see the exact moment his brain breaks in half.”

You grin. “Done.”

“Good. Go get your boy.”

You hang up just as you spot them — Kimi’s parents, waiting just outside the private terminal with barely contained excitement. His mom is the first to see you.

“TESORO!” she yells, rushing toward you with open arms.

You barely have time to drop your bag before she’s hugging you so tightly your feet actually lift off the ground. “You’re here! You’re really here! Oh, mio Dio, he’s going to collapse.”

“I missed you too,” you laugh into her shoulder, overwhelmed in the best way.

Kimi’s dad pulls you into a hug next, his hand warm on your back. “He’s going to lose his mind,” he says with a proud grin. “He’s been pretending he doesn’t care, but he’s been moping around like a ghost.”

“And now,” his mom adds, wiping tears from her eyes, “you’re going to walk in and ruin him. Perfectly.”

“Thank you both,” you say, heart full. “For keeping the secret. For being part of this.”

“We’d do anything for you,” his mom says, cupping your face. “You’re family.”

And as they lead you to the car, laughing and chattering about the plan, your heart feels light again.

—

You’re crouched behind the kitchen counter, holding back a laugh as Mamma Antonelli calls out, “Maggie! Tesoro, come here for a minute!”

Tiny footsteps echo down the hallway, quick and full of purpose.

“What?” Maggie’s voice is high pitched and dramatic in the way only ten year olds can manage. “I’m making Kimi a card! And I used the fancy markers!”

“Just come, piccola,” Mamma says, smiling wide as she stirs a pot on the stove. “I have something to show you.”

Maggie stomps into the kitchen, all pink socks and hair in a pink headband, holding a glittery construction paper card in one hand and a scowl on her face. “This better be good.”

You slowly peek out from behind the counter.

“Surprise,” you say softly.

Maggie stops immediately.

Her whole face drops—eyes going wide like saucers, mouth falling open as she stares at you. For a second, she doesn’t say a word.

Then—“YN?!”

You barely have time to nod before she shrieks and runs at you, throwing her tiny arms around your waist with all the force her little body can manage. You stumble back a step, laughing through the sudden sting in your eyes.

“You’re really here?” she asks, voice muffled against your hoodie. “For real real? Not just on my iPad?”

“For real real,” you promise, hugging her tightly. “Just for Kimi. But I had to see you first.”

She pulls back, cheeks flushed with excitement. “He’s gonna cry. I just know it. He’s been all moody and weird and saying stuff like ‘it’s fine’ even though it’s clearly not fine.”

You giggle, wiping your eyes. “That sounds like him.”

“I’m gonna help!” she declares. “With the surprise! I can distract him or hide you or pretend there’s a present and then BOOM—it’s you!”

You glance at Mamma Antonelli, who’s trying not to cry into her wooden spoon.

“I think we just found the mastermind,” you say.

Maggie beams. “I’m so good at secrets. Except for that one time I told Papa about the broken vase, but that was different.”

You ruffle her hair. “We’ll be careful this time.”

She nods like she’s just been given a secret mission. “He’s gonna be so happy. You’re his favorite person.”

Your chest aches with love. “He’s mine too.”

And as Maggie skips off to start planning “Operation Surprise Kimi,” you take a deep breath and smile—because in this house, with this family, you’ve never felt more at home.

—

The sun is warm and golden, spilling over the ancient stone buildings that line the courtyard. There’s laughter in the air, shouts of congratulations in Italian, the occasional champagne cork popping in the distance. Red laurel crowns sit proudly on graduates’ heads, marking the end of years of hard work. And Kimi?

Kimi Antonelli is right in the middle of it all, standing in his white linen shirt, the crown just slightly crooked on his head, cheeks flushed from the sun — and maybe from emotion he’s not letting himself show. He’s smiling for photos, thanking professors, dodging confetti and hugs and the occasional overzealous cousin, but something is clearly missing. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And you see it. From where you’re hidden behind a group of olive trees with Maggie and his mother, your heart aches for him. You should’ve been standing beside him. But not for long.

“Kimi’s still over there,” Mamma Antonelli whispers, lifting her phone to start filming. “Max and George said to absolutely not miss the moment. Max said he’s taking bets on whether Kimi cries or faints.”

“I think both,” Maggie whispers gleefully. “Or maybe he’ll scream like a goat.”

You’re trembling a little, heart hammering as Mamma gives you the softest little nudge. “Vai. Go.”

You nod, swallow hard, and step out from behind the trees. Kimi is turned slightly away, laughing at something his best friend just said. His crown has slipped further down his forehead. His hand is gripping the side of his phone like he wants to text someone — probably you. And then, he hears it.

“Nice crown, graduate.”

He freezes. His body stiffens. His head snaps up. Slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe it, he turns around.

And there you are. Standing a few feet away in the same sundress you wore the summer you first visited Bologna. Hair curling from the humidity, eyes shining, heart in your throat. You’re smiling — already crying — but smiling. For a full five seconds, Kimi doesn’t move. Then he drops everything — the diploma folder, the champagne glass someone handed him, even his crown slips a little more off his head — and he runs.

His arms are around you in seconds, lifting you clean off the ground like he can’t believe you’re real. You’re laughing and crying into his shoulder, fingers buried in the back of his hair.

“You’re here,” he says, over and over again. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “Surprise.”

Kimi pulls back just enough to look at you, tears now clearly in his eyes. “How? How are you here?”

You grin. “Max sent the jet.”

He blinks. “Max?!”

“And your mom helped. And your sister. And George’s only request was that you cry. So, you know. No pressure.”

He laughs through the tears, breath hitching as he leans in and kisses you like he’s starving for it — like months of distance and missed calls and sleepless nights dissolve in that one moment.

Behind you, you hear Maggie yell, “HE’S CRYING!” followed by the sound of Mamma Antonelli’s voice narrating in shaky, emotional Italian for the video.

“Look! Guardalo! Max, George — sta piangendo come un bambino innamorato!”

You break the kiss, burying your face in Kimi’s neck as he holds you tighter than ever.

“I didn’t want to miss this,” you whisper. “I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t,” he breathes. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

And as red petals and confetti rain down from the sky, as friends cheer and his family watches with misty eyes and proud smiles, Kimi kisses you again — this time slower, softer, like a thank-you, a promise, a homecoming all in one. You showed up. You always would. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly right.

—

The sun is low by the time you arrive at the Antonellis’ countryside home, warm golden light spilling across the terracotta tiles and olive trees. Kimi’s laurel crown sits on the dashboard of the car like a trophy, slightly bent but still proud. He holds your hand the entire drive — knuckles white, like if he lets go, you might disappear again. You don’t blame him. You still can’t believe you’re here either.

As you step out of the car, you’re immediately hit with the familiar scent of garlic, tomato, and fresh basil — the kind of smell that makes your heart ache with nostalgia. Mamma Antonelli is already out on the porch in an apron, yelling something toward the kitchen window.

“You brought her home and you graduated? Finally, we can breathe again!” she announces dramatically, wiping her hands on her apron before pulling you in for another warm, crushing hug. “You’re sitting next to me. I don’t care what Kimi says.”

“She likes you more than me,” Kimi mutters beside you, grinning. “Confirmed.”

“I’ve always liked her more than you,” she shoots back, ruffling his hair before disappearing inside.

Dinner is a beautiful kind of chaos. Plates piled with pasta al forno and roasted vegetables, bottles of red wine passed around the table, someone shouting over someone else every few minutes. Kimi’s cousins are arguing about sports, his uncle is showing your graduation surprise video to anyone who will watch, and Maggie is seated at your side, proudly telling everyone how she was “basically the mastermind.”

Kimi watches you through all of it — not in the way people usually mean when they say that, but really watches. Like he can’t believe you’re real. Every time you laugh or lean in to wipe tomato sauce from Maggie’s cheek or clink glasses with his dad, he looks at you like he’s still catching his breath. At one point, as the noise dies down just slightly, he leans over and kisses your temple.

“You fit so perfectly here,” he murmurs. “You always have.”

You smile against your wine glass. “Maybe it’s because I love all of you more than you love each other.”

Mamma overhears. “Grazie, finally someone tells the truth!”

Later, as dessert is brought out — a homemade tiramisu that’s already half gone by the time it reaches your side of the table — Kimi takes your hand under the table and squeezes it. You look over to find his eyes a little glassy again, his voice low and full of that kind of sincerity that only happens when the world slows down for just a second.

“I meant it earlier,” he says. “You being here… it made everything feel real. I didn’t care about the ceremony or the diploma. I just wanted you.”

You squeeze his hand right back, heart full. “And now you have me.”

He leans in, presses a soft kiss to your cheek, and murmurs. “Forever, if I get my way.”

—

The house is finally quiet. The last of the dishes have been cleared, Maggie’s tucked into bed, and Kimi’s parents are somewhere inside. The warm night air spills in through the open window, carrying the scent of jasmine and summer. You’re curled up on the little balcony just off his childhood bedroom, one of his old hoodies draped over your shoulders, your knees pulled to your chest as you look up at the stars.

He joins you a moment later — barefoot, hair a little messy, still glowing from the day. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits down beside you, thigh brushing yours, hand finding your knee like it belongs there. Which it does.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.”

“You sure you’re real?” he asks, turning toward you. “Because you keep disappearing on me.”

You smile, tipping your head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m real. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for months. You sit in silence for a moment, watching the lights flicker in the distance. Then he speaks again, voice low and honest in a way that only ever happens when the world finally goes quiet.

“I really thought you wouldn’t come.”

Your heart squeezes. “Kimi…”

“No, I know it’s not your fault,” he adds quickly. “I just— I told myself I didn’t care. Told everyone it was fine. But it wasn’t. I wanted you there. Needed you there. And then you were.”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. “I wanted to be there the second I found out the date. I would’ve moved mountains. Or at least begged Max to move them for me.”

He laughs — soft and tired, but real. “You don’t know what that did to me. Seeing you. I think time stopped for a second.”

You turn your head and meet his gaze, moonlight catching the gold in his eyes. “It stopped for me too.”

Kimi leans in and kisses you gently, slowly — no rush, no heat, just something warm and full of meaning. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you close until you’re practically in his lap, curled against him like the final missing piece has clicked into place.

“I don’t care how busy things get,” he whispers. “How far the races are or how many airports we have to go through. I just want you to keep showing up like that.”

“I will,” you promise. “Whenever it matters. Always.”

He rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo, voice full and sure.

And there, on that quiet balcony with the stars overhead and the world asleep around you, Kimi holds you a little tighter — like he finally believes this isn’t just a dream.

—

The morning comes slow and golden. A breeze slips through the open window, carrying the scent the garden below. The room is still — warm and hazy, touched by early sunlight. Somewhere down the hall, you can faintly hear the clink of mugs and the low hum of his mom talking to Maggie. But here, wrapped in Kimi’s arms, the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady and grounding. One of his hands is tangled lazily in your hair, the other curled around your hip like he never quite let go during the night. He’s warm, impossibly so, like the sun lives beneath his skin. You shift a little and feel him stir.

“Mmm,” he hums, voice still raspy from sleep. “Still here?”

You smile without opening your eyes. “Told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He kisses the top of your head, slow and sleepy. “Good. Would’ve chased you if you did.”

“Would’ve made you work for it.”

“I’d work forever if it meant waking up like this.”

You finally lift your head and look at him. His curls are messy, one cheek slightly smushed against the pillow, but he’s still devastatingly handsome in that quiet, undone way. His eyes are soft, heavy-lidded, full of something deeper than just sleep — something closer to awe.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“You’re here,” he says back, like it’s still the most unbelievable thing in the world.

He brushes your hair back gently, fingers ghosting along your jaw like he needs to memorize it again. “Last night felt like a dream. The dinner. The surprise. You. This.”

“This is real,” you whisper.

“I know. That’s the best part.”

You snuggle closer, nose tucked beneath his jaw. “Your mom’s making coffee.”

“She’ll wait.”

“I think Maggie’s outside our door.”

“She’ll survive.”

You laugh into his chest, and he pulls you even tighter. “Let’s stay like this a little longer,” he says. “Just you and me. No rushing. No flights. No leaving.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Just us.”

And you stay there — tangled in sheets and sun and each other — hearts steady, breaths slow, the morning stretching out like it was made just for the two of you.

—

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 2,572,003 others.

yourusername : my boy graduated and i got to be with him thanks to our fairy godmother @/maxverstappen1. my heart is so full <3

tagged : kimi.antonelli

— view 189,017 other comments.

georgerussell63 : i cried. a lot. in tears just thinking about it. my children are so grown 🥹

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : more than the dog ads?

liked by georgerussell63

↳ georgerussell63 : more than the damn dogs.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ carmenmmundt : he has been showing the video to literal strangers and saying how much of a proud dad he is.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : oh georgie.

liked by carmenmmundt and georgerussell63

maxverstappen1 : i'll buy you each a jet if it means i get to see that look on kimi's face again.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : so good to us maxie

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ lando : wait i am like the only one who hasn't seen this video. someone send it. NOW.

↳ georgerussell63 : i sent it to you like two days ago, muppet. check your texts.

↳ lando : oh good now im in full blown tears.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

alexandrasaintmleux : sooooo cute mon ange

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

charles_leclerc : totally not teary eyed. congratulations kimi!!

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

kimi.antonelli : my whole world. i love you now and forever.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : god i try so hard to be disgusted by you two but i just can't. what is wrong with me?

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ lando : motherly instincts

liked by yourusername, kimi.antonelli and maxverstappen1

—

[vingtetunmars]

Uncharted Territory

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: During a study session that turns into something more, a simple kiss on the forehead unexpectedly leaves Eddie completely hot and bothered.

Tags: fluff, humor, teasing, implied praise kink, new couple, established relationship, first time, reader is sunshine incarnate, tender intimacy, virgin!Eddie Munson. No description of Reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: This fic is inspired by this post by @sheneedsrocknroll92 , I thought it was funny and probably something that would happen to Eddie. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 1.8k

masterlist

You weren’t supposed to notice him.

Not in the way that mattered.

Eddie Munson knew his place at Hawkins High. Resident freak. Satanic panic poster boy. The kid teachers gave up on and parents warned their kids about. People stared, sure—but only long enough to whisper, then look away.

But you never looked away.

You smiled.

The first time was in the cafeteria. You were sitting with your friends, those pastel, soft-voiced types with glitter pens and locker decorations. You didn’t look like someone who would know his name, let alone say it. But when he passed your table, you lifted your head and smiled straight at him. Bright. Simple. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He almost dropped his tray.

The next day, you waved in the hallway. He looked behind him just to make sure it was actually for him. You laughed. Said, “Hi, Eddie!” like you’d done it a thousand times.

He spent the rest of the week convinced someone put you up to it.

Except… you kept doing it.

You showed up near his locker. Lingered near Hellfire with a soda and a snack in hand. Laughed at his dumb jokes even when no one else did. It was like you orbiting around his life was normal, like he didn’t have to prove he was worthy of it.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Because you were sunshine in a person. The kind of girl people opened up to without meaning to. The kind who said things like “you look handsome today” with complete sincerity, not even knowing the chaos it would cause in someone like him. Eddie was used to being mocked, dismissed, at best tolerated. You were different.

The scary part was how fast he got used to it.

He started looking forward to you. Every hallway run-in. Every shared lunch on the bleachers. Every time you curled your fingers around his wrist like it was no big deal. And then, the moment that flipped his world upside down—you kissed his cheek and said:

“I like you, Eddie. Just putting that out there.”

Then you smiled and walked off like you didn’t just detonate a bomb in his chest.

It took him a week to build the courage. A week of sweaty palms and bad dreams and practicing in the mirror. Then he found you after school, heart in his throat, and said something completely idiotic like, “I also like. You. Like-you. You, I like.”

You just grinned, slid your fingers into his, and said, “Cool. Because I think we look good together.”

Like it was that simple.

And, god, maybe it was.

You made it easy.

Eddie had no idea what the hell he was doing. You were his first everything. First kiss. First girlfriend. First person to call him “baby” like it belonged to him. He thought he’d mess it up. He still thinks that, sometimes. But you’ve never once made him feel like he was falling behind.

You make him feel… like he could be good at this.

You play with his hair when he’s sprawled out on your couch. You cheer for him when he wins boss fights in Hellfire, even though you barely understand what’s going on. You bring him peanut butter M&M’s and wear his Hellfire shirt, even though it’s baggy on you and smells like his cologne. And you hold his hand like it’s just what people do.

He doesn’t always know how to respond. He’s still learning. Sometimes his brain fries when you lean into his side or call him “pretty boy.” But he loves the way you look at him when you do.

Like he’s something precious.

Like he’s not some loser hiding behind loud clothes and louder words.

And two months in, Eddie Munson is still stunned every single day that he gets to have you.

That someone like you wanted someone like him.

That maybe—just maybe—he’s not entirely unlovable after all.

It’s late afternoon and the sun is doing that lazy golden thing through Eddie’s window, casting long, warm streaks across his bed. The two of you are sitting cross-legged on the mattress, notebooks and worksheets spread in a hopeless mess between you. Eddie’s handwriting is still a disaster, half the math problems are half-finished, and somehow there’s a doodle of a dragon in the corner of the page.

You should be annoyed.

But instead, you’re beaming.

“Okay,” you say, tapping your pencil against your knee. “You didn’t totally flunk that one. That’s, like, a B-minus effort. Maybe even a solid B. I’m proud of you.”

Eddie groans, flopping back dramatically on the bed. “I got five out of twelve, sweetheart.”

You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “You got two right last week. That’s progress.”

He peeks at you through his hair. “Baby steps, huh?”

“Exactly.” You crawl closer, lifting a hand to brush the bangs from his forehead. He freezes beneath your touch, a familiar stiffness he still hasn’t grown out of. It’s not discomfort—it’s reverence. Like he still doesn’t understand how you touch him so gently, like you don’t think twice about it.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

Simple. Sweet. Warm.

And that’s when it happens.

You pull back like nothing’s changed. But Eddie is suddenly dead quiet. His body tenses, his arms shoot around his torso like he’s guarding something, and before you can even blink, he’s curling up into himself like a human shield.

“Eddie?”

He lets out a strained noise. High-pitched. Embarrassed. “Yeah, no—I’m good. Just. Just need a minute. Maybe a few minutes. Don’t look at me.”

You blink. “Wait… are you—?”

“Don’t say it.”

“…Did a forehead kiss really just—?”

“Don’t say it,” he groans, pulling a pillow into his lap like it’s a weapon, dragging one of his old Metallica hoodies across himself in record time. His ears are bright red. His hair’s a mess from how fast he moved. He looks like he’s about to combust.

And you… start laughing.

Not cruel, not mean. Just startled, delighted giggles spilling out before you can stop them. Because this boy—this five-ten, metal-loving, D&D-obsessed chaos gremlin—just got hot and bothered over a forehead kiss.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes. “You poor thing.”

He groans again, flopping backward like he’s dying. “You don’t understand. It was too sweet. Too nice. My brain short-circuited. I didn’t even know that could happen.”

You slide closer, biting your lip to suppress another laugh. “Eddie, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! You just kissed my head and now I’m having a hormonal crisis. That’s not normal. People don’t just do that.”

“Actually,” you say gently, brushing your fingers through his curls, “they do. It’s just that most people don’t feel everything all at once like you do.”

You duck your head until your forehead rests against his. “It’s okay, Eddie. I love that about you.”

He stares at you. Flustered. Overwhelmed. And still very much refusing to move his pillow.

“…Okay, but like, next time maybe warn me before doing something that affectionate.”

You didn’t stop smiling.

Even after his dramatics. Even after he tried hiding under the pillow like it was a shield from the embarrassment of having a boner caused by a forehead kiss. You just kept looking at him like he was the cutest thing in the world.

Which, unfortunately, did not help his current situation.

You leaned over him, voice light and teasing. “Y’know… this is kinda flattering.”

He peeked up. “You’re flattered?”

“Yeah,” you giggled, poking his ribs gently. “It’s nice to know I can wreck you that easily.”

Eddie let out a low, half-strangled groan. “You are so unfair.”

“I’m very fair,” you said, tilting your head. “I just didn’t expect forehead kisses to be your weakness.”

“It’s not,” he muttered. “It wasn’t. It—god, I don’t know, it felt like you were taking care of me.”

You stilled a little at that. Your voice softened. “Well… I was.”

He looked up at you.

You bit your lip thoughtfully, then reached down, brushing your fingers through his curls. “You know… I could keep doing that. Taking care of you.”

Eddie blinked. “Wh—what, like… now?”

You nodded. Your voice was calm, careful. “If you want. We don’t have to. But if you do want… I’ll be gentle. I’ll go slow. I just want you to feel good.”

Eddie swallowed hard, pupils blown, breath catching in his chest. He was pretty sure his brain had left his body a few minutes ago. You were so soft, so sweet, so stupidly beautiful, and you were looking at him like he was the precious one.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “Yeah. I… want you to.”

You smiled at him like that was the best answer he could’ve given.

“Alright, baby,” you whispered, removing the pillow and climbed into his lap with slow, careful movements.

Eddie’s hands found your waist instinctively, holding you like you might vanish if he let go. You brushed your nose against his, pressing a light kiss to his lips first—then another, and another, deeper each time.

It started slow. Gentle.

Then his fingers tightened.

Then your hips rolled.

And by the time his head tipped back against the pillow, both of you breathless and warm, you were rocking slowly together, hips bumping in a soft rhythm, mouths never parting for long.

Your hands cupped his face.

His arms circled your waist.

And the world outside his bedroom melted away as you kissed him deeper—teaching him, guiding him, loving him like no one ever had.

Eddie was still staring at the ceiling when you flopped beside him with a satisfied sigh, your limbs brushing his.

There was a long pause.

Then, in a dazed voice, he mumbled, “I think I saw God.”

You burst out laughing, burying your face into his shoulder.

He turned to you, blinking slowly, curls a mess, skin flushed pink across the cheeks and down his chest. “Like. I’m serious. She looked just like you. But like—glowier.”

You nudged his side with a grin. “Are you trying to flirt with me after we had sex?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Because now I really don’t want you to leave me.”

You laughed again, kissing the tip of his nose. “Baby, I’ve been your girlfriend for two months.”

“Yeah, but now I feel like I need to propose. Or like, write a ballad. Or get your name tattooed on my—”

“Eddie.”

“I’m kidding. Mostly. Unless you think the tattoo thing is hot. I’ll do it.”

You rolled your eyes, cuddling into his chest. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

He let out a breathy chuckle and pulled the blanket over both of you, his arms curling around your shoulders. “Ridiculous and lucky.”

You smiled into his skin, fingers drawing slow shapes across his ribs. “You did great, baby.”

There was a pause.

Then, a groan. “Don’t say that again right now.”

“Why not?” you asked innocently, already giggling.

“Because last time you said that, I got bodily betrayed, and I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to recover twice in one night.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you rest… for now.”

“Threat noted,” he muttered, but he was smiling—broad and crooked and deeply in love.

And so were you.

[todosdream]

I can fix that | ony

2.7k wrds. black fem reader. fluff.

warnings: cursing, men can be sucky, bluecollar!ony, flirting

pliers, pliers, pliers, you think to yourself as you search through the store.

about a week ago, the stream on your shower head started acting funny. at first you could just hit it a couple of times with the perfect amount of strength and it’d be knocked back into its senses. over time, the trick started to work less and less.

one particularly frustrating day led to a swing with too much umph in it, unfortunately knocking the thing out of commission. after a brief moment of frustrated silence, you decided to just replace it. you’ve already picked out the fancy massage shower head you want. now, here you are in good ‘ole home depot, searching for all the tools needed.

you’re roaming the aisles and trying to look like you have at least the slightest clue what you’re doing, even though your source of knowledge for the particular task at hand is just… well, the internet. it probably isn’t a good idea, you doing this yourself, but there’s no way you’re paying out the ass for something you can let youtube guide you through. hopefully you won’t make it worse. if all else fails, you can just continue to take baths for now.

“pliers!” you smile to yourself when you notice the rack. your smile slowly but surely dwindles when you realize just how many types there are up on the wall, the variation of colors and shapes immediately making you regret your decision. “what the fuck,” you mumble.

combination, flat nose, linesman… the list goes on and on and on.

before you can let out a sigh of frustration, you hear the agitating sound of someone clearing their throat behind you. “need help, little lady?” a voice calls, sounding almost slimey in its delivery.

you turn, top lip already itching to raise in irritation, but you see it’s one of the employees. the bright orange apron is an insult to your eyes, but it’s not as bad as the look on the guy’s face. “oh. um... yeah, if you don’t mind. I just need a pair of pliers to change out my shower head,” you say casually.

he hums with a raise of his eyebrow, eyes flicking up and down your form. it’s a judgemental gaze, very telling for how this conversation is about to go.

oh, brother.

“you sure you can do that all by yourself? pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to get your hands dirty,” he drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips. it almost makes you want to gag.

“I’m sure,” you say blandly. you definitely didn’t come here to talk to mr. greasy, despite his attempt. “I just need a basic pair of pliers. please and thanks.”

he doesn’t seem to like your tone, smirk falling as his ego is bruised. he must pull shit like this all the time. it’s a wonder his ass hasn’t been fired.

“well, I can’t just sell you anything basic, sweetie. that’d be doing you a disservice,” he tries again. he walks past you to the wall display, gesturing with his arms. you get a whiff of funk every time he moves. “these here are top notch. definitely what I’d recommend. there’s no way you’ll mess up.”

before you can give the nastiest eye roll manageable, a voice grumbles from behind you.

“aye, bruh, you can chill with all that sales shit.”

ony had approached behind you a few moments prior, several feet back as he waited for the two of you to move and stop blocking the wall.

his trip to the store was supposed to be simple. he just wanted to get a new pair of tongue and groove pliers, maybe some more bug spray for his home, and then get an icee from the gas station after working all day in the damn heat.

but here he is, sighing softly to himself as he listens to the worker attempt to ruin both of your days. he figured he’d put himself and you out of your misery.

when you turn to inspect the newcomer, who’s quite frankly saying what you were thinking, it’s like a scene from a movie. you can hear the imaginary music playing and everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

behind you is the finest man you’ve ever seen. dark skin, locs pulled up into a messy bun, bushy eyebrows pulled into a slight frown. he’s handsome, kind of like the men you’d expect to be in a monthly calendar of fine ass, hardworking beaus. light brown eyes, beard in slight need of a trim. his arms are crossed and big, covered in tattoos and small scars, and his form towers over yours. rugged but sexy.

“that’s what I’m supposed to do, sir,” the worker says with a tight smile. “is there anywhere I can point you to? I’m a bit busy helping this girl right now. as you can see.”

your gaze flickers back and forth, taking in both men’s demeanors. now, how did I end up in this? you ask yourself.

“nah. I’m good here,” ony responds with a shrug. his gaze is steady and doesn’t even shift your way. he stares down the employee with a calm look, seemingly unbothered. “this young lady don’t need you in her face if you gone be condescending. and she needs a basic tool for a basic job, not something she’ll have to spend big money on to use once.”

the worker’s eyes narrow, but before he can respond, someone speaks over the intercom.

“buford please report to aisle 13. buford please report to aisle 13.”

the worker, now outed as buford, huffs and crosses his arms. “alright, miss, I’ll be right back, okay? if this guy bothers you, just come grab me.” you give a tight lipped smile in response. “yeah, sure. thanks.”

with one last (supposedly threatening) look to ony, the employee walks off, grumbling softly under his breath. there’s a quiet tsk from the man still standing next to you, and he shakes his head as he watches the other retreat.

“sorry about that,” ony says with a nod in buford’s direction. his tone is softer now, but not overly so, and the strength of his gaze is now on you. it causes a warm feeling to bloom within you and a small smile to tug at your lips.

“yeah. being a woman means unfortunately being used to it,” you say with a soft laugh. “I’m not opposed to a knight in shining armor from time to time, though.” you tilt your head with the tease, a flirty sparkle in your eyes.

hm. ony doesn’t like that fact that you’re used to it, though he understands. but he does like the flirting tease from you.

his eyebrow raises as a smile crawls onto his face. such a pretty belle you are. and a fun personality is there too, he can tell. “I ain’t a knight, I’ll tell you that. but I can fix that shower head for you. if you want.”

“mmm, I don’t know,” you say, a playfully suspicious look on your face. “you’re still a man. don’t want just any stranger in my home.”

“I don’t have to be a stranger,” he smiles, obviously quite tickled. the action makes a deep dimple appear on one side, as if the man could get any finer. “but I do this shit forreal, I swear. here, let me getchu my card.”

he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a slightly crumpled business card, handing the item to you. you take the card and glance over it, noticing the lackluster design layout and plethora of services offered.

“interesting design. onyankpon, huh?”

“close. onyankopon, but I go by ony,” he says lowly, correcting your pronunciation. he tilts his head a bit, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “that face says you think it’s less than interesting. what’s ya name, pretty?”

“ᥫ᭡,” you answer with a smile. “the seems… slightly legit, I guess. I keep that thang on me though, so how about an exchange of services, mr. ony? I can design a new card for you. this is cute and all, but I can make it better.”

the idea is appealing to the man, but you’re where his full interest lies. there’s a teasing tug in the way you interact with him. he likes it. “a trade,” he says with a nod. “I can do that. I was fully ready to do it at no fee, though, darlin’.”

you shrug, face warming just a smidgen. “I don’t mind. keeps my skills sharp.” you pause, looking him up and down. “you are legit, right?” you question with a squint of your eyes.

ony chuckles then, rubbing at his jaw. “I’m forreal. got a truck with my name on it and everything.”

you hum and place your hands on your hips. “‘kay then. I don’t have to buy the pliers anymore, right? this place is a nightmare. spooky.”

ony shakes his head, dimple on full display with his handsome grin. you’re just too cute to him, all jokes and beauty. “nah. I do, though. ‘scuse me, ᥫ᭡.”

the sound of your name from his lips sounds unfairly addictive. you look up at him as he reaches over your shoulder, body close but not close enough. he keeps his eyes on yours as he grabs the pliers he needs, the scent of his cologne only adding to the experience.

gah damn.

the man gives you another charming smile as he steps back. “I have to go do another job in a few, but call that number when you wanna schedule somethin’. hope to see you later, pretty. don’t leave me hangin’, yeah?”

ᥫ᭡

“nice spot you got, darlin’,” ony murmurs as he walks through the doorway. it’s a cute sight, seeing his large frame treat your comfy home with so much respect.

he wipes his work boots on your doormat for a long moment, ensuring he won’t track anything around. he’s sure to adjust his work belt so he doesn’t budge anything. he’s looking around with rapt curiosity.

“thanks. took me a while to decorate how I liked, but it was worth it,” you smile. “c’mon, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

ony follows behind you, wondering if you wore the cute lounge outfit you have on for him. he intentionally keeps his thoughts respectful, but little does he know, you absolutely did.

he steps into the bathroom behind you, noticing the scent of jasmine and sandalwood from the wax warmer. your place is definitely a woman’s place in all the best ways, and he has no choice but to smile when he sees how cohesive the decor is.

“okay, darlin’. lemme take a look,” he mumbles. you step aside and wait with your fingers interlocked. after stepping into the shower and looking over the situation, he lets out a focused hum.

“yeah, definitely time for a new one. I’ll get this off real quick, you’ll be good as new in a few,” he nods. “where’s the replacement?”

“right here in the sink,” you point, happy to help. it feels like opening the door when someone carries a couch or something. like you’re not doing the hard work but still contributing.

ony lets out a warm chuckle, once again amused. you’re just happy to be here and he adores that. “good. you mind handing it to me when I ask?”

“nope!” you chime.

he shakes his head with a grin, dimple once again capturing your heart. he works efficiently for the next few moments, quickly dismantling, cleaning, and prepping. “alright, pretty,” he murmurs, holding out his hand.

you happily plop the replacement head into his hand and he takes it with a smile. “a lil helper, huh?” he asks as he easily completes his task. “alright. I just need to check for leaks and you’ll be good to go. easy peasy.”

“perfect, thanks so much, ony, I really appreciate it,” you smile. who knew a trip to home depot could kill two birds with one stone? free assistance with the shower and a fine ass man.

“no problem,” he chuckles. “just leave a good review on my site,” he winks.

“will do. five stars, I promise,” you grin. “I’m gonna run to the other room real fast.”

ony lets put a hum of acknowledgement as he checks over the shower head, vigilantly searching for leaks. you turn to exit, heading to the living room to grab the small cardboard box on your coffee table.

“what’s that?” you hear him ask from behind you. you turn and shake the box in your hands, enjoying the rattle. “your cards! you didn’t forget about our deal, did you?”

the man smiles as he crosses his arm, leaning on the doorframe. “I told you I was fine with doing it for free.”

“oh, well,” you roll your eyes. “c’mon, check em out. I only got a few in case you didn’t like ‘em.”

he hums as he approaches you, stopping just short of your frame to take the box from your hands. he lifts the lid and slides a couple out, eyebrows raising in surprise when he sees the new look.

“damn. this shit look professional as hell. I like the color too.”

“yeah?” you smile. “I made sure it looked as nice as possible, some color to liven it up a little. added your logo from your site. now you just need to keep them in something so they’re not rumpled when you hand them out.”

he chuckles in response and nods. “hell yeah. I like these much better, forreal. thanks, ᥫ᭡.”

“no problem,” you wave dismissively. it really hadn’t taken long at all. “service for service, right? I would’ve struggled with the shower, and no disrespect, that card was all over the place. misaligned, boring with no color. hope you didn’t pay the designer much.”

ony licks his lips and sheepishly rubs at his jaw. “mm. I was the designer, pretty.”

“oop-“ you immediately respond, laughing softly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that.” you did, but now you felt bad, so you feel the need to spare his feelings as much as you can. he probably tried his hardest.

“s’no problem. you were right. this is definitely an upgrade,” he nods, waving the card in his hand. he can’t be mad if he just doesn’t have the skill, and he never got around to paying someone to do it. “makes me feel all official and shit with my name on my truck and now this. I’d say this was a good trade. except…”

“except?” you ask with a raise of your brow. you were pretty sure you did a damn good job, checking several times that the design was crisp and typo free.

“except,” he starts, “I traded for you to redesign my card. not print them.”

you blink at him. “I’m missing your point? I told you I only got a few.”

he shrugs, twinkle of mischief in his brown eyes. “still paid for them. that’s technically a service and a purchase. it ain’t fair, y’know?”

“I mean, it’s not really a big deal…” you trail off with a mumble.

“ᥫ᭡,” he says warmly, looking at you with a dimpled smile and a tilt of his head. “I’m tryna ask you on a date. just go with it.”

you blink again before you have to fight a smile. cute. really cute. he’s fun.

“hmmm,” you start, tapping your chin. you’re playing the part now, and you have to admit it’s very amusing. “you might be right about that. s’not a fair trade. we should discuss this further.”

“mhm,” he smirks. “how about… dinner? my treat.”

you bite you lip and tilt your head slightly. “dinner and a drink,” you rebutt.

his smirk widens, a twinkle in his eye. “dinner and drinks.”

“you’re a bad negotiator. you know that?” you question, squinting playfully.

“I don’t know, I feel like I should throw in some extra for emotional distress,” he shrugs. “an unfair trade can be a lot to deal with, you know.”

you laugh and shake your head in disbelief.

“I think you’ve got yourself a deal, mr. ony. dinner and drinks, I’m sold.”

a/n: just a little meetcute :) get the title reference?

this is inspired by one of my text aus lmao. writing a lil everyday is kinda gettin me out this funk ngl. feedback always welcome and wanted <3

[howtobegirly]

if you mysteriously disappear in this forest, be nice to the ghosts. they are my friends. the old hag that lives near the southwestern edge of the forest...well, our relationship is a little more complicated. it isn't...bad, per se, and i'm not certain i could call her evil, exactly, but...well, i suppose we didn't really get off on the right foot when i first moved here.

well, moved may not be the best word for it. to be more precise, i was hiking here one day, on an overgrown used-to-be-path close to the eastern side of the woods, running south, and then i got stuck here & couldn't find a way back out. i don't mean that i got lost, i mean trapped. supernaturally. i made my way back down the path i had cleared--it was pretty obvious which way i had come because i had used my machete (a gift from my uncle) to cut my way through the blackberry vines--all the way back to the trailhead I had marked with a neon-pink scrunchie tied to a sharpened stick (i had planned to make a better marker later, the next time i hiked), but as soon as I stepped back out into the clearing (that led up to the abandoned road i'd found the week before, which is what started this whole thing), i...huh. y'know i actually don't know what happened then. i just remember waking up back in the witch's little hut in the woods, with her pacing around muttering to herself as she examined bottles and jars full of questionable substances. it was clear that many of them were plants, but not like anything i'd ever seen growing around here.

yeah, of course i thought she was crazy the first time we met. i couldn't tell if she had rescued me from something, or if she had kidnapped me to prevent me from leaving the woods. i still don't have an answer on that. i've asked her how she found me that day, tried to piece together what happened there at the edge of the forest, but she never answered me. always just keeps on muttering to herself as she mixes her potions of...unknown intent. i've asked about those, too, of course, and her reply is always more mumbling.

i've been able to pick out a few words here and there, mostly names. Amos, Bill, Henry, Buck, and Adela are some of the ghosts. Some of the other names, I'm not sure about. Perhaps they're ghosts i haven't met yet. you might not know this, but most of the fog around here isn't actually fog.

at any rate...we see each other around the woods frequently, being that we both live and forage here now (though nothing growing in this forest seems to match the various jarred ingredients i saw in her cottage), and things are...awkward between us. perhaps it's because i initially thought she was an evil witch (i admit, i may have judged her unfairly at first). or maybe it's just that its difficult to communicate with each other. i've tried to be friendlier, bringing her food i've made and patching up the roof of her hut. in return, she gives me mystery potions. i have no idea what any of them do. i tried one once and woke up hours later next to the stream, hair coated in mud, and having inexplicably sewn patches of moss as epaulettes and cuffs onto my patagonia fishing shirt (why did i even have my sewing repair kit in my backpack for a quick day hike? i'm still baffled by that). needless to say, i didn't try any more of her "gifts" after that.

immersed in the fog

[wintersarge]

all swinging- john walker

summary: after your last mission, you’ve been avoiding john at all costs. what happens when he confronts you in the gym, late one night?

pairing: john walker x reader

word count: 2.4k

content: reader being a lovesick fool for john, yelena being a menace, feelings are eventually shared. fluff and hint of romance. some swearing.

A/N- this is written as a part two to ‘guns blazing’ which can be found here. may be able to be read alone, but probably makes more sense with the last fic. enjoy!

It had been a week since you last spoke to Walker.

The last time you’d talked, it was in the elevator post-mission, bloodied and bruised, exhaustion hanging heavy in the air.

The distinct ‘ding’ of the elevator had cut through the stillness, announcing your arrival to the top floor of the New Avengers tower. You spared a small glance over at John, who to your surprise, was already looking at you. You couldn’t quite make out his expression, though, his eyes guarded. He gave a smile, tight and calculated before he stepped out. You thought he was going to keep walking then, leave things unsaid. But then he stopped, turning back to you. 

“Look after your side,” he said, voice low and oddly sincere. “Change the gauze every few hours.”

You nodded, the corners of your mouth twitching into a tired smile. “I know what I’m doing, John.” 

He huffed a quiet breath. “And I know what you’re like. Don’t make it worse.”

And with that, he left. 

Now, you were basically hiding from him. Before, you might’ve searched for him in the hallways, cornering him to tease him about the way he had lost out in training to Bucky, or laugh about the way Yelena had caught him listening to Taylor Swift in his bedroom the week before. But everything felt wrong to you now, your demeanour too forced and fabricated around him. You stopped calling him names, stopped bickering back at him. And slowly, you started to refuse to be alone with him, always finding an excuse to leave when it was just the two of you. 

Simply put, you were avoiding him. Like the plague.

You didn’t know why you were suddenly so enamoured by him. You were supposed to be rivals, after all. You should hate him. You felt pathetic, like a giddy schoolgirl. It was something in the way he had grabbed you without second thought, hands working softly over your bloodied torso- hands you swear you could still feel ghosting over your hip days later. You saw a different side to him, one that didn’t mock you for how you ate your eggs or liked your coffee. It was all-consuming, how much you liked him now. You tried your hardest to push it down, to keep hating him for how much he got under your skin. But whatever you did, it wasn’t enough. Your disdain for him had melted away, simmering into something else entirely. It was driving you crazy. 

And, to make matters even worse, Yelena was beginning to suspect something was up with you and John.

“What is up with you and Walker?” You almost choke on your coffee, coughing violently as you place your mug down on the countertop. You frown, trying to play it cool. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean I’ve seen the way you look at him, when he’s not looking. I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” You answer too quickly, voice not entirely convincing. Yelena nearly laughs in your face.

“You’re a shitty liar. Plus, you don’t even talk to him anymore, you just stare longingly at him. It’s… creepy. Not that I’m entirely complaining, though, because it is nice to sit in the kitchen without your constant arguing.” You roll your eyes, mouth opening to speak. 

“Lena-”

“-And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you dart out of a room when you’re left alone with him. Do you know how annoying it is to be paired up with him in training? He’s insufferable. And throws hard punches. He comes out all swinging.” You swallow, trying and failing to school your expression. “I mean, god. What happened on that mission? Did you finally hate-fuck?” 

You actually spit your coffee out this time, coughing so hard you have to brace yourself against the counter.

“Yelena!” You gasp out, hot coffee dropping down your chin. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What the fuck?” You feel your cheeks heat up, and it’s suddenly very clear you’ve not been as subtle as you thought about your newfound feelings for John.

“Actually, no. Don’t tell me if you did” She screws her nose up, pulling an over-exaggerated face. “I don’t want to imagine John like that”

“Like what?” 

You freeze. 

John’s voice comes from behind you, all rough and American- his appearance painfully timed. You swear you feel your heart stop, wanting nothing more than the ground to swallow you up whole. You shoot Yelena a look that said ‘If you say a single word, I swear-’

“Nothing” You squeak out, not even attempting to look over at John. If you did, he’d see your bright red cheeks and the embarrassment coating your eyes. You can feel Yelena’s gaze burning into the side of your face, the way her chest heaved with a barely restrained laugh. 

John isn’t convinced by this, though. “You’re a terrible liar, Cupcake.” 

That fuck-ass nickname. He had penned it for you after you had managed to nearly burn the whole tower down when making (what was supposed to be) cupcakes with Bob. You wished you could click your fingers and disappear right about now. 

Yelena, however, was grinning like a Cheshire cat, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ah, Walker we were just talking about how you two-”

“I have to go”, you blurt out suddenly. Your voice comes out too loud, cutting into Yelena’s teasing tone. “I- I need to talk to Val. Official avengers business, you know.” You couldn’t sound any less convincing if you tried. You didn’t wait for a response, turning on your heel and practically sprinting out of the kitchen into your room. You bang your head against the wood of your door, internally groaning. 

Smooth. Real smooth.

It took you another week to recover from the embarrassment of that interaction.

Another week of avoiding John like your life depended on it, and another week of glaring at Yelena when she made ‘subtle’ off-handed comments to provoke you, like:

“Walker, have you been working out more? You look stronger. Don’t you think so, __?”

Or,

“Your suit looks good today, __. Walker, tell her she looks good” 

It was starting to drive you mad. John didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at Yelena’s behavior though, which made you even more infuriated. You decided you needed a way to release the tension that had begun to build up, hating the way it spread through your body like a wildfire. 

This was how you found yourself in the compound’s gym, late one night. 

It had gone past 1AM, and you hadn’t slept at all- mind on override. You had tried to ignore it, clenching your eyes shut and willing yourself to sleep. Needless to say, it didn't work. You had even considered meditating or praying to whoever was out there, begging for a release from this love-struck wedge you had driven between you and John. This felt stupid, though, so you opted for a different solution: the gym. 

Before all of this, you would usually be in here with John, hair stuck to your face with sweat and breaths coming in quick pants as you dodged his hasty attacks. Now that you sparred with Yelena or Ava, sessions felt different. Flat. There was no thrill, no tension surfacing. You hated how much you missed it. 

You decided to channel your rage into the boxing bag that hung in the corner, fists rebounding against the worn leather. You knew you probably weren’t swinging in the way John had taught you to, or keeping your legs just the right distance apart for ‘optimal damage’, as he had said. You didn’t care though- not with all the images swirling behind your eyes.

His smile. Punch.

His eyes. Punch.

The way his shirt clung to him after training. Punch.

The way you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and ki-

“Your posture is all wrong” 

Your heart nearly fell out of your ass. You spun on your heel, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, you scared me.” 

There, hovering in the doorway, was John. He was dressed casually, black sweatpants hung low on his waist. It took every ounce of your strength not to gawp at him. His hair was messy in the way it was after he showered, and you could smell his body lotion from across the room. God, he looked perfect.

“What are you doing up? Thought it was past your bedtime” He watches you from where he stood, a smug smile on his face. You rolled your eyes.

“Ha-ha. Very funny” You stepped away from the punchbag, swiping at your water bottle. You tried to ignore the way John was staring at you. 

“Seriously, though. You do know it’s 1:30? Odd time to be working out, don’t you think?” His voice had found that aggravating tone again, seeping with arrogance.

“Yes I’m aware of the time, Walker. I can read a clock, believe it or not” It was uneasy, how quickly you fell back into your old routine- all teasing and sarcastic. It then occurred to you that this was the first time in two weeks that you and John had been in the same room together, talking. You swallowed thickly, moving back to the punching bag. 

You hit at it again, harsher this time. Your knuckles were already red and you could see the skin beginning to peel, but you pushed through it. John hadn’t moved since he appeared, eyes locked onto the back of your head. You felt like a test subject, squirming under his gaze. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep punching like that” He said matter-of-factly. You bit back another retort, hands continuing their assault on the leather. You heard Walker make a disgruntled noise and suddenly he was behind you, his cologne invading your nostrils. 

“Stop.” It was murmured out, his breath hitting the back of your neck. The hairs there rose, and you faltered. “You know how you should punch. Show me.”

You felt delightfully trapped, his chest only inches from your back. It reminded you of how it felt to be in his arms, his strong hold keeping you tight against his body. You let out a small breath, your body working slower than your mind. Walker seemed to notice this and with an exhale, brought his hands out to help guide your position.

“Here. Your arms should be bent just slightly, and step apart. You want optimal damage, remember.” His fingers danced over your skin, the warmth of his freshly washed body enveloping your own. You could’ve passed out, there and then. You felt dizzy with it all. 

You clear your throat, assuming the position he gave you. You take a few swings at the bag, hits landing better than before. “See? Better. You’re doing good”

His praise was like music to your ears.

“Hold on a second” You stop, twisting your head around. John’s face was mere centimeters from yours, expression unreadable. He steps forward again, now basically pressed up against you. His hands drop down to your hips, grip somehow both strong and soft. He moves them slightly, adjusting your position again. “Go again”

You stutter, unable to even think straight. You could feel your cheeks burning and when you lifted your hand to punch, it shook lightly. John made no effort to step away, however, his big hands still planted firmly against your hips- the very place they had been just two weeks prior. 

“Come on, Cupcake. Don’t get shy now.”

You moved. Again and again, until you were throwing your fists with precision at the punchbag. John was smiling behind you, fingers flexing out over your hip bone.

“Good”

And then, 

“Good girl” 

You stopped then, completely flustered. John moved away with that stupid smug smile on his face. “What? Something I said?” You let out another hard sigh, hands raking over your hair. 

“Shut up, John”

There was a beat of silence, the air thickening between you. 

“Make me.”

Your jaw moves, mouth hanging open slightly. You didn’t know whether to kiss him or swing at him. 

“Fine”. You launch forward, hands connecting with his chest. You use all of your strength to push him back, and he stumbles into the fighting ring. 

“Game on, Walker”

You take a swing at him and he ducks out of the way, arms coming out to grab at your legs. You manage to kick them off, and with a twist, lay him down flat on the floor. You stand over him, chest rising and falling rapidly. He jerks forward, pulling you down with him and flipping you over on your back to straddle your waist. 

“You’ve been avoiding me all week. Why?” You struggle against him, bucking up slightly. He presses his forearm against your collarbone. 

He’s got you pinned down underneath him, his blue eyes boring down into yours.

“What is it, huh? You’ve been weird with me ever since I patched you up” 

“Get off me-” You strain, hands shooting out to punch against his chest. He doesn’t budge. 

“You’ve gotta hit harder than that, Cupcake. Come on, I know you can do it”. 

You grit your teeth, and by some miracle, manage to move him. You flip yourself over him, your thighs locking around his own. 

“Stop calling me that, Walker” He lets out a low laugh and shuffles underneath you and this time you advance forward, pinning your arm against his collarbone. Your face is the closest it’s ever been to his, and you find yourself looking down at his lips. 

Neither of you speak. The room is deadly quiet, only the sounds of your laboured breathing filtering through the air. 

Then, 

You rush forward, pressing your lips against his. It takes him by surprise and you’re certain he nearly stops breathing, hands flouncing against your hips. He presses his lips against you harder, and you reciprocate the action. He’s the first one to pull back, pupils blown wide and chest panting erratically.

“That’s why.” You’re panting too, hands balling into the fabric of John’s shirt. He looks confused for a fleeting second, but then a knowing look falls over his face. “Oh”

You swallow, a sense of dread beginning to build up your spine. Oh good, or oh bad?

John shatters this illusion though, voice coming out raspy. “I was wondering when you were going to do that” And then his hand finds your neck and he pulls you down into another kiss. 

“Too irresistible, huh? If I’d have known all it would take was to patch you up, I would’ve stabbed you myself” 

You snort out, rolling your eyes. 

“Shut up, Walker” 

all work is my own, i do not give permission for this to be reposted elsewhere without credit. you may not copy or claim as your own.

tag- @okbutiambabygorl

[russosimp]

Seduction (g!p Leah Williamson x g!p Alessia Russo x reader)

Summary: Alessia and Leah noticed that you've been staring at them, since you won't do anything about it, they take matters into their own hands. (Request) 18+

Warnings: smut, threesome, g!p Leah, g!p Alessia, praise kink (r), oral (L and A receiving), unprotected p in v, anal (r receiving), rough sex, filthy

Wordcount: 5.9k

You're standing at the bar, waiting for your drink, when they come up to you on either side.

You see Leah first because your head is tilted to that side. She has her signature, cocky grin in place as she approaches you. You're a bit transfixed on her so you get startled by the voice behind you.

"What are you doing here all alone?"

Alessia. You turn your head to look at her. She's grinning at you, too. Her smile is maybe a bit warmer than Leah's, but it carries the same self-confidence you always find so attractive in both of them.

Both of the women lean their sides on the bar, front turned into your direction completely. They both stand just a tiny bit too close for it to be only friendly. Your head is spinning in the best way. Their body heat and scents and their mere presence in your personal space is overwhelming you.

You feel yourself blushing under their gazes and know that they can see it, too. Even though it's pretty dark in the club you're all in.

Apparently, Leah's had enough of your head not functioning. She places her hand on the small of your back, which snaps you out of it. Your head turns to her instantly and you look at her with wide eyes.

"You haven't answered Alessia." She tells you with a raised eyebrow and a small, amused smile playing on her lips. Your eyes follow the arch of her eyebrow until you remember that you're now supposed to answer whatever question Alessia has asked you.

"Oh," you breathe out and turn to Alessia, "I forgot- I mean, could you repeat your question, please?"

"So polite." You hear Leah whisper, it seems to have been more to herself than for your ears though.

"I asked what you're doing here all alone? Why are you not celebrating and dancing with the others?" Alessia looks at you, her smile warm, but there's something else underneath it as well. You can't place it yet.

"Well- I'm just not the best dancer and didn't want to make a fool out of myself."

"Too bad. We would've liked to see you dance." Leah states and your head snaps in her direction again. That sounded borderline flirtatious, in front of her girlfriend?

But Alessia only hums in agreement, so apparently, it doesn't seem to bother her. With their close proximity you can't really analyze their behaviour, too occupied with breathing and just existing in-between them.

Leah holds your gaze, cocked eyebrow still in place. That's when Alessia pushes herself into your space even more, mouth directly next to your ear. "We've seen how you look at us."

Your eyes snap away from Leah's and you look downwards in shame. Yes, you had been staring at both of them for weeks now. How could you not? They're both so very hot, especially together, and they know it which makes them even more attractive in your mind.

"Don't hide those pretty eyes." It's Leah who chimes in again. Her hand comes to your chin and lightly guides you to look up and at her again.

"I'm sorry." You plainly state. "I didn't want to make you guys uncomfortable or anything."

Alessia chuckles and you can see Leah's amusement in her eyes as well. "Oh honey, no, you've interpreted this wrong. We're flattered."

"Why don't you sit down with us for a bit?" Alessia's hand comes to the small of your back now as if she's making herself ready to guide you through the crowd to wherever they want you.

Leah nods and indicates with her head to follow her.

The three of you make your way to the other side of the dancefloor where some booths are. Leah slides in on one side and Alessia's hand on your back guides you to sit down beside her. Surprising you, Alessia doesn't go and sit across from you but rather slides into the booth next to you as well.

Now you're actually sandwiched between your two teammates. If you thought they were invading your personal space before, you don't know what to call this. Their thighs are pressed into yours from both sides. Leah's upper body is angled a bit into your direction but Alessia has put her arm around your shoulders when she slid in next to you.

Leah places a hand on your thigh and you eye it warily, still unsure what to make of this situation.

"Like I said, we've seen you looking at us." Alessia opens the conversation.

"Staring, really." Leah butts in. She leans forward, her face inches from yours. Instead of coming up with something to say to defend yourself, you feel your breath hitch.

"We liked it."

You hadn't expected that. It makes sense, she just called it flattering and neither of them seemed particularly angry at any point, but you wouldn't have dared to dream.

"You- you did?" You whisper.

Leah's hand starts to slowly stroke your thigh now, while Alessia's hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck. She lightly scratches you and twirls her fingers in the baby hairs there.

"Of course we did, babe." Alessia says and you feel a shiver at the pet name. "Having someone so pretty and cute find us attractive is very flattering."

Attractive is one way to say that you think both of them are extremely hot, but you keep that to yourself.

Leah chimes in again, her hand still running over your thigh. "You do find us attractive, right?"

You nod vehemently. "Yeah-"

Her hand wanders more to the inside of your thigh now and you automatically spread your legs a bit, trying to give her more access. Your thighs now press into theirs even more.

"Well, would you look at that." Your breath hitches when her hand comes to a stop on the inside of your thigh, very high up. If she'd move just a bit higher, her pinky would brush your clothed pussy.

The thought alone sends a wave of arousal through you. You knew you were getting wet from the constant touches both of them are leaving all over your body, but this makes you sure that you're dripping through your panties.

"What Leah is getting at is that we'd like for you to come home with us." You whimper, the insinuation very clear.

"Yeah, you like that thought, don't you?" Leah teases you. You can only nod, not able to form any words right now. But that isn't enough.

"We need an actual answer please. We need to hear you say if you want to come home with us. We don't want to make you do something you don't want." Alessia explains, not unkind, but firmly.

You gulp and then take a sip of your completely abandoned beer in front of you. "I'd like to go home with the two of you. Please."

"Good girl." Alessia whispers. You whimper, now clenching your thighs together, trapping Leah's hand in process.

"Oh you like that? You like being our good girl and follow our commands?"

You whine and nod. You didn't know that that would turn you on so much but it did.

"Well, I ordered a taxi when we walked over here." Leah announces. "Let's get home then, yeah?"

The ride to their place goes by in a blur. They make you take the seat between them again, both with their hands on your thighs now, just softly rubbing all over them, making you squirm in your seat. They haven't touched you anywhere significant yet and still have you completely wet and turned on.

The longer the ride goes on, the more you can see the bulges forming in their pants. You want to run your hands over them but refrain, not knowing how they'd react.

You can't get out of the car fast enough when you finally pull up to their house. You really need your hands on them and their hands on you as soon as possible.

When you walk into their house, they stir you into the direction of their bedroom immediately. As soon as you enter the room, Leah is on you instantly. Her hands come to your shoulders and she backs you into Alessia's front. You stumble into Alessia who catches you with her arms and then Leah's lips are on yours, demanding and possessive. She plunges her tongue into your mouth and you just let it happen, tasting her desire. Her tongue demandingly strokes against yours as she explores your mouth.

Alessia's hands run up and down your arms but hold you in place at the same time. You're pinned between them, Leah pressing into your front and Alessia into your back. You still can't really believe that you've found yourself in the position you've dreamt about.

You can feel Alessia's tits against you and then she rocks her hips slightly into yours and you feel her bulge as well. It automatically makes you buck your ass into her in return which has her groaning into your ear. It sounds so needy and hot that it makes you whine into Leah's mouth even more than before.

Since you liked the sound Alessia made so much, you repeat your action and buck your ass against her bulge again. This time, you get rewarded with Alessia sucking the side of your neck from behind. You tilt your head a little to give her more space.

Leah pulls away, panting deeply against your lips.

You feel Alessia's hands tugging at the hem of your shirt and then Leah just tells you "Off." and you instantly know to lift your arms so that they can get your shirt off.

It's Alessia who pulls the shirt over your head. Her arms circle around you and she cups your tits from behind and softly kneads them through your bra. You whimper at the sensation.

Leah leans in again and you think that she'll claim your mouth once more, but instead she kisses Alessia over your shoulder.

You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of Alessia's hands on your tits and the kissing sounds coming from the two of them. You feel Leah's hands fumbling with the button of your jeans and help her with it. You can't really shimmy out of them though, being trapped between the two women.

Leah drops to her knees then and pulls your jeans and panties down in one motion. She helps you step out of your jeans while Alessia pulls your bra off you. Now you're naked in front of the two women, who are both very much clothed still. It makes you feel very shy all of a sudden but you don’t have much time to dwell on it.

"On your knees." You instantly drop to your knees in front of them at Leah's command. You look up at them, your hands in your lap, waiting for what's next.

They step closer to you, so close that you get a good view of the bulges in their pants right in front of your face now. You wet your lips in anticipation. You're so ready for their cocks in your mouth, the thought alone has you whimpering.

"Look at you, getting ready for us." Alessia praises, making you squeeze your thighs together.

While your attention was on Alessia, Leah had started to undress. You turn your head and are met with her cock in only her boxers. The outline is very clearly visible against the thin fabric and you can see how hard and big her cock is. Your eyes widen slightly. Alessia starts to undress as well, starting with her top and bra. Unlike Leah she doesn't keep her boxers on, pulling down her pants and boxers in one motion, much like Leah had done with yours.

She pulls them down slowly, knowing very well that your focus is on her cock completely, as is Leah's probably.

When she finally frees her cock from the confinement of her pants, it slaps up against her stomach. Now her cock is right in front of you in all its thick and viney glory. You want to reach out, but from what you've learned so far is that you should probably wait until they tell you to.

Your hands twitch a little in your lap but you keep them there. You tear your eyes off Alessia's cock and look up at her again and see that she eyes your hands with interest.

Then there appears a satisfied smirk on her face. "You learn fast, baby."

Alessia steps even closer to you and so does Leah. "Take off my boxers."

You carefully put your hands in the waistband of Leah's boxers, looking up at her. You pull the boxers down, freeing her cock as well. You're so close to Leah, that her cock almost slaps you in the face if you hadn't moved out of the way. She chuckles and steps out of the boxers, flicking them away with her foot. Leah's cock is hard and even longer than it looked with the boxers still on. It has a slight upside curve which you get excited about, you can only imagine how that'll feel inside of you.

Now both women are naked with their cocks out. You look up at them with wide eyes as they step just a tad bit closer to you, now right in front of you on either side of your face.

"Open up." Leah finally tells you, pushing her cock against your mouth.

You open your mouth obediently and stick your tongue out. She places her tip on it and you gently suck her into your mouth. Your hand comes up to her shaft, running over it. Not wanting to neglect Alessia, you blindly reach for her cock with your other hand, slowly starting to stroke her as well when you find it.

You flatten your tongue and run it over Leah's length, making her moan. Her moan spurs you on a bit, and you get more confident with your movements.

Alessia bucks her hips into your hand, so you let go of Leah's cock with a pop and take Alessia in your mouth now. You run your mouth over her cock sloppily, her pre-cum and your saliva mixing and wetting it.

"Fuck, so good, baby." You circle your tongue around her tip, really working her cock.

You continue to alternate between sucking and jerking both of them off, making them groan appreciatively. Their sounds shoot straight to your core without you being able to do anything about it. You feel yourself clenching around nothing, making you whine.

Before you can make either of them cum, Leah suddenly pushes you off her cock and pulls you up. She puts her arms around you, basically carrying you to their bed and puts you down.

She stands over you and pulls your legs up and spreads them in front of her. "You're dripping wet for us. Look at her, Less."

Alessia comes up next to Leah, eyeing up your cunt as well. The gazes of both women on your cunt make you squirm. You've probably never felt hotter but also more exposed than you do right in this moment.

You feel some of your arousal on your thighs and apparently, Leah sees it, too, as she runs her hands over the inside of your thighs.

"So, so wet and ready for my cock, aren't you baby?"

"Yes, yes! Leah, please, fuck me. I'm so ready." You feel yourself rambling a bit, but you're just so ready for any kind of stimulation. "I want to feel you both, please, use me, please."

"Well, when you beg so pretty, we can't deny you now, can we?" She chuckles and grabs her cock to align it with your cunt.

You hold your breath in anticipation when you feel her tip on your pussy. She drags the head of her cock through your folds, making you whine and buck your hips upwards. She chuckles again at your impatience but she doesn't make you wait any longer and pushes in, shoving her long cock deep inside of you.

You moan out in pleasure at the intrusion. Leah starts to push into you with a pretty slow but steady pace. The curve of her cock gives her a bit of a different angle, her cock going deeper and also hitting your g-spot more often than others have before.

"F-fuck, Leah, feels so good, so d-deeeep..."

You surrender yourself to the feeling of her fucking you, completely lost in her steady thrusts. Her rhythm slowly builds up the pressure in your core but she doesn't let you get there entirely yet.

"Faster Leah, fuck me faster, pl-please!"

Instead of speeding up like you wanted, Leah slips out of you, leaving you with an empty feeling and making you whine. You open your eyes and at first you only see Alessia, still looking down at you and just slowly stroking her cock.

You turn your head to see Leah who gets on the bed next to you, legs over the edge and leaning back on her elbows, her cock’s standing in the air, glistening with your arousal.

"Get on, but facing Less." She tells you and you of course oblige immediately.

You straddle her with your back to her. You put your hands on her thighs to stabilize yourself for the moment and then slowly sink down on her, welcoming the feeling of her filling you again. Leah sits up and puts her arms around you. Then she pulls you into her and holds you still. Now you can't really move which allows her to fuck into you again at her will. This different angle makes her hit new spots inside of you and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to orgasm again.

"Look at me, while Leah fucks you." You suddenly hear Alessia say in a demanding tone.

You whimper and open your eyes to see that she has stepped closer and is now at the foot of the bed, directly in front of you.

"Keep your eyes open, pretty girl, I wanna see you while you’re getting fucked by Leah.."

You moan at her tone and choice of words and make an effort to keep your eyes open, wanting to please her.

Alessia leans over and kisses you, open mouthed, with her tongue immediately pushing into your mouth. You just let it happen and groan into her mouth, feeling completely overwhelmed by the two women.

She pulls away and your eyes drop to her hand as she's increasing the speed on her cock. You can see her twitch and know that she's close to cumming. She points her cock towards your exposed cunt in front of her.

Then Alessia cums with a moan and empties herself onto your cunt. You feel her cum hitting your pussy and the insides of your thighs, some even landing on your stomach.

The feeling of Leah fucking you and Alessia cumming all over you is so hot that you moan along with Alessia as she cums and clench around Leah's cock. The pressure in your core tightens and you know that you're close to your own orgasm as well.

"Fuck, you like having Lessi's cum all over you, don't you baby?" Leah pants from behind you.

"Y-yeah!" Is all you get out before Leah increases her speed.

"You wanna come, too?" Alessia is slowly stroking herself with one hand still as she's watching the two of you. Her other hand now comes up to your cunt and she smears her own cum even more all over you. Then she uses her thumb to roughly rub your clit. The stimulation sends pleasure right into your core, making you moan loudly.

"Be a good girl and come for us." Alessia tells you and you want nothing more than to please the two women. You grind down against Leah's thrusts once and then fall apart between the two women completely, trembling as your powerful orgasm hits you all at once.

Your orgasm apparently makes Leah cum as well, you feel her fuck you through it and then she thrusts into you as deeply as possible, before stilling her movements burried in you as you feel her cum filling you up.

All three of you are panting heavily now and for a moment those are the only noises in the room as you all come down from your highs.

You feel Leah slowly slipping out of you and whine. She chuckles and lifts you to place you on the bed next to her. With her cock gone, some of her cum slowly starts to drip out of you and onto your thighs and the bed.

Leah lies down more in the middle of the bed, her cock still semi-errect. You wait for either of them to tell you what to do next.

"Clean her up, baby." Alessia tells you and you immediately crawl over to Leah, Alessia right behind you.

"On your knees."

You push yourself on your knees as your hand comes to Leah's shaft. You guide her semi-hard cock into your mouth, just running your tongue all over her shaft, licking off and tasting both her and your own release on her cock. You let go of her with a pop and then run your opened mouth over her cock, barely touching her, but just enough, before you start to give her tip more attention.

Behind you, the bed dips as Alessia comes up to you. You know that you're practically presenting her with your pussy with the position you're in. At the thought of presenting her with your cunt, you shuffle your legs a bit further apart in the hopes of spreading yourself open just a little bit more to show her what awaits her.

Alessia runs her hands over your ass and hips and you hear her groan at the feeling of your flesh in her hands.

Despite Leah just fucking you through an orgasm you feel empty and can't wait to finally feel Alessia's cock inside you as well, you wish she'd just fuck you already. You buck your hips back into her direction a bit.

Alessia chuckles and kneads your ass. "Are you ready for me?"

You whine around Leah's cock and spread your thighs some more. You feel Alessia's cock sitting on your pussy now, but she doesn't push in yet. Just like Leah had before, Alessia runs her cock over your slit, taking some of Leah's cum that's still dripping out of you to spread it all over your cunt and her own cock.

You hear her chuckle again, she's apparently having fun teasing you.

"So eager." You can practically hear the smirk in her voice.

To be able to talk, you pull yourself off Leah's cock. "Please, Less, fuck me, please."

"You want to be filled by my thick cock so badly, don't you, baby?" Alessia asks but doesn't wait for an answer. "Let’s see how you'll handle it."

With that, she lines herself up with your opening and shoves her entire cock deep inside your dripping wet cunt. You cry out around Leah's cock in your mouth, the feeling of being spread open by Alessia with one push is both very pleasurable and a little painful at the same time.

Her cock doesn't reach as deep as Leah's had, but her thickness stretches you deliciously, making you whimper and groan around Leah with each slow thrust.

You're glad Alessia is settling into a slower and steady pace for now, letting you get used to her. Her hands are on your hips, both her thumbs stroking you softly.

You bob your head up and down on Leah's cock and when you feel her slowly get hard again, you suck on her head, making her moan.

"Just like that baby, fuck, taking us so well." She runs her hand through your hair, almost tenderly.

When Leah is fully hard again, she pulls you off her cock. You look at her with wide eyes through your lashes, wondering if you've done something wrong. But she just pushes herself up on her knees in front of you, presenting you with her cock once more.

Leah pulls on your hair a bit and when you open your mouth to whimper, she pushes her cock back into your now waiting mouth. She pushes in deeply and roughly, hitting the back of your throat with her tip and making you choke around her cock. The tightening of your throat squeezes her cock and she moans deeply.

"Yes, baby, take me with that hot mouth of yours Feels so good!"

You feel Alessia quicken her thrusts into you now, her veiny cock runs along your walls, making you feel each thrust everywhere.

Leah tangles her hand in your hair and now has full control over your head as she practically locks the back of your head in place. Alessia's grip on your hips tightens at the same time, stopping you from moving them as well.

Now, you're locked in between the two blondes, Alessia fucking into you from behind with hard and rough thrusts and Leah fucking your mouth deeply with her long cock. Your whole body is shaking from both their thrusts without you having any form of control over any of your movements.

You revel in the feeling of being fucked so thoroughly on both ends, your body feels like it's on fire, pleasure and heat pulsing through you.

"You're taking us so well, pretty girl." Alessia praises from behind you. "So well, we could just fuck you like this forever, our perfect girl."

Her words hit you deep inside, going right to your core. You feel yourself clench around her cock. Alessia of course notices.

"You like that so much, don't you? Being all perfect for us, letting us use you like this?"

You moan at her words, sending vibrations through Leah's cock, making her moan loudly as well. Her grip in your hair tightens as she nears her orgasm. She thrusts into your mouth steadily, hitting the back of your throat repeatedly now.

Alessia's cock twitches inside of you and you know that she's close to her own orgasm as well. You clench your pussy and try to back your ass into her, trying to meet her thrusts and help make her cum.

Her thrusts turn more erratic and you eagerly await her orgasm. But you get surprised by Leah first. Her grip on the back of your head tightens even more and she keeps your head locked in place, pushing her cock as far into your mouth as possible. Her whole body seems to be pushing against you as she holds you so that she can empty herself into your mouth.

Her cum hits the back of your throat and you choke but don't and can't move off her. Instead, you swallow as much of her cum as you can, but you feel some of it spilling out of your mouth and dripping down your chin as well.

"Swallow, pretty girl, doing such a good job. Fuck, take all my cum!"

Apparently, those words are what does it for Alessia as well.

"Fuck, take both our loads, baby!" She moans and then you feel her hot seed hit your walls. You moan as you cum right with them, the coil inside of you exploding at the feeling of being filled with their cum from both ends, it feels all-consuming and overwhelming in the best way. You feel surrounded by them and that has you reeling.

When you slowly come down from your orgasm, you feel your whole body getting tired and just want to collapse onto the bed, needing to take a breath.

Leah's grip on your head is loosening and her cock slips out of your mouth. You just let yourself fall forward, face first, without her holding you up anymore, Alessia's cock slipping out of you in the process, making both of you groan.

Leah scoots down next to you, her hand now coming to your back, softly caressing you. Alessia lies down on your other side, where your face is turned to. Her face comes close to yours and you can see the sparkle in her eyes.

"Well done, baby."

You whimper appreciatively at her words which makes both of them chuckle.

Alessia joins Leah's hand on your back and they both just let them wander all over you with soft movements while you catch your breath. The room is completely silent for a while all three of you just existing together.

You free your hand from underneath yourself and put it on Alessia's stomach, drawing very slow circles there.

Alessia's hand comes to your face and she pulls you towards herself, kissing you deeply. It's a slow but passionate kiss, both of you putting everything into it. Alessia groans and you know she's enjoying the taste of Leah still clinging to your tongue.

You feel Leah's lips on your back, lazily trailing kisses from your spine all the way up to your neck. She bites down teasingly, making you moan into Alessia's mouth.

Leah is now draped halfway over you from behind, sandwiching you once again between herself and Alessia. She kisses along your jaw and then reaches over you to redirect Alessia's mouth to her own.

Their kisses turn sloppy rather quickly, all teeth and tongues. They're making out literally right in front of your face and you feel it affecting you deep inside once more. You didn't think you still had any energy left in you, but seeing and hearing them make out like that had apparently spurred you on enough.

You move a little between them, not knowing what you want to accomplish with that but feeling the need to do something. Then you let your hand wander and bump into something. You feel around a bit more and discover that Alessia is already hard once again.

That makes you squirm even more, turned on by the mere thought of either one of them inside of you again. Now you can feel Leah twitching against your back as well, deepening the feeling of want inside of you.

You move your hips a bit against Alessia's thigh, searching for friction against your aching cunt but just her leg won't suffice. You whine, growing more desperate by the second.

Leah and Alessia pull away from each other, probably disturbed by your movements. Alessia grins cheekily down at you.

"You haven't had enough of us yet baby?"

You whine and shake your head, flushing at the look on her face.

"Do you think you can take both of us at the same time, pretty girl?" You can feel Leah's breath against your ear as she talks.

Your eyes widen at the implication of Leah's words, the thought sends a shiver down your back and you whimper, feeling yourself growing wetter at the thought of both of them fucking you at the same time.

"Can't take Alessia in my ass though, too thick." You mumble.

Alessia laughs and caresses your face with her hand.

"As you wish, baby."

Leah disappears from behind you and Alessia pulls you completely on top of herself. She kisses you again, much more demanding than just minutes before, pushing her tongue in and exploring your mouth with ferocity. Her hands are all over your body and you completely give yourself to the feeling of her all over you once more.

You reach down and in-between the two of you to line up her cock with your pussy. You push back once and slowly sink down on her, making her pull away from your mouth for a long moan.

"You feel so good baby," Alessia says against your ear "I can feel all our cum inside of you, so hot."

You slowly move on top of Alessia, just wanting to feel her inside of you and getting ready for Leah.

Alessia pulls you down against her once more, and you look over your shoulder to see what Leah is doing. You can see that she got lube from somewhere that she's now generously spreading over her cock. She's pumping it with long strokes, getting herself ready.

"Relax baby." Alessia says and lets her hands roam over your back again. "It'll be much easier if you're relaxed."

You let yourself fall completely into Alessia, lying on top of her, not moving, not exerting any muscles. Her hands caress your ass and she coos in your ear. "Such a good girl for us, you've been doing so well, our good girl."

Leah works some lube into your ass with her hands. She slowly pushes her thumb inside of you, stretching your hole and preparing you for her cock. Then the tip of her cock presses against your hole, obviously much wider than her thumb had been. You spread your legs and effectively spread yourself open a bit more when you feel her slowly working her cock inside your ass.

She slowly sinks into you deeper and deeper, giving you time to adjust to the new feeling. You whimper with each centimeter she sinks deeper into you.

Feeling both cocks inside of you is an entirely new form of fullness for you. You've never felt this filled and you let the pleasure of it wash over you, everything just feels more now.

"So damn tight." Leah grits her teeth while talking. "Feels so good, baby."

"Are you alright?" Alessia asks you.

You only moan loudly at her question, nodding your head against her. "So- full." You pant heavily, starting to move against them slowly.

"Aww, are you a bit overwhelmed, pretty girl? Why don't you let us do the work, hmm?"

With that, Alessia and Leah both begin to move. They work with a counter-rhythm, one pushing in while the other pulls out. This rhythm ensures that you're never left empty, one of them always fully inside of you.

They move inside of you and you can only moan uncontrollably, completely losing track of anything but the feeling of being filled at all times and their bodies against you.

You are so overwhelmed with them all over and around you that you feel your orgasm approaching only when it's almost there. The coil in your core feels so tight all of a sudden that you know it's going to snap any second now.

"I'm gonna c-cum." You barely get the words out when the third orgasm of the night overtakes you very quickly. You shake between the two women, completely lost in the feeling of your orgasm and the pleasure all over your body. Both of your holes clench around their cocks, sending the other two women over the edge as well.

Both Leah and Alessia groan at the same time as their orgasms hit them simultaneously. You didn't think you could feel any fuller than you had just seconds before but with both of them pumping their seed inside of you, you feel even fuller than before.

You moan and shake at the feeling of both of them cumming deep inside of you at the same time, feeling entirely spent now. Leah's cum inside of your ass is an entirely new feeling to you and Alessia's cum is filling your cunt even more than it already was, effectively filling you to the brink.

Leah collapses into you and you both rest your full weights on top of Alessia who welcomes you with a huff. You feel both of their cocks soften inside of you, before you fall asleep, entirely exhausted from taking both of them into all your holes.

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | twelve

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, angst, college au, smau/irl, mentions of medical procedures, surgery, hospitals, medicine, jealousy, breastfeeding mentioned once.

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 1.9k

authors note: it took me longer than I wanted but my health wasn't cooperating. This wasn't supposed to be a flashback but if I had added this to last chapter it would've been too long. We will be back to the present time line next part, I just needed to get this out of the way. ENJOY 🙂‍↕️

11 | 12 | 13

Sophomore year - Spring Break 2023

“Look, it’s not packed, I told you,” you said to Kelce.  

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to come to the beach, but you and Angie did, and he was tagging along because it was his only day with nothing planned.  

“You know you are crashing, right?” you teased him.  

“Excuse me for wanting to spend time with my best friend.” Kelce rolled his eyes again as you laid out something for the three of you to sit on.  

“I am spending time with my best friend,” you said with a little smirk, referring to Angie and not him.  

“Just say you hate me,” he said, putting a hand over his chest and pretending to be hurt. Meanwhile, Angie was just chuckling and setting down some of the items she had brought for the picnic at the beach.  

After the three of you were settled, you took some pictures as you always did and started talking. The conversation began with Angie telling you about Ethan and what had happened with him in more detail, and that he had tried to explain why he did what he did, but only made things worse. Kelce gave his opinions when asked; he knew better than to interrupt the two of you during your catch-up session. The conversation shifted to Kelce and Nikki, the girl he was seeing. She was nice, and you didn’t have much to tell him about her, just that sometimes she was a bit too jealous, but he knew that and liked it.

After eating and having a lighthearted chat, Kelce decided to probe a bit about the Jordan and Rafe topic. He wasn’t asking to get something out of it, but after the party and the date a month ago, he had been wanting to ask some things, though he had held back, not wanting to piss you off. You had reacted a bit badly to his lack of enthusiasm when you told him about the date, so he had refrained from asking why you had suddenly decided to give all your energy and attention to Jordan when you had been feeling unsure about him.  

“So, how are things with Jordan? Any plans for this week?”  

“No, we have been talking here and there. He wants to go out again, but our schedules keep clashing.”  

“It’s spring break; shouldn’t he be free?” Kelce tried to sound supportive, but he didn’t like Jordan; there was something that didn’t sit right with him. The only person he had admitted this to was Rafe because he knew he also didn’t like him, though Rafe’s reasons were completely different. Kelce just didn’t like the guy, while Rafe didn’t like Jordan because you liked Jordan. Jealousy.  

“He has plans with his family,” you said, taking a sip of your Coke. 

“Okay, yeah, I get it…” he paused. “But besides that, everything is good, right?”  

“Yes, after the date, he has been even sweeter, mentioning things I told him, and he always brings up the date. I’m taking it as a good sign.” You said, and Angie nodded as if to reassure you.  

“No regrets on going on the date then?” Kelce stated rather than questioned.  

“No regrets at all,” you said with a smile. “Why? You thought I was regretting it?”  

“No, no, just making sure you feel okay with him.”  

“I do, thanks for asking.”  

“So Rafe?” he said, not knowing how else to bring it up. You knitted your eyebrows.  

“Rafe? What about Rafe?”  

“You don’t like him anymore?”  

“What?” You asked, even more confused; he had caught you off guard. You hadn’t told him you had a crush on him. Angie had been the only one who knew about what you called a silly crush.  

“Or did I get it wrong?” Kelce asked, trying to read your reaction. You sighed, giving up.  

“No… I did have a little crush on him for a while, but it’s over now.” He smirked at your answer.  

“When?”  

“When what?”  

“When did you get over him? Was it before or after you saw him kissing Sofia?” He was testing you, and you hated it.  

“Who is Sofia?” Angie asked, a bit confused.  

“High school friend of Kelce,” you explained to her. “And that kiss is not relevant.” It was; you knew it had been relevant. It had been the whole reason you decided to move on.  

“If you say so.”  

“Kelce, I don’t like him anymore, okay?”  

“Thought it was a silly crush,” Angie added, grinning.  

“Angie!” you huffed and rolled your eyes.

—

This time, the family spring break trip had also been a family reunion; older cousins and other relatives had tagged along. There were more kids around this time, and Emily was over the moon to have cousins her age and even nieces and nephews who were her age or close to it to play with. Rafe mingled and talked to everyone, but at the end of the day, he always returned to what he felt comfortable with: Sarah. They were that pair of cousins who did almost everything together since childhood, and people mistook them for siblings. His mom and Sarah’s mom had been best friends since college, and by luck or destiny, they had married brothers, which led them to share a last name. Later on, it resulted in Sarah having her aunt’s name as her middle name.

So, as with any other dinner, Sarah and Rafe were sitting next to each other, ready to comment on whatever would happen during the meal or had happened earlier. 

“Who do you think will end up drinking more tonight?” Sarah asked. 

“Grandpa, maybe; it’s always him. Watch him make toasts for nothing to excuse his drinking,” Rafe said, chuckling under his breath. 

“I think it's gonna be Liliana. She officially stopped breastfeeding, and she said she wasn't looking after the baby today.” She chuckled, and Rafe rolled his eyes. 

“I know; she almost threw Theo at me today.” 

The dinner went on normally, just as they had expected. At one point, it was just the grown-ups at the table, but they were not interested in that talk, and Sarah had wanted to ask Rafe something for a while but hadn’t had the chance to do so. 

“So… how are you feeling now about the Y/N situation?” she asked, a bit scared of how he was going to react. 

“What situation?” 

“Your feelings for her.” 

“I’m okay; she’s with Jordan, so I don’t care anymore.” He said it was nothing, but Sarah knew better. This time, she didn’t want to push him to say more, or he would shut her off entirely, and that was not her intention. 

“So that’s it?” she asked, a bit concerned. Rafe sighed.

“Yeah, that’s it…” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“No, she’s just a friend, I guess. I don’t know; we never got to talk or hang out one-on-one, so I guess she’s just part of the friend group but not my friend.” Sarah noticed the resignation in his voice, and it made her feel bad. She knew Jordan a bit, and she didn’t feel like he was a bad guy. Of course, between Jordan and Rafe, she would choose Rafe for you, but you were happy with Jordan. 

“I’m sorry…” 

“Look, she’s with him, and I just don’t care anymore. It’s her life; she can do whatever she wants, and that’s it.”

Coming out of the anesthesia was hell. You didn’t remember anything you had done. You thought you had just passed out, but according to the nurses, you talked a lot. You even fought with one of them. You apologized, and she said she was used to it; she knew patients didn’t mean it. 

As your mom had gone out of your room to check on you and see if the insurance was covering this, a nurse helped you shower and get ready to go home. Even though you knew it didn’t matter how you looked, you styled your hair and did your makeup because you wanted to look presentable. 

“Is your boyfriend waiting for you at home?” the nurse asked in a gentle tone, just trying to make conversation. 

“Oh no, no, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you chuckled softly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry for asking. I just assumed from the way you were talking about this guy when you were coming out of the anesthesia.” 

“Oh, did I say his name?” you asked, curious about what you had said. 

“No, honey, I’m sorry, but you were saying how nice and thoughtful he was at your birthday. I don’t interrupt when patients are like that; I just let them talk,” she said gently, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Rafe. 

“Probably just one of my friends,” you lied. You didn’t have to lie to the nurse who didn’t know about your life, but you did. 

“Well then, you have amazing friends,” she said.

—

When you got back home, you stayed in the living room, not wanting to walk up the stairs. Jordan had called you, asking if he could drop by to see how you were doing, and you had agreed. When he arrived, you two talked, and he met your mom briefly. You were listening to music and just hanging out when the doorbell rang.

“Don’t even try to stand up,” he said in a warning but caring tone. He wanted to go answer the door, but your mom went first. You heard a soft, “Thanks,” before she closed the door.

“What was it?” you asked loud enough for your mom to hear.

“Sarah sent you a get-well-soon basket.” She placed the basket next to you so you could see what was inside. 

“This is too cute; I need to text her.” Jordan smiled at your reaction to the gift from Sarah. “Oh, look at the card! It has a band-aid,” you chuckled softly as you looked at the front of the card. It was a band-aid with googly eyes, stick hands, and legs, and it read, “Get well soon.”

After texting Sarah, you grabbed the card and checked what she had told you. It was signed just as she said it would be: Sarah and Rafe. You felt something tug at your heart as you read the handwritten note, but you had to ignore it.  

“Jordan, can you change the song, please?” He nodded and went to grab your phone to change the song.  

“Of course.” He didn’t mean to see the texts waiting there for you to read, but he did. Rafe Cameron. He knew Rafe as one of Topper's friends. You had mentioned him a couple of times when you two had started talking, but it never made him worry.  

Jordan didn’t think of himself as a jealous guy, but when he read what Rafe had bought you, it made him want to hit the guy. Why was he buying you things? Wasn’t this supposed to be just from Sarah?  

“Can I see the card?” he asked. You nodded and passed it to him. When he opened it, he suppressed a huff. He had seen your reaction to the card, and now that he knew Rafe was in it, something just didn’t sit right with him. He was sure his eye was going to start twitching if he didn’t calm down.  

Jordan tried to ignore the feeling for the rest of the time he was there. He canceled a plan he had just made to stay there in a way to compensate for not buying you anything like Sarah and Rafe had done. He didn’t tell you how he felt; you needed to focus on your recovery, and he had to focus on not feeling jealous of Rafe.

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INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[ourrechte-blog]

Just for maximum misunderstanding, an extra kid and "babymama"

Bruce soon found himself standing on the roof of an apartment building just across the street from Manny's grocer, the height of the apartment putting him basically at eye level with the construct. He had to admit, it did look like a Green Lantern construct. Below the construct was a glowing figure floating just above the roof, wearing what appeared to be a black suit with white accents and white hair. In his arms, he carried a red-haired female who held two blanket-wrapped bundles against her chest. Bruce didn't know any Green Lanterns with white hair, but he supposed that didn't mean much. He landed on the grocer's roof, barely making a sound.

He turned and locked eyes with him.

They relaxed when they spotted Batman, relieved smiles spreading across their faces. The male had glowing green eyes and a young face, around seventeen if Bruce had to guess. The female in his arms looked slightly older, maybe nineteen, and held what appeared to be newborns.

Above them the construct dimmed and faded out of existence.

"Detective," the male teen said quietly.

Bruce tensed, very few people ever called him that. "And you are?"

"Oh! I'm uh..." The teen suddenly looked sheepish, but he drifted closer. "Hello Father," he said in the LoA's dialect. "I'm sorry to be meeting you like this, but I didn't know who else to go to."

The female in his arms leaned forward as much as she could while being carried. "We need your help," she said, carefully holding out one of the bundles. "This is Blues - short for Bluesette." Bruce took the baby.

A tiny baby with red hair, a few weeks old at best.

"And this is Ellie," the female continued, holding out the second infant, who had black hair. Bruce stepped forward and took the second baby, careful to support both their heads as his mind swam with everything these complete strangers had just dumped on him.

"They're twins," the male said gently, smiling down at the babies in Bruce's arms. "Be good for your baba, alright? He'll keep you safe until we get back."

"I'm trusting you with them," the teen said seriously, eyes locked with Bruce's.

"Wait," Bruce called.

"Now if you'll excuse us," the male said, adjusting his grip on the female, "we have a creepy college professor to beat up."

The pair were already flying up and away, vanishing from sight long before they should have.

"Damnit," Bruce murmured to himself, now holding two newborns who were beginning to stir and fuss.

"I'm almost there," Tim reported.

"I've got the batmobile en route on auto," Oracle added. "Hopefully the emergency car seats you keep in its storage will be enough." Even through the modulation, Bruce could hear the teasing in her voice. "Though you might want to pick up some formula on the way home."

Originally, Bluesette was a clone of Jazz made by creepy college professor named Jack Karl (Jackal) and stabilized with Danny's DNA, but you can have pseudo incest if you want. I left it open ended on how Blues was made

DCxDP Prompt: Green Light Special

Batman's comm gave a single faint tone, the warning to let him know someone had just switched to his channel. "Batman," Oracle's modulated voice came over the line, "sighting of a giant, glowing, green, translucent bat symbol over Manny's Grocer, on the east end."

"A glowing, green bat symbol?"

"I don't have any eyes on it, but from the description it sounds like a Green Lantern is trying to get your attention."

Bruce hummed his agreement, though he can't figure out why. All of Earth's Green lanterns could easily contact him through the Justice League comms, and no other Green Lanterns should need Batman specifically. "I'm on my way."

"Red Robin is closest, I'm putting him on stand by."

Bruce grunted, the situation was strange enough to warrant keeping back up nearby in case this turned out to be a trap.

Bruce soon found himself standing on the roof of an apartment building just across the street from Manny's grocer, the height of the apartment putting him basically at eye level with the construct. He had to admit, it did look like a Green Lantern construct. Below the construct was a glowing figure floating just above the roof, wearing what appeared to be a black suit with a few white accents and hair. Bruce didn't know any Green Lanterns with white hair, but he supposed that didn't mean much. He landed on the grocer's roof, barely making a sound.

The figure turned and locked eyes with him.

The figure relaxed when they spotted Batman, a relieved smile spreading across their face as they turned the rest of the way around. They had glowing green eyes and a young face, around Damian's age if Bruce had to guess. Cradled in one arm was a blanket wrapped bundle, the other gave a quick wave before their hand fell to brush the dark head of a small child clinging to their leg. He hadn't noticed the child until just then; partly because the child was so very small, they looked barely old enough to walk, and partly because unlike teen they weren't glowing.

Above them the construct dimmed and faded out of existence.

"Detective," the teen said quietly.

Bruce tensed, very few people ever called him that. "And you are?"

"Oh! I'm uh…" The teen suddenly looked sheepish, but he drifted closer. "Hello Father," he said in the LoA's dialect. "I'm sorry to be meeting you like this, but I didn't know who else to go to." He brought his hand up to steady the bundle as he carefully held it out to Bruce.

A baby.

A tiny baby, a few weeks old at best.

"I need your help," the teen said a little desperately, switching back to English.

Bruce stepped forward and took the baby, careful to support their head as his own swam with everything this complete stranger had just dumped on him.

While Bruce settled the soundly sleeping baby into his hold the teen leaned down and picked up the toddler, then held them out to Bruce too. Running on pure instinct he wrapped an arm around the toddler.

"Dani, this is your baba," the teen said gently as he smiled down at the child. "Be good for your baba, alright Starlight? He'll keep you safe until I get back."

The toddler whined as tears started running down their face, they leaned towards the teen with outstretched arms. "Daddy!"

Bruce struggled to keep the squirming toddler from falling, he shifted and tried to pull the small child closer to his center of mass.

"I'm trusting you with them," the teen said seriously, eyes locked with Bruce's.

"Wait," Bruce called.

The teen was already flying up and away, vanishing from sight long before he should have.

"Damnit," Bruce murmured to himself.

The small child in his arms (Danny?) started crying louder, screaming their upset to the heavens. Bruce hefted the toddler a little higher on his hip and pressed them to his chest, rubbing their back as best he could while holding them one handed.

"I'm almost there," Tim reported.

"I've got the batmobile en route on auto," Oracle added. "Hopefully the emergency car seats you keep in its storage will be enough." Even through the modulation, Bruce could hear the teasing in her voice.

[orellazalonia]

Heyy! Your Bucky hurt/comfort is so well written I loveeee

Could I request Bucky with an established relationship with Reader where she has a panic attack and he holds her because he knows that pressure helps her?

Very specific ik lol, but thought I’d ask!

Have a lovely week❤️

Hello, dear! Thank you for the kind words! Don’t worry at all, the more specific, the easier it is to write. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy. Happy reading!!!

Hold Me Still

Summary: You spend the day convincing yourself you're fine, pushing through crowded spaces and overstimulation until the quiet of home cracks you open. A panic attack hits hard and fast, but Bucky comes home just in time, grounding you with his steady presence and firm, familiar embrace. 

Disclaimer: Depiction of a panic attack. Some angst. Hurt/Comfort.

Word Count: 1.7k+

Main Masterlist

You told yourself you were fine.

You had gotten out of bed. That had to count for something. The sheets had felt a little too heavy that morning, but you pushed them back anyway and forced your feet onto the floor.

The mirror didn’t lie either, you looked tired. But you still managed to get dressed, brush your hair, and even offer a smile to Bucky when he left early for a mission check-in with Steve. You promised to see him tonight. You even meant it.

That morning, the sun was out and the city was loud. It was just another day.

You checked your to-do list over coffee and convinced yourself that staying busy meant staying okay. First, groceries. Then a check-in at HQ with Sam and Nat, followed by a late lunch with an old friend who wouldn’t stop texting. You nodded through conversations, forced laughter at the right beats, added a “mhmm” every few seconds just to pass as normal. The sound of someone slamming a car door too hard made your shoulders jump, but you covered it quickly. Smiled again and told yourself no one noticed.

By the time lunch ended, your heart was fluttering just under your ribs in a way that didn’t feel right. But you blamed the coffee, too much caffeine. Not enough water. Not enough sleep. And still, you didn’t say anything. Not to your friend, not to yourself. You simply kept moving.

The elevator at the compound felt a little too small. The fluorescent lights felt a little too bright. The city’s noise felt a little too sharp. But you kept going. You had one more errand, just one. A trip to the store to grab something Bucky liked, something simple. It was supposed to be a surprise for him and a way to prove to yourself that you were still present, grounded, and good.

You stood in the aisle staring at a row of things you couldn’t name for too long. A kid dropped something nearby and it shattered causing you to flinch. With the loud speakers above, squeaky carts, and the crowded aisles, that was all it took. You ended up leaving without buying anything.

Your skin felt too tight by the time you got home.

The door clicked shut behind you, the sound far too loud for such a quiet space. You didn’t turn on the light, didn’t take off your shoes. You dropped your bag beside the door like it suddenly weighed more than your shoulders could hold.

You kept your coat on as you wandered into the hallway without really thinking, like your body was on autopilot. Like some part of you was trying to find a corner, a wall, something solid.

You told yourself you were fine, but your chest was starting to ache. The pressure behind your eyes and in your throat was building quietly and steadily. Your hands were clammy. Your thoughts had started looping, spiraling into themselves like a whirlpool with no center.

So, you sat down on the floor and pulled your knees to your chest. Just to catch your breath. Just for a second. Just until you felt okay again or until it stopped.

The longer you sat there though, the worse you felt. You don’t know when the shift happens.

Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the way your thoughts keep circling, tangled like wires you can’t unknot. Maybe it’s how your heartbeat starts thudding faster and faster, not from fear, but from nothing. From everything. From too much.

Your fingers start to twitch. Your legs pull in tighter. Your head is down, but the pressure in your chest keeps climbing like something’s pressing on you from the inside. Breathing becomes a challenge, work. Not a rhythm, more like a stutter. In, half-out, not enough.

You grab at the sleeves of your coat, gripping them and twisting the fabric in your fists. You want something to hold you down, to press you flat until the chaos stops rattling inside you. But there’s nothing. Your vision blurs a little. You’re not crying, but your eyes burn. Your skin feels too thin, too sharp. Every second stretches into something unbearable.

You bite down hard on your lip. You don’t know if it’s to stop the sob crawling up your throat or to keep from screaming. The walls feel like they’re moving. Like they’re watching you.

You want it to stop.

And then you hear it.

The soft sound of the front door opening. A key turning then shoes stepping in. A jacket is shrugged off and dropped by the entry. The sounds are quiet yet familiar. Safe.

You still can’t move. Still frozen with your fists clenched in fabric and shoulders shaking as your breath rasps in panicked little gasps. You don’t call his name. You couldn’t if you tried.

But he knows.

“Sweetheart?”

His voice is gentle and low, somewhere between cautious and worried. Then his footsteps quicken. He rounds the corner and stops when he sees you. No questions. No startled gasp. Just a flash of concern in those blue eyes as he moves straight to you.

“Hey. I got you,” He murmurs as he kneels down in front of you.

Your eyes are wide, body trembling as your chest fluttering so fast it hurts. You hate being seen like this; tangled and messy and too much, but he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t say “You’re okay,” like you’re not unraveling in front of him.

“I’m gonna hold you, okay?” He says quietly, voice like a tether in a storm. “Just like before.”

You nod barely but it’s enough. And then his arms are around you.

Strong. Solid. Steady. He pulls you into his lap with a strength that never feels rough, never feels forced. Just certain and sure. His metal arm wraps behind your back, the other around your legs, drawing you in until you’re curled completely against his chest.

The moment you feel that pressure. Real, heavy, and grounding, your body collapses into it. Not limp. Just… released. Like your body has finally found somewhere safe to land.

His chin rests on your head, voice low as his breath brushes your hair.

“You’re safe. I’m here. Breathe with me, baby. Just match me, yeah?”

You try. God, you try.

Your breath shudders, breaks and catches. But he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t even shift. Just rocks you gently, his hand running slow, calming circles over your back.

You focus on his heartbeat. The feel of his chest moving. The way his grip tightens slightly each time your breath hitches, like he’s holding the fear in place so it won’t swallow you whole.

“Right here,” He whispers again. “Just keep breathing. You’re not alone.”

Minutes pass. Maybe more.

And slowly, the pressure eases. Your chest loosens just enough to let air in without gasping. The shake in your hands dulls. The edges of panic pull back like a tide, leaving you wrung out and quiet in his arms.

You don’t say anything yet. You don’t have to. He just keeps holding you, like he’ll stay right there until the storm is long gone. And he will. He always does.

Your breathing has evened out mostly. Not deep yet. Not calm. But steady enough.

You shift slightly, your hand fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt. Not particularly needing anything, just… holding. Grounding.

Bucky looks down at you, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. His fingers trail along your temple, slow and reassuring. There’s no pressure to speak, no push for you to explain. He knows the words come later, if they come at all. He’s learned not to ask for them when the ache is still fresh.

Instead, he asks softly, “Better?” Not as a demand, just a check-in.

You nod.

It’s small, barely a movement. But he catches it, and his thumb brushes over your cheek once, a quiet kind of praise. Like “I’m proud of you.” Like “You made it back.”

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, voice raw.

He doesn’t let you finish.

“Don’t,” He says, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No sorries, remember?”

You want to argue. Tell him how heavy you must feel to hold. How exhausting you must be to carry. How hard it is to exist like this some days, quietly broken in ways that only show up when no one’s watching.

But Bucky knows. He feels the tension creep back in your shoulders before the words leave your mouth, and he answers them anyway.

“You don’t need to be fine all the time,” He murmurs. “Not with me.”

The words make something in you sting, ache, and heal all at the same time.

You exhale, a shudder of air that’s more surrender than breath. You nestle closer, pressing closer into the warmth of his shirt.

“I didn’t mean to–” You try again, but he hushes you gently.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” He says. “You panicked, but that’s not a failure, that’s a response. You made it through.”

You swallow hard, eyes closing as the warmth of his hold finally starts to chase away the leftover chill beneath your skin.

Bucky adjusts his position just slightly, leaning his back against the wall now, still cradling you. His voice drops, like he’s talking to a scared version of you he met long before today. The version he promised wordlessly and fiercely to take care of.

“You never have to carry this alone. Not when I’m here.”

The weight of those words sinks into you, deeper than the fear ever did. You don’t say anything, but you think he feels your grip tighten on his shirt. Just a little.

Eventually, your body begins to let go though even if it’s not all at once, relaxing muscle by muscle. The adrenaline crash comes soft and quiet, and Bucky stays perfectly still as you start to drift in his arms.

He watches you as your eyelids flutter, as your body finally finds rest. Too tired to be anything but still. And before you fall asleep completely, you hear him say it soft and steady, like a vow.

“I’ve got you. Always.”

And you believe him. Because he always has.

[demie90s]

CONTROL YOURSELF

Diana Taurasi x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Diana Taurasi isn’t just a legend—she’s your undoing. When Diana walks into the room, you unravel. She turns you quiet.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 2.5k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Emotional tension, slow burn, sensual power imbalance, psychological unraveling

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Sensual tension, emotional restraint, dominant energy, physical reactions (shaky hands, clenching, breathlessness), soft obsession

Oh, she makes it hard to keep it together. Not just a little hard. I mean shaky hands, deep breath, thighs clenched like I’m trying to hold the ocean in type hard.

Diana Taurasi walks into the room and suddenly I’m not me anymore. Not the talkative, bold, always-got-something-smart-to-say version everyone else gets. No. Around her, I’m soft-spoken. Careful. Shy in a way I didn’t even know I had the capacity to be.

She’s got this presence, man. This thing. It’s not just the way she looks—though God knows that’s enough. That tall, fine, smooth-walkin’, no-fucks-given look she wears like custom armor. No, it’s deeper. It’s the energy. The way the air shifts when she steps in. The way her eyes find yours and stay there.

She doesn’t glance. She locks in. And when it’s me she’s locking onto. I forget what day it is. What planet we’re on. If my heart is still supposed to be inside my body or beating out of my damn mouth.

It’s humiliating, how fast she strips me of everything I thought I knew about myself. Usually, I talk too much. Run my mouth ‘til people laugh or blush or roll their eyes. I’ve got charm, okay? I know how to work a room.

But Diana. She is the room.

When she walks in, my voice packs up and evacuates. My usual wit starts buffering. It’s embarrassing. One time she brushed past me to grab her water bottle and I froze so hard I almost dropped mine. Literally had to talk myself into walking away like a normal person.

She doesn’t even know. She has no idea what she’s doing to me. None.

She’ll ask me simple shit—where’s the file, did you see that article, how many points did I drop in that game—and I can answer. But I never just answer. I overthink. I look everywhere but at her. I speak slower, like my mouth is trying to figure out if it’s safe.

And if she steps closer. Oh, I’m done. Done. Like today.

She was trying to find something—an email or link or video or something she’d asked for. I had it. I always have it. I’m quick like that.

But instead of just showing her like a normal person, I tried to explain it. Roundabout, convoluted, damn near cryptic—because if I leaned in, if I touched her phone, if I got too close, I’d forget how to breathe. Again.

She finally groaned, impatient. “Oh my g—Just show me.”

My heart damn near stopped. My fingers twitched. My lips parted. But nothing came out. I just stood there.

She looked at me, exasperated and gorgeous. “You good?”

“…Yeah.”

Lie number thirty-four of the week. I am not good.

I am wet for absolutely no reason. Unnecessarily. Irrationally. Just standing there, fully clothed and dying. From what? Her voice? Her vibe? Her scent?

Yes. Yes I am bitch.

I don’t know how someone makes their presence sexy. But she does. Diana stands like she owns whatever’s beneath her feet. She speaks like she already knows what you’re thinking. She listens like she’s taking notes for later—like maybe she plans to undress your thoughts before your body.

I’m not saying she’s trying to ruin me. I’m saying if she did? I wouldn’t stop her.

I know I’m lucky my skin is dark because if I was lighter, she’d see it. All of it. The heat. The red. The God-help-me-she’s-talking-to-me glow. I play it cool, sit quiet, sip my water, blink slow—but inside I’m burning up. I’m clenching air. I’m whispering prayers to a God I don’t talk to unless it’s about her.

She doesn’t know what she does to me. But she will. One day I’m gonna crack. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.

But one day, Diana’s gonna say just show me again—and I’m gonna grab her hand, pull her somewhere private, and say:

“You asked.” And then I’ll let her see just how bad I’ve been holding it together.

It starts with eye contact. That’s it. That’s all. She looked at me. And I blinked for thirty whole seconds like my brain just hit the kill switch.

Diana fucking Taurasi. Six feet of God-did-something-dangerous, with a stare like a trigger and a mouth that moves like every word is an invitation. I was just trying to exist, just sitting there—probably on my phone, probably scrolling nothing—and then she looked at me. Not glanced. Looked. Made eye contact.

I folded internally. Like it was a damn natural disaster.

Horny. By accident. Like it wasn’t even a choice. A force of nature, plain and simple. Like catching a fever when the wind blows or crying in church for no reason. Just boom—there it was. Warm in my gut, hot in my thighs, my pulse skipping like it’s tryna warn me. I had to get up and walk. Couldn’t even fake it. Couldn’t stay seated and pretend I wasn’t suddenly soaked through my underwear from a look.

And here’s the kicker.

She saw me go.

I didn’t think she did. I was smooth, or so I thought. Kept my face still. Walked off like I needed air or a charger or whatever. Didn’t speak. Just dipped. But she noticed. And now she’s following me.

I feel her before I see her. That voice low and calm behind me. “You good?”

My hand hits the wall first. I’m in the hallway now, nowhere special. Just leaned against it like I’m catching my breath—which I am. But I don’t look at her. I can’t.

I just nod once.

“Mhm.”

She steps closer.

I swear… if she touches me, it’s over. If her hand so much as grazes my wrist, I’m liable to slide down this wall in front of her and embarrass my entire bloodline. Because the effect she has on me?

It’s not normal.

It’s chemical. Like smoke in the lungs or lightning through copper. My chest’s tight, and my thighs are tighter, and I can’t get my eyes off her mouth.

She’s talking. I don’t even know about what. But I’m watching her lips like they’re speaking directly to my clit. Every now and then I huff in response, just to let her think I’m listening—but my eyes are dazed. Half-lidded. Focused on the curve of her mouth, the flick of her tongue when she pauses.

Still, she doesn’t stop talking. She thinks I’m quiet. Thinks I’m being shy or rude or cold or tired. But I’m none of that.

I’m suffering.

Because I can feel this. Deep in my body. The ache. The slow throb of want that’s turned more into need. My heart’s not beating—it’s growling. There’s a tension just under my skin that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with wanting her teeth in me. Her tongue. Her hands. Something. Anything. My jaw’s clenched so hard, I could probably snap a pencil between my teeth.

And still… she’s talking. Still watching me. Still not touching me. I’m trying—trying—to stay upright. To be normal. To hold whatever shred of dignity I’ve got left.

But then she leans in a little.

Not even dramatically. Just slightly closer. Her hand lifts like she’s gonna gesture or fix her hair or something completely innocent—but the second her face gets near mine, I hum.

A soft sound. Barely a breath. “Mm…”

I drop my head like I’m praying. Like I’m trying to hold the devil back.

My back still against the wall, but my knees weaken. I slide down an inch. Just an inch. Just enough for her to notice. Mid-sentence, she pauses. I feel her watching.

My hands are on my thighs now, gripping hard, and my face is doing its usual thing—expression blank, eyes low, lips slightly pursed like I don’t give a fuck. But I do. I so do. I’m dying here.

I know—oh, I know—she can feel it too.

She has to. Either she feels it just as much or not at all. That’s almost worse. That means I’m suffering in silence, flushed and throbbing while she stands there, perfectly calm.

I’m melting against this wall like a bitch in heat, blinking slow, heart pounding like it’s trying to crawl out through my teeth.

If she kisses me, I’ll cum. (Yall im freaked out ion even care)

That’s the truth. She wouldn’t even have to do much. Just lean in and whisper something hot, something soft, and I’d fall to my knees, smiling through it. Shake all the way down. That’s how deep she’s got me. That’s how badly my body wants her.

She has no idea. Or maybe… maybe she does. Because when she tilts her head, lets those eyes drop to my mouth the way I’ve been staring at hers, I feel it.

She’s like a walking and talking hazard . And I’m ready to be destroyed.

Let me be real. I’m no better than a man right now.

Because she’s still talking—full sentences, gestures, probably saying something useful—but I don’t hear a damn word. Not one.

All I see is her mouth. Her lips. The way they move, stretch, curve, lick. God. The way her tongue presses into the corner when she pauses. Like that mouth wasn’t made for interviews or strategy. Like it wasn’t wasted on words.

No. That mouth. That mouth could be so much more useful.

On parts of my body that are literally screaming. Minus the ‘s.’ One scream. One sharp, high-pitched, echoing-in-my-spine wail that hasn’t left my chest since she looked at me.

I’m tryna be civil. I swear to God. Trying to be a good teammate. A good listener. A functioning human being. Hands folded. Back straight. Face blank.

Trying so hard not to look like I’m mentally straddling her. But my thighs are pressed together like they know what’s at stake and my breathing’s shallow, like I’m on the verge of doing something I can’t take back.

Because I want to ride her face. Plain and simple. No deep metaphor. No long, dramatic simile. Just raw, hot, face-riding desire that’s sat on my chest like a demon since I first caught sight of her smirk. What’s doja cat say?

Would I be embarrassed? Absolutely.

Would I finally get Diana? Also yes.

In this hallway that feels like it’s shrinking.

Like the walls are moving in. Like there’s too much air and not enough. Like my body’s overheating and there’s nowhere to put all this want.

I shift my weight against the wall like it’ll help. Like adjusting will make the tension less heavy, like pressing harder into this sheetrock will cool me off. It won’t.

It doesn’t. My thighs are burning, my jaw’s tight, and her voice keeps hitting my nerves like drumsticks.

Maybe she’s testing me. Seeing how long I can stand there, nodding every few seconds, while the fantasy plays behind my eyes on a loop. My hands in her hair. My hips rolling. My breath catching on her cheekbone.

The way she’d grab me if I tried to move too fast. The way I’d beg if she slowed down.

She’s just…talking. Still.

While I’m trapped here. Slick. Unwell. Fantasizing in high definition with my head cocked like, mhm, totally understand, when all I want to say is:

“Get on your knees or let me use your face. Either way, I’m not walking out this hallway dry.”

But I don’t say it. I bite my lip. Breathe slow. And hum again when she leans just a little closer.

The hallway feels smaller now. Like it’s closing in on me. Or maybe I’m expanding—swelling with heat and frustration and the kind of need that makes it hard to breathe through your nose.

Still standing in front of me, voice low and steady like always. I swear I’m trying to be normal. To nod when appropriate. To keep my face in that neutral, unimpressed shape I’ve mastered so well. But she’s not making it easy.

That soft curve of her upper lip, the way she licks the bottom one when she pauses. The slight tug at the corner when she smirks like she knows she’s said something slick.

L

The throbbing between my thighs is not figurative. It’s a full-blown, undeniable ache. I’m uncomfortable in my pants. Like, shifting-my-weight-awkwardly, don’t-look-too-close, “maybe I should go pray” kind of uncomfortable.

And still, she stands too close. And still, I try to act like a good teammate.

In my head I am riding her face.

Not slowly. Not romantically. I mean grinding down on it like I lost my mind somewhere near her collarbone. My thighs locked tight around her ears, my hand in her hair, my eyes rolled so far back I might see God—or whoever made her.

I’d probably cry later. Call myself names. Lock myself in my room and swear I’ll never be horny again.

She shifts, and I flinch. Not visibly—just a flicker of breath, a blink. But she reaches out, wraps her fingers gently around my wrist, and I almost die. Because that touch? It’s not even sexual. It’s not rough or teasing. It’s soft. Just a light hold.

Like she’s grounding me. Or guiding me. Or maybe I’m just moving on my own and she’s the gravity I’m giving into.

Either way—my body leans. I stand quickly, like I can outrun the feeling. Like if I move fast enough, I’ll be okay. But I’m not. Not even close. Because she doesn’t let go. She holds my wrist, and I move straight into her.

My forehead hits her chest. Soft. Warm. I melt. Fully.

My knees don’t buckle, but they want to. My eyes squeeze shut. My other hand curls at my side like it’s begging for permission to hold onto something—anything.

And then I whisper it.

“…Please stop touching me.”

It’s barely a breath. I don’t even say it with meaning. Not like I want her to stop.

It’s more like a cry for help. A weak protest from whatever part of me still has sense. Because I’m unraveling in real time. In her arms. In the middle of a damn hallway. With nothing between us but her shirt and the thin thread of self-control I’m holding onto by the grace of God.

I’m not a dom. I don’t have it in me. Not with her. Not with Diana, who’s steady and calm and so much older than me in a way that makes her dangerous.

She’s not new to this game. She knows.

That’s the part that scares me. She probably knows exactly what she’s doing. The subtle touches. The way she always gets close when she talks. The eye contact. The voice.

She’s built for control. She’s holding me up like she owns me.

Like she’s letting me pretend I still have a say in anything. I’m letting her. Because fuck… She’s so hot. And I am so, so gone.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264

[satoruslovey]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑ clan head g.satoru x f.reader ―୨୧⋆ ˚

pt 1. , pt 2.

It's been a few weeks since your last real encounter with satoru,

Few weeks since the day you tucked that pink flower into your hair while he watched from a distance,frozen behind you, the last time you had let him see a piece of you.

Since then everything has just been quiet, not cold, but just --careful.

He's still there,

Every morning your tea is ready before you awaken,the garden is swept of wet leaves before you and your son step out, your child giggles more all of a sudden, now that his father is around more than he used to be, to your surprise must you say? You see genuine care and love in Satoru's eyes for your baby, he's clumsy with affection, learning how to be gentle in a place where he was once absent.

And as for you? You feel the weight of his presence in every room,like something unfinished, like something is left unspoken, something which is daunting upon you.

The kitchen smells of steam and ginger, your son is napping,

You're chopping up vegetables, sleeves rolled up, your hair in a loose bun, there's sunlight pouring in from the shoji screen behind you. It halos your shoulders, makes your profile glow. There's a faint sheen of sweat near your collarbone from the steam.

You hear footsteps walking into the kitchen ,he walks in quietly as if he's scared to break the peace you've built for yourself, without him.

He sees you, he really does, with something twisting and aching in his gut he thinks, you look beautiful, even when you're angry, so strong, still radiant.

He watches the line of your neck, the slope of your back, the way your fingers move with precision, like they remember everything even when your heart tries not to.

He wonders though, if he was ever worthy of being loved by someone like you.

He moves closer with a bowl of rice, a quiet offering ,

"you didn't eat lunch" he murmurs.

"don't do this" you reply softly , "you don't have to act like you care",you put down the knife.

He watches you as his heart drops.

"You weren’t there,” you say, voice low but steady. “I cooked alone. Slept alone. Gave birth alone. And now you want to feed me and pretend it’s always been this way?”

He opens his mouth to say something but , then he closes it.

You finally turn, your eyes dark and unwavering.

“Tell me something, Satoru,” you say. “If she hadn’t left… would you have come back?”

He’s staring at you ,at your face flushed from the stove, the tendrils of hair clinging to your cheek. You’ve never looked more divine, and it breaks him, because he realizes this is the woman he should have chosen , the one he ignored while chasing something shallow.

“Say it,” you whisper.

“No,” he breathes. “I wouldn’t have.”

You nod.

Not because you accept it. But because you already knew.

“I was wrong.”

His voice is low. Unsteady.

“Not just about her. About everything.

About what mattered. About who was always there.”You gave me a home. A family. And I treated you like a placeholder.

Like something I didn’t have to choose, because you were already there.

"you didn't deserve it"

“I thought love was supposed to feel easy. Loud. Exciting.

But it was always you, quietly showing up. Quietly loving me and I was too blind, too proud to see it.”

“I was wrong in every way that counted.

And if I were you, I wouldn’t forgive me either.”

“But that version of me,who chose wrong,he died the day you looked at me and didn’t smile.”

"he died the day you looked at me and didn’t even flinch"-

just… stopped looking at all.”

And then,slower, lower, like it costs him something,

“I didn’t just lose your smile that day.

I lost the only future that ever would’ve made sense.”

He steps closer ,

Closer than you expected, just a few inches between you.

His hand lifts slightly ,almost as if to tuck your hair behind your ear again. Almost.

Your breath catches, you can smell his scent ,one you have ingrained in your senses,

something in you wants his warmth,wants to let him close, something maybe you haven't let yourself fully feel, because it scares you.

But your skin still remembers his.

And your chest aches with the memory of nights when this closeness was all you ever wanted. You want to close the space between, almost.

But you don’t move.Neither does he.

“I miss you,” he says softly. “Not the idea of you. Not the guilt. You. The way you laugh when no one’s looking. The way you hum when you're pouring tea. The way you used to… look at me like I was your world.”

“You weren’t,” you whisper. “But you could’ve been.”

“You were never really mine,” you add, each word a blade, “So don’t look at me like I’m your world now, Satoru. You were never mine even if I thought you were,And I was never yours.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost hope that’s it. That he’ll shut up and go.

But instead, you're met with a look in his eyes,not guilt, not arrogance,but yearning.

It's in the tilt of his head ,The slight part in his lips like he wants to say something but is afraid to ruin it. The way his fingers twitch at his sides like he’s holding back from reaching for you.

He looks at you like a kicked dog.

No,like a man who just realized he had sunlight in his hands and let it slip through because he was too arrogant to believe he needed warmth in the first place.

His voice breaks the silence again,now quieter and heavy.

“I know I wasn’t yours. Not the way I should’ve been.”

“But I don’t want to be your world.”

That makes you blink, startled.

“I want to be a part of it,” he says, “Even if it’s just a corner you let me earn back. Even if it takes my whole life.”

Unbeknownst to him, something more fragile slips in under his words,

“Because you’re my world. And I think… you always were. I just didn’t see it until I was blind without you.”

You freeze.

There’s a beat of silence.

And in that space ,something breaks.

No… something bends.

Just slightly.

It would be easier if he were still cruel, easier if he begged ,or cried, or shouted,but this ..is worse , because this is him being honest, because the Gojo Satoru now standing in front of you is not the same person who had hurt you.

He’s someone who’s trying. And you hate that it makes your heart squeeze.

You don’t speak.

You don't walk away either,

Your breath catches.

It would be easier if he were still cruel. Easier if he begged, or cried, or shouted , but this… this is worse. Because it’s quiet. Because it’s honest. Because the Satoru Gojo standing in front of you now isn’t the one who hurt you.

He’s someone who’s trying. And you hate that it makes your heart squeeze.

You don’t speak.

But you don’t walk away either.

The silence lingers , heavy, intimate.

His shoulders are tense like he's bracing for rejection, but there's something in his eyes , open, pleading, a quiet ache like he's never been more afraid of being unloved.

You hate it.

You hate how honest he looks now.

You hate how your chest tightens at the sight.

And still, your voice comes out soft,barely more than a whisper.

“You look tired, Satoru.”

He blinks. For a second, he doesn’t know if you’re addressing him or just thinking out loud.

You glance at him. Finally. It’s fleeting, but your gaze holds a kind of softness that wasn’t there before ,a flicker of the girl who once picked a flower from the mud and gave it to him just because he looked sad.

“You haven’t been eating properly, have you?”

Satoru swallows thickly. “Not really,” he says, truthfully.

You nod slowly, fingers brushing the edge of the counter, as if debating with yourself. You’re not ready to forgive. Not ready to fall back. But-

“There’s food , We should eat.”

His heart stumbles in his chest,

We.

he's not sure if he's hearing things or you really said it,

He doesn’t say anything ,doesn’t dare break the spell. But he walks to the table like a man who's just been handed a second heartbeat.

You don't wait for him to respond,you grab two bowls.laddle food.

You set one bowl across the table,

And when he takes the seat opposite you , not beside you, not too close ,you let him.

You don’t look up.

You don’t smile.

But you let him eat beside you.

And that… that is enough for tonight, enough to make him believe that there's still a road back to you.

A/N : took me a while ! and I didn't expect it to become this long, I'd love to know you guys' thoughts on this 🏃🏻‍♀️

Tags: @straows

@voidfulcrumdilemma

@ppejmurde

@twinkling-moonlillie

[ceyanabbiolo]

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [12]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming?

Warnings: mentions of r@pe & SA, pure angst

wc: 5288

Chapter 12: We Hug Now

The last week in LA dragged more than I thought it would.

Daphne and I barely talked. Not like before. Not like when things were good. We spoke when we had to—work stuff, schedule updates, quick comments during shoots—but that was it. Every other moment was filled with silence that felt too loud.

I kept telling myself to be patient. Maybe she just needed space. But every time she avoided eye contact or sat on the other side of the room during meetings, it chipped at something in me.

Now, we are back in Boston.

The plane had just landed, the seatbelt light dinged off, and everyone started shuffling for their bags. I didn’t look back to see where she was. I knew where she was—three rows behind me, middle seat. Quiet. Like she’d been all week.

I grabbed my carry-on and headed out into the terminal. The cold Boston air hit differently after two weeks of California sun, but honestly, it just matched the way everything felt now. Colder.

She was behind me, walking silently as we made our way to the exit.

And I hated it. I hated how familiar she had become, and how foreign it felt now just being near her. 

“That car will take you home,” I said, turning to her. “I got a separate Uber.”

She looked up at me, her eyes tired and unreadable, but something about the way she nodded tugged at me.

“That’s fine,” she said quietly.

I nodded back and slipped into my car, but I didn’t let my driver pull off until I saw her Uber pull away first. My gaze lingered on the disappearing tail lights for a moment longer than I’d admit.

The ride to my place was quiet—too quiet. The city passed by outside the window, all movement and noise, but inside the car, my head was full of only one thing.

Her.

That night had been a mess. And I wasn’t even angry—just... confused. Hurt, even. Daphne wasn’t cruel. That wasn’t her. So the way she snapped, the way she recoiled from me like I was dangerous... It shook me. I’ve never seen her like that. Never seen her eyes so full of fear—or pain.

I knew I must’ve triggered something deeper, something she hadn’t told me. But how the hell was I supposed to help her if she wouldn’t let me in?

She was shutting me out completely. Walls up. Lock and key.

Even though I told myself I’d give her time, the ache in my chest wasn’t letting up. I just wanted to understand. To fix it, but maybe this wasn’t something I could fix. Maybe this time... I wasn’t what she needed. 

It was laughable, really—Daphne and I were “together” for, what, five hours? Talk about the shortest relationship in history. World record-worthy.

By the time I got to my apartment, I was barely holding my eyes open. The door was already unlocked, and I could hear voices coming from the kitchen.

I wasn’t alarmed. I already knew which hooligans had made themselves at home.

“Here he comes,” I heard Nick’s voice call out as I dropped my luggage near the front door with a heavy thud.

“Yup,” I said blankly. “I’m back.”

I stepped into the kitchen and found Chris perched on the island, a soda in hand, looking far too relaxed for someone who was dealing with thirty different things right now. 

“Why do you sound sad?” Nick asked, eyebrows raised as he leaned against the fridge. “You tired or... what?”

I just nodded, brushing past them. “Yeah. Long flight. Long two weeks.”

Chris narrowed his eyes a bit like he could already smell something off. Thankfully, neither of them pressed further. At least not yet. 

I opened the fridge, more for a distraction than anything else, pretending to search for something when really I just needed a second to breathe. To shake off the tightness in my chest.

Nick walked around the counter, grabbing a bag of chips. “So, how was LA?” he asked with a mouth half-full.

“Busy,” I said. “A lot of running around.”

I shut the fridge without grabbing anything and turned to Chris, arms crossing lazily over my chest.

“When are you leaving for Milan?” I asked, mostly to change the subject.

Chris looked up from his phone. “Probably in a few days,” he said casually. “Got a couple of meetings lined up, and I need to check on the new office.”

Right. The empire never sleeps.

Chris ran a few businesses out there—luxury goods, fashion consulting, something in tech I didn’t fully understand. Milan was basically his second home. Sometimes his first.

“You going for long?” I asked.

He shrugged. “A couple of weeks, maybe more. Depends on how things go.”

I nodded slowly, my eyes drifting back toward the kitchen counter where I leaned. The conversation was light, but everything in my body still felt heavy. I knew I should probably say something—anything—to distract myself, to act normal. But all I could think about was her.

Chris must’ve picked up on it, because he tilted his head. “You good?”

I deflected, throwing it back at him. “I’m good. You good? Those accounts still leaking?”

Chris let out a tired huff, glancing at his drink like it might have answers. “Yeah. Michael’s getting smarter, I guess.”

Michael—our uncle. Blood, technically. However, lately, more of a parasite. He’d been quietly draining money out of the business for months now. Millions gone. Every time we got close to tracking him down, he slipped through another crack.

It’s the whole reason Chris is getting married. A fine, well-dressed man with a problem, shaking hands with another rich man, offering his daughter like some kind of trade. Marriage was in exchange for saving the empire. 

Cliché, I know.

Corporate survival with a bow on top.

And Chris? He’s playing the part. Always does.

Chris leaned back on the counter, his eyes scanning me like he could read between the lines. “So… what are you doing now?”

I shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and cracking it open. “Not much. Catching up on emails, maybe hitting the gym later.”

Chris raised a brow. “That’s not what I meant.”

I looked over at him. “What’d you mean, then?”

He tilted his head. “I mean, with Daphne. I know you don’t just look like that after a work trip. You look like you came back broken or whatever.”

Chris was cold, sure—but not oblivious.

I exhaled sharply. “You were right. We got close, but… I don’t think it’s gonna work out.”

Chris tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Close how?”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Like, close close.”

He raised an eyebrow, finally connecting the dots. “You and Daphne?”

I didn’t answer right away, just gave a small nod and looked down at the floor.

Nick let out another dramatic sigh and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re a dumbass, Matt.”

I shot him a look, sarcasm thick in my voice. “Oh really?”

Chris stood from the barstool, brushing off his slacks with a sigh of his own. “I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve got a meeting and a dozen other things to handle.” He clapped a firm hand on my shoulder as he passed. “Figure it out,” he said simply before heading to the door and disappearing down the hall.

That left me with Nick.

He stared at me for a long moment, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Matt. I’m not gonna pretend I understand everything going on with you and Daphne—but I know you, and I know when you care, you care hard.”

I stayed quiet.

Nick’s tone dropped slightly. “I know she’s Noah’s sister, but don’t walk away from it just ‘cause it’s not simple”

I looked down, chewing the inside of my cheek.

Nick grabbed his keys off the counter. “Just… don’t make her feel like she has to be perfect for you to stay. She probably already thinks she isn’t.”

I glanced at him, caught off guard. “When did you get so insightful?”

He shrugged, smirking. “I’ve been through some shit too, y’know.” Then he headed toward the door. “Anyway, I’ve got to bounce—but seriously, stop being a dumbass. At least try.”

With that, I was alone.

Again.

I finished off whatever scraps Chris and Nick had left in my pantry, not really tasting any of it, then hit the shower to clear my head. Still restless, I grabbed my gym bag and headed out. When I train, I don’t hold back—it’s the one place I let everything go. No thinking, just movement. Sweat, reps, noise. It helps.

Afterward, I picked up some takeout on the way home, but I barely registered the flavor as I sat slumped on the couch, eating in silence. My apartment felt too quiet, too clean.

I reached for the remote, flipped through channels without watching.

Every once in a while, my eyes would flick to my phone. No notifications.

I didn’t expect one from her, but I wanted one anyway. 

My phone buzzed just as I tossed the empty takeout container onto the coffee table. I glanced down at the screen.

FaceTime from Noah.

I stared at it for a second before answering.

“Yo,” I said, leaning back into the couch.

“Hey,” his voice came through casually, but I could tell he wasn’t just calling to chat. “You back in Boston?”

“Yeah. Got in earlier today.”

There was a brief silence on the line.

“She seemed off when I called her earlier,” Noah said. “Sounded upset. Something happened?”

My chest tightened, but I kept my tone even. “No?” I replied casually. “Did she say something happened?”

“No,” he said, a bit uncertain. “But she wasn’t herself. Moodier than usual.”

“Maybe she’s just tired,” I offered quickly. “The trip was long. Jet lag probably hit her harder.”

I hated how easily the lie slipped out.

Noah hummed on the other end, not entirely convinced but not pressing either. “Yeah…maybe.”

I swallowed hard. I wasn’t about to tell him that his little sister had confessed in my arms last week, the kisses, or that she shuts me out when I touch her. Or that I walked out on her when she needed me the most because I didn’t understand.

“Anyway,” Noah continued, “I was thinking of coming back around Christmas. We need to hang, man.”

Christmas was in like a month. We spoke about random things for like half an hour before we hung up. 

“Cool. Later, man.”

“Later.”

The call ended, but my mind didn’t. I stared at the dark screen, guilt crawling up my spine like a shadow that wouldn’t let go. Daphne had said nothing to him. 

I knew she probably wasn’t the type to go crying to her brother about boys. 

It had been weighing on me all day. The silence. The way she wouldn’t talk to me. The way I let my own pride keep me from reaching out first. But I wasn’t in the wrong… was I? I wanted to help. I tried to understand. I just… couldn’t if she didn’t tell me.

The hours dragged on, quiet and dull. I went through portfolios, answered a few work emails, barely touched dinner, showered, and got into bed.

It was nearing 11 PM. I turned off the lamp on my nightstand and leaned back against the pillows, letting the dim street light bleed through the blinds.

My phone lit up with a buzz. One message. Daphne.

I sat up without thinking, heart already pounding as I unlocked the screen.

Daphne: Are you awake? I replied instantly. Matt: Yeah, I’m up.

The typing bubbles appeared, disappeared, then came back again. She was hesitating.

Daphne: Can I come over?

A wave of worry hit me hard. I didn’t even stop to think. Matt: No, don’t Matt: I’ll come to you. It’s late.

A pause. Then her response came quietly. Daphne: Okay.

I left my house almost immediately, because if she needed someone, I'd always be there first.

DAPHNE

I hadn’t planned on texting Matt. I stared at my phone for what felt like hours. My fingers hovered, typing and erasing the same message again and again.

It was eating me alive. I had hurt him.

The one person who had slowed down long enough to actually care, to stop and look at me and ask if I was okay when no one else ever really did. And I’d pushed him away. Again.

My chest ached with guilt. I hated how things ended. I hated how it happened at all.

The silence between us had stretched for too long. I couldn’t take it anymore.

So I sent the text. Are you awake? When he said he’d come to me instead, I felt something crack open in my chest. Something soft. Something scary.

I got up from my bed, nerves twisting in my stomach as I pulled on a hoodie and made my way to the living room to wait.

I didn’t know what I was going to say. I just knew I had to say something.

I thought I’d be able to wait calmly, but the quiet in the apartment felt too loud, too sharp. My nerves were buzzing beneath my skin, and my chest wouldn’t stop tightening.

Maybe I shouldn’t have texted him.

Maybe this was a mistake.

I sat down on the couch, curling into the corner, knees to my chest. I didn’t even realize my eyes had fluttered shut.

Just for a moment.

Just to breathe.

I rubbed my palms down my thighs, trying to steady my breath when—knock knock.

I froze.

The sound was gentle, almost hesitant. It felt like thunder in the quiet apartment.

He was here. 

Only took him fifteen minutes. 

Everything in me screamed to retreat, to hide, to pretend I had never sent that message. But my legs were already moving toward the door. My hand rested on the knob, and I closed my eyes for a second—just one second—to find some sort of courage.

Then, slowly, I turned the handle.

I opened the door.

There he stood—Matt.

Hair slightly messy from the wind, hoodie thrown over a white t-shirt, and those eyes… They were soft tonight. Searching mine like he already knew I was falling apart inside.

“Hey,” he said quietly, almost like he was scared to speak too loudly.

“Hi,” I whispered.

We just stood there for a second. I was gripping the door, and he was standing in the hallway like he wasn’t sure if he should step in.

“You gonna let me in?” he asked gently, a small tilt to his head, voice laced with concern but not pushing.

I stepped back. “Yeah…sorry.”

Matt walked in, slow and cautious, like he knew I was a live wire. He stopped in the middle of my living room, not touching anything. Just waiting.

The air was thick. My throat felt dry.

“You okay?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

I nodded too fast, like always.

Matt didn’t say anything. Just looked at me, really looked at me, the way no one else ever had.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” I said.

“I told you,” he said, voice low, “I’m here when you need me.”

We sat in silence.

The kind of silence that felt thick in the air, like fog you couldn’t see through. I didn’t know what else to say—everything in me felt used up, wrung out from the truth I had just admitted. I stared at my hands. My fingers were laced in my lap so tightly I felt the bones press.

Matt sat next to me, close but not too close, giving me room to breathe. His hand was still resting near mine, open, waiting. His knee bounced a little—nervous energy, maybe.

Then he sighed. Soft but heavy.

“Why’d you call me, Daphne?” he asked quietly.

His voice wasn’t cold, but it held something tired. Hurt, maybe.

My throat tightened again.

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

“I’m not mad,” he said after a moment. “I just… I need to understand.”

I blinked fast, trying to hold it together. “I don’t know,” I finally whispered.

Matt looked at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” I added, voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight. I—I didn’t want you to leave like that. Not when you didn’t know the whole story.”

He nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on me. “But you didn’t say anything when I left.”

“I’m sorry, Matt,” I whispered, voice shaking. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

His expression softened, his voice quiet but steady. “You didn’t let me down, Daphne. I’m just... confused. I don’t know what I did.”

I looked down, fingers twisting in my lap as I shook my head. “You didn’t do anything, Matt.”

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat before I finally let them out.

“I’m just… really, really sad,” I said, barely holding it together, voice shaky, “I’m not okay.”

There it was, the first confession said out loud. 

I watched Matt’s face shift—his usual ease replaced with raw concern. His brows furrowed, his mouth parted slightly like he wasn’t sure what to say first.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you sad? What happened?”

It wasn’t just a question. It was the kind that came from someone who really wanted to know. Someone aching to help carry the weight.

But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t even bring myself to open my mouth. The word, the memory—it was thick in my throat, threatening to choke me. I haven't said the word out loud once. Not to anyone, not even to Noah. 

“I–I can’t say it out loud, Matt.” My voice cracked as a sob crept up my chest. “I’ve never told anyone. Not once.”

Matt didn’t move right away. He just stared at me, something shifting in his eyes. Then, without a word, he stood up. My heart dropped—was he leaving?

But he only crossed the room. I heard the drawer slide open, the faint scrap of wood. When he came back, he held a sticky note and a pencil.

He sat in front of me, not crowding, just close enough.

“Then write it,” he said softly, holding them out in his palm. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Matt didn’t push. He didn’t ask again. He just stayed there, still and quiet, holding out the pencil and note like it was the most important thing in the world. Like I was.

But he looked away, eyes turning toward the floor like he was giving me privacy even here, in this unspoken moment. Maybe he sensed I needed the space. Maybe he didn’t want me to feel watched. Either way, I was grateful.

My hand shook as I took the pencil.

It felt heavier than it should’ve.

The sticky note trembled slightly between my fingers as I held it in my lap.

My mind screamed not to do it, but I knew I had to. I needed to. For him to understand. For me to breathe again.

I lowered the pencil.

My fingers hovered for a second. I wrote down the words ‘I was’ then continued. 

R My heart clenched. Just one letter, but it already felt like a crack through glass.

A

My throat tightened. My chest burned. It’s okay. You’re okay.

P I hesitated. My breathing was shallow now. You’ve never written this down. You’ve never even said it.

E

The line was shaky. I couldn’t see clearly—my eyes were clouding, tears blurring the edges of everything.

D

I put the pencil down the second the last letter was done. It burned me. Like it might scream the word out loud.

For a second, I didn’t breathe. I just stared at the paper.

Five letters.

Five letters that changed me.

Matt hadn’t looked yet. He still faced the other way. And all I could do now was wait for the moment I’d never thought I’d reach.

I folded the paper slowly, carefully, like it was something fragile, because it was.

The letters on the page felt heavier now that they were written. They stared back at me even as I closed them between the folds. Five small letters that had lived in the shadows of my body for years. 

I reached out, my fingers brushing his shoulder gently.

Matt turned at the touch, his eyes already soft with concern. I didn’t say anything—I couldn’t. I just held the folded note out to him with trembling hands.

He took it, gaze flicking between my face and the paper. 

It was out there. My secret was in his hands. 

He unfolded the paper slowly. When his eyes landed on the word, I saw the exact moment everything in him shifted.

His face fell.

His jaw tightened. His brows furrowed sharply, and his head snapped toward me like he was trying to piece something together—searching my face, my body, like he might still find signs of what had happened. Like he was too late to stop it.

Matt’s hands stiffened around the note, the paper crumpling slightly in his grip. His chest rose and fell once—sharply—like he’d been punched and was struggling to get the air back in his lungs.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. His gaze stayed fixed on the word like it physically hurt to look at, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Then, finally, he looked up.

His eyes were wide, glassy, red-rimmed. His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He blinked once. Twice.

“Daphne…” he breathed. My name barely made it past his lips, hoarse and shaky, like it was caught in his throat.

I couldn’t answer. I just shook my head and curled into myself, arms wrapping tight around my body like they might hold me together.

He looked wrecked—like the weight of the word was too much. His lips parted again, but no real sentence followed.

“I—” he started, then stopped. His hand raked through his hair. “I didn’t… I didn’t know. what are you saying? Fuck, Daphne… ”

The curse slipped out like a reflex. Not at me. Never at me. It was painful. Anger. Helplessness.

He looked at me again, his voice raw, almost broken. “Who…when—no. I’m sorry. I’m not—I shouldn’t be asking that. Shit, I don’t even know what to say—”

He looked like he was drowning.

My chest caved in as the silence wrapped around us. 

I tried to hold it in—I did—but it broke through anyway.

The first sob hit so hard, it startled even me. Then I couldn’t stop. 

My shoulders trembled, hands clutched around my knees as I curled tighter into the corner of the couch, like I could hide from everything.

Matt lurched forward. “Shit—Daphne,” he said quickly, reaching out but not touching me. “Sweetheart, no—no, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I heard the panic rising in his voice, the guilt laced through every word. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you—fuck—I’m sorry. I just… I reacted wrong, okay? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Do we need to go see someone? A doctor, or someone? Have you gone? You should’ve told someone, you should’ve—” 

“I have,” I whispered through the sobs, my voice cracked and raw. “I did… I’ve been.”

He stopped rambling immediately. Just stared at me.

“It was four years ago,” I said quietly. “It’s not recent.”

Matt blinked, like the breath had been knocked right out of him again. Just stunned silence.

“Four… four years?” he repeated, voice low, disbelieving.

I nodded slowly. 

“Noah knows,” I added, barely above a whisper.

Matt’s eyes flicked away from me like he needed something to focus on, his jaw tense, repeating under his breath, “Noah knows…”

There was something about the way he said it—almost like it grounded him. 

“Noah knows,” he said again, firmer this time, like it settled something inside of him. “Okay. Okay…”

But I could still see it in him—the anger simmering beneath the surface, at the invisible person in the past who had hurt me..

He finally looked back at me, his voice softer now. “Did he… was he the only one who knew?”

I nodded again, my throat tightening. “And now you.”

A heavy silence filled the space between us.

I didn’t dare look at him—I didn’t want to see the pity or the rage, or whatever was swirling in his eyes now. My own gaze stayed fixed on the floor.

Then, after what felt like forever, his voice broke through.

“Who was it?” he asked, quiet—but laced with something sharp. Not cold, not cruel. Just... restrained.

I didn’t respond right away. I felt my hands tighten over the edge of the blanket draped across my lap.

Matt leaned forward slightly, voice lower now, but steadier. “Daphne, please. I just… I need to know. You don’t have to tell me everything. Just—was it someone I know?”

I finally looked at him. His brows were knit, his eyes searching mine with more emotion than I could take.

“Y-you won’t believe me,” I whispered.

“Sweetheart–what?” he said immediately. “Just tell his name.” 

“Carter White”

 I said quietly. The name felt sharp in my throat, like glass.

I hesitated, then added barely above a whisper, “He had a dragon tattoo…on his forearm.”

That’s when Matt’s eyes widened. Recognition flickered, then quickly turned to something darker, colder. His grip on the paper tightened until it crinkled in his hand.

“I remember him,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. “Tall…lacrosse team, right? Graduated a year before me.”

I nodded, and Matt’s jaw locked.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said under his breath, like it wasn’t a threat, but a matter of fact—an inevitable consequence. His entire demeanor had shifted into something barely contained, as though a switch had flipped.

I reached out, gently grabbing Matt’s wrist. “Matt—he’s in jail.”

He froze, blinking like he hadn’t heard me right. “What?”

“He’s in jail,” I repeated, slower this time. “Noah… Noah took it to court. He handled it. Everything. It went through.”

Matt’s chest rose and fell, like he was trying to catch up with what I was saying. His clenched jaw loosened slightly, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t gone out.

“He’s locked up?” Matt asked again, just to make sure.

I nodded.

Matt exhaled hard, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. He sank back down onto the couch beside me, still visibly shaken but quieter now.

“I didn’t know,” he said under his breath, guilt washing into his tone. “I had no idea.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” I said softly. “Nobody knows. Just Noah. And the court. It’s over now. I mean… legally.”

Matt looked at me then, eyes full of something that made my chest tighten—care, protectiveness, sorrow.

“But not for you,” he murmured.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The silence said enough. 

Matt's hand dragged down his face slowly, like he was trying to wipe away the weight of everything he had just learned. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw tense, breathing uneven.

“You were just a child…” he said, voice barely above a whisper, shaky, like it hurt to even say it.

I didn’t say anything.

Matt finally looked up at me again, and the expression on his face shattered me. He looked devastated. Speechless.

His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but nothing came out. He shook his head slowly, eyes glassy. “I—” he paused, trying again. “I don’t even have the words.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and held his head in his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You should have told me sooner, sweetheart.”

There was a pause again. 

“I get it now,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You pulling away. I understand it all.”

The moment the words left his mouth, something inside me cracked open.

“I don’t want to be like this, Matt,” I choked out, my voice barely stable. “I don’t want to keep shutting you out.”

Tears burned my eyes faster than I could stop them. 

“I want to feel normal—I do. I want to forget. I try to move on, I swear I do, but no matter how hard I try, it just—” My voice cracked again. “It always comes back. The memories. The panic. It doesn’t go away.”

My breathing turned uneven as the sobs came faster. I felt broken. Pathetic. Small. 

A wave of shock shot through me as Matt’s own eyes started to water, no tears, but they were red. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He moved forward without hesitation, gently pulling me into him. His arms wrapped around me tightly, like he was holding something fragile. 

“Let it out, sweetheart” he whispered against my hair, voice hoarse. “Don’t hold it in.”

I buried my face in his chest, sobbing against the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. He just held me, rocking us gently back and forth, like he could protect me from the entire world with just his arms. His hand cradled the back of my head, thumb stroking softly.

I had wanted to cry to someone for so long. Really cry—to be held, to be heard. Not even Noah knew how deep it went. He only knew the surface-level truth: that it happened. He never asked for details. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

But Matt… Matt was listening. And because of that, I couldn’t stop myself.

“It was that night,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “The night of your and Noah’s college graduation party.”

I felt his arms tense slightly around me, but he didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

My throat burned, the words barely able to form. “Everyone was downstairs…drinking, loud. He said he was looking for a bathroom… but he came into my room.”

My voice broke entirely, and I had to pause to breathe through the rising sob in my chest. “He locked the door. I remember freezing. I didn’t know what to do, I just kept thinking maybe if I didn’t move, he’d go away.”

Matt’s breath was shaky against my temple. I felt one of his hands curl slightly into the fabric of my sweatshirt, like he was holding back everything inside him.

I continued, my voice fragile. “I didn’t scream. I wanted to. But I couldn’t move. My body just—shut down.”

Tears streamed down my face, landing on his shirt, dampening the cotton. 

“I bleed so much.” 

Matt's arms tightened around me. 

“I hated myself for it,” I whispered. “For freezing. For not fighting back. I hated that he got to walk out of my room like nothing happened.”

“Don’t say that, sweetheart. Don’t blame or hate yourself. No one should have touched you.” 

Matt pulled me closer, as if that were even possible, burying his face in my hair.

“I hate him so much” I cried, my cry a bit softer. “I hate what he did to me. I can’t feel anything good.” 

His hands combed through my locks, as he held me, his lips occasionally pecking my scalp. 

“I swear to you,” he murmured, voice shaking, “If he wasn’t already in jail, I would’ve killed him with my bare hands.”

I clung to him tighter because in that moment, his words were the only thing keeping me together. He was the only person who understood me. 

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

[a/n: that was so emotional to write. Justice for my girl. three chapters in three days! like & reblog! mwah] –ceyana

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[rarazuxu]

Also the thing above is what I'm SUPPOSED to be working on but it's been a week and I just don't GIVE A HOOT even though I like it a lot ...