#seems there's a kind of media push going on right now...

[urcoolgf]

first off, you’re the sweetest angel ever ! much love for you

for some reason it won’t let me ‘answer’ your request, but you know i’m gonna deliver—especially for you<3

also, i’m just gonna go off the drew && reader dynamic i used from your last request. hopefully that’s what you were envisioning !!

not proofread ! + i spaced this writing out SO MUCH so hopefully it still makes sense

filming ‘outer banks’ was always fun; your cast mates who had quickly become your best friends were some of the best people to be around. you were always laughing, and always comfortable.

sometimes a little too comfortable…

especially right now, when you’re currently sitting shoulder to shoulder with none other than drew starkey himself—mr. rafe cameron.

after your… little birthday surprise you’d ’given’ drew a couple months back, things had been different—not in a bad or uncomfortable or awkward way—just different.

your cast mates could probably see it, but neither of you were too bothered to care. it’s not like they would necessarily care if you were together—which you weren’t. yeah, maybe you hooked up every once in a while or made out when you were bored, and yes you’d fallen asleep in each others’ beds, cuddling one too many times to be considered ‘just friends’, but you weren’t together.

drew was still being way to protective of you online, and you still went on ‘dates’, but it wasn’t real.

right?

they were currently filming a scene neither you or drew were in, so you took this opportunity to do… well, absolutely nothing.

you sat on the warm sand of the beach you were shooting on, just talking—laughing back and forth like it was the most natural thing in the world. because to you? it was.

things with him were easy. it didn’t matter if you were friends, roommates, cast mates, or dating, you were just—y/n and drew. it was nice.

everything’s always nice until the paparazzi show up…

somewhere in the conversation he’d slung his arm around your shoulder and your legs had found a place draped over his lap. the light-hearted conversation took a turn somewhere along the way because now he was whispering dirty things into your ear.

“y’know i think today’s filming session went well… celebrations are in order doncha think?,” he smirked against your ear, and you couldn’t help the quick giggle that fell past your lips.

you turned slightly to face him. now just mere centimeters separated his lips from yours, and boy were they tempting you right now.

“and what kind of celebration are you thinking?,” you smirked slightly, a hint of challenge behind your eyes. the tension between the two of you totally drowning out the world around you—drowning out the clicks and flashes from the cameras posted behind the filming line.

paparazzi. the sworn enemy of media.

“it may or may not involve that,” he pointed towards your core, barely covered by the shorts they had your character dressed in, “ending up here,” he redirected his finger to his face. anyone else saying that shit—especially in public? you’d probably rip their vocal cords straight out of their throat, but for some reason his words made your thighs clench, thinking about the sensation you’d felt one too many times.

you controlled yourself—hid the fact that you desperately wished today’s filming would be over this minute. “mm and what makes you think you deserve that?”

“i’m not the one who deserves it… you do,” he smirked, backing away from you slightly, moving his arm to rest in the sand behind you.

—

the rest of the day dragged.

and when you say dragged? you meant it.

it seemed like every scene had to be done three, four, five times, and no one was taking anything seriously. normally, you’d love this—these moments are what made filming amazing—but right now all you wanted to do was push drew down into the sand and sit on his face long enough for him to forget what air even felt like.

and your so-called ‘friends’ were seriously cockblocking you right now.

but once filming was over for the day? the two of you were off set before the director could yell ‘that’s a wrap’. you’d both been waiting all day, and it was impossible to wait any longer…

until you saw it.

finally checking your phone after a day of filming usually wasn’t anything special, but not today.

it was everywhere. a picture of drew slung around you, with your legs in his lap, and him whispering in your ear. it was anything but ‘friendly’ and clearly the media thought so too because the comments were never ending.

“outer banks’ rafe cameron (drew starkey) and co-star (y/n y/l/n) spotted getting comfortable on the beach

ARE THEY DATING??!!!?!?!??

no wayyyyyy she better back away from my man😒

that should be me😖😔

they could at least try to fucking hide it

↳ why?

↳ cause it’s like inappropriate 🙄

↳ yeah… okay pack it up. tell us you’re lame without telling us you’re lame!

AHHHH PARENTS I LOVE THEM

I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT

once you got into drew’s car you scrolled through what felt like miles and miles of comments stemming into about 25 different media and paparazzi pages—same picture, somehow different captions.

“drew starkey and y/n y/l/n swapping secrets on the set of ‘outer banks’?”

they’re honestly cute i wouldn’t even be mad

who even is she anyway????

↳ she’s on outer banks too are you slow😭

wait i’m jealous??

not sure who i wanna be more right now…

RUE WHEN WAS THIS??

“fuck,” you breathed out. drew sat in the driver’s seat, still locked in on the words on his screen.

“this is bad, right?,” you turned to him with a hopeless expression on your face.

“i mean… not necessarily,” he quipped back, finally setting his phone down to face you.

“drew! the entire media thinks we’re dating! people are fucking freaking! our friends are gonna see this,” you responded… passionately. drew just laughed in response, which only pissed you off more.

“are you dense? what’s so funny?!,” you yelled again.

“calm down! why can’t this be a good thing? i mean… is it so terrible to let them think we’re together?,” he laughed humorlessly, like he couldn’t believe this bothered you—like it hurt him that it did.

“why are you not worried?,” you sighed out. it just felt crazy to you that he didn’t care. sure, he’s fed into the idea of the two of you more than you had, but it was never real… right?

“because… i mean it’s not like stuff like this hasn’t circulated before, and you’ve never cared before. why is this time different?,” he looked at you, defeated. like he was truly upset that this was bothering you.

“i don’t know drew…,” you sighed as you began, not that you had an answer—not that you had any idea of what to say to him.

“i think it’s different because it’s real. because we’re… whatever we are now, and now you’re worried we’re gonna get ‘found out’, or whatever. is it really so awful to be seen with me?,” he tried to laugh it off, but the hurt in his voice was there.

“no! no– you know that’s not what i mean… it’s just– you’re right, things are different, but–,” he didn’t let you finish, he leaned over the middle console a bit just to look at you—really look at you.

“but i like you, y/n. a lot. more than anyone else. i like spending time with you, and i like your laugh and the way you carry yourself. i like everything about you except the fact you won’t admit that this,” he motioned between the two of you. “means something to you.”

you were silent—thinking about your next words carefully because they sure as hell would change everything. but it was pointless trying to run from him—trying to hide it, or act like he wasn’t right. you had been denying it—whatever this was—and you thought if you denied it for long enough it would all go away, but he was still here. your feelings were still here.

you laughed slightly, trying to ease the tension. “well if that’s the only thing you don’t like about me… i guess i can fix it,” you smiled faintly.

“and usually i like how you make jokes out of everything, but right now you’re killin’ me,” he replied. his voice was weak, like you were draining the hope right out of him.

“fine you caught me!,” you raised your hands in a feigned ‘surrender’. “i like you too.”

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[alanshemper]

24 November 2023

Ah, our friend Rami Shmuel has popped up again to do some serious PR for Bibi.

I think we should not be dealing with politics now, I think there was a big underlying error in analyzing the information about the attack from Hamas on October 7th by the Israeli government and Israeli Defense Force, but I think right now Israel is in the middle of war and this is not the time to deal with politics.

Full transcript below the cut.

Rami Shmuel, an organizer of the Nova Music Festival that was attacked by Hamas terrorists on October 7th, speaks with PULS 24 Anchor Thomas Mohr about what he has witnessed on this very day and why he believes, that there will be times when "we're going to dance again".

Thomas Mohr: Starting today, up to 50 hostages out of 240 in custody are being released. Do you have information about who the people are, that finally can be handed over to their loved ones? Forty hostages have been taken alone from the music festival area.

Rami Shmuel: I know who’s going to be released today are only little babies, children and a couple of women. Maybe also some Thai workers, that were working on the fields. This is all I know about the civilians and the hostages that are going to be released in the next hours. [How does he know this?]

The festival area is, of course, the largest crime scene in Israel's history. Bodies of more than 360 young people, guests, personnel - all gathered for a peaceful and joyful day - were found dead. Many got raped, shot, slaughtered on their escape, running for their lives, and some could hide for hours and uncertain if they ever would survive that horror. You have been on the premises until minutes before the attack and then returned afterward. What did you witness when you arrived again at the festival area?

When I arrived back to the festival area, I saw an unforgivable sin. Human bodies all over the place, on the ground, on the field. Naked women, butchered, slaughtered, executed. Young people, that had their head cut off. Burned up, like a torch – like garbage. Women that have been abused by monsters. I saw burned up cars with people inside. Safe zones, that turned out to be a death zone. After these monsters showed up, everybody that tried to escape from this safe zone got shot immediately.

They came with one purpose and one purpose only: to butcher and to kill. To kidnap, to rape, to humiliate young people whose only crime was, that they wanted to dance and to be happy for a couple of hours. What my eyes saw, the whole world should know. The whole world should be shocked by this act of terror by the Hamas organization. There were hundreds of bodies, you know we searched the ground for around thirteen days after the first attack on October 7th until we manage to bring back as many as we found - of our friends, colleagues and the audience.

Mr Shmuel, did you or do you personally know victims of that horrific attack?

There were friends of mine, festival security guards that have been working with us for years, DJs and audience members from all over Israel.

You know, this act of terror caught us off guard. Nobody could expect that there are monsters living among us that would kidnap little babies, the elderly, women... To negotiate a release of these monsters that took lives is unbelievable. The world should stand united with Israel against those monsters because this is not only our fight. The world should know that. And the world should realize that these monsters should not exist anymore. Because on October 7th, Israel took the attack. But let's go back in history. What happened in the other parts of the world? The United States took a horrible attack by a terrorist organization on September 11th with the twin towers. History teaches us, this kind of organization, this terror of radical Islam, should not have a place between us, and we should hunt them down.

After October 7th, Israel is conducting a large scale offensive to destroy Hamas. And since then, Israel is criticized for the deaths of many thousands of civilians in the Gaza Strip. Is this criticism in your eyes valid? Given the huge number of civilian Palestinian casualties there?

No, I tell you one thing: I don’t think there is any army more humane than the Israeli Defense Force. Hamas is targeting its own people by taking them and making them a human shield. Even if though we are at war, still, the Israeli government is sending them supplies and making a humane effort to help them. And making the humanitarian effort to help the civilians, warning them to clear an area that is going to be attacked. And what Hamas is doing is standing between the civilians that want to escape from the area that Israel is attacking now. When civilians tried to escape from the North to the South, as the Israeli government asked the civilians of Gaza to do, the Hamas organization hunted them down and painted them as victims of the Israeli Defense Force.

Mr. Shmuel, what is the political situation in Israel right now? Benjamin Netanyahu has been under political pressure before. Right now, he is prime minister of a joint war cabinet including the opposition. Is the pressure on Netanyahu growing, what is your assessment?

The civilians will not forget October 7th. And we will come demanding answers from everybody, including our Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. I think we should now let go of politics and give them courage and support to win this war, to provide the citizens with what we need and what we want.

I think we should not be dealing with politics now, I think there was a big underlying error in analyzing the information about the attack from Hamas on October 7th by the Israeli government and Israeli Defense Force, but I think right now Israel is in the middle of war and this is not the time to deal with politics.

Will there ever be a new, a joyful, a fantastic music festival like it was before October 7th?

I want to believe that what Hamas did on October 7th is only making us stronger, only unites us, and only motivates us to do bigger festivals, bigger shows – we’re going to dance again, nobody can stop that, not even Hamas. And I think the main cause is to bring back all the hostages, all the civilians, all the soldiers that Hamas kidnapped from Israel. And I think after that and after the return of our kidnapped, Hamas will realize that they deal with the wrong people.

Zusammenfassung [Summary]

Rami Shmuel, an organizer of the Nova Music Festival that was targeted by Hamas terrorists on October 7th, speaks with PULS 24 Anchor Thomas Mohr about the tragic attack and the release of hostages.

Quelle: Redaktion / poz

[no-144444]

confronting- o.piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! Skyf1interviewer! reader

summary: a confrontation in a hotel room doesn't go so well thanks to Franco's loud mouth...

part five masterlist

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Entertaining the idea of dating Oscar when you knew you’d be gone at the end of the season wasn’t fair. He deserved someone who’d be there for every race, be there for him. You weren’t that person. You weren’t the person anyone should want, you just weren’t like that. 

Qatar rolled around and Oscar won the Sprint, and he was P3 in the race. You were meant to do the interviews. He knew that. That’s why he frowned when he was met with Jenson’s face at the end of the race. 

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, not holding the microphone up to his mouth. 

Jenson smirked. “Missing her?”

Oscar nodded. 

“She’s with Franco, he was pretty upset after the crash.”

“Oh,” he nodded, and the interview began. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

It’s not like you were trying to avoid him, it was just… easier that way. And Franco really was quite shaken after the crash, so that part wasn’t a lie either. You just didn’t want to deal with all of the shit the media and people online would give the two of you. You just wanted a nice, clean break from the world of F1, and the people online who shipped you and Oscar would never let that happen. It was upsetting, because he really was a good friend to you, and you thought you were a good friend to him. Maybe it could’ve been something else, if things were different. You sat with Franco, calming him down since he was pretty upset that his second last race of the season was fucked by a silly turn-one incident. 

“What’s going on with you and that model?” you asked. He chuckled. 

“Oh my, you saw it too? It’s so embarrassing,” he sighed. “Even my mother has been asking me about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you laughed at his reaction. “We can talk about anything you want.”

“What’s going on with you and Oscar?” he smirked and your face fell slightly. 

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” he pried. “You two seem like more than ‘friends’ to me.���

You rolled your eyes. “We’re not. We’re just friends,” you assured him. 

Franco sat up, leaning closer to you. He was so close his breath was on your cheek, his eyes staring longingly into yours. You knew what he was doing.  “So he wouldn’t mind it if someone kissed you, no?”

You laughed, pushing him back down to his previous position of lying down. “Stop being weird. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He shouldn’t care anyway.”

“Let’s test that,” Franco challenged. “Kiss me in front of him, and then we’ll know. I’ll ask Lando to tell me about it, they’re close, right?”

You sighed, something about it felt a little bit… manipulative. And it’s not like you were looking for Oscar to like you back, he didn’t. That’s what he’d said the last time, it was only a joke, a prank, a mistake. Which was fine with you, of course. It made sense. You couldn’t be there for him while you were supposed to be there for someone else. Someone else on his team. 

Ok, so maybe the move to Indycar isn’t just about Sky starting to cover it. Maybe, they need more European fans, and you have to go over there and sell it to them with a relationship with Pato O’Ward. Maybe McLaren is paying you a lot of money to do that. 

Just maybe though. 

“I can’t do that Franco,” you explained. “It’s not fair. And anyways, I’m kind of… seeing someone.”

“Is it Oscar?!” he questioned. You shook your head. “Lando? Lance? Zhou? Yuki? Who?” “He’s not in F1!” you giggled, watching as Franco freaked out. 

“Who is he?! You have to tell me right now!” he begged, taking your hands. 

“He’s in Indycar, that’s all I’ll tell you,” you smirked and his jaw dropped. 

“Is that why you’re leaving?!” he almost shouted. 

“No! Sky really is just branching out, but yes, it is nice that I’ll actually be able to watch his races,” you chuckled. 

“I’ll miss you,” he frowned. 

“I’ll miss you too,” you chuckled, pulling him in for a hug. “Now, I have to go do my post-race duties, so I’ll see you in Abu Dhabi, alright?”

He frowned even deeper. “Alright,” he mumbled. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me!”

You left the Williams garage with a smile on your face, very much amused by your conversation with Franco. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You pulled up to the media pen, really to meet with Jenson and Nico, your co-hosts this weekend, but they were nowhere to be seen. Regardless, you prepared yourself with the running order. 

Lance, Lando, Max, Checo, Zhou, and Fernando. That’s all you had to get through before you got on a flight to Abu Dhabi the next morning. After another few minutes of waiting, Nico and Jenson showed up, acting slightly strange. They weren't really speaking to you, only with each other. It’s not like they were excluding you, just… not asking for your input. They seemed guilty too. 

Lance, Lando, Max, and Checo were all fine, polite and out of there quickly. Oscar didn’t show up. Unsurprising, as you had been avoiding him. Zhou and Fernando went by in a flash, and you were back to your hotel by 2am. 

When you walked into your hotel, you were not expecting to see Oscar Piastri standing outside your door. 

Holy shit. You were so astronomically fucked. 

“What are you doing here?” you questioned. He turned to you. 

He cleared his throat. He’d been thinking of a response to that question since the second he’d started waiting outside for you. What was he doing? This was insane. His plan was to make you stay, but he was much too upset to talk rationally when he got the text from Franco about you seeing an Indycar driver. Honestly, it crushed him. He genuinely thought you’d liked him. “I wanted to… talk? Or something, just to gauge what the fuck is going on here,” he was getting heated, and you understood he was probably angry with you, and it’s not like he didn’t have a reason. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, opening your hotel room door and letting him inside. 

“You’re going to Indycar?” he questioned. “What the fuck?”  

You gulped, hard. “Yeah?” 

“Why?” he demanded. “What does Indycar have that F1 doesn’t? F1 is faster cars, faster drivers, more money, more races, more countries, more-”

“Oscar! Did it ever occur to you that this wasn’t my fucking choice?!” you shouted over him. Silence. “Indycar doesn’t have Sky coverage, but Europeans are interested in the sport and they need a known interviewer to go there and make it easier to sell it to people, and I got picked. That’s it.” 

“So it has nothing to do with whatever Indycar driver you’re fucking?” he scoffed. Your face fell. Your eyes fell to the hardwood floor beneath your feet. “Yeah, I know.”

Your face soured and you looked up again, offended. Who did he think he was? He had no say in your life at all. You’d hated him for 2 years, and you had no real reason to, now you had one. “I owe you nothing Oscar. I’m an adult in a consenting relationship, and yes he’s in Indycar, is that a crime?” 

“Is that why you’re going over there?” he asked, stepping closer to you. You could cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. “Or are you running away from something here?” 

“Fuck you,” you pushed him back. This wasn't the Oscar you knew. He was different, angry, mean, and rude. You owed him nothing. “Get out.” 

He nodded, and left without another word. 

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[dedalvs]

Today is my 44th birthday. I was brought to my mother’s arms as Ronald Reagan was being sworn in and then went to the airport to welcome the Iranian hostages home—a meeting we now know was pre-arranged, as Reagan’s team negotiated to keep the hostages in captivity a little bit longer just so it could be Reagan, as opposed to Carter, who got the credit for releasing them.

Every four years my birthday falls on a US presidential inauguration. Some of those days are good; some are bad; some are terrible. Today is certainly one of the worst.

My birthday also sometimes falls on the day the US honors Martin Luther King, Jr.—or, when it doesn’t, always on a day very close to it. I always spend some time on my birthday thinking of him, too. Like all of us, he wasn’t perfect, but more and more what I think about regarding his legacy is how some of the things he said have been cherry-picked and stored like prize possessions in jeweled boxes for admiring every so often while the rest has been buried. MLK was an outspoken opponent of the Vietnam War, of income inequality, and of capitalism. Of all things I remember the first time I heard anything by him about that was in college when I happened into a record store in San Francisco and heard one of his speeches (not the “I have a dream” speech) remixed in a song.

Often you will hear that you should focus on what you can control. This is true, when it comes to your own personal well being—your state of mind. I feel like there should be a balance, though. Sometimes your well being is well enough that you can spare the anguish that comes with worrying about the state of the world—the many injustices you can’t fix, either by yourself or right away. We need that to push us to actually fix these things, either in small individual ways or collectively, through both direct and indirect action.

Each of us at different times in or lives—or on a micro level, at different times of the week or year—goes in and out of phases where we must focus on self-care and phases where we can look outward. Today I hope we can treat ourselves and each other with a little kindness when it comes to recognizing where it is we need to be in a given moment. Looking around on social media, it may seem that some are always on—always fighting, always pushing for change—and some are always off—cat memes, shipping, fandom. But that’s nothing but a small window into a person. First, that’s simply how that person interacts with one social media platform; it’s not their entire life. Second, it may be that this is the place they come to unwind—or, alternatively, this is the only place in their life where they can share the rage inside of them. Whoever they are, however they are, let them be, and offer them kindness. It’s going to take all of us to fight back.

[shariasweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 𝒟irty 'little secret

l.heeseung 𝒙 f.reader

𝓦c ::: roughly 0.8k 𐙚 𝓢harinote ::: brother's best friend is one of my fave tropes... yet I don't think i've ever written for it :( ALSO not proofread cause omfg please (I'll do it later) 𐙚 warnin𝓰.ᐟ ::: brother's best friend · reader is 21 · oral (f) · kissing · pet names · unprotected sex [be safe!!!] · cum eating (?) | spit · dacryphilia [kinda, not really] · not proofread, like I said.

you were never the biggest fan of your older brother. in fact, you liked to think that anyone unfortunate enough to actually know him wasn’t.

he was a dick—plain and simple. though, arguably, so was his best friend. but for some reason, you never seemed to mind that quite as much.

ever since sunghoon brought him home his freshman year of college, something inside you had stirred at the sight of his stupid honey skin and his stupid gorgeous hair—face and his nose... god that nose.

you couldn't help but stare at the older boy... you'd be out of your mind not to take advantage of the opportunity to admire such a sight—heeseung looked like the kind of guy you only saw on TV or social media.

though, it's not like your brother would let you anywhere near him and heeseung anyways.

"heeseung doesn’t want to hang out with some little girl. go away."

your older brother wasn't only a dick—but a pain in the ass too.

you'd just stepped into the kitchen for a cup of water, not to bother them... yet he'd already tried to run you off.

"whatever, hoon. I just wanted some water." you rolled your eyes so hard you're sure they could've gotten stuck if you weren't careful.

"yeah, yeah, whatever. come on, heeseung. 'don’t want to keep jimin waiting, do you?" he teased his friend.

"dude, shut up," heeseung muttered, pushing himself up from his seat... your breath caught in your throat noticing the slight bit of skin peeking from beneath his shirt as he stretched up. no way in hell you'd ever have a chance with... that.

but as he passed you, he lingered for just a second—long enough to ruffle your hair and long enough to look down at you with a smirk. "later, princess." he'd waved, soon following your brother in suit out the door.

god, that felt like ages ago—though, it was only two years ago give or take.

and now, all these months, years later, you were finally home from college. it was supposed to be a surprise to your mother, she'd begged you to come home during the summer.

you came home expecting a peaceful summer to catch up with your family and asshaat brother.

except that wouldn't happen because he was here too.

"woah, look who finally decided to show up," sunghoon snickered from the couch, stretching lazily.

"oh, fuck off, sunghoon," you snapped.

the familiar sibling rivalry kicked in instantly, causing your parents to intervene—running from down stairs, completely surprised to see you after almost a year.

though your little family reunion was cut short by the sound of the bathroom door unlocking. and then—him. heeseung stepped out, running a hand through his dark hair, looking effortlessly good the same way he did your junior year of high school.

“heeseung,” your brother said, glancing over his shoulder. "oh, y/n's home, by the way." idiot, you swore... as if you weren’t sitting right there.

"oh, hey." he nodded.

"h-hi, heeseung."

the first few days of your stay you felt strange... strange because it was your first time home in... a while and strange because the feeling of being watched haunted you throughout your own home.

heeseung... he was looking at you.

taking in the way your hair fell over your shoulders... how snug your shirt seemed to cling around your body or... or how perfect your tits sat in said shirt.

twentyone looked good on you.

"so," he leans against the counter beside you, fingers drumming lazily against the countertop. his eyes are anything but lazy, they deliberately flicker over your face, down to the curve of your throat, to your collarbones, and then back up again.

your grip tightens around the edge of the marble island center of your kitchen. "oh, heeseung. what's up?" you gulp down, hard. if there's one thing heeseung has always been good at, it's making you nervous.

he exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "what's up?" he repeats, amused by the flushed shade of red creeping up your neck. "nothing, nothing… just thought we should catch up. it’s been a while since we’ve all seen you, princess..."

the nickname lands differently now—it's less playful and more... serious? it rolls off his tongue dripping with a sickening sweetness, sending a slow shiver down your spine.

you turn to fully face him, but the moment you do, he shifts closer, his large frame seeming to cage you against the cool counter. "how've you been, baby?"

"i-i've been good," you manage, voice barely above a whisper as you choke on your words.

heeseung hums, low and approving, tilting his head as he watches you—really watches you... taking in the way your eyes dart around and the way your throat bobs.

"just good?" he smiles teasingly.

your breath catches once more as he leans in, his arm brushing against yours, his scent swarming around you.

"'and how’s college treating you?"

you can hear the smirk in his voice before you even dare to look up.

"a-also good," you stammer, pulse hammering in your ears as you manage to lock eyes with him. "well I guess that makes sense," he's so close you can feel his breath fanning across your face.

his grin deepens. he knows exactly what he’s doing—however, before he can get any closer, he suddenly peels himself off of you. finally allowing you the opportunity to take a breath of fresh, cool air. "things would be going well for a good girl like you, wouldn't they?"

you nod, unsure of what else to do. "I guess... I guess so."

"i didn’t come to bother you for no reason, y’know." his tone shifts. It’s far softer this time.

your brows lift slightly. "oh?"

"i really did miss you…" he chews on his bottom lip.

it’s not a complete lie.

you were always sunghoon’s cute little sister—off-limits, but easy on the eyes, you were something pretty to look at whenever he got tired of your brother’s antics.

but still, he realizes he missed more than that.

he missed the way you used to light up every room you walked into. he really misses the whole 'school flower' thing you had going for you... the way that even at eighteen, you’d already left an impression on him that no girl at his college ever had.

"i know your parents’ll want to hang out with you," he continues, watching you closely. "and as much as you guys won’t admit it, you and hoon are practically attached at the hip."

you can’t help but laugh because, well… he’s right, you and your dickhead brother are attached at the hip.

heeseung grins at your reaction. "i just wanted to come get dibs before anyone else could and i lost my spot."

your heart stutters, but you mask it with a smile. this is something high school you could've never imagined. "that’s... that's really sweet, heeseung. i’d love to spend some time with you."

score.

"perfect. you remember where my room is, right?" heeseung pauses, tilting his head as if he’s really thinking about it—"you ‘wanna come around about… ten, eleven? we can watch a movie or something." his smile is contagious, you hardly catch yourself grinning along with him.

you shift on your feet, still hyper-aware of how close he’s standing. "the guest bedroom?" you chuckle softly, quirking your eyebrow.

"our guest bedroom," he corrects with a smirk.

the invitation alone is enough to send your thoughts spiraling, the lee heeseung had just invited you into his bedroom. be cool, y/n. you think to yourself.

"fine… as long as it’s not that stupid movie you and sunghoon always watch." you manage the snarky remark.

heeseung’s brows lift in amusement, his typical lazy grin tugging at his lips. "oh? you don’t like it?"

you shake your head, staring down at your fingers as they fidget with the hem of your sleeve. "it's just… you guys have watched it a lot. I’ve watched it a lot.”

"wow," he exhales, hand flying to his chest like you’ve just wounded him. "that’s cold, princess."

your cheeks burn at the nickname, you dont think you’ll ever get used to it. “I’m just being… honest.” you stare up into his eyes, his gaze is piercing as he doesn’t shy away from your sudden eye contact. 

heeseung watches you for a moment, something flickering behind his eyes before he lets out a low chuckle. "fine, fine… no toy story," he concedes.

you nod, relieved, though the nervous flutter in your stomach doesn’t settle.

but before either of you can say anything else, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the air, calling for heeseung from upstairs.

heeseung sighs, throwing you one last glance before pushing off the counter. "guess i’ll see you later then," he murmurs, voice quieter now, like it’s meant just for you.and as he disappears up the stairs, you exhale shakily, heart pounding at the thought of what later might bring.

when the clock strikes ten, you find yourself lingering outside his door, fresh out of the shower with your heart hammering against your chest. 

your hands feel all clammy and your nerves are bad. 

you have to force yourself to knock—when it’s so soft you barely even hear it yourself. 

but he does.

the door swings open, and there he is, standing in a dimly lit room, hoodie hanging loose around his frame with his sweats slung low on his hips. his lips twitch at the sight of you… tiny pajama shorts and the cutest little top. "you look nervous," he teases, stepping aside to let you in.

"i’m not," you lie through our teeth. 

he chuckles, closing the door behind you. "sure you aren’t, c’mere." heeseung’s hand latches onto your wrist dragging you further into the room. he leads you to the bed where his laptop is propped open, some random movie that isn’t toy story playing on the screen.  you sit beside him where his hand pats the mattress next to you.

you’re stiff as a board, while he lounges comfortably, one arm resting behind his head.

and then—slowly, he shifts, one of his arms draping over the back of the bed, curling around your shoulders as he pulls you in closer. your breath hitches as the heat of his body sinks into yours, the weight of his arm making your entire body heat up.

"relax, princess," he murmurs, lips seriously close to your ear. "i don’t bite."

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to focus on the screen, but then his fingers brush against your bare shoulder, heeseung hums, as if pleased by your reaction. "cute," he muses, letting his fingers trace down your arm, featherlight and slow. you can practically feel your stomach bubbling with eagerness. you’ve never been this close to heeseung. sunghoon wouldn’t allow it—and he’d flip, if he knew you were in bed with him. but, god, you can’t find the desperation of wanting your brother’s best friend to touch you even more.

"you’re so nervous… don’t tell me you’ve never been this close to a guy before."

your face burns. "i have," you mumble, though the way your body reacts to his touch completely betrays you. “I-i’m in college,” you ramble, “obviously i’ve… i’ve y’know, been with guys or whatever.”

"mhmm," he hums, clearly unconvinced. his fingers continue their dance over your skin, up to your collarbone, and along your jaw before he carefully grabs your face to look at him… tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

and then, just as you suck in a shaky breath, he leans in, close enough that you can feel his lips ghost over your cheek.

"should i stop?" he whispers against your skin. 

you shake your head. “I need you to use your words, y/n.” he frowns. fuck, if you made it out of this alive… you’d be sure to go into great detail for your best friend. though you’re not sure she’d believe you actually got into bed with heesung. “I-i don’t want you to stop.” you whimper.

heesung’s frown melts into something darker, something almost smug, and it sends a fresh wave of heat curling through you. his fingers tighten their grip—just slightly—but enough to make you shiver.

“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” his voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge of restraint there, like he’s holding himself back. like your words alone have made it harder for him to stay in control.

you swallow, pulse fluttering as his gaze drags over your face, searching, memorizing. your breath stutters when he shifts, the weight of him pressing down, surrounding you, making escape impossible—not that you’d ever want to.

“you want more,” he murmurs, brushing his lips just barely against your jaw, your ear, as if savoring the way you tremble beneath him. “so be good for me, and i’ll give you everything.”

and then, before you can think, before you can breathe—he does.

heesung hums, low and approving, his fingers already slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. his touch is slow, deliberate, tracing up your ribs, mapping out the heat of your skin like he wants to memorize every inch of you.

“this in the way?” he asks, though he doesn’t wait for an answer. in one smooth motion, he tugs the fabric of your shirt up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his gaze darkens as it drags over you, and you can feel it—burning, searing, making you squirm beneath him, clad in your bra and shorts.

“fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself. then his hands are on you again, warmer than the air against your exposed skin, sliding down your sides, lingering at your waist.

the waistband of your shorts is next, and he hooks his fingers there, beneath your panties and the elastic of your shorts... glancing up at you through heavy-lidded eyes clouded with lust.

“'think these'll get in the way too?” he murmurs, teasing, but you can hear the hunger woven into his voice, feel the tension in the way his fingers flex.

as if he’ll tear them off if you make him wait too long.

you nod. In one swift motion, he yanks them down, leaving you bare as he buries his face in your neck. his breath fans over your skin, sending shivers racing down your spine. without thinking, you arch into his touch, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“whenever you’re ready…” his voice is low, barely above a whisper as he leans into your ear.

your fingers clutch at his shirt, tugging at the hem. “mmm… p-please…”

you notice his gaze darkening—his eyes stagger across the expanse of your skin… the sultry expression of pure  desperation etched across your face. “that’s all?” he cocks his head, letting the silence stretch as though he was expecting more. “please what, princess?”

you swallow hard, heat creeping up your skin. you know what he wants. “p-please touch me,” you choke out, embarrassed.

his smirk deepens as he watches your lashes flutter—your eyes brimming with tears. “see?” he coos, tilting your head to look at him with his fingers. “that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

before you can answer, he peels his shirt over his head in one swift motion. 

you barely have time to process the sharp toning of his torso before his lips crash into yours. the kiss is hungry, his hands fervently paw at your sides, slithering up your back to unclasp your bra.

once the cool air hits your bare skin, you can’t help but to gasp. the swell of your breasts fall into his waiting palms, his fingers tweak your nipples between their dexterous, steady tips. heeseung’s mouth never leaves yours, swallowing every breathy moan as he discards your bra, tossing it aside with your hoodie and shorts. his tongue swipes against your bottom lip—forcing your mouth open so that he can intertwine your muscles. 

“taste so sweet, princess…” he murmurs against your swollen lips. “you this sweet everywhere?”

the low rumble of his laugh sends sparks flying, and before you can reply, his teeth sink into your neck. you jolt, gasping as he marks you. it stings, but only for a second as he continues to nip and suck on your skin. “I-I don’t… ah! I don’t know…” you stammer, breath hitching.

you’re sure there’ll be a flattering bruise in the morning left from his biting… one that hopefully no one will question.

he hums, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your collarbones… your breasts… your stomach. each press of his lips is deliberate, each touch leaves a trail of heat in its wake, making you feel pleasurably hot. 

he doesn’t stop his assault until he’s face-to-face with the plush of your thighs, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin surrounding your navel. your head falls back against the headboard, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as you feel him closer approaching your aching cunt.

“dreamt of this for so long,” he mutters between kisses, lips dragging up your inner thigh. “last summer…” he pauses, breath hot against your skin. “that stupid fucking bikini…” another kiss, closer this time. “god, it was so hard pretending I wasn’t staring in front of your brother, your parents…”

you feel your thighs twitch as he exhales against you, indulging in the delicious aroma of your arousal… each syllable of his words only make you ache more, and more.

“I wanted to rip that skimpy little top off you… bend you over the damn poolside table for everyone to see.”

“f-fuck hee…” 

“what? you would've liked that?” the teasing tone in his voice returns, as he plunges his hands between your legs—they separate your thighs in one hasty motion. there’s no time to process any of it before he’s nuzzling into you cunt. 

no one’s ever eaten you out before. 

heeseung licks a fat stripe up your cunt, collecting every bit of your slick as he laps over your clit. “o-oh..! ohmygodohmygod, heeseung!” one of your hand shoots up to clasp your mouth shut. heeseung takes the other in the palm of his own, gently tangling your fingers in the roots of his hair. “pull on it, pretty girl.” he demands. 

the foreign feeling of his tongue flexing against your sopping cunt leaves you feeling dizzy, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you babble out complete nonsense. 

and just when you thought it couldn’t get any better—that your head couldn’t be sent any further into the clouds… he pushes two of those long, thick fingers between the snug warmth of your silken gummy walls, earning an almost pornographic mewl to erupt from your throat. 

“feeling good?” his brown eyes sparkle, they dart your face admiring the view of your mouth hung open and your brows knit together as his fingers curl inside of you. “mm close! oh, fuck! I’m so close, heeseung! hah…” 

“I know, baby… just hold on.” heeseung purred—he resumed his prior actions of making out with your pussy, jaw slack as he pushed his fingers as deeply inside of you as he could manage. 

your fists clenched around his sheets as your stomach wound itself up… your orgasm threatening to wash over you. 

heeseung’s fingers pressed against the spongy spot buried within you once more, a scissoring motion of his to fingers accompanying his previous abuse. “ffffuck!” 

“there you go.” a smirk tugs on the corners of his lips. He allowed you to ride our the high, tongue swiping your cunt once more to savour the mess of creamy slick pooling at your entrance and around his fingers. 

 “good girl.” he carefully sat up, bringing his body to hang over you as he planted yet another kiss onto your lips. “say ‘ah’, sweet girl.” 

of course, you obeyed… forcing your puffy lips to gape so that he could leave a glob of his spit on your tongue. “taste yourself…” you clamp your mouth shut, doing as he asked. “swallow…” another command comes out rushed, rolling off of his tongue. your throat bobbed, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he watches you—his dark eyes full with satisfaction.

before you can catch your breath, his mouth is on yours again, this time slower, deeper—he presses his lips against yours savoring the taste of you on his tongue (yet again).

“h-hee…” you squeak, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hm?” his hum vibrates against your lips, full of patience.

you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers curling into the fabric. “i want…” your breath catches in your throat as his forehead rests against yours, the warmth of his skin making you feel lightheaded with longing.

“i want you.” your pout is clear, yearning—an attempt to keep him from making you say it. but you know better. 

he always makes you say it.

before he can tease you or ask for more, you tug at his waist again, fingers tightening. you really mean it. “i want your dick… please.” your breath stutters, heart hammering against your ribs. “please fuck me.”

“aw, baby…” heeseung can’t help but find you so adorable—your soft whining pleas to fuck you and the way your eyes are are glassy as the stare into his own… not to mention your fingers digging into the material of his pants. your sudden boldness is endearing. 

“that’s what you want? ‘want me to fuck you so good you forget about anyone else?” 

you nod dumbly without thinking. 

“p-please i want that so bad… so bad it hurts.” you frown.

heeseung takes your hand, cupping his bulge and you feel the damp spot that’s formed whilst he humped against the bed, eating your out.

he usually would’ve made you wait—fucked your throat or fingered you open some more… however, you asking is all it takes, heeseung yanks his pants down and when does—you’re in awe. he’s big, just like you imagined. 

his tip flushes an angry red, blushing where it meets the girthy length of his cock. your mouth drools at the sight of each adorning vein, thy pulse much like the head of his dick, which is leaking sticky pearls of precum. 

“enjoying yourself?” he interrupts your thoughts… you nod, not even pretending as though you weren’t admiring his dick and it’s slight curve to the left. "can I suck you off?" you question, boldly, earning a chuckle from the male. "maybe next time, baby... but i'm glad you're enjoying ‘cause i’m about to give you even more to enjoy,” he grins.

heeseung doesn’t give you a warning—just the sudden, firm pressure of his hand pressing against your lower stomach, making you gasp as he breaches your entrance, pushing inside of you. he’s so. fucking. handsome. 

his brows furrow together as his face contorts into something of pleasure. a hand runs through his hair as he bottoms out, balls laying snuggly against your ass before he begins thrusting. 

“o-oh, yeah…” he huffs. “tight fuckin’ cunt… ‘best pussy i’ve… fuck! I-i’ve had…”

each drag of his cock feels like what you’d imagine to be the equivalent to heaven. he fills you up so well—tip kissing your cervix as heeseung’s hips fuck into you at a steady pace. You tuck your lip between your teeth to keep quiet as his pace becomes more relentless. 

“‘wanna hear you, princess…” he snaps his hips into you. “you were just so loud… c’mon make some noise for heeseungie, yeah? let me know h-how good i make you, shit! how good i make you feel...”

he makes you feel good. really, really fucking good, however, you remeber where you are… your parents room is right down the hall—not to mention your pain in the ass brother. 

you know he’d blew up if he walked in on this… his little sister folded with her legs up as his best friend stroked himself inside of her like a madman. 

“oh…” heeseung nodded. “I know… ‘scared ‘hoon’ll hear you?” you shake your head. he laughs, knowing that that is actually it. 

“It’s okay, yeah? I’m fucking you so good it’ll be worth it if we get in trouble. Isn’t that right?” his hands grip around your thighs pushing them into your upper half—really folding you in half, so that his cock can bully it’s way further into your cunt. 

“h-hee…” you moan ever so slightly. the new position allows you to feel him much deeper than you did before.  “what was that, princess?” 

“fuck!” you squeal. “f-feel you in my tummy, oh my fucking… ah!” the relentless pace picks up as he slams into you again, and again. “‘gonna cum all over my cock?” 

you nod. “s-shitt! ‘I-i’ll do it! ‘gonna cum all over your, ohmygodohh oh, oh!” you gasp, before you can get your sentence out your body is trembling with pleasure. your second orgasm comes crashing over you. 

“god, y/n… fuck,” heeseung groans, his thrusts are steady and relentless. “do that again… clench around me.”

you’re sensitive with your  body still trembling, you do as he asks, eager to please—tightening around him, squeezing… and it must work, because within moments, his head falls back, his hips falter, and a deep, guttural moan rips from his throat as hot white spurts of his release spill inside you.

“good girl,” he breathes, voice thick with pleasure. “good… fucking girl.”

he collapses onto you, bodies flushed and slick with sweat, bare skin sticking together as you both try to catch your breath.

“you okay?” he asks, voice hoarse and worn.

“y-yeah.” you nod, lips curling into a tired smile.

heeseung shifts, turning to look at you. “and how was it, princess?” the nickname is lighthearted as always, though now, it carries a different meaning only the two of you’ll share.

you giggle, cheeks warm as you meet his gaze. “amazing.”

he grins, wide and satisfied. “i’m glad…” a beat of silence passes before he’s sitting up again. “let’s clean you up, hm? you can sleep in here… with me, tonight.” he grins. 

“can i really?” you tiredly sit up on your elbows. “what about..?” 

“don’t worry about him, baby.” he chuckles, “we both know how late sunghoon sleeps in.”

your brother does love to sleep in… 

still, as heeseung helps you up, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before leading you to the bathroom, the thought barely lingers. because right now, the only thing that matters is the warmth of his hand in yours and the promise lingering in his smile.

[rotagnus]

next phase; 000.

[a pick-a-pile about what's coming, what's gone, and other things about the next chapter]. ☆*: .｡. o(🪷

personally guys i'm gonna be so honest i do not fw this reading but i hope you guys enjoy it!!!

pile 1; cute store. pile 2; our beautiful queen. pile 3; curly cartoon.

pile 1.

aaaaah hi my lovess! i think a lot of u will be going into a peaceful stage. things may become more clear for you and you'll have a bit of an easier journey w your anxiety. a lot of you seem like you're chasing something in this moment, and you feel like it's progressively getting farther away, therefore getting worse. you don't have enough energy to keep on running, and you feel like you're going to collapse soon. you feel very alone.

you're never alone, sweetheart. everrrr. you guys have such...deep souls, deep hearts, so even when you feel utterly isolated? you're not. your guides are watching over you, your soulmates, whatever you believe in--it's there. this is the death of the last phase; and it's okay to mourn, babylove, but this is a new beginning, one that many of you have wanted to start. a factory reset, if you will. you'll have enough space to truly be free and be authentic without feeling like you're boxed into something, y'know? a HOT amount of change is coming, good change. you guys are gonna experience some travel/movement, new places, new people. you may feel a bit awkward at first, like a baby animal, stumbling around and trying to figure out its surroundings, but you'll get the hang of it quickly.

your strength may make you feel dejected, and like you push people away, but this is not the case. you by yourself, are an angel, wielding a sword; but this will NEVERRR make you alone. it takes time to find people like you, because you're truly unique. eat some good food. watch a nice tv show. cuddle with a pet. hug yourself. delete social media clutter. everything you wanted in the next phase is coming. but you gotta keep your head up and keep trusting.

confirmations: statues. restaurants. 90s. belts. shoulders. wings. bird chirps. frogs. the ocean. temporary tattoos. fruit. basquiat. movies.

☆*: .｡. o(🪷

pile 2.

ooooh y'all are gonna have a glow-up!!!! stepping into that energy of taking what you want. a lot of you tend to struggle with your voice, and in this next phase of your life, you're going to be learning how to leave that shell of yours behind. getting into that anora energy (obv not like. anora herself, but think about how she holds herself, if you've seen the movie!). you guys are going to growww in confidence. smiling a lot, spending time with people. you may deal with some aggressive people but you're very levelheaded, so it won't be a big problem for you. you demand RESPECTTT and people see that, and it def attracts the right kind of people to you. a lot of you are going to be more comfortable in your own skin, spending time with yourself.

this is a developing phase. things will be building up, a lot of things THEMSELVES may not necessarily be happening, but this phase is necessary to progress your path forwards. rest is crucial; a lot of you have fuckass sleep schedules and poor eating habits that you should work on (consistency within both of those spheres is KEYYY!!! you guys can be imbalanced at times). a lot of you will be more firm in your boundaries, specifically for yourself. a lot of the time you allowed yourself to be disrespected by people just because they were close to you, but that's becoming a big NOPEEE. so proud. a lot of you will be spending time in places that move you forwards; thinking of the gym, library, college. anything that lets you progress.

a lot of you may be feeling some negative emotions right now so i'd definitely be wary of finding a way to dispose of these feelings now so they don't follow after you into this phase. there's some conflicts you guys might need to sort out, particularly with friends and family. it can be exhausting, feeling like you always have to solve things; this is a reminder that leaving a situation that is constantly making you anxious or upset does not mean giving up. it means saving yourself.

confirmations: ufc. football. sports. autumn. childhood tv shows. chunky jewelry. 2014. light pink lip gloss. converse. tabby kitten.

☆*: .｡. o(🪷

pile 3.

a lot of you are gonna be having big FUNN during this phase. many are excited for summer. this won't be as heavy as the last two piles, so that leads me to think that you may have had a rough period the last phase of your life. many of you will be genuinely feeling new emotions and seeing new parts of your life and you'll feel so happy, like you're floating. many will have a fear this won't last. my advice to you; happiness, is a permanent thing. sometimes, we feel bad things, but happiness itself never goes away. it is simply clouded over. a lot of you will be working on certain areas of your life; particularly creative ones. music, dancing, art, poetry--all of that might resonate, babycakes.

you're really going to be deeeeep in your energy. a lot of you have experienced a rebirth before and this'll make you feel like you're finally back to normal again. people are really gonna be happy for you, pile 3. i think some of you had a really rough winter, and it shows, the glow you have right now. it shows. people will see that you're easing up a bit, and while many of you are still recovering from the bad parts, you're really going to bloom. a lot of you may have experienced bad physical symptoms, like pain, anxiety tics, etc. and that'll ease up for a lot of you. the clouds will disappear.

this is also a reminder to ease up, a bit. a lot of you guys are TERRIFIED of a new phase, new people, etc. coming into your life, but not all new things are bad. you gotta get rid of the past to live in the present. a lot of you don't wanna trust again but really, that's the only way you're going to move forward. take a deep breath, take a leap of faith. not everyone is here to hurt you. of course, there are some people out there who did. but that doesn't mean that there aren't souls who wanna be your friend, who wanna be gentle with you. you guys have a paralyzing fear of experiencing something from the past again; it'll be okay, honey. it'll be okay.

confirmations: limerence by yves tumor. platform shoes. soda cans. lily flowers. small towns. religious iconography. new nails. choppy bangs. losing makeup. flags.

☆*: .｡. o(🪷

[rhyrhy]

Denial is a team sport!

Tryouts series | A.A

[content warnings:] bullying, sexual tension, talks of virginity, language, physical violence, heartbreak. R! Hates the world! Enemies to lovers. Slightly unserious.

wc: 4.4k

notes: sooo I made some edits to the prologue after I wrote the first chapter, so I do highly recommend you at least go back n skim read it!

series masterlist | previous ch

Abby swore she had a plan.

Let the liquid courage run through her veins and finally make a move on the girl she had been eyeing since move-in day. Especially now that the same girl was finally single. To be completely honest, she wasn’t sure what you seen in her teammate in the first place.

She didn’t realize her own mouth would be her worst enemy—until it was too late. The usual suave that made girls swoon? It almost earned her a slap to the face.

And as much as she hated hearing her roommate say it, she really felt like such an idiot. Now, she had a bigger problem than just her failed first impression.

The art of making a scene was a skill you and Abby Anderson had mastered. Worse, you mastered it together.

And now, in the reflection of the ticking, large brown and cream clock behind you, there you both sat—side by side in the dean’s office.

The room was quiet, a hum of an old fan and the scratch of a pen dragging across paper. Blue ink detailing your most recent development just an hour prior.

The dean exhaled sharply, finally looking up.

Your arms were crossed, one leg over the other, while Abby sat comfortably still—just as over it. Matching busted lips like accessories.

“You two just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?”

Abby exhaled a small laugh—until you shot her a glare. Before either of you could defend yourselves, the morning came rushing back.

Denial is one hell of a drug.

And right now, you were all drowning in it.

Abby was trying—and failing—to shake off her drunken slip-up. She shot up in bed, eyes snapping to the clock. Fuck. She was already late.

Dina was desperately trying to keep you away from the video currently making its rounds on social media.

And you? You were pretending none of it bothered you.

It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You were fine last night. And you were totally fine now as you set your duffel bag down on the bench.

The girls were quiet. But you knew they wanted to ask, to poke and prod. Everyone had seen it. Joked about it. Like it was some kind of championship replay.

It shouldn’t even be a big deal. People bicker all the time. What even was said? Then you heard it again.

“At least I didn’t let one bad breakup ruin my life.”

You whip your head around. Two teammates are hunched over a phone, the sound of your own voice mixed with Abby’s echoing from it. Oh right. The conversation was less than friendly.

“Hey! Turn that off and get to warm-ups,” Dina snaps, her captain voice demanding.

They scramble off, the video disappearing with a click, but it’s too late—you’ve already heard it. Again. Just another reminder of how right she was. You’ve been a mess, internally and on the field.

“Hey.” Dina’s voice is softer now, a hand resting lightly on your back.

“Hi.” You reply, setting out your water bottle and uniform bow, rolling your shoulders like you can physically shake off the drama.

There’s no usual pep in her tone. She knows you—knows how this is affecting you—but this is a side of you she hasn’t seen in a long time. Down, gloomy, and set off if someone even chewed too loud.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” You nod, smiling—faker than the extensions in your hair. You straighten your posture, trying to seem put together.

“Help stretch me out?” you ask, already moving toward an open mat, desperate to push past the painfully obvious.

Dina nods, sitting beside you, helping you stretch your thighs. But it’s impossible for her not to notice how off you are, how forced your words sound with each syllable.

“ lying, It doesn’t suit you.” Her hand settles on your knee as she continues. “Don’t pull the ‘I’m fine’ bullshit with me. You’re definitely not.”

“Oh, right, because I’d fall apart over some drunken argument?” Stretching an arm across your chest. “I’m saying it’s fine because it is.”

Dina shifts, turning to face you head-on now.

“I know you. And I’ve seen how you’ve been acting these past few months. I could read you in my sleep. You can lie to everyone else, but not to me. You’re cracking—you’re—“

“—Jesus, Dee! Can I just fucking stretch?”

You groan, throwing your hands up before leaning back on them. Your voice is louder than you intended, ringing out across the field.

“See? There it is. That attitude I’ve been seeing all season.” Dina is pushing now, and she knows it. But she’s tired of your bullshit.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know you’d rather just bottle it up until you explode. But seriously? You’ve got to stop running yourself into the ground.”

She stands up abruptly, ponytail swinging.

“So yes, you can stretch. Alone.”

“Dina, wait—” You sigh, crossing your arms, feeling the weight of a few stares and pointedly ignoring them. God, this is all Anderson’s fault. The thought loops in your head like a curse, her being the chosen person for blame.

Dina’s footsteps slow, but she doesn’t turn. Her voice carries in the air just enough to let you know she’s done. “What? I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t.” You pause. “But please just—sit, okay? I’m sorry, I’m just… overwhelmed, I think.”

She huffs but sits back down, crossing her legs, fully facing you. “Overwhelmed? Or just in denial?”

“Denial?” You scoff. “Please. Everyone seems highly aware of what’s going on in my life, so that’s not even possible.”

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone’s ‘highly aware’ because they have eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re not yourself.”

Her gaze scans your face, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. “You’ve been snapping at people left and right. Hell, you’ve chewed my head off more than usual.”

You lower your arm, a creeping discomfort settling in. The breakup, the humiliation, the anger—it’s all piling up. Your shoulders sag. “That bad, huh?”

She nods, her previous irritation fading into concern. “Yeah. Pretty bad.”

She hesitates, then presses on. “Look, I get it. Martinez messed you up, and you’re pissed.”

“It’s not about her—” you cut in, hating that name hitting your ears.

“Please. If I got screwed over like that, I’d be pissed, too. But you’ve been like this since the breakup, and now you’re just lashing out at everyone.”

The more she spoke, the more the reminders came. The tears. The weight loss from barely eating. Dina dragging you through the shared house just to make you shower. Rock bottom—all from one girl. Realizing she’s touched a nerve, she sighs, dragging a hand through her raven hair. She remembers just how bad the fallout was. Letting someone in, only for them to shut you out. Burying themselves in your heart without caring if they left traces behind.

“Look, I know you’re not gonna wake up tomorrow and turn into sunshine and rainbows, but you’ve gotta do something. Because right now? You’re on a one-way road to a full-blown breakdown town.”

A pause. Then—

“I was talking with Coach, and… maybe you need a break. Tryouts are coming back up, so it’s not like we’d be down a spot—”

You had to stop her, not wanting to hear that finished thought. “What—? Hold on, you can’t do that. You know I’ve been looking forward to redeeming myself this time around. Now you think I’m just going to sit out?”

“Yes. Yes, I do think you’re gonna sit out. Because you’re a mess right now. This isn’t about redemption. This is about you pushing yourself to the brink because you can’t get over that sorry ass.”

“I’m sick of it. The coaching staff is sick of it. Hell, even the girls at Kappa are sick of it.”

She exhales sharply, leaning forward.

“We’re taking you off the roster for a minimum of two weeks. That’s all.”

Your head snaps up so fast you’d worry it would break. You’d never been taken off, ever. If anything, you were first pick next to Dina, Caitlyn, and a few others who were almost just as polished but not quite. With the heavy shelf full of trophies, medals, and countless pictures with a proud smile from elementary gymnastics up to now—this was a part of you. All of you.

“No—no! Don’t do this to me. Please, it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now—”

Dina’s expression softens, her tone lowering into a gentle whisper—almost as if she genuinely felt sorry for you.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. Cheer shouldn’t be the only thing keeping you ‘sane.’ It’s not supposed to be your entire identity.”

She reaches for your shoulder again, her hand resting on the black fabric of your tank top.

“You’ll thank me later once you’ve gotten your head on straight again.”

You love Dina, but in this moment, all you want is to wrap your hands around her throat. Despite the violent urge, you stay silent.

Instead, you meet the eye contact you’ve been avoiding since last night, knowing her big puppy eyes will pull you back to reality. She’s trying to help, you know that. But what are you supposed to do for two weeks? Fourteen days. 335 hours.

Maybe for someone in a clear headspace, two weeks of rest sounds nice, but for a girl who can’t separate herself from the uniform she wears, it feels like hell.

Dina waits for the snappy reply, the angry words, or maybe just your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth might shatter. Instead, she hears a quiet:

“Yeah, Okay.”

Then, the weight of your head settles on her right shoulder. Dina lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. This was the girl she missed—the softer version, even if you’d been moping around. She knew it would pass, just hoping you didn’t push her away before the gray cloud lifted, making way for a bluer sky.

For a moment, it felt nice. The intelligible chatter reminded you of your surroundings—until, suddenly, you felt out of place where you least expected it.

Your throat tightened as you blinked away the burning in your eyes. You had to push it down. You couldn’t cry now. So you quickly muttered something to get yourself out of there.

“Alright, I’ll see you at home then?”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly, patting your knee once more. “See you at home.”

Dina watched as you stood up, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder and making your way across the open field. The loud whistle redirected her attention. She brushed off the few strands of grass clinging to her legs, giving your retreating figure one last glance.

The coach’s sharp voice cut through the lingering conversations. “Alright, bring it in!”

Dina pushed herself up, stretching her arms over her head before glancing at the rest of the girls. “She just needs to cool off,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “She’ll be fine.”

Caitlyn leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You think she’s good, though? She’s been kinda—”

“Intense?” Josephine, the blonde, chimed in. “Yeah, I’m kinda relieved she stormed off this time. Maybe now we can finish a damn drill without her biting someone’s head off.”

Dina shot her a look, lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah, maybe don’t talk about her like that when she’s not here to defend herself.”

Josephine scoffed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying—”

The coach clapped their hands together, effectively cutting off the conversation. “Let’s go! I want focus this time!”

With that, they all fell back into line, shaking off the moment and refocusing on the drills ahead.

The walk felt aimless. If you went back home now, the questions would come. Admitting that your attitude got you put on timeout would sound too much like you were the loose cannon everyone said you were.

The sun beamed down on the exposed skin of your arms. Once the group was out of view, you sank onto the bleachers on the opposite side of the field, pressing your elbows against your thighs. The metal burned under you, but it was nothing compared to the frustration simmering in your chest.

From here, you could see the restrooms and the now-empty concession stands—during game nights, the lines were insufferable. Now, everything was still, and for the first time all morning, you could breathe.

Maybe some peace was needed after all.

Maybe you had been more intense since it happened.

And maybe you just needed a good cry.

Your shoulders sagged, defenses dropping. The tears burned as they fell, silent but unstoppable. What a shitty morning. Frustration took over, your hands moving without thinking, yanking your hair out of its perfectly tied updo. The strands fell loose around your face—messy, undone. Not so picture perfect. You hadn’t been in a while.

So bad, in fact, that they’d started calling you—

“Watch out, Time Bomb’s about to go off again.”

The snicker cut through your pity party. Laughter followed, the kind that made your skin crawl. So much for peace.

Of course, it’s one of those days—the kind where you’re forced to share the field with the rowdiest, cockiest group on campus. The ones who tackled each other for fun, who walked like they owned the place, who didn’t know when to shut the hell up.

One nudged the other with a elbow, grinning.

“Careful. One wrong move and she might start swinging.”

You should sit up, square your shoulders, act like you don’t hear them. Instead, your body felt heavy. The weight of the morning, the season, the past four months pressing down. So you ducked your head, staring at the ground like maybe—just maybe—if you didn’t acknowledge them, they’d move on.

Then came her voice. Annoyingly high-pitched.

“Knock it off.”

The condescension was thick. She didn’t actually care. You knew who it was before you even looked up. Savannah green, The replacement herself.

Long legs, smooth skin, lips always pulled into that pristine, porcelain smile. her arm lazily draped around Martinez like she had something to prove. And the look she shot you? Amused. Pitying. Like you were some kind of sad little joke.

Your jaw clenched. Nails dug into your palms.

God, you still hated her.

Hated them.

Four months earlier…

Virginity. Most girls lose it early—peer pressure, trying to catch up with their friends, or thinking they’ve found the one. They look at you differently once you share your body. Tie your soul to theirs, if you believe in that kind of thing.

But not you.

With a helicopter mom obsessed with appearances and a future in professional cheer ahead of you, relationships were hard to come by. Harder to keep.

Which is why you adored your first girlfriend.

At first She was sweet, understanding—the kind of girl who’d offer you her hoodie the second you muttered about being cold.

But lately, she’d been… pushy.

Her new group of friends had changed her, little by little. Since when was she so fixated on sex? What happened to I’m ready when you are?

So when her hand snaked into your jeans that night, fingers brushing against the fabric of your underwear, and her kisses swallowed your quiet protest—You had to fully pull back, laughing nervously.

“Woah, slow down.”

She groaned, running a hand through her dark hair. “You do this every time.”

Guilt twisted inside you. You reached out, cupping her cheek. “Babe, I’m just—”

“—Not ready. I get it.” With her head already turning away from you.

The air in the car shifted. You slowly slid back into the passenger seat. thing were so different now. Life pulling you both in different directions, those promises of being able to stick together through it all feeling emptier than the quick ‘love you’s she’d throw out like it automated reply.

She was different. The kind you struggled to recognize anymore. Before you could say another word, her phone buzzed.

You glanced down.

Savannah. That name again. The one she swore was just a friend. Just someone she passed notes with. Nothing to worry about.

Valeria let out a sigh, glancing at her screen before locking it again with a click. “I should take you home.”

“Oh—I thought it was date night?”

She only shrugged, shifting into reverse. “Yeah, well, it’s getting late.”

You should’ve known that night. Dina had tried to warn you, but that only earned her the cold shoulder.

She was right. She was always right. Because that night? Valeria didn’t go home. She found the first warm body that let her press up against them. The same girl she swore you didn’t have to worry about. Plastered all over that stupid Instagram page—Exposed UW. The one that thrived off campus scandals.

Abby had seen the post, too. Not that she’d been looking—it was impossible to miss. She still remembered the way your name had been tagged under the grainy party pictures, how the comments filled with half-hearted damns and yikes. The way she felt a little sick to her stomach reading them. Because sure, maybe she didn’t know you that well back then. But she knew enough to know She remembered thinking—Shit. She doesn’t deserve that. months later, you would still were holding onto that anger, looking at her like she was the enemy.

And Dina? She just patted your back as you screamed into your pillow, now wishing she’d brought earplugs.

“I hate her! I hate everything about her!”

Tears burned your face, breath hitching, body shaking as you chucked a fluffy pink pillow across the room. It bounced uselessly against the wall.

“She’d rather be the first whore to spread her legs than pick me?” Your voice ricocheted through the shared sorority housing. “Oh wow, congrats, Valeria! You’re a statistical cliché! So unique! So rebellious!“

You threw your hands up. “And her? Really? You wanted to date someone who looks like a Red Bull commercial come to life? ‘Oh, don’t worry, we’re just friends.’ Yeah, okay! Well, newsflash—friends don’t fuck each other!”

You grabbed your phone, scrolling furiously. “And this post? This post?” You shoved the screen toward Dina, voice in disgust.

“From head cheerleader to washed-up has-been? Some people peak in high school. Tough break.”

Dina winced hearing it read out loud, lowering the phone to see your face again. “You know that’s not true—“

“Washed. Up. Dina. Ugh!—says some loser who probably has no life of their own. so ‘ hey why not ruin someone else’s?’. Lame! “

You flung your phone onto the bed, hands flying to your head, Hair a nest of unbrushed strands. “Jesus, I mean—I suffered through hours of her indie garbage playlist just to impress her! And I—”

Your breath hitched. Eyes widening. A realization settled over you. The situation. What this meant.

“Oh my God.” You stumbled back. “I’m the tragic ex.”

“No, you’re not—”

“I am the tragic ex!” You shouted, to the ceiling.

Dina buried her face in her hands as you threw yourself dramatically onto the bed.

Back to this morning…

They just kept going, as if you weren’t even there. As much as you hated the nickname, they were lighting a match underneath you.

Walk away. Ignore them. Walk away.

With a deep exhale and a push of your palms, you stood up, preparing to do just that.

A small group straggled onto the field—probably the ones who overslept before practice. You barely registered them because another jag cut through the air.

With a fake pout, she continued, “Aw, you guys, don’t be mean. She’s had a rough time ever since, y’know…”

The audacity. The absolute gall to gesture between herself and Valeria, like she was doing you a favor by acknowledging it.

Valeria sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Savannah, chill.” She wasn’t even looking at you.

They were already moving on, setting up for practice like it was just another day.

That did it. Your vision blurred to crimson. A laugh escaped. “No, no. Let her talk. Since she clearly has so much to say.”

“Oh, I was just saying—”

Abby heard the taunting before she even saw the scene unfolding.

Still groggy from a late start to her morning, she stepped onto the field, body already bracing for a dreadfully long practice. And on top of everything, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about you. That stupid viral clip of your argument looped in her head like a bad highlight reel. She’d gone over it a hundred times, picking apart what she said, how she said it, how your face twisted right before you shot back. Nora told her to just rip the Band-Aid off and apologize already. But it wasn’t that simple.

Second chances existed—sure. She was still working through how. Then, voices cut through her thoughts. Loud. Mocking. Her dark brows furrowed as she scanned the field. A few teammates laughing like they’d just cracked the funniest joke in the world.

But even odder—you. Standing stiffly, like a cat waiting to pounce.

Abby followed your line of sight, locking onto Savannah, who wore that smug little grin like she was waiting to be crowned homecoming queen.

And she knew that look on your face. The same one you’d given her the other night when you told her to stop pushing.

A slow inhale. Shoulders tensing. Abby felt it coming before it even happened

She barely had time to react before—

A collective gasp rang out, cut off by the impact of the ground.

Before she knew it, Weeks of poking a bear with Pom Poms had finally caught up. You ticked like a timebomb reaching its final countdown.

Fingers curled into the ironed fabric of Savannah’s perfect little shirt, your other hand balled into what she had coming for her.

A fist, flying right for her face.

Blue irises followed the movements of your drawn-back arm as it pistoned over and over and over and—oh my God, somebody please do something.

No. She should do something.

Her own belongings now lost on the ground, Abby decided to act fast before Savannah’s face or your fist was permanently disfigured.

With a rushed, fluid movement, strong arms locked around you, restricting any further hits. But not before your hand swung back, catching Abby in the process of prying you off the girl beneath you.

“Jesus—really?” Abby managed out, wincing as her head snapped slightly to the side.

With a heaving chest, you heard her voice first. Then the others.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Savannah, breathless, clutching her bleeding nose.

“Did someone record that?”

“Is she okay?”

“Damn, Time Bomb. Didn’t know you had hands.”

And that’s how she found herself beside you once more.

This definitely wasn’t the second chance her roommate had been talking about. But still, she couldn’t help but feel like—maybe—it could be a start.

You didn’t hit her on purpose. At least, she hoped.

As the dean finished up paperwork and wrapped up a phone call or two, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing the both of you with thinly veiled exasperation.

“Well, I don’t know the full extent of the situation, but what I do know is that I have one student with a broken nose and some very angry parents.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple before continuing.

“This is a university of young adults, not a fight club full of children.”

“And while I’m fully aware of certain… patterns of behavior, I’m failing to see how that justifies violence.”

His gaze flickered to Abby , then to you. “Now, you’ve never once sat in this chair before, so I’m gracing you with a warning. But if I—or any other staff—catch you, Miss Anderson, and especially Miss Green, in any kind of altercation again…”

His voice dropped to something final.

“I can promise you, the fallout will be far worse.”

As the dark oak door clicked shut, Abby leaned back against the wall. The dean had far more choice words for you than for her.

When you finally reappeared, she got her first good look at you—disheveled, a broken nail, a busted lip from the one hit Savannah had managed to land, and a look that spoke a thousand words.

She thought back to the bubbly, soft-spoken girl she’d been pining over, and yeah… this wasn’t her. And maybe, just maybe, her stupid comment the other night had a butterfly effect. She braced herself. She knew you were going to let her have it. Again. But when you turned down the hall without so much as a glance in her direction, she felt something unexpected—offended.

“What, no ‘thank you’?” Fuck. That’s not what she meant to say.

But it got your attention immediately. Here we go. Maybe she was a masochist because the slow chuckle you let out as you turned to face her made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Thank you?” Disbelief dripped from your voice. “You want a thank you, Anderson?” You cocked your head at her,

Abby huffed, trying—and failing—to ignore the way her name sounded coming from you. God, she was losing it.

“Yeah, I do.” She held your gaze, chin jutted outward in defiance. “I just saved your ass.”

Before you could retort, she closed the distance between you. “You could be suspended. Or worse—kicked off the entire cheer team. And yet you won’t even look at me, let alone thank me.”

She was right in front of you now, almost toe to toe.

“I’m off for two weeks because of you! So it might as well be the same damn thing! Oh, don’t think that just because you decided to play Prince Charming, I’m about to kiss your damn feet.”

“So thanks for always somehow making my life worse!”

Abby’s eyes narrowed. Oh, we’re doing this? Blaming her of all people?

“Oh, right. Because it’s all my fault you can’t control your temper.” She scoffed and took a step closer, leaving mere inches between you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re—” You trailed off, eyes flickering over her face.

“You’re—!” You turned your back on her, ignore how she smells, ignore how she smells, before throwing up a hand.

“Ugh! Just piss off already!” You stormed down the hallway, needing space, air, anything but her. This god awful day.

“Oh yeah, real mature!” she called after you before turning on her heel and being off in the opposite direction.

Apologize? Her ass.

So yes, Abby swore she had a plan. She just never thought it would backfire so much in the last 72 hours.

Taglist cuties: @ferxanda @sigh-icantfindausername @caffeine-pup @grey-jedi12 @layalisthings @deadbolted @bambiaches

[violet-embers]

The first time I saw a trans woman was in porn. I was pretty young then, in early middle school I think. My first thoughts about trans women only existed in a sexual context, since that was the only place I saw us mentioned

The next time I saw trans people mentioned was a TV show presumably about trans people and transitioning. I didn't watch it, only saw the description because even as a kid I had already internalized the idea that it was taboo and I would get in trouble if my parents walked in and I was watching it

Eventually I saw enough TV and cop shows to see an episode with the dead trans hooker trope. It further reinforced the building idea that trans women were something else, separate from "normal" people and always on the outskirts of society

And then Caitlyn Jenner came out. At my Catholic middle school there were few kind things said about her and plenty of nasty comments, but this was the first time I saw trans people being publicly talked about

In high school my views on trans people started to fracture. On one hand, I was being pushed the idea that gender was about what's in your pants, that if you've got a dick your a man and there's nothing that can be done about it. On the other hand, early high school me had stumbled across some gender change erotica and quickly became obsessed with it. While it wasn't great representation, it was still pretty positive about transitioning. The people in those stories were always happier afterwards

I struggled to reconcile what parts of society were saying about trans people with my daydreaming about what I'd do if I woke up the next morning as a girl. Eventually I decided that it was just a fetish. I just thought it was hot, there was no way I could be trans because I was just a normal person. I wasn't weird or a spectacle for others to gawk at, I was just a person

Around that time I also met a trans person in passing for the first time. One of the trans guys at my high school was in one of the musicals that I went to because some of my friends were also in them. When I was talking to my friends about it after someone mentioned the trans guy and that he was trans. I wasn't really sure what to think so I kinda just didn't think about it. Thinking back, there were a few trans guys at my high school but I don't think there was a single out trans woman

Eventually in college I actually met some trans and nonbinary people. In some classes we introduced ourselves on the first day with names and pronouns which was my first exposure to people using pronouns other than just he/him and she/her. I had a few classes with trans and nonbinary people, including a survey of transgender studies class I took in my last semester. I had plenty of excuses for why I was taking it (I needed a few more credits to graduate. It still had room open. It fit with my other classes. It seemed interesting. I'm trying to be a good ally.)

Around this time as well I found some trans creators online like ContraPoints and Philosophy Tube (whom I had watched before she came out as trans). I was weirdly excited and interested when Odyssey Eurobeat came out as trans and I went to go listen to some of her music right after I heard. I was starting to have examples of trans people just being people. Not just porn stars or public spectacles, but people

Later I met and befriended a few trans women, one of whom was extremely open about her transness and happened to share a video which started the initial steps of my egg cracking and figuring out who I am now

If I had actually known any trans women, if the world had been kinder to trans people, if representation of trans women as people existed and was well known, I might have been able to realize who I was sooner. I would have been able to exist as myself for more than a tiny fragment of my life so far

Representation matters, both in media and in daily life. Trans people being out and open about who they are made it possible for me to realize that about myself. Please never stop being who you are

[writtenbythemoonandstars]

The festival

Content Warning: This scene contains depictions of gun violence, a mass shooting, medical trauma, injury descriptions, character death, and emotional distress. Read with care!

In the midst of the tragic mass shooting, ER doctor Robby fights to save lives—unaware that the love of his life is among the wounded. 

1.2k words

To say Robby thought he'd ever find himself sleeping under a hot pink duvet in a room that smells like vanilla and strawberries he'd probably run a head CT for possible trauma. But here he is trying to pull the owner of said sheets back into bed as she giggles. Wearing nothing but the shirt he's missing. 

"Do you really have to go?" He asks, pushing his face into her hair, kissing across towards her chin. 

"Yes." She replies. "And you have to go save lives." Turning and kissing his lips. "I'll see you later? For Pittfest?" 

"Ah… I forgot to tell you." Robby sighs, looking apologetic as he sits up a little causing the duvet to reveal his bare chest. "Jake is taking some new girl he met at school." He kisses the pout off her lips. "Why don't you just stay home? I'll be off by seven. We can get take out… a bath…" His hands running slowly up and down her arm. She looks tempted to say yes but then sighs and shakes her head.

"I can't. I'm working it." It's her first big gig. Years of building a big enough social media rapport to get a deal for an event as big as Pittfest. "But call me whenever you have a few seconds." She smiles. One last kiss before she gets up to get dressed. 

When he knows Nick Bradley is braindead he calls but it goes to voicemail. A text follows, "Sorry. My partner flaked." with a sad face emoji following. "call later!" and a heart. 

When they lose the little girl who'd drowned trying to save her sister he gets another voicemail. No text follows this time. 

But an hour later, "so sorry babe, it's chaotic out here. I'll call you in 15." She never does. 

After he talks to Heather and she all but tells him he could have been a father years ago he sends her a text to call when she has a chance. 

This day… He's so glad it's almost over. 

Until it's not. 

He feels like the ground has been pulled out from under him when there's news of a shooter at the festival.

He calls. No answer. He calls again. Nothing.

Robby forces himself to work. He has to. Slapping yellow, pink, red… black bracelets on countless victims.

But none of them her. 

It feels like a lull in the ER which can only mean the worst in this situation when a truck pulls in to the ambulance bay. It's Jake. And Leah. "Jake." His voice loud. Sharp. He's quick to be by Jake's side. 

"Robby! Leah got shot. It's really bad-" His voice cuts off with a sob. "I've been putting pressure on it the whole time. She was talking just a minute ago-"

"That's good." He nods. Robby and a few other doctors help them out and into the ER. He tries to ask Jake if he'd seen his girl but then he's swept up in trying to save Leah and make sure Jake gets checked out. 

It's Jack Abbott that's out in the ambulance bay waiting for more people when he spots a woman walking-- limping--  with her hand pressed tightly to her shirt. Maybe if she wasn't covered in blood maybe he would have recognized who it was sooner. "You shot?" He rushes up. She walking so that's a good sign for now. Yellow bracelet. 

The woman nods. Jack gently removes her hand, it's just barely grazed though will need stitches. "Come on. I got you. You're safe." 

Robby is too busy giving CPR to Leah he doesn’t see the love of his life covered in her own blood walking right past him. Though she seems to out of it to notice he's right there either. 

Jack helps her into a chair. "I- Is Mic- Dr. R-Robby here?" He looks up at Jack. And that's when he recognizes her. His eyes widen. 

"I'll get him as soon as I'm done." Jack nods once. 

The only reply he gets is a distant look over his shoulder. 

"You're safe now." His words firm. He knows she probably can't even hear him but he knows this kind of trauma. 

"I saw him." Her voice haunting. Something he'll never forget. "He was as close as you are to me. His gun-" She chokes on her words. Jack finishes her stitches quickly. "I saw so many people-" Tears mixing with the blood on her face. 

Jack is not equipped for the emotional kind of procedures he knows only Robby can provide for her. A gentle hand on her shoulder and a sad smile before he's rushing out of the room.

Dana giving him a look, begging for his help. Leah's gone… 

"Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl-" Giving his colleague and old friend the morbid speech that finally gets him to stop. "Trauma 2." His voice right in Robby's ear, cutting off the guilt filling his body. "She's okay?" 

"Define okay?" Jack tilts his head. "Just a graze to the shoulder. Already stitched up." 

"I'll talk to Jake." Dana supplies for him. 

That's all Robby needs before he's running down the hall. Shucking his PPE and gloves off. 

There's mascara running down her cheeks. The light blue glitter he'd watched her meticulously spread across her eyelids mixed with the blood all over. Her blood. 

She's sobbing as soon as she sees him. Her face tightly against his chest as the relief floods the room. She's alive. Robby tilts her face up towards him. Carefully rubbing the tears, makeup, and blood across her face. "I love you." He whispers. "I'm so sorry." 

Which only brings more tears down her face. "I was so scared." She whimpers. "He- he was right in front of me." She shakes her head. "His gun it-" Robby tugs her face back to his chest. His hug fierce. 

"Let me clean you up?" He gets a nod in response. 

Despite the chaos and more victims along with the residents and med students that need his help he needs this moment with her. A washcloth is wiped carefully across her cheeks. Revealing the bare pretty face he knows. The one that shouldn't be covered in blood. 

"Is Jake okay?" Even in her worst state she always caring about everyone else first. A kiss is pressed to her forehead. "Yeah, baby, he's okay." 

"And the girl?" A shake of his head and the sad look on his face quiets her. 

"When everything happened I- I tried to find him but I-" Robby shakes his head. "In that situation you do what you have to and you survived. That's all that matters." 

She nods. Sniffling.

"I've still gotta help-" As much as it pains him to leave her alone now he has to finish his job. "I understand," waving him off and he'll never understand what he did to deserve her. "Go up to the family room. I'll come find you after."

"Could I borrow your phone? So I can call my mom?" She asks before he leaves. 

He nods, pulling it out. "Not sure if it'll have much service but you can try. You may have better luck with the landline." He frowns. Wishing there was more he could do.

His hands are back on her face. Gently holding around the back of her neck. Pushing her hair back. "I love you." Because Robby just has to say it again. 

"I love you." The whispered response comes. 

---

Hey! It seemed like a lot of people liked the last story I wrote for Robby on here so I pumped out another. This is also unedited...

And like my last work I used she/ her pronouns and 3rd person pov but I used no names and less physical descriptions so you could imagine yourself if you wanted to.

I do have another work nearly finished that is much lighter than these last two that I can post soon as well. Hope you enjoy!

[777bae]

HIS JERSEY WILL SMITH

Summary :: Will wasn’t expecting to find you curled up in his jersey, but the sight stops him in his tracks. What starts as teasing shifts into something unspoken—a quiet claim, a piece of him that now belongs to you. (REQUESTED :: prompt 25)

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 2.5k

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the TV playing a rerun of some show you don’t particularly care about, the kind that’s easy to leave on as background noise. The comfort of the silence wraps around you like a warm blanket, the world outside your apartment fading with every lazy minute. You’re curled up on the couch, the soft cushions cradling you as you sink deeper into them. Your legs are tucked under a pile of blankets, the weight of it all settling perfectly against your skin. It’s the kind of night you don’t get too often—one where you can completely let go, allow yourself to just be.

The room feels like a sanctuary—warm, inviting, cocooned from whatever chaos may be happening elsewhere. The walls seem to hum with a quiet energy, and the dim lighting casts long shadows that dance lazily around the space, creating a sense of peace you didn’t realize you were craving until now. Your breath slows, your mind quiets, and the small comforts of home—blankets, the faint aroma of coffee still lingering in the air, the soft whir of the fridge in the other room—become everything you need in this moment.

It’s then you realize you’re wearing his jersey.

The realization doesn’t come as a shock, not exactly. You’d noticed the familiar fabric draped over the back of the chair earlier, and without thinking, you’d pulled it on, reveling in its softness and how easily it swallowed you. It’s too big on you—sagging loosely around your shoulders and flowing down over your thighs—but it’s comfortable in a way nothing else is. The fabric feels like it was made for this, made for you to wear in this space, in this moment of complete relaxation. And even though you hadn’t expected him home yet, it feels right, like a part of him has been woven into the fibers.

The faint scent of him clings to the fabric. It’s a blend of ice and cologne, sharp and fresh, with just a trace of sweat from the game still hanging in the air. It’s the scent of him when he’s just finished skating hard, his body still buzzing with the adrenaline, his presence still lingering even after he’s left the rink. You find yourself tugging the jersey closer, as if that scent could somehow ground you more, hold you tighter in the warmth of this moment.

You hadn’t expected him home so early, not with his usual routine after a game. The late-night practices, the media stuff, the need to unwind with the guys after everything winds down. You figured you’d have more time, more space to just sink into the couch, stay hidden under the blankets in your own little bubble. But then, the quiet rhythm of your world shatters.

The front door clicks open. You hear the jingle of keys and the familiar sound of a bag being dropped by the entrance. Your heart skips a beat—shifting from lazy contentment to sudden alertness. The door creaks as it pushes open, and you hear the soft shuffle of boots against the hardwood floor.

And then he steps inside.

Will.

You don’t need to see him fully to know it’s him—his presence fills the space before his face even appears, an easy confidence that always seems to follow him in whatever room he enters. The scent of him—colder now, but still unmistakable—seems to fill the doorway as he walks in, the cool air from outside trailing behind him. His hair is damp from the post-game shower, still dripping slightly, the dark strands sticking to his forehead in a way that only seems to make him look more effortlessly disheveled. He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a loose hoodie that looks comfortable, but it’s the way he carries himself that commands attention. His eyes scan the room for a moment, settling on you when he spots the jersey you’ve pulled on.

It’s like the world slows for a second, his gaze locking onto you. You can’t help but notice the way his posture shifts when he notices you—slightly straightening, that familiar grin tugging at his lips. He’s surprised, but there’s something else in his expression too. Something softer, quieter. Like he’s just found something he didn’t know he was looking for.

For a beat, neither of you says anything. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and he stands there for a second, just watching you.

Then, he speaks.

“Well, well.” His voice is a little rough from the game, low and gravelly in the way it always gets when he’s just walked off the ice. “Didn’t think I’d be coming home to this.”

It’s playful, teasing, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your breath hitch. His gaze drifts over the jersey that hangs too loosely around your frame, like he’s taking in every detail of you, and it feels oddly intimate.

Your hands instinctively tug at the hem of the fabric, unsure if you should pull it tighter or let it hang. You were comfortable before, relaxed in the warmth of the jersey, but now, with him standing there, so close, it feels different.

You try to keep your voice steady. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, and that signature smirk of his begins to stretch across his lips, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. There’s something about the way he watches you that makes the air around you feel heavier, like the space between you both is shrinking, becoming charged with unspoken understanding. “Clearly,” he says, his voice low and effortlessly confident. The way he lets the word hang in the air tells you he’s already figured it out, and for some reason, the realization makes you feel a little exposed—though you don’t quite mind it.

He drops his bag by the door with a soft thud, the sound breaking the silence, but he doesn’t rush. He takes his time, each step toward you deliberate, measured, like he’s savoring every second of this moment. There’s no hurry in his movements, no rush to break the distance. It’s that slow, easy swagger of his—one that always makes you feel like he’s got the world under control, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, where he’s going. And now, it feels like he’s walking directly into your space, right into your bubble of comfort that you’ve carefully crafted all evening.

He stops just short of you, so close now that the air between you seems to pulse. Your heart skips a beat, caught between the unexpectedness of his arrival and the quiet tension that’s suddenly settled into the room. His eyes—dark and warm—are locked on you, and in that moment, it’s like nothing else exists. He leans down over the back of the couch, his frame towering over you as his face inches closer. You can feel the heat of his body now, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the sharp, fresh smell of post-game sweat. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes your pulse race a little faster, your breath hitching in your chest.

He hovers there for a moment, his eyes scanning you, lingering on the way his jersey hangs on your frame. There’s a flicker of something playful in his gaze, but then it shifts—just for an instant—into something deeper. Something more intense. His lips curve into that familiar, teasing grin, but it’s softened now, edged with something unspoken. And then, as though the weight of it all hits him, he asks in a voice that’s a little quieter, a little more intimate than before:

“That mine?”

His words seem to hang in the air, his tone a little lower than usual, like he’s considering something more than just the obvious question. His eyes move over you, not in the usual way, but with a kind of focus that makes you feel both exposed and utterly seen. He’s not just looking at the jersey—he’s looking at you, taking in the way it fits on you, how you’ve made it your own, how it’s become a part of you in this moment.

You want to act casual, to brush off the weight of his gaze, but your heartbeat picks up, skipping erratically in your chest. You can’t quite keep your voice steady, but you try. “No,” you say with a light laugh, even though your throat feels dry. “I went out and got my own personalized Smith jersey.” The words feel almost ridiculous coming out of your mouth, because you both know that’s not the truth.

Will lets out a soft laugh, rich and warm, and the sound wraps around you like a comforting blanket, but it’s the way he says the next part that makes your stomach flip. “Looks good on you.”

His words settle between you both like a quiet confession, a whispered truth that wasn’t there a second ago. You weren’t prepared for the weight they carry, for the way they shift something in the air, in the way you feel. He says it with such ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like it’s obvious, undeniable. The way he’s looking at you now, with that half-smile still playing at the corners of his lips, makes your breath catch in your throat. His eyes don’t leave you, they linger there, and suddenly, the room feels smaller, the space between you both much less comfortable than it was just moments ago.

Your skin tingles under his gaze, a heat rising to your cheeks that you can’t quite explain. You want to brush it off, to pretend like it doesn’t matter, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you—so effortlessly and with such intensity—that makes you feel like you’re both standing on the edge of something.

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but even as you do, you know it’s half-hearted. His grin is contagious, that knowing, easy smile that makes your lips curve despite your attempts to resist it. The playful spark in his eyes pulls at you, and before you realize it, you’re tugging the jersey down a little further, trying to hide behind the fabric, but it doesn’t really work. Will isn’t looking away. He’s still watching you closely, his focus sharp, like he can see straight through the act.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he just shifts, his body moving closer, closer until his hand brushes against the back of the couch where you’re sitting. The light touch is enough to send a shiver down your spine, the air around you suddenly charged. He settles down beside you, that easy confidence never leaving him as he leans back against the cushions, his knee brushing against yours in the most casual way, but you feel it all the same.

“Hope you weren’t too comfy,” Will teases, his voice warm and playful as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, the movement casual but somehow deliberate. His knee grazes yours just as he settles in beside you, the faintest touch that sends a jolt of warmth through your body. He’s making himself at home—his presence completely filling the space in a way that only he can. The familiar ease with which he claims the space beside you makes everything feel… different.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, breathless and slightly nervous, but it feels good—genuine in its lightness. “I was fine until you showed up,” you admit, glancing up at him with a half-smile, feeling the quiet shift in the room, like the atmosphere has become just a little bit heavier.

Will shrugs, his movement effortless, the way he always does, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But then his fingers reach for the blanket, pulling it more firmly around you both, his arm curling just a little closer to you. It’s subtle, almost instinctual, but there’s something in the way his hand brushes the fabric that feels different, like an unspoken promise. “Well, now you’re stuck with me,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a softness underneath the words, an undercurrent that makes you pause, your breath catching for just a second. The playful glint in his eyes is still there, but there’s something more behind it now. Something steady and quiet.

You shift slightly on the couch, trying to adjust your position, but the feeling of the jersey—his jersey—around you feels suddenly more charged, more intimate. You hadn’t noticed before how the fabric clings just a little more to your skin now, how the weight of it against your body seems to amplify every small shift, every breath you take. It feels like a piece of him, like something that’s meant to be close. But you’re not sure if it’s the jersey itself or the way he’s leaning into your space, closer now, his presence surrounding you completely.

His gaze doesn’t leave you, that same confident but knowing look in his eyes, like he’s made some quiet decision that this moment, this space, belongs to both of you. You can feel it without him needing to say it aloud—he’s not rushing, not forcing anything. There’s a calm, patient certainty to him as he watches you, and it makes something stir inside you.

Then, as if to seal the unspoken promise between you, he leans in just a little closer, his voice quieter, his words hanging in the air. “Keep it,” he says, and there’s no playfulness this time, no teasing edge—just pure sincerity. “It looks better on you anyway.”

His words hit you like a soft wave, unexpected and gentle, but somehow grounding. The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, like it’s an obvious truth—makes something inside you shift. You weren’t prepared for that. Not for the weight those words carry, not for the quiet implication that goes beyond the jersey itself, beyond what’s happening between you in this moment.

For a heartbeat, you blink, your breath catching in your throat as you process it. You’d expected him to joke, to keep up the playful banter, but instead, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now—a softness that you hadn’t seen before. It’s not just about the jersey anymore. It’s about something more—something deeper between you, something unspoken, but heavy with meaning.

The words feel like a quiet confession, a little piece of something shared between you both, something that feels real in a way you weren’t prepared for. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you threw on the jersey, but you sure as hell didn’t expect it to feel like this. The fabric still hangs loosely on you, a little oversized, the edges of it crinkling around your thighs, but now it feels right. It feels like it belongs—like this moment belongs.

The world outside fades away, and in that quiet stillness between you, everything feels perfectly aligned. You don’t need to say anything more. There’s no need for words when the weight of the unspoken feels like it fills every inch of space between you, when the simplest act of wearing his jersey feels like a connection that goes deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

[ccupcakqs]

— home is where the heart is ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: established relationship, campfire pairing: max verstappen x female reader a/n: i've actually never gone camping (but i rlly want to go!)

the van rumbles softly beneath you, windows cracked to let in the crisp french air. out the passenger side, the hills roll in slow green waves, dotted with vineyards and sleepy villages where time moves like honey.

max drives with one hand on the wheel and the other curled around his paper cup of gas station coffee. his sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, letting the afternoon sun spill across his face.

you don’t say much.

you don’t have to.

it’s been three days since the season ended. three days since max handed off his last media obligation with a half-smile and grabbed your hand without a word. you’d thrown a duffel bag into the back of the van that night. no press, no team radio, no circuit noise. just the two of you, heading anywhere that wasn’t loud.

“do you think we’ll get lost again?” you ask, a little amused.

max hums. “probably. but if we do, it’ll be in france. that’s not the worst thing.”

he glances at you briefly, his thumb brushing yours over the center console. you smile and lean your head against the window, sliding your hand out beside you. fingers stretch wide, catching the breeze as you hum softly along with a song playing low on the radio.

max smiles at you. “you really like that one, huh?”

“can’t help it,” you say, voice warm and soft.

after a while, the road bends through a sleepy village. max slows and pulls into a gas station tucked between a bakery and a florist. the place smells like fresh bread and rain.

you hop out, stretching your limbs, bare feet on the cool grass. max fills the tank while you wander into the small shop. a few locals browse the shelves, quiet and calm.

a man near the counter glances at you, then at max’s van parked outside. recognition flickers in his eyes.

“aren’t you max verstappen?” he asks, voice low but sure.

you glance outside, cheeks warming with a mix of pride and protectiveness.

max turns, nodding politely. “yes, that’s me.”

the man grins. “nice to see you taking a break from the tracks.”

you smile, feeling the weight of the world soften just a little in this small moment.

max’s eyes find yours again, steady and grounding.

“ready to go?” he asks softly.

you nod, slipping your hand into his as you climb back into the van. the engine hums to life, and soon you’re back on the road, the world shrinking to just the two of you, the music, and the endless sky.

eventually, the road narrows to a gravel path that dips between two sloping hills. wildflowers grow in little patches along the edge, the sky above wide and clean. the gps gave up a while ago, but max doesn’t seem to mind.

when he parks, it’s in a small, sun-drenched clearing tucked behind a stone wall. it overlooks the valley below — a tapestry of fields and old farmhouses, the kind of place that smells like thyme and woodsmoke in the evenings.

he kills the engine.

and the silence is perfect.

“god,” you murmur, climbing out and stretching. “it’s beautiful.”

max rounds the van to stand beside you, eyes sweeping the landscape. “yeah. thought you’d like it.”

you let the quiet settle again. he unlocks the back of the van and starts pulling out a blanket, the little camping stove, a soft-sided cooler. you help him, shoes off now, grass cool beneath your feet.

it’s domestic. easy.

you’ve never seen him like this. not like monaco max or media-trained max or even championship-winning max. this max walks barefoot in the grass and doesn’t check his phone. he buys strawberries from roadside stalls and stops the van just to watch cows.

you sit shoulder to shoulder on the blanket while he heats water for coffee, both of you watching the sunlight slip lazily toward golden hour.

“do you ever miss it?” you ask.

he doesn’t need to ask what you mean.

“sometimes,” he admits. “but not right now.”

your pinkies brush where your hands rest between you. his stays.

“do you?” he asks, glancing at you.

you shake your head. “not when you’re like this.”

he smiles then, soft and private. the kind of smile he only gives you when it’s quiet like this, when no one else is looking.

later, you lie on the blanket while max tends to a tiny campfire he’s built with the patience of someone who needed something to do with his hands. he’s crouched in a hoodie, hoodie strings in his mouth, cheeks a little pink from the breeze.

you watch him tie back his hair with the elastic from your wrist. it’s domestic in a way you weren’t expecting.

“i brought marshmallows,” you offer.

he turns, eyes lighting up. “seriously?”

you hold up the bag, victorious. “and chocolate. and graham crackers. i'm not a rookie.”

max grins. “you’re perfect.”

you pretend not to hear that one. he doesn’t take it back.

when the fire is steady, you roast two marshmallows. his immediately catches fire. he swears under his breath and tries to blow it out, waving it like a torch.

“c’mere, caveman,” you laugh, taking the stick and salvaging what’s left. he’s pouting, so you feed him a full s’more, marshmallow dripping down his fingers.

“ten out of ten,” he says through a mouthful.

you make a second one and hold it up to your mouth, but he leans forward and kisses you instead. slow. warm. sticky from sugar. his palm slides over your jaw, the kiss turning into two, then three, until your fingers curl around the hem of his hoodie.

you pull back, a little breathless.

“that was mine,” you say.

he taps your bottom lip with his thumb. “you can have another.”

you do.

and then you’re in his lap, your legs tangled with his, the stars starting to peek through a deep blue sky. the fire crackles softly beside you. his arms are around your waist, your forehead resting against his.

he breathes you in like this is the only thing that’s ever calmed him down.

you murmur, “this doesn’t feel real.”

max kisses your temple. “it is.”

“but like… how is this our life?”

he just shrugs, voice low. “i think we earned it.”

you nod. then tuck your face into his neck, letting the warmth of his body and the smell of firewood lull you into something slow and safe.

“you’re gonna fall asleep on me,” he murmurs.

“maybe.”

he laughs, adjusting to hold you better. “okay. but i’m not carrying you all the way into the van.”

you hum. “liar.”

he kisses your hair.

and when you do fall asleep — finally, tangled up in him under a blanket that smells like the road — he does carry you in.

because he always does.

© ccupcakqs. all work written by me. DO NOT PLAGIARISE!

[muxshwriting]

doomsday

Charles Leclerc x reader

summary: charles has always put others before himself, but you can’t keep watching as he pushes himself too far for people that don’t even care || warnings: charles is too selfless, injuries, overexertion, yelling, arguments, possible ending of relationship, mentions of death, grief, hospitals || word count: 1708 || masterlist

Charles was always passionate about his work. Formula One had been the only dream he had ever had. And now he was here, there was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice to stay.

He’s a very empathetic person, always wanting to help others and putting them ahead of himself on occasion. But more and more, he was sacrificing his own well-being for other people.

It killed you to watch Charles work himself to the bone, pushing during training sessions, attending more media opportunities, staying late for meetings and cutting every corner to brake later than all the other drivers. There was a sinking feeling in your chest every time you got the text of I’ll be home late.

One night, a night he comes home from the factory late, you’re waiting up in the living room for him. He walks through the door, exhaustion written on his face as he runs a hand down it.

He catches your eye and does a double take, not expecting you to still be awake. “Why are you still up?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I never can when you’re not home.” It’s the truth, a fitful rest is the best you can get when the other side of the bed is cold.

He stops in front of you, pulling you to your feet.

“I’ll always love you Charles. But I cannot keep watching you do this to yourself.”

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“The late nights don’t do anyone any good.” You try to reason.

“I’m trying.” He replies. “I’m trying but when I can give more, I do. If I can, why wouldn’t I?”

Slowly you shake your head. “You can’t give them everything and leave nothing for yourself. I won’t stay to see you do this.”

“I’m not giving them everything. I have you, don’t I? I’ve got to save something for my love.” He’s trying to sweet talk you and it’s working before you can think to the opposite.

“I love you.” You whisper to him. “But something’s got to change Charles. You can’t keep living like this.”

“I love you too and I won’t. I promise.”

You go to bed with the slimming hope that something will change for the better. But that slim chance only gets smaller as the weeks wane on and nothing seems to change. You have no idea if Charles even tried to cut back his work because it seemed like he didn’t even attempt to. You feel like you’re tearing your hair out just trying to make him understand what you’re seeing. He’s going to kill himself if he keeps going at the rate he is now. And you refuse to stick around and watch him.

“Charles!” The argument started from nothing, a slip of words that sent the annoyance of the past months straight to your soul. “I’m going to be planning a fucking funeral. Tell me, what flowers do you want to be buried with?” You’re making no sense as the argument only gets worse, coming out shouting.

Charles frowns, standing to meet you. “What are you even talking about right now?”

“You’re going to die!” The words tumble out as you yell, trying to get him to understand what you’re seeing. “You’re going to die in that stupid car trying to satisfy everybody else.”

Charles stares at you in silence. There’s no way to know what he’s thinking and you’re not sure you want to know. “…I can’t do this. Not now. I have-“

“You have work, right?” You finish his sentence for him, but your tone is defeated. There doesn’t seem to be a way to get through to him, there is no fighting this.

The anger inside him returns and something snaps. “You have no idea what kind of pressure I am under. I am representing a team that has traditions nothing can change. There are practically two countries breathing down my neck at all times, watching my every move. I have millions of fans critiquing me at every step and you want me to put myself first? I am a man, who is part of something so much bigger than myself. If I put myself first I would never have got into a kart. Is this what you want me to say?”

“Yes!” You shout back to him. “Please! Be angry. Be angry with me if you have to. Anything is better than the monotony you come home with, the lack of anything because it’s all been leached from you.”

“I can’t keep doing this.” He confesses.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“No.” He says sternly. “This-“ He motions between the two of you. “This isn’t working. I can’t keep coming home to someone who doesn’t understand my life.”

Part of you knew this was coming, part of you thought you should’ve done it months ago. But mostly, you just knew it was inevitable. But hey, at least you wouldn’t have to plan the funeral now. Maybe Charles would find time in between all his work to plan his own.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You’re defeated. There’s no fight left. “You’re right. This isn't working. I’ll be back for my things tomorrow. Goodbye Charles.”

He frowns at you, surprised you aren’t fighting him back anymore. He was expecting you to keep pushing him to be better, to be there for you instead of for his team and his work. For him, there was no choice, there couldn’t be. But for you, once, he would have thrown everything away. This is it.

You have no words for him, turning to grab the most important things and leaving for a friends house. You have to move on from him now, it’s all over.

You’ve casted Charles out of your mind and rather hypocritically, thrown yourself back into your work. But it’s never to a point where you have nothing left for yourself, you have to protect what you have. It’s been months, you don’t follow anything from that world anymore.

Then the phone rings.

“Hello? Is this Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes… this is she.” You tentatively answer. It’s a voice you don’t recognise from an unknown number.

“Hello. I’m calling from the Princess Grace Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for Charles Leclerc. Are you available to talk right now?”

You’ve risen from your couch, slightly in shock as you move to get ready to leave. “Yes. What’s going on?”

“Can you come to the hospital? Mr Leclerc was brought in unconscious and we’re still carrying out tests and examinations.”

“Yes. Yes. I can be there in fifteen minutes?” You’re mind stutters out a response as you’re already moving out of the front door. Why did Charles still have you saved as his emergency contact? Was he alright? What the hell had happened?

When you reach the hospital desk, they lead you up to Charles’ room and leave you at the door. He was brought in after a neighbour heard a crash. He was unconscious, probably dehydrated and over exerted himself to the point of exhaustion. They were doing the best they could for him, mainly just letting his rest and recuperate his strength.

Silently, you slip into the room and take a seat by his bedside, interlacing your fingers with his. His skin is colder than you remember, more lines etched on his forehead and a dullness there never was before. He looks tired, really tired. You fire up your phone again, pulling up Pascale’s number.

“Pascale?”

“Y/N? Is everything alright?”

“The hospital called me. Charles fainted at home, he got brought in but he’s okay, i think. I was listed as his emergency contact but I can send you all the details for where he is.”

“What- Oh my- Please, yes please. He’s okay?”

“He’s just resting. I’m with him now, he’s asleep but he seems alright. The doctor said he didn’t hit his head when he fell, so there shouldn’t be any be anything to worry about.”

“I’m on my way.”

As soon as you hang up the call, Charles’ fingers twitch within yours. Your attention snaps to him as the almost permanent frown returns to his brows.

“Charles?”

Charles thinks he must be dreaming. You’re hear, beside him. Except you left him, he’s lost count of how many months ago it was. But you left and he’d regretted it ever since. Perhaps he could stay in this blissful moment for a while, imagining you were still here, that you were actually beside him.

“Charles? Are you awake?”

He groans. His brain really wanted to make it seem real today.

“How are you feeling?”

His eyes blink open, squinting in the harsh light. There’s a weight on one of his hands and two smells, one clinical and one oddly familiar. His head turns to the side and a mirage of you appears. You’re covered in a concerned look, staring down at him as he comes back to reality. You are there, truly. But he’s not at home. He’s at the hospital.

You’re holding out a glass of water to him, helping him sit upright as his senses return. He misses the weight of your hands in his and he’s half tempted to reach back for it again. “How are you feeling?”

“You’re here.” His voice sounds dead, even to him, and it isn’t just because he just woke up.

“I’m your emergency contact…” You explain. “I called your mother, she’s on her way.”

Charles sighs, a heavy sigh that someone would give after 50 years of work, when your back aches and your muscles shake. Why is he so tired? It’s the first time he’s stopped in months, is it all finally catching up to him?

“You were right.” He whispers the confession, like it’s a secret but anyone with eyes could see it. “You were always right.”

You smile, a sad sort of smile because you knew you were. It just took him landing in the hospital for him to agree. Despite the admission, you know that he doesn’t understand the extent of the truth. He’s too selfless, feels to much guilt to give himself what he truly needs. You got out while you could, but at least you mourned someone who was alive, rather than someone that was dead.

part two for this: revelation

feel free to send in a request xx

[cosmicflw3rr]

Can we get some Dominik Mysterio x insecure! Reader Istg he'd be such a comforting bf

perfecta.

dominik mysterio x fem! reader

cw: themes of self-worth struggles, body image issues, social media negativity, self-destructive behaviors, and emotional distress.

summary: being a female wrestler has its percs until all people can seem to comment on is your body instead of your performance.

A/N: if you’re struggling with any of these feelings, please know you’re not alone, and you deserve kindness—especially from yourself.🤍

you step through the curtain, heart still racing, adrenaline buzzing under your skin like electricity. the match had been everything you wanted it to be—fast-paced, intense, the crowd hanging onto every move. you can still hear the roar of them in your ears, feel the energy thrumming through your veins.

as soon as you make it backstage, adam pearce and hunter are there waiting.

“hell of a match,” pearce says with a nod. “that was exactly what we wanted to see out there.”

hunter grins. “you keep performing like that, and we’ll have to start talking about some bigger opportunities.”

the praise sinks in, warm and exciting, making your smile stretch wider. “thank you,” you say, practically glowing. “that means a lot coming from you both.”

you chat for another moment before finally heading toward the judgment day clubhouse, still feeling the high of the match.

but then, as you walk, you pull out your phone.

at first, the comments match how you feel.

she’s a star.

every time she steps in that ring, she gets better.

this is the future right here.

but then, they shift.

she still doesn’t have “it.”

her moves look weak.

doesn’t matter how much she trains, she’ll never be on their level.

she looks bigger than before. maybe she should focus less on wrestling and more on the gym.

another mid wrestler getting pushed for no reason.

your stomach twists.

it’s like a cold hand wrapping around your ribs, squeezing, making it harder to breathe for just a second.

you shouldn’t care. you know that.

but it lingers, sinking in deep, sticking to you like something you can’t quite shake.

you shove your phone back into your pocket, forcing yourself to let it go.

when you step into the clubhouse, everything shifts.

liv is the first to spot you, her whole face lighting up. “there she is!” she cheers, jumping up from the couch and pulling you into a quick hug. “you killed it out there!”

jd, finn, and carlito chime in with their own praise, and you grin, nodding.

“thanks, guys,” you say, voice still light, still trying to hold onto the adrenaline.

and then dom is there.

before you can even react, his arms are around you, lifting you off the ground just enough to make you laugh.

“mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before setting you back down. “you were incredible.”

his hands stay on your waist, his forehead brushing yours for just a second before he leans back, studying you.

your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

his brows knit together slightly. “you okay?”

you blink, forcing the weird feeling down, nodding a little too quickly. “yeah, of course,” you say, voice light, pushing a small smile onto your face. “felt good out there.”

his eyes linger on you for a second longer, like he’s not entirely convinced, but before he can say anything else, liv claps her hands together.

“we should go out for drinks after the show,” she suggests. “celebrate the win.”

“i’m down,” you say, nodding, and dom hums in agreement, giving you another quick kiss before starting to talk about something else—maybe the match, maybe something jd did earlier.

you try to focus, try to let yourself just enjoy the moment.

but your stomach still feels a little weird, your mind drifting back to those damn comments.

you push it down, focusing on dom’s voice, his warmth, the way he’s still holding onto you like he doesn’t want to let go.

and for now, that’s enough. or at least, you tell yourself it is.

-

it’s been a few days since your match, and tonight’s show just wrapped up.

ever since that night, you’ve been hyper-aware of everything—the way your gear fits, how you look in the mirror, and especially how much you eat.

the comments keep playing in your head like a broken record, and you can’t shake them no matter how hard you try.

you’re standing near dominik as liv, carlito, finn, and jd decide to grab some food and hang out for a bit before calling it a night.

it’s nothing fancy, just catering and some downtime, but you’re grateful for the distraction.

the group finds a table in the corner of the room, away from the noise of production crews packing up. everyone is laughing, talking about the night’s matches and just talking about everything.

you do your best to engage, smiling, laughing along when necessary, throwing in a comment here and there, but your mind is elsewhere.

in front of you is a plate of food, something you normally wouldn’t hesitate to dig into, but tonight, the food in front of you sits mostly untouched.

you poke at it with your fork, moving things around to make it look like you’ve eaten more than you actually have.

the conversation flows around you, but you’re barely listening. all you can think about is how much better you could be—how much smaller, how much sharper, how much more like the women the fans seem to idolize.

dominik is sitting next to you, one arm draped casually over the back of your chair. he’s laughing at something finn says, but his eyes flicker to your plate every so often.

after a while, he leans in close, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “you alright? you haven’t really eaten much.”

his tone is gentle, but it still makes your stomach tighten. you didn’t think anyone would notice.

you glance at him quickly before brushing it off with a smile. “yeah, just not that hungry.”

his eyes flicker to your plate, then back to you. he doesn’t say anything right away, but you can tell he’s thinking.

“you sure?” he presses, softer this time. “you’ve barely touched your food.”

“yeah,” you say, throwing in a teasing smirk to make it more convincing. “i think jd’s appetite is just making up for mine.”

that gets a chuckle out of dominik, and for a second, it seems like he’s going to let it go. but then, as the conversation at the table shifts to something else, he leans back in his chair, his arm draped casually over the back of yours, and you can feel his gaze lingering.

he watches as you take a few bites here and there but never really finish anything. he watches how you laugh along with everyone but don’t reach for the extra side of fries like you usually would.

he doesn’t say anything else about it, but you can tell he’s paying attention. and for some reason, that makes your stomach twist even more.

you don’t want him to worry. you don’t want him to see it.

so you try harder to act normal, to keep the conversation going, to make sure no one suspects anything.

-

dom had always been eager to see your new gear. whenever you mentioned getting something new made, his excitement was instant.

he loved watching you light up as you described the designs, always telling you how amazing you’d look, how incredible you’d feel in the ring wearing them.

it didn’t matter what it was—he always made you feel beautiful, always made you believe it.

but lately, you’d been having trouble seeing it yourself.

your old gear—the one you felt most like you in—was something he adored. not just because of how you looked in it, but because of how happy it made you. how confident you were the second you put it on.

he loved how you’d stand in front of the mirror in your usual gear, adjusting the straps with a little smirk, the way you’d flex just to mess with him. you owned it. you owned yourself.

he always said it wasn’t the outfit that made you look good; it was the way you wore it, the way you carried yourself.

so when you told him you had new gear, he was just as excited as always, lying back on the bed with a grin as he waited for you to change.

“can’t wait to see it, babe,” he had said, voice full of anticipation.

but now, as you step out of the bathroom, that excitement fades.

you stand in front of the full-length mirror in your shared apartment with dom, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your one-piece.

the fabric feels foreign on your skin—tighter than what you usually wear, but not uncomfortable. it hugs you in a way that feels both unfamiliar and… forced.

it’s a deep black, sleek and shiny, hugging your body in a way that feels almost too perfect.

the material stretches across your curves, with subtle silver and purple detailing along the sides designed to slim your figure.

the cut is higher on the legs than you’re used to, exposing more skin than you’re comfortable with, but you tell yourself it’s what the fans want. it’s what will make everything easier.

the top is structured, a little more supportive than your usual designs, and the neckline is lower, daring in a way that feels strange for you.

it’s meant to balance out the curve of your body, to add curves in places that feel too soft or too wide, trying to give the illusion of something more polished, more acceptable.

you had spent hours with the seamstress, agonizing over every small detail.

this would make your thighs look smaller, you told yourself.

this cut will make your waist seem narrower.

the rational part of your mind knows it’s just clothing. it’s just gear. but every stitch feels like a small compromise.

every alteration feels like it’s chipping away at who you are, piece by piece.

it’s exactly what you thought the fans wanted—something tighter, something sleeker.

something that would stop the constant criticism, make you feel like you fit in with the rest of the roster.

maybe then the comments would slow down, maybe then the voices in your head would quiet.

but now that you’re seeing it on your body, standing in front of the mirror, all you feel is a lingering doubt. it doesn’t feel like you. it doesn’t feel right.

your fingers continue to tug at the hem, nervously adjusting it even though it doesn’t need it. you’re not sure what you’re trying to change—your body, or the way the world sees it.

dom doesn’t say anything at first. he just watches, his excitement fading into something softer, something quieter.

he sees the way your fingers won’t stay still, the way you keep tugging at the hem even though it doesn’t need adjusting.

he catches the quick, fleeting way your eyes flick over your reflection—like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.

you glance at him in the reflection, a nervous smile pulling at your lips. “so… what do you think?” your voice is steady, but there’s a slight tremor beneath it, the kind you can’t hide when you’re unsure.

he takes a deep breath, his gaze flickering between you and your reflection. there’s a pause, a shift in the air. he knows something’s not right, but he doesn’t press.

instead, he smiles softly, his eyes locking onto yours through the mirror. “you look incredible,” he says, his voice warm but careful, as if he’s searching for the right words. “you always do.”

after a moment, he stands, crossing the room in a few easy steps before stopping just behind you.

his hands find your waist—not possessive, not expectant, just there, warm and grounding. his eyes meet yours in the reflection, and his voice is softer when he finally speaks.

“It looks great,” he says, his voice careful. “but why the change? you always loved your old gear.”

you smile again, this time a little more brightly, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “yeah, I know. i just thought… i thought it’s time to switch things up,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “it looks good, right? i like it.”

dom studies you for a moment, his expression still soft but searching. he doesn’t push, though. instead, he leans in close, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin.

“you look amazing,” he murmurs against you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you gently back against him. “no matter what you wear, you always do.”

you let yourself melt into him, feeling the comfort of his embrace, the way his touch makes everything feel just a little better. “thanks,” you whisper, your heart easing, if only for a moment.

he kisses your cheek now, his lips lingering in the way only he knows how to do. “always,” he says, his voice low and sure, like he knows exactly how you need to hear it.

you take a deep breath, resting your head back against his chest. his warmth surrounds you, and for a brief second, you feel a flicker of comfort.

but your eyes stay locked on your reflection, and the quiet doubt that has been lingering in the back of your mind never quite fades.

the reflection staring back at you doesn’t feel like the version of yourself you know, the one you’ve always been.

you stay there, silent, caught in the stillness, wondering if this—this version of you—is the one the world will want.

-

you used to love going to the gym. it made you feel strong, in control, powerful. but now? now it felt like a prison. like no matter how hard you pushed, how much you changed, it would never be enough.

the comments had only gotten worse. you had already started eating less, skipping meals when you could. you had changed your gear, making sure it flattered you more, covered what people seemed to have a problem with. but it didn’t matter. they still had something to say.

so this? pushing yourself until you couldn’t think, until your muscles screamed and your body begged you to stop—this was the last resort.

and you had been doing it for the past few workout sessions, unnoticed. or at least, you thought you had gone unnoticed.

today was no different.

you were on the treadmill next to liv, who was casually scrolling through her phone between sets. her music played softly through her earbuds, her foot tapping along to the beat.

she was relaxed, enjoying her time here. meanwhile, you were fighting to keep your legs moving, ignoring the burning in your calves, the tightness in your chest.

dom was spotting jd across the gym, but even from here, you could feel his eyes on you. he had been watching you more and more lately, like he was waiting for something to happen. you didn’t look his way. you didn’t need to. you just kept running.

“you’ve been going kinda crazy lately,” liv said, pulling an earbud out as she adjusted the strap on her sports bra. “like… more than usual.”

“i’m just trying to be better,” you said, keeping your pace steady even as your body begged you to slow down.

“babes, you’re already killing it,” she insisted, turning to face you fully now. “you don’t need to push yourself harder.”

“i could be better.” the words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended.

liv’s brows pulled together. “better? what does that even mean? you—”

“just drop it, liv.”

she held up her hands in surrender, but she didn’t look convinced.

you reached for your water bottle, pretending like the conversation never happened, but as soon as you wrapped your fingers around it, you realized they were shaking. badly.

you quickly put the bottle back in the cupholder before she could notice. then, without another word, you turned the treadmill up higher.

later, you moved to weights. your arms were already aching, your muscles tight and sore, but that didn’t stop you from loading more weight onto the bar.

the logical part of you knew you should take it easy, that your body was already at its limit, but the other part—the one fueled by every cruel comment, every lingering glance in the mirror—told you to keep going.

liv was beside you, wiping sweat off her forehead, catching her breath between sets. dom and jd were a few feet away, talking between their reps, but every so often, dom’s eyes flicked toward you. watching. waiting. you ignored him.

“maybe you should take some weight off,” liv said, her tone casual but her eyes cautious.

you tightened your grip on the bar. “don’t worry, liv. i got it.” you smirked, trying to play it off like it was easy, like you weren’t already trembling under the strain.

“babes, seriously,” she pressed. “you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“liv,” you snapped, a little too sharp. “i got it.”

she sighed, stepping back, but you could tell she wasn’t convinced.

you exhaled sharply, adjusting your stance, gripping the bar tighter. then, with all the strength you could muster, you pulled.

pain shot through your arms instantly, fire spreading through your legs as you struggled to straighten up. the weight was heavier than you expected, heavier than it should have been, but you refused to let go. your body screamed at you to stop, your grip faltering for just a second, your vision blurring at the edges.

you nearly lost your balance.

but you held it. you had to.

when you finally set the bar down, your breath came in ragged gasps, your hands shaking at your sides.

you quickly turned your back, pretending to move on to the next exercise, but you knew it was pointless.

you tried to shake it off, to pretend your body wasn’t screaming at you, to act like everything was fine.

but as you moved to the next workout, your legs felt heavier, your arms weaker. every rep, every movement felt like you were dragging yourself through quicksand, but you refused to stop.

stopping meant failure. stopping meant proving them right.

you grabbed a kettlebell for squats, positioning yourself in front of the mirror. liv was finishing her set beside you, glancing your way every few seconds.

you ignored her, just like you ignored the way your body swayed slightly as you lowered into your first squat.

keep going.

you tightened your grip, pushing yourself through another rep, and another. but on the fourth, your vision blurred at the edges, dark spots dancing in front of your eyes. your balance faltered—just for a second—but liv noticed.

“okay, that’s enough,” she said, stepping closer.

“liv, don’t,” you warned, straightening up too fast, dizziness rushing over you like a wave.

she frowned. “you’re literally about to pass out.”

“i’m fine,” you muttered, blinking rapidly, trying to clear your vision.

but then, the kettlebell slipped.

not completely, not enough to drop it, but just enough for it to slip against your fingers before you caught it, just enough to make your stomach flip with panic.

and of course, dom saw.

before you could even process it, dom was already on his way over. he dropped his own bar with a clang, barely acknowledging jd as he walked straight toward you.

“hey.” his voice was closer than you expected, low, firm, impossible to ignore.

you shook your head, already moving. “not now, dom.”

“yeah, now.”

you were a few feet away from liv and jd now, but their stolen glances told you they were still listening. you grabbed your water bottle, taking a long sip, trying to steady your breathing.

“i’m fine,” you said, voice even, controlled.

“bullshit.”

you rolled your eyes, wiping sweat from your forehead as you took another sip. but your hands—your damn hands—were still shaking, and you knew dom saw. his stare burned into you, it felt as if he was picking you apart.

“dom, just drop it,” you muttered, setting your bottle down. you turned to walk away, to move on to the next workout, but he stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“no.” his voice was low, sharp. “not this time.”

you exhaled sharply, glancing around the gym. liv and jd were still pretending to focus on their workouts, but their exchanged looks told a different story. embarrassment flared hot in your chest. why couldn’t he just let this go? why did he have to push?

you lowered your voice, words clipped. “i said i’m fine.”

dom’s eyes didn’t waver. “y/n, you’re shaking.”

you let out a short, humorless laugh. “because i’m working out.”

his jaw tensed. “no,” he said, voice barely above a whisper but cutting through the gym noise like a blade. “you’re shaking because you’re overdoing it.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stand straighter, to breathe steadier, to make it look like he was wrong. “dom, i’m serious, i’m fine,” you muttered, stepping past him before he could say anything else.

but he didn’t let it go. of course, he didn’t.

“y/n—”

you ignored him, reaching for a lighter dumbbell, acting like that had been your plan all along. maybe if you looked more in control, maybe if you just kept going, he’d back off.

you positioned yourself in front of the mirror, grip tightening around the weight as you started an easier set. dom didn’t move at first, just stood there, watching, waiting—probably expecting you to slip up again.

you wouldn’t. you couldn’t.

liv and jd exchanged another glance, their efforts to pretend they weren’t watching becoming more pathetic by the second.

dom let out a sharp exhale, dragging a hand over his face before finally—finally—stepping back toward jd. but even as he picked up his own weights again, his eyes never really left you.

-

the judgment day clubhouse was quiet, with everyone out doing a group promo it left just you there, you and the distant sound of thousands of voices cheering.

despite it being just you, the clubhouse didn’t feel peaceful. it feels suffocating.

you sit there, still in your gear, staring at your phone screen, barely able to breathe past the lump in your throat.

the sting of the match, the pain in your body, all of it fades to the background as the words on the screen dig into you, deeper than anything else could.

“she looks huge next to the others.”

“she’s too slow, too heavy, no wonder she lost.”

“maybe if she actually took care of herself, she’d be something.”

“jesus, does she even try?”

you do. you have.

you’ve changed everything. the way you train, the way you eat, the way you exist.

you changed your gear, covering up the parts they seemed to criticize over and over, trying to convince yourself that maybe—maybe—if you looked different, they’d stop.

you stopped eating things you loved. you started pushing harder in workouts even when your body begged you to stop.

you smiled less, laughed less, because it all felt fake anyway. you gave up everything that made you happy because you thought maybe if you just kept changing, if you kept hurting, they’d finally shut up.

but they never do.

you drop your phone onto the couch next to you, your hands shaking. your vision blurs, the tears welling up before you can even try to stop them.

your chest is so tight, your whole body feels like it’s folding in on itself.

you press your hands against your face, trying to stifle the sobs building up in your throat. you don’t want to cry. you don’t want to fall apart again. but it’s all crashing down on you at once—the exhaustion, the hunger, the pain of forcing yourself into someone you’re not just to be acceptable.

a few sobs escape you, and you suck in a shaky breath, willing yourself to get it together.

then the door opens.

you don’t even have to look up to know it’s dom.

his footsteps pause for half a second before he moves toward you, slow and careful.

“hey,” he says, voice softer than usual. “what’s going on?”

you shake your head, quickly swiping at your face, trying to hide the mess of tears. “nothing. i’m fine.”

lie.

dom doesn’t move for a second, but you feel his presence settle next to you on the couch. he’s watching you.

“don’t do that,” he says quietly. “don’t say you’re fine when you’re—” he stops. “baby, you’re shaking.”

you clench your jaw, hating how easily he sees through you. you turn your body slightly, trying to angle yourself away from him, but it’s useless. he’s already seen everything.

his eyes drop to your phone for a split second, and you know—you know—he must’ve caught a glimpse of the screen before it went dark.

“what the hell is this?” his voice changes, something rougher beneath it, and you immediately grab your phone, locking it, clutching it in your hands like you can make it disappear.

“nothing,” you say, but your voice is thin, weak.

dom reaches out, not to take the phone, but to tilt your chin up so you have no choice but to look at him.

your vision blurs all over again.

“tell me the truth,” he says, his voice soft and comforting. “please.”

you shake your head, throat too tight to speak.

but dom already knows.

you see it in his face—the way his brows knit together, his jaw tightens, how his eyes burn with something between heartbreak and fury.

“you’ve been doing all of this,” he says, his voice so careful, like he’s afraid to even say it out loud, “changing everything that you love about yourself… because of them?”

you can’t answer. you can’t breathe.

but you don’t have to.

because dom already knows. and it’s killing him.

“baby,” he murmurs, and his voice is wrecked. “you—why didn’t you tell me?”

you shake your head again, a tear slipping free, and you swipe at it, hating how weak you feel. “because it wouldn’t change anything,” you whisper.

dom flinches.

like you just physically hit him.

“it wouldn’t change—” he cuts himself off, running a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “jesus christ.”

he looks at you again, and this time, there’s anger. not at you. never at you.

but at them. at every single person who has ever made you feel like you were anything less than perfect. at the people who picked you apart when all you ever did was give them everything you had.

his hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping away another tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.

“listen to me,” he says, voice firm, unwavering. “you are everything. you hear me?”

your lip trembles.

“you don’t need to change a damn thing about yourself for them. not for anyone.” his thumb brushes your cheek again. “i don’t care what they say. they don’t know you. they don’t know how hard you work, how much you give. they don’t see how fucking incredible you are.”

your breath shudders, and dom leans in, pressing his forehead against yours.

“i see you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking just a little. “and i love you. not some version of you they think you should be.”

your whole body shakes.

because the way he says it, the way his voice cracks like he’s hurting just as much as you are, it makes something deep inside you shatter.

you grip onto his hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric, and before you can stop yourself, you break.

his arms move to wrap around you, holding you together while you completely fall apart.

your body shakes, sobs wracking your chest, but dom doesn’t let go. he doesn’t even loosen his grip. if anything, he holds you tighter.

his hand cradles the back of your head, his other arm strong around your waist, grounding you, keeping you from slipping any further into the darkness that’s been swallowing you whole.

“i’ve got you,” he whispers against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve always got you.”

your knees are still pulled up to your chest, your body curled in on itself, but you can’t stay like this—not when dom is right there, warm and steady and here.

slowly, hesitantly, you uncurl just enough to shift, moving closer, pressing yourself against him.

he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t let you pull away even for a second. he moves with you, adjusting so you can tuck yourself against him properly.

his arms tighten around you, securing you in place as your fingers fist into the fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you from breaking apart completely.

his breath is warm against your temple as he shifts, his lips ghosting over your skin, his voice softer now, but still carrying that same fierce intensity.

“you’re perfect.”

your chest heaves, another sob breaking free, because how can he say that?

how can he look at you—like this, a mess, broken, exhausted, torn apart by your own reflection—and still say that?

his hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. they’re dark, filled with something unshakable.

“eres perfecta, mi amor.”

the words hit you harder than you expect, the rawness in his voice, the way he says it like it’s an undeniable truth.

like nothing in the world could ever make him think otherwise.

your lip trembles, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks, and dom doesn’t hesitate—he wipes them away, his thumbs brushing over your skin with so much care it makes your heart ache.

“you don’t have to do this to yourself,” he says, his forehead pressing against yours again. “you don’t have to change. not for them, not for anyone.” his voice drops even lower, barely above a whisper. “not even for me.”

you let out a shaky breath, your body still trembling in his arms.

“but i—” you choke on the words, the weight of everything crushing down on you all over again. “it’s never enough. no matter what i do, it’s never enough.”

his jaw clenches, his grip on you tightening just a fraction. “it’s enough for me,” he says, firm and certain. “you are enough for me. you always have been.”

your vision blurs again, but this time, it’s not just from pain. it’s from the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something precious. like you’ve never been anything less than perfect in his eyes.

you shift again, needing to be closer, needing to feel him. you move your legs, adjusting so you can curl into his lap, your arms wrapping around his waist as you bury your face into his chest.

he leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead, lingering there.

“no more of this,” he murmurs against your skin. “no more hurting yourself for people who don’t even know you.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you again, his hands still cupping your face.

“promise me,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “promise me you’ll stop.”

you swallow hard, your breath still shaky, but when you look at him—really look at him—something in you starts to shift.

you nod. just a little. just enough.

dom exhales, relief flashing through his eyes, but there’s still so much emotion there, still so much love.

he presses his lips to your forehead once more before pulling you into his chest, holding you like he’ll never let go.

“te amo,” he murmurs against your hair. “just the way you are.”

[clever-ludicrous]

How to Actually Learn a Language (Without Wasting Time)

Polyglots will do anything to sell you something, so here’s the fastest and most basic technique based on my research.

—

Step 1 – Getting the Absolute Basics In

This is where most people already get lost. If you search social media for how to start, the advice isn’t necessarily bad, but it often makes you dependent on a single resource, usually an app that will eventually try to charge you. Duolingo, for example, has turned into a mega-corporation that perfected gamification to keep you on the app.

Remember: free apps make money by keeping you on their platform, not by helping you become fluent.

At this stage, the goal is not to gain conversational skills but to avoid overwhelming yourself and get a feel for what you’re actually getting into. All my recommended resources are free because I believe learning a language should be a basic right. I wouldn’t advise spending any money until you’re sure you’ll stick with it. Otherwise, it can turn into a toxic “but I paid for this, so I have to keep going” mindset that drains all the fun out of learning.

• Language Transfer – Highly recommended for Spanish, Arabic, Turkish, German, Greek, Italian, Swahili, and French.

• Textbooks – Simply search for [language] textbook PDF, or check LibGen and the Internet Archive. Don’t overthink which book to choose—it doesn’t matter much.

• Podcasts – Coffee Break is a solid choice for many languages.

• YouTube Channels – Join r/Learn[language] on Reddit and find recommendations.

—

Step 2 – The 20/80 Principle

The idea is that 20% of words make up 80% of everyday speech.

What you’re going to do:

Search “Most common words [language] PDF”.

This list is now your best friend

For flashcards, I highly recommend AnkiPro. It lets you import pre-made lists for Anki/Quizlet and has an archive where you’ll definitely find the most common words. But it lacks audio. The real Anki program has it, but only on PC (unless you’re willing to pay $30 for the mobile app). Use AnkiPro for now—we’ll come back to repeating phrases later. In the meantime, find a YouTube video with the most common words pronounced, or use Google Translate for audio.

(Knowt is a free alternative for Quizlet if you prefer that)

These lists will spare you from learning unnecessary vocabulary at this stage. Spaced repetition (which Anki uses) can take longer, but it’s worth it because you want these words to stick. Anki will only introduce a small number of new words per day. Once you start new words, write phrases using them. Doesn’t matter if they’re random just try to use them.

—

Step 3 – The First Breakup With the Language

This isn’t really a step, but I have to mention it. For me (and for other language learners I’ve talked to) this is where motivation crashes.

The dopamine rush is over. Your ego boost is gone. You’re stuck understanding just enough to notice how much you don’t understand, and topics are getting more complex. Everything feels overwhelming, and motivation drops.

This is normal. You have to push through it.

I’ll write a separate post on how I manage this phase, but for now:

• Take a step back and make sure you understand the basics.

• Find something that keeps you motivated.

• Consistency is key. Even if it’s just five minutes a day, do it. (Edit: You can search online for inspiration on scheduled plans. I found one that organizes language exercises into different categories based on how much time you have each day, which seems helpful. https://www.reddit.com/r/languagelearning/s/sSGUtORurM

Personally, I used AI to create a weekly plan kind of as a last resort before giving up on the language, but try looking for pre-made ones first.)

I personally enjoyed story learning during this phase. And don’t forget the frequency lists are still your best friend. For story learning check out Olly Richards books!

—

Step 4 – Immersion

Your brain needs active and passive immersion. The earlier steps were mostly active, and now you’ll start the fun part.

How to Immerse Yourself:

1. Join some kind of community.

• I enjoy Reddit/ r/lean[Language]. Do this in your target language, but also in the language you already speak. Post that you’re looking for a chat partner in your target language. The most people are nice, and the mean ones will just ghost you anyway.

2. Watch shows.

• Subtitles only in your target language or drop English subtitles ASAP.

3. Listen to podcasts.

4. Read

I personally dislike media made for kids (except on low-energy days). For real immersion, pick something for adults.

5. Translate, write, and speak.

Before this, you wrote simple sentences using vocabulary. Now, put them to work:

• Translate texts.

• Keep a diary.

• Write short stories.

• Complain about the language in the language.

It doesn’t matter, just use it.

—

Step 5 – Speaking

Start speaking earlier than you think you’re ready. Trust me. This is probably where most people disagree with me. I do think you should start by focusing on input, but the importance of output isn’t talked about enough.

Now, the real Anki (or any program with phrases + audio) comes into play. At lower levels, it doesn’t make sense to just start talking, since you wouldn’t even be able to recognize your mistakes. Here’s what you’ll do:

1. Repeat phrases out loud.

2. Record yourself speaking.

3. Compare your recording to the original audio and adjust your pronunciation.

If it’s a tonal language (or if you struggle with accents), start this even earlier.

Other Speaking Strategies:

• Shadowing – Repeat after native speakers.

• Reading aloud – Your own texts, books, anything.

• Talking to yourself.

• Talking to natives (if you’re brave).

I’m not here to fix social anxiety, but I am here to help with language learning, so just speak.

—

Final Thoughts

• These steps overlap, and that’s fine.

• This is supposed to be fun. Learning just because you’re “too deep in” or because of school won’t cut it.

• If you’re lost, take a step back.

• I’m not a professional. I just think a straight answer is way too hard to find.

—

If you have anything to add, feel free to share.

[bnhaobssesed]

Just thinking about newlyprohero!Bakugo and cheeky!reader

He never liked parties that much. All those gatherings of people he sometimes barely knew. Most of them drunk by the end of the night. And his friends were these kind of people.

He hated to receive a drunk call from Kaminari to pick them up at one am. So one when he and Kirishima proposed for him to go yet again, he just agreed.

So there he was in a corner of the club, sitting at a table with the bakusquad. His arms were crossed while he sipped his drink and eyed up all his gatherings. People shouting, swerving through the crowd, downing drinks, swaying to the rythme. He rolled his eyes and watched carefully as Denki tried to whoo two swedish girls. Key word : tried. he could smell his alcohol level from here and it made his eyes twitch slightly.

"Hey bakubro, you ok ?" kirishima shouted from over the sound of the deafening mudic. "We shouldn't be here. The media is already all over our asses ever since we announced the launching of our agency. I don't want to ruin my reputation as a hero." Katsuki grumbled. Kiri sighed, he had Mina on his lap who was smirking at Katsuki's annoyed posture. "Oh come on you big dummy. Live a little. We're graduates, building our agency and you're being over there sulking like an idiot."

"Who are you calling an idiot ?!" His hands popped little explosions. Kiri placed a calming hand on his best friend shoulder, slighlty pushing him back in his seat. "Hey, stop you two. But you know she's right dude. I know our starting carriers are being watched a lot. But maybe it's time for you to let go... like, find a girlfriend ? You used to tell us you were too busy with hero studies. Now's the occasion."

"Right now isn't the right time, Ei." he glared at his friend who just raised his hands in defense. "I'm just saying ! it might make you lose up a little. Look at Denki, he seems fine." Katsuki rolled his eyes at the sight of the other blond, slouched in front of them as he had both girls on his side.

"Is Kacchan afraid he'll never have his first kiss ?" Kaminari boastly mocked while his little guests seemed more and more interested in Katsuki. One of them even slipped away and sat next to Katsuki. A little two close to his taste. He huffed in annoyance and got up, leaving her dejected.

"Hey ! We're you going ?" Kirishima called as he watched his friend walk away. "Away from here, and getting dunce face some water." was the last thing he grumbled. They all looked accusingly towards Denki. "What ? Not my fault he can't live a little." Sero slapped the back of his head. "You're really an idiot sometimes."

Katsuki reached the bar and ask for something who will sober up his friend quickly. While he waited for the bartender to be over with some other costumer, he leaned against the bar, thinking about what they said. It's true he never dated anyone during UA, or in middle school for that matter. He thought it was a waste of time. But what they said troubled him. And even if Denki meant it as a joke, he was right. Katsuki never kissed anyone. Even now that he was 20.

And that made him feel uneasy. He was late compared to young adults of his age. After all he saw half of his friends kiss someone like it was a routine while it was a step he had yet to take. Even Deku with his undying shyness managed to start to date Uraraka the following year after graduation. So what was missing ?

Was he truly scared ? Yes, he was because it didn't go with his character. Dynamight, never felt the touch of a woman ? What a pity. To him it sounded so lame.

Then the anger came. Who were they to think he couldn't kiss a girl. He was going to prove them wrong and kiss one. Tonight. He scanned the dancefloor and was met with disappointement. Not because the girls weren't pretty. But because of the gut feeling that told him he shouldn't spend his first kiss away with someone he barely knew. He wanted it to be as special as he was told and read about. Though he’ll never say it out loud.

His train of thoughts got interrupted as the bartender was heading his way. But before he could even speak, a hand grabbed his arm. He tried to protest, thinking it was one of his friends but he was met with you. You seemed breathless and your cheeks were red. You were flush against him, your chest slightly moving out of your top as your half lided eyes met his. “Hey, care to be my man for five seconds ?” You don’t wait for his answer before crashing your lips against his.

The kiss was good, almost too good. It was messy but seemed perfect. That kind of perfect you only find in Christmas movies when the girl realizes she loved the hometown farm guy more than her business man boyfriend. It was electrifying. And for a second Katsuki wondered why he had never done that in his entire 20 years of existence.

All his hesitation vanished and his lips started to move against yours. He can feel you smile a little, after all he was still tense and inexperienced. But he was kissing you back. Like a shy and awkward 16 year old but still. You bit his lips and he just groaned in response, accidentally leaving entrance for your tongue to slip in his mouth. He was completely under your spell. And he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

He could feel the slight liquor off of your tongue grazing his tenderly, as if careful not to scare him off. He didn’t like alcohol that much but right now it was addictive. He couldn’t get enough. He groaned against your mouth, completely surrendering to you. After what felt an eternity too short, you pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

You eyed up where the creep that had been harassing you half the night was supposed to be. You didn’t see him anywhere. You sighed in relief but remembered you just kissed a poor random guy you had grabbed as a dissuasion. Which of who seemed so sweetly flustered at the moment.

“Your lips aren’t too bad, firecracker.” You said as you turned back to him and sent him a wink. He was left stunned. You were one cheeky little minx. “Firecracker-what?” He babbled through confusion, his lips still tingly from the kiss. You chuckled and you put a hand on his chest. You could feel how his heart was racing. How cute. “I have to go, but thanks for the kiss firecracker.” You trailed off as you walked past him, your hand making a suggestive lingering trail in his chest.

He was left stunned. And a few seconds later, realization came back. He just had his first kiss. With a stranger. One hell of a kiss at that. But he didn’t even know your name. He turned around and tried calling out to you but you had already disappeared through the crowd.

He stumbled back, the scene going through his head like a broken record. What just happened… Without noticing he strode his way back to where his friends still were.

"Hey, where's my drink?" Denki teased and he had to wait for a few seconds before Katsuki go tout of his daze. "Huh ? Oh they didn't make any drinks for idiots." usually his tone would be snarkier, which made his friend confused. "Hey, you okay man ?" Kirishima asked as his friend let himself fall in the seat beside him with a sigh. "Yeah yeah..."

"Oh my- is that...lipgloss ?” Mina interjected, grabbing the attention of everyone. They eyed up their friend who had a reddish trail all over his lips. He tried to wipe the evidence, to no avail, his cheeks speeding in a light reddish hue. Suddenly he was assaulted by questions. Did you make out ? You know her ? Is that why you disappeared? How did that happen ? Was she hot ? How ? When ? What ??? He was about to blast them in annoyance when he caught a glimpse of you. He couldn’t let you slip away this time. He hurriedly got back up and tried to follow you, under the confused protests of his friends.

He tried pushing through the crowd, barely excusing himself as he tried to grab you attention. He was about to reach you when a movement of crowd brought him away from your oblivious face. He tried to make them move, being blocked as most of them here danced. It wasn’t easy to be big Dynamight. He tried swerving through the people but couldn’t see you anymore. He scanned the room lighten with lights of every vibrant colors and caught a glimpse of the emergency exit closing. With difficulty he reached it and was met with the cold air of the midnight streets. He looked around and saw you. You were about to enter your taxi.

He strode in your direction. “Hey !” He shouted, grabbing your attention as you looked up in surprise. You smirked when you noticed who was heading your way. You just winked at him and got in your taxi, it leaving seconds after.

“Damnit!” He watched as the taxi disappeared around the corner. How did he manage to loose for the third time in one night…

He just wanted a name. A name on the girl who stole his first true act of love. The one who is feared, waited, fantasied, depicted in all languages and every timelines. That bond who now was tied to you and for some unknown reason made him drawn to you like a magnet.

He licks his lips, the strawberry taste of your lipgloss giving him one reminder of the kiss you shared. The sole proof that it was not a fantasy his brain had built.

But one thing he knows, he must absolutely find out who you are. One way or another…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stark Contrast 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, lies, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online friend isn’t who he claims to be.

Characters: Tony Stark

Sister series to Captain’s Orders

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You close yourself in a stall and nearly scream. What the heck? This can't be real. Tony Stark. Eddie. One and the same. It's impossible. 

Think about it. Last night, you texted, then right there, you saw him on screen, check his phone. Coincidence. But then, how did he know your username? He's really good with tech, right? You could easily dox yourself. But then, what about Eddie? Why would he pretend to be some engineer. He is an engineer... 

It's adding up. But it can't. You can't have been talking to Tony Stark for the last year. That's impossible. Not you! 

Alright. You are not going to be his joke. You're going to go out there and tell him you know exactly what he's doing. He's making fun of you and it's not funny at all. Should he, some rich dude, probably the richest dude, have better hobbies? 

You push the stall door and grunt. It's pull. Right. You open it and slip through. 

You hurry to the door and slip in an errant puddle of water. Yeah, it's not your turn to deal with that. Don't stop, don't lose your nerve.  

Who are you to tell off Tony Stark? A billionaire? An avenger? Oof, the more you think about it, the closer you get, the worse an idea this all seems. The more scrambled the words in your head grow. 

You look down the aisles, retracing your steps to where you left him. He's not there. Yet, you hear him. His familiar, quite notable voice, carries in the dead store. Ugh, how did you not realise sooner? Now, you hear it. 

You storm down the soap dish aisle and see him standing casually as he talks to Julie. She doesn't look impressed. You come closer, slowing as his words grow clearer. 

"Yeah, she's quitting." He declares. 

You stop short and do a double take. He's not talking about you. 

"What?" Julie hisses. 

"Yeah, the job sucks. Shit pay," he puts one finger up, his other hand in his pants pocket, "uniform does nothing for that ass, and you're kind of a bitch, Julia." 

"Julie," she snarls and her eyes dart over to you. 

You gulp and sputter. Tony glances at you over his shoulder and smirks. 

"What's going on?" You squeak. 

"Well, sweetheart, I was just sharing the good news that you're moving on to greener pastures." He taunts and turns back to your manager. He tilts his head defiantly. "Not like you'll be hurting. Place is a ghost town." 

You blink as your mouth hangs open. Oh gosh, just when you thought things couldn't get worse. 

"No, I-- I'm not. I don't know him. I don't know what he's talking about--" you argue. 

Julie curls her lip. 

"Ech, you," she points at you, "get out of my store. Now." 

You flinch and look between her and Tony. He steps closer and brings his hand to your lower back. He pushes Julie's hand down. 

"Listen, Julianna, don't point at my girl like that," he warns. 

"Excuse me? This is still my store," she blusters. "I don't care who you are." 

"Uh huh," he clucks and drags his hand along your lower back as he stands straight. He reaches under his jacket and takes out his phone. "Hey, hun," he says as he dials out and puts the phone to his ear, "do me a favour, what's the store number?" 

She scoffs, "go to hell." 

"Fine, whatever," he snickers then leans into the phone, "Hey, Happy, do me a favour, look up the big box store..." he rambles on your city and the location. "Yeah, uh huh. Buy it. No, no, don't ask. Just do it. Thanks." 

He hangs up. You frown and push your shoulders up. This can't be real. 

"We'll wait for the paperwork and all that messy stuff to go through, Jenny," Tony slides his phone away. "But when it does, you're fired. Hell, I might come back just to see you hand in your keys." 

He snorts and swoops his arm around you. You wince as he ushers you forward. You're too dumbfounded to react. What is he doing? What did he do? 

You get outside before you snap back to earth. You plant your feet and try to pull away. He faces you but keep a hold of your arm. 

"So, how about some shwarma--" 

"What did you do? I need this job! I'm-- I'll lose my apartment! Oh, gosh." 

"Relax, that's not going to happen--" 

"I don't-- I-- but--" 

"It's not going to happen, babe," he brings his hand up to frame your face and steps closer, "because you're not gonna be living in that apartment. Say goodbye to this shit heap. You're moving on. Big leagues. New York. I got a nice big condo. A whole tower--" 

"Oh my god," you wriggle free of his grasp and spin away. "Oh, I'm gonna barf. This isn't real. It's not-- Tony-- Eddie. You," you face him again. "Look, this little game, it's not fun for me. You just ruined my life." 

"I bought the damn place. You want a job, I'll put you top of the pay roll--" 

"No, it's-- er--- jeez." 

“Good, because you’re not going to have time,” he goes to grab you and you dodge away from him. 

“Why? Why are you doing this? What are you doing?” You stay just out of reach. 

He smirks, “sweetheart, do you know how many women dream of this? Of me? A handsome billionaire sweeping you away from your boring life.” 

“Other women. Go find them.” 

He laughs. “You’re funny. It’s what I like about you.” 

“Please. Save us both the trouble and just go so I can beg my manager for my livelihood back--” 

You go to step past him and he catches your upper arm. He moves you back and tuts. He’s not smiling anymore. 

“You don’t get it. I’m Tony Stark. I don’t ask for what I want.” He squeezes until you whimper. “So let’s get going. Jet’s waiting.” 

“Jet-- but--” 

“What? Anything you leave behind, I’ll buy a new one, a better one. Now, come on.” He nudges you around and quickly hooks his arm around you. You stagger but he has you scampering. “I’m an important man and you’re about to be a real important woman.” 

“You--you can’t--” 

“I can. I am.” He says coolly as he walks you away from the store. “I flew all the way out here, I told your manager to kick rocks, and now I’m going home with what I came for.” He curls his fingers around your side as a shiny car chirps ahead of you. “Oh, and we both know how you are, sweetheart. You’re not going to stop me.” 

“But-- I--” 

“Private jet’s waiting. I went to all this trouble--” 

“My stuff! My apartment!” You twist out of his grasp. “Wait, wait, wait. This isn’t-- this is a joke.” 

“I’m a funny guy but I have a better sense of humour than that,” he says as he extends his arms. “I’m all yours, baby.” 

You gape at him, “I don’t-- I don’t want... that.” 

“Don’t want me? Don’t want an upgrade?” He scoffs and comes closer, grabbing your hand. “Let me tell ya something. You wouldn’t be so bitter if you weren’t so insecure.” 

“I’m not--” 

“Look, baby, it’s not a bad thing. I’m trying to build you up here. Alright? You hung up on me because you feel powerless, well, I’m gonna give you that power. Money, clothes, diamonds--” 

“Ed-- Tony—I--” you stammer. He’s right. You are helpless. 

“I mean, think about it. Who’s going to stop me?” He grins. “Not you.” 

Your eyes round and you grimace. He laughs again. It irks you. 

“You got no job, soon enough, you’ll be out of that shitty apartment too.” 

“That’s not--” You blink. “Why?” 

“Why? Do I really have to answer that?” 

You stare at him. 

He raises your hand and puts it on his shoulder as he yanks you closer, hooking his other arm around you. You lean away from him as you brace his shoulder. He nuzzles your cheek. 

“I came to take what’s mine,” he growls. “I put too much time into you, sweetheart. Tony Stark doesn’t walk away empty handed.” 

“I’m not... I’m not a thing,” you whisper and look him in the face. 

“No, you’re much more than that,” he assures you as he brings his hand to your chin. “So, let’s get a hop on it.” He drops his hand down your back and taps your ass. “I’m gonna take you back to New York, get you all dolled up, wine ya, dine ya, you know the rest.” 

Your lashes flutter. You’re dizzy. This can’t be real. You keep telling yourself that but here you are. No escape. 

“Alright,” he turns and keeps his arm across your back and checks his watch. “That pilot hates me so better not piss him off. I’ve been in enough crashes.” 

Enough? It’s probably the least concerning thing he’s said. No, it’s just another brick in the wall he built right at your back. 

🔴

You’re so rigid your bones hurt. You grip the arms of the leather chair and stare, wide-eyed, choked into silence. The situation is suffocating enough but it’s that other fear that has you paralysed. 

The thrum of the jet engine has you shaking. You’re still on the ground but not for long. You’re not ready to take off, let alone to go with this man. 

“Have some scotch,” Tony nudges your shoulder from beside you. “It’ll help.” 

You don’t react. You need to get up and leave. He can’t just spirit you away like this. It doesn’t matter if he is Iron Man. Well, you should go but you can’t move. 

“Sweetheart,” he touches your hand. “This your first time?” 

You whimper. 

He snickers and spreads his hand over yours. He peels your grip from the armrest and lifts it. Your trembling intensifies as your chest tightens. You can only think of gravity and its deadly consequences. 

“Here,” he wraps your fingers around the cup of scotch, “drink.” 

You can’t resist him as he guides the brim to your lips. He tilts your hand in his and you swallow before you can gag on the strong liquor. You drain half the glass before he pulls your hand back. You stick out your tongue in disgust. 

“Uck!” You grimace. 

“You’ll get used to the expensive stuff,” he chortles and sits back, emptying the rest. “Is this your only first or should I be gentle tonight--” 

“Stop, please,” your voice quavers. 

“You do know who I am, right? This thing falls apart, I got my suit. I’ll get us where we need to go,” he puts the glass down and sits back. “Besides, it’s safety checked and it’s Stark manufactured. That means it’s not going to go down. I will though, just in case you’re wondering.” 

You look at him and he winks. You look forward and shudder. He grabs your hand and you try to rip it away. He’s too strong. He kisses your knuckles. 

The intercom beeps. The pilot comes on, the one he said hates him, and announces that they’re ready to take off. You close your eyes and push yourself into the seat.  

The plane begins to move. Your breath clogs in your chest. You force it out only as your head begins to pulse. 

Tony pets your hand, “ah, baby, don’t worry. Ton’s here.” 

It’s not helping. It’s just a reminder that this isn’t what you want. That no matter what you say or do, or how you feel, that you have no choice in this. He knows that. He doesn’t mean it. He’s not trying to comfort you. He knows exactly the point he’s making. 

He’s going to do whatever the hell he wants, and you’ll do the exact same. Just like this flight, you’re along for the ride.