#how are you not thinking of ways to get out of this conversation yet??? it fascinates me bc ill never understand it

[hawkins-batman]

Let's Talk About Noah Schnapp

In light of everything that's happened in the last few days—namely Netflix releasing its first teaser for Stranger Things Season 5—many are returning to Stranger Things spaces online here and elsewhere for the first time in months. Maybe years. So, it's time to have this conversation again, because many people weren't here when some of us were having this conversation in the lull between content; and we're due for an update.

Buckle up—this is going to be long. I intend for this to be a mega post on the whole situation in so far as I can cover it, with receipts and screenshots.

The Conversation Around Noah

Put bluntly—the vitriol around Noah Schnapp has become dangerously insane. It's been that way for 2 years, but the renewed spotlight on Stranger Things, especially as Noah is set to take center stage in a Will Byers-centric season, has revived some of the worst elements of the conversation.

"What do you mean?", you may be asking. Well, I think it might just be better to show you:

This is just a sampling. If I showed you every tweet — every post — every video I've seen with this rhetoric, I'd need another medium to do it. A tumblr blog alone couldn't contain it all. But I take it you see my point now.

How Did Things Get This Way?

There are people on this app and on #that app who will say this behavior/treatment is warranted. They'll tell you that Noah is a "genocide supporter." That he "cheered for the deaths of Palestinian babies." That he "celebrated as people were being murdered." But none of this is true.

As a reminder, this was what Noah actually said—his very first comments on the matter—right after the Hamas attack that happened on October 7, 2023:

Important to note:

"...we will hope and pray for safety, justice, liberation, and self determination in Palestine."

and

"...we will say a Jewish prayer for peace for all Israelis and Palestinians."

That is the literal antithesis of support for a genocide or the wholesale slaughter of anyone.

The very next thing to happen was the infamous "sticker video" about which the most lies have been told, so let's debunk them one by one:

He did not make the stickers.

He did not wear the stickers.

He did not hand out the stickers.

He did not hold up the stickers.

He did not even touch the stickers.

He did not post the video on any social anywhere.

I've posted a pair of screenshots here that give you the gist in lieu of the video itself, but you can Google the video and watch the entire thing to see that I'm telling the truth.

What actually happened was that Noah was taken to a restaurant by a pair of influencers who were his guides while on a school-sponsored trip to Israel. Both were significantly older than him, were responsible for the video in question, were the only ones in it (aside from the waitress) to actually touch the stickers in question... and yet? Noah bore the brunt of the hate that ensued. When the backlash came, they abandoned him and left him to the wolves. (And perhaps because of that, he no longer associates with either one of them, nor follows any related social media accounts—all of which he was required to follow in the first place as terms of going on the trip through his school.)

Noah had just come out of the closet earlier that year and was 18 years-old. He would only turn 19 years-old in the ensuing weeks.

He has addressed these events several times. Most famous was the TikTok that he made explaining his actual position (that he doesn't want anyone, Palestinian or Israeli, to die). Less famous were remarks he made to fans on Snapchat:

I'll post his remarks here for those who can't read the text:

Hey guys! I appreciate you reaching out. To give you context, I did not post this language or this sticker. I was at breakfast with friends, it happened to be an Israeli cafe, and a girl was handing out stickers. Someone photographed me and posted and tagged me. As you guys know better than most people, social media can be used however people want to use it. I understand the weight of the situation and take it very seriously. I have friends of friends who are currently being held hostage in Gaza right now. My friends kids were killed in the massacre at the Israeli music festival. Standing up against this terrorism is important to me and why I made my statement after the attack. As one of the only few Jewish people with a platform, I absolutely think it's important to share my message about hatred for Jews around the world right now. However, everyone online is obviously twisting everything and saying I support genocide and am Islamophobic which is obviously entirely false and never have I stated either of those things. Seeing what is happening to the innocent people in Palestine pains me so much and I wish it would stop. I fully support everyone in Palestine as I said in my post on Instagram. One of my best friends in college is Palestinian and we talk about this issue allllll the time and agree on most things. I think people on social media are just animalistic right now so it's hard to even chime in because they just rip me apart so now I'm staying out of it.

I'll let that stand on it's own. I think it provides the context behind his remarks, the situation with the video/stickers, and his actual views versus how social media portrays his views. It also explains why he hasn't said anything else in almost 2 years.

The key takeaway: He was speaking out against antisemitism and the attack on Jewish people on October 7 and he supports an end to what is happening in Gaza and fully supports Palestinians. He literally says it.

And this support, by the way, has been corroborated by his own actions and the word of mouth from Palestinian organizations he has contributed to:

What Has Happened Since?

It would be easier to list the things that haven't happened; but I'll try anyways:

Noah has been called antisemitic slurs; gay slurs and targeted with gay stereotypes; been compared to antisemitic caricatures; he's been threatened with death and had posts go viral fantasizing about his brutal murder; his family has been threatened; he's been threatened with rape and sexual abuse; there are massive accounts on Twitter that doxxed his location while he was filming Season 5—particularly targeting him when he was alone; he's been hacked, had personal pictures leaked; he's had lies spread about his treatment of his cast mates (all of whom have spoken out and said that they've loved him at some point since, making these claims unequivocally false.

Here are a few examples:

Again, I can only post a sample. I hope that sample is enough to get the message across.

It's hard to overstate how cataclysmic this has been. Obviously, he's recovered and healed a lot since the initial incident; but the damage done needs to be acknowledged. These attacks drove him into a dark place by his own admission. He talked about needing therapy on his (now deleted) private spam TikTok account. And they are starting up yet again.

And Then There's the Fandom

The Stranger Things fandom in the wake of all this has been an irritating place to be. Not just because of the above behavior but because of the blanket hypocrisy.

The shipping sub-fandoms in particular have been rank with antisemitism and homophobia—even the Byler fandom, which is predominantly queer. People have:

A) Taken pre-Stranger Things photos—like his baby pictures or pictures with his family—to use as part of their content, their profile pictures, their banners, their fan art, their fan edits, etc.—violating his and his family's privacy for "Will" all while calling him "ugly," a "fag," and lobbing the above-listed threats at him. B) Tried to recast him with a fan cast. These fan casts are almost never Jewish actors, you'll notice. In fact, there's someone on this very app that recast Will Byers as himself. This is gross and absurd. Will Byers is intrinsically tied to Noah Schnapp. Tied to his identities as a Jewish person and a gay man. Tied to his experiences being a character he helped bring to life during his formative years. C) Persist in stanning or support his cast mates despite the fact that they continue to associate with him. This, in particular, is gross hypocrisy. If you're going to be mad at Noah Schnapp for being in a restaurant around stickers you object to—guilt by proximity/association, in other words—those SAME standards should apply to his cast mates, who continue to hang out with him outside of work, state that they love him, and post him on their social medias. I have a whole post about that here.

Instead, the cast is continually afforded blanket immunity while he is singularly targeted for continued abuse and harassment.

It should give the fandom some pause that openly pro-Palestine actors like Maya Hawke not only continue to hang out with him; but in her Instagram story, even stated that she misses it (check the link above for a screenshot of said story). She wouldn't do that if she thought he somehow supported mass-murder; and she knows him way better than any one reading this blog. That goes for the rest of them, too.

They know him better than you. They know his moral compass and what he believes. And they haven't abandoned him and obviously aren't going to. So, are you going to stick to your guns and apply your anger evenly; or maybe consider that you don't have the full picture?

So, Why Care?

I get this in my Asks so often. "Why do you care?" "He's a celebrity." "He don't know you." "He's not your pookie."

I know. It's not about that.

Yes, full disclosure, I am obviously a fan of Noah's. Have been since the show started. And no it's not because I'm gay and he's gay or because he plays my favorite character in Stranger Things.

Like many of his fans, I've spent the last decade seeing his lives on Instagram and TikTok, seeing his fan interactions, watching his vlogs and videos, and I've come to respect him as a human being quite apart from Will Byers or his role as an actor. Fundamentally, I really believe he is a kind and caring human being. The word of mouth from everyone who knows or has met him bares this out—and, yes, he's even been kind to me in the few conversations we've had.

This is only one example from Instagram during The First Shadow premiere this year; but I think it encapsulates what I like about Noah most. He's kind. He goes out of his way to be kind. He does things he doesn't have to do, contractually or just in general, for the sake of being kind. He always has been.

He's also stood up for a plethora of causes. Black Lives Matters, trans rights, the rights of women. He's known to be his cast mates' biggest supporter—and they'll tell you as much, too.

But quite apart from my personal feelings about him and more importantly: this is wrong.

Antisemitism is wrong. Homophobia is wrong. Both kill. Still, to this day. As I am sitting in my kitchen writing this, the news just broke that an Indigenous gay man and a celebrity was shot dead in front of his husband—after having his home burned down and dogs burned alive—in the United States. Yesterday, news broke that a gathering of peaceful Jewish protesters (which included children and the elderly) demanding the release of hostages still held by Hamas was firebombed in Colorado. Luckily, they all survived, but six people were injured in that attack.

Violence and bigotry are ascendent everywhere right now. Minority communities are being targeted. Normalizing the behavior I've described and shown above kills marginalized people. Regardless of your feeling about Noah as a person or celebrity, normalizing the violent and bigoted remarks, tweets, and behavior towards him harms Jewish and LGBTQIA+ people—all of us.

And just as an example of that, I give you the treatment Finn Wolfhard is now receiving just for the "crime" of shaving his head and being deemed no longer conventionally attractive by the fandom:

Yes, the general audience found out about Finn's Jewish heritage and now he's a target, too.

And this fandom is at fault for it.

You cannot normalize bigotry towards one person and expect it to stay contained to that one person. It will always harm everyone in that community. Finn Wolfhard—or any other actor/actress—being your favorite is not going to spare him from the consequences of a discourse you started.

ALL antisemitism and ALL homophobia needs to be called out. The people who insist it's okay that they do that for ANY reason—regardless of if they themselves are LGBTQIA+ or not—need to be ejected from the fandom and never let back in.

Noah Schnapp is a human being. He does not deserve this treatment. No one does. No one is saying you have to like him or even care about him. But you SHOULD care that this is how he's being treated and the impact it is having on others. The impact on Jewish people. The impact on queer people. Standing up and saying that does not mean you support genocide or murder or bigotry of any kind. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I am a person with left-leaning values. I'm tired of those values being spat on and dragged through the mud by people who think THIS is activism or is in any way helping a cause. It's not. All it is doing is perpetuating harm on a real person and real communities—queer and Jewish alike. And it needs to stop.

Related Blogs:

I've compiled some related blogs that expand on other elements of the situation that I've mentioned above in greater detail. This post was already long enough. I'll be updating this as more content comes out.

Examples of Noah’s Support for Gaza and Palestine (by @nymphus-fan-account)

The Evolution of a Lie

No, the Stranger Things Cast Does Not Hate Noah Schnapp

Lyric Vault’s Obsession with Noah Schnapp

[criminalyapping]

due for trouble | waves

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: i start each and every thing i write with no ideas and no plans and i think with this one you can kind of tell lol. enjoy my writing slop!

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, language, age-gap relationship, medical inaccuracies lol

<<< part 1 << part 2 < part 3

In the wake of your conversation, Jack doesn't know how to feel. Ok - scratch that - he's feeling a tornado of emotions. It's just that he doesn't know which one is the right one.

The biggest one? Disbelief. Disbelief about, well, kind of everything. Not once in a million years did he think that he would find himself in this situation. Maybe his head isn't quite wrapped around it yet, but he's stuck in a strange clinical, detatched headspace as he mentally compiles questions, things to do, and conversations to have.

He also feels the weight of guilt sitting on his chest. He did this, it's his fault, and now you're stuck with the consequences of his actions. You're a young, bright girl, who definitely didn't have this in her 5 year plan. And he's just appeared out of nowhere to you and thrown this wrench in your life.

He feels overwhelmed and scared and shocked and stupid and, if he's being real with himself, excited. And then maybe guilty for being excited?

Jack is not attempting to big into the tangled ball of emotions in his head, and focusing on what he can control.

'Emotions are like waves,' he thinks to himself, thanking his therapist, 'they come and they go, they are not constant,'

So, back to the things he can control, unlike his unruly thoughts.

He makes an appointment for you with an OBG-YN. Well he tries to, but the questions that the online appointment request form asks reminds him just how little he actually knows about you. He learns that you are allergic to bees, take topical medication for acne, and take anxiety medication as needed.

"Just for plane rides," you tell him with a laugh.

The OB does not work at PTMC. And has no connection to the hospital.

Jack picks you up in his truck and tells you what to expect from the appointment.

"It's not on my stomach?" you ask with a scared expression.

Jack chuckles, "No, unfortunately not. Right now it's too small to see that way, so it has to get closer."

"Closer being all the way up in my business?" you clarify.

Jack nods.

You shiver. "Fine, whatever," you say, determined not to think about it until it's happening.

Your OB (in network, you checked after Jack took the initiative to find one) is a nice lady who seems to be good at her job. She has a bright disposition and a polite yet detached warmth to her. She asks about your health history, recent travel, and a bunch of other things before excusing herself and saying that she would see you again soon.

A nurse comes in to take your blood, and shortly after, an ultrasound technician enters your exam room with her machine pushed in front of her.

You throw your head over to Jack, on the other side of you from the door, and stare at him with wide eyes.

"It'll be fine, honey, promise," he says through a giggle at your expression, grabbing your hand in his and caressing it reassuringly.

The very nice ultrasound tech does her business and while it wasn't fun, just a touch uncomfortable, and wishes you well as you're all done. You're handed a stack of images that you can't make heads or tails of.

"No heartbeat moment?" you ask Jack with a pout as you're walking back to the check-in desk, slipping the images into your pures.

"No," he sighs, "not typically until its a little bigger." he explains.

"Boring," you gripe.

You pay your co-pay (slapping away Jack's hand as he pulls out his wallet) and make another appointment for 6 weeks later.

Sitting back in the passenger seat of Jack's truck, you pull back out the images and flip through them.

They all look about the same, but the second to last one has some text written on it in white.

"Hi mom and dad!" it says.

You burst into tears before you're even done reading it.

"What?!" Jack asks, trying to both look at you and keep his eyes on the road.

"What, what?!" he yells, panic growing in his voice.

"It- it says," you sob, "it says hi," you are cut off by a hiccup, "hi mom and dad,"

"Oh god," Jack says to himself, running a hand down his face.

"Sorry," you cry, embarrassed.

"No, don't, you're okay." Jack consoles.

"Fucking embarrassing," you mumble as you wipe under your eyes.

"Be nice," Jack urges gently.

He pulls up to the curb in front of your apartment and turns in his seat to look at you.

"I'm sorry I have to go to work, now." he tells you. "I feel like I should stay."

"No, that's okay, Jack. I'm okay, I promise." you assure.

"Okay," he agrees. "Two, please." he requests, gesturing to the images in your hands.

You hand over a blank one and the "Hi mom and dad!" one.

He holds one in each hand and looks down at them with a blank expression.

"Okay," you say after a moment of observing him. "I'll see you later."

"Bye," he says, watching you hop down from his truck. "Text me!" he calls after you as you walk away. He watches as you climb the stairs and enter your apartment. Returning to his hands, he looks again for a number of moments.

'Emotions are like waves,' he reminds himself, putting the images into his cupholder and shifting into drive, ready to go home and don his scrubs for another night in the ED.

One picture ends up under a magnet on his fridge, and one, the one with the message, ends up in his wallet.

He finds himself opening his wallet and glancing at it several times throughout the night, pulling it out to run a finger softly over the glossy paper.

He's distracted, but not in the moments that matter. A consummate professional with his patients, but every moment that isn't filled with movement and imminent decision making is instead filled with thoughts of you and it. It being, well, it. Not even in his head is he filling that space with another word yet.

He takes measured steps up to the roof as his shift comes to an end, but not stepping past the barrier there. He leans against it, picture in his hands, and watches the morning sun inch higher in the sky.

"Well," a voice greets from behing him. Robby. "Good morning." he greets, coming to a stop as the other man leans against the railing next to him.

"Morning," he greets. He continues looking at the horizon as he feels Robby's gaze on his face.

'Whatcha got there?" he asks, gesturing to his hand.

Jack holds out the sonogram, still not peeling his eyes from the brightening cityscape.

Robby takes it out of his hands, pulling on his reading glasses and inspecting it.

He gives a low whistle.

"Mom and dad," he murmurs.

"How's mom?" Robby asks.

"She's fine. Nauseous, but fine." Jack says.

Robby clears his throat, pulling off his glasses.

"And how's dad?" he asks.

Jack takes a while to respond.

"I'm fine, too."

"Sure you are," Robby says placatingly. He claps Jack on the back. "Go home, man, get some sleep." he urges.

"Alright," Jack agrees and watches Robby walk back through the doorway to the roof. He watches the sun, higher in the sky now, for a few minutes more before slipping back downstairs and out of the ED.

tagging @michasia24 (thank u for the love) and lmk if you want a tag too!

[cakypa120]

Aka continuation of the previous post. Conversation between the League and Marvel.

Billy didn't know that the League would go so crazy when they saw his notebook. Bruce and Clark were especially pale, staring into the depths of space for ten minutes. Diana was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Barry was tapping his foot rapidly, nervously biting his lip. Hal looked green. Arthur looked at everyone smugly. J'onn was already eating his fifth pack of Oreos. Shayera was tapping her finger on the table and frowning. Oliver stood straight and clenched his hands into fists.

Marvel: I don't understand your frustration. You didn't do this

Barry: You don't understand?! Marvel, this is not normal!! I killed you 43 times!! This...this...

Barry pauses, tears welling up in his eyes. Billy feels awkward.

Marvel: Sorry. I'm just used to it. It's always one of you.

Bruce: It's not just the League, it's the Titans and Young Justice. Why did they kill you?

Marvel: *shrugs* Sometimes you tell them to, sometimes they do it themselves, sometimes they're mind-controlled. There's a lot going on. I like Nightwing the best. He always kills me quickly and painlessly. I didn't even realize I was dead until I took my first breath in this dimension. You can tell a pro.

Bruce covers his face with his hands.

Clark: Did John ever...

Marvel: Yeah, along with Damian. Two demons who were enjoying it way too much. I gave them a few points for cruelty.

Clark covers his face with his hands, too.

Diana: Brother... This... You need to get help!

Marvel: Who? Dinah? Should I remind you that she's seventh on the list?

Diana: Brother, throw that list and those points away! What happened... How can you react like that?! You were killed! And very cruelly! Your face was melted! Your heart was ripped out! You were poisoned! You were mobbed and killed! How can you be so calm? HOW?!

Billy didn't know what to say. Had he resigned himself? A long time ago. But that fear still lived in him. Every time he thought about how and who would kill him. To do many things so that after his death the world would continue to exist. Hell, he himself sometimes pushed them to kill, because sometimes they didn't want to kill him. They always looked at him with sadness. As if killing him was not what they wanted.

Marvel: Too many lifetimes to get used to. And this notebook is like... I don't know... a distraction? A way to understand you? To find some kind of pattern in everything? I don't know. It's just that over time all the pain has dulled, it's not gone away, but it doesn't hurt as much as the first few times.

Hal: Dude. This... this... I don't know what to say.

Oliver: Have you ever given up on being a hero?

Marvel: Sure. Who do you think I am? But even so, I didn't even live to be fifteen. Once I was killed by Diana right in the crib, the second time I was killed by Clark on red kryptonite, the third time I was killed by Hal, who became a Yellow Lantern, oh, don't forget how Arthur chopped off my head when he was taking over dry land. By the way, the fact that the brain lives for twenty seconds after being cut off is true. I did the math myself.

Everyone looks at him strangely.

Diana: I killed you in the cradle?

Marvel: Yes. I couldn't even roll over. You killed my sister then, too.

Diana presses her lips into a thin line.

J'onn: Do you have a sister?

Marvel: Yeah, but she's currently missing. I'll find her soon and introduce her to you. She's pretty sweet.

J'onn: Has she ever killed you?

Marvel: Yeah. It's not nice to have your throat torn out by sharp fangs, but it's a lot nicer than being stabbed with arrows. Yeah, Oliver, your version of me couldn't kill the first time, so you shot me so many times.

Oliver: Thanks, I could live without that information.

Marvel: You're welcome. I need to get back to patrol. The city can't save itself.

Batman: Hold on. The meeting's not over yet.

Marvel: Come on, I already know what's going to happen. You'll swear not to kill me, you'll even create special protocols, but I'll still get killed, even with those protocols. So I suggest you calm down a bit and think with a clear head. And I'm going back to the city. Bye.

Marvel leaves. The heroes remain silent. The weight of guilt weighs on their laps, and the knowledge that they can't fix anything eats them up, depriving them of any hope. There's only one question spinning in their heads.

How dare I kill Marvel?

[gold-onthe-inside]

northern attitude

who? spencer reid (s3) x tough!reader summary: after your friends with benefits arrangement comes to an end, spencer's persistence gets him to the bottom of your fear to commit to him, especially when all signs point to you liking him back. content warnings: hurt/comfort, r's insecurities (not being good enough for spencer, not being a particularly romantic person), r yells at spencer word count: 1.4k a/n: sequel to orbiting around you. find more tough!reader here <3, dividers are by @saradika-graphics

It’s like withdrawal, being cut off from you, and it hurts. It hurts watching you act like nothing had changed between the two of you. His mood flits from hurt and sad to angry and frustrated. He wants to beg on his knees, wants to put his fist through a wall. It doesn’t help that he can’t sleep at night, his mind replaying that day at the high school, in the mens’ room, begging the man with a shotgun not to kill the boys who assaulted his daughter, trying to argue over the voice of the girl who egged him on.

Usually, he could turn over, use you as a distraction, hand skimming soft skin, sliding under your cami, tucking you closer as he pressed his lips to your shoulder until you stirred. Or, if you weren’t already there, he’d cross the distance between motel rooms, knocking on the door, barely waiting until the door shut to crush his lips against yours.

But he’d ruined it. He’d wanted more. Pushing your guard down with each kiss, each ramble, falling in love with your soft smile, your quiet sense of humour. Not a week went by when he wasn’t catching your wrist in his hand, his grip loose, asking the same question: “Why does it have to be one or the other?”

And every week, you’d give the same answer: “I’m no good for you.”

Unanswered questions keep him up all the time, you keep him up all the time. Every day, he dragged himself out of bed, going to work, facing you and your schooled expressions, rivalled only by Hotch. And yet, a coffee would appear on his desk, made just the way he liked it, and the ache would return. Pending case files would mysteriously disappear from his desk when he came back from the bathroom. It comes to a head when you argue Derek down from the ledge of dragging them all out clubbing to a quieter bar which he’s eternally grateful for, and it’s when it clicks for him.

“You’re afraid,” he murmured, sidling up to you, the now-empty glass of wine making him more confident. Your back’s against the wall, watching the rest of the team play pool, in your leather jacket and maroon tee, black Levi’s and sleek boots.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, caught off-guard as he leaned against the wall beside you.

“You’re afraid,” he repeated, adding, “of how much you like me. That’s why you don’t want commitment.”

You’re good at pretending, too good, but he’s gotten better at seeing the chinks in your armour now. “That’s a stretch,” you said, raising a delicate brow.

“No, the stretch is you assuming what’s good for me and making decisions for me like I’m not a grown adult,” he shot back, and judging by how your jaw twitches, it lands. You moved, draining the rest of your glass of whiskey before setting it down, fluidly grabbing your bag.

“I think that’s it for me tonight,” you announced loudly, the rest of the team murmuring ‘see you’s and ‘goodbye’s, and Spencer doesn’t bother with niceties, simply following you out.

“Stop running away from this conversation,” he demanded, walking out onto the curb.

“Oh, because you have me all figured out?” you scoffed, glancing at him before starting to walk to the nearest Metro station.

“Why is that so bad?” he asked, easily catching up with his long strides, turning on his heel to look at you as you both walk. His hair’s getting longer, a dark blue shirt contrasting pale skin, sleeves rolled up to veiny forearms, a striped tie that had been bothering her all day with how he’d done it unevenly, the end of it reaching his belt. He’s insistent, eager to please, an irresistable combination in the sheets, completely irritating outside of it. “I mean, your excuse is that the problem is with you, right? So, let’s talk about it,” he demanded, almost bumping into a lamp-post.

“I’m not doing this with you, Reid,” you told him, focused on getting to the subway entrance a couple feet away. “And especially not in public.”

“There’s no-one out here,” he contradicted, standing in front of you. “Would it kill you to be honest with me?” You let out a frustrated sigh as you find yourself blocked by his chest, his gaze laser sharp. “I deserve to be more than just a distraction, and so do you,” he continued, determined to get under your skin.

“Spencer, stop,” you snapped at him and he narrowed her eyes.

“Is that what it is?” he probed deeper. “You think you don’t deserve a relationship?”

“Jesus Christ, would you stop?” you almost shrieked, if not for the fact that you were on the street.

“No, because we’re talking about this!” he cried. “I’m done shoving this under the rug for whatever reason, and you— You will hide behind whatever excuse you can find to not confront this, which is really contradictory considering you’re the last person I’d call a coward—”

“Spencer, shut the fuck up!” you yelled at him, unrestrained anger lashing out at him, and he actually flinched. He stopped talking, watching you breathe heavily, sinking back against a wall and sliding down to a seat. He tried not to think about all the germs and bacteria that infest the street, sitting down next to you. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your hands laced on your knees, pressing your thumbs to your forehead.

Spencer simply shook his head. “I pushed you to it.” He watched you breathe, catching your breath.

“I’m not good at being a girlfriend,” you said softly, looking at your callused hand. “I’m not… romantic, or whatever.”

“Says who?” Spencer asked, his brow furrowing, looking at you. “You make me coffee almost every day. You stole my case files so I wouldn’t work too late. And you know my favourite food, and you keep candy in a drawer for when I have sugar cravings. You listen to everything I have to say, even when you have no interest in it. That’s plenty romantic.” You met his gaze, earnest hazel eyes, turned amber by the streetlight, looking down at you fondly, and it terrified you, your eyes flitting back to your hands, lips pursed. He bumped your shoulder lightly. “What are you so scared of?” he asked you gently, watching you lean your head back, tongue darting out to wet your lips.

“Not being good enough. Or what you expect from a girlfriend,” you answered eventually.

“How can you say that without knowing what my expectations are?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern as you looked back up at him. “I mean, I want you to be you, and I want you to be comfortable, and to be honest, if you weren’t yourself, I wouldn’t like you half as much as I do.”

You take a beat to just process what he’s said, and then shake your head with a scoff. “This is what I mean. You’re just… effortlessly sweet, Spencer. And I’m not. I can’t… It doesn’t come as easy to me.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Spencer countered, shifting to look at you better. “I mean… sure, maybe it’s hard for you to say it, but… I do think you show it. You show it every day.”

“That’s hardly enough, Spence—”

“It is for me,” he insisted, placing his hand on yours. “All I’m asking for… really… is the chance to return the favour. The only thing that has to change, if you think about it, is that we get exclusivity. That I get to call you my girlfriend.” He watched you mull over it for a moment.

“I think I’d like that,” you said eventually, your voice slightly small, and it’s the first time he’s smiled in weeks. Suddenly, he’s all energy, pulling you up by the wrist.

“Good, cause I have so many plans and places I want to take you, and they’re doing Othello this weekend at the Shakespeare Theatre Company—” You let him ramble on all the way to the subway, your brain fuzzy simply from holding his hand all the way, and he finally lets you fix his tie once you’re in the train, headed to his place.

[sinner-as-saint]

our bodies converse like old friends

Bucky Barnes x Reader x John Walker 

Summary: Back home after a long mission, and there’s nothing these two soldiers want more than to just lose themselves in their favourite girl

Themes: threesome, smut, explicit language, bucky x reader, john x reader, praise kink

a/n: hear me out– 

“You’re making eyes at my girl again, Walker?” Bucky strutted into your bedroom lazily, looking like he just got out of the shower. He glared at John in that stern yet playful way he always does. 

“Our girl.” John corrected him and tightened his grip on you, making you giggle and squirm on his lap. “She’s mine too. Besides, I was here first.” 

John earned a dramatic eye roll from Bucky. “She was mine first, before you barged into our lives with your little sob story.” Bucky argued, making his way towards your bed, where you and John had been cuddling. 

“Whatever, Bucky. She likes me more.” John said, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek, extra loudly just to mess with Bucky. 

“Does she now?” Bucky rushed over and pulled you out of his embrace. 

John and Bucky made everything a competition – who’d get to spend more time with you, who’d get to wake you up in the morning, who’d find their way into your bedroom first each night, who’d make you come the hardest… you never complained. And you let the boys be boys. Plus you loved the attention. 

“Hi Buck,” You slid off John’s lap for a quick second, got out of bed and let Bucky pull you into his arms. 

“Hi, babygirl. You missed me?” Bucky asked, kissing your face while also keeping an eye on John who leaned his head back against the mountain of pillows you always kept in your bed. 

You caught the look the boys shared as you answered, “I did. I missed both of you.” 

Bucky spun you around, so you faced John while Bucky still had his arms around you from behind. John looked extra comfy in your large bed, surrounded by your pillows. And he had that smirk on his face – the one that promised lots and lots of trouble for you. The good kind. 

“Did you?” John teased, “‘Cause you were just telling me you had the best sleep ever these past few days. What was it you said?” He pretended to think about it, then answered his own question, “Ah, you said there were no men here to bother you and that you had plenty of alone time to do whatever you wanted.” 

“Wow.” And Bucky being the dramatic man he was, pretended to be hurt. “Is that how it is? We go out and fight to protect people, this city, and you, and this is what we get in return? You being happy when we’re away?” 

“That’s not–,” 

John cut you off, and added, “I’m telling you,” He said to Bucky, “We spoil her too much.” 

Bucky nuzzled your neck, making you shiver as he whispered against your skin, “Is that true, baby? Do we spoil you too much?” 

“No, not enough.” You argued, glaring at John’s pretty face. The betrayer. 

“Oh is that so?” John questioned. 

Bucky chuckled, “Not enough, huh? I don’t know, baby, I’d say you’re the most spoiled little princess ever. Huh, Walker? Don’t you agree?” 

John got out of bed, walked a couple steps and reached you and Bucky. He touched your face, his fingers tracing your features leisurely. “Maybe you need a reminder, huh princess?” 

“Maybe.” You mumbled, looking up into John’s blue eyes. His hair seemed darker because it was still damp. 

Bucky chuckled again. “Reminder it is then.” 

And before you knew it, you were naked between them. Bucky sat in your bed, leaning against the headboard, with his cock in your mouth. While you were in between his legs, ass up in the air with John’s cock buried deep in you from behind. 

“Not complaining about not being spoiled enough now, are you, baby?” John whispered, his large hands grabbing you by the hips so firmly that you were sure he’d leave bruises behind on your skin. 

He always did. 

Bucky had that cocky look on his face, groaning as you took him into your mouth as much as you could. He held your head gently and watched you intently with parted pink lips how you took him so perfectly. “There we go, princess.” He said, “You’re so good at this, aren’t you? Our perfect girl…” 

John was just as focused on your body, his hands keeping you in place as he moved in and out of you, watching how you wrapped around his cock perfectly, your walls inviting him in just how he liked it. “Good fucking girl…” He muttered under his breath. 

“Yeah you’re such a good girl for us, aren’t you?” Bucky cooed. You looked up at him and whimpered, tears falling down your face as your walls clenched around John and he moaned in response. 

Your body moved in between the two men like you were nothing but theirs to play with, all for them to use and you had no problem with that. They were greedy, both of them. Grabbing and touching you everywhere. But they were also gentle, and their touch was familiar and safe. 

“You can do better than that, baby… you can take more, can’t you?” Bucky lifted his hips up gently, he held your head gently and slowly pushed himself deeper into your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing through your nose, taking him in until he hit the back of your throat. You felt all of him, his smooth skin, his raw taste, and you couldn’t get enough.

Your fingers clawed at Bucky’s thighs as John pounded into you from behind. He groaned and grunted as he filled you up entirely, your ass cheek slapping into his pelvic bone as he rammed his cock in and out of you incessantly, your wet warmth wrapped around him perfectly. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Being filled like that?” John taunted playfully, “Huh? Do you prefer those lonely nights now?” 

Bucky chuckled, “Can’t even talk, can you? Mouth full of cock… isn’t this a good reminder, baby? You still think you aren’t spoiled enough?” 

Amongst the taunting and the way they used your body and mouth, you felt yourself drifting off to that high again. It was so close… 

Bucky came first, coming undone all over your tongue and watching you swallow all of him, while John sped up into you, chasing his orgasm as well. Gasping and grunting, you loved how vocal he was, compared to Bucky’s more quiet manner. You couldn’t help the way you squeezed and milked him as you felt the familiar pressure forming in between your legs again. 

You were already so desperate and needy, whining even as Bucky finally pulled his cock from your mouth and grabbed you by the chin so you looked up at him. Your whole body shook as John pounded relentlessly into you from behind. Bucky smirked as he looked into your eyes.

“So perfect…” Bucky breathed, looking down at you with nothing but pure desire in his ocean blue eyes. 

“Be a good girl, and come for me, princess…” John spoke, fucking deeper into you. “Come on.” He urged you, his grip on your hips tightening. “That’s it, milk my cock and come, baby… there you go, good fucking girl…” 

Bucky watched intently how your face morphed into a frown of pleasure. “So fucking pretty when you come.” He murmured. 

“It’s like this pussy was made for me,” John grunted, and you felt his cock throb against your walls. You tightened around him, and he groaned and swore under his breath before coming undone, buried deep within you, “Tight little thing, aren’t you?” He mumbled under his breath as he came.

“Fuck…” You swore as you came right after, moaning and trembling between them both. 

Your body tingled, and you felt warm all over and you felt sore because it had been days since you’d had them. At the same time. They could be a lot. Your jaw was sore, as was your sensitive spot in between your legs. You could still feel Bucky’s taste in your mouth while John pulled out and watched his cum drip out of you. 

“Look at that, fucking beautiful,” He murmured, sliding a finger in and fucking his cum back inside you. 

You were panting and whimpering, and about to collapse on your bed but they both held you up.

“Not quite done with you, princess.” Bucky spoke, mischief making his pretty eyes sparkle.

John added, cocky as always, “Did you think that was it?” 

That’s how you found yourself right in between them not even a minute after. Clothes off. John was behind you while Bucky was in front. Bucky gripped your hips and settled your body right in between him and John. You could tell by the look in their blue eyes that they couldn’t wait for both of them to fuck you at the same time.

They always did this. And you always loved every second of it. 

John gave you a quick kiss, his beard scratching your face, before he searched your bedside table to find the lube you guys always kept there. He held the bottle up and smirked at you. “I hope you’re ready, princess.” He teased, biting down on your exposed shoulder. “I won’t be gentle.” He added with a smirk. 

You whimpered, your core throbbing and sore but ready for them at the same time.

Bucky touched your chin to get your attention, before he leaned in for a kiss as well. “Pretty baby,” He murmured, kissing along your cheek till he could whisper right into your ear, “Look at you, so fucking needy, it’s dripping down your thighs, isn’t it?” 

John whispered in your other ear, “So fucking wet, princess. I think we would’ve been okay even without the lube.” He teased. 

Bucky chuckled. 

Your body trembled in between their naked bodies. They were so muscular, strong, and warm. And all yours. It drove you insane. And to think of all that strength, that superhuman power unleashed upon you… your heart raced like crazy in anticipation as you waited for one of them to finally fill you up. 

John went first, he lathered his cock with the lube and toyed with your hole for a bit before he pushed his thick cock slowly into your puckered hole. “Fuck.” He cursed. The lube made it easier for him to fill you up and he had you whimpering and moaning in no time.

Your moans were shameless. 

“You’re okay, princess,” John whispered into your ear, “Just focus on feeling good for me, okay? You can do it.” 

You leaned forward and rested your forehead on Bucky’s shoulder to steady yourself, but before you could catch your breath and adjust to John’s size, Bucky guided his cock over to your folds and pushed himself into you as well.  

They both groaned at how tight you were and slowly started moving in and out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” Bucky asked, once he was fully inside of you. “Deep breaths, you got this.” 

“We got you, angel, don’t worry.” John whispered. "We're right here."

You felt your holes stretching with both of their cocks inside of you and you felt so full that you could barely talk. You gripped his metal arm tightly, and nodded. Trying to accommodate both of them inside you was nothing new, but it always took away your ability to think straight. 

“So fucking tight…” John whispered against the back of your neck. They both had their arms around you, holding you up. 

The two moved in and out of you with a comfortable pace, one you were used to. Your walls clenched equally tight around each of them and the wet sounds your bodies made were sinful enough to make you almost lose your mind.

John bit down on your shoulder, whispering how good you felt while his arm tightened around you and he firmly placed his palm against your abdomen, right above your core. “You’re fucking perfect, baby, you feel that?” He could feel each one of Bucky’s thrust each time Bucky’s thick cock filled you up. 

So did you, moaning at how full you felt. “Oh my god…” You whined. 

Bucky chuckled, “No gods in here, baby. Just us.” 

You were all theirs. 

All you could focus on was their voices, their moans and their body heat as it wrapped around you, comforting you, making up for the time they’ve been away. Making up for the lonely nights you spent without them. 

“Not missing those lonely nights now, are you?” Bucky taunted. 

“You’re doing so, so good…” John reassured you. 

They both moved perfectly against you, your heart beats and breaths in sync. You felt the pressure growing in between your legs again, and you could no longer hold it back anymore. 

You were sensitive and needy. “Please….” You begged. To both of them. 

“Can you hold on a little longer, princess?” John asked. 

“No, no, please… please, can I–,” 

“Shh. It’s okay,” He murmured into your ear, “I know it’s a lot. I know. It feels so good, doesn’t it?” 

“Go ahead then, baby. Come for us,” Bucky finally said. 

That was all you needed. You felt your walls clenching around both of them, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you came violently around both of them.

You cried out, actual tears streaming down your face and you whimpered as they kept going even after you came, pounding into you from both sides and chasing their own release. 

“I know, I know,” John kept whispering, his beard rough against your soft skin. “I know you’re sensitive, angel. Just a little longer, I promise. Just a little…” 

“Almost there, baby…” Bucky’s breathy voice murmured. “Almost there…” 

The sounds of the moans and grunts coming from them made your body tingle. 

“That’s it, baby.” Bucky growled. “Missed this fucking pussy.” 

Bucky came with a loud moan. 

John came right after, panting as he filled you up again, then carefully slipped out of you, letting his cum drip down your skin again. Because he loved to watch it, he’d told you once. 

You whimpered when Bucky pulled out of you, you felt his cum oozing out of your folds and dripping down your thighs as well. 

Your body felt heavy and limp, so you just leaned back against John while Bucky kissed your lips roughly. You were sure you would be sore even tomorrow.

John wrapped his arms tightly around you and kissed your temple. He was still catching his breath, all warm and sweaty. “You’ve been such a good girl for us, baby… so proud of you.” he whispered against your skin and kissed the side of your face. “You did so well.” 

Bucky kissed down your neck, lips brushing against damp skin. “You’re always such a good girl, baby. Our spoiled, perfect princess…” 

—

a/n: this would send 2021 me into a coma

[liminalmemories21]

“You believe me, don’t you?” - @apollabarnes

Still slowly working our way through the list - not sure if it's solved our plot problem, but @cecilyv and I have had fun with all the prompts. So, thank you to everyone!

***************

“You believe me, don’t you?”

He understands why Athena buried Bobby in Minnesota.  Appreciates it even. That Bobby finally gets to be with his kids again.

But he wishes there was somewhere in LA he could go to talk to Bobby. The place that feels most like Bobby is the firehouse, but there’s always someone there.  He wants somewhere he can go that’s private, where he can talk to Bobby one-on-one.  Somewhere that he can go and tell Bobby that he’s failing.  That he can’t do the one thing Bobby asked him to do, what Bobby told him he could do.  That Chim’s doing it instead. And, he’s proud of Chim. Is honored to work with him, for Chim to be his Captain.  But that doesn’t make him feel less alone, less on the outside, less like he’s falling farther and farther behind as everyone else moves on.

He ends up at the diner he used to go to with Bobby sometimes after shift.  Is surprised when he walks in and sees Athena there too. He hesitates in the doorway, doesn’t want to intrude on her.  But he leaves it too long, and he takes up too much space, and she sees him, waves him over.

He sits awkwardly in the booth across from her, gives his order when the waitress comes back, fiddles with fixing his coffee. Looks up to see Athena watching him, face sharp and evaluating.

“How’re you doing, Buckaroo?”

He shrugs. “You know.”

She tilts her head. “No. That’s why I asked.”

He sits up a little straighter. “Right. Sorry.”  Resists the urge to say ma’am, if only because she’d give him shit about it. He tries to think of what he can say that’s honest, but won’t make her ask him anything else.  He’s not sure how far he can get in a conversation with Athena that doesn’t end up with him metaphorically bleeding all over the table in front of her, and she doesn’t need that. “Getting by,” is what he comes up with.

She makes a skeptical noise, but seems to take him at his word. They make small talk, about the station, about baby Bobby, how Maddie’s doing, how Chim’s doing as captain, about Eddie coming back. They don’t talk about the elephant in the room – about how none of these questions would need to be asked if Bobby was still here.

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurts out. “If I could have traded places with him I would have.” She doesn’t say anything, and he says a little desperately, “You believe me, don’t you? That I’d give him back to you if I could.”

Her face twists. “Honey, I believe you. I also know that Bobby wouldn’t want that. That he’d smack you upside the head for even thinking that. He wouldn’t have traded places with you in a million years, so don’t wish that for him.”

He swallows hard and wishes he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Baby,” she says, “how you really doing?”

He shakes his head. Can’t answer that honestly. Not to Athena.

She takes a sip of her coffee and considers him. “You talking to anyone?”

He shrugs, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  She shouldn’t be trying to solve his problems. “Everyone’s busy. Maddie and Chim have a new baby. Hen’s got her family.  Eddie–” well the less said about Eddie the better. “He’s busy too,” he says lamely.

“Hmm.  What about Tommy?  I seem to recall Bobby talking about you and him once or twice.”

“We broke up.”

Her eyebrows rise.  “Buck, honey, people who are over you don’t answer when you call and definitely don’t steal helicopters and take on the military.  I don’t know what went on between you, but whatever it is, it ain’t over yet.”

[rafesapple]

confessions, want sex with me?

warnings- cursing, sex, being ignored by rafe

(not proof read cs i’m tired)

you had liked rafe for a while now, obviously once you both had started actually talking. oh you fell for him so quickly, you couldn’t help it…wanting the attention. he gave you too much. texted you when you were out of your art classes. knew exactly when. once all your friends got together. he’d make sure to talk to you, even sometimes offered to give you a ride. but as of lately…he’d been seemingly avoiding you. not interacting as much. not texting unless you texted first. god you hated it. you felt like you were…. messed with. but how you loved it so. wanting more. getting wet every time he practically avoided you. made you want him even more.

you quietly leaned on the hallway wall on your phone trying to find a ride. it was too late for you to feel like walking, and everyone already left or had a full car. you look up seeing rafe at the end of the hall between corridors. “rafe!!” you call out running over to him “i uh— i know it’s um really late…but…could i get a ride. i really don’t want to walk and..” rafe looked down at you raising his eyebrow “um…” he hesitated, blinking a few times, he didn’t want to. thought he was falling too deeply for you. he couldn’t have that, desirin…no needing your love. but he couldn’t let you walk by yourself. “shit…yeah…just let me get the car.” he spoke roughly, grabbing your hand gently, leading you to the front doors of the country club. “wait here.”

once he pulls up to the door, you come out with your kitten heels tapping on the stone pavement. he got out to open the door and close it for you. once getting back into the driver's side, “you good?” he asked before driving off “mhm.” you smiled softly while nodding. the smile faded when he barely made conversation with you. but oh how wet it made you… watching him drive with his biceps straining against the polo shirt? god. “so um. have you been busy lately?” “why do you ask that…?”

“well you haven’t been texting as much..” you gently muttered while his hands got tighter on the wheel, and…his cheeks seemingly getting ready “are you alright…. you… you look like you're burning up…or are you si-“ “god you don’t get it?” he spoke raising his tone “i…did i do something, rafe?” once he parked in your apartment complex parking he turned to face you “you…didn’t do anything wrong. i’m the one fucking myself over yo-” he struggles to get his words out but manages to before you cut him out, blurting it out “do you want sex with me?” . . . . ”what. jesus christ, baby doll.” “you like me….right?” he looks deeply into your eyes “yeah. i do.” “ so…you want sex with me.” “baby doll. just cause i like you doesn’t mean i want sex with you—“ “but i want to.” you pause looking at his thighs then looking back at him “i think you're sexy. i love your biceps and the way you treat me. like how you cared so much about me but then treated me so mean. it made me want to cry but so horny.” you blurted out quickly, he couldn’t tell you were blushing with how much blush you had on. “baby you… god have you even ever had sex.” you bit your lip “i…uhm….no.” “then no fucking way am i taking your virginity yet. you're too good. you can’t let me, we ain’t even dating.” “i want to. i touch myself every night thinking about you.” “baby doll, i'm no—“ you cut him off once more, but with a deep kiss. his eyes widen for a moment before giving in, grunting and moaning as you whine. your tongues start to intertwine, both of your mouths so wet but somehow out of so much breath. but you couldn’t pull away, it was your first kiss which he wouldn’t know yet. one of his hands grabs the back of your head, the other squeezing your ass. once you both pull away, he gets out grabbing his keys. once coming over to your side he helps you get out. “you want it don’t you?”

once getting into your apartment he slams the door shut, attacking your lips. ruining all of your lip gloss while pulling the scrunchie out of your hair. you whimper pawing at his shirt, which he takes off for you. then tugs at your skirt “this okay, doll?” he asked raspy yet gentle. you nod biting your lip and he starts pulling the zipper down, then slipping your ass out of it. “where’s your bedroom.” “down— the hall.” you spoke before he picked you up over his shoulder

“rafey!!!” you yelled out before he dropped you on the bed. not rough, but not gentle. he spreads your legs gently getting between them to lean down and kiss you. he starts working on your shirt, but you try to take off your bra “we can leave it on if you want.” you look up at him with doe teary eyes and nod “please..” he pulls back standing up and undoing his belt, then pulling down his pants. you could fucking see how hard he was through the boxers, his cock was slipping out of them. already soaked in pre-cum. “hey…hey. darling.” he spoke softly “ you….sure about this..? i don’t want you—“

“i want it.” he nodded then going down, face to face with your puffy pussy under the pink and white frilly panties. “mm pretty panties..” he teased but all you could do was whine “h-hrm…” he starts coaxing your underwear down your thighs. he smirks seeing the wet stains all in them, then gently kisses up your thighs. even that was already starting to stimulate you. once he made his way up to your clit, he softly starts pecking at it before sucking on it. and the way it made you moan? terrible. he was getting so hard, rutting against nothing but pure need. he sucks you exceptionally hard making you cry and scream out. so you came right there, couldn’t even take it.

“mm i'm gonna start using my fingers now, doll.” he groaned out, getting your wet all over his fingers. he starts pushing them in slowly and gently “mhm… you're doing so good.” you whined rutting against his hands, it was so much. once he curled his fingers up right there like he’d fuck you already times and times before. “f-fuck!!!!” and it got even worse once he started scissoring you open. “ra—god—oh my—!!” you cried out before he slowed for a moment. “you okay…? we can stop if you want.” he muttered against your thigh “no…please i want…” “okay baby..” he whined once he started scissoring you again.

after about 10 minutes he spat in his hand before rubbing it all over his cock “ready?” he groaned, and loud once he started slowly entering you. but you? you were loud. crying his name and mumbling incoherent words. his thick cock felt like… you couldn’t even describe. it burned but felt good in a way. “you're doing so…god damn it….good.oh fuck….” and then he pushed so far deep, it felt like something broke

“i'm gonna go faster baby…mkay…?” he whimpered out. but when he started going faster? it hurt, once he kept hitting that spot? oh it felt so good. “f-fuck. fuck. fuck. rafey!!!” so you came…really quick and he watched your orgasm star-struck, pounding your pussy through it. he gently massaged your head, kissing your neck and comforting you. pleasing you.

[huntingcupid]

PROMISES WITH LARA RAJ

would we be lovers or would we be friends would we mind if we stayed or went separate ways would we have said what we wanted to say what if we said we would see through the endwould we be lovers or would we be friends would we mind if we stayed or went separate ways would we have said what we wanted to say what if we said we would see through the end

⌗ LARA — fem!reader, angst, fluff, breakup, swearing, lovers to strangers to lovers again, good ending, etc...

⌗ CUPID — I'm removing the sypnosis part, sigh its spoiling too much

what if?

the question that always was in your mind, one that kept plaguing your dreams and daily thoughts — something you couldn't help but think about

what if she kept her promises, what if you didn't doubt her, what if you two didn't end — what if she deserves another chance?

you didn't like how it ended, i mean who did?, lara was never that sad ever, you've never seen the girl sob as loud as the night you told her you wanted to end it, you've never seen lara beg and plead yet there she was holding your hands as she tried to stop you from slipping away her face flushed from tears

it hurt — it hurt how you couldn't bring yourself to love her the same anymore, that you couldn't hug her and reassure her, cause you knew it was bound to happen

lara had been different the past few weeks, from being colder to straight up being a bitch to you, constantly snappy and mean — something was wrong and you wanted to know what, what is making her this weird

and against your better judgment, you snoop through her phone, that night lara was taking a shower, you steal her phone from her bag, and open it using your password since you two shared that — nothing out of the ordinary was in it, just plain old texts and pictures, you sighed feeling relief

well until it popped up, a text from manon, manon is lara's ex, the one she said hurt her the most, your heart drops — you open the conversation only to see an exchange of messages for a good 4 days now, multiple ones of them being sweet

you didn't want to say lara was cheating, but why would she hide this, and why is she talking to her again, you swipe and swipe to see more, the bathroom door unlocks and there stood lara her face pale when she saw what your holding

“baby, what are you-” you cut off the girl, “why the fuck are you talking to manon, lara” you grit your teeth feeling your blood boil, “it's not what it looks like!” lara retorts, you slap the girl, feeling the burn of your tears fall to your cheeks — “it is lara, get the fuck out of here! now!” you scream pushing her away as she tries to hug you, her face wet with tears

lara begged endlessly as you threw her bag out of your house, all her things packed away, “please y/n, i love you!” lara screams, yet you try your best to not hear it, feeling betrayed and hurt, you look at her a last time before slamming the door

lara rung your number more than a hundred times that night, messages spammed as she begged you, begged to let her explain and let her back in, yet you were too hurt to even consider it

the first morning without lara was foreign, without a warm body that's hugging you it felt cold, no one to hum soft tunes while you cook breakfast, or no one to hug you from behind as you clean the dishes

it was all new, again — the house felt empty, so did your heart, so empty — lara left her favorite hoodie on the sofa and you grabbed it already her scent wafted through the air, you hug the hoodie wearing it even just to feel better

you stare at your house which used to be filled with memories and joy, now just a painful reminder of what you and lara used to be, what was trashed last night

you went about your day, going out for a walk and buying from a local bakery — it felt like a fever dream the day passed like a bubble, fragile and quick — you felt down, nothing made you joyous at all, yet you still pushed through the day

and for the next few weeks you did this like a routine, despite the feeling of weirdness and boredom, especially pain — today was no different it has been 2 weeks, and you just finished your shift, you walk home and enjoy some matcha latte

you push open the house door only to find lara inside, a glass of water in one hand as she looked like she just finished sobbing, secretly you felt relieved that she was there yet still hurt nonetheless — lara looks up and sees you, she runs up to you hugging you tightly

“y/n, can we speak please?” lara asks looking at you with sparks in her eyes, you itch to return the hug and kiss her cheeks yet you stopped only offering a cold nod, you two sat on your bed

lara looked around the room seemingly not used to see it so empty or at least without her things — you sigh placing your bag on the floor as you remove your coat

“speak” you said to the girl, lara bit her lip and slowly pulled her phone out, “i wasn't cheating, manon was going through something and i know i should've not kept it secret, but i did, and I'm sorry for that” lara follows, you nod as she shows proof that nothing really happened despite what you've thought

“I'm sorry my love, i know i should've been honest, i should've kept my promise to not be secretive, please give me another chance” lara pleads her warm hands atop of yours looking into your eyes, searching for hope — anything really

“lara, I'm not saying i forgive you, but i would love for you to work for it, show me you've changed, no more broken promises” you look at her, lara smiles one that felt genuine and for once in a long time you felt happy, “ill do anything y/n” lara responds only kissing your hands

and she did everything all right, lara started with sending you breakfast every morning with a little note, monday it was a latte and some waffles, tuesday it was croissants and hot chocolate — till friday, which was mango juice and strawberry cake — you smile internally feeling like a teenager falling in love all over again

wednesday lara takes you out for a walk — by the park, she buys you ice cream and some balloon that was pink — you look over at the girl who seemed very determined, and when you weren't looking lara would take candid pictures, and save it in a special album

saturday — lara had texted you if she can sleepover and have a movie date, you sent her back a thumbs up and time of arrival, on the clock 8pm lara knocks on your door

you open the door only to see lara in a bear onesie — you couldn't help but giggle and obviously have cuteness aggression — lara looks at you pouting but quickly takes out something from her bag, a matching pink onesie, “let's match?” lara asks enthusiastically

now you lay in your bed wearing the matching set, lara besides you the popcorn bowl in the middle, lara insisted on horror, landing on tarot — you were so focused on what was gonna happen that lara actually decided to scare you

“boo!” lara screams gripping your arms, “shit!” you scream back earning a laugh from the girl as you look at her in playful annoyance — the movie continued and the next thing you knew laras head falls on your lap, she's asleep

with the movie long forgotten you brush the girls hair, taking a moment to admire the woman — you pull up the covers placing lara's head on your chest as you inhaled the fragrance of her shampoo

“goodnight my love” you whisper turning off the tv and kissing the top of the womans head, arms wrapped around her waist, “did you just kiss me?!” lara geeks out, you roll your eyes and just kept quiet even when the girl below you was actually flustered out of her mind

“goodnight too, my love!” lara excitedly says, snuggling more into you, her body fit right onto you, like a puzzle piece

wc: 1.3k word / req by 🌧 anon mwamwa

[loverofoldsadlosers]

Text Book

summary: your freudian complex comes to visit when you reunite with your dad and his best friend for the summer. (smut)

(hi this is a very self indulgent little piece. hope you enjoy! please don’t psychoanalyze me .. 😞)

Joel had been an ‘empty-nester’ for months too long.

His life, for a better part of eighteen years, had revolved all around one person: one piece of himself, now left to fend the world he knew far too well all by her lonesome.

Sometimes, on quiet nights spent with a cold spot beside him on the sofa, he walks up the dark staircase toward her bedroom; creaking the door open and expecting to see her laying there, softly breathing and safe in his home.

He tells you this, sat on your father’s patio with a cigarette in hand and a slight frown on his face. You didn’t need to press him for more - for more sentiment to be shared, and for a deeper crease in his brows to form. He just took a slow drag of the cigarette left burning between his fingers, and gazed outward to the space beside you. His eyes flitting toward the ground and view of the edge of his house as if walking through the memories there in pieces; breaking the silence when he remembers something witty Sarah said or something dangerous she did when she was five. It’s funny, you think.

If your father, currently stood in the grill smoke, was sat on the empty chair to your side, you were sure he would laugh at Joel. He would stand up with a pat on his shoulder and tell him to “lighten up, pal.”

You aren’t sure how to keep smiling at Joel’s recital when your stomach is beginning to turn queasy in his paternal reminiscence. You don’t know how much longer you can blame the ash from the fire as the perpetrator for your watering eyes when he reminds you of Sarah’s graduation party. It was small, intimate, a surprise completely prepared by Joel who “couldn’t contain how proud he was.”

Part of you admired Joel, truly — his fatherly disposition that comes as natural to him as walking and eating and sleeping. But part of you, the one clenching your jaw to distract yourself from the wetness threatening to stream down your cheeks, feels something ugly toward him.

Something akin to jealousy.

Where Sarah groaned in embarrassment at the festivities, there was you: you who almost missed your graduation out of fear of your father not showing up. You who texts your father several times a day with no response. You whose father doesn’t know how you take your tea or the friends you keep. You, whose father didn’t bother to see you enough to feel like an “empty-nester.”

You, here for the sole reason of trying to bond with your father, and instead left talking to his best friend.

It was a mangled, futile blip of jealousy, but it was there. It wasn’t envy in the sense of wanting your father to suddenly develop the same sentiment Joel shared toward fatherhood, but rather an abstract desire for somebody, for Joel maybe, to feel that way toward you.

Semantics.

You don’t get the chance to tell him that when a rattle of an empty beer can comes from the lawn. “We’re out!” Your father shouts, oblivious to the dread knotting in your stomach and calling on you to “fetch him a six-pack, will ‘ya kid?” Begrudgingly, yet with relief for an end to the conversation you couldn’t in good conscience continue, you stand up with a small smile. “Want me to come with?” Joel asks politely. Yes, you do. But you say “it’s alright, thanks.” “Know what kind of beer your old man likes?” A kick to the gut.

You’re sure at that moment it all clicks for Joel. Your silence, your uneasy expression, your constant hovering around Joel like the insects buzzing at the porch-light above. “Yeah, I’ll come.” The car ride is as awkward as you’d imagined it to be. Joel drives, glancing at you occasionally as you decide carefully on what to play. Trying to fill the silence with music he would like but unsure in his lack of response. Trying to start conversation by playing Pink Floyd, you’d seen him wear their shirt the day before. But he doesn’t say a word, and you change the song just to hit another lack of approval. And then you change it again. And again. And again. Until he grunts out a “knock it off” squinting toward you with the lines of his crows feet shadowed in the orange evening light, laughing that he “liked the last song you played” and that “you didn’t have to change it.”

The ride home is equally as quiet. Until, he says, “so, how’s college been treating you?” “It’s been good.” “You behaving up there?” You laugh gently. “Sure am.” You want him to challenge you, interrogate your behaviour, but he just meets your smile with a simper of his own. “Any college boys I need to kill?” You roll your eyes and he grins, his eyes watching your expression before glancing down in a quick beat. “Hope you don’t wear dresses like that around those dogs.” His gaze catches your bare thighs and you flush, secretly hoping he would brazenly stare or even touch you to emphasize it. “Well I guess you’ll never know.” He rolls his eyes at you this time and you can’t help but giggle.

Silence. “Your dad’s missed you, you know.” You snort. “I’m serious, kid, he has.” Then why hasn’t he called? You want to ask, but you just stay silent. “Like you miss Sarah?”

The car engine stutters and he glances toward you with a sharp turn of his neck. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. Studying your expression and tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. He stares at you for a beat too long, before turning back out to the road.

“Randy sure missed me, though.” “Randy?” His neck turns even quicker this time that it’s almost comedic. “Yeah. Randy Coleman.” “Yeah I — yes, I know Randy, we all know Randy, what does he… he what?” You shrug with a smile. “Came to say hello when I got back.”

The car pulls into Joel’s garage. He puts the car into park, turns off the ignition, and looks at you. His mouth slightly open and eyes squinting. “What’dya mean Randy Coleman came to say hello?”

You cross your arms and try not to grin. “Said he liked seeing me all grown up. Tried to get in my pants, actually—“ Joel coughs into his elbow. Scrunching his face with a shake of his head and coughing again. “Fucking hell, kid.” ”What? It’s true.” He stares at you incredulously. “I didn’t let him, obviously.” Joel lets out a breath you didn’t even realize he was holding and you laugh. “Maybe I should’ve. Sure would’ve been more of a welcome brigade than dear old dad not being in town.” “That’s cause he— I don’t…” he palms at the scruff on his jaw, tapping the wheel in three quick motions before pinching the bridge of his nose. “ ‘Don’t know why you’re telling me this, kid.” “I don’t know either.” “I’m not… I won’t sit here and lecture you to stay away from fucking Randy Coleman of all fucking people, I mean shit. You ain’t mine to lecture.” You gulp to try and soothe the disappointment tightening at your throat. You want him to care enough to yell. You want him to be angry, disgruntled, do something about it with a raise or his voice or swift hit of his hand. “I know.” You say quietly. “Do you? Do you know? ‘Cause it seems like you want hell-of-a-lot more than I can provide here.” “What would you tell Sarah?” “You ain’t Sarah.” You know you aren’t. Selfish in your tangled want for him to carry a shred of the concern he feels for her toward you. You don’t belong to him, you aren’t his, he can’t surrogate you. “But if I was?” Stupid. Selfish. Surrendering on your back and showing the weak points of your design; exposing the fleshy tenderness of your vulnerability like a prey’s soft stomach. Waiting for the clamp of a jaw, the pierce of canines, the bite of disappointment and subsequent jolt of reality. In the dark of the evening, slightly illuminated by the deepening orange of the sun not yet breached past the horizon, you see the shadow of the deep crease settled between his brows. He looks at you silently, pursing his lips together and sighing with a shake of his head. A look of pity, you think, you hope. His weathered hand and calloused fingers coming to scratch at the bottom of his jaw. “I’d tell you to get your act together.” He says so softly it’s almost a whisper. You need more. You want to say, tell me more Joel. Lecture me about college boys and grown men like Randy, quiz me on the names of the bands you like, nag at me to do my homework and tell me you’re proud. Show me with your hands: hold me between your strong arms, touch my skin, guide my hands, teach me, touch me, show me. Instead, you just gawk at him wordlessly. You stare at him so hard you’re sure he’s broken a sweat. He’s irrevocably handsome. Hugged by a tattered flannel rolled to expose his sun-soaked skin. His chest exposed, freckled and lightly dusted by hair. He’s lived for so long, gone through so many phases of life and met and loved so many people. It’s almost unfair to sit there in a quiet lull when Joel has stories to tell. You see it in the lines beside his dark eyes and sheer size. Broad, muscled, larger than you in both life and physicality.

There’s no way to explain to him the inexplicable feelings his very presence has conjured other than to just kiss him. You lean in slow enough for him to move away. Inching toward him with a halt for breath with your mouth hovering over his and hearing him gasp a breath. You kiss him, gently, pressing your lips to his so nervously and faintly it could be imagined. “We can’t” he heaves. Pushing your shoulder lightly but not with enough conviction to get you to sit back down. “But I… I want you.” “No, you don’t want this, kid, you…” He says it still so close to you his lips brush against yours as he speaks, raspy and sweet. “It ain’t right.” A delicate redirection earning a rebutting, ignorant pout from you. Meeting his puzzled look with a doe expression and waving your white flag. “Please?”

Please? Love me, show me, pretend with me, please?

“It ain’t…” His mouth meets yours like he’s testing the waters. Hesitant to kiss his best friends daughter and careful to give in when the pity he feels for you morphs into something part guilty and part angry; grabbing your jaw with a harsh grip and deepening the kiss in his disbelief and disappointment that you would want him like this. A twenty-something-girl and a man old enough to be her father. He shows you with a clash of teeth and fierce tug of your hair. Pulling you closer to him and panting into your mouth when you climb over the console onto his lap. “Please.” Your hips move eagerly and frantically against his and he’s desperate to try and get some semblance of control over the situation, grasping at your hips to pull them to stop but bucking upwards when your hands fumble at his belt buckle.

He grips both your wrists in one fist and pulls away. Both of you panting and slumping into eachother. “C’mere,” he whispers. Turning your back against his chest and you can feel how hard he is behind you. The scruff on his jaw scratches your skin, burning beautifully as he kisses the junction on your neck. Telling you i’m here, easy now, squeezing your thigh and reaching up into the skirt of your dress. Brushing his fingers against where you want him most, gasping when he presses his fingers down. “Please.” You beg again. Please show me you can want me, even if it’s only like this. Your hips jolt up when he reaches beneath the white cotton of your panties, thumbing at the most sensitive part of you and huffing a laugh when you whine. “Please, Joel, please—“ He hums, teasing you by slapping the flesh of your thigh. “You want to play with the adults like you’re grown? Tell me what you want. C’mon.” He brings his fingers back to you and you keen. “Use your words, you’re a big girl.” “Please, Joel. Your… I want your fingers, please.” You want him so bad you could cry and you think you do as he plunges them into you; two with no warning and curling immediately into that plush spot inside of you. “Oh my…” You rock against his hand, whining into his neck and biting at the skin there. Hot and sweaty, your sweet perfume mixing with the dark musk of his cologne. “Poor little girl, huh?” He pities you and it just stirs you deeper. Meeting his ramming with fervent swivels and he just matches your franticness, thrusting his fingers so deep and aggressively into you that you silently scream, reaching a spot you didn’t even know existed, hearing him growl behind you when you begin to shake. “Joel…” you want to say thank you. Thank you, Joel. Thank you, daddy. Daddy. Daddy.

You grind down against him and he slaps your cheek, bringing your mouth to his and kissing you so messily it’s filthy. Almost as dirty as hearing you so wet against him it’s loud — ricocheting against the grunts and mewling inside his truck. “Feels so… it’s too much, Joel!” He grind against your back, propelling his fingers even deeper into you and you feel it all at once: another finger added, your legs shaking, your back arching and his arm anchoring your waist to pull you back against him, not letting you escape from the fire tingling rampant through your body.

“Too much, Joel, feels.. d—!” His hand clamps tightly over your mouth. “Shh, just take it, take it. That feels good, huh?” You nod desperately and slump into him, feeling the aftermath still coursing through your body before jerking up with a yowl with a when his fingers continue their onslaught. “No, Joel! ‘S too much!” You try and escape him pressing your hips down, shuddering against him with a cry. He laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and he pulls his fingers out of you. He kisses your face. Your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw, your lips, and then presses his forehead to yours with a small sigh. “That’s all…that’s all I can provide for you, kid.” You don’t need to say anything except a quiet “thank you, Joel.”

[tsukeilvr]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. t.kei x fem!reader

fluff . oneshot (?) yearning series

note: i hope this isnt ooc glup

Tsukishima Kei, who swears up and down that he isn’t a romantic.

He rolls his eyes when Tadashi puts on a rom-com at their weekend movie nights, when he overhears their managers talking about the latest celebrity couple — even trivial matters, like when Tanaka & Nishinoya make heart-eyes at Kiyoko. “You’re such a killjoy, Tsukishima!” Hinata would say after practice, in response to his disinterested shrug when they asked him about his stance on love, a discussion that soon turned into an argument over which superhero they could take in a fight; oddly enough, they all said Spiderman. Admittedly, he was more interested in stating his input on that topic.

And yet, Kei, who groans in annoyance when his father sweet-talks his mother and practically sprints at the first sight of affection, somehow gravitates toward you. He only knew you as a mutual friend of Tadashi’s at first. Then, you two started talking. And, almost subconsciously, he starts doing the things he swore he’d never catch himself doing in the first place.

It started with a simple “Hey.” You called his attention mid-class, your voice a hushed whisper as not to catch the eye of your teacher. He didn’t even spare you a glance, continuing to write down notes as if you weren’t there.

You frown, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. How rude, you think. “Heey,” you repeat, this time reaching across the gap between your tables to nudge his side lightly—watching as he jolts subtly in shock. Annoyed, he finally turns to you with a frown. “What?”

Instead of calling each other out on both your rather rude—disruptive—approaches, you simply offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You look smart,” you point out the obvious, being that the both of you were in a college-prep class. “You have any notes?”

Kei stares at you as if you just asked if oranges were pink, and for a second, it looks like he’s about to ignore you once more. But, upon seeing the empty page in your notebook lacking the latest lessons, he sighs—a bit of empathy coursing through his veins. He takes out a few pages from his binder, passing it to you without a word.

And that’s where it all started; he’d send and pass you his notes when he noticed your lack of attention during lessons, and at some point, he doesn’t remember when, you started handing him small, strawberry-flavored sweets in return.

“What’s this?” he asked, tilting the small chocolate dessert in his hand. You glance up at him with furrowed brows, then back at your notebooks, switching between his bland notes and your colorful pages. “Chocolate, duh. Take it as my thanks,” you reply. “Tadashi said you like strawberry shortcake, but I didn’t have much time to make that.”

He pauses as he chews the strawberry-flavored chocolate, the sugar hitting his taste buds all at once — it’s fresh, sweet, and all new to him; most of all, it’s… homemade. You bake. You baked for him.

From that day on, he started listening to you more—specifically, caring more. He complained less when you’d talk his ears off over call while he studied, when you’d join him and Tadashi on the way home, even when you ended up worming your way into their movie nights—even when he started to inherit your taste in movies, which he claimed were ‘stupid’ and ‘lame.’

It was a Friday night, light rain pattering on the windows as cold air settled in the room. As per usual, you and Tadashi sat on Kei’s living room couch as the distant humming of the microwave echoed off the walls of the kitchen, while you skimmed through the movie options for the night. Kei waits patiently for the popcorn to be ready, his head leaned to the side as he listens in on the conversation.

Ever since you became a part of their duo—now trio—he’s become less standoffish towards you; truthfully, he never meant to appear that way; he just liked getting a kick out of you, ragebaiting, if you may. But now? Now, he’d never admit it, but he’s started to be fond of your presence. He sometimes finds himself listening to songs you mentioned liking once, writing down short explanations of equations and topics he knows you struggle with, and at some point, he started to offer his notes even if you didn’t ask.

And the truth is? You stopped needing them after a while, his presence somehow influencing you to pay more attention in class — but you always accepted when he’d hand them to you without a word.

“I just think that Dear Daniel is totally disregarded when people make those, like…” You flailed the remote around in the air, like your hands could illustrate your words. “Batman and Hello Kitty things. Like, uhhh, no? Kitty has Daniel.”

Tadashi is about to retort when the smell of buttered popcorn fills his senses, his gaze drifting to the source of the smell, watching as Kei sits down in between them, a large bowl of popcorn in his hands. He sinks into the cushions with a sigh, quirking a brow at the familiar, cheesy romance movie playing on the television screen. “This again?” he mumbles.

You frown and throw a tiny piece of popcorn in his direction. “Shut up, it’s my favorite! Tadashi said he hasn’t seen it either, so deal with it.”

Kei feigns annoyance, groaning as the movie starts—though he isn’t as bothered as he appears. He occasionally mumbles “Boring,” to grab your attention and annoy you, but it’s hard to miss how he not-so-subtly whispers in sync with the lines he’s heard over a thousand times. It’s hard to miss how he’d laugh a little when a silly moment comes on screen, and especially when he smiles upon catching the glint in your eyes when the characters finally confess their feelings — he wonders if he’d catch you looking at him with that same glint if he played his cards right.

He wonders how you, with no effort whatsoever, managed to make him feel like the hopeless romantic he never thought he’d become.

[ilovemarvel97]

Wrong Timing, Right Song

Elizabeth Olsen x G!P Reader

Summary: How Lizzie and Y/N first met.

Word Count: 9,467

Request: Yes

Warnings: fluff, cute, little jealousy.

A/N: I got some requests about how Lizzie and reader met, so here we go!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Los Angeles, Late 2013

Y/N didn’t like these kinds of events.

Too many fake laughs. Too many tight smiles. She felt like a misplaced lyric in an auto-tuned song — polished on the outside, dissonant underneath.

Her assistant, Dani, had shoved the event pass into her hand and practically forced her into a tailored black suit before she could come up with a decent excuse.

“You just hit number two on Billboard,” Dani said, adjusting her collar. “This is your moment. You need to be seen. You need to meet people. It’s all part of the job.”

Y/N had muttered something about rather being home with her guitar and cold pad thai, but no one listened. So now she was here — some upscale West Hollywood event where everyone smelled expensive and talked like they were reading from the same networking script.

She nursed a ginger cocktail near the bar, head slightly ducked, watching the crowd. Most people didn’t notice her, not yet. They recognized her name more than her face — something she was fine with.

And then she saw her.

Elizabeth Olsen.

There was something quiet about her presence — composed, maybe a little detached from the noise. She wasn’t commanding attention, but the way she moved through the room made people notice her anyway. She wore a simple black silk dress, her hair loose and tucked behind one ear. Elegant, but not loud.

Y/N tried not to stare. Really, she did.

But Lizzie caught her eye. Just a glance. Then another. And — against all odds — she made her way over.

“Hey,” Lizzie said when she reached her. Her voice was calm and unassuming. “You’re Y/N, right?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Wow. I mean—yeah.”

Lizzie gave a polite smile. “I heard your single on the radio the other day. It's been in my head since.”

“Oh,” Y/N said, heart bumping once in surprise. “That’s… thank you. I didn’t think someone like you would’ve heard it.”

Lizzie tilted her head slightly. “Someone like me?”

Y/N gave a sheepish shrug. “Movie star. Red carpet regular. You know… cool.”

That pulled a quiet laugh from Lizzie — a short one, more amused than charmed.

“Well, it’s a good song,” she said simply. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

Y/N smiled, relaxing a little. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

She hesitated, then decided to go for it — not bold, just honest.

“You’re beautiful, by the way,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “Not just in the obvious way, either. You just… you carry a kind of peace with you.”

Lizzie blinked at that. The compliment didn’t make her blush or smile — not quite. She seemed to absorb it quietly, then offered a gentle, almost apologetic expression.

“I appreciate that,” she said. “But… I have a boyfriend.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a breath, then steadied.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t,” Lizzie said quickly, and her tone made it clear — no anger, no discomfort, just a line drawn with care. “I just thought it was better to say it now.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I get it. I respect it.”

They stood in silence for a beat — not awkward, just brief — and Lizzie glanced toward the crowd again.

“Well… congratulations on the single,” she said, her tone drifting back toward polite.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied. “And, uh… thanks for saying hi.”

Lizzie nodded once, then turned to go, merging back into the sea of agents, actors, and producers.

Y/N watched her leave, a little hollowed out but not bitter. Just… wistful.

She took another sip of her drink and sighed under her breath.

“She feels like a song I’ll write and never finish.”

And somewhere inside her, the melody had already begun.

---

Lizzie’s POV

Lizzie told herself it was nothing.

Just a fleeting conversation at a crowded party. Polite. Complement exchanged, boundary set. It didn’t have to mean anything.

But Y/N had been… different.

Not in that overstated celebrity way, not like the people who tried to make an impression with oversized energy and manufactured charm. No, Y/N had been quieter. More grounded. She spoke like she actually meant what she said. Looked at Lizzie like she saw her — not the actress, not the photoshoots or the headlines, just… her.

And that wasn’t something Lizzie was used to.

Still, she had Boyd.

They’d been together for almost two years. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t… good anymore. Conversations had turned thin. Affection had started feeling like routine. She used to feel excited when he touched her — now it felt like remembering something she used to enjoy. Like a melody she couldn’t hum anymore.

But none of that had anything to do with Y/N.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

She didn’t mention the singer to Boyd. Didn’t tell her sisters either. It was just a moment. Not worth explaining.

Except…

She kept hearing her voice.

On the radio during a late drive home. On the speakers at a boutique while flipping through clothes she didn’t need. At brunch when her sister queued a playlist she swore was “the best new artist of the year.”

Y/N’s voice was smooth but raw, like silk with a tear running through it. Something about it stayed with Lizzie long after the song ended — low in her chest, just below the ribs.

Then the album dropped.

Lizzie didn’t plan to listen. She told herself she was too busy — press, auditions, appearances. But late one night, after a silent dinner with Boyd and an argument about something she already forgot, she sat in her car in the driveway. Keys still in the ignition. Phone in her hand.

She opened the album. Hit play.

The first few tracks washed over her like rain on a windshield — soft, emotional, honest. But it was track four that split her open.

Met her once, in a room too loud to hear my own breath

She smiled, and I wondered how many galaxies fit in one look

But her hand was held by time I couldn’t reach

So I left her like a song I couldn’t sing.

The lyrics felt like a confession whispered into her neck.

Lizzie’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. She didn’t cry — not exactly — but something inside her fractured in the quiet way heartbreak sometimes does: without noise, just pressure.

Was that about me?

No way. They’d only spoken once. But she wish it was.

And she wanted to hear it again.

Not just the track — the voice. That voice that had looked her in the eye and called her beautiful like it wasn’t rehearsed. That voice that had respected her boundary without pulling away in bitterness. That voice that had walked away, but not unfeeling.

The following weeks were restless.

She scrolled past headlines about Y/N’s album hitting platinum. Saw photos of her performing live, always in her element, always with a slightly sheepish smile like she wasn’t sure she belonged there. And maybe that’s what Lizzie couldn’t forget — the humility under all that talent. The quiet.

Boyd noticed her distance. Asked if she was stressed. She said yes. Let him hold her at night even when it felt more like an obligation than comfort.

But Y/N’s lyrics kept circling back, looping in her mind in moments she should’ve been focused on something else.

The girl from the party wouldn’t go away.

She stayed in the music.

And slowly, so slowly Lizzie barely noticed it, her relationship with Boyd started to feel like the wrong key for a song she used to love.

---

The breakup with Boyd was quiet.

There were no slammed doors, no teary confrontations, no dramatic exits. Just the slow realization — mutual, almost clinical — that they were done. That whatever they used to reach for in each other was now… gone.

He moved his things out on a Tuesday.

Lizzie changed the sheets the next day, not out of spite, but because she needed the symbolism. A fresh start. Something clean.

She told herself she was fine. She’d been busy. Press tours for Oldboy, meetings for upcoming projects, family visits. But even in the noise of it all, Y/N's voice followed her like a thread.

The album stayed on her phone. And track four — that song — became a kind of quiet ritual. She didn’t talk about it. Didn’t mention it when her sister caught her humming the chorus. She just let it live in the background. Private. Personal.

She didn’t expect to see her again.

But then came Grammy week. The pre-parties. The overcrowded, overhyped social calendar that came with being in the industry — one Lizzie rarely enjoyed but always attended, out of some combination of politeness and professional duty.

This one was in the Hollywood Hills. Warm evening air, strings of lights above polished concrete patios, drinks with fruit she couldn’t pronounce. Agents. Artists. Everyone scanning the room behind the person they were talking to.

Lizzie was halfway through a conversation with someone she barely remembered meeting before when her eyes caught a familiar silhouette near the patio edge.

Y/N.

She stood just outside the main crowd, talking to a producer Lizzie vaguely recognized. A glass in one hand, her other thumb tucked into her pocket. Her suit tonight was deep maroon with black satin lapels, slightly open at the collar. Her hair was a bit longer than before, swept back in a way that made her jawline sharper, her energy smoother.

She looked composed. Calm. Confident, even.

Lizzie didn’t think. She just moved.

Not rushed. Not panicked. Just… drawn. She crossed the space between them like someone who’d finally stopped second-guessing.

“Hey,” she said, soft but clear.

Y/N turned — and froze for half a second.

Then came that smile. Like a slow sunrise. “Elizabeth Olsen.”

“Just Lizzie tonight,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Unless you’re mad at me.”

Y/N let out a breath of a laugh, low and warm. “Why would I be? You were honest, and I respect that,” she said genuinely, eyes steady on Lizzie’s.

There was no bitterness. No trace of ego or wounded pride. Just that same quiet grace Lizzie remembered from the first time — the kind that made her feel seen, not sized up.

Still, Lizzie shifted her weight slightly. “Well… I’ve thought about that night.”

Something flickered across Y/N’s face. Surprise, maybe. Curiosity.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” she admitted.

“Same,” Lizzie said. “But then your album came out. Kind of made it hard to forget you.”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “You listened to it?”

“I memorized it,” Lizzie confessed, her voice dipping just above a whisper. “Especially track four.”

A pause stretched between them, heavier than the last time. Not awkward — just weighted. Charged.

Y/N looked down for a second, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “That one… that one’s personal.”

Lizzie's voice softened. “About anyone I’d know?”

Y/N met her gaze. Steady now. “About a girl I met at an event. Thought she was magnetic. Said she had a boyfriend.”

Lizzie exhaled — a soft, amused sound. “She doesn’t anymore.”

Y/N’s expression shifted again — less guarded now. More open. Her eyes searched Lizzie’s face like she was making sure this wasn’t a game. Like she wanted to believe it, but wouldn’t let herself just yet.

And maybe that was fair.

Because Lizzie had walked away before. With reason. But still — she had.

So this time, she didn’t wait.

“I don’t want red carpets. I don’t want press. I don’t even need it to be a big deal,” Lizzie said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her black trousers, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt. “But if you’d still want to… I’d really like to take that offer on getting drinks.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, that same amused spark flickering behind her eyes. She hummed, dragging the moment out in deliberate, exaggerated thought.

“Hmm…” she said, tapping her chin with theatrical flair. “Let me think. Drinks with the gorgeous Lizzie Olsen… who turned me down once, crushed my fragile singer heart…”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, laughing despite herself. “Okay, dramatic.”

Y/N grinned wider. “You don’t know the half of it. I almost wrote a sad acoustic trilogy about you.”

“You kind of did.”

“Fair,” Y/N conceded with a wink. “Still, you showing up here, no boyfriend in sight, actually asking me out… I don’t know. I might need a minute to process this emotional rollercoaster.”

Lizzie bit back a smile, relaxing into the banter. “You’ve had four months.”

“And I’ve used them wisely,” Y/N said. “Grew into my heartbreak. Became Billboard’s favorite tragic romantic.”

“You hit number one, didn’t you?”

“Tragedy sells.”

They both laughed then — real, unguarded.

And when it faded, Y/N looked at her again, softer now.

“Yeah,” she said, sincere beneath the teasing. “I’d love to get that drink with you.”

Lizzie’s shoulders dropped the tension she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Good.”

Y/N held out her hand. “Then let’s get out of here. I know a place. No cameras. No crowd.”

Lizzie hesitated just long enough to let her fingers brush Y/N’s before taking her hand fully.

Y/N’s grip was warm, steady — like she wasn’t surprised this was finally happening, like she’d been waiting with quiet patience.

They didn’t make a scene walking out. No dramatic exits. No camera flashes.

Just two women slipping through the crowd unnoticed, away from the noise, toward something that felt a little more real.

Outside, the night was cool, Los Angeles buzz humming in the background. Y/N led them down the sidewalk, still hand in hand, and Lizzie couldn’t stop glancing at her. It was strange — she’d met hundreds of people in this industry, had dozens of conversations that vanished the moment she walked away — but Y/N had stuck. And not just because of her voice or the lyrics that had kept Lizzie company for the last few months.

It was her. Her calm. Her wit. Her gentleness.

“You drive?” Lizzie asked, just to fill the quiet between them.

Y/N smiled. “I do, but Dani wouldn’t let me tonight. Something about me getting recognized at valet and saying something awkward.”

Lizzie laughed lightly. “Is that a regular thing for you?”

“I think Dani just assumes I’m bad at parties. Which… I am. But I’m great at sneaking out of them.”

“Clearly.”

They turned the corner, where a black car idled at the curb. Y/N opened the back door and held it for her.

“I know a little bar in Silver Lake,” she said. “No velvet ropes. No paparazzi. Just a quiet booth and decent drinks.”

“Perfect,” Lizzie said, slipping in.

The drive was easy. Y/N didn’t fill the silence with small talk. She let the space breathe, music low — one of those indie playlists that didn’t scream for attention. Lizzie found herself watching her out of the corner of her eye. Y/N sat relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, fingers drumming against her thigh in rhythm to the beat.

“You always this calm?” Lizzie asked.

Y/N turned slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You caught me on a good day.”

The bar was tucked between a closed vintage shop and a dark café. Low lighting, vinyl booths, wood-paneled walls that probably hadn’t changed since the ‘70s. The bartender nodded at Y/N like they knew her, but didn’t say a word beyond a soft, “Good to see you again.”

They slid into a booth near the back, the kind that let them disappear into the shadows of amber string lights.

“So,” Lizzie said once their drinks arrived. “Are you gonna tell me what Track Four was really about?”

Y/N raised a brow. “You really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Y/N stirred her drink once, thoughtful. “It was about… meeting someone who made the room feel different. Who felt real in a place where things gets to be more plastic. But the timing sucked. And I walked away thinking, that’s the kind of person I’d give songs to if the world gave me another shot.”

Lizzie’s throat tightened. She looked down at her drink, then back at her. “You’re dangerously good with words.”

“Comes with the job,” Y/N said, then softer, “Also helps when you mean them.”

Silence wrapped around them again, but it wasn’t awkward. It pulsed with something new — anticipation, gravity, warmth.

Lizzie let herself lean in a little, eyes meeting Y/N’s.

“I’m glad you got another shot.”

Y/N held her gaze, unwavering. “I don’t intend to waste it.”

The booth seemed to shrink around them.

Not from pressure or nerves — just closeness. Something unspoken curled between them, neither of them in a rush to name it.

Lizzie let her fingers trace the edge of her glass. “I have to admit,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting you to be so…”

“So?” Y/N prompted, eyes warm but teasing.

“…Low-key. I don’t know. For someone whose song is literally everywhere, you have this… grounded energy. It’s unfair, really.”

Y/N chuckled, resting her chin in her hand. “I think I’ve spent so much of my life not fitting in, I stopped trying. Now I just aim for peace. Anything that feels like peace, I chase.”

“That’s kind of beautiful,” Lizzie murmured, meaning it more than she meant most things she said at events.

Y/N looked at her then — really looked. Not with heat or hunger, but with that same soft interest Lizzie remembered from the first night. Like she was a person worth pausing for.

“Peace doesn’t always look like stillness,” Y/N said after a beat. “Sometimes it walks in wearing a black pantsuit and orders a whiskey sour and makes me forget how bad I am at flirting.”

Lizzie felt herself blush — she hadn’t done that in years. “You’re not that bad.”

“Oh no?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I asked you out the first time and got shut down. That feels like a pretty solid L.”

Lizzie laughed, biting her lip. “You weren’t bad. You were just… honest. And timing was the problem, not you.”

“That’s what everyone says before they disappear for good.”

“I didn’t disappear,” Lizzie said, nudging her shoe lightly against Y/N’s under the table. “I just… rerouted.”

Y/N smiled. “And now?”

“Now,” Lizzie said slowly, “I’m sitting here wondering how I got lucky enough to have a second chance at this.”

---

Later that night, outside the bar…

The air was cooler now, and quieter. The city had begun to fold in on itself.

They walked slowly, neither of them mentioning their cars, their schedules, the fact that the night had become something neither of them planned for.

Y/N’s hands were tucked in her pockets, but every once in a while, they brushed arms — lightly, accidentally on purpose.

Lizzie stole glances. Y/N had that kind of face that changed with the light — sharp lines softened by calm eyes. She wasn’t loud, wasn’t showy. But when she looked at you, you felt seen.

“I thought about messaging you,” Lizzie said, voice low. “After I heard the album.”

Y/N glanced at her. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to make it about me. What if I was wrong and it wasn’t about me? Or worse — what if it was, and I missed the window?”

Y/N stopped walking. Gently took Lizzie’s hand. “Hey. If I wrote it, the window wasn’t closed. It was just… waiting.”

Lizzie looked down at their joined hands. It felt like an anchor. Like something real in a sea of fleeting things.

“Would it be crazy if I said this feels good?” Lizzie asked. “Like, too good?”

Y/N smiled. “It doesn’t have to be crazy. It can just be… what it is.”

“Which is?”

“Something worth staying awake for,” Y/N said simply.

---

The street outside Lizzie’s place was dim and still. She turned to face Y/N who had come out of the car to walk her up the stairs.

Y/N didn’t push. Didn’t assume.

So Lizzie took the step.

She leaned in slowly, letting her hand rest gently on Y/N’s chest — over her heart — before brushing the softest kiss across her cheek.

Not rushed. Not claimed.

Just offered.

When she pulled back, Y/N’s eyes were already closed for a beat, then opened with that same slow, sunrise smile.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered.

Lizzie grinned, a little crooked. “So are you.”

Neither of them said good night right away.

But when Lizzie finally opened the door, she turned one last time and said, “Don’t disappear, okay?”

Y/N held her gaze. “Not unless you want me to.”

And Lizzie knew, without question, she didn’t.

---

Lizzie woke before her alarm.

The sun was barely up — a soft gray glow peeking through the curtains, like the world hadn’t fully decided to be awake yet. She blinked against her pillow, slow and calm, her body unusually relaxed.

Then she remembered.

The walk to her door. The warmth in Y/N’s eyes. That last look before Lizzie had stepped inside.

And the text she’d asked for.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a familiar message from the night before.

11:09 p.m. — Y/N:

Made it home. Still smiling, by the way. Sweet dreams, Lizzie.

Lizzie smiled without meaning to. Let the words settle in her chest like a warm drink. She reread the message, then tucked the phone against her chest for a beat before sitting up.

7:42 a.m. — Lizzie:

Glad you got home safe. And that you’re smiling.

I might be too, but I’m blaming the coffee.

She hit send, then padded into the kitchen barefoot, pulling her sweater tight around her shoulders. Coffee was the plan, sure — but distraction was the real goal.

Because her brain wouldn’t shut up.

Y/N’s voice was still in her ears, not singing this time — just talking, low and thoughtful. That dry humor. That look she gave when she was listening to someone like they were the only person in the world.

God, and that smile.

Not movie-star smile. Just… real. Like she meant it.

Lizzie shook her head and poured her coffee like a normal person. No big deal. Just a very grounded, casually giddy morning.

Her phone buzzed.

8:03 a.m. — Y/N:

You’re blaming the coffee? Wow. You wound me.

For the record, I blame you. The girl with the best damn smile in L.A.

Lizzie bit her lip, almost laughing into her mug.

She typed, then retyped.

8:05 a.m. — Lizzie:

Smooth. Is that a lyric in progress?

8:06 a.m. — Y/N:

Not yet. Want to give me more material?

8:06 a.m. — Lizzie:

You trying to flirt with me, rockstar?

8:07 a.m. — Y/N:

Trying? Ouch. I thought I was doing pretty well.

8:07 a.m. — Lizzie:

You are.

She hit send before she could second-guess it.

And for the rest of the morning, Lizzie moved through the world differently.

Lighter. Quieter inside her head. Like something had shifted in her orbit.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t fast.

But it was something.

And she hoped — without quite letting herself admit it — that it was only just beginning.

---

They didn’t see each other for two weeks.

Not for lack of wanting to — just timing. Lizzie was knee-deep in press days and fittings. Y/N was bouncing between studio sessions and late-night rehearsals. LA traffic didn’t help, and neither did the cameras that seemed to wait for Lizzie every time she stepped outside.

But the silence never returned.

They texted. Every day.

Sometimes flirty.

Y/N:

Woke up with a melody stuck in my head. Either it’s genius or it’s your fault.

Lizzie:

If it’s bad, I’m blaming your coffee habits. If it’s good, I accept full credit.

Sometimes soft.

Lizzie:

Long day. Just needed to say hi.

Y/N:

Hi. I’m here.

And sometimes, it was calls. Usually late, when the world had gone quiet.

Y/N’s voice in Lizzie’s ear, soft and familiar. Lizzie’s laugh making Y/N pause mid-sentence just to hear it again.

They talked about nothing at first — music, travel, bad lighting on red carpets — and then everything. What scared them. What surprised them. The weird quiet that came with fame. The ache of always being “on.”

One night, Lizzie said, “I think people forget I’m not my characters.”

Y/N was silent for a second. Then: “I don’t.”

And that stayed with her.

---

The tension never turned impatient. Just… curious. Warm.

It felt like they were building something.

Lizzie started keeping her phone closer. Checked it between takes. Fell asleep with Y/N’s messages still glowing on her screen.

Y/N started writing differently. Slower. More thoughtful. She didn’t say it was because of Lizzie, but her producer raised a brow when she started showing up with lyrics about green eyes and quiet bravery.

They were, in every sense, circling each other. Orbiting. Waiting for time to line up.

And then — finally — it did.

Late Friday. Lizzie had just stepped out of the shower, hair damp, face bare, oversized shirt clinging to her shoulder.

Her phone rang.

Y/N’s name lit up the screen.

“Hey,” Lizzie answered, a smile already blooming.

“You home?” Y/N’s voice was warm but edged with something playful.

Lizzie blinked. “Yeah… why?”

There was a beat. A pause just long enough to quicken her pulse.

“Can you open your front door?”

Lizzie nearly dropped her phone.

She hurried barefoot through the house, heart thudding, and pulled open the door.

And there Y/N was. Leaning casually against the frame, a few takeout bags hanging from her hands.

“Hi,” she said, smiling like the whole week had led to this.

Lizzie stared, stunned for a breath. “You’re— What are you—?”

“You said your favorite Thai place was this little hole-in-the-wall in Los Feliz, right?” Y/N lifted the bag. “I went. I got us enough food for three people because I panicked.”

Lizzie blinked at her, then laughed. It spilled out of her like breath.

“You drove all the way across the city at 8 p.m. on a Friday?”

“I missed your voice,” Y/N said simply. “Figured it might be even better in person.”

Lizzie stepped aside without hesitation. “Come in. Immediately.”

---

Inside, the vibe shifted — from surprise to comfort.

They ate barefoot on Lizzie’s couch, food containers spread out on her coffee table, some forgotten rom-com playing muted in the background. Their conversation picked up like it hadn’t paused. Somewhere between mouthfuls of drunken noodles and red curry, Lizzie leaned her head back and sighed.

“This is the best surprise I’ve had in months.”

“I was nervous,” Y/N admitted, glancing sideways. “Didn’t know if it’d be too much.”

Lizzie turned her head to meet her gaze. “It’s not. It’s perfect.”

Y/N smiled and went quiet for a moment, like she was holding onto something delicate.

Eventually, after the food was picked over and their hands had brushed more than once, Y/N stood to leave.

Lizzie walked her to the door, slower than necessary.

There was a pause there too, one filled with everything neither of them wanted to rush.

“I’m really glad you came,” Lizzie said, her voice soft.

“Me too,” Y/N replied.

Lizzie hesitated just long enough to let her fingers brush Y/N’s before taking her hand fully.

She squeezed Y/N hand once before letting go. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.”

And she did — just a simple message.

Y/N:

Home safe. Still smiling.

Lizzie stared at it for a long time.

Lizzie:

Me too.

---

They didn’t talk about it the next morning — the handholding, the smile lingering on Lizzie’s lips, or the way she kept checking her phone like Y/N might text again. She did, of course. Just a “Morning :)” and a photo of the empty takeout bag with “proof I didn’t let your curry go to waste” scrawled under it.

They stayed in each other’s orbit that weekend, still texting, still calling — but something had shifted. The silence between them felt different now. Full of yes instead of maybe.

It was Y/N who asked this time.

Y/N:

What are you doing Thursday night?

Lizzie:

Canceling whatever I had.

Y/N:

Don’t cancel. Just... reschedule for something better.

Lizzie:

Better, huh? Confident.

Y/N:

Hopeful.

Y/N showed up just after 6:30.

No driver. No black SUV. Just her own Jeep, windows down, wind in her hair, and a playlist drifting softly through the speakers — hers and a few artists Lizzie had mentioned liking. She wore a deep navy button-down, sleeves casually rolled, her usual rings catching the last of the sun.

“You’re already killing me,” Lizzie said as she slid into the passenger seat, pulling the door closed behind her.

Y/N smiled without turning. “I haven’t even started.”

The restaurant was tucked into a quiet stretch of beach, half-hidden behind windswept palms and a weathered wooden sign. It didn’t scream exclusivity. It whispered comfort. The kind of place locals kept to themselves.

Inside, the lighting was warm and dim. Low ceilings. Mismatched chairs. Candles flickering in repurposed glass jars. The ocean was visible through the windows, the horizon blurring into the dusk.

“I used to come here after gigs,” Y/N said as they were led to a quiet corner table. “When no one knew who I was. Still feels like the only place that never changed.”

Lizzie glanced around, then back at her. “I can see why you kept it.”

Dinner was easy. No scripts. No performing. Y/N was quieter than Lizzie expected, but when she did speak — stories about tour buses and bad interviews and how she once accidentally fell asleep during a podcast taping — it made Lizzie laugh with her whole body.

And when Lizzie talked, Y/N listened. Not nodded-along listened. Listened. Like she might take each word home and put music behind it.

After dessert — espresso and a slice of almond cake they split — they walked along the restaurant’s back deck, the sound of the waves folding into their footsteps.

“You always like this on dates?” Lizzie asked, arms folded against the breeze.

Y/N grinned at the ocean. “Not even a little. I usually fumble through half a drink and wish I’d stayed home.”

Lizzie stopped walking, just enough to turn toward her. “You nervous right now?”

Y/N’s smile softened. “Only when I think too much about how pretty you are.”

That earned a blush. A real one.

Lizzie didn’t hide her blush, but she did try to brush it off with a small laugh. “You really know how to time that, don’t you?”

Y/N took a step closer, not pushing — just shifting the air between them.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she said softly, eyes fixed on Lizzie like she was the only thing that existed on that beach. “And I don’t say them unless I want them remembered.”

Lizzie’s breath caught just slightly. “That sounds like a lyric.”

Y/N’s voice dropped an octave, barely more than a murmur. “Might be. You inspire a few.”

A wave crashed in the distance, soft and slow, and neither of them moved for a moment. Then Y/N extended her hand — not to take, but to offer.

“Walk with me?”

Lizzie slipped her hand into Y/N’s, and this time, there was no brushing. No hesitation.

They walked the curve of the deck until it ended in soft sand. Y/N led them down, the boards creaking beneath their steps before giving way to the cool, shifting beach.

Lizzie shivered as the breeze swept past, and without a word, Y/N let go of her hand only to slip out of her jacket and drape it over Lizzie’s shoulders. She didn’t ask. Didn’t make a show of it. Just did it like it was obvious.

Like it was hers to give.

“Thank you,” Lizzie said, holding it closed. The fabric smelled like her — cedar, clean laundry, and something warm and hard to name.

They stopped where the surf reached just close enough to wet the tips of their shoes. The stars had started to scatter across the sky, reflected faintly in the water.

Y/N turned to face her fully. “I know we’ve both been busy. That it took a while to get here.”

Lizzie looked up, eyes catching the flicker of moonlight in Y/N’s gaze. “Worth the wait.”

That made Y/N smile again — slow, sure, almost cocky. But it softened as she reached up, brushing Lizzie’s hair back behind her ear again, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, her voice low but certain.

Lizzie didn’t answer with words.

She stepped in, lifted her chin, and closed the space between them.

Y/N met her halfway — firm but unhurried. Confident. Her hand settled against Lizzie’s waist, the other cupping her jaw with delicate pressure. It was a kiss that didn’t ask, didn’t wonder — it simply was.

And Lizzie melted into it.

Everything about Y/N — the way she moved, held her, kissed like she had all the time in the world — made Lizzie feel undone in the safest possible way. Like she could just let go.

When they finally pulled back, Lizzie stayed close, her forehead resting against Y/N’s.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, breathless.

Y/N’s thumb traced the line of her jaw. “Only in ways you want me to be.”

They stood there for another few minutes, the waves and the stars wrapping around them like a secret. Until Y/N finally murmured:

“Let me drive you home?”

Lizzie nodded, but didn’t move. “Only if you stay a while.”

Y/N’s grin returned — low, knowing, impossibly fond.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

---

The drive back to Lizzie’s was quiet — not from awkwardness, but from comfort. Lizzie’s hand rested in Y/N’s on the center console the entire ride, her thumb tracing slow circles like she was memorizing the feel of her.

When they pulled into the driveway, Lizzie didn’t move right away. Neither did Y/N.

“I’m glad you called tonight,” Lizzie said, finally breaking the silence.

“I was tired of orbiting,” Y/N replied softly. “I wanted to land.”

That earned a smile — tired, warm, full of something bigger than either of them had said aloud.

Inside the house, the air felt different. Not cold, not empty. Just... waiting.

Lizzie slipped off her shoes, watched as Y/N did the same, and then led her into the kitchen.

“Tea?” Lizzie offered. “Or something stronger?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

Lizzie reached for the kettle, and Y/N stepped in behind her — not touching, just close enough that Lizzie could feel the heat of her body against her back.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t performative. It was presence.

When the mugs were filled and the lights dimmed, they ended up on the couch, legs curled under them, sitting closer than before. The tea went untouched on the table.

“So…” Lizzie began, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “What happens now?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, not kissing her again just yet — but brushing the back of her fingers along Lizzie’s cheek, anchoring her gaze.

“Now I stay awhile. If you want me to.”

Lizzie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I do.”

Y/N nodded once, then leaned forward and kissed her again — slower this time. Less about need. More about promise.

Lizzie leaned into it, her fingers sliding up to rest at the nape of Y/N’s neck, drawing her closer. Y/N shifted just enough to deepen the kiss, guiding it like she already knew what Lizzie liked — soft pressure, lingering, lips slightly parted like she wanted Lizzie to chase her just a little.

When they pulled apart, both of them breathing heavier, Lizzie’s eyes fluttered open and met hers. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“I’d like to,” Y/N said, brushing her thumb along Lizzie’s jaw. “But we don’t have to rush anything.”

“I’m not asking for that,” Lizzie said gently. “I just… want you close.”

That, more than anything, seemed to strike something in Y/N. Her expression softened as she nodded.

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

They ended up curled together in bed — not tangled, but held. Y/N spooned behind Lizzie, her arm wrapped firmly around her waist, nose tucked into the back of her neck like she belonged there.

And Lizzie, for the first time in months, maybe years, fell asleep with her chest warm and her mind quiet.

---

The Next Morning

Sunlight crept in through the curtains, soft and golden. Lizzie stirred first, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she blinked herself into awareness. She didn’t move right away. She didn’t want to.

Y/N was still asleep behind her, one arm snug around her waist, their bodies molded together like the night hadn’t shifted them at all. Lizzie could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing, warm against the back of her neck. Safe.

She smiled to herself, eyes closing again for a moment, savoring it.

But then — a soft groan. Y/N shifted, tightened her hold briefly, and murmured, “You’re awake, huh?”

“Barely,” Lizzie whispered.

Y/N pressed a slow, feather-light kiss to her shoulder. “I can fix that.”

Lizzie laughed, her voice still sleep-rough. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like it,” Y/N teased.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” Y/N mumbled, and nuzzled into her again.

A minute passed like that — unhurried. Then Lizzie turned in her arms to face her. Y/N blinked, still a little sleep-hazy, and tucked a strand of hair out of Lizzie’s face.

“You sleep okay?” Y/N asked, softer now.

Lizzie nodded. “Better than I have in a long time.”

The look Y/N gave her was quiet, almost reverent. She didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned in and kissed her — short, sweet, and sleepy.

Eventually, they made it out of bed, mostly because Lizzie insisted on making breakfast and Y/N insisted on watching, perched on a barstool in one of Lizzie’s old t-shirts.

The kitchen filled with the scent of coffee and eggs, the kind of domestic calm that felt… significant.

“So,” Lizzie said casually, plating the food. “You’re just going to pretend track four wasn’t about me?”

Y/N paused, then smirked. “Is that what you think?”

“I know it,” Lizzie said, setting her plate down with a raised brow. “Galaxy eyes? Loud room? A girl with a boyfriend?”

“Damn,” Y/N said, laughing as she took a bite. “You really did memorize it.”

Lizzie leaned on the counter, watching her. “You gonna deny it?”

Y/N swallowed, then met her gaze fully. “No. I’m not.”

That silenced them both for a beat.

Then Lizzie smiled — small, full of something she didn’t quite know how to name yet. “Good. I liked that one.”

Y/N’s voice dropped to something sincere. “It was always yours.”

They ate in silence after that. Not awkward — just full. Full of words they weren’t rushing to say, and a comfort they both knew they didn’t want to lose.

Outside, the day was starting. But inside, the world was just the two of them — coffee mugs, shared glances, and a song that had always belonged to Lizzie.

---

A Few Days Later

It hit Lizzie on a quiet Thursday afternoon.

She was back from a costume fitting, sipping tea that had gone cold, half-scrolling, half-daydreaming — when the headline caught her eye.

“Pop’s Golden Girl Off the Market? Y/N Spotted Holding Mystery Woman Close Outside L.A. Lounge”

She clicked before she could stop herself.

There it was. Y/N, surrounded by paparazzi, one arm wrapped tightly around a girl’s shoulders — drawing her into her side like a shield. The woman’s face was turned away, tucked into Y/N’s chest. Y/N’s expression was hard to read beneath her baseball cap, but her body said everything.

Lizzie stared at it too long. Her heart thudded once, deep and unsure.

Because just three nights ago, Lizzie had kissed her.

She’d kissed her with fingers curled in Y/N’s nape, lips tentative at first, then bolder, braver — as if weeks of near-misses and late-night calls had finally found release in one soft, breathless moment. And Y/N had kissed her back like she’d been waiting since the first hello.

They hadn’t said much afterward. Y/N had stayed the night, curled against Lizzie under her quilt, the kind of quiet closeness that spoke more than labels ever could.

So seeing the picture now — the closeness, the protective touch, the optics — felt like ice water.

Her phone buzzed.

Y/N: You probably saw the photo. Can I explain?

Lizzie didn’t respond right away.

She stood up, paced her living room, phone in hand, trying to swallow the ache of uncertainty. Her thumb finally tapped a reply.

Lizzie: Yeah. I’d like that.

The doorbell rang less than a minute later.

She blinked.

Y/N: I’m outside.

Lizzie’s chest tightened. She walked slowly to the door and opened it.

Y/N stood there, cap low, hoodie zipped, but eyes open — completely open. Not defensive. Just… here.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“I didn’t want to text it,” Y/N said. “Not after… everything.”

Lizzie didn’t move. “She looked close to you.”

“She is,” Y/N nodded. “She’s my cousin. Chloe. She just moved to L.A., and she showed up to the wrong entrance. The paps swarmed, and I—” her voice softened— “I went into big sister mode. That’s all it was. I swear.”

Lizzie studied her, reading the truth in her eyes, and something in her cracked open again.

“I know I don’t have a claim on you,” she murmured.

Y/N stepped in, closer. “You kinda do, though.”

Lizzie blinked.

Y/N cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath her eye. “I didn’t kiss you like that just to have something casual.”

The space between them narrowed.

Y/N leaned in, slow, giving her time to pull away.

Lizzie didn’t.

Their lips met again — not like the first time, not rushed or uncertain — but sure. It was a kiss that felt like an answer, like this is what I choose. Y/N pulled her closer, arms around her waist, deepening it just a little, enough to make Lizzie melt into her.

When they broke apart, Lizzie’s voice was small, hopeful. “So I can call you mine?”

Y/N smiled, forehead resting against hers. “Only if I can call you the same.”

A beat passed, and then Lizzie nodded. “Deal.”

Y/N’s thumb still lingered at the curve of Lizzie’s jaw, her touch steady, grounding. The door shut behind them, and in the quiet hush that followed, something shifted — the space between them, electric and waiting.

“I should’ve called sooner,” Y/N said, her voice low and earnest. “Or warned you. I hate that you had to see that photo like everyone else.”

Lizzie stepped in, close enough for their chests to brush. “I didn’t want to assume anything. But yeah… it messed with my head. Especially after…”

Her words drifted off, but Y/N knew what she meant. Especially after the night we kissed. After you held me in your bed and didn’t let go.

“It’s you, Lizzie,” Y/N said, her hand sliding from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading through the soft hair there. “It’s been you.”

Lizzie tilted her head back to meet her gaze — vulnerable, a little breathless. “Then show me.”

The kiss came hard — not rushed, not clumsy, but hungry. Y/N crashed into her like she couldn’t hold back anymore, her mouth hot and insistent. Lizzie let out a soft gasp as her back hit the door, her fingers clutching at the front of Y/N’s hoodie. Y/N kissed her like she’d been starving for it, like Lizzie was air and water and the only thing she’d ever want again.

Y/N’s hands slid down Lizzie’s sides, gripping her hips, thumbs pressing just beneath the hem of her shirt. Lizzie arched into her, moaning quietly when Y/N bit gently at her bottom lip before soothing it with her tongue.

She was melting — dizzy from the kiss, the warmth between them, the week of wanting that built into a fire now roaring in her chest.

They stumbled toward the couch, barely breaking apart. Y/N sat first and pulled Lizzie into her lap, her hands greedy but careful — thumbs grazing under her shirt, mouth dragging from her lips to her jaw to the hollow of her throat.

“God, I missed you,” Y/N breathed against her skin, voice ragged.

Lizzie’s hands found their way under Y/N’s hoodie, palms splayed over bare skin. “You could’ve fooled me,” she teased breathlessly, hips shifting just enough to draw a groan from Y/N.

“Keep doing that,” Y/N whispered, her voice rough, dark with promise, “and I won’t be able to stop.”

Lizzie kissed her again — slower now, deeper — and smiled against her lips. “Then don’t.”

Lizzie’s kisses didn’t slow.

If anything, they deepened — more intent, more searching. Her fingers brushed under the hem of Y/N’s hoodie again, spreading over warm skin, anchoring herself in the feeling of Y/N’s body beneath hers. Every now and then, her hips shifted — not intentionally, not even consciously — just following the rhythm of want building between them.

Y/N's hands gripped Lizzie's waist, but there was tension now, the kind that wasn’t from desire alone.

She broke the kiss suddenly, breath catching. “Wait—just…” she said, voice strained.

Lizzie froze. Her heart dropped. “Did I—did I do something wrong?”

Y/N shook her head, eyes closed, jaw tight. She inhaled deeply, like she was trying to ground herself. “No. God, no. It’s not you. You’re just…”

When she trailed off, Lizzie shifted slightly again in her lap to look at her fully—only for Y/N to let out a rough groan, like she’d been punched in the gut.

And that’s when Lizzie felt it — the growing bulge against her thigh. Her breath caught.

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, gaze heavy with frustration and something tender. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Hey,” Lizzie said softly, brushing a hand against Y/N’s cheek. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because…” Y/N laughed nervously, head falling back against the couch. “We were just kissing. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to take it somewhere without asking. Or that I can’t control myself around you.”

Lizzie blinked, then smiled — genuinely, warmly. “Y/N. I’m literally straddling you. I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

Y/N looked back at her, still a little cautious. “So… you’re not weirded out?”

Lizzie leaned in again, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. “No. I’m flattered.”

Y/N chuckled, exhaling like the weight of the moment had lifted just slightly. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Only to you,” Lizzie whispered, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “But if you need to slow down, just say the word.”

Y/N nodded, her hands steadying on Lizzie’s hips again. “Not tonight. Not yet. I just want to hold you.”

Lizzie curled in closer, letting her body relax into Y/N’s. “Then hold me.”

And in the quiet, wrapped around each other, they stayed — pulse still fast, hearts still learning this rhythm. But safe. Honest. And slowly falling.

---

Bonus Chapter

Lizzie had slept over at Y/N’s place the night before.

Nothing had happened — not like that — but something had shifted. They’d kissed until the moonlight faded, tangled up in each other under Y/N’s old college blanket, whispering sleepy jokes and quiet things that didn’t feel safe to say in the daylight.

That morning, Y/N had kissed her temple with a low, warm hum. “Quick check-in at the studio. Be back in an hour. There’s coffee and leftovers if you get bored.”

Lizzie stayed wrapped in the oversized hoodie Y/N lent her, curled up on the couch with a mug and her phone. She was halfway through a crossword when she heard the front door open.

No knock. No callout.

Just keys turning and the door swinging wide like someone owned the place.

Who the hell is this!? Lizzie thought to herself 

She set her mug down too hard and stood quickly just as a woman stepped into the apartment — sunglasses on, tote bag slung over her shoulder, like she’d done it a hundred times.

Lizzie froze. Her heart thudded.

The woman paused too, eyebrows lifting as she took Lizzie in.

“Ohhh,” she said, dragging out the syllable like she was amused. “You’re not Postmates.”

Lizzie crossed her arms, subtly adjusting the hoodie sleeves. “No. Who are you?”

The woman raised her sunglasses to her head, revealing familiar eyes. “I’m Chloe. Y/N’s cousin.”

Lizzie blinked.

Chloe.

The name clicked.

The one from the photo.

Oh.

Lizzie’s shoulders relaxed a little. Cousin.

Still, she couldn’t help the flicker of tension. “Sorry, I just… you came in kind of fast.”

Chloe gave a sheepish shrug. “Yeah. I’ve had a key since before she got famous. Didn’t realize she had company, or I’d have knocked.”

Lizzie gave a tight, polite smile. “It’s okay. I just didn’t expect… anyone.”

Chloe wandered in like she owned the place, her movements easy, familiar. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, looking at Lizzie with open curiosity. “So. Are you the girl who’s making my cousin smile like a stupid?”

Lizzie blinked, caught somewhere between defensive and bashful. “I—um. I don’t know. Maybe?”

Chloe grinned, clearly entertained. “That’s not a no.”

Lizzie exhaled, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug in her hand. “You’re very… direct.”

“Yup,” Chloe said without apology, cracking open the water and taking a sip. “Family trait. Especially when Y/N gets all weird and dreamy over someone and refuses to give details.”

That made Lizzie perk up. “Wait—she talks about me?”

Chloe tilted her head, smirking. “She doesn’t shut up. But in like, a tragically subtle way. You kind of have to read between the lyrics.”

Lizzie flushed again. “So she’s written about me?”

“God, yes. Green eyes? Quiet bravery?” Chloe leaned forward, one brow raised. “Dead giveaway.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to answer, but the truth caught in her throat—because she knew the lyrics Chloe was talking about. She’d played them on repeat more than once.

Chloe noticed the flicker of emotion on Lizzie’s face and her teasing expression softened.

“Hey… I should probably say this before we go any further.” She shifted her weight, suddenly a little less casual. “I’m sorry about the paparazzi mess. That photo? It blew up way bigger than it was ever supposed to.”

Lizzie blinked, startled by the unexpected apology. “You mean the one of you and Y/N?”

Chloe nodded, wincing a little. “Yeah. I had just gotten out from the wrong entrance and the paps surrounded us immediately. Y/N stepped in, did the whole human shield thing. Classic protector mode. But the angle, the lighting, the timing... it looked like we were on a damn date.”

Lizzie gave a small, understanding laugh, though her voice was still tight. “And the internet went wild.”

“Didn’t help that Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She was trying to keep your name out of the fire, not knowing it’d burn this way instead.”

Lizzie looked down, the memory of those two days — the ache in her chest, the doubt she hadn’t wanted to admit — still sharp around the edges. “I thought it was real. The photo.”

Chloe stepped closer, her tone quieter, more careful now. “I get it. It looked convincing. Hell, if I didn’t know me, I might’ve thought it too. But I swear, there’s nothing between us but childhood trauma and an unhealthy love of spicy ramen.”

Lizzie let out a soft laugh despite herself, the tension loosening a little more. Chloe smiled, then reached for a stool at the kitchen island and plopped down like she’d always belonged there.

“You know,” Chloe added casually, “this reminds me of the time Y/N and her twin tried to sneak out past curfew and ended up locked out in nothing but boxers and mismatched hoodies. It was like watching two feral raccoons fight over a stolen pizza.”

Lizzie blinked. “Wait. Twin?”

Chloe grinned, eyes wide with mock surprise. “Oh my god. She didn’t tell you?”

Before Lizzie could respond, the front door opened, and Y/N walked in with a tote bag slung over her shoulder and a confused frown already forming.

She froze the second she saw them—Lizzie still wrapped in her hoodie, perched on the arm of the couch, and Chloe mid-story, laughing with her mouth full of coffee she definitely hadn’t asked permission to make.

Y/N’s voice came sharp and incredulous. “Chloe.”

Chloe didn’t even flinch. “Y/N.”

“You still have a key?”

“I always have a key.”

Y/N put a hand on her hip. “We talked about this. You can’t just show up like this.”

Chloe sipped her coffee, unimpressed. “You say that every time. Never change the locks though.”

Y/N turned to Lizzie with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. She’s like a stray cat. You feed her once and she assumes the place is hers.”

But Lizzie was smiling now, clearly amused. “You didn’t tell me you have a twin brother.”

Y/N blinked. “I didn’t?”

Lizzie shook her head, teasing. “Nope. Kind of big info to skip.”

Y/N groaned and shot a look at Chloe. “You told her that story?”

Chloe beamed. “Only the highlights. Don’t worry, I left out the part where your boxers had ducks on them.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Chloe winked, then hopped off the stool and made her way to the door. “Alright, lovebirds. I’ll leave you to your cohabitating. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t—wait, never mind, that list is too short.”

She opened the door and stepped out, calling over her shoulder, “Call me when you’re ready to admit I’m the fun cousin!”

Y/N sighed as the door clicked shut and turned back to Lizzie, who was clearly holding back laughter.

“I really am sorry,” she said, flopping down beside her. “She’s a menace.”

Lizzie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, smiling. “She’s kind of great. But I like you better.”

Y/N smiled, wrapping an arm around her. “Good. Because I’m keeping you.”

"So...Why were you and your brother only wearing hoodies and boxers?" Lizzie asks with a playful smile.

Y/N groaned as she leaned back against the couch, covering her face with one hand. “I can’t believe she told you that story.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “And why were you and your brother only in hoodies and boxers?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she settled back into the couch. “Okay, here’s the thing. We thought we were being sosneaky. Tried to sneak out past curfew by climbing over the neighbor’s fence.”

Lizzie’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Uh-oh.”

Y/N groaned again, biting her lip to stop from laughing. “Yeah, well… turns out the neighbors had an alarm system. It went off as soon as we started climbing.”

Lizzie giggled. “Oh no!”

“Exactly. We panicked, tried to hide, but my pants got caught on the fence and ripped as I fell.”

Lizzie covered her mouth, trying to hold back a laugh.

“And that’s how our parents found us—me with my pants ripped off, standing there in my duck boxers, and Jay, my brother, trying to pull me away like I was some kind of escaped convict.”

Lizzie burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Do you still have the duck boxers?”

Y/N peeked at her through her fingers, clearly suffering. “Why would you ask me that?”

Lizzie grinned, smug now. “Because I need to know what I’m working with here.”

Y/N dropped her hand with a dramatic sigh. “First of all, they were comfy. Second, I was sixteen. And third… maybe.”

Lizzie gasped. “You do!”

Y/N tried to play it cool, but her ears were pink. “They’re in a drawer somewhere. For emergencies.”

“What kind of emergency requires duck boxers?” Lizzie teased, nudging her.

“The kind where I want to remind myself never to let Chloe live here again.”

Lizzie laughed, the sound bright and free, and she curled closer into Y/N’s side. “Well, if I ever see them, I expect a full fashion show.”

Y/N looked down at her, faux-serious. “Only if you’re wearing that hoodie again.”

Lizzie smirked. “Deal.”

They sat there like that for a while, tangled up in teasing and warmth — and for once, nothing felt rushed.

---

[lily-bisque]

he started pulling away in your relationship. cw: angst-central, hurt/no comfort.

you can’t pinpoint exactly where it started.

eight months in and you were head over heels, entirely convinced that the honeymoon period would never end.

at least for you.

suguru was gentle with you when it mattered, picking you up from work just to take you back to his apartment and cook you dinner.

end the night off with your lipstick staining his pillow.

he bought you flowers to surprise you with and kept a toothbrush for you in his bathroom, alongside a fresh cotton towel and your go-to face wash.

your closet was filled to the brim with the amount of jackets and hoodies he’d handed off to you when it was even the slightest bit chilly, sometimes scolding you like a child for not wearing the proper attire for the weather.

he allowed you to be the one and only person to style his raven tresses, whether it be tying them into a ponytail or just combing through them in the morning.

there was a hand on the small of your back whenever the two of you were in public. domineering and guiding you, while simultaneously letting everyone know that you were his.

but somewhere along the way, those little things began to trickle away.

you hadn’t questioned it when he forgot to send you a good morning text on a few occasions, simply thinking it was him just getting comfortable in the relationship.

there was an odd feeling when his replies came in slower than usual, however.

you’d sent him a text after your shift, leaning against the brick and slightly dilapidated building of the warehouse you worked out well after it was closed.

after nearly thirty minutes in the chilling night with no reply, you found yourself calling an uber and heading home alone.

his excuse? he lost track of time and didn’t have his phone on him.

you dismissed it when he made sure to pick you up the next day.

but there was something in his eyes when he spoke to you. like you were staring at two empty and hollowed out wells, craters with nothing to show below.

the next time you’d gone on a date, he hadn’t touched you the whole way there. didn’t hold your hand as you padded through the busy street, didn’t find excuses to kiss you like normal, didn’t even pull your chair out for you.

the conversation was damn near suffocating as it was stifling, it had your mouth as dry as cotton and your pulse hammering in your throat, choking on the words of simply asking him ‘what’s wrong?’

you felt sick and you didn’t even know why, poking and prodding at the salad you’d ordered and never taking a bite, asking the waiter for a to-go box when suguru asked for the bill.

normally, he’d scold you for not ordering something hearty, but those same corroded eyes stared off at something in the distance, his body slumped and hunched over.

you’d never seen him like this.

your gaze flitted over how his hair was just the slightest bit disheveled, and his bags looked darker than usual.

there were fine lines etched across his face, as if he was holding back every effort not to scowl at the world.

and yet, you didn’t say anything.

back at his apartment which he drove the two of you back to without a word, simply opting to listen to the thrum of the radio, you found yourself sitting beside your boyfriend on his leather couch.

there was some old raunchy film playing on the television, and he’d usually take this as an opportunity to get handsy with you and blame it on the atmosphere. “what? i can’t help it when they’re moaning like that,” he’d joke.

but he just sat there, stock still, hands folded in his lap and gazing blankly at the scene of a couple groping each other in a library.

you had to do something—maybe he was just waiting for you to take things into your own hands.

lifting your arm that suddenly felt like you were carrying a twenty-pound weight, you placed it on his thigh, caressing the fabric of his black jeans and feeling the rippling of his muscles just beneath it.

inching closer, you sat on your knees and pressed your lips against his neck, littering a land of kisses against the smooth skin.

he angled his head to the side, cheek turning away from you.

you thought he was giving you more access to mark him, but you were fatally wrong when you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist in a firm hold, then pushed you away.

you felt a rock sink in the depths of your gut, your chest beginning to heave as you tasted bile on your tongue.

“…sugu?” your voice came out small, mousey, completely unlike you. but he made you vulnerable with his love, peeling you back layer by layer with his love and baring the true essence of your soul to him.

but he couldn’t even look at you.

“you should go,” he muttered, still averting his gaze.

you stared at him with wide-eyes, stiff as you were perched on the back of your heels, praying that your salvation wouldn’t leave you.

that he wouldn’t leave you.

but in the end, he made you leave.

you couldn’t even know the look in his eyes when he was dismissing you so casually from his life.

you took the next couple of seconds to allow him the space of taking it back, of pulling you into his loving embrace and taking everything back—but when he cleared his throat to break you from your futile hopes is when you sat up and quickly began scrambling around his apartment to grab your things, eyes watering with tears you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing.

you felt stupid for not knowing that he’d fallen so hopelessly out of love with you. you were too blinded by your rose-colored lenses in love to see it.

looking back at that night, however, you can see where you’d failed in that relationship.

suguru had obvious signs of spiraling depression.

his detachment, his isolation, his forgetfulness, his exhaustion.

maybe he hadn’t fallen out of love with you, maybe he’d just fallen out of love with the world.

he couldn’t enjoy being here when everything felt wrong.

so when he’d returned to his village and murdered everyone, including his parents, there, you could see that you could’ve changed something, offered him help or comfort.

but, no.

staring at his obituary in the town news, you realized you were far too late.

[sydnikov]

could we get some andrei smut where he gets rough in bed and takes his frustrations with the team’s losing streak out on you 😵‍💫🥵

a different kind of frustration || A. Svechnikov

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov / fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, sports injury mention (torn ACL/ligament), cursing, I don’t think I proofread this at ALL I am so sorry

A/N: I got this request about a month before the trade deadline I think, when the canes were on their awful losing streak, but was just too lazy to finish it. Timeline is thus set around that time, even though we just got eliminated from the ecf (again)... In honor of his second career playoff hatty, though, this is dedicated to him! Went in a slightly different direction with this request but, enjoy 😏

*Minors, you are responsible for your own media consumption. That being said, I will not block you for interacting with this fic or my blog, but always be aware of the content you choose to consume and the consequences it can have.

Losing grates on Andrei’s nerves like nothing else.

He hates it more than anything, especially when he can’t contribute. Nightmares of tearing his ACL still haunt him, creating noticeable apprehension in every stroke on the ice. There’s hesitation and fear that hinder his every movement, limiting the physicality he was once known for.

He hates it. Hates that he’s still nervous of making one wrong move, hates that it reflects in his play.

Now, Andrei does know he’s not solely responsible for his team’s production. He knows it takes every man, that they win as a team and that they lose as a team. Every conversation with his head coach assures him of this, and yet he still can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault.

“It is like,” He struggles to find the right words, clicking his tongue in frustration. “It’s like I know I can be physical. I know I’m better. But there is this block, and I can’t even lay a good hit anymore.”

You rub his arm sympathetically, a soft frown on your face as you listen to him vent. On an early Saturday afternoon in February, where the team had no practice and only a morning of film, you find yourself answering Andrei’s call to come over to his house.

Your relationship is still relatively new; just shy of three months, you’re very much still wrapped up in the honey-moon phase. Every part of him calls to you—his voice, his body, his gentle vulnerability he only shares with you…

And the sex. You flush just simply thinking about it, how he dominates you so sweetly in his bedroom. Andrei is the first man to ever make you come, and you hope that he’ll be the last, too.

“It doesn’t hurt, though, right? It’s not still giving you trouble and that’s why you’re nervous?” You ask, lightly scratching his bicep. Any physical touch you know he appreciates, so you try your best to comfort him in this way when he needs it.

Andrei shakes his head quickly. “No, no, it is all healed now. No pain or anything,” He reassures. “It’s just the thought of hurting it again, I think,”

You’re at a loss for what to say, you can’t lie. You don’t play competitive sports and don’t have much knowledge of mental blocks to give him good advice.

“And now the team is losing, and I can barely get a point per game to try and help.” He huffs, agitated as he runs his hand through his hair. Even as you’re sitting on the couch with him, a place where he should be relaxed, you can practically feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles flex every few seconds as if preparing for action.

“I’m sorry,” You murmur sympathetically, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder as you fully hug his arm to your chest. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Andrei turns his head to look at you, tilting his chin down slightly to press a gentle kiss to your lips. His smile is slight, deepening the kiss for only a moment before pulling back and looking at you fondly. “You help just by being here.”

There’s nothing but earnest devotion in his eyes as he looks at you, and you can’t help the blush that takes over your face at his words. His smile grows, if anything, and he wraps his arm fully around your waist to press you firmly into his side. His fingers stroke the skin revealed by your shirt riding up, an innocent motion as he turns back to look at whatever plays on his TV.

Despite having nothing but pure intentions, your body doesn’t get the memo and immediately heats up at his touch. You want to slap yourself, tell your brain ‘not now’ as you fight the urge to rub your thighs together.

He’s being vulnerable by opening up to you and you’re getting fucking horny, you groan to yourself, even though you can’t help your urges. You bite your lip as you try to follow along with whatever is playing, though that quickly turns futile when you begin to hyperfixate on his hand still rubbing your waist.

Suddenly, an idea comes to you in the midst of your horny-ness.

You and Andrei have a very, very healthy sex-life in your relationship—a week never goes by without your bodies tangled together, drawing out of you toe-curling pleasure that no one else ever has before. Some of your most memorable times are after games, though. Wins, losses, whatever emotion he’s feeling is amplified by the result of the game played.

Wins are passionate, drawn-out, and deep. Losses are frustrated, rough, and powerful. Both leave you satisfied, always craving more.

Recently, he’s been holding back in how he manhandles you in bed. You thought nothing of it, thinking that maybe he was into being more gentle now, but now you can’t help but wonder if his nervousness of being physical on the ice has somehow translated into fucking you, too.

You think you know how to help. Your heart races, now you the nervous one, as you take a deep breath to speak.

“Andrei,” You start, hesitant. “You’re nervous about being physical on the ice, basically, yeah?”

He turns his head to look at you, confused at the apprehension in your voice. “Yes,” He replies slowly, unsure of what direction the conversation is going.

This is where you freeze. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, eyes looking anywhere but at him, as you try to find the words to speak. Your heart feels like it’s going to jump out of your chest, and you flinch when Andrei’s hand takes your chin, angling your head back up to meet his eyes.

He says your name lowly, thumb rubbing at the corner of your jaw. “What is it?”

The breath you let out is shallow, a little rough as you finally just blurt out what you’re thinking. “You can take your frustration out on me,” You quickly say. “It might make you feel better? Enough to do it in a game. Show yourself that you can be rough again,”

Andrei’s face is blank. There’s no clue at all to what he’s thinking which would definitely freak you out if you couldn’t see the way his eyes darken in real time, pupils swallowing brown as he thinks of a response. His grip on your chin tightens imperceptibly as if fighting the urge to hold you tighter.

He finally speaks after a long moment, licking his lips which immediately draws your attention to his mouth. “You want me to be rough?” He sounds almost pained, as if you were asking him to indulge in something he forbade himself from.

“Yeah,” You say, practically a whisper. Your noses brush together, the proximity sudden. “I think it’ll help.”

Andrei exhales, warm breath brushing against your cheeks. Your heart beats for a totally different reason now, your stomach tingling. “Yeah?” His hand slides from your chin to your neck, fingers large and thick as they gently bare down against your pulse.

“Let you do whatever you want to me,” You take initiative and swing your right leg over his hips, settling down in his lap as both his arms now move to wrap around your waist. “How does that sound?”

“Like you are trying to kill me.” He laughs roughly, looking up at you like you’re forbidden fruit. You rock your hips into his when he doesn’t say anything, smirking at the groan that comes from his chest. He reflexively bucks into you but his hands still don’t move from their spot at your waist. You huff, grabbing the hair at the back of his neck to tug.

“You don’t have to hold back, ‘Drei—s’just me.” Your hips find a slow, steady rhythm as you rock back and forth, his eyes now squinted shut, his cock eager and erect beneath you.

Andrei finally takes action at your words, large hands sliding down to grope your ass before roughly pushing you down onto him. A startled moan escapes your lips, and you quickly look to meet his eyes only to find him already looking at you.

You quickly lower your head to kiss him, molding your lips together with a sigh as he quickly takes over. One hand remains on your ass to help you keep rocking while the other slides up your spine, leaving tingles in its wake, before grasping the back of your neck to keep you pressed against him. You nip his bottom lip when he doesn’t do much else, seemingly content to merely dry-hump and kiss you, but now you want more.

Between your thighs is a slick mess, the steady friction to your clit making you desperate. You whine into his mouth at a well-timed thrust, the head of his cock hitting you just right even through the fabric of both your pants. “Andrei,” You hiss as his pace stays the same, squirming restlessly on his lap. “Fuck—okay, I know this is about you but now I—”

His chuckle interrupts you, all deep and masculine and it sends a shudder through your body. His lips move down your neck, leaving a wet trail in their wake of little bites and kisses. “What, baby? Need me to touch you now?”

Your plea is muffled when his lips meet yours again and you can barely muster the focus to kiss him back because now his hand is pushing your sweatpants down, so oversized they come down easily because they’re his. Large, calloused fingers find your pussy with ease, sweeping through the wetness that’s thoroughly soaked your panties.

Andrei pulls back from you to curse, lips kiss-swollen and flushed red. You’re sure yours mirror the same state. “Fuck,” He says, following that with Russian you can’t understand. “Lay down for me?” He asks, though doesn’t wait for a response before he’s moving you off his lap and onto your back, horizontal across his couch. Your sweats come off the rest of the way, now left in nothing but your panties and longsleeve top, though the latter is quick to join your pants.

His hands carress your legs, squeezing at your calves before finally arriving at your thighs and pushing them apart. His fingertips push under the hem of your panties, looking to you briefly before pulling them down your hips. At the sight of your bare pussy, glistening so pretty for him, he lets out a long breath.

“You’re soaking,” He says, enraptured at the sight. “Is this all for me? Been thinking about this for a while?”

Andrei chooses this as the moment to fully touch you, one of his hands leaving your hip to drag down your navel until his pointer finger finds your clit, touch feather-light. You jerk up into his hand, but he merely pushes you back down before moving lower to where you’re aching for him. There’s no resistance when he finally pushes in, two fingers curling upwards against your walls just to hear the whimper that comes out of you.

“Just want you to, fuck, feel better,” You gasp, once again pushing upwards with your hips until his remaining hand on your hip moves to your lower stomach and pushes you back back down, stronger this time.

He hums at your words, briefly looking to your face before dragging his eyes back down your body, landing on his fingers thrusting in and out of you. His tongue lays heavy on his bottom lip, hypnotized at the sight.

He wonders how many times he can get you to come with just his fingers before you can’t take anymore.

Andrei strokes you lazily, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Look at you, pretty thing,” He practically purrs. “Letting me do whatever I want to you. Good girl,” He inserts a third finger, pushing in to join the other two. You groan, shuddering around him, but his pace doesn’t pick up. He keeps the same, slow, patient movement, driving you utterly insane.

Perhaps you should’ve thought about what you were agreeing to… Andrei loves to tease, bring you to the brink before abruptly pulling back. He’ll do it so many times until your head goes blank, when the only word able to leave your mouth is his name.

“Andrei, please,” You beg, squirming under his steady hands.

“You want my cock?” He asks, pulling his fingers out of you just to lick off the taste of you. He murmurs something, too quiet for your ears to pick up on, then looks back down at you. “Or my fingers? My tongue?”

He’s firing all the suggestions rapidly, giving you no time to truly process what he’s asking. All you hear is ‘cock’ and it’s like a switch in your brain flips off, rendering you speechless. A pathetic whimper is all that comes out of you, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy clenches around nothing. You don’t realize how close Andrei is to you until you can feel his breath against your cheek, chest ever so softly brushing against you.

“Words, baby,” He says, almost patronizing. “I know you can use them,”

“Um,” You lick your lips, struggling to keep your eyes from shutting with pleasure. “You choose? This is for you, remember?”

Andrei pauses for a moment, as if he’d completely forgotten what you’d said to him to begin with now that he had you sprawled across his couch. He considers having you suck him off, loving the feeling of your warm, wet mouth moving up and down his cock, but then he looks down at your pussy again and quickly makes up his mind. There’s nothing that feels better than feeling you squeeze so perfectly tight around him.

“This is for me,” Andrei echoes, his words quiet and thoughtful as he begins shoving his own sweats down his hips. “And do you know what I want?”

You open your eyes to find him already staring at you, his pupils blown so wide you can't even recognize the brown in them anymore.

You swallow roughly, licking your lips. “What do you want?”

“I want to fuck you,” He answers assuredly, suddenly grabbing a hold of your legs and moving them to curl around his waist. His shirt comes off next, leaving you drooling at the hard lines of his abdomen on display.

All that’s left are his boxers, but those too are quickly removed and then he’s looming over you. He finds his favorite spot on your neck, sucking a harsh mark into your collarbone while grinding against you. Your tits are given attention too, sucking your right nipple into his mouth while one of his hands plays with the left. His free hand grasps your hip tightly, keeping you pressed against him.

His cock, now free of all barriers, rubs against you with a slick sound that has your face flushing red. You whine as Andrei finally takes his cock in hand, guiding the head towards your throbbing pussy.

The sigh that leaves your lungs is shaky with pleasure as he slowly spreads you open. You open your legs wider to make the intrusion more welcome, your walls fluttering around him as he takes his time sinking to the base. When his hips are finally flush with yours, you buck your own upwards to encourage him to move. 

“Fuck,” Andrei mutters under his breath. “You feel so fucking good.”

He slowly rocks into you, his pace teasingly gentle. “Please move,” You gasp, your left hand incessantly tugging his hair. Your other hand holds onto his right bicep, sinking your nails into the thick muscle without thought.

He merely chuckles at your begging, humming low under his breath as he kisses up the side of your neck until reaching your ear. “Baby I am moving,” Emphasizing his words with a quick thrust of his hips, he grinds into you at a maddeningly slow pace.

Andrei starts to move his head back down your body, but at this point you’re past caring about keeping your composure and grab onto his hair even tighter, dragging him back up until your lips are just barely pressing together.

“Too scared to get rough?” You taunt, though you’re careful to watch his face to make sure you don’t overstep. “Thought that’s what you wanted to do?”

Apprehension dawns on his face, directed towards himself rather than you. You realize he needs more help getting past whatever mental block he has left, and quickly decide to just go all out.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you squeeze his hips tightly and jerk him towards you. “Andrei please,” You whine dramatically, arching your back which indirectly puts your tits closer to his face. “Please fuck me, I need it so bad,”

His face quickly turns from apprehensive to almost pained instead, like he’s still trying to resist letting go. You’re well past the point of desperation now as your voice quickly grows in pitch. “Please please please please please—”

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” Andrei is quick to interrupt, immediately shutting you up with a bruising kiss that takes your breath away. “Fuck you’re desperate, aren’t you? Need me to fuck you that badly?”

You nod your head rapidly, feeling your pussy clench tightly at the mere suggestion. “Need it so bad,” You breathe into his mouth, moaning as nips your bottom lip.

A noise that resembles a laugh escapes his mouth then, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath before sliding his hands underneath your ass, hiking your hips up and off the couch so there’s no empty space left between you.

The sound you let out is totally out of your control when he finally starts moving, a harsh thrust that drags against your clit when his hips finally slam back down. The slick sound of his cock sliding home has your face flushing red, your pussy only getting wetter as his tip hits your g-spot.

“‘Drei,” You say, both hands now dragging down his back and leaving harsh lines in their wake. “Please don’t stop, feels so good,”

Andrei stutters out a groan, hips bucking involuntarily at the pleas falling from your mouth. His pace picks up instantly, so fast and solid you’re unable to stop from crying out as he drills into you. He hides his head in your neck, sucking at a spot on your shoulder while you lay there helplessly and take it.

It’s good. It’s so good; the angle, the way he feels inside you, and you’re close so close so close so close but then he’s pulling out, the wet sound of your pussy following his abrupt exit drowned out by your protests.

“What the fuck—?” You cry out, momentarily forgetting that you cumming came second. You’re not left wondering for long, however, for Andrei’s hands are grabbing your hips and flipping you over onto your stomach before you even have a chance to blink. “Oh,” You lament, a pleased sigh turning into a moan as his cock enters you again, this time from behind.

He’s deeper, and hits so much harder when he leans over you and presses his chest to your back. You arch your ass upwards to feel him better, hiding your face in the couch cushion when his voice makes its way to your ear. “I love this view,” He whispers. “You look so hot, baby,”

“Fuck,” You say, biting down on said couch cushion. “Fuck, I’m close.” Your lower stomach tingles, your pussy beginning to squeeze him harshly while your toes curl into your feet so hard it hurts.

Your words somehow unlock a new wave of determination in Andrei. His eyes shut in concentration as he focuses on railing perfectly into your special spot. His cock burns with pleasure and his arms curl around your stomach tightly without concern if you can breathe, only wanting to make you cum before he himself can follow.

He’ll never let you leave without an orgasm. He’d die before letting that happen.

Words of encouragement soon start falling from his lips, almost too sweet for how dirty the act of fucking each other truly is. “Pretty girl,” He coos. “I know you’re close. Can feel it, you’re so fucking tight around me,”

All you can respond with is a quiet whine.

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Andrei doesn’t expect a response, just listens to your breathing and feels how tense your muscles are beneath him, preparing for release. You’re wound so tight he wonders if you’ll even let yourself come—maybe you just need a little extra stimulation.

He gets a sudden idea and doesn’t hesitate before sliding one of his hands down from where it’s been pressed against your stomach, easily finding your clit thoroughly soaked in your wetness. You jerk so hard when his fingers brush against it that he has to crush you against him and you can barely breathe in his tight hold but find that it only makes you wetter, being forced to take it.

“Come on, baby, come for me,” He whispers in your ear, practically begging. “You can do it. I know you can—there it is, what a good girl…”

Andrei’s voice in your ear, in your head, in your heart, and you come. You come so fucking hard you aren’t aware of anything else but pure ecstasy shooting through your veins, lighting every one of your senses on fire until you’re nothing but jelly underneath him.

Your body twitches at every touch against your skin, your high slowly coming down all while he talks you through it. You can’t muster the energy to respond until his hand is brushing your hair out of your face, stuck to your face from sweat.

The next thing you know he’s moving your bodies into a sitting position, his back against the couch while your back rests against his front. You finally open your eyes at this, a long, heavy breath sucking life back into you. “There you go, take your time,” he says. “Are you okay?”

How he’s able to go from dominating and powerful to sweet and nurturing never fails to amaze you, and you’re obviously appreciative for it as your body comes down from the high he brought you to in the first place.

“Yeah. But I think I saw God there for a minute,”

“There’s no God, baby, just me.” Andrei replies cockily,  the smirk in his voice so obvious you can’t help but roll your eyes.

The two of you sit in silence, letting your heart rates slow and your bodies cool. It isn’t until you begin to feel uncomfortable with the remaining wetness between your legs that you finally make the movement to stand, though not without a teasing shake of your hips just to hear his quiet groan.

You tell him you’re off to pee, ignoring the Russian muttering under his breath he’s prone to do when you leave him wanting, only taking a few moments to clean yourself up. You then walk back into the living room, still naked as the day you were born before grabbing your shirt and sweats off the floor. Your panties remain abandoned, because… Yeah, you aren’t putting those back on.

Andrei has slid his own sweats back on - still shirtless though - by the time you join him back on the couch. He opens his arms for you without word, tugging you close to him with a sigh as you relax against him.

“Did that help?” You ask quietly, a little meek. “Being rough, I mean. I know it felt good for me, obviously, but the whole point was for you—”

“Baby?”

“—yes?”

“Hush.” He states, then without a moment’s notice is turing your head towards him to capture your lips in a long, deep kiss. It’s lazy the way your lips move against each other, slow and messy yet anything but passionate. His appreciation comes through in the soft moans you hear coming from his chest, his beating heart you’re able to feel through his body, and the thank you’s he gently whispers in the space between you.

Later that night, when you’re curled up in bed next to him about to fall asleep, he asks, “How did you know that would help?”

Luckily, you don’t have to think about your answer for long. “You were just frustrated, baby. Just had to find a different way to work it out of your system.”

Andrei hums, contemplating your reply. He doesn’t reply verbally, just holds you tighter, but the smile on his face is anything but innocent. Despicable, so full of mischief that he knew if you saw would immediately result in a smack on the arm.

“I think I will be frustrated more often, yeah?”

The smack on his arm, at that point, was imminent.

A/N: Lowkey uni has actually destroyed all of my creative writing desire but I’m trying so hard to fight back 🙏 this one isn’t my favorite but I hope y’all liked it, as always pls reblog & comment :)

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[mattslilies]

Early Release - M.S.

"that was fast, sweetie." or... the one where matt cums sooner than you'd expect. warnings: inexperienced!sub!matt, virgin!matt, nerd!matt, dom!reader, dry humping, cumming in boxers, no actual p in v, making out, more to be added as i write word count: 608 a/n: i do not own inexperienced/nerd matt!! this is just a thought based on his cutie little fit.

you loved how innocent matt was. he wasn't just a virgin, he'd never even touched himself before he met you. he just didn't know what to do with himself, never even thinking about the sexual aspect of his life, always buried in his textbooks and assignments. that was, of course, until you came along.

you'd always been fascinated with the boy, talking to your friends about just how cute he looked, glasses pushed up his nose, messy hair from his hands running through it while studying, a consistent work ethic and drive for his education. it was honorable, honestly.

you'd been infatuated with him for a long time before you approached him the first time, taking the book he was working with and closing it, starting up a conversation. you'd been obsessed with the way his cheeks flushed, he stuttered over his words, clearly nervous to be speaking to you.

you'd taken him out shortly after, taking the lead with your first date to him time to grow his confidence while around you. it hadn't taken long for him to ask you to be official, nervousness shaking his body as he waited for your answer, which came in the form of a passionate kiss, leaving him a little starstruck.

throughout your relationship, you loved to tease him. it was one of your favorite things. you hadn't taken his virginity from him yet, although knowing he wanted you to, you wanted to play with him a little more, stretch it out.

you were currently seated on his lap, holding his face in your hands as you ground your hips against his. his glasses were pushed up on his head, his hair ruffled and messy, lips glossy with spit and swollen from the makeout you'd had earlier.

"you look so pretty under me, baby."

you punctuated your words with a forceful roll of your hips forward, listening to the whine leave his lips. you continued speaking, knowing it was driving him even more crazy.

"i love having you like this, honey. it's my favorite thing, having such a pretty boy whimpering underneath me."

leaning down to whisper in his ear, you could feel just how hard he was against you, bulge straining against his shorts.

"i love ruining your innocence, baby."

he let out a moan as your words hit him like a slap, the overwhelming combination of your dirty words and grinding on him causing him to shake, his climax rippling through him much quicker than either of you expected. you grinned, moving your hips against him until he had ridden out all the shockwaves.

"that was fast, sweetie."

he whined, hiding his face in your chest, embarrassment flooding him. he may be inexperienced, but he knew from overhearing conversations that finishing fast wasn't something a lot of people like in a partner. however, you found it endearing.

"it's okay, honey, i think it's cute. i love making you feel so good you just can't control yourself."

you rustled his hair, sliding off of his lap and letting him lean against you.

"let's get you cleaned up, hm? that mess of yourself you made can't be comfortable."

you giggled at the furious blush that spread across his cheeks, the inability to look you directly in the eye as you got him off of the couch.

"we can take a shower to clean you up, maybe i'll even suck you off if you'd like..."

you trailed off your words as you walked out of the room, already removing your shirt. you grinned as you heard him quickly move behind you.

yeah, stripping all his innocence was going to be fun.

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[http-tokki]

weird script/conversation between you and himbo bestie jayce. idk, im just tryna get back into writing bestie jayce x reader plus hints at viktor x reader

“Hey, can I ask you a weird question?”

“All your questions are weird, but sure.” 

Jayce looks up from his packed lunch, eyes wide with inquisition as he waits for your so-called weird question. 

“Umm.. Do you…” your voice catches, throat thick with nerves. “Do you know if Viktor is single?” 

Jayce freezes mid bite, fork still on the way to his mouth as he narrows his eyes at you. 

“Why?” he stretches the word as if buying time to come up with his own conclusion.

“I'm just interested.”  you shrug, turning your attention back to your lunch, spearing the potatoes with your fork. 

“Just interested or interested?” Jayce carefully places his fork to his bowl, brows now furrowed in confusion. 

“Is there a difference?” you don’t look up from your plate. 

Jayce nods despite your inattention. “Well, yes. Just interested implies that you are merely interested in information about him but interested alludes that you are interested in him.” 

You purse your lips but remain silent and staring at your food as if deep in thought over the next piece of vegetable to choose from your lunch. 

“So are you?” 

Finally, you look up. “Am I what?” 

“Interested.” Jayce clarifies. 

“Depends on the answer.” 

It’s Jayce’s turn to look away, his own thoughts racing as your question rolls over and over and over in his mind. Why would you be asking? What would you do with the information once attained? Were you working for something bigger? Had you been employed by someone else who did not have the relationship you had with Jayce? Or was this endeavour for knowledge self serving? 

“Jayce.” his name drags him back to reality and he looks up from his lunch.  “Is he?” you pose the question again, afraid he has gotten distracted and forgot.

“Is he what?” Jayce blinks, thoughts a mile away. 

“Single.” you sigh, jaw clenching as you take in a calming breath. Gods, this kid would be the death of you.

“Ohh, yeah. He is.” He nods, still not fully present in the conversation. “Why?”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” you snap, shaking your head at the circle you are caught in. It was a simple question yet nothing about his answering process was.

“No. Why are you asking?” he presses.

“Jayce, did you get hit in the head? How are you not getting this-” genuine concern starts to cloud your judgement because he should not be this confused.

“Why are you asking me? There’s no reason to unless someone else wants to know but you don’t talk to anyone else and you can’t be interested, you’re not into-?” Your friend begins to ramble, picking up speed like a rock down a hill. 

“Not into what?” you cut him off, staring at him unsure of where he was going with that point. 

“Guys.” Jayce looks at you as if it was the most obvious ending to his sentence. 

It’s your turn to blink at him, stunned by his accusation.

“Are you…?” He asks, hesitantly, terrified of the answer. 

“Into men? Yes!” it comes out louder than you intended but the park is empty and this is something that you felt needed to be shouted for your friend to get the point. 

“How was I meant to know!? Look at how you dress!!” Jayce shouts back, pointing at you from across the table.

You look down at your body, the usual jeans and shirt nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that screamed lesbian so why would he assume it? 

“The pants and the shoes! You wear that clip on your belt loop, and I don’t think I've ever seen you in a dress! Plus, I’ve heard the way you talk about men, why would I think that you were anything but-” He trails off, afraid to continue as he sees your pointed glare. 

“Just because I wear jeans to work doesn’t mean I'm a lesbian! Gods, Jayce.” 

“That’s not the only thing but-”

“You’ve known me for how many years now? Three? You’ve seen me make out a guy before!” you shouldn’t be as offended as you are but it’s laughable to believe that inside his big genius brain, he couldn’t comprehend that a woman can wear jeans and converse and not be lesbian. 

“I just thought it was a drunken thing,” he shrugs, voice small, looking at you with sad, puppy eyes, begging for your forgiveness. “You never mentioned it, and I didn’t wanna ask in case it was a thing you weren’t ready to talk about.” 

That was  sweet.  Despite him being a bit of a dumbass, he was sweet in his own stupid way. 

“You know, for someone who is as smart as you, you’re really stupid.” 

—---

Jayce strolls into his office twenty minutes later, head held high and eyes bright with his newfound information. This was going to rock Viktor’s world. The three of you had been friends for a few months now, having hung out occasionally after work, even going on errands last weekend before going out for dinner. Never once did Jayce think you looked at his friend that way. If anything, you almost ignored him. Afraid to talk around him, never really looking at him, hyper aware of your movements around him as if you didn't want to be touched by a man….ohhh. 

“Hey, Vik, guess what?” Jayce announces as he walks into the lab, his partner bent over the desk working through a new equation. 

“I do not like these games, you know this.” Viktor mutters, too enrapt in his work to look up. “Just tell me what it is.”

“Nah, you’ve gotta guess.” Jayce beams, all but bounding over with excitement. 

Viktor sighs and pushes away from the desk, chair rolling away with a sharp grate against the floor. “First clue.”  He has played his game too many times before. 

“It’s about Honey.” Jayce waggles his brows suggestively, and it does not go unnoticed by the other.

“You kissed her?” Viktor asks, uninterested in the current topic and glances back at his notebook. 

“Nope but it is along those lines.” 

“You slept with her?” Viktor is beyond indifferent as he sighs. 

“Eww, no.” Jayce cringes. “But turns out she would be into that.” 

“Meaning?” 

“She’s into guys.” Jayce drops the bomb, excited to finally see Viktor shocked for once but no reaction comes from his partner. 

“And…?” 

“There is no and. That’s it. She’s into dudes.” Jayce sighs, throwing his hands in the air. 

Viktor frowns. “I know.”

“You know!?” Jayce exclaims, pinning Viktor with an incredulous look as if he had just told him the world started spinning backwards. 

“Yes. We ended up talking at that party you dragged us to a few months ago, remember? the one where you went off with Mel?”

“So you’ve just been holding out on this information? What did you talk about?” Jayce glares, scrutinising his partner’s every move. 

Viktor inhales, as if to steady his voice. “We talked about ourselves and our lives and how we had come to find you as a friend. We kissed a few times, it was really nice. She is a very pretty girl, I will admit that.” Viktor can’t help the soft smile at the memories of your lips on his. 

“You kissed her?” Jayce is dumbfounded, jaw on the floor as his entire world spins.

“Yes.” 

“Are you talking?”

“Occasionally as friends, yes. Why? Is that an issue for you?”   

Jayce shakes his head, taking in a deep breath to steady his racing thoughts. His two closest friends had kissed, had been talking and now you were asking if Viktor was single? Is he truly this oblivious to the world around him?

“Did you like the kiss?” Jayce finally asks. 

Viktor waits for a moment, debating on how to answer and opts for the truth. “Yes. Very much so. Why are you so interested in this? Have I overstepped?” 

“No. Not at all.” Jayce chuckles to himself, rubbing at his jaw, already planning out the entirety of your relationship with Viktor. 

Oh you would never hear the end of this. 

“I know someone who likes you.”

---

a/n: this is possibly the stupidest fucking thing I've ever written but I'm getting back into writing and just needed something stupid and today at work I got told I dress like a lesbian (I can't fault them cause I kinda dress like adam sandler and yk if I saw me I'd also think I was lgtv like i am but less wuh-luh-wuh more wuh-luh-wuh-and-muh yk) but anyway, thought it would be pretty funny to have this interaction with himbo bestie jayce

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION XVIII.

(a/n: he’s a DIVA and tbh this ep is a chaos. anyways we’re getting closer to the end guys, tyy for ur support ❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 0,8k

also: @ttheggrimrreaper @irethepotato @ohagiyoo 🔥

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

"Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

...2, Aryu Jyubei.”

“Wow...”

That was your very first thought after taking a look at his little icon before going out the waiting room to gather your things from Anri as everyone else did.

After finishing some tasks, you went straight to where his team was currently playing, quickly reading through his profile sheet on the way before your eyes stopped at his height. Rereading it for the third time, you quietly let out a scream at the paper in your hands.

“A h-hundred…a 195 CM TALL?!” your jaw hit the floor as you slowly dragged your body to the field.

Imagine being Aryu Jyubei’s manager.

——————

Aryu Jyubei who’s practically a freaking tower, stands tall—his height giving him a clear advantage in the current match and making him easy to spot even from the furthest benches. His stats are insane, and it’s kind of amusing to watch him from a distance, especially when he throws in a pose or two for his teammates. Before you know it the match comes to an end as his tall, majestic, and definitely fit body stretches with a casual confidence.

“Uhum.” You clear your throat, coughing lightly into your fist, which causes him look down at you. It makes you wonder if he sees you as some tiny creature beneath him but before your thoughts can wander too far, you introduce yourself.

“I’m L/N Y/N, your new manager. Pleased to meet you. Are you Jyu—”

Within a second, he interrupts you mid-sentence, a finger gently placed on your lips as he dramatically puts his other hand to his forehead.

“Sssshhh. My name is not osha.”

——————

•Aryu who immediately compliments how soft your hair is, and barely a minute later, he’s already asking how you maintain your gorgeousness. It’s definitely an interesting way to start a conversation, you think, while awkwardly answering his questions, throwing in a few of your own here and there.

•You two quickly become friends, and you soon realize just how much he really takes care of himself. You have a monthly list of what he’s requested starting from hair-, body-, and skincare products, each item precisely described, making you cry a little every time he tries to add another one.

•Has the most dramatic sighs ever, and the way he rolls his eyes reminds you of every single mean girl from a Hollywood movie ever made.

•If you don’t disturb his beauty sleep, Aryu’s actually capable of waking up by himself. Athletic af, he takes training quite seriously, and is always up to new ideas. He also does a very thorough stretch after each game before moving on to the next task.

•Incapable of not gossiping with you—be it early in the mornings or late into the night, he always finds a way to share the hot piping tea he collected throughout the day. Don’t ask about his sources, just simply nod and agree.

•Always has to bend down a little when you’re talking, and it’s an absolute must to have his hands placed on his hips. Has the best runway walks in general, you really wonder how he isn’t a model yet.

•It might be a surprise but he pays great attention to small details, such as how you like to organize your papers, or seasoning your meals. Takes great responsibility in making sure you’re flawless and not sleep deprived.

•You already knew he was gonna make it to the official team, so pushing him to train harder was natural. He would sometimes complain about the late-night trainings not being “osha,” but did them nonetheless.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Aryu is practically thriving with his new team, telling you that they’re pretty fun to play with although living with them is not so osha osha.

•He’s doing fine as expected, practice matches going smoothly, and he doesn’t seem to struggle that much. Actually shares a tight bond with the players on his team.

•Has the habit of calling Barou, Princess Barou which always earns him a nasty glare from the boy but at this point it has become a part of his daily routine now.

•The moment he got his new jersey, he glanced at it, then turned his head to scan your outfit, and said with a straight face:

•”Once we get out of here I’m gonna buy you a new wardrobe. Can’t let my osha manager look like a roach.”

•”Thanks, Aryu...I guess.”

•Loves the fame and the glamour of being on national tv. Immediately gains the attention of many companies who reach out to collab with him—lives for the stylish photoshoots, and always gets you free things as well.

•Whenever you try to take a picture of him after a win, he always tells you to get his good angle—before realizing his face is flawless from every angle.

•Let’s just say that night analyses with him are definitely different from the usual. It’s the time when you find yourself relaxing yet technically still working.

•Rewatching his plays while wearing face masks and cozy pajamas is his way of bonding.

•Ego doesn’t know about this, and neither of you intends to reveal it to him anytime soon.

•Aryu who likes to paint your nails—or his own—while you take notes with your free hand, carefully explaining to him the day’s performance in detail.

•Cute hair clips usually hold both of your hair in place while you two do your oddly comforting night routine.

•You know you’re close enough when he drags you to a Buddhist temple on his free day while secretly taking very osha pictures of you. P.S. one of them earns their spot as his new wallpaper.