#i did not know HOW i did that in the first place...

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 — 𝐣.𝐚.

summary: also known as the story of how you became jack abbot's sugar baby.

word count: 7.8k

tags: younger reader/sugar baby dynamic, reader is in an unspecified masters program, reader is poor (sorry girl), descriptions of burn wound, jack tends to reader's wound because why wouldn't he!, robby guest appearance, smut (hard and fast and creampie.. sorry), these two are so cute and i love this reader

note: based on this blurb. enjoy! crazy what motivation can do. go listen to don’t worry baby by the beach boys 💛

you should have known you were in trouble when dr. jack abbot of the closest emergency room handed you a full-size tube of the expensive burn gel you needed and said in a firm yet gentle voice: don’t worry about it, kid.

little did he know that you did worry about it, that you worry about everything and then some. like the ridiculous injury that led you here in the first place—ridiculous and embarrassing, a double whammy. you were writing a paper at two in the morning despite the fact that the words on the screen had stopped making sense hours ago, determined to get at least another three pages done before calling it quits. 

what you really needed was a coffee, but instead, stupidly, you settled for making hot chocolate. you thought it would be comforting, like a warm hug, which is probably what you really need and since you live alone, it’s not like you’re going to get that anywhere else. 

so—hot chocolate, with milk rather than water, and mini marshmallows. you make it on the stove because it’s just better that way, and despite how you feel about yourself deserving things, you think you can waste the few extra minutes to make it the right way.

except you probably should have made the cup of coffee. after two am, your brain really, really stops working. your palm ends up against the burner of your stove and you cry out from pain before realizing what you’ve just done. 

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck-” you curse, taking your hand to the sink immediately and running it under cold water. it stings and the pain isn’t going away, and then you realize a few other things.

one—that you have nothing besides bandaids and neosporin in this apartment. two—that you have no idea how to take care of a burn. and three—you really, really should have just gone to sleep. 

on the verge of tears that are about to spill over, you keep your hand wrapped against a towel, slip into real shoes, and call an uber to the nearest emergency room. you’d walk but you’re in pajama shorts and a hoodie and it’s three in the morning and you don’t think you can handle anything else going wrong right now.

your paper is abandoned at your desk. the cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows melting in it looks at you almost jeeringly. and you think you’ll never trust your stove again.

you wait for a little bit but luckily, it’s not as packed as you were worried it’d be. you still have to finish that paper when you get back home, and if the sun is up by then there’ll be no sleeping for you. the nurse looks at you kindly when she notices your wet eyes and wobbly chin as you explain you accidentally burnt yourself and you didn’t know what to do.

“hold tight, honey. the doctor will be right in.” you thank her and then curse to yourself—you’re reaching levels of stupidity unknown to man. you hope she’ll tell the doctor it was just a burn and whoever it is will leave it at that. you don’t think you have energy to explain this to anyone and your face burns with embarrassment at the very idea.

then the curtain gets pulled back and he walks in and whatever thought you were thinking flies out the window.

“hi, i’m dr. abbot,” he says, his head tilted down—showing you a mane of messy salt and pepper curls—and looking at the tablet in his hands. he looks up at you to confirm your name and then your birthday, though in all honesty, he could have said something completely wrong and you would have nodded and agreed.

your doctor is handsome. he’s hot. like grey’s anatomy level hot. like, some other medical show that your brain recognizes but can’t currently remember the name of hot. 

“so you burned yourself? can i take a look?” as stupid as it is—you don’t think you’ve ever been stunned into silence by a man before. his words are gentle and sincere and it sounds like he really cares about whatever's wrong with you—so many things you can't begin to name them all right now. fuck, he asked you something. you nod and then he looks up at you again. “i kind of need to hear you say it.”

fuck. me. what the hell kind of doctor says things like that to deliriously delusional women at three in the morning?

“yes. yes, thank you.” you move the towel and lift your palm towards him and he takes a gloved hand to support you. you can feel his fingers against the back of your hand, holding you in place, and normally that contact would be enough to have you reeling into never-never land where all the doctors are hot and single and you’re presenting with a more much cool, mature injury. 

but then you notice his arms, and you have to bite your cheek so hard to not accidentally say anything you will without a doubt regret. hot doctor is jacked, with huge arms and a scrub top that covers most of his biceps. his forearms are thick and veiny and your eyes focus on them for way, way too long. you can make out so many freckles on his skin that it presents like a galaxy. you momentarily forget how badly your hand hurts. he sucks in a breath and looks at you again, making intense eye contact that you can’t bear. you look away immediately.

“ouch. so how’d this happen?” he asks, and you groan before you can stop yourself—of course he’s a good doctor who doesn’t cut corners and has to make sure you’re not suicidal or a masochist or something. “you okay, kid?” 

what the fuck. one man cannot be doing it for you in so many ways—this dr. abbot should have never existed because you don’t know how you’re going to stop thinking about him. when you meet his eyes again and can actually look into them—hazel and very pretty, because of course they are—they’re filled with concern.

you can’t imagine how crazy you must look to him right now. plaid pajamas shorts, a grey hoodie for some sports team you know nothing about, messy hair. you curse yourself for not doing your makeup earlier. 

“yes, i’m sorry. i-i was just hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“yeah?” he says, with a teasing lilt to his voice. seriously, fuck this guy. “why’s that?”

“i…i was making hot chocolate. y’know, the good kind. stovetop with milk and the tiny-” jack looks at you with a smile, holding back a laugh and you lose your train of thought and trail off. “marshmallows. the tiny ones. and i was half-asleep already working on this paper, so, yeah. that’s, um, the story.” 

jack asks you some other questions quietly—about what you’re in school for and how you like it—probably to distract you while he cleans your wounds. his touch alone is enough of a distraction and the way the muscles in his arms move while he does is enough to make you black out, but you still answer politely and try to not embarrass yourself further. 

when your wound is all wrapped up, you cover your mouth to stifle a yawn and blink tiredly at dr. abbot.

“thank you,” you repeat for what must be the hundredth time—though you are very thankful. different people wearing scrubs interrupted him to ask a question probably three or four times and he never once stepped away from your bedside or left to go help someone else, even though you told him you could wait. 

“you’re very welcome,” he stands up and you get your hand back and it feels much colder without his touch. stupid, you think to yourself, don’t think that! you are stupid! “now, don’t get this wet and change the wrap daily. when you’re changing, if it looks red or swollen or there’s any pus, you come straight back. and you’ll need burn gel. the nurse is going to give you some packets but it’s a bigger wound so you’ll have to buy a bottle at the pharmacy. that sound okay?” 

you want to shake your head and tell him no, it kind of doesn’t. for starters you don’t want to leave his comfortable presence—maybe you’re just really lonely. if you had more money you’d get a cat so you’re not so alone all the time, but it’s one thing to subject yourself to poverty, bringing in a cute little kitten to your life is just stupid. oh god—there you go again. he said something and you can’t even remember what it is. you blink dumbly at dr. abbot. 

right—burn gel. the real answer is no, insanely handsome doctor jack, i unfortunately cannot buy a bottle of burn gel at the moment, not until my next paycheck. but admitting all of that to him right now, after the already humiliating hot chocolate story, seems the emotional equivalent of your own personal 9/11. instead you lie and nod.

“sounds good.”

he smiles at you and you smile back, though you feel incredibly silly.

“don’t try to make hot chocolate half asleep again, kid. just go to bed next time,” jack says and you feel your face flush and burn at his words—you feel like a child getting scolded by dad. “and get some sleep, okay?” 

“yeah. thank you, dr. abbot,” you say quietly. he smiles one last time, closes the curtain and leaves you in there alone again.

and though you thought it very nearly impossible, you do fuck up one more time before leaving pittsburg trauma medical center. you ask the nurse, who brings you two tiny samples of the burn gel, if there’s any way you could have more, explaining in not so many words that you’re a student and hoping that she gets the gist of what you’re trying to say.

“oh. well, let me go ask dr. abbot, and if he says yes, i can-”

“no! no, never mind. this is perfect, i’ll figure it out, um-” you scramble to your feet to get the burn gel packets and your paperwork.

“just one second, okay, i’ll be right back.” the nurse—young and very pretty and probably new, which is why she wants to make sure she’s not making a mistake, rushes out.

and you, not sure if this is exactly against-medical-advice, take your belongings and head outside to go back home.

(the nurse does go to jack—asking if she can give you some more packets of burn gel because you can’t afford it. he agrees immediately, thinking that he would have given you more if you had told him, wondering why you hadn’t. he goes back to your bed to give them to you himself, but you’re not there.)

+

and two days later, staring at your hand post-shower, still needing to write two thousand words before bed, you wonder if it looks a little… red. 

you hadn’t gotten it wet, but you’re using the burn gel sparingly, and maybe because you’re not using enough, it had gotten infected.

fuck. you should have just coughed up the money to pay for the big bottle—you’re so dumb sometimes. you try to justify that it’s not red, it’s just the lighting, but when you take a picture with flash, you don’t think it’s in your head. 

an hour later, it starts to hurt again like the first day. double fuck.

grumbling something about cyclical poverty, you pull on your hoodie over your outfit of the day, which was at least some-what cute. both things thrifted—a denim skirt and a plain pink henley—but it’s cold, so on the jacket goes. it’s a struggle to get it on without hurting your hand but you figure it out. it’s only just hit nine o’clock but it’s dark—so there goes another charge for the uber.

you go inside and go up to the lady with whom you check in, telling her you were here a few days ago for a burn, and that somehow must mean you get priority access, because the nurse—a different one—brings you back right away. 

you wait for someone to tell you dr. abbot’s not here but there’s another just-as-good doctor, preferably one with normal arms and a normal smile that doesn’t make the lines around his eyes crinkle and light up his whole face and doesn’t make you fall headfirst into numerous, unrealistic fantasies, mostly centered around what a hug in those absolutely abnormal arms would feel like and—

you realize you’ve lost the plot as soon as dr. abbot pulls back the curtain.

“oh. i didn’t know if it would be you again.”

“it’s me again.” you must look starstruck, you conclude, with the way he looks at you and smiles and takes a seat on the stool in the room. now you’re the one staring—crow’s feet and all. “so what happened?”

“i was looking at it after my shower and, i-i don’t know, it just looks red. and it started to hurt again and i-i have to write so many papers and i don’t wanna lose my whole hand because i didn’t use enough burn gel-”

“hey,” he says, firmly yet still tinged with gentleness. like someone talking to a skittish animal—which, you think, you pretty much are at this point. the fact that he's the one taming you makes you dizzy. “you’re gonna be fine. you’re here now, so i can take of it.” 

you refuse to let yourself read between the lines—the way he only mentions himself. the way you think he should have said so i can take care of you. 

“o-okay. thank you, dr. abbot.” 

you peel away the shitty, rushed bandage wrap and let him observe your palm closely. he’s so close that you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. 

after what feels like ages, he tells you it’s not infected. you sigh before you can stop yourself, shoulders sagging in relief. jack looks at you with an expression you don’t recognize—like he’s a little confused and amused at the same time.

“but it’s good that you came in anyways.” you face burns when he pulls out a tube of the burn you were supposed to be using generously from the pocket of his scrubs. 

“oh, um, listen, i can explain-”

“don’t worry about it, kid.” you accept the bottle and stare at him and he does the usual thing—tells you to come in if it gets worse, use the gel and if you need another tube, just come back here and find him, making you flush hard and get teary-eyed when he finally leaves.

maybe it’s just nice to be taken care of, for once. but you shouldn’t get dependent on it. you indulge in the reality until the uber is there to take you home, and then you conclude that you’ll likely never see dr. jack abbot, the kind hearted, good physician who took care of your wound twice now, ever again. 

until you do.

sometimes your work writes itself when you’re in a new environment, and you blame the lack of progress on your boring, tiny apartment. there’s a coffee shop not too far from campus that another girl in your masters program had told you about. good coffee, even better pastries, and there’s always cute guys, she had said with a laugh. 

you had been so focused on figuring out what the cheapest thing to buy was that you forgot the ending half of your friend’s sentence. from the hospital nearby.

there’s always cute guys from the hospital nearby.

you get settled with a small iced coffee and start typing away, working with an intent to make sure this paper gets done because it’s been put off long enough, when the door opens and you almost feel him before you see him.

it’s eight in the morning. why would he even be here? it’s not him—you conclude, staring at the back of a man in a dark blue shirt that fits him a little too snugly and green cargo pants. you don’t see the telltale black stethoscope or an id badge that tells you anything, just the profile of his back and a head of messy, gray curls.

fuck. it's him, isn't it? of course it's him. jack orders and then steps away to wait for it, hot coffee black in the biggest size they have. and when he turns around, he sees you looking at him like a deer in headlights. then you turn your head down immediately, as if you’re trying to hide and make yourself as small as you can.

he chuckles to himself because you’re pretty cute when you do things like that. 

you keep your head down long enough, pretending to be so engrossed in your paper, that you get a little too locked-in, not realizing the footsteps approaching belong to him.

“is this seat empty?” jack asks, and you almost jolt with the realization that he’s so close to you. 

you look up tentatively, bracing yourself for the encounter, reminding yourself not to act a complete fool like you have the last two times. 

“yes. hi, dr. abbot. small world, huh,” you say, though it’s not a question, more of a cruel joke.

“yeah, kid. you still working on that paper?”

“yes. it’s, um, a real beast,” you say, before realizing how dumb you must sound to him. “oh my god, not that, it’s like a real job, or anything, or as hard as yours. it’s just taking a lot longer than usual, and-” “don’t say that. that’s plenty hard. i couldn’t do it, that’s for sure,” he says, in that gentle voice that still sounds like he’s teasing you but you know he’s not because he’s so sincere. your head feels like it's spinning from a single sentence. 

“really?” you ask, feeling like a stupid, scared child all over again.

“yes.”

the validation washes over you and you try to soak in every drop—it’s been a while that someone older than you hasn’t made you feel silly for what you’re pursuing. or rather, for the fact that it is hard sometimes, that it’s not just typing away at a computer all day. the research and the readings and the discussions and everything that you pour into your work, the stuff that no one in your life save for your favorite professors seem to understand.

jack is intoxicating, and you’re beginning to realize how much of a problem that is.

he smiles at you and you smile at him, reaching for your coffee just so you have something else to focus on because his attention is almost blinding, when you stop your hand half-way. it’s empty.

you bring your hand back to your lap awkwardly and look up at him, hoping he didn’t notice. he did.

“so, are you coming straight from the hospital?” you try to pivot the conversation away from yourself because the truth is that you could listen to him talk for hours.

“yeah, i just finished the night shift. and i’ve got a couple days off so i figured i’d get a coffee before tackling my list of things i’ve been putting off.”

“that’s always a smart idea,” you say.

“yeah. you’re doing the same thing, huh?”

“i guess i just needed to get out of the house. and drink something that’s made without bodily harm involved.”

he laughs, so you laugh, and then you stare at his pretty, sparkly eyes and wonder why everything feels so easy around him. the concern that you’re not good enough or not working hard enough melts away and you feel so much lighter. your struggles are forgotten, if just for a moment, and you realize that this, unfortunately, is something very bad. because he’s not going to be around you much longer.

the barista calls out his name and he says he’ll be right back, getting up quickly. you think he would have said that he’ll see you around and in true doctor fashion, remind you to take care of your wound, but he didn’t. 

you conclude that he must be saving it for after his coffee, that he’ll pass by on the way out. you’re a little distracted with your thoughts to notice that he’s gone for a little too long.

he comes back with his coffee—large and in a hot cup, the polar opposite of yours—and a pastry in a bag. 

but then he hands it to you. 

“oh—what?” you ask, confused. 

“it’s for you. you haven’t eaten, right?” “well, no, but i-” he sets the bag down next to your empty coffee cup. “you didn’t have to do that, i, um, i-”

“that’s okay. i was a student once too, y’know.” 

“yeah. wow, um, thank you. that’s so nice of you.” you’re so stunned you can’t even begin to piece together jack’s reaction. it’s a five dollar pastry, and he thinks briefly he’d buy you ten of them if you really wanted, with how grateful you seem. 

“they’re making you another coffee, so pay attention for your name.”

“dr. abbot, i-” your eyes are wide like coins, heart thudding in your chest, confused and dizzy and unable to process how nice this man is.

“it’s nothing, kid. don’t worry about it.” 

you laugh at how crazy this whole things seem to you—or maybe you’re just not very used to nice things.

“you should stop because i’m gonna get used to this,” you say half-joking with a smile and another laugh, taking a bite of the delicious pastry so he’ll be appeased.

“maybe you should.” you blink at him. “i gotta go, kid, but here’s my number.” he takes out a pen from his pocket and scribbles the number on the back of the paper bag the pastry came in. “call me if you need anything, hm? for your hand or anything else."

you stare at him blankly, and he laughs, and heads out with his coffee, turning to look at you one last time when he’s at the door.

the barista calls out your name and there’s a large iced coffee waiting for you on the counter.

yeah, you’re in trouble.

+

you save jack’s contact but you don’t text him, worried that he’ll think you only want to see him for his money or the seemingly endless generosity that’s always pouring from him.

you do need need help—there's a half assembled desk from facebook marketplace that you didn't have the tools to finish yourself, despite how hard you tried. but you can't possibly ask him for help with that—he's a stranger. he's your doctor. so you don't do anything with his number.

it’s just as well because the universe has other plans for you two.

you work a part-time job to pay for your tiny apartment. it’s inconsistent, you get scheduled when they’re really busy, and now that it’s getting warmer out, there's more shifts. 

so saturday morning, bright and early, you get ready, first wrapping your hand as discreetly as you can. it’s doing much better now, half of which you attest to the burn gel and half to jack’s healing powers. then your hair and make-up, and then whatever seems suitable for the hot weather today. 

there’s no uniform, at least, and you decide on a black athletic skirt and a pink shirt with the material that helps you not get too sweaty, even though you’re in the shade of the drink cart for most of your shift. 

it’ll be a full day so you pack lunch and fill up your water bottle before making your way to the golf course. you’re assigned a specific section and you pray to god it’s filled with stupid, rich businessman who tip way too much if you flutter your eyelashes at them.

it’s a little skeevy at times, but money is money, and no one’s ever tried anything more than a failed pick-up line or the more sober friends dragging away the drunk guy who lingers, even though they all wear wedding bands. 

you make the first round, and though it’s early and you’re more of a disarming, clumsy sort of charming, when you smile brightly and say it’s five o’clock somewhere, it’s enough to the men golfing to laugh and buy hard seltzers.

a little bit later, the beers start selling, and by noon, you have to go restock your cart. it’s been a good shift—you think if it keeps up like this, your tips will be enough to put towards rent and if there’s extra, you can go find a dress if you ever work up the nerve to text jack and ask him on a date.

but post lunch, to your surprise, it slows down a little. it’s hot out and you have to admit to yourself you were never going to be brave enough to text jack. at least if your rent gets almost paid, you’ll feel better than you did last night.

you drive around on the cart, stopping in front of a tall man who you think is golfing alone. in your experience, if they’re alone, they’re looking to get drunk.

“hi,” you sing, hoping he’s a good tipper. he looks nice when he smiles at you but you never know. “would you like anything to drink?” 

“two beers, please. thank you, sweetheart.”

the nickname, like always, make you a little flustered. it’s always the older guys who lavish them on you, and when they’re wrinkly and too old it’s not that big of a deal, but when they’re in this one specific age range—your heart churns remembering that jack is probably a part of that group, just like this guy—it’s enough to make you spiral. many things are, you conclude, unsure how you’ve made it this far in life.

“two?” you confirm, since you don’t see anyone else around.

“yes, just waiting on a buddy of mine.” 

“oh, okay. coming right up,” you respond, leaning over to pick up two beers. when you turn back to tell them the price, again, you feel him before you hear it. 

“our livers are gonna be shot, man.” you hear it in the distance. 

“well, after the week i’ve had, i deserve it-” the man next to you shouts out to his friend, who you, unfortunately, recognize. you hear footsteps getting closer and closer.

“yeah, yeah. don’t come calling when you want a piece of my liver. i got it,” jack says, approaching you. you turn around to face him. “oh. hi, kid. talk about a coincidence, huh?” 

you want to say something but you’re not sure how to get it out without stammering. 

jack’s eyes rake over your body—short skirt, tight shirt, cute golf shoes that you had spent way too much money on. you just wanted to play the role and fit in and it had all seemed worth it at the time.

and then he notices how you’re holding onto the beers with both hands, condensation dripping onto your mostly-dry bandage. and he turns into dr. abbot right before your eyes. “hey, hey, let me take those. you’re supposed to be keeping this thing dry,” he says, handing one over to robby. 

“you two know each other?” his friend says, his eyes going from you to jack and back to you.

“yeah. listen, i’ll be right over.” 

“sure,” robby says. “thank you again for the beer,” he tells you and you weakly smile before he walks away.

“i-i did keep it dry. it’s doing better. but i didn’t want to turn down work so-”

“yeah, but, i don’t want you compromising the healing. how long have you been out here? have you been drinking water?”

“yes, i have,” you say earnestly, his concern for you making you light-headed, though you resist the urge to fall directly into his arms, no matter how much it possesses you. 

“as your doctor, i don’t think i can recommend this.”

“i’m sorry,” you say, unsure of what else you can tell him. “you know how it is. gotta pay for coffee somehow, right?”

“you didn’t text me. or call. i was hoping for a call but i figured you’d send a text, but then you didn’t.”

“i’m sorry-” “stop apologizing. i-i’m kidding. you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. i just meant-” “i wanted to,” you pipe up, interrupting him. “i still want to. i just-i just got nervous, i guess. you’re like a real doctor and i’m, i’m barely a real student.” “why do you do that?” “do what?” “make it seem like it’s lesser. you are a student, you told me all about it. it’s impressive.”

“no it’s not. you don’t have to lie-” “i’m not lying.” 

you pause, processing everything happening in front of you.

“i’m sorry i didn’t text you.”

“that’s okay, kid. i’ll take your word for it this time.” “i didn’t think you’d actually want to see me, i guess.”

“yeah? why’s that?” he gets in a little closer, until he’s in the shade of your cart with you. he stares intensely and you feel yourself getting warm, unable to answer, unable to even remember what he had said. 

“i-i-”

“you, you?” you hear it in the distance—his friend calling out his name. jack takes a step away from you and looks over. “i gotta go. thanks for the beer, kid.” he pushes cash into your hand and you feel like you’ve been shocked with a live wire where your hands touch. “if you don’t text me, i can’t get your number, you know.” 

and then he walks away. and in your hand is a hundred-dollar bill for two beers.

+

it turns out, that texting jack was, indeed, a mistake. you text him a simple sentence—hi, followed with your name so he knows who it is. maybe he has other former patients he’s giving his number out to—you don’t know. (you hope not, as the thought just made you nauseous.)

he calls you a few minutes later and completely unprepared, you have to answer, and talk to him on the phone as you pace around your tiny living room until your downstairs neighbor hits the ceiling with a broom to get you to stop.

jack is a planner, you realize, because after the phone call where he asked about your day and you learned about his, you have a date for friday night. 

against every better instinct, you go buy a new, used dress for the date from your favorite consignment store, using the money from jack’s tip. you get dressed up hours in advance, unable to focus on your work, but rather chewing your cheek and reapplying your lip gloss until it’s time to go downstairs. 

jack meets you outside your apartment, though he tells you he was going to come up. he has flowers for you but you elect to carry them, not sure if you’re prepared for him to see the tiny place you call home.

this has never happened before. your first date with a man, rather than a boy, and he brought you flowers and he’s driving you to the restaurant and he gets out first and tells you to wait and then goes around and opens the door for you.

it’s ridiculous. it’s like a movie.

the first date goes well, you think.

well—it’s the best first date you’ve ever had. jack tells you all about his life but he always stops to ask about yours, though yours isn’t nearly as interesting. instead you preen him on about his time in the service, and he tells you about the prosthetic you saw when he was at the golf course, and why he wanted to become a doctor and how he likes it there now. 

(when you bring that up, he puts his hand over your injured one, still wrapped with a much smaller bandage than before, and asks how your hand is for probably the third time that night, like he has to keep checking to make sure you’re okay. it’s dizzying. everything about him is dizzying.)

he lets you pick dessert and walks you up to your door and kisses you goodnight, and you have to refrain from inviting him inside right then and there.

you stare at the flowers daily—not sure when one date had become two, and then three, and then four.

he brings you a box of chocolates—the good kind—on the second date and you makeout for twenty minutes in his car after. new flowers on the third one, when you end up seeing inside his gorgeous apartment for the first time and also end up on his lap for the better part of an hour.

and then the fourth one, which was supposed to be a late lunch after his shift at the hospital, you very nearly have to cancel. jack is outside your door and you still have a complex about your apartment, but you let him inside while you scramble around.

“woah, woah,” he says, steadying you by your shoulders and turning you towards him. “what’s going on?”

“um, work called and this girl is sick and they want me to come in but i-i have to see the bus times or call an uber and i don’t even know where my golf shoes are and-”

“just tell them no, then sweetheart,” he says, and you blink at him.

“but i should really go. if it’s busy it’s like enough to pay half my rent, and-” jack sighs, moving his hands from your shoulders to your waist.

“i don’t think you should have to worry about things like this.” 

the way he says it, it sounds very final, very firm and absolute.

“i wish it was that easy,” you say, but when you turn to meet jack’s eyes again, he’s already looking at you intensely.

“it is. let me care of it.” 

and it’s jarring. letting him pay for every date—though you paid for the ice cream after date two, something you pride yourself on—is one thing. letting him pay for coffee because he sends you money when you mention you’re going to the coffee shop to work is… something. but letting him pay for your life—your rent and your bills—is something else entirely. it’s dependence, it’s serious, it’s what you’d expect if you were engaged or his sugar baby or something—

“stop overthinking it. you know how much i like you, right?” you nod dumbly. “then let me take care of it. let me take care of you.” 

unfortunately—it’s way, way too easy to give in. you’ve never been the spoiled sort, ever, but with jack, you get to be. you tell work you can’t come in and you don’t feel incredibly guilty about it for the first time. you get to go on your lunch date and then kiss jack goodbye and tell him to have a good day at work, instead. jack sends you a direct deposit for your rent, and you think he’s made a mistake at first—it’s almost double what you need. you call him to tell him about his mistake but he says the same thing he always does.

i know. the extra is for you. don’t worry about it, kid. 

it’s incredible what those five words can do to your body and soul. it gets worse—the next time you see him, when you’re hearing home after a day of classes and he’s heading to the hospital, he takes out a little box and hands it to you, telling you to open it at home. and then he kisses you until your knees are weak and drops you off at your apartment. 

on the elevator, you open it—a pretty necklace with a glittery diamond that probably costs three times your monthly rent. 

you’ve never thought you’d get used to be spoiled like this so quickly—but you do. it’s not like you need so many luxurious things, but the little luxuries add up so quickly to the point where you’re overwhelmed. a new pair of shoes for every day because your old ones were hurting your soles. a large coffee and a pastry when you go to the coffeeshop to work. when your laptop stops working, you don’t freak out and cry like you’re programmed to do, you just tell jack and he helps you pick out a new one a few hours later.

intoxicating is the only word you can use to describe jack abbot and his affect on you.

and after another date—matching earrings for your necklace this time, ones that he helped you put on—you end up in apartment, staring at the bustling city below you from his huge windows. jack comes up behind you, kissing your cheek and then your ear, which makes you laugh, and then your shoulder and your neck, and you melt into his touch. 

you’ve been doing nothing but kissing for the time you’ve known him, and you think you’ve been fed up for long enough. actually, you know you have, but he’s been the one insisting to take it slow, like he doesn’t want to scare you off.

you wrap your arms around him and bring him in for another kiss, though this one feels slightly different. hot and wet and hard, the two of you pushed so tightly against each other that your mouth hurts. you open it further to let him push his tongue inside, and you realize as fun as this is, you need more. you need whatever jack abbot will give you.

his hands—still enough to make you think voltage is buzzing through them because every time he touches you, you feel like you’ve been hit with a live wire—grab your waist and roam up and down your back. you moan into his mouth and jack pulls away briefly, letting you catch your breath.

“please, jack?” you ask, and that’s all he can let you get out, smashing his mouth against yours again. 

you squeal when he picks you up, carrying you to the bedroom and letting you land on his bed with a gentle thud.

“i wanted to stay out there,” you say softly, running your hands over his shirt, exploring his chest. your hands go to the buttons, undoing them even through your hands feel a little shaky. 

“yeah? why’s that?” jack answers in that quiet, rough voice that makes you so wet you can’t think straight. he hovers over you, leaning into press another kiss to your neck that makes you moan. “wanted to give everyone a show, huh?” he presses his lips to yours and you giggle against them.

“s’not my fault you have such big windows.” then, emboldened, you keep going. “maybe i just wanted to show everyone that i can take care of you too.” 

jack pulls away, staring at you with those eyes. those eyes, those eyes. it’s enough to drive you crazy, the way his gaze is so intense. you feel chills run through your whole body despite how hot and flushed you feel. you can’t help it—jack abbot makes you feel every emotion in the book at the same time.

“yeah, kid? you want to take care of me?” you nod, your hand finishing unbuttoning his shirt and helping him take it off. 

“please, jack. i really do.” you let your hand wander to his bulge, palming him while biting your lip at the sheer size you’re feeling. he’s so big it’s going to hurt—though right now you can’t think about anything other than getting him inside your mouth so you can finally begin to take care of him how he’s been taking care of you.

“next time, kid, i promise-”

“ja-ack,” you whine. you think you’ve gotten a little too used to getting exactly what you want from him. it’s his own fault—he shouldn’t have spoiled you so much.

“come on, sweetheart. i thought you’d be good for me, huh?” 

“but i wanted to-” you feel jack’s hands wander up your thighs, searching for the fabric of your panties, but he can’t find it. instead he feels the wetness between your legs, the your juices coating the inside of your thighs. he chokes out a laugh, burying his head into your neck like he can’t believe the sight in front of him.

“you’re not wearing anything underneath this?” he asks, and you shake your head, biting back a smile. “oh, kid. you’re in for it now.”

you squeal again, trying to fight his hard grip but jack keeps you firm in place, his lips crushing down on yours again, his tongue in your mouth. he pulls your dress up until it’s bunched around your thighs, and he’s still in his slacks but you want him inside of you so badly that you don’t think you can wait for the clothes to come off. 

“shh,” jack says against your ear, nipping at it right above your pretty new earrings. “i’ll give you what you want. i just gotta stretch you out first.” 

the words are enough to make your eyes roll all the way back—your head hits the pillow with a thud. jack keeps you distracted with a kiss while your wrap your hands around his neck. his finger get closer and closer to where you want them, and when he slips inside one thick finger, you gasp against his lips.

“yeah?” he teases, “feel good? i know, sweetheart, just take it.”

 the stretch of just one is incredible, but then he adds a second, pushing them in and out with his palm flush against your clit, the pressure building in your stomach already.

it’s a combination of everything, you think. the soft sheets that smell like him, the way you’re both too eager to even take your clothes off. how the jewelry you’re wearing is from him, just because. 

and finally, his weight on top of you, even when you’re begging him to let you take care of him for once, he can’t rest, he can’t stop it, like it’s so engrained in him. like his only mission in life is to take care of you.

jack adds a third finger and you don’t think you’ve ever been so stretched out in your life. panting against him, you lean in for another kiss, sloppy and wet.

you pull back so you can stare at jack’s expression while he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, so wet that he’s almost slipping out. he’s flushed, pretty silver hair damp against his forehead, and you reach over without thinking to brush some of it away.

“c’mon kid, cum for me. i know you want to. let me take care of you, hm? don’t think, don’t think, just cum-” 

and you do. it’s explosive, though you’ve always thought this sort of orgasm was impossible for you to achieve. you guess nothing’s impossible when jack abbot is the one doing it. you hear him before you fully feel it—fuck, yes, good girl—and your entire body tenses and tightens as that coil low in your belly snaps and washes over you. if you had ever thought his touch was electric, then today it was lightening. he rides you through it, not stopping until you’re practically pushing his hand away, and even then, he only stops to laugh against your sweaty skin. 

like he knew it’d be too much for you. like he’s only just begun breaking you in.

every muscle is aching and sore by the end of it. your body collapses into his mattress and you flutter your eyes shut, still leaning for another kiss, even when your brain is so tired it can’t think straight.

“good job, sweetheart,” he says, and you hum against him. “you think you’re ready for it?” 

when he says it like that, you can’t help but nod. 

jack lines himself up with your leaking cunt, and you can’t imagine what a mess you’ve made on his nice sheets. but when he pushes inside you, your eyes roll back again and you lose all train of thought.

damn him—you can’t even keep a sentence coherent anymore. it’s not fair. 

you feel so full. your toes curl and your muscles scream at you, but with jack’s grip tight on your hips, the fabric of his pants rubbing against you because he had just taken himself out, not taken them off entirely, it’s hard to complain. 

he sets a rhythm that makes you cry out against him, so loud that you’re worried his neighbors will hear. but jack doesn’t seem to care, encouraging you, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars over and over again. 

the sheer size of him is enough to make you cum again, you think, deliriously and delusionally. 

your eyes are shut tight, but when you open them and meet jack’s eyes, you smile at him like you can’t believe this is real. 

“j-jack,” you moan, unsure of your own volume. you hear the bedframe thud against the wall repeatedly, feel jack hold your legs up to get deeper in you, if that’s even possible. he looks down at where you two are connected, like he’s unable to pull his gaze away from there. “jack, it feel s-so good,” you hiccup, wet eyes meeting his. 

“yeah, kid?” he asks, the words coming out in a shuddery breath. “fuck, oh fuck.” hearing him say that makes your toes curl, and when he picks up his pace and starts battering against that one spot in you, your feel it again—the electric current washing over you and running through each nerve, making your limbs into jello and your heart race so fast you think it’ll thud out of your chest.

you dig your nails into jack’s back, leaving little crescent shaped marks in your wake. and when you bring him for another kiss, you whisper it against his lips, watery eyes blinking up at him through wet eyelashes, just because you felt like you had to say it.

“thank you for taking care of me, jack.” you feel it before you hear him—his hips stuttering, streams of hot cum filling you up endlessly until you’ve made a mess all around him. he groans loudly—a noise that you wish you could hear on repeat from how good he sounds, how good you made him feel.

none of this is grounding—it’s so extremely un-grounding that you feel like you’re floating on clouds. 

though you wish he wouldn’t, jack pulls out of you. his sheets must be ruined by now. 

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and you can’t believe this is your life. 

“yes. are you okay?” you ask quietly, throat sore.

“yes,” he says, with a laugh, he helps you pull the skirt of your dress down and curl up next to him. his chest is warm and you think you could fall asleep pressed up against him like this. 

you trace patterns on his forearm where it rests next to you and stare at all the freckles. 

“we should have stayed out there. the sun’s setting soon.”

“yeah?” “yeah. i like your apartment.” you sigh and mew next to him, curling in closer, close to sleep. 

“yeah, kid? how would you feel about moving in?”

♡ thanks for reading!

[paucubarsisimp]

silent echoes

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which everyone pulls away including lando

warnings: suicide, cussing, death, angst (read at your own risk)

a/n: you're not alone <3

it didn’t happen all at once. it never does.

it starts with little things. unanswered messages. eyes that flicker past you in a room like you’re not really there. voices that used to say your name like it meant something, now barely even whispering it.

and then suddenly… you’re alone. not in a dramatic way. no big fights. no screaming. just distance. quiet, growing distance.

your family stops calling first. your mom used to check in every morning, even if it was just a quick “how did you sleep?” now her phone is always “on the other line.” always “will call you back.”

but she never does.

your sister had her baby last month. you weren’t invited to the hospital. you found out on facebook. she’d blocked you from her stories, but someone else posted a photo and tagged her.

you stared at the screen until your eyes burned.

when you asked her about it, her reply was short, cold, like she didn’t even recognize the sound of your name anymore.

“we didn’t think you’d want to come. you’ve been… distant.”

you wanted to scream. to tell her no, you’ve all just started walking away from me, but your voice caught in your throat. and you just said “okay.” because what else could you do?

your friends followed. slowly, then all at once.

first it was one friend forgetting to invite you to a party. then another bailing on dinner without a word. then the group chat went quiet. or maybe it didn’t—it just stopped lighting up for you.

you asked jess once if something was wrong.

she looked at you like it was obvious.

“i don’t know, y/n. being around you is… heavy. you bring the mood down.”

your chest felt like it collapsed in on itself. you didn’t even cry. you just nodded, said sorry, and left. even though she’d just carved a hole in your heart and walked away like it didn’t matter.

then there was lando.

your last light. your last safe place.

he used to hold you like the world couldn’t touch you. used to send goodnight texts from across the world, voice notes after races, sleepy photos with messy hair and soft smiles.

you loved him so much it hurt.

but even he started to go quiet.

he stopped replying as fast. stopped asking how your day was. he’d say he was tired. that the season was crazy. that you’d talk “soon.” but soon kept slipping further and further away.

you told yourself it was just stress. that he still loved you. that you weren’t losing him like you lost everything else.

but you were wrong.

you saw her in his photos first. blurry at the edges at first—someone cropped out of a frame. then slowly, more clearly. hand in hand. laughing. her in his hoodie.

not you. her.

your heart didn’t just break—it dissolved.

you showed up to his hotel before the spanish grand prix. you waited by the elevator for him, hands shaking, heart somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

he looked surprised to see you.

not happy.

just… surprised.

“y/n. what are you doing here?”

you tried to smile, but your lips didn’t move right.

“i needed to see you.”

he sighed. like he already knew what you were going to say. like it was a weight he didn’t want to carry.

“i didn’t mean for you to find out like this.” “so it’s true?” you whispered.

he didn’t answer.

and that was your answer.

you felt something break inside. not a crack. a collapse. the kind of heartbreak you don’t come back from. the kind that settles into your bones.

“what did i do wrong, lando?” “you didn’t… do anything,” he said, eyes flickering away. “you just started feeling like someone else. like being around you… wasn’t easy anymore.”

you wanted to scream. to beg. to make him look at you. remember you. remember who you used to be.

but you didn’t.

you just nodded. and walked away.

because you knew.

people don’t stay when you start to feel like a shadow.

now it’s quiet all the time.

no texts. no calls. no plans. the silence used to scare you. now it’s all you know. it’s comforting, in a sick kind of way. at least it doesn’t lie.

your phone lights up sometimes, but it’s never them. it’s bills. spam. promotions. not your mom. not jess. not lando.

never lando.

you see him sometimes. on your screen. smiling. winning. living. she’s still there. still by his side. you aren’t.

no one comes back. no one reaches out. and the worst part is—no one even notices you’re gone.

maybe you never really mattered. maybe you were just noise in other people’s lives, and when you went quiet, they just… moved on.

the world didn’t stop.

it never does.

but you did.

it’s not loud.

that’s the thing no one tells you.

when everything falls apart—when your body gives up before your heart does—it’s not loud. it’s just quiet. achingly quiet. like the moment right after a song ends and the world forgets to breathe.

you sit on the floor of your apartment. knees pulled to your chest. the only light is from your phone screen, still and dim on the carpet beside you. no missed calls. no unread messages.

no one is coming.

not your family. not jess. not lando.

you used to believe in second chances. in people coming back. in love strong enough to wait for you.

but now you believe in silence.

you press your cheek to your knee. your eyes are dry. the tears ran out days ago, or maybe weeks. time has stopped keeping track of you. like it, too, decided you weren’t worth remembering.

you wonder if they’d even notice. if tomorrow came and you didn’t.

would your mom check in? would jess say your name in passing and stop mid-sentence, realizing something was missing? would lando pause during breakfast, spoon halfway to his mouth, feeling a tug in his chest he couldn't explain?

would it matter?

you used to want to be held. now you just want to disappear.

your chest feels hollow. like your heart packed its bags and left without saying goodbye.

you lie down slowly. the floor is cold. comforting, in a way. it doesn’t ask questions. doesn’t look at you with pity. it just holds your body like you still weigh something. like you still exist.

maybe this is enough.

not dying. just… stopping. just not fighting the heaviness anymore. letting it wash over you. letting it have you.

you close your eyes.

and for the first time in days, the noise in your head is gone.

no thoughts. no voices. just stillness.

you don’t know if you’ll get up.

you don’t know if you want to.

he finds out on a thursday.

a fucking thursday.

it’s quiet. nothing unusual. he's in his room, scrolling through his phone, the tv playing something he isn’t watching in the background. there’s a race coming up. he’s supposed to be hydrating, stretching, doing press.

instead, he’s scrolling. distracted. tired. disconnected.

and then he sees your face.

someone reposted a photo of you. he doesn’t even register the caption at first. just stares at your face. it’s one of those old ones—taken before things got messy. before everything changed. you’re laughing, eyes soft, mouth slightly open. he remembers the exact moment it was taken. you were teasing him about how bad he was at cooking pasta.

and then the caption.

“rest easy, y/n. you were too kind for this world.”

he blinks.

refreshes the app.

more posts. more photos. more goodbyes.

and then the words hit him all at once.

you're gone.

no warning. no call. no soft nudge. just this sharp, brutal truth delivered through a phone screen, surrounded by emojis and sad comments.

he thinks—no, hopes—that maybe it's a mistake. people spread bullshit online all the time, right?

but then his phone buzzes.

his mom. carlos. someone from your hometown.

every message is some version of the same impossible thing:

“i’m so sorry about y/n.” “i just heard.” “are you okay?”

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t speak. he just… breaks.

he leaves the hotel without telling anyone.

no destination. no phone. just his hoodie and the sound of your voice playing in his head like a loop that won’t stop.

he should’ve messaged you. should’ve picked up. should’ve noticed.

but he didn’t.

and now you’re gone.

he gets back to his apartment that night. it feels wrong being there, like the walls know what he did. or didn’t do. he sits on the floor. back against the door. knees pulled to his chest.

he finally opens your messages.

there’s one he never read. it’s been sitting there for weeks. his thumb hovers over it like it might burn him.

“hey. i don’t know if this matters anymore. i just wanted to say i miss you.”

that’s all.

short. soft. like you were trying not to take up too much space. even in the end, you were still being careful with him.

he covers his mouth and lets out the kind of sound that doesn’t even sound human. he curls in on himself and cries. ugly, violent sobs that tear out of him like punishment.

he doesn’t remember how long he stays like that. hours. maybe more.

at some point, he whispers your name out loud. just once. like if he says it gently enough, maybe you’ll come back.

you don’t.

he doesn’t race that weekend. they say it’s “personal reasons.” no one presses.

he doesn’t eat. doesn’t sleep. his phone stays off.

he keeps thinking about the last time he saw you. how you smiled at him like you still believed he’d come back. how your voice trembled when you asked if things were okay.

“you just feel… different,” he’d said.

and god, he wishes he could take it back.

you weren’t different. he was.

he was distant. cold. exhausted from his own life, and too selfish to make space for yours.

you were falling apart right in front of him, and he looked the other way.

a week later, he goes to your funeral. hood up. sunglasses on. back row.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t introduce himself. someone passes him a folded program with your photo on it. he folds it tighter in his palm until the paper creases down the middle of your face.

people cry. people talk about how sweet you were. how kind. how “no one saw this coming.”

he did.

he saw it coming. and he let it happen.

after that, nothing feels real.

he doesn’t post. doesn’t smile. doesn’t talk about you—not because he forgot, but because saying your name out loud feels like swallowing glass.

every room feels colder now. every laugh he hears sounds fake. he stops listening to the playlist you made him. starts avoiding the city you used to love. starts wearing the hoodie you left behind like it might bring you closer.

it doesn’t.

he scrolls back through old photos sometimes, fingers hovering over your face. he watches videos of you where you’re laughing and vibrant and full of life, and he hates himself for not seeing how dim your light had gotten near the end.

he dreams about you. sometimes you’re alive. sometimes you’re not. either way, he wakes up crying.

he writes you a message once.

he types it in his notes app, knowing it’s useless. knowing it’s not enough. but needing to say something.

“i should’ve shown up. i should’ve answered. i should’ve said i loved you when i had the chance. i didn’t forget you. i just thought you’d always be there. i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry.”

he never deletes it. just rereads it on nights he can’t breathe.

which is most of them now.

they tell him grief gets easier.

but what no one says is that guilt doesn’t.

and missing you? that’s forever.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , lmk if you want to be added!

[ackermanrage]

~ Protective!Levi who immediately clocks the way another scout looks at you during a strategy meeting, just the way their gaze lingers too long on your mouth when you speak, or how they lean in just a bit too close when handing you a map. But Levi sees it. Of course he sees it.

~ Protective!Levi who doesn’t say a word about it. He just subtly moves, placing himself beside you without a sound, arms crossed and gaze cold as steel. His presence is unmistakable—sharp and heavy like a blade unsheathed. You feel it before you even look up and catch the way his eyes are narrowed, jaw tight.

~ Protective!Levi who doesn’t need to be jealous to be wary. He’s been around long enough to know how quickly a harmless look turns into something that makes you shrink away. And that’s something he won’t fucking allow.

~ Protective!Levi who brushes past you slightly when the meeting ends, his fingers ghosting against your lower back—just enough to guide you out of the room, just enough for you to feel his silent question. You don’t have to answer. You don’t even have to look. He already knows something was off.

~ Protective!Levi who corners you gently outside, somewhere quiet, somewhere just the two of you. His voice is low, almost casual—but you know better. “Did he say something to you?” he asks, eyes never leaving yours. You shake your head, and he nods slowly. “Tch. Still...he was staring like a damn idiot.”

~ Protective!Levi who walks with you the rest of the day, not touching, not speaking much—but always there. Every hallway, every courtyard, every moment you glance around, he’s near. It’s not smothering—it’s him. Calculated, quiet, and absolute.

~ Protective!Levi who steps between you and danger like it’s instinct. Whether it’s a mission gone sideways or just a sudden explosion of movement, he’s always in front of you first—ODM gear already in motion, blades drawn, body coiled like a loaded spring.

~ Protective!Levi who doesn’t flinch in battle, doesn’t speak unless needed, but the second you stumble—even just a scrape or a misstep—he’s at your side. His hand catches your wrist, his eyes scanning for blood or worse, his voice low and clipped. “The hell happened? You hurt?”

~ Protective!Levi who doesn’t let go right away. Not until he’s sure. Not until he sees the way you breathe and move and nod and reassure him quietly, “I’m fine, Levi. You’re always watching out for me.”

~ Protective!Levi who exhales through his nose, forehead resting against yours for half a second longer than it should. His hands are rough, callused, but the way they hold your waist is anything but. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I noticed. I always fucking notice.”

©fushigurokogane - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[shuafiles]

hands to myself [c.sc]

★ MDNI, 18+ ★ SUMMARY | seungcheol can't keep his hands to himself. i mean, he could, but why would he want to? ★ PAIRING | boyfriend!seungcheol x fem!reader ★ CONTENT | pwp, inappropriate touching in an elevator with people around (lmao), semi-public sex, car sex, nipple play, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex (dont) ★ WC | 2.1k ★ A/N | yay im back to writing again. hope you enjoy this!

y/n: where are you? cheol: elevator, baby :)

You tucked your phone in your bag before standing from your desk. You neatly organized your stuff before walking near the elevator shaft while waiting for your boyfriend.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing your handsome boyfriend.

Seungcheol flashed you his signature smile. His arms open, waiting for you to engulf yourself in them, which you gladly ran into. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lightly lifting you off your feet. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his musky scent.

“Missed you, baby,” Seungcheol mumbled, slightly swaying your bodies into the hug. “How was work today?”

You pulled away from his neck, eyes scanning his frame. He was clad in a black polo shirt, neatly tucked into his pants. “Tiring.” You responded, placing your hands flat against his chest. He took this moment to reach behind you and push the elevator button for basement parking.

Seungcheol’s eyes roamed over your body. Your white polo is perfectly snug on your waist, bringing out your curves. Your black bra peeking through the sheer fabric of your shirt, giving him a sneak peek of your perky breasts. Your black pencil skirt hugging your ass deliciously. He unconsciously licked his lips as he shamelessly checked you out.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his gaze, tiptoeing to place a sweet peck on his lips. The elevator halted on a random floor. You turned around in his clutch as a group of people entered the tiny metal box. You were pushed against the crowd, your backside pushing against your boyfriend’s crotch. His manly arms caught you from tripping. Turning your head, you flashed him a thankful smile. In which he pressed his lips against your temple in return.

The elevator ride was excruciatingly slow for Seungcheol. He silently cursed that you were nearly on the highest floor. His dick grew hard as every floor passed. He wondered if you could feel him; you probably could, but didn’t say anything. As more people filled the elevator, your body pressed flush against his even more. It didn’t help that you kept wiggling your ass against his already hard cock.

Little did he know, you did feel everything. Your breath got caught in your throat the first time you felt it. Your fingers digging into your palms as you felt him grow beneath you. You glanced at the tiny screen that displayed the floor number—fifteen. How was time so slow?

People started gradually getting off the elevator at each floor. You pulled away from Seungcheol’s chest, letting out a tiny cough in the process. He smirked behind you, reading your body language all too well. He began to kneel behind you, reaching for his shoe laces. You didn’t mind it until you felt his cold fingers on your ankle, making your eyes widen. He slowly danced his fingers up to your legs, making it seem like he was done tying his laces. He continued to drag his fingers until he reached your thighs, slipping them underneath your skirt until he stopped in between your legs. You glanced around the elevator, checking if anyone could notice what your dirty boyfriend was up to. You released a shaky breath as you realised everyone was scrolling on their phones or having different silent conversations.

Seungcheol’s rough fingers made contact with your already soaked panties. You let out a tiny gasp, head swiveling to face him. He had a cocky smile on his lips. His lips moved towards your ear.

“Already so wet for me?” He whispered. His deep voice shot sparks throughout your body. You shot him a playful glare before returning your focus to the screen before you.

Five.

Seungcheol pushed his hand further between your thighs, his fingers tracing your slit through your underwear.

Four.

He slowly drew lazy circles on your clothed core. You bit your lip to prevent any noise from spilling from your lips.

Three.

Your eyes roamed around the elevator once more, checking if anyone can see your boyfriend’s hand up your ass. Thankful for the lack of cameras inside.

Two.

Seungcheol pushed your underwear aside, collecting your arousal with his finger. Tiny crescents formed on your palm as you continued to dig your fingers into your skin, needing to relieve any tension.

One.

He slipped his fingers between your folds, but he didn’t insert them, just resting them between your lips.

Basement.

The soft ding of the elevator pulled you out of your trance. Seungcheol quickly pulled his hand from your underwear and straightened his posture. You tried casually fixing your skirt to prevent any suspicion. People started flooding out of the elevator. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding before glancing at your boyfriend, who had a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

Seungcheol grabbed your hand with his dry one before guiding you to where he parked his car. Conveniently enough, he was parked on the far side of the basement, barely surrounded by vehicles. You walked to the shotgun seat, but his hand blocked you from opening the door. Instead, he opened the door in the passenger seat.

“Get in,” Seungcheol murmured. You looked at him, confused, before sliding in. You were even more surprised when he climbed in with you.

“What are you—“ You could barely finish your sentence before he hoisted your body so that you were sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs while facing him.

“I can’t wait until we get home, pretty. I need you now.” Seungcheol grumbled. His mouth instantly found yours, greedily capturing your lips. Your hands flew to grip his hair while his found your hips. “Wanted to fuck you then and there at the elevator.” His hands slid to grip your ass, pushing your hips against his. Your skirt ruched up your thighs, giving him a complete view of your already soaked underwear. “You’re fucking soaked, huh?”

You glared at him, as if he weren’t the complete reason you were practically dripping right now. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

“On it, baby.” Seungcheol wrapped his fingers around the waistband of your skirt and your underwear, swiftly pulling them down your legs with your help in the process. You sat back down on his lap, your arousal sticking to his pants. His hands reached for the top button of your blouse before he turned, frustrated with the number of buttons. In a swift motion, he pulled apart the fabric, buttons flying around the car. You gasped at his suddenness, weakly slapping his shoulder.

“That was expensive!”

“I’ll buy you ten more of those,” Seungcheol mumbled, eyes falling to your newly exposed chest. Your tiny black lace bra is tempting him to sin. He leaned down to your chest, lips brushing the hill of your breasts before placing soft kisses on them.

You sighed in content, your hand gripping his hair as he peppered your chest affectionately. His hands snaked behind your back, hastily unclasping your bra. The thin fabric falling from your shoulders and quickly tossed aside. He wasted no time latching his mouth around your nipple, licking and sucking the sensitive bud eagerly as if he had been waiting for it all day. Tiny moans left your lips. He certainly knew how to make you feel weak.

Seungcheol placed his hand on the small of your back, while his other free hand softly caressed your other breast. His rough fingers twisting your nipples, you couldn’t help but arch your back, further pushing your chest into his mouth. His cock violently hard beneath your core with every sound you made.

“Cheol,” You whined, fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt, tugging at it. He took the signal and pulled away from your chest, a string of spit forming. He let you pull his shirt off his body. Your hands roamed his chest, adoring your boyfriend’s body. He’s perfect.

Seungcheol smirked at your sparkling eyes. He quickly undid the button of his pants before slipping them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang against his stomach and you licked your lips at the sight. His tip was red and twitching, precum was leaking from his slit. Your hand reached to pump his cock but he prevented you from doing so.

“Lift your hips, baby.” He commanded, and you did as you were told. Kneeling in front of him, he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your stomach. You gasped, legs nearly giving up. He snaked his hand between your thighs before guiding you back down on his lap. He collected your arousal with his fingers before easing two fingers into you.

You moaned, resting your forehead on his shoulder as he skillfully worked his fingers inside you. Pumping them in and out of you in a way that makes your legs shake. Curling them ever so slightly that it makes the pit in your stomach form.

“Always so tight for me,” Seungcheol grunted. His other hand reached to grasp your hair, but not enough to hurt you, making you face him. “My pretty girl always takes my fingers so well, huh?”

You merely nodded at his words, your fingers digging into his shoulder. He continued his addicting pace, pulling out only to rub your clit before inserting them in again. You nearly cried as he added his thumb to the mix. Rubbing circles on the sensitive bud, your hips bucking to meet his touch. 

Seungcheol felt your insides clench as he quickened his pace. Your mouth drops open, unable to make any sound as he works you through it. Fingers fucking you deliciously, your hips grinding against his palm.

“You look so beautiful like this, fuck—“ He pressed his lips against yours, tongue exploring your entire mouth. Your stomach was coiling at the intense pleasure.

“Please,” You whimpered. Your orgasm is peeking through. The windows started to fog from the warmth you two were exhibiting.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me.” That was all the encouragement you needed before your walls tightened, releasing all over his hand. You chanted curse words, and his fingers helped you through it. His pace dying down when your legs began twitching, pulling his fingers from you before placing them into his mouth. “Absolutely delicious.” He muttered before reaching down to his cock and pumping them. “Think you’re ready for me?”

You meekly nodded, weakly lifting your hips to align his tip with your entrance. He guided his length to your core, rubbing the head along your folds, collecting your arousal. You bit your lip at the sensation before his hand guided your hips down to his cock.

You moaned out his name, grabbing onto his shoulders for support while his eyes gazed upon your fucked out face.

“Holy shit, how are you still so tight for me?” Seungcheol grunted once his length was fully deep inside your walls. Both of his hands landed on your hips, and once you got used to his size, he carefully guided you up and down on his length.

“Oh god!” You cried out, tears welling in your eyes as his cock split you in half. Even after all this time you were still surprised at his massive cock. Your toes curled as he lifted you before jerking you down again. The car was surely shaking from riding his cock but you didn’t care. He felt so fucking good and you needed more.

Sweat beads down Seungcheol’s forehead as you continue to grind your hips on him. His eyes darted to your chest as your breasts bounced with your every movement. You throw your head back, legs burning from fucking yourself on his cock. You were too desperate to chase after your high, and he loved it. He loved it when you used his cock just to make you feel good.

“Fuck, fuck, Cheol, please.” You begged, lifting your head to face him. He nodded before placing his lips against your chest, sucking on the skin before trailing down to capture your nipple once more. “So fucking close.” You began frantically grinding your hips against his. You almost looked insane, but you couldn’t care less.

You felt his cock twitch inside you, pulsating and you continued to grind your hips. Your thighs began to shake as you clenched around him. You started panting as he continued to suck and lick your nipple, switching between breasts.

“I can’t—I’m gonna, fuck!” You cried out. Your orgasm spilling out of you. Your walls closed in on his cock as you reached your high.

“Me too, baby,” Seungcheol grunted, his hands continued to guide you on his cock as white spurts of his cum exploded inside you. “S-shit, you’re gonna milk me dry.”

Out of breath, you rested your head against his sweaty chest while he lazily drew comforting patterns on your back. His cum dripped from your cunt as he pulled his dick out of you.

“My perfect girl, I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.” 

[enwoso]

right swipe, right time | alessia russo

-> based on this request🩷

masterlist

alessia didn't mean to download tinder.

well... okay. technically, she did. but it was through pure peer pressure. elite-level peer pressure.

it was one of those rare, peaceful nights on england camp. no media obligations. no early morning session. just music, snacks, and eight girls crammed into one hotel room in matching lionesses training hoodies, flopped on each other's beds with face masks and football socks still on.

"admit it," ella said, sipping from a bottle of lucozade. "you're hopeless. you haven't even looked at anyone since—what, 2021 when you got with that girl in-?"

"oi," alessia replied, shoving a pillow at her hoping the rest of the sentence wouldn't follow. "not everyone needs a tinder girlfriend and a backup date."

"i need to have a backup," ella scoffed. "just let us be your wing women."

chloe popped her head up from the floor. "you, though, less? you're like a nun with abs."

"excuse me?"

"i'm just saying, you've got biceps and absolutely no one to appreciate them. it's tragic really."

the teasing escalated until ella snatched alessia's phone, cackling. within minutes, the group was huddled around it, swiping through profiles with ruthless commentary.

then chloe stopped. "wait. wait. look at her."

the girl on the screen had sun-warmed skin, a long sleek ponytail with a silver chain around her neck and a smile like it came easy.

the profile read:

y/n, 26.

📍aussie in london

dog mum, football, coffee, beach, sarcasm. swipe right if you can deal with my accent😉

alessia blinked. "she's australian?"

"even better," leah said, not even looking up from her phone. "less commitment, more fun." ella laughed and swiped right before alessia could protest.

it was a match. you messaged first.

you: ‘so... you're the type who let her friends swipe for her?’

alessia: ‘and who told you that??’

you: ‘you did. in your bio. it says not my idea.’

alessia: ‘touché.’

you: ‘how do you feel about a flat white and great company.’

you were clever. funny, but not in the exhausting ‘trying-too-hard’ way. you admitted your accent made ‘no’ sound like ‘naw,’ were fluent in football slang props to having a football mad brother and dad growing up, and had some pretty strong opinions about oat milk.

on the second day you sent a photo of your dog - a tan mutt with ridiculous ears, one permanently flopped sideways.

you: ‘this is roo. he's 40% kangaroo, 60% drama queen.’

alessia: ‘did you really name your dog after a kangaroo?’

you: ‘duh what else am i supposed to name the most aussie thing i've owned while here in london?’

alessia laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

you and alessia talked for hours. that night. the next day. the next. alessia didn't want to jinx it, but something about you stuck in her head.

so when you casually said on facetime, "i know a place that makes coffee almost as good as back home. want to judge it together?", alessia couldn't stop herself before she said yes.

⸻

you arranged to meet just outside of st albans, outside a quiet café nestled between a vinyl shop and a bookstore that always smelled like cedar. the place had one of those wood-paneled signs and hanging plants framing the doorway.

you were already there when alessia arrived — leaning on the railing, sunglasses tucked onto the top of your head, wearing black jeans, a red nike hoodie with a white tee poking out from underneath the hoodie making you look so effortlessly put together.

and you brought roo. a worn blue leash in one hand as roo sat obediently at your side with his tongue lolling out like he owned the street.

"so this is the infamous roo?" alessia asked as she crouched down to scratch behind his ear with a wide grin.

you grinned cheekily, "he wanted to see if you were worth my time."

"and?"

"jury's out, depends on how good your coffee order is"

inside, you and alessia sat at a corner table by the window, roo laid under the table, head on your foot like a sleepy chaperon.

the cafe was cozy, a little too warm with soft music playing and the smell of fresh espresso lingering in the air as the conversation flowed as if they'd known each other longer than a few days.

the two of you talked football, you had played through your youth before switching to the more fitness route of personal trainer. talked music types. favourite food. best goals.

alessia recounted her childhood to you about growing up with two older brothers who tackled her in the garden until she toughened up. you had similar instead yours was more squabbles with your brother about whose turn it was to chose what to watch on the tv.

the two of you laughed, a lot and alessia found herself more relaxed than she had felt in ages.

after coffee turned into a walk through the park, roo trotting between the two of you like he belonged to you and alessia. when you both stoped on a quiet bench, the city loud and buzzing behind them. you gently nudged alessia's shoulder.

"you've got a great laugh," you said, you voice a little softer now - not flirtatious, not teasing. just honest.

alessia blinked, caught off guard a little. "that's random."

you shrugged, but there was a flicker of something more vulnerable in your eyes. "just been thinking it all afternoon. every time you've laughed, i've wanted to hear it again. i dunno. it's like.. it sounds a little like home, even when nothing else here does."

that brought alessia up short — in the best way. her pulse fluttered a little. the wind tugged at a loose strand of hair near her cheek, and you reached out instinctively, brushing it back gently with the back of your hand.

"and," you added, gaze holding hers, "i-i really want to kiss you."

alessia didn't say anything at first. she just stared at you — at the slight flush on your cheeks, the careful tension in your posture, the way your thumb brushed against her own jeans like you were grounding herself.

"i thought you'd never say it," alessia said quietly almost whispering. you smiled, just barely.

alessia leaned in, slow and sure, her hand resting lightly on your arm. your faces hovered close, breath mingling in the space between the two of you. when your lips met, it wasn't fireworks or drama — it was warm, slow, and steady. like the start of something that didn't need to rush to prove itself.

alessia's lips were soft, patient — like she didn't want to take too much, just enough to say this is real.

you smiled into the kiss, nudging your nose against alessia's as she deepened it for just a heartbeat more, letting herself melt into the moment.

roo let out an exaggerated sigh at your feet, flopping down dramatically like he'd seen this all before.

you pulled back with a quiet laugh, your forehead resting lightly against alessia's. "well," you murmured, "guess you passed his test too."

alessia's grin was wide now. "should i be relieved or insulted that your dog is the final judge?"

"trust me," you said, brushing your thumb gently across alessia's hand, "he's got excellent taste."

⸻

fast forward a few weeks — text messages, video calls, one stolen weekend when you and alessia both had a spare weekend — and suddenly it was the champions league final.

most of alessia's teammates had someone in the crowd. family, partners, whole sections of fans in their shirts. alessia didn't expect anyone but her parents and family to be there.

so when alessia jogged out for warm-ups and caught a flash of that same sleek ponytail under a baseball cap, sitting behind the dugout with a massive arsenal flag scarf draped over your shoulders, alessia's heart just stopped.

you grinned at alessia from the stands and sent a message.

you: ‘go win it, star girl. i'm here. you've got this and you deserve this so much🏆’

the final whistle blew.

the roar hit first — a wave of noise so loud it felt like it shook the air itself. arsenal had done it. champions of europe. alessia stood frozen for a second, boots rooted to the grass, blinking up at the stadium lights through tears she hadn't realised were already falling.

a brutal, brilliant final. 90 minutes of fight. blood, grit, and everything they had left in them.

now there were arms around alessia — teammates screaming, laughing, crying — someone pouring champagne over her back, another dragging her into a pile-on. alessia laughed so hard she nearly dropped to her knees, adrenaline flooding her body until she was floating.

confetti exploded from the stands like rain. gold, silver, red — blinding under the floodlights. they lifted the trophy. alessia's medal felt heavy and strange around her neck, like it wasn't real yet.

somewhere in the middle of the chaos, she remembered to look toward the tunnel. and there you were.

you stood just past the barrier, half-hidden by stewards and staff, but alessia saw you instantly. somehow, even through the din, even with a stadium erupting around her, alessia's eyes found yours.

"you came?," alessia said breathlessly as she stumbled toward you, cheeks flushed, hair soaked, half-covered in sweat and sticky champagne. alessia's voice cracked on the last word.

you smiled — wide, proud, and maybe just a little teary yourself. "of course i did. you think i was gonna miss the love of my life win a champions league medal?"

alessia froze mid-step, slightly caught off guard. "you just said—"

you smirked, raising an eyebrow slightly . "too soon? i'm australian. we move fast."

alessia laughed, dazed and glowing, before pulling you into a quick, messy hug. a one you didn't want to end, at least not yet. but before either of you could say more, a voice rang out:

"well, well, well. whose this?"

chloe kelly. grinning like a madwoman, dragging leah along behind her, both still in full kit, cheeks streaked with war paint and joy.

leah narrowed her eyes. "wait hold up... this the aussie?"

"the tinder aussie?" chloe gasped. "you're real?!"

you, cool as ever, extended a hand, voice deadpan with just the right touch of theatricality.

"y/n. from sydney. like coffee, dogs, and a certain blonde striker who wears number 23."

chloe collapsed into giggles so violent she almost dropped her phone. "she's perfect. and you've been hiding her! wait till i tell ella about this!"

alessia groaned, trying to tuck herself partially behind you. "can everyone not make this a thing?"

"too late," leah declared, already snapping a photo. "group chat is getting this in two minutes. tooney is gonna have a field day!"

you leaned toward alessia's ear, your voice low and warm beneath the chaos. "i'm stealing you in five minutes. you've earned my full attention and unlimited kisses for the night and maybe the rest of eternity!"

alessia turned to face you, her medal bumping softly against her chest. her eyes were tired and shining. "only if i get the right side of the bed."

you grinned. "done. whatever you wish, with my hoodie on the side"

and then, right there, in front of teammates, staff, her family, and 60,000 still-cheering fans — you kissed her. it wasn't rushed. it wasn't shy. it was the kind of kiss that told everyone watching: this is real.

alessia leaned into it, one hand finding the hem of your coat, the other curled into your hoodie, grounding herself. you tasted like mint and stadium air and something steadier, something safe.

when you finally pulled back, alessia's smile was soft and breathless. for once — champagne in her hair, confetti in her eyelashes, teammates heckling in the background — alessia didn't care about the noise, the cameras, or what tomorrow would bring.

for once, the chaos was absolutely worth it. alessia had swiped right for the right person. her right person

[crustyfloor]

My fragile god, fading fast. - ( english translation free on Patreon🫩)

Rather than sheltered, Mizi's life was surrounded by death and gore; she never got a break from it. When Shine adopted her, it was like a reprieve from all of the horror she's been through because she was loved, she may not have understood them, but she knew how much they cherished her, and it made her happy that she at least didn't feel like she was in immediate danger around them because she was such a beloved pet, as long as this alien loved her, she would be safe and survive.

Still, I think she was haunted by the implication that she was still always in danger, even in Shine's care, she was getting hurt, she was weak (While she was relieved to be with Shine because it didn't feel like she felt safe and cared for in the first place) . The differences and the inherent misunderstanding between Aliens and their "pets" are so key in this one. While Shine did care and genuinely believed they were doing the best for Mizi, they didn't understand her. It doesn't look cruel on the outside, but it's intentionally hidden in the subtlety. Shine is careless, insensitive, and makes mistakes because they don't understand humans; they are treated much like puppies. It's the quiet calmness and detachment and carefreeness, even as Mizi is in pain or crying in front of them, they lack the care of a human, despite trying to take the place of one. She was a pet for them to ogle and coo at until she would be too much to handle- "Raising a child isn't easy, huh. How about you buy her a TV?"

I think, then, Mizi wanted an escape from that place somehow. I think this is how she realized how weak and destructible other humans are on that stage, just like she felt about herself. Aliens are too different and too powerful to empathize and understand her, so she wanted to go to Alien stage to seek out what she was missing, to find some sort of solidarity, or she would die there and be freed

I'm glad this question was somewhat answered, because I've always wondered why it was Mizi's choice to go to Anakt Garden, but I think Mizi wanted to go to Alien stage so badly because she wanted to feel in control of something; she couldn't control losing her "provider", she couldn't control how the aliens perceived her. But she could control this. Because she hated feeling like the fragile one, like she could be "crushed", she wanted to feel like more than a pet; she wanted to be liked, to be understood when she couldn't find it in the aliens, it made her so lonely. So she wanted to be around humans who were also like her, weak, fragile. That explains why she was so drawn to Sua in the first place

Mizi's fascination and adoration of the way Sua is so perfect, so human, like herself, and weak, is fascinating... I especially love this sequence where Mizi is adoring her from bottom to top, not just because it's so tender, but because Mizi truly adores Sua like a god, because Sua is her god, it encapsulates how Mizi is obsessed, how in love with all that Sua is to her, and all the freedom and peace she feels in Sua's love and presence, the escape and guidance Sua was made her godlike to Mizi

In many ways, right now, when she speaks, she's projecting her own feelings of weakness and insecurity onto Sua, who is comparatively weaker and smaller than Mizi.

It comes from a place of wanting control; Sua is so perfect to her because she could be crushed, Mizi could hurt her, and Sua allows her that kind of control. She feeds into Mizi's insecurities and need for autonomy through control. Mizi doesn't mean to hurt Sua, but she is a traumatized person who takes it out on Sua because she knows no better than this; still, they try to understand and console each other despite all of it. (It's so.. ironic. In a way, they end up inevitably perpetuating their own pain and abuse by repeating the behavior and habits that hurt themselves and each other because this environment fosters these interactions; they can't do anything else about it, can't worry about 'healthy love' like this.) --Their love is more profound and unconditional than anything Mizi has ever had before, even with her owner, Shine, who would love her until she was difficult to manage, but not Sua. And Sua loved and trusted her completely, let Mizi have her completely. In many ways, Mizi found someone who wouldn't abandon her, accepted her completely and unconditionally, as flawed as she was, and no matter how many times she did things she wasn't proud of, even hurt Sua, Sua would always accept her, and in turn, Mizi would be a comfort and an escape for Sua too, such unconditional acceptance and love made them soothingly equal and reliant on each other to feed into each others delusions for a safe place just for them in the world (To Mizi, who hated feeling inadequate or weak, this must've been freeing even if Sua couldn't be completely understanding, they had each other in a world where it was one for oneself or you were under a constant threat otherwise)

-- Sua offers herself and never faults Mizi for what she does, or her feelings, no matter how ashamed Mizi is of it, or how her insecurities can manifest in the ugliest of ways because Mizi didn't know how to express herself in the first place. This is how Sua thinks she's fulfilling her desire to protect Mizi's innocence and to keep her safe by reassuring each other that their lives aren't up to the segyein, that they have each other. Mizi felt a sense of control and stability in Sua that she had never had in her life. Mizi's escapism and coping mechanism is finding security in repression, ignorance, or a facade. She couldn't feel at peace even in the safety of her Guardian no matter how "safe" she was, she wasn't understood, but she could feel at peace in the illusion of control and safety, of having someone that she perceived as weak and unable to "crush" and hurt her like so many others in her life could and did.

The psychology behind it is also super fascinating, from somebody so human, Mizi thinks of Sua like how the segyein think of all of them, as aforementioned, she's projecting what she's heard before, Shine calls her adorable even when she's in pain because her clumsiness and the defenselessness she exhibits as a human is funny and endearing to them, the aliens look down on them because humans are fragile. To Mizi, Sua is all (adorable, small, weak, unthreatening). In a situation where they are both two abused children under a similar threat by aliens who control them, Mizi finds security and comfort in the fact that they are both vulnerable, lacking power, and the idea that she has upper hand over Sua in this circumstance is like Mizi is trying to substitute a feeling of powerlessness with taking back a sense of control that she's never had before.

[maskedbyghost]

where you left me (part 2)

part 1

You don’t sleep that night.

The bed feels wrong as you lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, while his voice keeps echoing in your head.

Being with you was a mistake.

You know he’s lying. You know it. You saw the way he froze when you said his name. Still, it doesn’t stop the hurt. You can’t shake the hollow ache in your chest.

By morning, you don’t bother pretending to sleep anymore. You get up early, earlier than you need to, and go through the motions. Shower. Uniform. Boots laced tight. No one says anything when you sit quietly in the mess with untouched food. Soap gives you a nod but doesn’t push. Gaz tries to get you to take his coffee again, like clockwork. This time, you hold it in both hands and keep it close to your chest even though you still don’t drink it.

You keep busy with training, cleaning, or running laps. You volunteer for everything, take the worst shifts, anything that keeps you moving. Anything that keeps you from thinking.

But no matter what you do, he’s still everywhere.

You catch him in the reflection of a window once, his mask back on, and for a second, you forget how to breathe. It’s cruel how easily your body still reacts to him. Like it doesn’t care what your mind knows. Like it’s still waiting for him.

The first few days, you waited. You told yourself he just needed space. That he’d come back when he’d thought things through. You even left your phone on loud, in case he texted or called in the middle of the night. He never did.

After a week, you stopped checking your phone as much. After two, you started leaving it in another room so you wouldn’t obsess every time a notification popped up. After a month, you stopped bringing him up in conversations. Not because you were over it, but because it hurt too much to explain something you didn’t even understand.

You tried to move on. You really did. You started sleeping on both sides of the bed. Started deleting pictures slowly, one by one, until your phone felt less like a trap and more like yours again. You even stopped wearing his hoodie when you were alone.

And then, on a completely normal Tuesday, someone asked you out.

He wasn’t special. Just some guy you knew from a mutual friend. He was decent looking, funny enough. And when he asked if you wanted to grab a drink sometime, you didn’t hesitate. You said yes. It felt easy. Light. Like maybe you really could move on.

Until Simon fucking Riley somehow overheard.

You didn’t even know he was there. But a few hours later, your phone buzzed, and you saw his name pop up for the first time in weeks.

Simon: If you go out with him I’ll kill him.

You stared at the message. Read it twice, three times, because there was no way he just said that.

You: Fuck you, Simon. We broke up, and I can do whatever the fuck I want.

Simon: Come tonight. Need to talk. Somewhere private.

You didn’t answer right away. You stared at the screen for a long time, your stomach twisting. You told yourself you should ignore it. That if he wanted to talk, he should’ve done it a long time ago. But you knew you were going.

Even as you typed out “ok” and threw your phone on the bed with a groan, you were already halfway through planning what you were going to say. What you were going to scream, really. You were going to punch his stupid, beautiful face the second you saw him.

You met him at his place. You hadn’t been there since the breakup, but everything was still the same. Same lights. Same scent. Same fucking shoes by the door that made your chest hurt.

He opened the door before you even knocked, like a dog waiting at the window. If you weren’t so mad, you’d laugh, but instead, you stared him down.

"You look pissed," he said.

"I'm not here to fucking smile at you," you shot back, walking past him.

"Fair enough."

You turned to face him, arms crossed. "Well? You dragged me here to say something, so say it."

He looked at you for a long second. Then, "I don’t want you dating other people."

You blinked, then laughed. "Wow. That’s rich. You broke up with me, and now you get jealous the second someone else looks at me? That’s really fucking mature, Simon."

He didn’t say anything.

"What the fuck do you even want from me?" you snapped. "You didn’t want to be with me, but I can’t be with anyone else either? What is that?"

He muttered something under his breath.

"What?"

He glanced away, jaw tight. "I said, preferably, I want to keep you in a fucking glass cage."

There was a beat of silence. Long enough for you to blink, tilt your head, and reconsider every life choice that had brought you to this exact moment. Because he hadn’t just said that. He couldn’t have.

You narrowed your eyes. "Hello, Joe from You? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Simon sighed. "I'm not joking. I can't fucking bear to lose you again."

You scoffed, stepping back. "Right. That’s why you broke up with me. Because it was too good, huh?"

"I was scared. It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault."

"No, it wasn’t. But you made it mine anyway. You made me think I fucked something up. You made me sit with that for months."

He took a step closer. "I could’ve done more. I should’ve done more. I didn’t know how to handle what I felt for you, and I’m sorry."

"You should be," you said, voice quieter now, angrier in a different way. "Because I was all in. And you walked away."

Simon nodded slowly. "I know. And it kills me. You think I didn’t want to call you? You think I didn’t stare at my phone every night thinking about it? I didn’t think I deserved you. But now… I don’t care. I’ll be selfish. I want you back. I want you with me. Not him. Not anyone else. Me."

You stared at him for a moment. Everything about him made your chest ache. Your fists clenched. "You don’t get to do this unless you mean it."

"I mean it. All of it. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll do it. Just… don’t shut the door on me. Not yet."

Your voice was shaking now, but you didn’t look away. "I want to hit you."

"Go ahead."

"I want to scream at you for making me feel disposable."

"You weren’t. You aren’t. You never will be."

You paused, eyes burning. "You better fucking grovel. I'm not making this easy."

"Wouldn’t expect anything less."

You finally let out a shaky breath. Your shoulders dropped just a little, and your voice was low when you said, "I’m not dating him."

"Good. Because I was serious. I would’ve killed him."

"You're an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot. If you'll have me."

You didn’t say anything, just stared at him, still trying to decide if you wanted to punch him or kiss him. Maybe both.

Simon stepped closer, his eyes softening a little. Without a word, he reached up and gently brushed a stray hair behind your ear. Then, before you could react, his lips touched yours, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let yourself lean in, closing the space between you.

When you finally broke apart, he smiled, a little shy now. “Still want to punch me?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile creeping up. “Maybe just a little.”

----------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world

[c4tluver02]

HEYYYY I have an idea oki so Steve and the reader have been dating for like a year now and like at this point Dustin is basically their son and so reader is helping Dustin get ready for the dance and Steve walks in and they just have a super cutesy mom and dad moment with the kid that won’t leave their house

-🫀

the dance

wc: 2.4k

summary: You and Steve help Dustin get ready for his school dance. Well, really you help but Steve is always nice to be around!!

cw: none !

a/n: hiiiiii!!!! this request is so cutie thank you for sending it!!! :D i hope you enjoy the read <33

You and Steve were in the kitchen talking about what to do for dinner. Or that's what you were doing before he lifted you onto the counter. Before you spread your legs just enough for him to slip himself in between to give you the sweetest kisses on your cheeks, then your nose, and finally your lips. Leaving you in a giggly mess that barely even allowed him to give you a proper kiss. It was only 5pm so you weren't exactly in a rush to get dinner planned out but soon the grumble from your tummy would say something different. 

The soft kisses from Steve would soon turn into something more– a little messy and forceful, with a purpose of course. 

But before he could even get there the doorbell rang. It didn’t stop Steve but the fingers that gently tapped against his jaw told him you were interested. 

“S’probably just mail.” It comes out quick and hushed. His big hands cupping your face ready to get back to what he was doing. 

But right as he goes to place his red lips into your kiss-bitten ones the doorbell rings again. His groan is loud, maybe loud enough for the person outside to hear it. It makes you laugh and before you can get down he’s already on his way to open the door. 

“Henderson?” Steve says as he presses his forehead to the door. Not ashamed to hide how his presence wasn't exactly wanted at this moment in time. 

“I need help. I need to iron my clothes and do you have gel? I don’t have anything to fix my hair.” Dustin says with a handful of clothes that were thrown in a bag. 

All this talking is making you wonder what is going on, walking to the door you see Dustin and an irritated looking Steve. 

“Hey Dustin, did you leave something from the other day?” Because yes, Dustin was just here two days ago to swim in Steve's pool. Again arriving unwanted and without a notice but still welcomed. 

“No, I need help with my suit and my hair.” He says it with an eye roll like you were supposed to understand his problem by the clothes stuffed in the bag. 

You look at Steve hoping he could give you some context but he just gives you a shrug with wide eyes. 

“Okay, well we can help with that.” You say nodding. Steve’s eyes grew even wider, you were just making out and talking about dinner and now you have to steam this kids clothes along with using half his hair gel to tame his wild curls. 

Dustin just smiles as he invites himself in, taking clothes out of his bag and putting it on the dining room table. 

“So what is this all for again?” Steve asks. It comes out a certain way, almost nice because Steves sure Dustin probably told him but he just wasn't listening. 

“For the dance, why else do you think I would come here asking for help?” You’re already laying out his suit trying to see what it looks like and if you need to seriously get the steamer out. 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because all you do is come to me for help?” Steve says back in an annoyed tone. 

“And still you are never ready to help.” Dustin huffs. “I need your hair gel and whatever stuff you use to get your hair like you do.” He doesn't even look at Steve as he says it. Too focus on your inspecting of his suit. 

“I’ll get the iron out, you’ve tried this on right?” You would hate to do all this work just to find out it doesn't fit him or something ripped. And this isn't the first time the kids have asked you to iron something that ends up being unwearable. 

“Yes, and my mom tailored it to fit me just right.” He preens, excited to look his best for the dance. Maybe even surprising a special someone. 

“Sweet, okay.” You and Steve leave to get your respected items and when you come back Dustin is digging through the fridge. 

“Are you hungry?” You ask, flipping the ironing board out. 

“Nuh uh, no way you came here to eat up all our food and make us do your dirty work for you.” This makes Dustin wish that maybe Steve was at the grocery store and it was just you helping him. 

“Ugh, I didn't eat dinner before coming.” Dustin groans but not without pressing his forehead to the cold fridge. 

“Why isn’t your mom doing all this for you anyways?” Steve asks with his famous hand on the hip pose. You just started fixing one of the legs for his pants. 

“She’s working. Hence why I haven't eaten.” It comes out in a ‘duh’ tone. One Steve has heard too many times you’d think that it wouldn't bother him anymore. 

“You can eat whatever you want babe.” You tell him. Steve knows Dustin has you wrapped around his finger, always quick to get what he wants with no questioning. All the kids do to a certain extent. 

When Steve turns his head to give you a pointed look you are already looking at him. Ready to hear the small lecture about how you two were busy. But Steve really knew why you do it, Dustin wouldn't need you guys forever and it’s special that he feels this comfortable with you and Steve to even ask for this. Dinner can be eaten later and if you can help Dustin feel even a little better for the dance you’ll do anything in your power to make it happen. Steve would too, when it came down to it. 

While Dustin is eating a sandwich he made, you are finishing his pants. Getting the last wrinkle out as Steve asks him about the dance. 

“So are there any girls you like going?” Steve asks, biting into the other half of Dustin's sandwich. 

It makes him freeze, almost lashing out at Steve but deciding against it. After all, it's his food. 

“Yeah, only one girl, her name is Max.” The way Dustin nods while saying her name makes you giggle. 

“What is it about Max that you like?” You want to make sure this isn't some popular girl that's going to rip him apart by being mean. You’re starting to see kids pick on him and his friends which has you beyond stressed. Steve says not to worry about it but he doesn't get what it’s like to be bullied. Too perfect to be treated any other way during high school. 

“Well for starters she has an extremely high score at the arcade, like even higher than me and Mike. And she's really pretty.” The end of his sentence could barely be heard as he took a big bite out of his food. 

“Don't eat and talk, that's gross.” 

“Okay, your pants are done, did you need your shirt fixed as well?” You lay the pants back onto the long dining room table. It’s meant for a big family which is weird because Steve's parents are never even home but it works in your favor right now. 

Steve can't help but fall for you a little more, which he didn't even think was possible, each time you help the kids. He thinks you might be the kindest person on the planet, always quick to help, never judging or being rude. Simply being there for them whenever they need it, which when it comes to the things these kids have been through– they need it. 

“Yeah, it should be in the bag.” Dusin says as he puts his plate in the sink. “Okay, Steve, wanna help do my hair?”  

You hold in your smile as best as you can when he asks the question, Steve is very specific about his hair stuff and he didn't think he’d have to do any helping. 

“Y’want me to do your hair? What are you 5?” This earns a small hit from you, quick to give him a stern look. 

“I can do it, I just need help getting the sides slicked back.” He pushes his hair on the side of his head down, trying to show the effect and finishing with a purr sound. 

“What was that?” Steve asks, thick brows furrowed.

“What was what?” 

“That noise you just made, what was that?” 

“I’m like a lion?” The room is silent and Steve just walks to the bathroom with hair products in his hands. It takes a second for Dustin to get the hint but he follows just a few steps behind. 

You can hear the mumble of two voices talking, sometimes one voice raised higher. But it doesn't take long for them both to come back out. Dustin has a smile on his face that tells you he's happy with his new look and you’ll give credit where it's due, Steve did a good job on his hair. 

“Wow, look at you! Lookin’ like a million bucks.” The compliment does wonders for him, already getting hyped up for the long night ahead of him. 

“Are my clothes ready?” 

“Yeah, you can change in the bedroom.” You gently lay the clothes in his arms. He’ll probably throw the clothes on and you will have to fix it all over again but the effort is there. 

When he leaves, Steve is quick to pounce back onto you. Hands wrapping around your waist, his forehead pressed against your temple, a soft kiss landing on your cheek. 

“If we keep saying yes he’s never gonna leave us alone.” You can appreciate his usage of ‘we’ when in reality it's really you. And maybe he’s right but for now you don't really mind. 

“It’s okay, I spend too much time with you anyways.” The giggle starts before you end the sentence, finding yourself all too funny. 

Still, it makes Steve laugh as well. Maybe he does spend too much time with you if he's laughing at your bad jokes. 

But Steve doesnt think that's actually possible, he’s way too needy and obsessed with you to even think about getting bored of you. And despite your jokes he knows you're the same. On the days Robin steals you for a girls sleepover Steve still gets a phone call from you telling him that you miss him. It’s sickeningly sweet and something he never wants to stop if he can help it. 

Your little moment is ruined for the second time by Dustin, yelling to ask for help. His voice being a few octaves too high for just being a few rooms down. 

Steve’s feet are planted to the floor and it makes you roll your eyes. His consistency of not wanting to help is iron strong, you’ll give him that. 

When you are gone a minute too long for Steve's liking–again obsessed with you– he walks over and leans against the wall to hear what the two of you are talking about. 

“I mean I just wanna make sure I don't look, like, weird.” He hears Dustin mumble, it’s in a low tone like he doesn't want anyone to really hear it. 

“Why would you think you look weird? Did someone tell you that?” Steve’s glad you went in because he doesn't know if Dustin would be this open with him, and even if he was Steve doesn't know if he knew how to handle the situation. 

“Just some kid at school but I don't, right? Look weird?” 

“No Dustin, you look really great. Max will be extremely lucky to have you. Promise” Your voice is so soft and smooth. Like whatever you say is gospel, 100% true and can't be denied. Your pinky is held out to match your promise and Dustin ties his pinky with yours. 

Steve looks at his watch and decides it’s time to pack things up and go. Giving a quick knock to the door he sees you and Dustin sitting on the edge of your shared bed. 

“We gotta head out soon, Henderson. You ready?” 

Dustin gets up and gives himself a quick glance in the long mirror that lays against the wall. Giving himself a nod, “Yeah let’s go.” 

The three of you get into Steve’s car, the school isn't far away at all. The ride is quick but full of compliments for the teen. You both try to hype him up, Steve gives advice you wouldn't necessarily take but it’s nice to see that he's trying. 

Pulling up to the school's main doors everyone goes silent. You can hear the loud music playing from inside the building and Steve is the one to break the ice. 

“Here we are, so, remember once you get in there–” 

“Pretend like I don't care.” Dusin finishes. 

“You don't care.” Steve nods in agreement. You stay out of it, letting them have a moment but you hope in the end Dusin gets Max by being himself. 

When Dustin tries to get one last look with the mirror Steve is quick to put a stop to it. 

“Hey, you look great, okay, you look great.” 

The sincere tone takes Dustin out of his ‘I don't care’ moment and truly makes him take in Steve's words. Taking a deep breath trying to calm himself down. 

“You’re gonna go in there, you look like a million bucks, and you’re gonna slay 'em dead.” 

Dustin gives little ‘yeah’s between each one with a heavy nod. You nod yourself, in the backseat even though he doesn't see. 

“Like a lion.” Dustin says with a purr, the same one he used earlier. It makes you wince a bit but Steve is quick to fix it.

“Uh, don't do that, okay?” He says it kinder this time. Not wanting to take away all the confidence you two tried to give him on the ride up. 

With an ‘okay’ and a hand shake Dustin is off to the dance. His suit was tailored and ironed to perfection along with his hair gelled by the one and only Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. It’s a perfect mesh of both of your work. When Dustin is no longer in sight you slip into the front, trying hard not to touch Steve's nice leather seats with your shoes. When you get fully seated in the passenger seat Steve still doesn't move. 

“He’ll be okay, and if he’s not he’ll come back to us.” You say grabbing onto his hand, lightly rubbing circles. 

Steve finally takes his eyes off of the front doors and looks back at you, a smile takes over his face and his eyes look into yours. Giving your hand that holds his a kiss before driving off. You two end up getting fast food for dinner, it’s two and a half hours later than you were expecting but nothing you’ll complain about on the way home.

[romanticrivalries]

WHAT ARE THEY? SINCARAZ LORE (WITH RECEIPTS)

The RG final brought in an influx of new fans. Because of my SINCARAZ x called you again edit, I received a lot of inquiries about what happened between them. Since their relationship is complicated—("he means a lot to me" / "we’re good friends" / "aren’t close friends" / they wake up in the morning and think about each other)—and goes ↗️↘️↗️↘️↗️ every other month (Hot N Cold by Katy Perry is quite befitting), I thought I should make this.

Before we join hands and plunge into the rabbit hole, I need to establish how downbad Carlos was (is?) for Jannik. 

His entire face lit up at the mere mention of Jannik:

Exhibit B. I swear, if Carlos had a tail it would start wagging aggressively at the sight of Jannik.

Carlos looking back at Jannik after they parted ways.

He looks back at Jannik a lot. Exhibit B. Exhibit C.

Tbh, his smile during Jannik’s speech in the Rome ‘25 ceremony is incriminating enough:

(Smiling so aggressively his gums are showing… Someone call an ambulance, we’ve got a man down bad.)

Now that that has been established, let’s move on. Buckle up, it’s a long ride.

They first met as teenagers (Carlos was 15, Jannik - 17) in 2019 at the JC Ferrero Challenger Open, held at the academy of Carlos’ coach, Juan Carlos Ferrero. Carlos won. Jannik is the one who approached Carlos first because he wanted to get to know him. 

“I saw the draw coming out and I said, ‘Oh, Carlos Alcaraz, I have no idea who he is!’” said the Italian. “I saw the age and I said, ‘Wow, he’s playing a challenger, it’s amazing.’ And then straight away I was impressed. “After the match, we went to the same locker room … and I was like, ‘When did you start to play tennis?’ And then we started to talk a little bit, because I wanted to get to know him because he was just an amazing talent already back in the day.”

Their first ATP match up was in 2021 at the Rolex Paris Masters. Despite losing, Jannik was the one to say to Carlos at the net: “I hope we play some more.”

And the rest is history: Carlos imprinted on Jannik and has been down bad ever since. Therefore, it can be concluded that Jannik fell first but Carlos fell harder.

Prior to 2024, Jannik and Carlos were quite consistent about referring to each other as good friends.

CARLOS (2022): “[...] and of course, we are great friends outside the court. [...] I talked to him out of the court, by phone, I mean we laughed a lot**, he’s a nice person [...]”

They went jet skiing together after their Umag final, 2022. 

JANNIK (Rolex Shanghai Masters 2023): [...] “We have a very good relationship off the court and I feel like we are good friends, but still, you know, on court there is, uh, this nervous, you know, inside you feel a little bit nervous [...]”

During December of 2023, Jannik and Carlos trained together at the Juan Carlos Ferrero Tennis Academy as preseason preparation. Same place where they met for the first time, btw. A ceremony took place where it was unveiled that the main court would be named after Carlos. Jannik recorded the entire thing on his phone, a video that he never shared on social media.

Many people say their relationship is one-sided, that Jannik doesn’t reciprocate, but this moment alone speaks volumes of how much he cares. Other people were capturing the event, so he didn’t need to, but he still chose to, just for himself and Carlos. It wasn’t something meant to be shared with the public. Not only that, he didn’t just take a quick snap, he recorded the entire thing. It’s characteristic of his introverted, private nature to show he cares in subtle ways like this that aren’t always visible/obvious to the public eye.

Jannik talked about it a little bit over here after the interviewer teases him for taking photos like a fan: “For me, it’s special, they grew up together [...]”

The unshared video should also serve as a reminder that there are likely many other private friendly moments shared between them that we as outsiders will never be privy to, so we shouldn’t base assumptions on the nature of their relationship from what’s said/not said on their social media.

CARLOS' UNWAVERING FAITH IN JANNIK

Carlos believed in Jannik’s potential before most people did. In 2023, he remained steadfast in his claim that Jannik is his biggest rival when people were expecting him to name Djokovic. The media kept trying to coax the Alcaraz vs. Djokovic narrative out of Carlos but he would not budge.

Note: Jannik didn’t have his meteoric breakthrough until 2024 (he was showing signs of it by the end of 2023). Before 2024, Jannik had no Grand Slams and only 1 Masters 1000 title (Canada). In comparison, by that point, Carlos had 2 Grand Slams and 4 Master 1000s. He became the youngest World Number One in ATP rankings history in 2022.

I: The rankings say it’s Novak and Carlos, Carlos and Novak, do you consider him to be your biggest rival at the moment? CARLOS, ROME ‘23: “[...] Probably, Jannik right now is my biggest opponent. We had really great matches, but at the same time really, really tough ones. [...]”

CARLOS, Post-Wimbledon, ‘23: "Having someone there, with whom you fight, with whom you have that battle, that beautiful rivalry, is important to maintain motivation for so long. Right now, I think I have it and I’m not afraid to say it: for me, it’s Sinner at the moment. That beautiful rivalry that we have, those big games that we have played, on big stages. As the years go by there will be better ones and we will fight for the big titles.”

Even Jannik didn't consider himself to be Carlos' biggest rival.

JANNIK, SHANGHAI '23: "But in the other way, I feel like that he [Carlos] has achieved many things more than I did at the moment, and me, personally, I think, at the moment, the biggest rivalry he has is Novak because of certain circumstances of points and World Number One and Grandslams throughout the last two years [...]"

I’ve observed Jannik avoids getting ahead of himself and making presumptions about the future— I’m not sure whether it’s because of superstition, his realistic perspective about the rapidly-changing brutal nature of tennis as a competitive sport or something else —which is why he doesn’t entertain talks about the future of their rivalry as easily as Carlos does.

At the time, this raised a lot of eyebrows, but Carlos predicted Jannik would become World Number One in 2024, which Jannik did. The reason behind the skepticism was that in 2023 the World Number One title had gone back-and-forth between Djokovic and Carlos until Djokovic emerged on top as the Year-end World Number One. Djokovic won all the slams apart from Wimbledon, which was won by Carlos. So, people were expecting a similar pattern in 2024.

LANGUAGE(S) THEY COMMUNICATE IN:

In 2022, Carlos said they both communicate in Spanish. On the other hand, Jannik said he speaks in Italian while Carlos speaks in Spanish.

CARLOS: [...] We speak Spanish. I don’t know how to speak Italian. At the moment, we speak Spanish. (Source) Interviewer: “His [Jannik’s] Spanish is good?” CARLOS: “Yeah, he’s good. He has to improve, but his Spanish is good.”

JANNIK: “Sometimes we talk in the locker room. He speaks in Spanish and I speak in Italian, so we talk kind of mixed. But I think we understand us very well. Off court we are friends, we are good friends. I mean, also now after his match and my match, we saw each other in the ice bath. I think we are in a good relationship which hopefully can live for many years because this is the most important.” (Source)

(A/N: Fast forward to the trophy ceremony in Rome 2025, where Carlos told Jannik to speak in Italian because he understands, while Carlos gave his speech to Jannik in English because Jannik’s Spanish isn’t that good [?])

BOTH ARE ALIKE OFF-COURT:

Because of their contrasting personalities, I’ve seen people make assumptions that they don’t mesh well off-court or wonder whether they have anything in common to talk about outside of tennis, but they’re actually quite similar off the court and get along well. In particular, they both place a lot of value on honesty, integrity, and being good people. They both keep close to their small circles. 

DARREN CAHILL (JANNIK’S COACH), 2024: “Two young, great kids, not just on the court but off the court as well. Their friendship is real. They both respect each other and like each other and you’ll see that on the court tomorrow regardless of who wins [...]”

DARREN CAHILL (JANNIK’S COACH), 2024: “I think Carlos is very similar to Jannik in both the way they play with the excitement level they bring to the game, and their personalities and their likability. Both guys are incredibly alike off the court. They both like each other.”

JANNIK: "It's easy for Carlos and me to get along. We are quite similar off the court. When we play, however, we are a bit different, but that's normal, it's our nature. Off court, I listen to him, I get the feeling he likes to be surrounded by the people closest to him, as I am. Carlos pushes me to be a better player."

JANNIK, SHANGHAI 2024: “[...] For me it’s nice that we’re rivals on the court and friends off the court [...] Off the court, we are quite similar, because we surround ourselves with our close ones, we like to stay with the team, um, you know there are many, many things, similar things I feel like [...]”

Alcaraz said of Sinner: “I always say you have to be a good person first and athletics comes after that. Jannik thinks the same thing.”

DARREN CAHILL (JANNIK’S COACH), 2025: “Now Carlos and Jannik aren’t going out to dinner together either, but they are mates. They’re in the locker room, they’re talking. I’m part of some of their conversations. I won’t repeat what they are because most of it focuses around what 23-year-olds and 21-year-olds talk about, but they have fun, and they enjoy each other’s company.”

They’re both big football fans.

So you won’t be dropping Carlitos a text if Italy beats Spain in their group-stage match? [JANNIK] No, I will never do that… [Pauses to laugh and grins]... Maybe!

ON-AND-OFF DIVORCE ERA A.K.A We’re so back / It’s so over / We’re so fucking back / it’s joeover

They forgot to sit down and define the relationship, so were on completely different pages for a good part of 2024.

Things were looking good in Indian Wells.

They were high-fiving and chatting each other up in the tunnel before their match, Carlos waited for Jannik so they could leave the court together when the match was delayed because of rain, giggling together as they left the court (bonus: carlos patting Jannik’s b—), sat together in the locker room and talked about life, also laughed about:

CARLOS, INDIAN WELLS 24: “Well, we were laughing about it with Jannik when it [match] suspended, because I had bees, had the rain.”

Things changed around Miami.

While Carlos was waxing poetic about their futures:

“Hopefully Jannik and I both have a long and beautiful future ahead of us.” (N: Oddly romantic thing to say: sounds like Carlos wants to spend the rest of their lives together.) CARLOS, MIAMI 2024

Also, Carlos saying more downbad and incriminating things like: “He means a lot to me.” (INDIAN WELLS ‘24) 

For the first time, in Miami 2024, Jannik defines their relationship as not that close as previously painted:

“[...] We have a lot of respect for each other and, obviously, off the court we don't speak that much because he has his own things and I have my things."

Some of the reactions from this reddit thread are worth a read, lol.

(Skipping a major arc: Roland Garros '24)

Things started looking good again months later during Beijing. Chatting in the gym (part 1, part 2). Carlos was looking to give Zendaya a run for her money the way he was laughing in part 1. I would say Jannik isn’t that funny, but too many people close to him have said otherwise, so maybe he is indeed just that funny.

Just look at them during the trophy ceremony. 

“I respect you a lot as a player but even more as a person” was very much needed after all the noise that had reemerged with the WADA appeal.

Jannik and Carlos greet each other’s teams.

They shared a flight together after their final:

Carlos’ interview about it. Jannik’s interview about it (his little giggle when asked about the photo was so cute).

During Shanghai, someone pulled Uno reverse, because now Jannik was talking about how they’re friends off court but Carlos was like we’re not that close.

CARLOS, SHANGHAI ‘24: "We don't talk too much when we are around. Obviously, we have a really good relationship off the court as well. I think we both respect each other a lot, as a player, as a person, but once we are on tour traveling, you know, during tournaments when we are on-site, we are with our team, on our own, so we don't speak too much. When we can, we talk a little bit besides tennis about life a little bit, but not too much. It means, we have a good relationship, but we are not close friends, you know, but I think the respect that we have, you know, put [us] in a position that we have a really good relationship."

For renowned downbad Carlos to say this, the people were certainly shocked. He managed to fight off the allegations until he lost the war by cheesin’ so hard just because Jannik grouped him as a legend during the trophy ceremony in Shanghai (the final was between Jannik and Djokovic but Carlos was there to watch).

Just look at him:

Their exhibition final, SIX KINGS SLAM ‘24 was a gift that kept on giving:

Silly confusion because the announcer got their walkout order wrong, Jannik removed confetti from Carlos’ hair, Jannik—I wake up in the morning thinking about Carlos—Sinner, Carlos refused to let go of Jannik, bench talks etc.

I: So, did you just tell us that everyday you wake up you think about him [Carlos]?

(The interviewer decided to choose violence and not let that insane statement from Jannik go by unnoticed by everyone in that stadium)

JANNIK: [Flustered pause] “Well, no, I mean… [Jannik laughs in panic while Carlos looks utterly delighted] It would be strange, no?”

(The interviewer had to intercede and save him.)

I: “In practice terms."

(Love how the interviewer said this in such a pointed way, like gay boy your mind went there by itself, I was talking about practice)

I: "He’s your biggest rival, isn’t he, over the next few years. Do you still get on as friends?”

JANNIK: “I mean, we understand each other very well. We travel a lot. We are, I would say good friends [turns to check with Carlos, who nods], you know. Not obviously the best out of the best, but y‘know, we also like to share every time when we go on the court. We try to enjoy [...]”

Carlos decided to send signals to Jannik during his press conference that he wants to be friends:

“[...] We don’t spend too much time together off the court, but I would love to.”

He WOULD LOVE TO. Jannik did that blazing signal manage to transmit through your thick curls?

I really liked this comment on their relationship:

It explains everything pretty well.

It's hard to be friends with the person who is responsible for chipping away your soul and body in a grueling battle that lasts for hours, who rips your heart into pieces by squashing your dreams and taking the one thing you wanted the most (when it was nearly within reach).

Poor Jannik has cried enough times because of Carlos 😭

“Tears of happiness? I haven’t had them yet. [I cried] after [losing to] Carlos in the US Open, also a bit at Roland Garros,” Jannik adds. “There are always moments when you feel emotions you don’t want in the locker room or sometimes when you’re in transportation or even in the hotel room alone. It means you care about the sport. It means you want to reach this level." (Source / 2024)

I liked this analysis on them.

FOR JUST CO-WORKERS, THEY’RE TOTALLY NORMAL ABOUT EACH OTHER:

They both wake up in the morning and think about each other.

Carlos [about Jannik during Roland Garros ‘24]: "...to wake up in the morning and want to improve my game to try to beat him..." [Source]

Jannik [about Carlos on two different occasions]: "...he pushes me to do better. I wake up in the morning trying to understand what I can do better trying to beat him next time, which is something nice for me as a player." [Source]

Jannik: "...we try to push ourselves to the limits, you know, I wake up in the morning trying to understand the ways how to beat him and you know this kind of rivalries and this kind of players they push us always to our 100% limit..." [Source]

CARLOS, SHANGHAI ‘23: “[...] Against him, as I said, it’s different.”

JANNIK, SHANGHAI ‘24: “[...] It’s like fire and ice, a bit [...]”

Interviewer: “Carlos was in here, and he said it really hurts to lose against you. Especially against you. Do you love to win, especially against him?” JANNIK: “[...] Obviously, both of us, we hate losing, especially against each other.”

CARLOS, INDIAN WELLS ‘24: “I mean, I hear some declarations from Tommy Paul that was funny for me, that he's [Jannik’s] absolutely naked right now. He’s playing naked, so [...]” (Source) / “I hear some words from Tommy Paul that he’s [Jannik’s] playing absolutely naked, so he’s right [...]” (Source)

Guess he liked the thought of Jannik playing absolutely naked so much that he had to mention it more than once. Alright.

CARLOS, ROLAND GARROS ‘24: “That’s when I thought, ‘Jannik, if you really want to beat me, you’re gonna have to take me out on a stretcher.’”

“Everything he does, he does it perfectly.”

CARLOS, ROME ‘25: “[...] Honestly, I’m going to say I need him in the tour [...]” / “I’m not going to get tired of saying, y’know, how amazing a person, athlete you are.”

JANNIK, ROLAND GARROS ‘25: “He’s [Carlos’] a player with charisma, with that aura. The moment he steps on court, you can feel his presence.”

CARLOS, ROME ‘25: I'm more focused when I'm playing against him, or I feel a little bit different when I'm going to face him than other players. He has that aura. When you're seeing him on the other side of the net, it's different.”

Where’s that twitter post that went along the lines of: aura is basically you calling another man attractive

CARLOS, ROLAND GARROS ‘25: “[...] It’s a privilege to share the court with you, in every tournament, making history with you.” 

Not to be cheesy and quote Red, White & Royal Blue, but: “History, huh?”

We've only scratched the surface here (their divorce 2.0 still remains unearthed), but this post has gotten too long, so I'm going to end it here. Hopefully, this proves useful to someone.

[snoopyclarkey]

b.d.e

alfie buttle x fem reader <3

summary: alfie was big everywhere...but you finally decide you're ready for him.

a/n: first time writing fic in a few years yayyy also. yes i am american lol

wc: 4.5k

content: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it lads), vaginal fingering, big dick alfie, established relationship, implied chubby fem reader.

you and alfie had spent most of the morning swimming.

he didn’t want you to feel like your long weekend in harrogate was a waste and he was trying his best. not letting you follow him out of bed in the morning, instead kissing you breathless into the pillows and tucking you back into the sheets before he leaves you to sink between sleep and wakefulness in the warmth of the bed before you hear the door creak open again.

the breakfast wasn’t anything fancy, but the extra effort he put into it for you was very sweet. between bites he explained that he’d found a lake for you guys to spend the morning at. “like, a proper lake, not some shit little creek that has sewage runoff flowing through it.” you giggle to yourself and just nod at his enthusiasm, grateful that you actually listened to him when he told you to pack a swimsuit.

and you had to give it to him, it was a proper lake that he had found. not super big, but definitely deep enough for you two to actually float and swim in. the water was a welcome relief against your heated skin, the sun sitting high and hot in the sky. it seemed as if no one even knew of the lake’s existence, your morning of splashing about not interrupted by a single soul. it made you wonder how long he’d spent searching it out, imaging him spending hours driving around, trying to find the perfect spot for you two.

you felt like a little kid again when alfie tried coaxing you out of the water and into the car to go back to the grotto. the morning had been so peaceful, the water so refreshing, you didn’t want to leave. but your skin was starting to burn under the afternoon sun and your stomach was starting to growl. eventually you pulled yourself back up to the bank to towel yourself off and slip into the dry clothes you had packed.

and it’s not like you hadn’t been naked in front of each other before. while you guys don’t get to spend the most time together with your schedules not always aligning, he had started staying at your place when he came into the city instead of scrambling to find whatever hotel had vacancy when his train arrived. him crawling into your bed late at night after a shoot had led to a few sloppy handjobs that usually end with his fingers curled in your wet cunt. but the casual intimacy of being naked together without any real endgame isn’t something that you guys are quite used to yet.

you blush and giggle through stripping yourself out of your wet swimsuit and him out of his wet gym shorts since he still didn’t have a proper set of swim trunks yet. even though neither of you had seen a single person since coming to your little spot, the thrill of being caught naked together in public still sent a thrill up your spine. while you can feel his eyes lingering on your body, you know you’re not any better, watching the rivulets of water bead down his muscles. but your stomach growls and kills the mood, signaling the need for a food stop on the way back to the grotto.

alfie grabs a shower first when you guys get back, “i’ll be quick because i know you probably gotta wash your hair and shit.” and luckily he was quick, because you did have to wash your hair from the way alfie kept trying to cradle you to his chest like a baby in the water.

when you finally made it out of the bathroom he was stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, looking through emails on his laptop. as you filled up your water bottle from the tap in the kitchen you couldn’t help but notice how small the laptop looked in his lap. the impressive spread of his thighs and massive width of his hands making it look almost tiny in comparison.

he notices you staring as he bangs away at the keys, “just gotta finish this up real quick then i’m all yours, love.”

you hear him click around on the mousepad as you put the cap back on your water bottle and take a long sip from it. he finally shuts the laptop closed and sets it aside on the coffee table, shifting himself on the couch, thighs spreads and arms open at his sides. a clear invitation. you didn’t have to be asked twice.

but before you made a place for yourself in his lap you stood between his legs and held out your water bottle in front of his face. there were few things you’d change about alfie, his quirks were what caught your attention anyways, but his abysmal diet and lack of real hydration were things you were slowly trying to change over time. his scowl at the offered beverage was met with a pointed look from you which turned into a triumphant smile when he finally leaned forward to take a few long sips from the bottle.

satisfied, you set the bottle on the coffee table behind you and make yourself comfortable in his lap. his arms go around your waist as you settle atop his thighs, knees on either side. you’re wearing a pair of soft cotton shorts you packed and a well worn shirt of his that you snagged from his dresser after your shower. he’s dressed similarly, a loose pair of workout shorts and a baggy, soft t-shirt that you bury your nose in as you lean your head against his shoulder and bring your hands up around his shoulders.

you can feel the warmth of his hands against your back and giggle at the way he noses up your neck and takes a deep inhale. “you smell fuckin’ good.”

your face splits into a grin at the compliment, “thank you, i know how much you like the smell of my shampoo, but i did actually use your body wash, too, while i was in there.” the way he stiffens in your arms makes you hesitate, “is that ok?”

when he pulls back to look at you notice the flush on his cheeks and his sheepish smile, “you’re in my clothes, you smell like me, you’re in my lap. like, i must be fucking dreaming.”

you can’t help but laugh at his boyish earnestness, you could always trust alfie to tell you exactly how he felt about something. you brushed your lips against his, “definitely not a dream.”

“thank fucking god.” he closes the barely there distance between your lips and dips his hands underneath your baggy shirt, warm palms trailing up and down your back. he was always a surprisingly good kisser (“nothing worse than a bloke trying to swallow a girl’s face”), always letting you lead and set the pace. your fingers found their way back to the soft curls of his mullet, nails scratching his scalp in the way you know he loves.

you get lost in the feeling of his lips against yours and the feel of his hands sweeping over whatever skin he can reach, your hips twitch without a thought. he pulls back from your lips as a harsh keen escapes from his.

“oh,” you try not to laugh, you really do, “some kissings got you hard, buttle?”

“i’ve been rockin’ a semi damn near all day,” he exclaims, his eyebrows going up under his fringe with the effort. his hands settle again at the small of your back, pinkies slipping under the waistband of your shorts. “wake up to you in my bed, gotta watch you in that swimsuit, thinking about you in my shower. what’s a bloke supposed to do besides get bricked up, ‘ya know?”

you suppress your giggle at his unabashed honesty, instead leaning forward to whisper against his lips, “maybe you should finish what you started.” you delight in the gasp he lets out as you connect your lips again, knowing your words caught him off guard. usually, your intimacy leans a little more…goofy, you two are usually never able to take each other seriously, or he’ll usually say something that catches you completely off guard and unable to suppress your laughter. but sometimes you’re able to render him useless with a few sultry words.

his hands gripped your love handles as he pulled away to mutter against your lips, “don’t worry, i’ll get you first.” but before he had the opportunity to lift you out of his lap to lie you back on the couch you grabbed his biceps.

“wait, wait,” your heart did flutter at the look of concern that washed over his face, always preoccupied with your comfort. “i was thinking instead of what we usually do,” you took a deep breath, trying to build up your confidence under the heat of his gaze, “maybe we try…doing it for real?”

your stomach heats up with embarrassment as the words come out of your mouth, so unbelievably juvenile and unserious for such a request. but his eyebrows shoott up in his surprise and the grip his hands have around your waist tighten, “are you sure? because i know you’ve been kind of putting if off bec-”

“i haven’t been putting it off,” you slump in his lap a little bit, feeling just a little bratty about his assumption. “i’ve just been,” you adjust yourself in his lap again, feeling the hot girth between your legs again, “a little nervous.”

since you first met alfie you figured he must have been proportionate…everywhere. big hands, broad shoulders. thick thighs. but nothing could have prepared you when you reached your hand into his pants for the first time. he had come into london on a late night train and finally took you up on your offer of staying at your place instead of renting a hotel. there had been tension brewing between the two of you for weeks and during his last pop in to london he had finally kissed you in a quiet corner of a pub. he had cradled your jaw with a softness that meant he was serious about you.

so, you tried to keep yourself busy while you waited for his arrival but you couldn’t stop thinking about him and made a beeline for your door when the buzzer went off. you got him underneath you on your couch, his hands trailing across all the skin he could reach, lips kissing up the column of your throat. when you snaked your hands under the waistband of his loose joggers and finally felt the weight of him in your hand you had to pull back in disbelief, “you have to be joking, alfie.”

his eyes were unfocused and dazed, his lips were swollen, brows furrowed in confusion. absolutely adorable, “what?”

you couldn’t help but grin as you pulled his waistband down further, tucking it underneath his balls to put him fully on display. you wrapped your hand around the thick base, feeling it pulse underneath your fingers, barely even meeting each other around the girth of him. you had been transfixed on the thick, wet head before you finally ripped your eyes away to look back up at him. you couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all, “alf, i don’t even know if i can get this thing in my mouth.”

“well, lucky for you, if you breathe on it enough i’ll definitely nut.”

“are you sure?” he whispers, lips brushing yours and his dark eyes searching your face. he always had a way of making you feel seen and safe.

you wish you could stay in this tender moment forever, but you jertk your hips again and the feel of him hot and hard underneath you sends a zip of desire up your spine, your cunt clenching around nothing. “i’m sure,” you murmur back, “don’t you want to, alf?”

your big, pleading eyes make him swear under his breath and suddenly you’re being lifted up and off the couch. a yelp leaves your lips as you scramble to wrap your legs around his waist. his hands rest under your ass, holding you securely against him as he walks you back to his bedroom. “wanted to do this since the first time i fucking saw ‘ya.”

he sets you down gently on the bed with your hips at the edge of the mattress and his hands reach out to hold your ankles. he stands over you and just looks down at you with a boyish grin on his face. before you can bring your hands up to your face embarrassment he finally speaks, “god, you are just fucking gorgeous.” he leans down so he’s able to nose under jaw, kissing your soft skin there. “can’t believe you trust me to do this.”

you bring your hands up to cup his jaw, bringing his head back up to look into his eyes. “of course i trust you, alfie. i’ve been waiting for the right time to do this.” your fingers find their way into his soft curls, bringing his mouth to yours in a needy, wet kiss.

you could have stayed like that for hours, relishing in the feeling of your tongues meeting in a messy glide, your hands fisted in his curls, his hands wandering up your legs, spreading against your wet core over your shorts. but alfie had other ideas, fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts pulling them and your panties down your legs, tossing them away into some corner of the dimly lit bedroom. the cool air against your core made you gasp and his big hands trailing up the softness of your thighs made you squirm against the comforter.

you feel so exposed as you lay underneath him, his dark eyes roaming over your body, taking you all in. it makes you want to hide, cover up your softness and stretch marks so he can’t see them, but then you watch his gaze lower down to your cunt. his fingers are feather light as they stroke up your thighs.

“fuck,” he whispers, thumb ghosting over your glistening folds. it’s just a whisper of a touch, but it has you arching your hips up into his hand. “how are you already so fucking wet for me?”

the awe in his voice makes you whimper and reach your hands up for him, needing him close. you get your fingers in his hair to drag his face down to your’s so you can look him in the eyes. you take a moment to steel yourself, getting the words out before you chicken out, “i want you all the time, alfie.”

you try not to feel too smug when he drops his head into the dip of your neck, feeling him groan against your skin. you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him closer to you as you giggle at his misery. but his hands were still stroking around between your thighs and you let out a moan of surprise as you feel one of his long fingers breaching your entrance and stretching out your hole. your arms fell from around his neck as you writhed on his finger, wanting to get him deeper. his gaze was hot as you pulled away from his spot against your neck, looking at your blissed out face. “gotta prepare you if you want me so bad, darling.”

your hips bucked at every thrust of his finger, wanting more and more of him but knowing that he’s right, he has to prepare you first. he straightens himself back up, standing between the cradle of your hips at almost his full height, head tilted down to watch your wet cunt grip around his digit. he brings his free hand up to your tummy, holding you down against the bed. it makes you pause, self consciousness creeping into your brain, pulling you out of your haze at the way his fingers squeeze against your pudge. but you’re taken out of your thoughts at the sound of his voice.

“squirmy little thing you are,” he whispers to himself, before dragging his gaze back up to yours, “think you’re ready for another?”

the little grin on his lips, the whites of his cute canines just barely visible, makes your breath catch for a moment. he was so cute and he was yours. you finally found your words, “yeah, i’m ready.”

his grin stretched bigger across his lips before he cut his eyes back down to your pussy, pulling his finger out to the opening of your entrance before pumping in two. the stretch burned but it made heat burst in your gut and your walls clench, trying to pull them in deeper. you whined and moaned and reached down to wrap both hands around his wrist, his hand still holding you down by your stomach. your nails clawed at him, senses overwhelmed by the fullness of his fingers.

after a few more moments of you uselessly writhing against the bed he asks, “ready for another one, sweetheart?”

your eyes were slits, brain already fuzzy from his fingers gliding against your walls. you nod your head without even thinking about the question, just trusting him to take care of you. you felt his lips on yours as he swallowed up all the pathetic little whimpers you made as a third finger stretched your cunt. your fingers gripped the long locks at the nape of his neck, feeling feverish at the way he draped his body over yours. it felt like he was everywhere and you were getting closer and closer to the edge every second.

“alfie,” you whined into his neck, his curls tickling your lips as you slurred into his skin, “i’m close.”

he pulled away from you and you whined again at the loss of contact, feeling clingy and needy due to the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling. you squirmed as he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, a wet sound filling the room as your walls fluttered around nothing. you watched him through half lidded eyes as he stepped out of his joggers, his hard, thick cock slapping against the ridges of his abs.

“i got you, i got you,” he mumbles as his big hands grip the back of your thighs, pulling your hips to the edge of the mattress to meet his. the feeling of his hot length sliding against your folds makes your head snap up from the bed, focusing your gaze to where your bodies meet. his length and girth are intimidating, but you can’t help but grind your hips against him, reveling in the way he groans, low and deep.

you gasp as he squeezes the back of your thighs, pushing them to your chest and keeping you spread open for him. “holy shit,” he marveled down at your wet folds, hips canting, cock covered in your wetness.

“alfie,” you whined, squirming against the bed. the wait was almost unbearable, you didn’t understand why he would tease you like this.

“wait, wait,” he reached over to his bedside table, pulling the drawer open and coming back to you with a half empty bottle of lube. “a little bit of extra help can’t hurt, right?” he explained as he dribbled the cold lube against your hot core, shushing your little gasp of shock at the sensation.

“i got you,” he reassured again as he lined himself up at your entrance and slowly pushed through your tender resistance. you whimper as his thick length stretches your walls deliciously, you body overwhelmed, not knowing if you should pull your hips away from the intrusion or thrust your hips to take more of him in. he decides for you, placing his hand back on your soft stomach, holding you down as he slowly plunges his length into your wet cunt.

he shushes the endless stream of noise spilling out of your lips, “just a little bit more, darling, i know you can do it.”

and you wanted to so badly for him, to take him all, prove that you could do it. but, when you felt his thick tip push up against your cervix painfully you pushed yourself up on your elbows as he stilled his hips for a moment. you brought one of your hands up to press against his abs, “i can’t take it all,” you confessed, feeling tears prick at your due to the disappointment you felt in yourself.

“it’s ok, sweetheart,” he reassures as he brings his knee up to rest against the edge of the bed next to your body, bringing him closer to your face so he can press kisses against your flushed face. “i think you might feel better the other way.”

all you can do is nod your head as he pulls out of you, leaving you feeling open and needy. he gets his big hands on your hips and urges you to turn over. one of his hands stays on your hip while the other trails up your back, keeping your chest down to the soft, warm bed while your hips are up to meet his groin.

his hand strokes down your back, grounding you as it stills against your ass cheek. he uses that hand to pull you apart, eyes locked onto your dripping folds. “still so wet for me.”

“alfie…,” it’s all you can say at this point, pussy stretched out and mind only filled with thoughts of him. your hands fist the comforter and the bed soaks up your guttural moan as he finally pushes the tip in again, your walls swallowing him like it was where he was meant to be. and alfie was right, it did feel better like this. it still felt like he was splitting you open, but in a way that made your clit throb and made you feel like your brain was leaking through your ears.

all you could was hold on to the comforter as his thrusts rock through your body, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. the only thing that slips past your lips is pure nonsense, mouth unable to form any intelligible words, but alfie wasn’t any better either.

“holy shit, i don’t care how long it takes me to finger you, i could do this every fucking day if you’d let me,” he confided between breathes, big hands squeezing your love handles with every thrust. despite the initial discomfort, you couldn’t help but agree with him and kick yourself for being too nervous to try this sooner. you would be face first in his mattress every night if it meant you got to feel him splitting you open like this.

you can feel heat pooling in your gut and you push your hips back to meet his thrusts, chasing the pleasure zipping through you. you’re getting close, but you know he’s getting close too. his thrust getting sloppier, his hands gripping your thick hips harder, his breaths coming out in harsh pants. you snake a hand underneath yourself, fingers landing on your swollen clit. the contact makes your pussy clench around him.

“fuck,” he exhales, big palm coming down harshly on one of your asscheeks, making you squeal underneath him. he wraps his arm around your waist, broad body blanketing your’s as his thick fingers nudge your’s away and press down on your clit, making your toes curl. you almost choke as your orgasm rips through you, pussy squeezing around his thick length relentlessly, “i got you, i got you.” he chants against your heated skin.

you melt into the mattress as you come down from your high, his arm around your waist being the only thing keeping you up. it’s overstimulating, sensations completely overwhelming and yet you couldn’t feel more content and boneless as his thrusts began to turn sloppy. you turn your head so the comforter is against your cheek and see his hand clenching the fabric by your head. you reach your hand up and loosely cover his before whining, “please, alf, i want it.”

“fuck, fuck you feel so fucking good and i’m so fucking close, sweetheart,” he adjusts your hands so his is covering yours and its like he’s everywhere. you try your best to meet his erratic thrusts and clench your walls around his twitching cock, but every thrust of his hips has your brain short circuiting. your clit gives a pathetic twitch as his thrust stutter and finally still against you, his hot cum finally coating your walls.

you whimper when he pulls out, pussy gaping and then clenching around nothing. he runs his warm hands up your back before reaching back down to your hips and lowering your legs down to the bed. you feel useless and unable to move but you hum in contentment as he blankets himself over you and kisses your shoulders, lips trailing up your neck. “fuck, that may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you give a tired smile at the earnestness in his voice, “what about all the sidemen stuff you’ve been doing lately?” you tease.

“sidemen don’t have a pussy like yours,” his lack of filter seemingly even more present despite his obvious exhaustion. as you giggle he adjusts his position, scooting himself off of you, but still keeping his arm wrapped around your shoulder and face pressed into the back of your shoulder so his words drift over your ear.

you two fall silent for a few long moments and it gives you a second to catalog the delicious aches of your body. the ache of your cunt from being stretched, the ache of your thighs from the intensity of your orgasm, the ache in your ass cheek where you hope his handprint is still visible. you’re taken out of your thoughts by alfie’s voice, a soft whisper.

“thank you,” is all he says.

it shocks you a bit, the quiet honesty of it. you shift a bit, tucking your elbows underneath yourself, head raising from the bed as alfie rolls over onto his back so you can look each other in the eyes. as your eyes trace his face you watch his cheeks flush with color, his lips twitch with an embarrassed smile as he brings his arm up to cover his eyes.

you reach over to grab his hand, wanting to see his eyes, “thank you?” you repeat, just a question, not a tease.

“i don’t know,” he tries to explain, not always the best at voicing his true feelings but always trying for you, “it just felt special.”

the warmth that washed over you was immense. you knew that you were one of the lucky ones that got to see this raw and emotional side of alfie and you never tried to take it for granted. “it was so special, alf,” you leaned over, trailing kisses over his cheek, his nose, and then finally planting one against his lips.

[holyblonded]

ain’t no sunshine | chasing sunshine

pairings: barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you get injured and start to loose your path

warnings: angst, but it’s hurt/comfort!

notes: this was written at 2am randomly so if you see any grammar mistakes, no you don’t🫡

Everything happened too fast. But that’s the way football is.

One minute, the ball was at your feet and everything was fluid—your run, your timing, the play unfolding like it was meant for you. The next, your body twisted the wrong way mid-challenge. A sharp crack, then a wave of pain so blinding you couldn’t even hear yourself scream.

Which made sense, because your cochlear implants had flown out on impact.

You didn’t even notice at first. Just that the sound was gone, the world muffled and distant like you were underwater. And that your ankle—your whole damn leg—felt like it was on fire.

You clutched it instinctively, curled up on the turf with tears streaming down your face. The panic hit you almost as hard as the injury. Shapes moved in your peripheral vision, blurry, fast, but you couldn’t hear a thing. It made everything worse. You couldn’t tell if someone was yelling for a medic or if it was just your pulse crashing in your ears.

Alexia’s face was the first you really focused on. She was crouched next to you, mouth moving, panic in her eyes. You couldn’t make out the words.

Then Irene appeared, kneeling at your side, signing quickly and clearly.

“Let them look at it. You have to let go.”

You were shaking, still gripping your ankle so hard your knuckles were white. The pain was blinding, but worse than the pain was the not knowing—not hearing, not understanding, not being able to ground yourself.

“Soleada,” Alexia said again, slower this time, making sure you could see her lips. Her hands gently wrapped around your wrists. “Sunny, let go. Let the medics do their job.”

You were sobbing now, gasping like the air wouldn’t stay in your lungs. Irene took over, gently prying your fingers off your ankle and placing your hands in hers.

“Squeeze mine if it hurts,” she signed.

You did. Hard. If it hurt Irene, she surely didn’t show it.

Two medics rushed in and began assessing your leg. You winced and flinched as they rolled your sock down and started palpating your ankle. You kept trying to sit up, to look, to move, but Alexia pressed a hand firmly against your shoulder.

“No, no, stay still,” she said, and though you couldn’t hear her, the message was clear on her face. You locked eyes with her and she leaned closer, tucking your hair out of your face, smoothing her hand over your curls in comfort.

They tried to lift you onto the stretcher. You panicked. Your whole body tensed, legs kicking, arms scrambling like they were going to carry you away forever. Your breathing turned shallow and fast, and you thrashed, “No, no, no!”

Irene had to help pin your arms gently as Alexia climbed halfway onto the stretcher with you.

“We’re coming with you. I’m not leaving. You’re okay.”

You felt their hands—warm, grounding. Alexia rested hers on your heart to calm your breathing. Irene stayed at your feet. You stopped fighting.

In the medical room, someone finally found your implants. One was in the grass, the other had landed in the side netting. Once they were back in and adjusted, the sound of voices flooded in all at once—doctors, equipment, someone asking you to breathe normally.

“I got you,” Alexia murmured from the chair beside the bed. She signed it too, just in case. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The medics ran a quick squeeze test and your yelp confirmed what they feared. They took an X-ray. The silence in the room afterward felt suffocating.

“It’s not a break,” the doctor finally said, glancing between you, Alexia, and Irene. “But it’s a high ankle sprain. Bad one.”

Your face crumpled instantly.

“No. No, no, no, please—how long?” you asked, voice cracking. “How long am I out?”

“Four to six weeks. Maybe more.”

You went quiet. Too quiet. Alexia shifted closer, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Sunny, talk to us.”

You exploded.

“I just got here! I’ve been working so hard! This isn’t fair!” you yelled, your voice rising with every word. You smacked the blanket off your legs and tried to sit up, furious and heartbroken and not ready to hear the truth.

Irene put a hand on your knee, firm but calm. “You’re allowed to be upset, nena. But you’re not allowed to give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” you snapped, tears falling again. “I’m just… sick of always starting over.”

Alexia leaned in, pulling you into her arms like she had a hundred times before. You buried your face in her shoulder, fists clenched at your sides.

“You’re not starting over,” she said softly. “You’re just taking a breath.”

She signed it too. Slowly. Clearly.

“You’ll be back. I promise.”

You didn’t answer at first, just pressed your face deeper into her shoulder, letting the rhythm of her breathing pull you back down to earth.

Eventually, you signed back, fingers shaky and eyes red, “Okay. But I still hate this.”Alexia kissed the top of your head.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”

Recovery wasn’t your strong suit. Not physically—you could handle ice baths and physio and resistance bands. It was the sitting still part that drove you insane. The not playing, not training, not feeling like part of the team. You’d wake up every morning half-forgetting your ankle was messed up, only to swing your legs out of bed and get immediately humbled by pain.

At first, you tried to tough it out in your apartment—barely two blocks from the training ground, a cozy little Barca-paid place that made you feel like you had some semblance of independence. You’d limped your way to the elevator and back, heating up whatever frozen food you could hobble to and telling yourself it was “fine.”

Except it wasn’t fine.

Alexia noticed first. She lived in the same building—coincidentally, which you swore wasn’t intentional, but she never confirmed nor denied—and she’d show up uninvited with food, meds, and that mom stare of hers.

“You’re not eating real meals,” she said one afternoon, peeking into your sad excuse for a fridge. “This is a bottle of water and four sauce packets.”

“I like my space,” you grumbled, refusing to meet her eyes.

Then Irene started texting you. Then Marta. Then Caro (forced by Marta.) Then literally half the team. Every conversation was some variation of: “Please move in with Alexia, she’s worried,” or “You’re not supposed to be healing alone,” or “We all know you haven’t washed your hair in three days, don’t lie.”

You resisted. For a while. Until they called in the nuclear option.

Your phone rang one night and you didn’t even think to check the contact until you picked up.

“Sunny.”

You froze. “Leah?”

“Why the hell are you playing hard to get with your health?” Her voice traveled within your implants.

You stammered. “I’m not—I just—”

“I don’t care. You’re moving in with Alexia. You need people. You’re a footballer, not a superhero.”

You bit your lip. You couldn’t argue with Leah. No one could. She was your national team captain and lowkey your big sister, and she knew exactly how to guilt-trip you with kindness and firm love.

“…Fine.”

“Good girl. And while you’re at it, eat a vegetable.”

So you moved in with Alexia.

It was… weird, at first. Not because of her—she gave you space, didn’t hover, only fussed when you actually needed it. But being taken care of? That felt foreign. You were used to handling things alone. Hiding pain. Hiding how deep things cut.

She made you tea in the mornings and helped wrap your ankle before physio. She always made sure your implants were charging. She’d help braid your curls on the days you couldn’t reach. She didn’t treat you like you were broken. She just showed up.

You’d lounge on her massive couch in her very aesthetic, very Alexia-coded living room, scrolling aimlessly or flipping through the weird cable channels. That’s what you were doing one random afternoon when she left to grab the mail.

You were mid-scroll, background noise humming from the TV. A sports talk show—nothing unusual. Until you heard your name.

You looked up. A panel of older men in suits, microphones clipped to their jackets. Your name was on the chyron in bold: SUNNY – INJURED YOUNG STAR.

At first, you sat up straighter, curious. But it turned fast.

One of the anchors chuckled. “I mean, honestly, what has she contributed, really? She’s barely played a full season—got talent, sure, but no discipline. Always injured, always something.”

Another nodded. “Barcelona took a gamble. She’s flashy, but unreliable. And as for the Lionesses—she’s no Russo, no Williamson. I don’t see where she fits in.”

“Right,” the first one said. “Lot of hype. Not a lot of product. What has she really done?”

You stared, frozen. The words crawled under your skin like poison ivy. You muted the TV without thinking, eyes still glued to their smug, dismissive faces.

What has she really done?

You grabbed the remote and switched the channel. Cartoons now. Colors, noise, nonsense. Anything but them.

The door opened behind you.

Alexia walked in, sorting through the mail with one hand, keys in the other. “You good?” she asked, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer. “You changed the channel fast.”

You shrugged. “It was boring.”

“Your face says different,” she said gently. She sat on the arm of the couch and tilted her head at you.

You hesitated. Shook your head. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Sunny.” Her voice dropped. Firm. Soft.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. If it weren’t for the doorbell ringing, you know Alexia would’ve pressed on. She went to answer the door but not before shooting a concerned look towards you.

Saturdays were for breakfast dates.

That was your tradition with Vicky—one that started back in your Barca B days and somehow stuck even when the two of you had grown into fully fledged first-teamers. No matter the schedule, the chaos, the jet lag, or injuries, you always found a way to link up at your favorite little café tucked into the corner of Gràcia, right after morning treatment or gym sessions.

This Saturday was no different. Except… it was.

Vicky noticed the second you sat down. Normally you came in with some cheeky comment about the waiters, or how the coffee tasted different every week. Normally you made fun of her ridiculous order—avocado toast with a side of “air,” as you called it. But today?

Today you sat down, offered a tight smile, and said, “Hey.”

Just hey. Vicky blinked. “That’s it? No roast? No ten-minute rant about the menu fonts?”

You half-laughed. “Guess I’m tired.”

She side-eyed you but didn’t push—yet. She launched into some ridiculous story about Salma and Patri getting locked out of their flat after forgetting the keys and their phones. You listened. You really did. But all your replies were one-word answers.

“Wow.”

“No way.”

“That’s crazy.”

Dry. Unbothered. Emotionally elsewhere. And Vicky knew you too well.

The car ride back to Alexia’s was quiet. You stared out the window, your foot propped up with a compression sleeve hugging your ankle. The sky was clear, the sun doing that warm, sleepy thing it always did in late mornings. You weren’t wearing your cochlear implants—you didn’t need them with Vicky driving and nothing else to focus on.

When she parked outside the apartment, she turned the car off and didn’t move.

You glanced at her. “We home?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “Sunny.”

Your stomach twisted.

“You okay?”

You blinked fast and reached for your bag. “Yeah. Totally. Just tired.”

“You’ve said that five times today.”

You turned, smiled wide, too wide. “I’m good, Vick. Seriously.”

She stared at you for a beat, like she wanted to say something else, but then nodded slowly. “Okay. But if you’re lying, I’m telling Alexia.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, but it sounded weird. Too hollow. She didn’t call you on it. She just got out of the car.

You sighed.

The second time was with Ingrid.

She invited you over for a movie night at her place, just you and her and a stack of snacks she insisted on personally baking because “cinema popcorn is poison.” You’d usually laugh at her weird health-food superiority complex, but that night, you just nodded.

You barely touched your popcorn. You sat curled up on her couch, staring at the screen, but not really watching. The movie—a light comedy—was full of jokes, but you didn’t laugh once. You didn’t even smirk. Ingrid chuckled at something and turned to share the moment with you, only to find you completely spaced out, eyes glazed over, jaw clenched.

She paused the film.

“Sunny?”

You flinched at the sound of her voice, shook yourself out of the trance. “Yeah?”

She leaned in. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“You’ve been… not you. This whole week.”

You offered her a small, tired smile. “Just bored. Being injured sucks.”

She didn’t look convinced. “If there’s something else, you can tell me.”

You looked down at your hands. “I’m good. Promise.”

She didn’t push. Just reached over and gave your shoulder a little squeeze.

You hated how her kindness made your throat burn.

The third time was Irene.

She picked you up for a lunch run—nothing serious, just grabbing food before heading to the training ground to watch the team practice without you. A week ago, you would’ve made at least six jokes in the car, bullied her playlist, and begged for an extra dessert.

But now? You sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, your eyes locked on the window. Not angry. Just… gone.

Irene clocked it fast. She always did. As she parked the car in front of the café, she looked over and said, “Alright. What’s wrong.”

You hesitated. “Nothing.”

“Nope. Try again.”

You looked at her, forced the corners of your mouth up. “I’m fine.”

Irene didn’t speak for a second. Then she sighed and rested her hand on your knee. “You can’t lie to me, you know. I’ve known you since you were all elbows and oversized cleats.”

You laughed a little, soft, real, but still not enough.

She smiled. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

But you weren’t ready. So you shrugged and said, “I’m really okay.”

You got out of the car before she could say anything else.

But the words from that sports show stayed in your mind like a bad echo.

“What has she really done?”

“Flashy, but unreliable.”

“She’s no Williamson.”

Every time a teammate reached out, every time someone asked if you were okay, it took everything in you not to snap. Not because they didn’t care, because they did. And that made it worse. Because they were treating you like you mattered, like you still belonged, and your brain kept whispering what if you don’t?

What if you were just a phase? What if this injury broke more than your ankle? What if they were right?

Recovery was going steady. You were hitting all your marks—every stretch, every pool session, every painful rep with the resistance bands. You pushed through the stiffness, the soreness, the bone-deep frustration of being benched while your teammates played on. It sucked, but you were focused. Determined. You told yourself every morning that this was just temporary. You’d be back.

Alexia was your rock through it all. She kept things light when you were sulking, kept you grounded when you started spiraling. And slowly, the limp faded. The mobility returned. You even started ball work again—light touches, nothing wild, but still. It felt like progress. Like you were coming back.

Until the setback.

It wasn’t even anything dramatic. You just felt it—one small wrong movement in training, a tug that shouldn’t have been there. Your ankle lit up again, like someone was holding a lighter to it, and you just knew something was wrong.

The next day, the medical room was too quiet. The doctor held the scan results like they weighed more than her entire body.

Alexia was with you, sitting in the chair beside the exam table, arms crossed like she already sensed what was coming.

“Sunny,” the doctor started, gently, “you’ve re-aggravated the ligament. It’s not a tear, but… we’re going to need to pause your return to play timeline. At least another four to six weeks. I’m really sorry.”

That was all it took.

The walls started closing in, the room shrinking until your vision blurred. Your chest seized up. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even think. The only thing playing in your head was that damn voice from the broadcast.

“What’s her contribution, really?”

“All flash. No consistency.”

“You can’t build a team around someone so fragile.”

You felt like you were suffocating. You didn’t even realize you’d started hyperventilating until Alexia stood up and moved in front of you, concern written across every line of her face.

“Sunny. Look at me.”

You couldn’t. You stared at the wall, trying to swallow the rising panic.

“Hey.” She gently reached for your hands, then placed one of them flat against her chest. “Right here. Match me. Just breathe with me, okay? In… and out.”

You tried.

At first it didn’t work, your body didn’t want to listen, like it had decided to betray you along with your ankle. But Alexia kept her hand over yours, her breathing slow and rhythmic.

“In…” she said, her voice low and steady. “Out.”

You clung to the sound of her voice. You focused on the rise and fall of her chest. Gradually, your lungs caught on. The shaking slowed. Your eyes welled with tears.

“There you go,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”

Once you were calm enough to actually look at her, she sat beside you on the edge of the bed, still holding your hand.

“Spill,” she said, not unkindly. “Something’s been eating at you for weeks. This… this is more than the injury.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come. They broke instead, fragile and aching.

“I saw this broadcast a few weeks ago,” you finally confessed. “Some sports anchors talking about me. One of them just… went in. Said I was useless. Said I don’t contribute. That I’m flashy but not dependable. That I can’t be trusted to stay fit.”

Alexia’s eyes darkened.

You kept going, your voice shaking. “I didn’t even want to believe it. But then I got hurt. Again. And now this. And I just keep thinking… what if they’re right? What if I’m not good enough? What if I’m wasting everyone’s time?”

Alexia didn’t speak right away. She didn’t need to. She just reached out and pulled you into her chest, wrapping her arms around you so tightly it felt like she was holding your broken pieces together with sheer will.

When she did speak, it was fierce. Steady.

“I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. Ever.”

You blinked.

“Sunny, you are not flashy. You are brilliant. You are one of the smartest players on the pitch. You see things others don’t. You scored seven goals this season before Christmas. You’ve saved our defense more times than I can count. You’ve created magic with Vicky and Patri like it’s nothing.”

She cupped your face in her hands, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Your worth is not defined by how many minutes you’re on the pitch. We don’t love you because you’re useful. We love you because you’re you. The same girl who’ll trash-talk a grown man one second and then turn around and share her last cookie with a ball kid. The same girl who plays like the ball owes her rent.”

That made you laugh. Just a little.

She smiled. “That’s more like it.”

You exhaled. Deep. Shaky. But it felt a little lighter now.

“You’re not done, Sunny. You’re just in a hard chapter. And I’m gonna be here, every day, until you believe in yourself again. Got it?”

You nodded slowly. “Got it.”

She bumped your forehead with hers.

“Good. Now let’s go ice that ankle and make the boys in the broadcast room eat their damn words.”

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

Big thanks to @seleneprince for being the English beta reader

previous chapter - Next chapter

Masterlist

Chapter Three - Seeing into the void

Studying today was hard. At first, as your teacher began the class, you thought the best thing would be to study, sake advantage of the high‑level education being part of this family can offer you for now, but you were still too overwhelmed by last night and this morning. Halfway through, you thought about going to tell your da-… Bruce, if he could let you skip your classes today.

He probably would have agreed, even though you… even though Bruce doesn’t hug you, pay attention to you, or look at you, he never refused your requests—so long as they weren’t about giving you attention.

Which is equivalent to nothing, because you don’t even speak to him when you need something. Almost every time you needed anything, if not every single time, you went through Alfred.

Sometimes you wondered if Bruce even listened to what Alfred told him, or if he just agreed to get you out of his hair. One of these days you’ll ask for something ridiculous just to test your theory.

Though, with what you now know, his attitude toward you makes sense.

In the end, you decided not to say anything because, first, it would be very odd to suddenly skip classes; you already had Tim worried about you after last night, and you didn’t want to worsen his strange behavior. And second, you thought that once your last class ended, you’d feel more relieved.

But you didn’t.

Somehow—though you have no idea how—you made it through today’s lessons until you reached your knitting workshop.

You stared at the balls of yarn in front of you with no enthusiasm. Yarn is the only thing you know that truly belongs to you in this house; neither your family nor your place in this mansion are yours. You never should’ve been here in the first place.

Your room is empty because you wanted to save space for the gifts you hoped they’d give you…after all, you have like five siblings! You have five… five people who live so close to you… and the rest… and… You don't know how to refer to such a large family where you steal someone's place.

Part of you is relieved those spaces remain vacant, if they’d given you anything, you’d feel it didn’t belong to you.

Instead, there are only your basic things, plus decorations, cushions, and blankets you made yourself from yarn you knitted. Some were ugly, but you still loved them. And now, you love them even more, because they’re the only things truly yours in this empty mansion.

Despite that, you haven't started knitting, you haven't picked up the needles, you've already received instructions from your teacher, but you don't have the spirit to start anything.

—Sweetheart, is something wrong?— she asked, noticing your distant gaze. You felt a slight chill run through you when her voice pulled you from your trance. — No… It’s just me… — You didn’t know what to say. Mrs. Sophia had always been so kind to you, and you wanted to tell her everything. But you’d decided not to tell anyone… and now you didn’t know who to trust. What if she was only nice because of the money Mr. Bruce paid her? — We can end the class now, if you’d like. — Her tone was gentle. She approached, as if to place her hand on your shoulder, but stopped herself and lowered her arm. “Today’s work will be your homework, okay?”

Honestly, you have no energy to continue—even though this was your favorite workshop, the one you’d requested yourself. — I’d really appreciate that… — you managed your best smile.

A few minutes later, the room was empty.

You walked through the hallways, feeling even more distant because of what you’d discovered. You had to set a plan in motion to escape this place, and erase every trace proving you’d ever been a Wayne, before the Joker learned of your existence, if he doesn’t already know and hasn’t used that information against you.

You have five years, counting this one, to plan how to flee a clown with a record for breaking out of a maximum‑security prison, and to wipe your identity from the world’s greatest detective.

You returned to your room, left your unfinished assignments from every class on your desk, and instead of beginning them as you normally would, you went straight to look under your bed for the three comics.

Thank goodness Alfred hadn’t tidied up today; with everything that happened, you’d forgotten to hide your daily pill, You saved yourself that trouble and the trouble of explaining everything.

You sat on the bed holding the two comics. Having them back in your hands and in front of you made your body feel heavy and your breathing quicken, you hadn’t touched these comics since before you discovered Tim’s double life.

You took your small Bluey wool plush and squeezed it, breathing as Tim had taught you to the night before.

You have to calm down. You can't panic every time you see the future on some pages. Your crisis will be worse if you let what you saw there happen.

Your heart steadies as air fills your lungs more normally. The poor blue plush in your hands is a little damaged by the force of your grip, you’re sure your nails could have pierced the fabric.

You’ll fix it later. For now, your priority is to think about what you’ll do with your life in the years you have left to plan.

What would someone as brilliant as Bruce or Tim do in your situation?

This isn’t a case, unless you consider your escape and disappearance one.

Well, the first thing you’d do if you were a vigilante hunting a criminal would be… investigate. Gather information.

Exactly. First, you’d compile every detail from the comics you thought might be useful, and with that, you’d figure out your best options for getting away.

Alfred was slightly surprised.

— Since class began, I’ve noticed her distant. I should check that her health is all right… though perhaps she didn’t sleep well. — all your teachers told him. It wasn’t a big deal, until Mrs. Sophia, your favorite teacher from your favorite workshop, said the same thing as she bade him goodbye, leaving much earlier than usual.

He, more than anyone, knew you were behaving out of the ordinary. He wanted to ask young Tim what happened last night, but Tim had already rushed off to solve the case Bruce assigned him. Although Alfred already knew that your strange behavior had begun long before Tim accompanied you to bed, after all, you’d skipped lunch and taken refuge in your room hours earlier.

Dinner’s aroma began to fill the kitchen. Alfred silently replayed your reaction when Tim led you into the study and how you spent the rest of the day isolated. He granted you the space you needed, though it weighed on him to see you so alone.

He rested a hand on the phone, waiting for the pot to start boiling, intending to call Tim just to ask if anything else had happened… but in that moment he received a message from Tim: reserve a plate for dinner and “I'll be there in a while.”

Alfred smiled softly to himself. At least you wouldn’t be alone with him and Damian. Even if you appreciate your silence, a little company never hurts.

He called young Damian, who’d returned from the academy a while ago, then welcomed Tim back, and finally came for you. Knowing you, You yourself would tell him what was happening to you.

When you opened the door to your room, despite looking clearly tired and somewhat sad, you seemed a little more determined. The smile you gave him when he saw him, though forced, had a hint of sincerity. Although he was somewhat relieved that you seemed better than you had this morning, a part of him knew something wasn't right with you.

—Young lady, has it been your stomach or your spirits that decided to go on strike today?— You shook your head, your signature smile still in place—so different from Bruce’s, yet one he cherished like a child’s.

— I’m sorry, Alfred… it’s just that today…— The sentence was left unfinished, just like your energy after investigating. You didn't want to cause more problems. You had enough with Tim. You didn't want to worry the only one who had the decency to look at you in this family.

You gathered information and jotted it down on the back of your knitting-pattern notebook: the things you noticed at first glance—like the Joker’s plan, the day and how he carried out the kidnapping. The location. Simple details, instead of digging deeper or analyzing everything thoroughly. You noticed that, in part, Mr. Wayne seemed a little worried when Serelith first came into their lives. Perhaps you could worry him as a person rather than a family member. It wasn't the best, but you could understand.

—You don’t need to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, however, you do need to eat some real food at least.

Alfred's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You laughed and walked beside Alfred toward the table. You thought it best to give him an excuse for your attitude. Even if Alfred wasn't the type of person to pressure you, that strange tension in the air that had been there since yesterday might disappear.

If you were a night watchman… What lie would you tell? Maybe something that's already happened before?

— The truth is… some kids at the store recognized me from an old photo. — It was a harmless lie, no one had actually recognized you, not even the clerk. But Alfred hadn’t gone into the store with you, so he wouldn’t know the truth.

— Is that so? — he asked, now giving you his full attention. — Yeah… They… They… — you stammered nervously, thinking about how to continue. Which Alfred interpreted as you having trouble saying what happened. — It’s okay — he tried to comfort you, placing his hand on your back, though it had the opposite effect.

— They told me I was my mother’s murderer! — you suddenly blurted out. It was the most logical thing you could come up with. You remembered a few times when some people had blamed you for your mother’s death… Serelith’s mother. It hurt you, but not so much now, although for some reason it's been a while since you heard those hurtful words from others. It's not like you went out much, but still…

Alfred sighed, partly relieved that you had told him what happened on your own. He knew how sad you got whenever someone brought up her death. The first time he had taken you out had been some time after a teacher posted a picture with you, bragging about teaching a Wayne. The image spread quickly, making you recognizable. He still winced at the memory of how you cried that day after a fan of your mother insulted you.

He stopped for a few moments. Aware that you were close enough to the main dining room for both Damian and Tim to have heard your conversation. He just hoped they wouldn’t react the way young Todd did years ago. Although he wouldn't mind if the kid who insulted you was taught a lesson. Alfred looked at you, knowing there was more to the story, something you were hiding—but for now, what you’d told him would be enough.

— Young one, whatever anyone says about you, adult or child, it will never change who you are. — he consoled you, still with his hand on your back. You stayed silent for a few seconds, his words sinking deeper than you expected them to. You reflected for a moment, it was true, what others said didn’t change anything about you—and before Alfred could react, you bolted down the hallway toward your father’s office.

— Give me a second and I’ll go to dinner! — you shouted excitedly, as Alfred watched you with a smile, seeing you return to your usual energy.

Maybe, just maybe, even with everything you saw. The comics, what you know, it might not be who you are, you're not his family, you're not Serelith, you're not capable enough to be another vigilante, but… Maybe, just maybe he cares enough for you, at least he'd keep you in a safe place. He'd look after you like any other normal civilian.

The little bit of hope you had from that short scene in the comics grew stronger thanks to Alfred’s words, even if they said all those things. It wouldn’t change the small but important things Mr. Wayne had done for you.

If he didn’t care, if you didn’t matter, he wouldn’t take care of you, right? He wouldn’t accept everything you say or even pay your tutors, would he? He might look at you even if not as family, just… just as a human…

— Dick, no. We’ve already talked about this. — Bruce, please.

You stop in front of his office, listening to an argument—and you clearly hear your father’s voice. — It’s what’s best for her. — For her or for you? It’s been so long—we even forgot she existed, for God’s sake! If Tim hadn’t called me this afternoon, I wouldn’t think of her at all…

Ouch….was that Dick? Wait, had they forgotten you? Did you matter so little?. You lean against the wall, curiosity and fear curling up inside you as you listen to what they’re arguing about. — He took a risk, he didn’t even know that she… — That she what? What fault does a little girl have? Why does she deserve this treatment? — Because she’s the reason Avery is dead!

Your heart stops cold. You feel your temperature spike… Avery was the name of…of Serelith’s mother, your supposed mother. Were they talking about you? You should have known when he mentioned Tim… You listen more intently, though your vision is blurring.

— But we could try; maybe she turns out different, maybe with enough effort we can change her… — She’ll never change, Dick.

Your legs start to tremble. Are you mishearing them? Maybe not… they aren’t talking about you—just a coincidence… A coincidence that they mention how Avery died on the day you were born, Serelith’s day… Why is your body sweating so much? And why do you feel so nauseous? Is it because you haven’t been eating properly? — If we don’t try… — It’s not safe, it never will be. It’s the best for everyone, and for her. It’s better if we don’t even look at her, if we treat her like she's been dead since the day she was born.

Move. You try to move, but everything… everything you see turns into black spots.

You can’t afford to doubt now. That's what you told yourself, lying down without sheets and with your legs elevated on some pillows, waking up in your room, with Tim and Damian, both looking worried, and giving each other death glares. Meanwhile, in the distance, you heard two voices.

— Vasovagal syncope, fainting from stress. Aggravated by poor nutrition. It’s harmless, but we should call Dr. Leslie, just in case. — Thank God… When I found her lying in the hallway, I thought…

You cover your ears with your hands, your brow furrowed with stress, you don’t want to hear anything more from Dick or anyone… You just… you just want to plan how to leave…

As you try to silence the noise, ignoring it in your head, you think about what you could do with your life. You should study twice as hard, maybe get a scholarship at some university and then leave the city, no, the country, the farther from that crazy clown the better. You’ll open a small craft shop and live like a civilian, free of the Wayne name. When Serelith appears, it would be all you could do to be removed from the family. You had no idea what kind of paperwork you'd have to do; you just knew you couldn't afford to keep falling like this, even with Alfred's words still on your mind.

At least now you’re free of doubts above all else. You’re going to push yourself to fulfill what Mr. Wayne said: not only not to be seen by the Joker, not to be looked at as a Wayne daughter, but not to be seen by anyone. As if you were dead.

Three weeks weren’t enough for me, aaaaaaaaah. On the other hand, changing the update schedule to Saturdays, Eastern South America Time (UTC-5), was a good idea for my rhythm. For now, updates every three weeks will continue.

I think some tags might be wrong... I apologize for that.

With this, we can more or less say that we’re closing the reader’s arc, taking it all in. In the next chapters, there will probably be more time skips and more focus on the other members of the Batfam. I wanted to wrap this up first. I hope it turned out better than I think it did. 😔

Anyway, thank you again for the lovely messages you leave on each chapter. Even if I don’t reply to all of them or take until the next update to respond, please know that I really appreciate them and I read each and every one of you. Have a great da

Taglist

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger @mourart7 @yhin-gg @cssammyyarts @pearlyribbons @ottjhe @devils-blackrose @mindscape123 @rad4bean @cruzerforce4256 @allycat4458 @passingthroughlegume @bunbunbread @aaaashiiii @wizzerreblogs @ratterpatter @cluelessteam @kore-of-the-underworld @simpingpandas @rosy-myhouse34 @shqyou @kitkatq05 @charlenexoxo1 @astrid-ash @nisararelle @teamintwithice @bluepanda08 @k-anaru @totired0-0 @niamcarlin ​ @iwannaflyaway @overlyobsessivefangirl @mikusamsan @wishiwaswritingrn @random4137 @mallowryblog @darkmoka @starslightzz @hearts4mica @justonerandomreader @zhentheraven @lystaaae @oliviaewl @cynniee @burningkittenprince @gurllss @exactlynumberonekryptonite @jungkooks-tiny-waist @bellethesleepypotato @noclue-0 @chiara-bell @senhoritaapple @bronermalls @randomlyappearingartist @angwlart @classicsimpforaaronwarner @reblogs-posts @welpthisisboring @saturdayrj @yuyuzi-ling

[doberbutts]

When TERFs moan about chopping off healthy parts, I just think about how technically my top surgery also doubled as breast cancer intervention because I found a lump as I was preparing to undergo surgery and the amount of [ultimately benign] tumors they found in the tissue I had removed would still have warranted fairly dramatic surgery.

I didn't even know I had tumors until I was part of the way through the process of chopping them off anyway. "Healthy"? Or did I find and prevent the early stages of cancer by doing so in the first place?

[yeoldenews]

I'm not sure if you'll know the answer to this, but for the regency era, how common are contractions in letters and speech? Not the "Wm." for William kind, but your standard "couldn't," "wouldn't" and "shouldn't?" Thanks!

All common English contractions did exist by the Regency period. However, there is very limited period documentation or scholarly research as to whether they were viewed as "proper" English or not at the time.

Contractions were first used in the English language sometime in the last half of the 16th century, and by the late 17th and early 18th centuries were approaching what most people today would probably consider over-use.

By the time the Regency era rolled around however, many older uses of contractions had already fallen, or were in the midst of falling, out of favor. 'Tis, 'twas, ne'er, e'er, e'en, tho', thro', etc., were mostly confined to poetry by the early 19th century (though 'tis seems to have hung on a little bit longer than the others).

The last half of the 18th century had also already seen the almost complete disappearance of the most common use of English contractions in the 17th and early 18th centuries - using 'd in place of -ed - as seen here in an example from the 1736...

The frequency of use of contractions in the Regency period specifically, seems to have varied greatly from person to person. Jane Austen herself used very few contractions in her novels compared to some of her contemporaries. Couldn't, wouldn't and shouldn't do not appear at all in Pride & Prejudice, Sense & Sensibility or Emma, and all other contractions were used very sparingly.

In P&P, I counted one appearance of "I'm", one of "you'll", one "won't", two "can't"s, three "shan't"s and six "don't"s.

I compared this to Evelina, by Frances Burney (published in 1778) which (just in Volume One) includes: 14 occurrences of can't, 4 of won't, 35 of don't (vs only 15 of 'do not') and 11 of shan't (3 spelled shan't and 8 sha'n't).

Though couldn't, wouldn't and shouldn't all appear in Evelina as well (in an archaic forms which included a space between the modal verb and n't: could n't, would n't, should n't), I did notice they are used much more by lower class characters than by upper.

There seems to be some evidence that negative contractions (those ending in n't) began to be considered improper English in the latter half of the 18th century, and subsequently generally fell out of favor with the upper classes.

The Grammatical Wreath... by Alexander Bicknell, published in 1790, specifically cautions against using contractions in correspondence with social superiors.

"And be careful in not omitting any letter belonging to the words you write; as, I've, can't, don't, shou'd, wou'd, &c. instead of I have, cannot, do not, should, would; for such contractions not only appear disrespectful and too familiar, but discover ignorance and impudence."

This very interesting paper (which you can view in full if you have a free JSTOR account) analyzes the grammatical trends found through 50 years (1730s-1780s) of the correspondence of writer Elizabeth Montagu. The author marked a significant falloff in the use of negative contracted modal and auxiliary verbs over the course of Montagu's letters. In the 1730s Montagu used un-contracted negatives 62% of the time and contracted 38%, but by the 1780s Montagu used no contacted negatives at all.

Granted these are only the letters of a single person and, as the author notes, could have many other explanations (age, change in social class, familiarity with the correspondent, etc.), it does seem to reflect what I've personally observed in writing from this period.

So the answer to your question is - yes, contractions existed and yes, they were in fairly common use - with the asterisk that how they were viewed by society is not terribly well documented for the Regency period.

So I'd personally say feel free to use them in any Regency era stories you may be writing, but do so sparingly with very proper or upper class characters.

If you're aiming for very authentic period flavor, you could also try throwing in some contractions that have fallen out of use over the past two centuries - shan't, mustn't, needn't, mayn't, etc. I'd especially recommend using 'shan't' in place of 'shouldn't' where appropriate, and also remembering that if you're using 'can not' instead of 'can't' it is always one word - cannot.

One thing that is period authentic, but I won't personally recommend to any Regency era writers (unless you want to throw some meta commentary on the chaos that is the English language into an epistolary) - is that no one really agreed where to put the apostrophe in wouldn't/couldn't/shouldn't until well into the 19th century. It's very common to see the n't separate as in the examples from Evelina, but I've also seen wou'd'n't, would'nt, wou'd'nt, etc. etc. etc., sometimes multiple different ways within a single paragraph.

Hope some of that was helpful. I had fun digging into it!

[kxsagi]

Just read the jealousy request and if requests are still open would you be able to do a request where the so!reader is talking to isagi post NEL about his harem (not actually jealous but teasing him about how he’s shipped with everyone in bllk) maybe some of the other members like bachira and hiori join in just to stir the pot lol

“𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐱 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩”

a/n: YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I LOVE THIS

you weren’t jealous. not even a little bit. but when your boyfriend trended for the fifth time that month under hashtags like “#rinsagi,” “#isagireo,” and god forbid “#kaisagi supremacy,” something in your soul snapped a little. 

you flopped face-first into the couch and groaned, “yoichi, why does everyone in blue lock want to kiss you?” 

he blinked, glancing over his shoulder with the most oblivious puppy eyes you’d ever seen. “huh? what do you mean?” 

you sat up, whipped your phone around, and shoved it in his face. “this, romeo. you're being shipped harder than amazon prime.” 

“… wait. is that a fanart of me and sae?!” 

“yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “and that one? you’re holding hands with kaiser while bachira cries in the background like a rejected ex.” 

“i wasn't even looking at him in that match!!” 

too late. the internet had already drawn the fanfics, made the edits, and assigned you the role of “tragic ex-girlfriend who doesn't understand his true connection with rin itoshi.” 

just as isagi opened his mouth to defend himself, your apartment door flung open like someone owed rent. 

“HEYYY~” bachira beamed, dramatically stepping in with hiori right behind him. “did someone say isagi's harem?” 

“no one said that,” isagi muttered. 

“she did,” hiori said helpfully, pointing at you. “she’s jealous. it’s kinda cute.” 

“i’m not jealous,” you retorted, grabbing a throw pillow and launching it across the room like a grenade. “i’m just confused why everyone wants a piece of my man when he literally says things like ‘i wanna devour you’ mid-game like some villain in a shounen.” 

“hey!” isagi frowned. “that was cool.” 

“bro,” bachira said, flopping onto the floor. “you literally looked kaiser in the eye and said ‘i’ll make you mine.’ mine, yoichi. do you know how gay that sounds?” 

“competitive gay,” hiori added, nodding sagely. “it’s different.” 

you stared at your boyfriend who was now red from the neck up. “do i need to start carrying around a sign that says ‘he has a girlfriend’ or…” 

“probably,” hiori said. 

“absolutely,” bachira agreed. “i’ve seen the tiktoks. they call you a ‘plot device’ now.” 

“… what the hell does that even mean?!” 

“means you’re in the way of true love,” bachira whispered dramatically, placing a hand on your shoulder. “the love between isagi and barou, who only growled at him three times last match instead of four.” 

“okay, first of all,” isagi cut in, voice breaking from sheer panic, “barou literally tried to fight me–” 

“yes,” hiori sighed. “so romantic.” 

you were crying laughing now, wheezing into the couch cushions as isagi sat there, betrayed by everyone he once loved. he threw his hands in the air, finally giving up. 

“fine. whatever. i’ll just go marry kaiser and let the fandom be happy.” 

bachira perked up. “can i be your maid of honor?” 

“you’re not helping!” 

“yoichi,” you said sweetly, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. “just tell the world you love me.” 

“i do love you!” 

“not convincingly enough if rin and reo are still thirst-posting about you in the comment sections.” 

bachira gasped. “reo does comment a lot under your photos…” 

hiori nodded. “usually heart eyes. or a rose emoji.” 

“… i need to go lie down,” isagi muttered. 

you reached out and patted his thigh. “it’s okay, babe. i’ll protect you from your boyfriends.” 

“they’re not my boyfriends!!” 

somewhere in the distance, your phone buzzed with a notification. 

new tweet: 

“@kaisermichaelofficial: he’s mine. 🫦 #isagiser #kaisagi #yoichilicious” 

you held the phone up again, smirking. isagi stared at it. then stared at the ceiling. 

“i hate it here.” 

bachira threw an arm around him. “don’t worry, yoichi. we all love you. too much.” 

hiori patted his back like he was a war veteran. “may your next goal be less gay.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [10] - Damage Control

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Self-doubt can appear out of nowhere.

Warnings: Explicit language, yearning, mentions of sexual acts.

Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist

Contrary to popular belief, falling in love with one’s boss made life harder, not easier.

You kept seeing him at work, you lost your focus whenever you talked to him –or he walked by you, for that matter— and he was the main character of your dreams every night.

“Birdie, are you awake?”

Like now.

The daze of sleep disappeared, pulling you out of the pleasant dream and you let out a whine, burying your face into the pillow.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Caleb opened the door and stepped in, then sat by the edge of the bed. “Morning sunshine.”

You rolled onto your back, rubbing at your eyes before you dropped them. “I was dreaming about Bucky.”

“Like a sexy dream?”

You hummed. “It was basically a black and white movie.”

“Like a sexy black and white movie?”

“We were in a house,” you muttered. “It had a garden outside, I was wearing this vintage dress, and baking a pie—”

“So, not a sexy dream.”

“I don’t even know how to bake a pie.” You yawned, looking up at the ceiling with a frown. “And then he walked into the kitchen and kissed me, and asked where the kids were—actually, you know what? Now that I think about it; I feel like it was an episode of I Love Lucy.”

“Your subconscious is really not original.”

“I think I was wearing pearls or something,” you mused, making Caleb tilt his head.

“So you mixed a bunch of vintage movies together and decided that was the way to go?”

“To repeat, I don’t know how to bake a pie,” you insisted. “Obviously I didn’t dec—”

“Did you tell her yet?” Kelsey leaned on the doorframe with a cup of coffee in her hand and you looked between her and Caleb.

“Tell me what?”

Caleb paused for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Okay, first of all,” he said. “As Bucky’s communications director, I assure you that we can easily spin this.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you pulled yourself up into a sitting position, your breathing getting faster.

“Spin what?”

“In fact, I’m confident that if we focus on offense, we won’t even have to go that hard into defense—”

“Caleb,” you cut him off. “Spin what?”

He heaved a sigh, then pulled out his phone, touched the screen and turned it to you.

Shit.

Oh shit.

It was a blurry picture of you and Bucky in that pub last night, in one of those gossip accounts.

“Okay, before you panic,” Caleb said while you stared at the phone with wide eyes, trying to find your breath. “The fact that he has a girlfriend plays right into our hand, I’ve already planned the—nope, don’t check the comments.” He snatched the phone out of your hand. “Birdie, listen to me.”

“…I’ll have to resign.”

“Literally what the fuck did I just say about panicking?” Caleb asked while Kelsey stifled a laugh.

“Caleb already came up with a plan and sent it everywhere. We’re working on it.”

 You blinked back the tears, wiping at your eyes. “Um…”

“And for the first time, you should be glad that Bucky is dating Hazel,” Caleb said. “I just talked to Bucky, and apparently Hazel already called him because she saw this as well, and decided to visit Bucky sometime this week because she missed him, and so that they can join that gala thing together.”

“And she wants to make sure she still has him,” Kelsey muttered and took a sip of her coffee and you shook your head.

“No no, guys you don’t understand—”

“I think I understand it better than you,” Caleb said. “It was a good call to put that file on the table.”

You frowned, trying to focus. “What?”

Caleb zoomed in the picture. “There’s a file. On the table.”

“I took it to my parents’ place just in case I could work on—”

“Nope,” Caleb said. “You were trying to work on two bills at the same time, you were feeling very overwhelmed because a lot of people want you on their team and this is literally your first month in the Congress, so Bucky, being a very attentive boss, had to insist on taking you out so that you could work on it outside the office. As the file on the table suggests. There is no kiss, you don’t even hold hands, there is literally no foundation to those accusations other than some blurry picture of two people who have made waves in politics enough to intimidate people. And now drumroll please, for the offense.”

“Caleb—”

“This is a terrible smear campaign not only on Congressman Barnes, who by the way, is in a committed relationship with Miss Brooks, but also on Mr. Drexel—”

“My father would never agree to get dragged into this.”

“Tough shit, I am dragging him into this to save you,” Caleb said. “But also on Mr. Drexel, who has served this country as a consultant for decades working with multiple cabinets. It’s at best tabloid gossip, at worst a planned attack that is designed to use the first woman the tabloids saw around Mr. Barnes, who has maintained a professional relationship with him throughout his campaign and is deeply disturbed by these rumors. Too long didn’t read; the only crime these two have is that they’re both fucking hot, there’s a file on the table, bitch are you blind?”

 “He’s good, isn’t he?” Kelsey asked with a grin while Caleb took a bow like an actor on stage while you gawked at him.

“And people will believe that?”

“Not all of them obviously, but most will believe that as long as he’s dating Hazel, and there’s no picture of a kiss between you and him,” Caleb said. “The moment a picture like that comes out, we are gonna be fucked.”

You shook your head fervently. “There’s no picture like that because me and Bucky have never kissed.”

“When you do, please do it inside until I figure out how to work that angle.”

“Caleb,” you said warningly and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on, it will happen one day,” he said. “And hopefully by then, I’ll have found an idea how to use it in our benefit.”

“Can we focus on this?” you asked, motioning at the phone and Caleb shrugged.

“What’s there to focus? I already put out the statement, by now everyone in the Congress and their mothers read it.”

“You did all that in…?”

“An hour.”

“Jesus, you are good.” You took a look at your phone to check whether your father had called you or texted you, but he hadn’t.

“This is weird,” you muttered and ran a hand over your face. “Are you sure that will work?”

“Like I said. As long as there’s no picture of a kiss or anything to suggest that you two are fucking, we can spin it and even work it for our benefit.”

You took a shaky breath, then slipped a little in the bed, panic still pounding in your chest.

“I need to see Bucky—”

“You’re not going to see Bucky on a Sunday, the day after the rumor mill started,” Kelsey said. “No way. And if he’s smart, he will be on his way to New York right now to bring Hazel here on Monday so maybe it’s not the best idea to call him either. Or text him. Or do anything that might make Hazel think these rumors are true in case she’s with him.”

Jealousy twisted your gut and you bit inside your cheek, then nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “That makes sense I guess.”

“Great.” Caleb slapped his knees and got up. “Now, get dressed.”

“Why?”

“We found a great brunch spot,” Kelsey said while Caleb reached out to grab Blinky from your nightstand. “We’re going there.”

“I don’t think it’s the best idea for me to—”

“You’re not going into hiding because there’s nothing to hide,” Caleb said and put Blinky in your lap. “Well, I doubt we’re telling his girlfriend he changed cities just to get you your childhood plushie back so we’re hiding that, but you know. Other than that.”

You pursed your lips, playing with Blinky’s tail.

“Come on Birdie,” Kelsey said. “I’m giving you half an hour, then we’re going to brunch. I’m fucking starving!”

She and Caleb left your room and closed the door behind them, and you let out a breath, then looked down at Blinky.

“Well,” you said. “We’re in so much trouble.”

                                         *

Your whole Sunday was spent with convincing multiple people that there was nothing going on between you and Bucky. Perhaps the strangest part was that instead of calling you, your father had your mother call you and ask whether there was any truth to these rumors, and you had to swear on your grandmother’s grave.

Knowing that you were on speaker.

Well, whatever it was, it had worked. You didn’t think your father was very happy about this but at least for now, it looked like his approach was to watch it and analyze before interfering.

You had answered Bucky’s “Are we okay?” text with a curt “Tomorrow” and much to your surprise, he hadn’t insisted and instead let you spend your Sunday without also worrying about that part of the story.

Although, you had a feeling that Sarah had something to do with it.

And now that it was Monday morning and you were walking past the security, anxiety was heavy enough to tremble your hands as you held up your ID pass, then entered the hallway.

Okay.

It was going to be fine.

“Hey, Hurricane!”

I want to go back home.

You looked over your shoulder and tried to smile at Lucas. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “I would ask you how your weekend was, but I have a pretty good idea.”

You ran a hand over your face. “Trust me, you have no idea.”

He gave you an apologetic look as you both turned the corner. “How are you holding up?”

Well, this was a good sign.

“Uh…” you trailed off. “Quite shaken, to be honest.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I’ve been alone with Gray more times than I could count, and no one blinked twice. It’s just because of Barnes and his whole thing, not you.”

You frowned, ready to jump to Bucky’s defense. “His whole thing?”

“Yeah, the whole tall dark handsome guy with tortured but mysterious past?”

“I’ll make sure to let him know you find him handsome.” You grinned. “And his past is not exactly mysterious, HYDRA files are out there.”

“You know what I mean.”

You snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I guess,” you muttered. “Obviously there’s nothing there but I’m not sure people—”

“Don’t worry about it, no one here bought that shit.”

I will buy Caleb a month’s worth of coffee and also name my firstborn after him.

You raised your brows and stopped walking to look at him better. “No one?”

“No one with a brain,” he corrected himself, making you smile. “Come on. You’re pretty, he has a certain charm, people will talk. No matter how good you are at your job.”

You tilted your head, your smile growing bigger.

“Thanks,” you said. “I appreciate it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky entering the hallway as well, talking to a congressman but he stopped dead in his tracks, then turned to the congressman, pretending to listen to him with a frown even though you knew very well that he was watching you. Your heartbeat got faster and you took a deep breath, trying to focus on Lucas who ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “And it would be stupid, you know? Like as far as I’ve seen, you’re too smart for that.”

You forced a laugh. “Way too smart.”

“Not to mention, you probably have uh—have a boyfriend right?”

Bucky’s whole body stiffened, but the only clue any observer would have noticed was the way his jaw clenched.

Which, you were pretty sure that no one noticed but you.

“I actually just got out of a very long relationship,” you said, stealing a look at Bucky before smiling at Lucas. “Hey, you know what? I just remembered it was my turn to get coffee today and Kelsey needs her coffee so I need to get to the cafeteria. See you around?”

“Uh, sure!” he said as you started walking. “Hey, we still need to do the—”

“The report, working on it!” you called out and turned the corner, then let out a breath and leaned back to the wall.

Alright.

This was ridiculous.

It was a stupid rumor, and no matter how much you wanted Bucky, he still had a girlfriend.

A girlfriend who was coming by sometime this week.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to calm down before you wiped the sweat off your forehead, then started making your way to the cafeteria. You went down the stairs and turned a corner but as soon as you did, someone grabbed your arm and pulled you into the nearest room, covering your mouth to cut off your scream.

It was only when the door closed shut that you realized who it was.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, panic still pounding in your head. “Bucky, I swear to God if someone saw—”

“That corner is a blind spot.”

You blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“The cameras don’t see that corner and here, so no one will know.”

You took a look at the supply closet you were in, trying to pull your thoughts together before you looked up at his stupidly handsome face.

“And why—why are we in a supply closet?”

“Did I or did I not say he wanted you?” he asked, pointing at the door that led outside and you raised your brows.

“Huh?”

“That guy. Lucas.”

“I feel like we have more important things to talk about rather than someone asking me out.”

“So you do accept he was asking you out?”

“We’re just going to ignore the elephant in the supply closet then? Alright, great.”

“Birdie, he was trying to find out if you had a boyfriend because he—”

“How was your weekend?” you cut him off. “Mine was a fucking disaster, thank you for asking.”

A look of guilt flashed across his face, his eyes darting over your face.

“…Sorry.”

You scoffed a breath from your nose, crossing your arms over your chest.

“How was it, really?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Bad,” you said. “Even my mom called, and I’m pretty sure my father was listening to every word I said. And you?”

“I was going to come and see you—”

“Terrible idea.”

“And then I texted you and you said tomorrow.”

You offered him a small smile. “Ah, thank you for listening to me.”

“Well to be honest, I was going to come anyway.”

“Of course.”

“I was losing my mind,” he insisted. “But uh, Sarah said I should give you your space, and she’s usually right about everything, so…”

Called it.

“And Hazel?”

He paused for a moment.

“She’s coming today, actually,” he said. “And she’ll stay until that gala nonsense.”

You tried to ignore the bitter taste at the back of your throat and nodded your head.

“That’s good. And like, in terms of optics—”

“Birdie, are we okay?” he cut you off as if he couldn’t keep it in anymore and you licked your lips.

“Depends,” you said. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t care about rumors, you know that.”

“You can’t say it didn’t bother you.”

“I honestly don’t give a—I don’t care.” He stopped himself from cursing and you bit back a smile.

“Nobody would blame you if you did,” you said. “If Caleb didn’t spin it, it could’ve affected your votes, the campaign next term, not to mention your work in here.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted. “I just…”

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly like he was nervous all of a sudden, like he couldn’t get the words out. This wasn’t the first time you were seeing this, whenever Bucky needed to talk about his feelings he either faltered or shut down, but every single time he got that kicked puppy look on his face; brows pinched together, lips turned downwards in the most kissable way, his eyes cast down and his gaze turning distant.

It took everything in you not to pull him to yourself and kiss him just to make sure he would never look that sad or lost again.

“I need you to be okay,” he ended up saying quietly, still looking at the floor instead of your face. “For—” He gestured between you. “For us to be okay.”

Oh you had to get out of here before you started taking your clothes off.

Or got on your knees.

Or got on your knees while taking your clothes off.

“We’re okay,” you managed to breathe out, forcing yourself to focus. “We’re totally okay if you’re okay.”

He gave you a curt nod, biting inside his cheek. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” you said and repressed a smile. “And he wasn’t asking me out.”

That managed to pull him out of that shell he was retrieving into, making his head snap up.

“He was!” he said while you let out a laugh and opened the door to step outside with him following you. “No, Birdie I’m telling you—”

“He was just curious I’m sure,” you said, still grinning and he let out a groan, awakening those butterflies in your stomach again.

“He was fishing for information.”

You made a face. “Was he though?”

“Yes because he—where are we going?”

“We’re going to get coffee,” you said as you made your way to the cafeteria. “I feel like I’m going to need a lot of it today.”

                                      *

The rest of the day was relatively better. Apparently, Caleb’s approach to that whole scandal had worked on most people but he had warned you that you had to be careful in the following day not to do anything to fuel any more of that fire.

Which was fine.

It wasn’t like Bucky was asking you out to go to pubs anyway.

“Kels?” you asked without looking up from your computer. “Can you send me the report we had on the uh— on the I think the first week of last month, with the mental health resources for veterans?”

Kelsey tilted her head. “Weren’t you working on the clean energy bill with Mr. Rebound?”

You lifted your head to stare at her. “Mr. what now?”

“Mr. Rebound,” Kelsey said. “Because, you know, you need to get out there but he’s obviously not gonna be the one who get into a relationship with. He’s just a guy you sleep with a couple of times and then find someone else.”

You stole a look at Bucky’s closed door, then turned to her and grabbed the small fox figure on your desk.

“Okay, many things wrong with that theory,” you said, turning it in your hands. “First of all, I literally just got out of a relationship.”

“Yeah I know. Five Minutes Comma Max.”

“Well it—okay, that one is good,” you said with a huff of laughter. “Anyways, even if I were looking for a rebound, it wouldn’t be someone from work. I literally work with the guy.”

A smirk curled Kelsey’s lips and she jerked her head in the direction of Bucky’s office, and you pointed at her with the figure.

“Kelsey.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s true love,” she said, clutching at her chest dramatically and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s just different.”

Kelsey looked around the office, then pushed her chair back to come sit on your desk.

“Well you can keep yourself busy while…” she trailed off and stole a look at Bucky’s closed door before turning to you. “You know.”

You shook your head while she crossed her legs, leaning forward so that you could hear her murmur.

“Did I tell you she’s coming here for lunch?”

“Hazel?” you whispered and she nodded.

“Mm hm.”

Damn it.

Bucky had told you Hazel was coming today, but you had just assumed she was coming to the city and not the goddamn building you were in. You checked the time to see it was near lunch, and huffed out a breath.

“I cannot be here when she drops by,” you said. “She already wanted me fired before, and I don’t want to push my luck.”

“Bucky would never fire you.”

“I’m still not risking it,” you said. “I’ll just go to the bathroom and be right back, and then we can go to lunch? There’s no way we’ll be having lunch at the same place anyway.”

“You do realize you’ll have to see her at the gala?”

“That’s a problem for the future me, be right back,” you said and walked out of the office to go into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

While you were washing your hands, you were also trying to come up with excuses to skip the gala but none seemed convincing enough. It was going to be an important event so Bucky was going to want you there even if Hazel didn’t.

Maybe it would be crowded enough that you could avoid both of them for the whole night.

You finished washing your hands and went to the hand dryer but as soon as you took a step, the bathroom door opened, making you turn your head out of habit.

Fuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck…

Hazel seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see her, and you offered her a small smile just because you didn’t know what the fuck you were supposed to do, then turned your attention to the hand dryer.

Okay.

You just had to walk out.

You had already smiled and acknowledged her presence, which was probably more interaction than she wanted from you, so you just had to walk out of the bathroom, go to the cafeteria and text Kelsey. You pulled your hands back from the dryer while Hazel refreshed her lipstick, her eyes on the mirror even though you knew she was paying attention to your every single movement.

Anne Boleyn worked for Catherine of Aragon for years, you can handle just walking out of the bathroom while Hazel is here.

Keep walking.

Just walking to the door, not saying anything—

But of course you had to turn around the moment you gripped the door handle: “Miss Brooks?”

Fuck.

She raised her brows as if she was taken aback by your audacity –which to be honest, you were as well— but she didn’t say anything, just looked at you in complete silence, waiting for you to say whatever you wanted to say. You could already feel the stomachache you were going to get from anxiety, but you took a deep breath and cleared your throat.

“Um, I just wanted to say—” you stammered. “I’m guessing you saw that gossip piece, and I know of course you didn’t believe it because it’s completely false, but I wanted to apologize anyway, if it…um, if I somehow crossed the line.”

The silence was not making things easy so of course your brain took it as a demand to fill it immediately.

“Because like, I can assure you everything between Mr. Barnes and I, it’s completely professional. I would never—I mean obviously also he would never—we— not that I’m referring to him and I as a unit or anything, what that piece suggested is just lies and—”

“I know it’s just lies.”

Her voice was completely calm, similar to the approach Bucky had adapted while you were freaking out at his doorstep, but unlike his, Hazel’s tone also held a condescending tinge in it. You gulped to ease the tightening in your throat, then nodded your head with a forced smile.

“Oh.”

“Obviously nothing is going on between you two.”

You shook your head fervently. “Oh, of course—”

“But it’s not from a lack of trying on your part.”

That managed to shut you up, your eyes snapping up to hers. She hadn’t even said it in a hostile way, it was phrased in such a matter-of-fact way that for a couple of seconds you just gawked at her, then managed to pull yourself together.

“Miss Brooks, I can assure you I would never do that.”

Hazel smiled at you as if she was entertained by your pitiful attempt to lie to her and you cleared your throat.

“Our relationship is completely professional—”

“If you’re gonna recite me some PR bullshit, you should just email that to my assistant,” she pointed out. “Listen, I’m not here to start a catfight, and I’m certainly not going to fight over a man, both of those are beneath me. Or any other woman. I’m not even trying to insult you, I’m just telling you that I know.”

You pursed your lips just so that you could stop the words threatening to spill from them.

“I get it,” she said and gestured at you. “You’re the pretty, starry-eyed girl and he’s…well, him. So to be honest, it would be surprising if this whole schoolgirl crush didn’t take place. Obviously it will.”

You gritted your teeth, barely noticing that you were wringing your hands to keep your calm.

“You are important to Bucky,” she said. “You’re good at what you do, and despite this whole thing, apparently you’re somehow smart…”

Fuck. You.

“But the fact that your relationship is professional is not because you’re keeping it professional,” she said. “It’s because he’s determined to ignore those cute lovesick smiles you keep throwing his way.”

Nope.

You were not going to take this bait, and you were certainly not going to react to this in any way.

“So you don’t need to worry about me,” she said with a small smile. “I don’t see you as any threat to my relationship.”

You tried to swallow the bitterness of anger at the back of your throat, and as much as you wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, what left your lips was very different.

“Have a nice day, Miss Brooks.”

With that, you pulled the door open and walked out of the bathroom, still shaking with fury.

                                            *

“I applaud your self-control because I would’ve gone full on high school bathroom fight on her, I don’t care how much money her family has.”

You rolled your eyes as you laid on the floor and Caleb filled Kelsey’s glass with wine.

“I mean,” he said, “it sounds like she kind of called you a whore.”

“A dumb whore,” Kelsey added and you pointed at her.

“Exactly!” you said. “Whore I could understand, but dumb? That’s just rude as hell.”

“Maybe you should’ve told her to ask her man why he’s throwing a fit every time Lucas so much as breathes within the perimeter,” Kelsey said with a smirk and you scoffed.

“He’s not throwing a fit.”

“Sorry, what do we call breaking a goddamn chair when Lucas asked you out?”

“And to repeat, I was in that chair.” Caleb wagged his finger in the air. “It could’ve been my fucking neck. I basically survived the Winter Soldier.”

“Oh and pulling you into a supply closet?” Kelsey asked, motioning at you and you heaved a sigh, then pulled yourself up into a sitting position, making a face when your back cracked.

“We really do need a couch.”

“What’s wrong with our pillows?” Caleb gestured at the pillows and you shook your head.

“We look like interns at a startup tech company that has an open buffet of cereals.”

“Great, now I’m craving cereal,” Caleb muttered and looked between you and Kelsey. “Do you guys think anyone tried cereal with wine?”

“Nope.”

“Let’s try it,” he said and walked to the kitchen while you let out a whine, pressing your hands on your eyes.

“Kels…”

“Listen, she does see you as a threat,” Kelsey said. “That’s why she gave you that condescending talk, but it doesn’t matter. That relationship won’t last, you know that, I know that, Sarah knows that, and most importantly, Hazel knows that.”

“I don’t know that actually.”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Max was your first serious boyfriend and all, but even you can’t be that out of the loop when it comes to relationships.”

“And yet.” You took a sip of your wine. “Guess who he’s probably fucking right now?”

“Aw, guess who he’s probably imagining while he’s fucking her right now?”

“Bucky isn’t like that,” you said. “And I doubt anyone would imagine anyone else when they have Hazel in their bed. Have you seen that woman? She’s gorgeous.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kelsey sang and you rubbed your eyes.

“Kels, I can’t…” you trailed off. “Listen, what if she has a point? I—I have feelings for him but what if he sees me as some dumb girl with a crush that he entertains just because of my job?”

“You can’t let her get to you, and that’s not how he sees you.”

“But we don’t know that, do we? If he had any feelings for me, he would break up with Hazel.”

“Just like how you broke up with Max?” she asked, making you frown. “Because we both know your feelings for him started way before your break up and to repeat, Bucky is from a different century. He’s not gonna make a move on you while he’s in a relationship, but he’s trying to find a way to get out of that relationship without that breakup hurting Hazel’s…reputation.”

You scoffed. “Her reputation?”

“People couldn’t just drop relationships back in the 40s, Birdie.”

“Well, it’s not the—”

“Did you guys decide what you’re going to wear to that gala?” Caleb asked, coming back with a bowl of dry cereal and three spoons in his hand. “I mean we’ll be working and all, but we can’t just go with our usual clothes. And I don’t have a suit.”

“I’ll help you out, Cinderella.”

Caleb sat down. “You’re an angel, Kels.”

“I have a bunch of clothes from the time Max would drag me to events,” you said. “Kels, you can borrow one of mine if you’d like.”

“Oh I’d like that very much.”

“I mean they’re not exactly gowns but they should—” you started but was cut off when your phone started vibrating, making all three of you look at the caller ID, your heart doing a happy flip in your chest before you frowned at yourself.

“Well, what do you know?” Kelsey said and took a sip of her wine. “I guess he wasn’t fucking her after all.”

“Why does Bucky hate texting?” Caleb mused and Kelsey shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably because it reminds him of telegraphs from the front or something—”

“I’ll be back,” you said as you snatched the phone and stood up while Caleb reached for the wine bottle.

“Are we doing this or not?”

“Caleb, that sounds disgusting…” Kelsey whined and you walked to your room, then closed the door behind you and answered the call, your heart beating in your ears.

 “Hey.”

“Hi.” Bucky’s voice reached your ear, filling your stomach with butterflies. “Everything alright?”

You needed to pull your shit together.

Contrary to what Kelsey and Caleb told you, Hazel did have a point. You were acting like a starry-eyed idiot with a schoolgirl crush, and you couldn’t let Bucky think that about you, not when you had been trying so hard to prove yourself.

You swallowed nervously. “Yeah. Why?”

“You uh—” He paused. “You usually see me before you leave work?”

 You pursed your lips, sitting down on your bed to grab Blinky. Of course it hadn’t escaped his notice, with or without Hazel you always made sure to see him before you left work, ever since you had started working together.

However, you had a feeling that did not help the starry-eyed thing.

“Birdie?”

Your head snapped up and you closed your eyes, then took a deep breath and opened them again.

“I was busy with the clean energy thing,” you said. “Sorry about that.”

“No I didn’t ask for you to apologize,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

You ran a hand over your face, then looked down at Blinky, biting inside your cheek.

“Um,” you said. “Did you need me for something?”

You could almost see the frown on his face as he paused on the other line for a second.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

You wiped your eyes, then heaved a sigh. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Did someone say something?”

Oh yeah, funny you should ask. Your girlfriend.

You opened your mouth to say no, but turned your head when Caleb’s voice carried into the room.

“Birdie you need to come here, I think I discovered a new type of food!”

You scrunched up your face, playing with Blinky’s tail.

“I should go,” you rasped out and he let out a shaky breath.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I told you. Nothing is wrong.”

“No, something is wrong and I’m gonna—” He paused and you could almost see him pacing restlessly, running his hands through his hair like he always did whenever he was stressed. “I need to fix whatever is making you sad.”

“That’s not your responsibility.”

“Yes it is.”

“Why?” Your voice came out harsher than you intended and he fell quiet for a moment. You pursed your lips, then scoffed.

“See? Exactly.”

“Birdie, you…” he trailed off and let out a breath. “You know why.”

You didn’t trust your voice so you just stayed silent, turning Blinky’s tail around your finger.

“Come on,” he insisted in a soft whisper. “You have to know why.”

You dragged your tongue over your teeth, trying to keep yourself calm but the words had already left your lips before you could control yourself.

“How’s Hazel?”

Silence fell upon him and you clicked your tongue, nodding to yourself.

“Good night Bucky,” you said and hung up, then let yourself fall back to the bed, your eyes still burning with tears. You sniffled, holding Blinky to your chest and kicked at the covers at the foot of the bed just so that you could get some of the frustration out of your system.

If Bucky wanted to be with her, fine.

But you weren’t going to let anyone see you as an idiot.

“Birdie!”

“Coming!” you called out and wiped your eyes, then got up from the bed and put Blinky on the pillow, then made your way to the living room to find Caleb holding up the cereal bowl which seemed to be filled with wine, grinning at you.

“I’m a genius.”

“And I’m in the mood to get drunk,” you said as you sat down next to Kelsey. “Wine cereal it is.”