shhhsoftnwet · 9 months ago
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Evilive gang rivalry AU
I really wished I can write but I can’t be good at everything now can I? All I can offer are short bulletpoint ideas I’m sorry 😔
Premise: What’ll happen if DYDS never broke up after getting rid of Moon Sangguk? Well, a decade later Doyoung became a business tycoon and Dongsoo became the new Minister of Justice of course. Eventually they managed to shed away their criminal lives behind, but not without a few painful sacrifices of course. Upon finding out what Dongsoo has done to achieve his goals, his family completely disappeared from his life and it took Doyoung 2 years waiting patiently for Dongsoo to get over the loss and reciprocate his feelings.
Life is very good for Seo Doyoung. He’s been running the Shinnam Ferry and Marine Casino well, his wealth in abundance, got his trophy husband of his dreams, even opened a baseball club for the youth…… yet everything feels so stagnant. Achieving his goals has given Doyoung midlife crisis. During dinner, they reminisced their past and how far they’ve become. Doyoung sorta missed the thrill and violence…
He decided to rebuild his criminal empire in secret, concealing his true identity as the boss to protect his current reputation, as well as to not worry Dongsoo and risk losing him. A decade hiatus is long enough for a new predator to rule over the underbelly of Shinnam. Feeling extremely competitive, Doyoung is determined to create havoc and overthrow his rival.
Doyoung’s new gang quickly gains notoriety and a violent turf war and sabotaging soon began. Doyoung learns that his rival’s modus operandi is very structured and their boss’ identity is also closely guarded, but after much spying and digging, he found out that most of the members used to be the now disbanded Family gang and Bae Jongha is their leader.
Doyoung and a few of his trusted men cornered Bae Jongha. Surprised by this unfavourable yet funny turn of events, Bae Jongha resentfully revealed that he’s just a puppet and refused to reveal his boss’ true identity to Doyoung out of spite. Feeling extremely irritated that he couldn’t get an answer from Bae Jongha, he rid him off.
It’s later revealed that…. /dramatic drumrolls/…. HAN DONGSOO IS THE TRUE BOSS OF THE RIVAL GANG!!! (I want it to be dramatic ok like Doyoung trying to vent under the pretence that he’s concerned about the rising turf wars in the news, and then Dongsoo tried to assure Doyoung that he’ll do something about it. Then after that he got a phone call informing him that they found Bae Jongha dead in a ditch!!)
At this point, the audience are left questioning whether Dongsoo knew that Doyoung is his rival and if he has any ulterior motives/grudges. However it is later revealed that he truly doesn’t know that his husband is his opp.
Bae Jongha’s death became a catalyst for both gangs to start hunting for the bosses’ true identities. Lotsa spy cams and trackers going on. At some point Doyoung got the scare of his life thinking his rival found his identity and tried to infiltrate his house and harm Dongsoo. He warned Dongsoo of the intruders, but Dongsoo managed to bluff his way out (apparently he’s not supposed to be home at the time), thinking that his rival gang ALSO found out about his true identity. (TLDR: they both thought their identities are uncovered while still unaware that they’re each other’s opps. Bae Jongha cry laughing in his grave at this comedy)
At some point however, Doyoung slowly realised that Dongsoo is the boss based on a tiny slip up/minor injury(?). Doyoung unravels his complicated feelings during their sexy time (with Dongsoo being dominant and choking him 👹👹) A part of him is thrilled of this diabolical and corrupted side of Dongsoo, a side of him that he sorely missed a decade ago. Yet a part of him is also extremely sick with paranoia, unsure of who is this man before him and wondered if this is Dongsoo’s plan to get rid of him after all.
Doyoung decided to hold an emergency meeting with his gang to plan their next move, only to receive a surprise ambush from Dongsoo’s gang. A lot of bloodshed happened, Doyoung solo fights a bunch of guys. Dongsoo is shocked to see his husband is his enemy, but Doyoung is too enraged by the entire situation to think properly.
They had an emotional one on one knife + fist fight and somehow managed to clear up their misunderstandings. They shed some tears, they makeout, maaaayyybbee being freaky while covered in blood idk, it’s gross and unhinged but beautifully poetic in a blood pact way. Now that the couple has come clean with each other of their wants and worries, their love is renewed with fiery passion. And maybe soon they’ll rebuild their criminal empire once more, together this time.
THE END
Yeah this is all I have…. If you wanna adopt it, go ahead like I can’t write proper sentences beautifully for shit. Just lemme know so I can read it 😭😭🙏
Anyways some things to elaborate on character motivations and why they choose to conceal their actions from their partners:
HDS: Dongsoo have always wanted to rule the criminal empire ever since they got rid of Moon Sangguk. However, upon spending some time listening to Doyoung’s experiences and understanding why he wanted to leave the criminal life behind him, as well as feeling grateful of Doyoung’s support during his difficult time accepting that his family had left him and paving a way for his current career, he decided to lead a double life to protect their peace and reputation.
SDY: Doyoung realises that achieving his goals is never going to fill the void and hunger in his heart. Doyoung missed the good old days, but he doesn’t want to bring anymore pain to Dongsoo’s life, not after seeing how broken he was after losing his family. The last thing Doyoung wanted is to lose him too. But Seo Doyoung is a selfish man, he will get the best of both worlds no matter what.
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eff-plays · 1 year ago
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You can wizardsplain at a bard, but watch out
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ildiavoloro55o · 2 days ago
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This was on a tweet that was saying how Mclaren and Ferrari are behaving like best friends this season because of the whole photobombing thing. Like this is so stupid.
They all were eating up the whole Charles adopting Oscar spiel. And loved it when everyone under the sun was committing to the bit. But when a jokey fun thing happens with Carlos, suddenly it’s a competitive sport and rivalry in sports is dead. Like fuck off. Seriously.
Also, what do you mean Redbull doesn’t do shit like this with Ferrari. Ermm.. hello..the sticker war last year??? From Spa to the last race of the season??? When Max was putting that sticker on Charles, the sports rivalry wasn’t dead??
And they’re like oh Enzo must be rolling in his grave… like ok and?? Like what’s he gonna do come out of his grave and go haunt Mclaren? And be all “booooooo you can’t have fun.”
It’s just a silly thing. Like they still have rivalry when they’re on track racing one another. Having a silly fun thing isn’t going to change that. Do these people not feel joy in their life?
But yeah sure, Carlando, a real proper friendship in the sport is so woooorse than a friendship that never leaves the paddock. (There’s a mean thing i wanna say but i’ll leave it for now).
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iamtherealjamesdean · 1 year ago
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obsessed with how tour de france 2023 can just be summed up by vingegaard and pogacar just being absolute menances to
1. each other
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2. everyone else
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andrewknightley · 4 months ago
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every scene with aveline in da2 is like oh wow aveline woudl be so fucking cool. if we explored this in deep. wouldnt it
#replaying da2#its just.... im playing a rivalry with her wich is pretty cool#beginning with my hawke killing her husband in a “it would be awful for a wife to kill his beloved let me do it instead��#in a well intentional fucked up way#and then they just disagreeing on stuff#(i love the idea of rivalry paths but sometimes u have to be a huge asshole so i tried to do the rivalry without being full jerk to her dfo#anyways its pretty cool you can also blame her for what happens in All That Remains#its a cool moment i love that they let you just be angry even if its just for the sake of being angry#but gosh she acts like It Couldnt Be Avoided in Any Way hawke ú_ù girl you are the leader of the guard#at least i dont know tell me things are gonna improve dfggdfdgfji#tbf her idea of improvement would be like. yeah we should support the templars more#i also went with her to the fade so she could get a bit of understandment about the mages#and she was just like wow mages are not people . like girlllll#learn from isabela and varric pls#its like she doubles down on the awful#wich could be cool and interesting but it just goes nowhere#and then again the qunari getting 2 elves problem like girllll whats going on in the guard#it would had been nice to see her deal with these with like a Feeling IDK or a narrative not like. well she is there#i saw someone talking about how isabela merrill and fenris can end up so badly depending on players choice#while aveline worst outcome is that she doesnt get remarried#and like idk man da2 is this huge tragedy everyone is having a terrible time#she has the worst time at the beginning but then thats it#like the material IS THERE
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cynicalmusings · 7 months ago
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‘the most crucial skill that a good drinksmith needs is listening… drinksmithing is all about having conversations with your guests’
tea house owner!reader energy for real
#my mind shot straight there when siobhan said this in the hsr event#hey guys#what if i just steal the concept of the event and write a continuation?#the reader does spy on people and accept bribes for jobs blah blah blah#but they also offer free therapy over tea!#(but only if they like the person if course) (everyone else is getting eavesdropped on)#…i started writing this as a joke but hey it could be fun#if i ever write a continuation of that fic i might do something like that#high cloud quintet members coming for therapy after baiheng dies#reader helping couples talk through problems in their relationship calmly#i’m a sucker for characters who are very elusive and sneaky and cold but when it comes to it have a heart of gold#‘yes i will expose your enemy’s business blah blah but hang on let me help this lost child find their parents first’#‘oh you’re not being patient? you think your rivalry is more important than this child? actually you can keep the money and leave thank you#[turning to child] ‘now tell me where you last saw your parents’#and with their connections from the various dealings they’ve had around the xianzhou they’d be really good at dealing with these situations#and with regards to the jing yuan aspect of things i firmly believe he needs somebody with kindness and warmth in them to fall for them#reader can’t all be bribery and dodgy deals#imagining him coming to the shop one day to get some information they’ve gathered or whatever#and they’re like ‘shush not now i’m hearing this girl vent about her shit partner’#or doing something nice#and he falls even harder#sorry i have gone on an absolute tangent here#i don’t know what demon possessed me#maybe i will write a part two who knows#that reader would certainly be a fun one to flesh out#r’s random thoughts
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lady-caden · 2 years ago
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I need 2 vent
#bruh this girl is SO annoying and god i just find her pathetic at this point#she acts like an edgy anime character and that everhthing is agaisnt her even when its her decisions that she chooses that fucks shit up#last year she obvi never liked me and made it everyones problem. literally slamming doors and shit like a child#and now that she is pres of. Anime club she thinks she has some sort of power over me?? absolutely laughable#and she cant even talk to me. like i didnt have any problems with her last year but she insisted i did and caused a split in the group#and so now she uses her partner as some messenger ehich pissed me off even more. like really.#and shes trying to get me kicked off the eboard cuz i value school over a hobbies club????#literally made an attendance rule because she was pissed i go to math tutoring during club even tho i went to meetings and shit. not like#she ever even gave me any responsibility because she is too childish to handle shit like an adult#also....if i get kicked off. its anime club 💀#sorry but thats just so funny to me lmaooo#Like she thinks she has any power over me in absolutely any way....it's very funny to me#oh well she'll have her little power trip and then go complain to anyone who will listen#this sounds mean because i am being mean. i usually always try to be nice but god she has taken this shit too far#annoying ass little kid. i dont have tike to deal with her made up rivalry with me#just literally leave me alone i dont care about you. im annoyed i have to even think about her again. shes such a manipulative asshole#well whatever that got that oit of my system. until tomorrow#rants#vent#rambles
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primatechnosynthpop · 2 years ago
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I definitely understand the position that high school aus and the like are boring, and I think that's especially true when the source material is already about young people embroiled in relationship drama but in a more interesting/high-stakes environment, but I do think there's something to be said for taking a bunch of characters who canonically didn't meet until adulthood and many of whom are barely acquaintances and being like hmm... what if they were a teen friend group who got up to silly low-stakes antics together
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Simply don’t understand people who don’t want to stick around to the very end of games, even when the team you’re rooting for is losing by more than a few points. Like??? You paid money (presumably) to see this game. You’re a fan not a hater. ????? I think we should start calling people who leave before games are over in these situations to get drunk fair weather fans too🤷‍♀️bc they are! They can’t handle their team losing, so they’d rather leave the premises to get plastered like lmao tell me you take sports too seriously without telling me you take sports too seriously
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sinner-as-saint · 2 months ago
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scary? my god, you're divine
Hitman/Mob!Bucky x Reader 
Run-through: Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right? 
Themes: arranged marriage, age gap (reader is in her mid twenties, bucky’s in his late thirties), mentions of violence and death, hitman!Bucky, smut, fluff, explicit language, virgin!reader, HEA
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Something woke you up in the middle of the night. 
And you’d been staring at the dark ceiling above your bed for the past few minutes now. What had woken you up? It could’ve been the strong winds hitting the large Georgian windows. Or perhaps it was the soft ticking of the nearby clock. Or maybe even the weight of all the incessant thoughts running through your head. 
Gods, you thought, what a day. 
It had started out like any other. Your father was pacing around, worried and barking orders on the phone, trying to find a way to put a stop to this chaos that was quickly forming into a full war between him and his number one rival. Small attacks had turned to frequent drive-bys, threats had turned into taking turns and blowing up each other’s warehouses and clubs. And it would only get worse and worse. 
But this morning, as he watched you come downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast, something in his eyes was different. And you could tell what was coming. You had been thinking about this for days. So when he sat you down and discussed how you could do your part in helping to put an end to all of this. 
“It’s only a matter of time before he sends his son, his favourite weapon after us all,” Your father sounded defeated. “And none of us would survive him. No one ever does. You know that.” 
You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I know.” 
The son of your father’s rival, Bucky Barnes, was a name which could make even powerful men like your father tremble in fear. He was like a ghost. No one ever saw him. No one knew what he looked like. Those who had seen him claimed that he always wore a muzzle-like mask to conceal his identity. He was known for being his father’s most prized weapon. They say he never misses, that his aim is and has always been as sure as Eros’ arrows. He was like an evil Cupid. 
“The marriage would only be on paper of course, you don’t have to live with him.” Your father explained, seeming desolated, “But you being married to him would make us family, and…” He trailed off, sighing. 
But you knew what he meant. Family meant everything in this society. If your family and the rival’s were joined to each other by marriage, all attacks would cease. Because keeping family safe was everyone’s number one priority, even in this line of work. 
So this was all up to you now. Your family’s safety, the safety of people who worked with and for your father, all the allies, and friends, and acquaintances. It was a heavy weight to carry. 
“I’ll do it.” 
Things happened so quickly after that. Phone calls were had, arrangements and deals were made, and by the afternoon, a sheet of paper was brought to you. That’s it. No groom, no fancy shit. Just a piece of paper on which Bucky Barnes had already signed. And with your signature added next to his, you two were now forever husband and wife by law. 
It was weird, being married to a man you had never seen before. He was just a name. Granted, a name with immense magnitude in the society, but still just a name. No face to go with it. 
By the evening, your things were packed. It was an order by your new husband. He wanted his new bride in his home, and things were so freshly mended that neither you nor your father wanted to argue. So Bucky sent cars and a bunch of his soldiers to escort you to his house. It was not unexpected that he was so absent from all this. Bucky Barnes had a reputation of living in the shadows. He was so rarely seen.
Bucky’s house was not too far from your family home. In fact, the closer you got to your new home, the more you realised that despite everything, you did not mind this as much as you thought you would. 
Your husband’s home was this stunning piece of architecture. A lavish Georgian-style mansion. Beige stone, carved details and mouldings around the many windows and main entrance. Dark shingles on the roof, well-manicured lawn, a long driveway giving it a sense of both elegance and exclusivity. The mansion sat on a beautiful, seemingly endless estate. Lush and green. It was a testament to the wealth and the power of its owner. 
You were politely led inside the home by one of the many staff members who took care of the house. And the interior was just as breathtaking. Luxurious, with the right amount of vintage accents. 
“We did what we could with the limited time we had to prepare a room for you.” The kind lady had said to you. She also mentioned that this room would be entirely yours. Bucky apparently had his own on the other side of the mansion. 
You murmured that it was alright, and when she finally showed you to the room they had ready for you, you were pleasantly impressed. The layout, the colour theme, the decor, all of it was to your liking. You even had a personal little balcony which looked over the endless green backyard. 
That night you dined alone, which was not a surprise. Everyone knew Bucky Barnes was a busy man, and he was apparently above trivial things like dining with his new wife. But the silence was welcomed. After dinner you found yourself back in your bedroom, and soon in bed with a book. 
Well, maybe this was your new life now. Grand mansion with an impressive library. Solo dinners and kind staff members. A giant, dreamy bedroom all for you. Dare you say, it wasn’t too bad. 
But here you were now, unable to fall back asleep after some mysterious thing woke you up. You sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. You couldn’t even blame your new surroundings for your inability to sleep. Everything here was so quiet, and comfortable. Even this new bed felt like laying on the fluffiest cloud. Perhaps you could read some more–
You froze when you heard it. 
Someone breathing. Someone else’s breaths. A soft exhale, but it was enough to make your heart race in panic. It was the middle of the night. And there was someone in this dark room with you. 
Slowly, you tried to reach for the lamp on your bedside table to turn it on, but then you heard a voice say, “Don’t.” 
A smooth, relaxed, male voice. Sounding like it came from one corner of the room. It could only be one man, couldn’t it? 
“Bucky?” You questioned, for some reasons pulling the covers up to your chin as if he was not a man but a ghost. 
A pause, then he said, like he was gently teasing you, “Hello, wife. Can’t sleep?” 
You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness better. You strained your eyes until you could see the silhouette of a man in the corner of the room. He was sitting in one of the sofas near the unlit fireplace, quiet, still like a marble statue. 
There was almost no light coming into the room. The thick curtains allowed very little moonlight in, and it was hard to see. But you couldn’t ignore that large silhouette now that you’d noticed him. Something near him was shiny, almost metal like, you couldn’t tell what it was. 
“Do you always lurk around in the shadows like a ghost?” You asked, wondering where the hell you found the confidence to talk to one of the finest hitmen like this. It’s not like he would shoot you if he didn’t like you. A small voice said. Would he? 
A chuckle. Deep, and careless. A boyish sound. 
“It’s my house,” He responded in that same gentle but teasing tone, “I lurk wherever I please.” 
Well, he did have a point there. 
“Well then,” You said in a casual tone, “If you’re done lurking and spying on me, I’d like to go back to bed.” 
A soft scoff. Then he said, “I’ve watched you toss and turn for the past half an hour. I’d say you’re having trouble turning your brain off.” 
Half an hour?! 
“Wouldn’t you?” You retorted, keeping your voice calm and steady. “If you were forced to marry someone who’s so mysterious that no one’s ever seen them before, wouldn’t you have some trouble turning your brain off?” 
“Ah.” He got up, and you could tell by the sound of his footsteps that he was approaching the bed, “No one forced you to marry me. A suggestion was made and you agreed to it.” 
You replied quickly, “The alternative was watching everyone I love and myself be murdered by you, so semantics.” 
Another chuckle as he stopped at the edge of the bed, so close to you. You refused to move. You tilted your head up but could still only see his silhouette. He spoke in that teasing tone again, “They said you were smart, and beautiful. Guess they forgot to mention you were bratty too.” 
You frowned. “What?” 
Silence. Then he began moving away from your bed and towards the door. “Good night, wife.” 
“Good night,” You muttered, slightly annoyed and confused, “Ghost.” 
You heard his soft chuckle right as he shut the door behind him and left you all alone again in the dark. You didn’t dare turn the lamp on even after he left. 
— 
“Is Bucky ever home?” 
You asked one of the staff members at breakfast the next morning. The lady smiled at you and answered, “He keeps to himself. We rarely ever know if he’s home or not. He works at odd hours, you see? Besides, our job is to take care of the house. We clean, we make the meals and leave them in the fridge, we get our paychecks each month. Everyone is happy. We don’t pry.” 
You nodded, sipping on some tea. “So… are you one of the people who don’t know what he looks like?” 
“Oh no. I saw him recently.” She said, smiling. 
“How recent?” You asked. 
“A couple of months ago. He’s a busy man, he’s rarely ever home.” 
Unbelievable. 
“Doesn’t it feel like you’re employed by a ghost?” 
She smiled again, refilled your cup and said, “Oh, we’re used to Mr. Barnes. Sure, sometimes it feels like the house is way too empty. But look, now you’re here! We get to take proper care of someone for once.” 
She was so cheery and kind that you couldn’t help but smile at her words. How on earth did a man that grim manage to have the best staff members in the whole world? 
— 
The following night, Bucky came to see you again. 
You woke up upon hearing the door of your bedroom opening. You sat up again, leaning against the headboard. You didn’t reach for the lamp on your bedside table this time. Instead you said, “Lurking again, I see.” 
“Oh yes,” He answered, taking a seat on the same sofa by the dark fireplace. “How was your day, wife?” He asked, as if this was the most normal way to have a conversation. 
“Good.” You said, “I spoke with your staff members. They say they barely ever see you at home.” 
He sighed, “I barely ever am at home.” 
You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see it. He was too… intangible. Faceless. There was nothing you knew about him aside from his profession. And not knowing was starting to annoy you. 
“Why can’t I see you?” You asked. “I mean it’s not fair. I married you. I’ll eventually see you someday.” 
He was silent for a moment. Then asked, “Will you?” 
“Well, yes.” 
“What for?” There was that teasing tone again. So subtle. But it was there. 
Your face burned. “Well… we’re married.” You stated the obvious. “And it won’t be long till our families start asking for, you know, grandbabies.” 
“Babies can be made in the dark.” His smooth voice felt like a gentle caress. Like the finest, cool silk sliding over your warm body… 
Oh no. You can’t like his voice. Not yet. 
“That’s not what I–,” You sighed, “Why are you so against showing your face? Are you ugly?” 
He chuckled then. Loudly, if you could see him you’d surely see his shoulders shaking. “You think too much, wife.” He got up again, ready to leave. “Good night.” 
You sighed, defeated, and listened to the sounds of him leaving the room. Then almost angrily whispered, “Good night, husband.” 
“It’s because he’s ugly, isn’t it?” You asked two of the staff members one morning while they set the table for your breakfast. “That’s why he doesn’t show his face?” 
The two ladies chuckled to themselves, and one of them said, “No he isn’t.” She sounded confident too. 
“Have you seen his face? Like properly?” 
They both nodded. 
“And? You don’t find it weird that he doesn’t show his face?” You questioned. “He refuses to let me see him. He only comes to talk to me in the dark. Like some messed up Eros.” You whispered the last part to yourself. 
One of the ladies said, gently, “Give him time. He’s not… terrible.” 
— 
“Your staff speaks highly of you.” You said to him when he came to see you that night. Again, sat in that corner like a ghost whose only purpose was to haunt your bedroom specifically. 
“Do they?” 
“Yes,” You made yourself comfortable, leaning against the headboard like you had the habit of doing. “Do you pay them to sing your praises?” 
He chuckled. “Is it that hard to believe that I’m not some sort of monster?” 
You sighed. “If not then why can’t I see you?” 
“Not yet.” He said. 
“Why?” 
“Because I said so.” He replied, and by the sounds of it, he stood up. Surely ready to leave. “Now, is there anything you need?” 
You tried to see if you could tell where he was standing but the room was too dark. However, it seemed like, judging by the sound of footsteps, that he’d gotten closer to the end of your bed. “There’s nothing to do around the house. The ladies take care of everything. I appreciate the library, but…” 
He was quiet, like he was thinking. Then said, “I’ll see to it.” 
“I’m assuming you won’t let me go back to work in my family’s companies.” You could tell he wouldn’t. 
“No,” He said, as expected. “You’re my wife now. I’m well equipped to provide for you and see to your needs for the rest of our lives. But if you have any hobbies, please, indulge away.” 
Something about his calm tone made you confess your little secret, “I like to paint. I’ve always wanted to be an artist.” 
You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Perhaps the dark helped you open up better. Maybe the fact that you didn’t know him made it easier to talk. Like how people tend to prefer texting over calls. Him being so invisible made it so much more effortless. 
You continued, “I always wonder what it must be like to have an exhibition of my works.” You chuckled. “I know it sounds vain but… I’ve always wanted to let my mind and soul leak all over canvases, and share it with the world. I think it’s such a brave thing when people do that.” 
He was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke in that teasing tone, “Painting, huh?” 
You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to make fun of me, ghost.” 
He chuckled. “Get some sleep, wife.” 
And then he left. 
— 
The following morning, you woke up to two surprises. 
The first one was waiting for you at the breakfast table. You noticed the box on the floor immediately. It was partially opened, and had a note stuck to it. 
The note read: ‘Since there’s nothing to do around the house…’ written in a messy handwriting. Surely Bucky’s. 
You opened the box and in there, on a folded blanket, was a sleeping, fluffy little puppy. A black lab it seemed. With a pink collar around her neck. You gasped as you gently picked it up and couldn’t resist bringing it up to your face. Puppies always smelt so good. 
The little one yawned and let out some cute noises as you held her up to look at her properly. By now the two ladies whom you saw frequently around the house walked up to you and one of them said, “He left something else for you.” 
You followed the ladies, new puppy in hand, and they led you to what seemed like a newly built studio. It was in an area of the mansion where you didn’t go very often. And as you walked in, you gasped in surprise for the second time that morning. 
It was located on the ground floor. A bright and spacious space. The beige walls felt like a giant blank canvas in itself. The large Georgian windows allowed the perfect amount of light in. And everything in the room was neatly organised. Art supplies, paints, canvases, palettes, easels. 
Oh, it was perfect. 
The ladies left you to explore on your own, saying something about bringing you breakfast in here. But you were distracted by the bright yellow sticky note on one of the easels. You walked up to it and it read: ‘For your mind and soul to leak all over. Paint me something. I’ll consider it a wedding gift.’ 
You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you read and re-read the note left by your mysterious husband. You whispered to your sleeping puppy, “Maybe our ghost isn’t so bad, huh?” 
-
Hours went by. 
The ladies brought you and the puppy your meals, a bed for the pup, snacks for you, all while you were busy letting your creativity flow as much as possible. 
The first few canvases were horrible according to you. You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in so long so it felt like day one all over again. But gradually, over the next few canvases, you could see what your brain was trying to create. 
The blank canvas soon turned into flowy shapes. Curves, facial features, hands. Entwining bodies. Two of them. And the colour purple, lots of it. It didn’t make too much sense at first, but the more you worked on it the more you realised what you were painting. 
It was your version of ‘The Abduction of Psyche’. How fitting. 
By the time you were done and happy with it, your back was aching from sitting on that stool all day. It was almost time for dinner. The sun had set. The puppy was awake so you held her up to show her the canvas and asked, “You think our ghost will like it?” 
She let out the tiniest, softest howl. 
“Yeah, I think so too.” 
You left to shower and have dinner. Then once it was time for bed you asked one of the staff members, “Does Bucky have some kind of an office?” 
She replied saying yes he does, and that she could show you where it was. You grabbed the not yet dry canvas and carefully carried it all the way to where Bucky’s office was. The lady again left you all by yourself to explore. 
At first you didn’t want to spend too much time in there. It was Bucky’s space after all. But then you thought, if he was comfortable walking into your bedroom at odd times during the night, why shouldn’t you check out his office? 
So you did. You left the canvas where it could dry without any problem and where Bucky would see it upon entering the room. Then you began exploring. The room was not what you were expecting for someone like Bucky. You thought it would be less… old school. 
He had a vintage looking typewriter on his desk for gods’ sake. Not one he used of course, but it added layers to his character you thought. Dark wooden furniture, comfortable looking chairs, more bookshelves filled with cloth-bound books. It was… cosy. 
So cosy in fact that you grabbed a book and made yourself comfortable on one of the chairs. You’d read for an hour or so then head off to bed, you thought. 
But soon, you drifted off to sleep. Right there. In Bucky’s office. 
-
You woke up and felt something soft and fluffy moving around on your lap. You opened your eyes and quickly realised you weren’t in bed. The room was dark. With very little light coming in from the outside. There were no curtains in this room, but also it was situated in an area of the mansion where very little moonlight came in.
Before you could panic though, a voice spoke up from not too far away, “You’ve been busy today, I see.” 
Ah, Bucky. And fuck. You’d fallen asleep in his office. 
You refused to feel embarrassed. So you asked, “Did you like your wedding gift?” 
“Yes.” He replied, and gauging by the sound you could tell he was sitting at his desk, in the darkest corner of the room. “I’ll hang it in my office.” 
You smiled in the dark, feeling a little proud of yourself. “And where’s my wedding gift?” 
“In your lap.” 
Fair. 
“What should we name her?” You asked, reaching to caress your puppy who let out an adorable grunt. “Hedone? Donnie, for short?” 
He let out a chuckle. “You are really leaning into this whole Eros-Psyche thing, huh?” 
You shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t have to if you’d just show me your face. But you keep choosing not to, so deal with it.” 
A pause. Then he asked, “You like your new studio?” 
That made you sit up straighter. “I love it. Thank you.” Then you added, “My family always thought painting was a waste of time. They said it kept my head in the clouds too much. That it was… pointless.” 
He was quick to say, “It’s not. Besides, your hobbies don’t have to make sense to anyone else but yourself. And I’ve seen the other canvases you left in the studio. They’re good.” 
You turned to face the dark corner he was in. “You think?” 
“Yes,” He said. “We can hold an exhibition if you want. Let me know when you’re ready.” 
You let out a surprised chuckle. And when he didn’t laugh you realised he was serious. “Bucky, it's not so easy.” You explained calmly. “There’s so much work that goes into it, there needs to be some cohesion to the art pieces. There’s marketing, there’s research, there’s…” You exhaled, “There’s a lot of work to be done. Art exhibitions aren’t as easy or quick as you think it is.” 
He replied, “Leave all that to me. Just let me know when you want to hold one.” 
Just like that? 
“I… okay.” 
You felt warm in a way you’d never felt before. No one had ever taken your interests so seriously before. You’d never even been able to discuss this freely about your hobbies. And here Bucky was, ready to listen and interact with it. 
You got up to leave because this was… a lot to process. “Well then. Good night, Bucky.” 
A soft scoff. “Think I liked it more when you called me a ghost.” 
You smiled as you approached the door, puppy in hand and amazed at how well you were able to navigate in the dark. “Night, ghost.” 
He gave you a satisfied hum, then, “Good night, wife.” 
— 
It was bizarre to admit but you’d gotten used to those conversations in the dark with your husband. Days went by quickly given how engrossed you were with painting. Especially with the thought of a potential exhibition now in the back of your mind. Gods, that would be a dream. 
And while your days consisted of painting, playing and training your puppy, exploring more and more of the grounds and your new home, making quick trips to the stores to get more supplies, catching up with your friends who were still trying to grasp the fact that you got married so quickly, getting to know the household staff and the guards better, your night consisted of waiting and fighting your sleep until Bucky came to talk to you. 
It was always short conversations. Filled with easy banter and teasing tones, sarcastic comments and you asking each and every night if he was in the mood to show his face. Bucky always said no. And you always sent him off with a ‘good night, ghost’. 
You had gotten used to your ghost. As had your puppy. She would bark happily each time Bucky would enter your bedroom door at night. She’d run to him for playtime and cuddles as he sat in his dark corner and spoke with you until you fell asleep. 
Bucky would often leave you some kind of a note, for you to read in the morning. At the breakfast table, or in your studio. Sometimes he would leave compliments and comments on your dry canvases. Eventually, you stopped fighting the smiles which formed on your face as you read his notes. 
But all of it only made you want to see him more. Not that it would change anything. Bucky had quickly become… a friend, you’d say. A confidant if you will. He had become a habit. Part of your routine. 
And then one night, he didn’t come to see you. 
You waited. He usually came around midnight. It was well past 2 a.m. and he never came. 
At some point you went downstairs, pretending as if you just needed some water. One of the guards caught you trying to peek out into the driveway from the kitchen window. 
“Boss is not home yet, ma’am.” He said. 
You acted like you didn’t care. But still asked, “He does this often?” 
“Sometimes.” 
You nodded. You took your drink and with your puppy in your arms you walked back upstairs, passing by the many guards who were on duty inside the house at nighttime. 
“It’s alright, he’s probably just busy.” You whispered to the sleeping pup as you made your way up. “Or maybe he’s hurt and tending to his wounds somewhere else.” You felt a gentle pinch in your chest at the thought of Bucky hurt and alone out there. So you forced yourself to think of something else. Something way worse. “Or maybe he’s with someone else.” You scoffed, nuzzling the soft fur of your pup, “This marriage means nothing to him anyway. But that’s alright, we don’t need him. I’ve got you. We’ve got each other. Don’t we?” 
Safe to say, you went to bed slightly annoyed that night. And in denial too because you refused to admit that you missed him. 
– 
There was a note waiting for you in your studio the next morning. 
It read: ‘No I did not spend the night with someone else. I’ll explain later. See you tonight, wife.’ 
Huh. Looks like the guards have really good ears. 
Well, whatever. It’s not like you were impatiently waiting for night to come just so you could talk to your ghost of a husband. Right? 
Except you were though. So much that you couldn’t paint a decent thing. You were easily giving up on each canvas, and leaving a trail of unfinished work the more time went on. 
Eventually you sighed and left the studio. You tried reading but that wasn’t happening either. So you did the only thing you knew would take your mind off things. You asked the ladies to show you where everything was kept in the kitchen and you got to baking. 
Which you did until it was time for bed. Your mood was off, and it was all because of a faceless man. And that somehow annoyed you even more. 
You grabbed a plate of the mini muffins you’d made earlier and made your way upstairs. Your puppy had just gotten used to the stairs so she happily followed you everywhere you went now. 
You proceeded to sit in bed, and eat your muffins angrily and forced yourself to try to sleep. 
-
You woke up sometime later. And you just knew who was in the room with you. 
Except he wasn’t in his usual spot. 
He was standing by the windows which faced your bed this time, with his back to you. The curtains were pulled, the moonlight came and there was his dark silhouette. And… you frowned as you noticed the shiny metal arm. 
“You’re home.” You said. 
Bucky turned his head to the side, “I am.” He said. 
You took a second or two to admire the side profile. With the moonlight shining all around his silhouette he looked like a fallen angel of sorts. “You didn’t come home last night.” 
“I was out working,” He said. 
“Maiming and killing?” 
“You know me so well.” 
“Is that a… metal arm?” You questioned. 
“It is.”  
“Were you hurt?” 
“I was.” 
You sighed again. “Is it always going to be bland answers and mystery with you?” 
“Get used to it.” He said in that teasing tone. 
You got out of bed as quietly as you could. “I think I liked you better without the attitude, when you sat in the corner like a ghost.” You took some steps away from the bed, approaching the giant windows. The room was rather spacious so it would take some more steps to get close to him. If you’d only– 
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” He warned, but remained in the same spot. 
You groaned. “Don’t you think this is getting tiring? I mean, I’m married to a man I’ve never seen before. In fact, no one has ever seen you. Why? What are you hiding?” You added, sounding defeated.  
Bucky lowered his head, which only accentuated how broad his shoulders really were. He sighed. “Do you know how much trouble could’ve been avoided if only Psyche trusted Eros?” 
You rolled your eyes. “I think she had her reasons. A mysterious, faceless lover who only shows up in the dark and hides in the shadows is bound to raise some doubts. Don’t you think so?” 
He chuckled. You blinked and he’d turned around to face you. But despite that, you couldn’t see his face at all. Even though he was inches away. 
He was quiet. Observing you with interest. The moonlight allowed him to see all of you, and he just… stared for a moment or two. A shiver ran down your back. An unfamiliar, but pleasant shiver. 
Without a word said, Bucky reached out and gently touched the thin strap of your silky night dress resting on your shoulder. His metal finger gliding along your skin and making you gasp at his cold touch. 
“What’s this?” He asked in his usual teasing tone. “Trying to tempt me with this excuse of a night dress, wife?” 
Fuck. Had his voice dropped lower? 
Fuck! He was so close to you. You didn’t even notice that your heart had begun racing. Your breaths had deepened. Shit. Why was this so hot?! 
“Are you? Tempted?” You asked with a steady voice, without thinking obviously. You just needed to say something so he wouldn’t notice the way you were basically panting after him like a thirsty dog. 
He chuckled. But remained quiet. 
So you said, “Thought so.” You sounded smug but you were feeling the complete opposite. 
Bucky scoffed in that arrogant way he often did. It was insane how easily you were able to pick up on his mannerism when you hadn’t even known him for that long. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want to sleep with you?” 
Oh. 
Oh this was bad. Because now your brain was making up hot, steamy scenes in your head. Scenes involving you and your faceless, mysterious husband in the dark. Entwining bodies on soft bed sheets. Fuck, you should paint that. No, what?  
“Then why haven’t you?” You found yourself asking. 
Okay then, bold as fuck it is. You’d gone past the point of no return now. Guess it was time for this conversation. 
Bucky’s fingers remained on your shoulder, tracing the thin strap there. And you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk in his voice when he asked, “You want me to?” His metal hand dropped to your waist and before you could fully process it, he pulled you closer, leaned in to whisper into your ear, “You want my hands all over you, wife?” 
You could feel his slight stubble against your skin as he spoke. His lips brushing against your ear, making you gasp and tremble. Your hands found their way to his shoulders. And oh, he was pulling you even closer. Your chest pressing against his. The cool material of his suit felt amazing against your warm skin. 
“Look at you,” He cooed into your ear. “Is this what you want? Hmm?” He placed both his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. His lips moved lower, brushing against your neck as he spoke. “You like how rough my hands feel?” He moved his hands up and down your sides. “Do you know how many people I’ve hurt with these hands?” He chuckled when he heard the tiniest moan leave your mouth. “You’re so soft and warm, aren’t you worried what these hands might do to you?” 
He nuzzled your neck, hands roaming all over your sides and back and squeezing your butt. You became so pliant under his touch. Tilting your head back to allow him to kiss all over your neck, pressing your chest more and more against his like you couldn’t get enough. The layers of clothing, you wanted them gone. 
With a shaky voice you murmured, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to scare me or turn me on.” 
He laughed. And it was the best sound you’d ever heard. 
“You’re sick in that pretty head, huh?” He teased. “That beautiful brain is filled with filthy, dirty, dark thoughts, isn’t it?” His metal hand reached up and carefully wrapped around your throat. 
You gasped as he squeezed just a little bit. Those dirty thoughts he spoke about really started to fill your head. 
“Are you just all talk or–,” 
He cut you off by dragging you all the way to your bed, still holding you by the throat. 
The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and he gave you a slight push, ending with you falling onto your bed on your back. You looked up at him, hovering above you, his lower body pressing into yours. 
“Do you just run that mouth?,” He asked, supporting himself with one hand while the metal one remained wrapped around your throat, his voice low and menacing but in a way that made your legs part on their own so his hips settled in between them. Your bodies fit together like the most perfect puzzle pieces. “Or do you know how to take it like a brat as well?” 
You felt the need to let him know then. “I don’t know,” You said, sounding both breathless and bratty. “I’ve never had to take it.” 
He paused for a moment. Then asked in subtle surprise, “What do you mean?” Even his grip around your throat loosened completely. 
You squirmed in slight embarrassment but that only caused your hips to grind against his and for a moment there both of you let out a strained moan. Fuck. The tension between the two of you was almost physical now. Even in the dark, even with Bucky being nothing more than just a shadow above you. 
“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, still feeling his cold fingers all over your skin, “I’ve never been with anyone before.” 
He was quiet. As if thinking. You tried your hardest but you couldn’t see any of his facial features. You knew he had a slight stubble because you’d felt it earlier. But aside from that, you knew nothing. Not even his eye colour. 
“You want us to stop?” He asked, shifting his body slightly as if he was ready to pull away if you asked him to. 
“No,” You answered way too quickly. Then you got bold again and let your hands find their way back to his shoulders. You pulled him down, closer to you just a little and said, “This is okay.” 
His fingers moved up, from your neck to your mouth. “Yeah? You want this, huh?” He mumbled, tracing your mouth with his fingers. You shivered under his touch. “You’ve been a whiny little brat lately, haven’t you, wife? Pouting and all just because I wouldn’t show myself to you.” He whispered, leaning in to just brush his lips against yours. You gasped at the sensation of his soft lips rubbing against yours. Bucky chuckled at your reaction. “Don’t think my staff doesn’t report back to me. I’ve been well aware of all the times you asked the ladies to give you details about me.” 
Now that made you squirm in embarrassment. Still you said, sounding a little annoyed at being caught. “Can you blame me?”
“Can’t you just trust me?” He argued. 
The danger and authority in his tone had your thighs clenching together to try and alleviate the torturous pain in between your legs. You were almost certain you had never been this turned on and annoyed at the same damn time before. You sighed in frustration. “This isn’t fair.” 
“No, it isn’t,” He said, pulling away and began undressing you to your pleasant surprise. “Deal with it.” 
Oh fuck. 
Fuck… You had to hold back from whimpering each time his hands rubbed against your skin. He took his time in sliding the straps of your night dress down your shoulders, dragging the silky fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked under him. 
You shivered once he left your night dress bunched around your waist carelessly. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air. It was because even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was staring right at you. 
You spoke in a hushed voice, not daring to speak loud in fear that it might break whatever spell you were under. “So you get to see me naked all you want, but I can’t see your face?” 
He chuckled. “You want me to leave this room right now? Leave you here all wet and squirming? Or do you want me to take care of it and make you come? Huh?” 
That shut you up really quickly. 
“I thought so.” He sounded smug again when he said that. “I should spank you for the brat you are. But since it’s your first time… I’ll be nice.” 
His hands touched you everywhere, your thighs, your stomach, your sides, your chest, your neck… everywhere. He left you gasping and trembling under him. 
“Please.” You caught yourself whispering. 
Bucky leaned down, his soft mouth brushing against your cheek as he said, “Please what?” 
You squirmed, “Touch me, please.” 
He chuckled. You felt his warm breath against your skin as he kissed his way down your naked body. “Look at you,” He murmured, lips brushing against your stomach, “You’re so eager already.” 
You heard the faint chuckle which left his mouth the moment he noticed your legs spread apart for him naturally. Your face felt like it was burning but fuck, you were too turned on to even be properly embarrassed. Also, being in complete darkness helped. 
Damn. You were really getting intimate with your husband whom you hadn’t even seen yet. And somehow that fact was making you want this even more. 
But that mystery stopped being an issue the moment Bucky leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease.
He poked at your entrance with his tongue and your body felt hotter than before. Back arching off the bed as you let out a soft moan at the foreign feeling. Fuck he felt good. You whimpered as you felt his tongue stroke your most sensitive parts. Your immediate reaction was to pull your hips back from the overwhelmingly good sensation his mouth was causing. And that made him grip your thighs tighter, keeping them pinned to the bed. 
“Stop moving.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble. 
You whined as you felt his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to his mouth. The metal hand on your warm skin made you shiver and tremble so much that you were thankful for the darkness. 
The small amount of moonlight which came in allowed you to only see the silhouette of his broad shoulders, and his head moving slowly, sensually in between your legs. Fuck… somehow the mystery only made it hotter.
Oh you were fucked in the head for real. 
And oh, Bucky was a fucking tease. Once he noticed how easily you cried out and moaned for him, he slowed down and began kissing around your clit just to purposely mess with you. He kissed your thighs, purposely avoiding touching where he knew you needed him the most. He kissed down all the way to your core, and gently bit your skin around your inner thighs. 
“Bucky, please!” You cried out, hand reaching for his hair. When you managed to grab a fistful of his soft hair, you gave it a gentle tug. “Stop teasing me.” 
“You don’t get to give me orders, wife.” He said, sounding all proud and mighty. “I could just walk out of here and leave you like this. Naked and squirming.” 
“Please,” You begged again. You could feel your arousal trickling out of you. 
A scoff. Then he leaned in again. You whined and whimpered under him, with your legs wrapped around his head. Fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp instinctively as he flicked, and sucked, and teasing your clit as much as he could. 
“You’ve been a brat because you wanted your husband’s attention so badly, huh?” He taunted. “Is that what you wanted? Just my attention?” He chuckled. “You’re as calm as a happy kitten now, aren’t you?” 
His stubble rubbed against your sensitive skin, and the friction burned a little but it was the kind of pain you kept wanting more of. You wanted more of him. 
“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” You murmured, throwing your head back, moaning as he kept teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. 
“Come for me, wife.” His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud. 
You couldn’t even hold on for much longer, and ended up coming undone all over his tongue. Heart racing, legs trembling in his grip as you came. Your moans were soft and incessant. 
Fuck… that felt amazing. 
You had barely gotten your heart to stop racing, and Bucky was already standing up and in the dark you couldn’t see very well but it did look like he was moving away from the bed. 
“You’re leaving?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from sounding a little upset at his departure. 
All he said was, “Good night, wife. See you tomorrow.” 
You scoffed after he shut the door behind him, leaving you in darkness yet again. “Ghost.” 
— 
That night ended up being the first of many. 
Your days consisted of painting, and finally finding a flow in most of your pieces. Perhaps if you’re able to make a decent collection, you could start thinking about the exhibition seriously, you thought. When you weren’t painting you were either training your rapidly growing puppy, or baking. You’d begun taking your puppy out for walks around the mansion, consequently doing some more exploring of the grounds. 
After all that, each night you’d get in bed and wait for Bucky. It became part of your routine. And each night with him was different. He’d spend his time touching you slowly until you were purring for him like a kitten. Kissing you all over your body in the dark. Making you come all over his tongue and fingers. Kissing you until you moaned and pulled him closer just to feel his weight pressing down on you. 
But he would always leave after making you come. And you two never actually fucked. Neither would he let you make him come. 
On nights when he wouldn’t make it home, you’d worry yourself to sleep. But then each morning you’d find a note from him either in your studio or the breakfast table. He would always say some cheesy shit. And he would always promise to come see you later that night. 
On nights when you two didn’t engage in anything sexual, it was still just as fulfilling. Bucky would tell you things about his work, his past, his family. You learnt that he was over a decade older than you, and teased him about being an old man until he pinned you to the bed and tickled you until you couldn’t breathe. 
You learnt that he liked to keep to himself and stay as far away from his family as possible. He liked peace and quiet, which would explain his lovely home being here away from most people. 
The more you learned about him, the easier it was to grow fond of him. But the more you grew fond of him, the greedier you got. You wanted more. More of his time, his touch, his attention, and most of all, you wanted to see him. 
The mystery, while hot as fuck, was killing you. 
One night, things changed. 
Bucky came into your room as usual. He’d gotten bolder lately, he wouldn’t sit in the corner like a ghost anymore, instead he would find his way to your bed and only leave that bed after making you come hard. 
Tonight started out the same way.  
You felt his hands all over you as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. You giggled as he bit and licked that one sensitive spot on your neck. Your fingers had a habit of finding themselves in his hair. It was insane how easily you’d gotten used to being with him in the dark. How easily you could find his mouth with your own. How easily you’d find your way into his arms. 
It was weirdly comforting. His warmth, his voice, his touch. 
“Tell me about your day,” He murmured, kissing your neck while his hands grabbed you and caressed you wherever he could reach. 
You squealed when you felt his metal fingers wandering dangerously close to your clit. Then said, “It went pretty well. I went out to buy some supplies, made a new friend at the store, I went to see my father but he wasn’t home. I took our dog for a walk, I painted…,” You gasped when his mouth trailed down till he took a nipple into his warm mouth, while he slid two fingers inside you gently. “Oh fuck…” You whined. 
He kissed his way up to your mouth again and said, “You sound so good when you moan for me, wife.” His lips brushed against yours. 
He was so close. And it was dark. And you wanted so desperately to see him. 
He moved his fingers expertly in and out of you. Making sure to brush against your most sensitive spots each time, turning you into a whimpering mess under him. He gave you a gentle kiss, swallowing your moans as he brought you closer to the edge. 
You whimpered and whined, then in the moment you just blurted out, “Can I please see you now?” 
Bucky stopped. He pulled away from you, making you whimper again as he got up and got out of your bed. 
In the dark it took a while for you to figure out where he was, whether he was still nearby or already making his way out the door. But he was here, standing near the bed. 
“We talked about this.” He said, sounding grave and disappointed. 
“But it’s been so long.” You argued. “I trust you.” 
He let out a loud exhale and said, “Then trust me when I say, it’s better this way.” 
You let out a sigh. “You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Bucky. Literally!” 
“Yes I can. I will.” He said arrogantly. That tone of his bothered you. “It’s better this way.” He repeated, but it sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself instead of you. 
“Oh screw you!” You said with enough bitterness to make a grown man flinch. “If you won’t let me see you then stop coming into my bedroom. I don’t want to see you unless you agree to let go of this weird persona.” 
“Fine.” 
That night was the last time you heard from Bucky. 
He didn’t come home the following day. Nor the one after that. 
And no one knew where he went. 
You could tell something was wrong when you began noticing that the guards were talking in hushed voices whenever you were around. You noticed that the amount of security around the house doubled. That’s when you began to worry. 
By the third night, the entire house was filled with this almost tangible tension, worry, and fear. The house staff wouldn’t talk to you as much. The guards were always in and out of the house. The head of security advised you to not wander too far away from the house while you roam the grounds. 
You noticed the guards would follow you whenever you left the property. Be it when you left to visit your father at your old house or when you went out to buy supplies. 
Then you worried some more. But no one had answers to your questions. Nobody knew where he went. Whether he’s away for an assignment or if he’s simply choosing to be away from home. 
You tried your hardest to pretend that you didn’t care. You were still a little angry. After all, why couldn’t you see what he looked like? You’d spend so much time with him in the dark, running your hands all over him, tracing the outline of his facial features, he never had an issue with that. But why couldn’t you see him? 
You were angry, but also very much worried by the fourth day. You missed him, you realised. He had become such a habit, such a constant in your days. His sarcastic humour, his gentle hands, his comforting embrace, the way he left you notes in the morning, the way he took your art seriously. 
Fuck. You sat up in bed one night, patting ‘his’ side of the bed softly. You missed him. Badly. You felt a pinch inside your chest which you had never felt before. It hurt. You wanted him home. You admitted to yourself with a painful sigh. 
“Where are you?” You whispered, looking at the dark corner of your bedroom where he used to sit in silence like a ghost. “It’s okay if you want to stay in the dark forever.” You looked around the dark room which now without him seemed so much bigger and empty, “Just come home.” 
The next morning, as you half-heartedly approached the kitchen, you overheard something. And quickly realised you shouldn’t have heard it. It was the two ladies talking in hushed tones, the ones who usually served you your meals and often kept you company while you baked. 
“...cannot tell her, she’ll be heartbroken.” One of them said gravely. 
Sudden panic made your body freeze. You pressed your back against the nearest wall to keep yourself hidden while you processed those cryptic words. No, no, no. Is he hurt? Do they know something you don’t? 
The other replied, “But she deserves to know. Even if it’s not confirmed yet. I mean, do you see how she smiles when she reads his notes? Clearly she had grown to care for him. She needs to know.” 
The other argued, “I know, but I cannot imagine how hurt she will be when she hears about the rumours that her own father kidnapped her husband due to some past rivalry which was supposedly laid to rest after their wedding.” 
“They’ve been looking for him for days now. It’s been too long, he should’ve been found by now.” 
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! 
No. This cannot be happening. 
You carefully walked away from the kitchen. Thinking, processing, analysing. 
If your father did it, it must’ve been for some shitty, arrogant reason. He probably just wanted to rub it in Bucky’s family’s face that he could still eliminate his biggest threat if he wanted to. To show that he could still get rid of them by holding their most precious weapon hostage. To toy with them by making them wait in anticipation. Your father had done it before. Not with Bucky, but other people. He usually never asked for ransom but he liked having his rivals beg him for mercy. 
Shit. He’s had Bucky for days now. 
You moved without thinking twice about it. For some reason, your brain knew exactly what to do even though your heart was still bothered by a multitude of emotions. It felt like you were on autopilot. 
You rushed into Bucky’s office and grabbed a handgun from his desk drawer, checked if it was loaded. It was. You knew Bucky kept it there for safety, he had told you that one time when you two were in bed together. 
You let out a frustrated sigh, then felt movement around your ankles. You looked down at your puppy and gave her a sad smile as you bent down to pet her. “I’m gonna go find daddy, okay? I’ll be home soon.” You left her with a kiss. 
You rushed back downstairs and found a group of armed guards in the foyer near the front door. You didn’t have the time to explain it all to them, especially since you were driven by a gut feeling. Instead you asked, “Do you guys have a way of tracking my phone, or my car?” 
One of them nodded. The rest frowned in confusion. 
You tried to keep your calm as much as you could even though your heart was racing. “Okay, I’m gonna go to my father’s house. Don’t follow me yet, but I need some of you to come find me as soon as I begin driving away from there.” 
Surprisingly, they just nodded and let you go. 
The whole time you drove to your father’s house, it felt you were constantly having to force yourself to keep calm. After four days of having no idea where he was, and now as all the puzzle pieces fit together, it was hard to remain calm. You just wanted to get to him. 
And while you drove, unanswered questions tormented you. 
Was he hurt? Where was he being kept? Was he beaten up? Was he even conscious? Would this end badly? How far would your father take this? Would he hurt him? 
Before you knew it, you were entering your father’s property. The guards let you in like they always did. You had to take a minute to breathe in your car before stepping out and going inside your old home. 
Luckily your father was home. 
You walked in and stopped in the middle of the foyer as you saw him making his way down the stairs. He slowed down when he noticed the glare you sent his way. And when he stopped in the middle of the grand staircase, with you still glaring at him, the guards who were scattered around the entrance noticed. You caught the way they silently got closer and closer, slowly reaching for their guns. 
Good thing you’d brought your own. 
The guards, as well as your father, froze in place the moment you pulled out Bucky’s gun and pointed it at the man responsible for all of this shit. No one made a single sound. No guard moved to even try to disarm you. 
You looked at your hand, which was surprisingly steady as it held the gun. And there, on the side of the shiny metal, you spotted Bucky’s initials. Your heart throbbed in a painful way, but you refused to be emotional right now, even though you needed a good cry after having bottled up your feelings for the last few days. 
You glared at your father, who was still shocked, and asked in a cold tone you’d never used before, “Where’s my husband?” 
Your father frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” 
You repeated, “Where is he?” 
Your father scoffed, “You’ll shoot your own father? Is this how I raised you?” 
“And you’ll kidnap your own son-in-law? For what? To show that you’re still the shit?” You questioned in a slightly raised voice. 
He sighed like he was disappointed, “You don’t know what–,” 
You cut him off. “We had a deal, right? That these petty attacks would stop after the wedding? That’s why I got married, isn’t it? Because we’re supposed to keep family safe?” 
He was quiet for a moment. Then began talking again, “If I could just get them to–,” 
“Enough!” You sounded just as tired of his bullshit as you were. “Whatever plan you have, just stop!” Then it came spilling out of your mouth, “You were supposed to protect me. All of us,” You said, referring to your older siblings, “Instead you married each of us off in exchange for whatever or whoever was going to benefit you more.” 
He argued, “If this works, you can come back home. Don’t you want that?” 
“No,” You said, and realised you meant it. “This was never home.” You admitted. “He treats me better than my own family ever did. He doesn’t tell me that my art is a waste of time. He doesn’t keep me imprisoned inside his home. He doesn’t choose who I should mingle with and who I shouldn’t. He doesn’t force me to join family businesses because it’ll be good for his image.” You taunted your father. “And he’ll never sell me to the highest bidder.” 
Your father made a sound like he was disgusted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him?” 
You remained quiet. I care for him, you wanted to say, deeply. But that would be lying, wouldn’t it? Truth was… you did fall for him. His calm voice. His gentle but playful demeanour. His dark humour. His brilliant mind and sharp tongue, always ready to argue and debate. His gentle touch… you loved him. 
“What I do and who I care for is none of your concern anymore.” You concluded, stepping forward and keeping the gun aimed at his face. “Now, where is my husband?” 
The smirk on your father’s face was maddening. “You’ll never find him,” He said. “I’ve hidden him well.” He added.  
You gave him a smirk as well. One which mirrored his. 
“Oh don’t make me do this.” You cooed. “Did you forget all those times you got drunk and confessed all the bad things you did?” You began listing, “All those times you spilled all your little secrets. About our family businesses, about your allies, the lies and betrayal. The bodies that are buried on this very property. The skeletons in your closet.” You gave him a sick, sweet smile. “Imagine if all that information just magically ends up in the ears of your rivals, dad. Imagine the carnage.” 
His smirk disappeared. “You would betray me by siding with them?” He asked in disbelief. 
You were getting tired of this. So you lowered your gun and said, “I am one of them.” 
You walked out without a single glance back at your father, but you could tell he had his jaws clenched in anger. He hated being outsmarted. But his mistake was underestimating you. 
And as for Bucky’s location, well your father gave it away when he said ‘I’ve hidden him well.’ 
There was only one place he believed you knew nothing about since at the time that he told you about it, he was drunk out of his mind as he confessed more of his crimes: the rundown warehouse which he used as a hideout/storage for weapons and arms. 
Your father had always referred to Bucky being a ‘weapon’ so it was only fitting that he would think to hide him there. Thinking no one would find him. 
But you would. 
As you drove to the warehouse, you hoped that the guards were tracking you as you had instructed them to. Because if Bucky was truly there, there was a high chance that there would be some guards, and that Bucky must be injured. And you’d need help getting him out of there. 
Driving to the warehouse, you had silent tears streaming down your face. Not just out of sadness, but also frustration. Fuck, what had your life become? 
The warehouse was a disaster, you realised as you approached it. Large, crumbling, windows boarded up with rotting wood, broken machinery scattered around the outside. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. And it was exactly the type of structure no one would bother to look twice at. The perfect place to hide illegal things, and son-in-laws you hate. 
There weren’t as many guards as you expected. Which would mean that Bucky was either chained and locked up like an animal, or that he was injured to the point where he was too weak to fight his way out of here. 
Or both. 
You shivered as you got out of your car. The few guards who were around noticed you and one of them began walking faster towards you the more you got closer to the entrance. 
“Miss, you can’t be here. Your father explicitly said no one is allowed–,” 
You scoffed and said, “Oh, I know what he said.” You kept walking. “What will you do? Shoot me?” 
“Miss,” He tried again, “I can’t let you–,” 
You turned towards him and placed the barrel of Bucky’s gun right under the guard’s chin. “You were saying?” 
Then you heard it. A fleet of cars approaching. The guards heard it too. You heard them yelling at one another while the one in front of you remained frozen in place. You smirked at him and said, “Now go play with them.” 
You had just enough time to duck and run inside before the gunshots began. You didn’t stop. The interior of the warehouse was just as dilapidated as the outside, and by the sound of it, there were quite some guards on the roof. Their heavy footsteps as they ran to duck and try to escape the bullets raining down on them echoed inside the empty warehouse. 
It was fairly easy to spot Bucky. But fuck was it painful to see him that way. 
He was chained to the wall, shackles around his wrists and ankles. His body slumped on the ground, his breaths ragged. You could tell he was tired. Perhaps tired of fighting against the chains. You couldn’t hold back your soft sob as you ran to him. 
They had left his muzzle-like mask on him, covering the lower half of his face. The leather jacket and gloves he wore were covered in blood and dirt. A lot of blood. You knelt down in front of him and that’s when you noticed the bullet wound on his thigh. It looked fresh. 
“Bucky?” You called, reaching a hand to touch his face. He was cold to the touch, but stirred at the sound of your voice. “Bucky, come on. Wake up. Please.” You sniffled and inched closer to him, “I’m here, I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?” 
He let out a weak cough. You could barely hear it over the sound of the gunshots outside. 
“Bucky,” You tried to get the chains and shackles off of him, “Come on, wake up. We need to go home.” Your own voice cracked as you felt the silent tears streaming down your face as you were unable to get the shackles off. “Please,” You begged. 
Then as the gunshots outside faded away, you heard Bucky’s faint voice saying, “Use the gun.” 
You turned to face him. “What?” 
He spoke again, his voice raspier than usual and sounding muffled due to the mask. “Shoot at the chains.” 
Your hands trembled just a little as you reached for the gun you had brought. His gun. And you said, “Okay, don’t move.” 
You did. And only missed twice. 
Breaking the chains left the shackles still around his wrists and ankles but that could be dealt with later. You were panicking, wondering how you’d get him out of here but the guards barged in just in time. And you let out a sigh of relief when they ran straight to Bucky and carefully picked him up. 
As a couple of them managed to get Bucky in the backseat of your car, one of them let you know that there was a doctor and his assistants already waiting at home to tend to Bucky. Another one asked you what to do regarding the warehouse. 
“Burn it.” You told him. “I’ll deal with my father later, right now we need to get Bucky home.” 
On the drive home, Bucky kept trying to talk. But he was so weak he could barely get full sentences out. 
“Weren’t you mad at me?” He asked.
You sniffled and said refused to answer that. Instead you said, “Try not to talk. You’ve been shot, we don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” You rambled. “Let’s get you to the doctor, okay?”  
“S’okay,” He mumbled, “It went through.” 
That only hurt more. “Bucky please, you need to save energy, okay? We’re almost home.” 
“They… shot me with my own gun.” He refused to keep quiet. 
At first you thought his brain was being delirious and making him ramble. Because of the pain, exhaustion, thirst, hunger. But then a weak sound left his mouth. Still muffled by the mask because no one removed it, and it sounded a lot like a very weak, faint laugh. 
“Eros got pierced by his own arrow after all.” He mumbled. 
You held back a sob. Then muttered, “I hate you so much, Bucky Barnes.” 
Another weak laugh. “No, you don’t, wife.” 
Then he passed out cold. 
— 
The next few days which followed Bucky’s rescue went by so fast and so painfully. The medical team kept close watch on him for days. Bucky was in and out of consciousness a lot. All the meds and the exhaustion kept him constantly out cold. 
The nurses and the house staff were constantly around him. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to go into his room. Not yet. You’d linger near the door and the doctors and the staff would constantly update you about his condition, but you never went in. 
Mainly it was because of shame. At what your father had done to him. But also you were still making peace with and processing your own emotions and you couldn’t face him until you were fully ready. What was important was that he was rescued and safe in his home. 
About a week later, the medical team finally left. And promised they would do frequent check ups and told you that Bucky needed a lot of rest. 
And that night, you managed to find the courage to finally step inside Bucky’s bedroom. It was a lot like yours, just larger. The room was dark when you walked in. But the open curtains allowed some light in from the outside. 
Okay. You spoke to yourself as you approached Bucky’s bed. It’s high time you find out who you married. 
Your hands shook a little as you reached for the dim lamp on his bedside table. But you turned it on quickly before you could talk yourself out of it. 
The golden light illuminated the room partly, and there he was. A little bruised, with a cut on his lip. His handsome face made you smile and tear up at the same time. You couldn’t hold back from reaching to touch his face softly, carefully. You ran your knuckles along his cheek and whispered, “There you are, ghost.” 
He stirred. And soon, a pair of sparkling blue eyes look up at you. For a moment you panicked, wondering if he would be upset. But instead he said, “This is cheating.” 
You let out a soft laugh and asked, “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for days.” 
“I feel like beating your father up.” He mumbled. 
“Oh, same.” You agreed. Then added, “I’m so sorry for what he did to you.” 
Over the past few days, the guards had gathered what had truly happened the day Bucky went missing. Turns out, he did leave for an assignment but your father and his men had been keeping a close eye on him for days, and since the wedding was supposed to have ended all rivalry, Bucky had his guard down as he entered your father’s territory. And your father had the upper hand for once and took advantage of it. Bucky was cornered, outnumbered and taken. He was kept in that warehouse up until you found him. 
“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered, reaching for your hand on your lap. He gave your hand a soft squeeze and said, “You saved me.” 
You couldn’t look away from Bucky. It felt so intimate to finally be able to see his face. Then rather sheepishly, you asked, “Can I sleep here? I’ll be careful.” He was still injured and in pain, but you just wanted to be close to him. You needed to. 
He smirked, “Come on.” You walked to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, keeping some distance between you and him. He turned to look at you and said, “Want me to leave the light on?” 
You nodded. And he did. 
— 
A lot changed after that. 
Bucky was healing from his injury and was starting to walk again. Which meant that he was home a lot. He did ‘work’ but it mainly consisted of him ordering people around on the phone. 
Him being at home meant that he followed you around as much as he physically could. He would spend time in your studio, sometimes he’d stay for hours and watch you finish your pieces. He also spent a lot more time with your dog, taking her on short walks and teaching her new tricks. 
He’d stay with you in the kitchen while you baked. He’d go with you whenever you went shopping for supplies. Bucky became your shadow. And consequently, spending this much together made you feel closer than ever to him. 
He became your best friend. 
He also became a lot more… bold. 
One night Bucky found you in his bathroom. After that night when you first slept in his bed, you hadn’t gone back to your bedroom. So now, most of your things slowly found their way into his space. Like your night time skin care products. 
Bucky crept up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. 
You met his eyes through the mirror and gave him a smile. “Your limp is nearly gone.” You announced, noticing the way he walked was so much better now. 
He gave you a look which meant nothing but mischief, “And you know what that means?” 
You could already tell where this was going. You immediately turned him down. “Bucky, we cannot. You’re still injured.” 
“But it’s been weeks.” He said it like it was the ultimate torture. “Don’t you miss those nights we spent together? Hmm?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck. He knew it was one of your weaknesses. “Remember how good it feels when I make you come?” 
You sighed, letting him kiss you and hold you for a moment. “Buck… you’re still healing.” 
“Come on, baby,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck, “I’ll make it so good. I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.” 
You almost gave in the moment he playfully bit your neck, his hands finding the belt of your robe and shamelessly undoing it before sliding in to touch your warm skin. “But,” You tried to find something even though all you wanted was to drag him to bed, “Your stitches…” Your words ended in a soft moan as his metal fingers found their way in between your legs, circling around your clit. 
Bucky growled. Growled. Then said, “Fine, you get to be on top then.” 
You froze, and let out a nervous chuckle. “But I…,” You opened your eyes and met his through the mirror. “I–,” 
“Shh, it’s okay.” He reassured you, remembering the time you told him you’d never done anything with anyone before. “I know.” He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I’ll teach you.” 
And he did. Patiently. 
He took his time in undressing both of you and held your hand in his as he laid down and pulled you on top of him. 
“I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” You murmured. 
He gave you a reassuring smile. “You won’t, baby. Now come on.” 
He watched as you carefully straddled him, settling comfortably around his waist. One hand holding his metal one tightly while the other remained splayed over his chest. 
Bucky looked up at you with nothing but adoration and lust as he tugged on your hand, pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned down gently and pressed your mouth to his. His warm hand immediately rubbed up and down your side lovingly. He pulled away just a little and whispered against your mouth, “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, okay?” 
You nodded, already breathless. 
“Tell me, baby. What do you want?” 
You told him the one thing you desperately wanted. “I want to touch you.” 
Bucky smirked and supported his upper body up on his elbows, with you still straddling his waist, your core pressing down on his crotch. “Go on then, touch me.” He murmured. 
He watched you intently as you reached out and touched his face first. Bucky’s heart was racing, you could tell by the way he breathed, as your finger slowly trailed down his face, along his neck and down till his abs, so slowly that you could feel his muscles tensing underneath your touch. 
You gave him a teasing smile when you noticed the effect you have on him, and how he couldn’t help but stare at your naked body. 
“Don’t tease me,” He mumbled. 
You chuckled and leaned in to give him a brief kiss before hesitantly wrapping your hand around his cock. Part of the reason why you kissed him while doing it was because you were worried about your lack of experience, so you did it to distract him. 
But he caught it. And wrapped his own hand around yours, making you grip him tighter. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his pretty eyes. Bucky was breathing heavily. You let his hand guide you as you gave him an experimental stroke, a gentle up and down movement. 
He felt thick and hard, and big. You looked down for a quick minute as you let him continue guiding your hand, lazily stroking his cock, up and down. Your thumb rubbed his tip slowly, making him groan as you looked back up at him and kissed your way down his neck, around the base of his throat, making him gasp in pleasure. 
“See?” He whispered, “You’re learning already.” He said as he slowly let go of your hand and let you touch him on your own. 
You continued exploring this new feeling. He was completely fine with just being there and letting you take your time. And you did take your time, touching him everywhere you could, stroking him as slowly or as quickly as you wanted to. Until he was so close to the edge, eyes rolled to the back of his head, lips parted and occasional moans escaping his open mouth as  pre cum started dripping down his cock. 
Oh he was a sight to behold. But you were getting impatient, and you wanted him in you as soon as possible. So you stopped, earning a groan from him. 
“I want you,” You said. 
Bucky looked like he was barely able to hold back either. “Come on,” He held your hand again, pulled you in for a quick kiss as you straddled him properly. His hand reached down and aligned the tip of his cock to your hole, teasing you with it by sliding it up and down your slit a few times until you were whimpering. “Now sit on it baby come on,” He encouraged you as you began sinking down on him, gasping as his cock stretched you out. “You can do it.” He murmured, breathless as he watched his cock disappear inside you more and more. “That's it. All the way down, come on baby.” 
You were a moaning mess by the time you sunk all the way down, impaling yourself down on his cock. Fuck. You had never felt so full before. So fucking full. 
“You okay, baby?” He asked, holding you by your hips, moving you back and forth just a little bit to create some friction. 
You nodded, moaning at the slight movement. 
“Want me to help you move?” He asked, lips parted and he had that wild look in his eyes.
Fuck, he was beautiful. 
“Yes, please,” You whined, placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself for what was coming. 
He wasted no time. Bucky grabbed you by the hips and helped you move up and down his cock. Your wet warmth wrapped all around him, making him swear under his breath and groan at how good you felt. 
You couldn’t look away from his ocean blue eyes while you rocked your hips against his. You moved against him perfectly, your walls gripping him tightly and feeling him twitch inside you. 
“Look at you.” He cooed. “Look how well you're taking it.” 
You couldn’t help but lean in to kiss his open mouth. He was so perfect. He was everything you had ever dreamt of, you realised. 
His metal fingers moved to touch your clit while you rode his cock, teasing you and bringing you closer to that edge. It wouldn’t take much. You were so overwhelmed already. 
“Bucky…” You whined, dragging your hands down and pressing both your palms against his toned abdomen, carefully avoiding touching him around his thigh area, where he was shot. 
Bucky watched you, your breasts bouncing gently, lips parted, softly gasping as you got so, so close to the edge. 
And he knew. So he quickened his pace, still moving you up and down his cock while he rubbed your throbbing clit. 
“Baby, I’m gonna need you to come for me, okay?” His voice was low, barely even a whisper. His desperation was quite clear. He began to thrust his hips up even harder, matching your movements.
The air around you got hotter, and that look in his eyes made you want to live in this moment forever. Bucky was the most beautiful mess you’d ever seen. A sweaty, moaning mess under you, messy hair, swollen lips, and a throbbing cock. 
You were sure you looked like a mess too as you felt your walls clench around him, gripping him and milking him perfectly. 
“Come for me,” He whispered, “Come on, baby.” 
You came without a warning, crying out loud and impaling yourself down on him one last time as you did. Bucky thrust up into you one last time and came undone as well, both of you breathing hard and fast. 
You carefully got up from his lap and laid down beside him, body limp and slightly sore in between your legs. 
You were still catching your breath as you asked, “Did I hurt you?” You sounded just as worried as you were. 
Bucky chuckled. “I should be the one asking you that.” 
You smiled and snuggled into his side, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer. 
“I’m fine, baby.” He said and kissed your forehead. 
You both laid there in silence for a while. 
Cuddling and relishing each other’s warmth, caressing each other’s skin. 
You felt his fingers drawing random shapes on your back as you laid your head on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeats against your cheek. You felt the need to ask him, “Why were you so against showing yourself to me?” 
He gave you a soft chuckle. “You just can’t let that go, huh?” 
“Nope.” 
He sighed, pulling you closer. “I was… afraid.” 
You frowned. “Afraid of what?” You pulled away and looked up at him. “Why did you hide this pretty face from me?” You gave him a quick kiss on his chest as you waited for his answer. 
He sighed again. “Everywhere I go, I… whenever people see me up close, it’s already too late. They don’t see a human anymore, they see death staring back at them.” He paused. You remained quiet. He continued. “I see it, you know? In their eyes. When they look at me and plead, or beg, or curse me.” A humourless laugh, then, “After some years of that, I began seeing it in the mirror as well. I saw the same thing they see. After years of brutality, and killing, and spilling blood,” A soft chuckle, “Years of being an evil Eros as you call it, I grew to hate my face.” 
You felt tears forming at your waterline but you couldn’t look away from him. Not when he was being so brave and vulnerable. 
He continued. “And then before our wedding, I looked you up.” He confessed, a little embarrassed. “And you were so beautiful.” He looked you right in the eyes and repeated, “You are so beautiful. I guess, I didn’t want you to look at me and see death, and ugly and all the other dark stuff. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes, the same one I see in everyone. That look of fear and disgust.” He finally admitted, “So I thought, I’d just hide and be a ghost.” 
“My ghost.” You corrected him, reaching out to cup his chin in your palm. “And I’m gonna need you to never stop haunting me.” You said, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on his lips. “I want you to always be in the shadows. Be with me, even in the dark.” You gave him a smile. “I look at you now and you know what I see? I see a man who treated me with respect. A man who wouldn’t touch me unless I asked for it. A man who gave me so much space for my creativity.” A faint smile, then you added, “You made me fall in love with art all over again, and now everything I paint, I paint with you in my mind.” 
He gave you a smile which both broke and mended your heart. 
“Oh Buck,” You cupped his gorgeous face with both hands and said, “You’re not death, or scary, or any other dark shit. You’re mine, and I love you.” 
He pulled you in for a kiss so quickly you barely processed it. “And I love you.” 
You giggled into the kiss and only pulled away when you were breathless. You kissed your way down his chin and nuzzled his neck, sighing in delight. 
Bucky said, “I think I should retire.” 
“Hmm,” You asked, “And what would you do in retirement?” 
“Watch you paint, raise our dog, adopt some more animals, attend your art exhibitions, and eventually make some babies with you.” He listed it all so easily. 
“Sounds like a plan.” You agreed.
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gemsandjunk · 1 year ago
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julietsf1 · 25 days ago
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The Secret Admirer - Franco Colapinto x Driver!Reader
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summary: Y/N thought the biggest challenge this season would be her dynamic with her cold teammate, but mysterious notes and gifts start to complicate things. Who’s behind it, and what happens when she finds out?
content: driver!reader; slight lestappen in-between the lines if you're down for it
AN - HELLO?? when did I reach 100 followers?? that's crazy fr thank you guys so much <3 getting myself a some lilies tomorrow to celebrate heehee :)
inspired after reading an amazing secret admirer SMAU by @hugleclerc!!
---------------------------------------------------
The Williams garage was alive with the buzz of mechanics and engineers, adjusting last-minute setups on the cars before qualifying. I leaned against the wall, watching the team work their magic. The air was tense, but everyone seemed focused, ready for the battle that awaited on track.
Everyone except Franco Colapinto.
I glanced across the garage, where Franco stood laughing with one of the engineers. His gorgeous green eyes sparkled as he made some clever comment, drawing a laugh from the guy. Of course, everyone adored Franco—charming, effortlessly cool, always with a smile that could melt ice.
Just not when it came to me.
I took a deep breath, feeling the usual pang of frustration bubble up. It wasn’t that I needed to be best friends with my teammate, but we were supposed to be a team. Teammates were supposed to at least talk to each other, right? But no—Franco acted like I was a ghost. A ghost in a fireproof suit.
Whatever, I told myself. It wasn’t like I cared... much.
But maybe today would be different. Maybe today, I’d crack the Colapinto code.
“Hey, Franco,” I called out as I approached him, keeping my voice light, almost hopeful. “Ready for qualifying?”
He turned toward me, his eyes flickering me up and down for the briefest moment. “Hey,” he said, offering me the most forced smile I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at how bad this was going already. “I, uh... need to check the data,” he quickly added, already turning away before I could even blink.
Right. Data. The lamest excuse. I watched as he made a beeline for the monitors, leaving me standing there like an idiot talking to thin air. Again.
I sighed, folding my arms. “Sure, no problem.” It felt ridiculous—like I was chasing after something that clearly didn’t matter to him. 
I didn’t want to admit how much it actually bugged me. Not having a good bond with Franco wasn’t just a professional issue—it felt personal. I got on with everyone else in the paddock. Oscar? Hilarious. Charles? Always up for a nice talk. Lando? Honestly too crazy for his own good. But Franco? He was a mystery wrapped in a cold, distant puzzle.
I let out another sigh, shaking my head. Turning to head back to my car again.
The truth was, it bothered me more than I liked to admit. I wanted to have that easy camaraderie I had with the others, but Franco wasn’t interested. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe it was just the rivalry for the number 1 seat at Williams, and I was overthinking things.
But still, every time I saw him chat with the team, his eyes lighting up as he joked around, it stung. Why couldn’t he be like that with me?
The countdown to qualifying flashed on the screens around the garage, snapping me back to reality. Focus. I had a job to do. I wasn’t going to let Franco’s attitude get in the way of that. I could beat him on the track. That’s what mattered.
..
Back in my driver’s room, the hum of the paddock faded as I shut the door behind me. The familiar quiet enveloped me, offering a brief moment of peace. I tugged at the zipper of my race suit, peeling it halfway down to let out the heat. Qualifying had gone well enough, p10, but my mind was elsewhere, drifting away from lap times and tire choices.
I moved around the small space, packing my gloves and helmet, going through the motions of tidying up. There was something soothing about the routine—folding, zipping, stashing gear away in its proper place. It gave my hands something to do while my thoughts wandered.
As I reached for my bag, my fingers brushed against something unexpected—a small, folded piece of paper peeking out from the side pocket. I paused, pulling it free and unfolding it slowly. The handwriting was neat, familiar. My heart gave a small flutter, as it always did when I found one of these.
"You looked amazing again today. Seeing you shine is the highlight of my raceweekends."
A smile tugged at my lips, soft but undeniable. These notes had been showing up for weeks now, tucked into my things when I least expected it. Always sweet, always supportive, and just romantic enough to make me wonder who the mysterious admirer could be.
I leaned back against the bench, holding the note in my hand. Whoever was behind this... they were good. Thoughtful, even. They knew how to say just enough to lift my spirits without crossing that line into cringe territory.
But who could it be? I’d racked my brain plenty of times. Maybe one of the engineers? They were always around, and some of them had a quiet, observant vibe. Or could it be the chef who made those amazing post-race meals? He was always so friendly, always knew exactly how to make my day a little better.
I folded the note carefully and slid it into my pocket, shaking my head with a soft laugh. Whoever it was, they were doing a great job of keeping it a secret. It was frustrating, sure, but at the same time... there was something kind of magical about the mystery. And it felt good, knowing someone was watching, rooting for me in their own quiet way. 
With a small smile, I headed toward the door, stepping into the outside world again, basically hitting me in the face with its upbeat energy. Whatever challenges lay ahead, at least I had one thing to look forward to—someone out there cared. And that was more than enough to brighten my day.
..
At the hotel I went straight to the restaurant which was filled with the typical post-qualifying buzz—drivers catching up, teams unwinding with food and drinks, and engineers talking shop over their meals. I slipped into the booth beside Oscar, who was already halfway through his plate, while Charles raised his glass in greeting.
“Tough session?” Oscar asked, his mouth half full, which would sure as hell earn him a scolding from Nicole Piastri if she saw him like this.
I shrugged, picking up the menu. “Could’ve been worse. Franco had his usual charm on, though.” I tried to keep it light, but there was no hiding the disappointment creeping into my voice.
Charles raised an eyebrow, setting his glass down with a smirk. “And by charm, you mean...”
“He barely acknowledged me.” I sighed, flipping the menu open. “I tried to wish him luck, you know, like a teammate would? He gave me the most forced smile, muttered something about ‘checking the data,’ and bolted.”
Oscar leaned back in his seat, giving me a knowing look. “Classic Franco move. Avoidance with a dash of politeness.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up,” I muttered, more amused than frustrated at this point.
Charles chuckled. “Well, it’s not like he hates you. Maybe he’s just... I don’t know, bad at the whole teammate thing.”
“Maybe,” I said, not really convinced. “It’s just... disappointing. Everyone else on the grid is easy to get along with, but with Franco, it’s like I don’t exist. I get that we’re both competitive for that number one seat, but it doesn’t mean we have to be strangers.”
Oscar gave me a small, sympathetic smile, then his face lit up with a mischievous glint. “At least you’ve got someone making up for it with those cute little love notes.”
My cheeks flushed a bit as I fumbled with the menu. I wasn’t expecting that to come up so quickly. “I wouldn’t call them love notes.”
Charles leaned in, clearly intrigued. “Oh, do tell.”
I sighed, setting the menu down. “It’s nothing major. Just... someone’s been leaving notes for me. Encouraging ones. They’re always really sweet and thoughtful.”
Charles and Oscar exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing.
“Our girl’s got a secret admirer!” Oscar stated, grinning ear to ear.
Charles joined in. “And you didn’t think to tell me? Come on, Y/N, we’re supposed to be your investigative team here.”
I rolled my eyes, smiling despite their teasing. “It’s not like that. I mean, I don’t even know who it is. The notes just show up in my stuff—my locker, my bag, even my hotel room once.”
Charles was practically bouncing in his seat. “This is amazing. You’ve got a secret admirer in the paddock, and you’re keeping it from us? That’s just cruel.”
Oscar tilted his head, considering. “Maybe it’s one of the journalists? They’re always hanging around the paddock.”
I frowned, thinking it over. “A journalist? I don’t know... It seems kind of personal. Like, whoever’s leaving them knows what’s going on in my head.”
Charles grinned, clearly loving the mystery. “Maybe it’s that tire guy. You know, the one who’s always lurking around with that awkward smile.”
I laughed. “Sure, because nothing says romance like delivering tires.”
“Hey, you never know,” Charles teased. “The guy might have a thing for drivers who know how to handle a good set of Pirellis.”
Oscar snorted. “Well, whoever it is, they’re clearly invested in you. And the fact that they’re staying anonymous? Bold move.”
I shook my head, grinning despite myself. “It’s not like that. I mean, I don’t think it is. The notes are more... supportive than romantic.”
Charles smirked. “Supportive, romantic... it’s the same thing when you’re the one receiving them.”
I leaned back, letting out a breath. “Maybe. It’s just weird not knowing. Whoever it is must be around a lot to be able to slip the notes into my stuff without me noticing.”
Oscar shrugged. “Could be anyone. Engineer, journalist, tire guy... heck, it could be someone from another team for all we know.”
Charles gave me a nudge. “Come on, let’s not overthink this. Whoever it is, they’re obviously paying attention to you in ways we’re not. Just... enjoy it. You deserve it.”
..
Back in my hotel room, I tossed my bag onto the bed and collapsed into the armchair. Even after the dinner with Oscar and Charles, the post-quali hectivity still lingered in my head, and I was ready to unwind. As I sat up, something caught my eye on the desk—there, sitting perfectly in the middle, was a bouquet of lilies, their soft pink petals delicate and crisp against the dark wood. Nestled among the flowers was a small teddy bear, its plush almost glowing in the dim room light.
I blinked, taking a step closer. Another note.
With a grin creeping onto my face, I picked up the folded paper, carefully sliding it out from between the stems. My heart fluttered a little as I unfolded it, the familiar neat handwriting greeting me once again.
"Flowers for the prettiest girl in the pitlane, you are doing amazing this weekend."
The warmth that spread through me was undeniable. Whoever this was, they had a knack for making me feel special without going overboard. I set the note down on the desk, reaching for the teddy bear. It was soft, comforting in a way that made me smile.
Without thinking, I scooped up the flowers and the teddy and practically ran out of the room, determined to show Oscar and Charles the latest installment of this ongoing mystery. I knew they’d have a field day with it.
When I made it down to the lobby, I spotted them easily—Oscar and Charles were draped over the couches, their laughter carrying across the room.
“Oh no,” Oscar said as soon as he saw me, eyes locking onto the bouquet. “Not more flowers.”
Charles leaned forward, grinning. “What is it this time? Roses? A life-sized teddy bear?”
I sat down next to them, holding up the lilies and teddy with a mock dramatic flourish. “Lilies and a teddy bear,” I announced. “And another note. This person is definitely stepping up their game.”
Before I could say more, Max appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the chair next to Charles. He raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Wait, wait, wait—what did I miss?”
Oscar leaned over, grinning like crazy. “Oh, just Y/N’s latest delivery from her secret admirer.”
Max’s eyes widened in mock shock. “Secret admirer? How come I’m only finding out about this now? Charles, you should’ve told me!”
Charles waved him off. “You’ve been too busy. Someone’s been leaving notes and gifts for Y/N. This is the latest one—lilies and a teddy bear. The whole deal.”
Without missing a beat, Max straightened up dramatically and grabbed Charles’s hand, mimicking a lovestruck expression, placing a hand on his chest. “Oh, darling Charles, I’ve waited so long to tell you how much I adore you. Letme sweep you off your feet with lilies and teddy bears,” he said in a ridiculous voice, earning a round of laughter from the guys.
Charles, unable to keep a straight face, clutched at his chest. “Oh, Max, I had no idea! How could I have been so blind?” He pretended to swoon, leaning into Max as Oscar snorted with laughter.
The whole thing was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, holding onto the teddy bear as Charles dramatically fell into Max’s arms. Oscar nearly spilled his drink, laughing so hard he was shaking.
“You guys are so annoying,” I said, shaking my head.
Oscar wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “And yet, you still hang out with us.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, sitting down beside Oscar. “You can all make fun of me later. But seriously, I have no idea who’s behind this.”
Max leaned over, winking at me. “Whoever it is, I’d say they’re pretty serious about this. You should probably start writing your thank-you speech for when they finally reveal themselves.”
Oscar tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s someone who sees you all the time but doesn’t want to be too obvious about it. A paddock regular.”
Charles nodded. “Like that tire guy. Maybe he’s finally making his move.”
Lando, who joined the group mid max’s performance and had been quietly observing so far, crossed his arms, his grin widening. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea who it is.”
I raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh, really?”
Lando shrugged casually, a sly smile playing on his lips. “I mean, if you pay attention, it’s not that hard to figure out. It’s always someone who notices the little things, like when you have a really good session or when you’re extra happy about something.”
Oscar tilted his head. “Wait... are you saying you know who it is?”
Lando’s smirk widened just a fraction. “I guess I’m fairly certain, yeah. But where’s the fun in telling you now? I’ll let you all figure it out.”
Max leaned back, giving Lando a look. “Come on, mate. You can’t just drop that and leave us hanging.”
Lando held up his hands, still grinning. “I’m just saying—sometimes the answer’s right in front of you. You’ve just gotta look a little closer.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, the wheels in my head turning, but before I could press him any further, George strolled up, adjusting his jacket with his usual air of elegance. He took one look at the flowers and teddy bear, and his face lit up with intrigue.
“Good evening, Gentlemen, Gentlewoman,” George said, eyes carefully inspecting the gifts on the table, “what’s this whole ordeal about?”
Oscar leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself. “Y/N’s got a secret admirer. Notes, flowers, gifts... the whole thing.”
George straightened up, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “A secret admirer, you say? Well, this sounds like a job for me.”
Max snickered. “You’re going to solve this mystery, Sherlock?”
George gave him a serious nod. “Absolutely. It’s a matter of pride now. Y/N, you leave this in my capable hands.”
I laughed. “What’s your plan, George?”
He adjusted his collar with a flourish. “I’ll start by investigating everyone in the paddock. No stone shall be left unturned, no individual overlooked.”
Charles chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see you interrogating the tire guy.”
George gave him a lofty wave. “The tire guy? Please, I’ll be far more thorough than that. I’ll speak to marshalls, cleaning staff, team principals—everyone. By the end of this, I’ll have your answer.”
Oscar grinned. “I’m sure they’ll all appreciate your thoroughness.”
“Fear not,” George continued, completely serious, “I will get to the bottom of this. You can count on me.”
We all burst out laughing as George made his dramatic exit, heading off toward the elevators with an air of determination.
Max shook his head, still chuckling. “He’s going to be a nightmare in the paddock tomorrow.”
Oscar leaned back, crossing his arms. “No kidding. He’ll have everyone hiding from him by lunchtime.”
Lando, still lounging comfortably, gave me a quick glance. “Well, while Sherlock’s off gathering clues, we can all sit back and enjoy the show.”
I smiled, hugging the teddy bear close. “Yeah, this whole thing is getting out of hand.”
But even as I said it, I glanced down at the note again, my fingers brushing over the neat handwriting. There was something about this whole thing—something I felt I was overlooking.
..
Race day had finally arrived, and the paddock was alive with excitement. The drivers’ parade was one of those moments where the race hadn’t quite hit yet, and the energy was more about the fans than the looming competition. I stood with the other drivers, the sun bright overhead, as we waited to climb into the two open-top trucks that would take us around the circuit.
The atmosphere was lively, the cheers of the crowd echoing through the streets. For a brief moment, it was just about the spectacle—no stress, no pressure. Just waves and smiles.
“Y/N!” George’s voice cut through the noise, and I turned to see him weaving through the group with a grin. “I’ve got updates.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Updates on what?”
George leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “The investigation. I’ve been doing some digging.”
I stifled a laugh, shaking my head. “George, I thought we agreed to keep this low-key.”
He nodded, but there was a glint in his eyes. “Oh, of course. Very discreet. But just so you know, I’ve already ruled out a few people. I had a chat with the tire guys—they’re off the list.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Good to know.”
Oscar, standing a few feet away, overheard and sauntered over, clearly amused. “George is still on about that, huh?”
George straightened up, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m telling you, we’re making progress. Just need to connect a few more dots.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Sherlock. But keep it subtle, okay?”
Oscar chuckled, clapping George on the shoulder as we climbed into one of the trucks for the parade. “Just don’t go questioning the marshals next, alright?”
We settled into the large truck, with half the drivers in ours and the rest in another up ahead. George stood beside me, his detective mindset clearly still working overtime. “I’ll crack this eventually,” he said, his tone only half-joking.
As the truck rolled forward, George leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve narrowed it down to three main suspects.”
I raised an eyebrow, already bracing for the ridiculousness. “Okay, hit me. Who’s on your list?”
George, completely serious, ticked off the names on his fingers. “First, Gunther Steiner.”
Oscar, standing across from us, choked on his water. “Gunther? Seriously?”
George nodded. “Could be him, right? The man’s full of surprises.”
I bit back a laugh, playing along. “Sure, let’s put Gunther in the mix. Who else?”
George held up a second finger. “Then, there’s one of the guys from Dutch TV. He’s always hanging around too, and I saw him chatting with the engineers yesterday. Could be a cover.”
Oscar shook his head, thoroughly amused. “A Dutch broadcaster? Aren’t most of those guys well over 50?”
“And lastly,” George said, leaning in even closer, “Lewis.”
I burst out laughing. “Lewis? Really?”
George shrugged. “He’s known to be romantic. He certainly stole my heart in the last few years of us working together.”
“He’s like a dad to me, George!” I said, rolling my eyes.
George grinned, completely unfazed by the disbelief. “You never know. He surely is a handsome guy.”
As the parade began to roll forward, I glanced over at Lewis, who was standing on the other side of the truck, waving atfans as we passed by. He caught my eye and made his way over, always up for a chat.
“Ready for race day, Y/N?” Lewis asked, his smile easy and familiar.
I smiled, waving to the crowd. “Absolutely! I’ve got a good feeling about the car this weekend.”
Lewis nodded, his gaze shifting briefly to Franco, who was further up in the other truck, chatting with Carlos and Checo. “How’s it going with your teammate?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of understanding.
I sighed. “It’s just weird, you know? I’ve tried to build some kind of rapport with him, but he barely acknowledges me. Feels like I’m talking to a wall sometimes.”
Lewis nodded knowingly. “I’ve been there. Back when Nico and I were teammates, it was the same. Sometimes, no matter what you do, the team dynamic just doesn’t click.”
I glanced over at Franco, who was sitting up ahead in the other truck, chatting easily with some of the engineers. “Yeah, that’s exactly how it feels. I don’t want to be at odds with him, but it’s hard when he’s so distant.”
Lewis offered a sympathetic smile. “Best advice I can give? Focus on your own performance. If it’s meant to change, it will, could still be a lot of love there in the future. Who knows.”
I nodded, grateful for his words. “Thanks, Lewis. I’ll keep that in mind.”
As the trucks rolled through the circuit, the noise of the crowd surrounded us, creating a whirlwind of energy. I waved and smiled, but my mind kept drifting back to George’s “investigation.”
Just then, George leaned over again, his voice still hushed. “I have a few more leads, you know. I think the key is in the smaller details.”
Before I could respond, Lando, standing a few meters behind us, called out with a cheeky grin. “Maybe Sherlock should focus on the people who see the little things, those who spend the most time near her during raceweekends.”
I shot him a look, but Lando just winked, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Just a thought,” he added.
Oscar laughed, nudging George. “Sounds like Lando’s onto something. Maybe you should listen to him.”
George, undeterred, gave a firm nod. “I am conducting an official investigation here, I will not be phased by the random gibberish coming out of Mr. Norris’s mouth.”
We all laughed, the banter flowing easily as the parade continued. The crowd’s cheers grew louder, and for a moment, I let myself get swept up in the excitement, pushing thoughts of the admirer and Franco to the back of my mind.
..
The parade had been fun, but as the race drew closer, the atmosphere shifted. There was a something in the air, an underlying tension that grew with every passing minute. The team was busy making final preparations, and the garage was a blur of activity—mechanics checking the cars, engineers pouring over data, and the hum of engines revving in the background.
I made my way to the starting position, taking a moment to clear my head. The race was the focus now, and I had to put everything else—George’s ridiculous suspects, Lando’s weird hints, and even the mystery admirer—aside. It was time to focus.
Franco, who qualified p9 and therefore was parked next to me, stood by the car, laughing with a couple of the engineers, his usual charming self. His eyes sparkled, and his energy seemed high. Can’t believe he can look this good after such an intense weekend. As always, he was completely at ease with the team—just not with me. I watched him for a moment, the distance between us feeling wider than ever. It wasn’t that I was angry with him, just... a bit sad. 
I took a deep breath and walked over, determined to at least wish him good luck before the race. Maybe today would be different.
“Hey, Franco,” I said, my voice light but hopeful. “Good luck out there.”
He glanced over at me, looking clearly caught of guard. “Yes, thanks,” he replied, his tone polite but clipped. “You too.”
Before I could say anything else, he turned back to the engineers, diving right into a discussion about strategy. It was like a door closing in my face—again.
I stood there for a moment, watching him interact so easily with everyone else. He had the charm, the confidence, those dreamy eyes, the effortless ability to make people like him. So why couldn’t we connect? I wasn’t asking for much, just a little more than this distant, cold professionalism. But every time I tried, he shut me down.
I sighed, turning away. There was no point in pushing it anymore. Franco wasn’t interested, and I couldn’t waste energy on something that clearly wasn’t going to change.
As I stepped into my car, I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline starting to build. I had a decent starting position, and the car felt good during practice. If I could nail the start and keep things clean, there was a good chance I’d score some solid points today.
My race engineer gave me a rundown of the strategy, and I nodded along, focusing on the task at hand. The tension was there, but it was the good kind—the kind that made you want to get out there and fight.
I cast one last glance over at Franco. He was in his element, all smiles and confidence as he chatted with the crew. For a second, I almost envied how easily things seemed to come to him.
I shook off the thoughts of Franco, my mind snapping into race mode. Whatever was going on between us—or rather, wasn’t going on—could wait. I had points to score.
..
The race had been a whirlwind. I was still buzzing with adrenaline as I pulled into the pit lane. It wasn’t a podium, but finishing P7 was a solid result, especially considering how tight the midfield battle had been. The car had felt good, and I’d managed to keep my head down and fight through the chaos of the race. As I unclipped my harness and climbed out of the car, a wave of relief washed over me. Another race down, and points on the board for Williams.
The garage was already alive with celebration—engineers high-fiving each other, the mechanics cheering for what had been a strong race for the team. Franco had finished P6, just ahead of me, which was a good result for both of us. I caught a glimpse of him surrounded by team members, all smiles as usual, and I felt a twinge of something I couldn’t quite place. Not jealousy, but... something else.
As the energy in the garage began to die down, I noticed people slowly filtering out, heading off to unwind or prep for the evening celebration. I lingered, not in any rush, soaking in the post-race energy. Eventually, it was just a few of us left, the hum of the paddock fading into a quiet calm.
With a deep breath, I gathered my things, deciding it was time to head back to my driver’s room to decompress. My body ached from the intensity of the race, and the adrenaline was finally starting to wear off. A hot shower and a moment of peace were exactly what I needed before joining the team later at the cocktail bar.
When I walked into my room, I spotted something that made me stop in my tracks.
On the bench next to my helmet sat another note—this time accompanied by a little box from Dior. Curious, I opened the lid, only to find the most stunning, sleek, golden bracelet inside. My heart skipped a beat as I moved closer, picking up the delicate piece of jewelry. The bracelet was simple but elegant, with a small star charm that caught the light as I held it in my hand. This wasn’t just another gesture. This felt different—more intimate.
With shaky hands, I unfolded the note, the familiar handwriting almost calming in its neatness.
"You were a star out there. Wish I could see you smile like this every day."
I sat down, holding the bracelet in one hand and the note in the other, a mixture of emotions washing over me. The thoughtfulness behind the gesture, the subtle encouragement—it all felt so personal. Whoever this person was, they saw me in ways that most people didn’t. The bracelet wasn’t just a gift; it was a reminder that someone out there was paying attention to more than just my results.
I smiled softly to myself, but after a moment, I carefully placed the bracelet back into its little Dior box. It felt too precious, too delicate to wear just yet. 
I glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to step out from the shadows with a confession. But of course, I was alone. The puzzle pieces were there, but the final picture still felt elusive. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was getting closer to figuring it out.
With the note tucked safely in my pocket and the box in hand, I left the room, ready to head to the team celebration.
As I left the room and stepped into the paddock, I nearly bumped into Kym Illman, who was walking by with his camera slung over his shoulder.
“Y/N! Just the person I was hoping to catch,” Kym said, grinning as he stopped in front of me. “Mind if I grab a quick post-race shot? Gotta capture that afterglow.”
I blinked, still feeling a bit dazed from everything that had happened, but I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Go for it.”
Kym raised his camera, the familiar sound of the shutter snapping away as I stood there, trying to focus on anything other than the Dior box in my hand. The camera clicks were rhythmic, but I could feel the weight of the small box growing heavier by the second. Just as he lowered the camera, Kym’s eyes flicked down to the box.
“You got a little gift,” he commented casually, gesturing toward it with a nod. His easygoing smile remained in place, like he didn’t realize he was about to drop a bomb. “From Franco, right?”
I froze, the words hitting me like a sudden gust of wind. My pulse quickened, and I stared at him, my mind struggling to process what he’d just said. “Franco...?”
Kym, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me, shrugged casually. “Yeah, I saw him going into your room after the race, carrying that little box. I assumed it was something from him for you. It’s good to see things are smoothing outbetween you two.”
He smiled again, a little too cheerfully, completely oblivious to the turmoil his words had caused. I forced a shaky smile in return, the reality of his comment sinking in slowly, like ice water trickling down my spine.
Franco had dropped off the bracelet. Franco had been in my room. Franco had been leaving me the notes and the gifts—this entire time?
My thoughts spiraled, trying to match the Franco I knew—the one who could barely hold a conversation with me, who always kept his distance—with the person behind these thoughtful, personal gestures. How could the same person be so cold and yet so considerate? None of it made sense. But then again, he was always around, like Lando hinted at.
“I, uh... will see you next week,” I finally managed to say, my voice coming out shakier than I’d intended.
Kym, still completely unaware of the bombshell he’d just dropped, gave an easygoing smile. “Great race today. You’re looking strong out there. I’ll see you around.”
With that, he waved and walked off, leaving me standing there, rooted to the spot. The guy who had barely acknowledged me for months, who had given me the cold shoulder in every single interaction, was the same person who had been leaving me these incredibly thoughtful, sweet notes?
I looked down at the Dior box in my hand, the logo glinting in the fading light of the evening. The weight of the bracelet inside felt heavier now, the realization settling in like a lead weight in my chest. It was Franco. What the hell?
But if it was him, why had he been so distant? Why couldn’t he just say something instead of hiding behind anonymous notes and secret gifts?
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. There was no point in overthinking it now. I needed answers, and there was only one person who could give them to me.
Tonight, I was going to find Franco, and I was going to get to the bottom of this.
..
The cocktail bar slowly filled with the sounds of celebration. Laughter and the sound of clinking glasses travelled through the room as the Williams team reveled in the success of the race. The low lighting cast a warm glow over the bar, making it feel intimate, even amidst the lively chatter. I stepped inside, the gold bracelet glimmering softly on my wrist. The weight of it felt significant, not because of its size, but because of what it represented. Tonight, I needed answers, and I had a plan.
Franco stood near the bar, surrounded by a few engineers, his easy smile making him the center of attention, as always. He laughed at something one of the guys said, and for a moment, I watched him, still trying to reconcile the Franco I thought I knew with the one who had left me those thoughtful notes that made my stomach flutter. My fingers brushed the bracelet, and I felt a twinge of nervous energy rush through me.
I took a deep breath and made my way across the room toward him, my heart pounding as I rehearsed what I might say. The crowd seemed to blur as I neared, and suddenly it was just the two of us in this noisy, lively place.
“Franco,” I called out, keeping my voice light, though every nerve in my body was tingling.
He turned toward me, his green eyes immediately darting to my wrist. The moment they landed on the bracelet, a flicker of recognition passed through his expression—a quick joyful spark that was gone almost as soon as it appeared. But it was enough. That slight hesitation, the twinkle in his eye—it was all I needed to know.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a little too calm, a little too composed. “Congrats on the race today. P7 is a solid finish.”
I forced a smile, stepping closer. “Thanks. P6 isn’t bad either. You were brilliant out there.”
He nodded, but I noticed his gaze flicker back to the bracelet again, like he couldn’t help himself. That spark was back in his eyes, and this time, it lingered.
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, his voice a little quieter now.
His response was automatic, his words almost an afterthought. His attention wasn’t on the conversation—it was on my wrist, the bracelet. He couldn’t hide it.
I smiled knowingly. “Do you like my new bracelet?”
Franco blinked, his composure slipping for a second. “It’s, uh... nice. Gold, right?” His voice wavered ever so slightly, like he was trying too hard to sound indifferent.
I tilted my head, taking a step closer. “Yes, so pretty isn’t it? Someone gave it to me after the race.”
He nervously tried his best to look away and avoid my gaze, suppressing what seemed to be a proud smile. “Oh, that’s... thoughtful.”
I raised an eyebrow, watching him squirm. “It was, wasn’t it?”
The space between us felt charged, the air thick with tension. I waited, giving him a chance to come clean, but he stayed silent, his eyes glued to the bracelet.
He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever words he’d planned to use were lost. I couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing his arm, I gently pulled him away from the group, toward the quieter, dimly lit corner in the bar, just out of sight. Franco didn’t resist, though I could feel the stiffness in his movements.
Once we were tucked away from prying eyes, I let go of his arm and turned to face him, crossing my arms as I leaned against the wall. “Franco, it was you, wasn’t it? The notes, the flowers, the bracelet—it’s all been you.”
Franco shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence completely gone. He avoided my gaze, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit I hadn’t noticed before. “What? No—I don’t—” He faltered, the words tumbling out awkwardly. “I mean, I—”
I stepped closer, cutting him off with a raised eyebrow. “Franco.”
I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. He glanced around, as if hoping for some sort of escape, but when none came, he finally met my eyes. “I didn’t know how else to... say anything,” he murmured. “It’s stupid, I know. We’re teammates, and I should’ve just—”
“What did you want to say?” I asked, my voice soft but firm.
 “You’re all I can think about,” he blurted out, the words unfiltered. “Every single day.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his confession. Franco’s face softened as he continued, his voice quiet but steady.
“I’ve been trying to act like I don’t care, like I’m just focused on the race and nothing else, but... it’s you. It’s always been you.”
My breath caught as his words sank in, but he didn’t stop there. He took a step closer, his voice lowering.
“You have no idea what you do to me, cariño,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “I love the way every time we’re eating something and you have the first bite and it is really good, actually good—like, not just passable, you crunch your nose up a little bit. It is so cute.”
He smiled slightly, the vulnerability in his voice clear as he kept going. “And after a good session, when you pull your helmet off, and your hair’s all over the place, but you don’t care because you’re too busy hopping from foot to foot, like you can’t hold in how excited you are. You think no one notices, but I do. It’s adorable, and it drives me crazy.”
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as he took another step closer, his voice barely more than a whisper now.
He stepped closer, his green eyes locking onto mine, more earnest than I’d ever seen them. “Even when you’re just standing there, doing nothing, you have this way of making me completely forget about everything else. Just watching you makes me lose my mind.”
I couldn’t help but beam at that, the sweetness of his words breaking through the tension. Franco glanced down, shaking his head slightly as if embarrassed.
“I thought if I stayed away, maybe it would stop, but it didn’t. So... I left the notes. The flowers. The bracelet. Because I didn’t know how else to say it.”
“You’ve cared all along,” I whispered, more a statement than a question. My heart was racing like there was a V12 engine hidden inside of it.
Franco nodded, his green eyes locking onto mine with such intensity it made my breath hitch. “I have. But we’re supposed to be competing for that number one seat, and I didn’t want to make it more difficult... with how I feel about you.”
His confession hung in the air between us, raw and real. The weirdness, the tension—it had all been leading to this moment.
I stepped even closer, until our bodies were almost touching, my voice soft. “Franco, you didn’t have to hide it. You could’ve just told me.”
For a moment, neither of us moved, the space between us charged with everything we hadn’t said. But now, with nothing left unsaid, I closed the gap, standing on my toes as I pressed my lips to his.
Franco froze for a second, caught off guard, but then he responded, his hands finding my waist as he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. It was slow at first, tentative, like we were both afraid to break the moment. But as the seconds passed, the kiss grew more urgent, more real, like all the months of tension were finally being released.
His hands tightened on my waist as he kissed me back, the heat between us growing with each passing second. My heart raced as I melted into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened, hungry, like we were making up for lost time..
Franco’s hand slid up my side, as he moved to cradle my face. His thumb grazed my cheek, and I felt my breath hitch, a shiver running down my spine as the kiss intensified. His lips were warm, firm, moving against mine with an urgency that sent a thrill through my entire body. I kissed him back with just as much passion, feeling flutters in my stomach.
My back hit the wall, and the feel of him pressed against me made my pulse race even faster. There was nothing tentative about the way he kissed me now—his lips demanding, his touch sending sparks of heat through me. He broke the kiss for just a second, only to dive back in, like he couldn’t get enough.
But this time, instead of his lips finding mine again, they traveled down, brushing along my jaw and moving to my neck. The feel of his breath against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, my heart pounding in anticipation. His lips found the sensitive spot just below my ear, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that made me gasp quietly.
Franco’s hands found my waist again, softly fidgeting with the hem of my top and touching the bare skin below, as he trailed his soft lips against the curve of my neck. The combination of his touch and his breath was intoxicating, and I tilted my head back, giving him more access, my body responding instinctively to the way he explored my skin. His lips lingered there, slow and teasing, each kiss sending little jolts of electricity through me.
I could feel his breath hitch as he pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against my neck as he murmured, “You’re making it impossible to think straight.”
Before I could even respond, he found my lips again, the kiss deeper this time, more heated than before. His hands moved up, combing through my hair, pulling me closer as his lips moved with a hunger that made my knees weak. I kissed him back just as fiercely, losing myself in the feel of him. 
 It was overwhelming—in the best possible way. Every nerve in my body was on fire, responding to every little movement, every brush of his lips. Who knew Franco could feel so good?
When we finally pulled apart, breathless, I realized I hadn’t even noticed the noise of the bar fading around us, the rest of the world disappearing for that brief moment. Franco’s forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling as we tried to catch them.
He didn’t say anything at first, his eyes still closed, like he was savoring the moment. And I understood that, because I was too. There wasn’t any need for words.
After a few beats, Franco finally opened his eyes, his gaze soft but intense. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges.
“Was it worth the wait?” I teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.
His eyes darkened slightly, his lips curving into a grin. “More than you know.”
He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against my forehead, lingering there for a moment as I closed my eyes and let the warmth of it settle between us.
I smiled up at him, still catching my breath. “I am so happy you’re not the tire guy.”
Franco blinked, a puzzled look crossing his face. “The... tire guy?”
I chuckled, shaking my head as I leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry about it,” I whispered against his mouth, enjoying his confusion. “You’ll catch on eventually.”
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seresinhangmanjake · 1 month ago
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Different is Better
Tyler Owens x Reader
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Summary: Javi invites your ex back with Storm Par amidst the flirtation between you and Tyler. 
Notes/Warnings: This was a combination of requests, so it's not exactly what everyone asked for, but I got it as close as I could, sp hopefully it satisfies in some ways. Allusion to smut. Cursing probably. Scott sucks (sorry to the Scott lovers), Javi sucks a little too (sorry to the Javi lovers).
Words: 2850
Tyler Owens Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list
The second the Storm Par team finishes settling on the schedule for tomorrow, you remove yourself from the rest of the chasers in the parking lot, Wranglers included, and press your back into the outer wall of the motel. Perfectly out of sight and free to feel how you want without judgment.
You can’t breathe around him. You can’t think properly. And damn him for fucking loving it. Damn the smirk that slices into your skin. Damn fucking Javi for requesting his participation on the team after swearing up and down that he wouldn’t. Damn him for not warning you, forcing you to spend the last half-hour since his arrival in wild discomfort.
It had been so good without him. The best chasing you’d done in years. Relaxing, free from tension despite the chaos of rolling into the heart of unpredictable weather. In his absence, you chased with excitement; you chased with that tingly zingy feeling in your gut; you chased with a pounding heart, with hands shaky not from nerves but from raw, untainted energy shooting throughout your entire body. 
The last two months of chasing renewed your love of the craft and proved more than anything that Scott has been—and still is—a soul-sucking, life-draining leech….to you, anyway. 
But everyone already loves him, just short of instantly obsessed with him, especially the females of the group who neglect that ‘award-winning’ personality he’s managed to display in only thirty-two minutes. Shamefully, it almost makes you wish the team Javi assembled had fewer young college girls and a heck of a lot more mature, determined women. They would easily see past his looks and recognize that his intelligence does not surpass that of anyone else on the team. He is not some rare, fascinating, genius savior who has come to solve all of the data-collecting problems the team’s been having; he’s just an extra helping hand that, frankly, you firmly believe you don’t need. 
But no…as has been the case each time you’ve worked together since you ended your little college fling—or whatever the fuck it was—he gets to be Mr. Perfect, and you’re stuck as the angsty bitch who whines over him being here. 
“So…that’s the guy, huh?” Tyler asks as he rounds the corner and joins you under the cover of near-darkness. 
He practically shines under the damaged streetlamp’s thin, flickering light. You’re not looking at him, but you don’t have to be to see that much clearly. He glows in your peripherals, and with another step closer to you, your heartbeat stumbles within your ribcage. 
Tyler is the one thing you credit for reviving you. What started as a less-than-friendly rivalry changed when you accepted a challenge to chase with his crew one day, and though Javi was displeased, you were too curious about Tyler’s methods to turn him down. 
With one ride in his truck, the spark you thought had long died reignited. Now you have a respect for Tyler that the rest of your team does not. Respect…and a bit more. 
Though you would never abandon your team, you became increasingly hooked on the idea of chasing with Tyler again, and it was so stupidly obvious. And with that obviousness, an unspoken essence of sorts developed between you. A forbidden attraction you’re both aware of but have yet to fully act on, though not for lack of trying.
You take turns almost breaking that final barrier—heavy breathing, noses nearly brushing, lips a hairs-width away from connecting, but something always gets in the way: his team, yours, the weather. But not this time. Cock-block of the day? Scott Miller. 
Tyler’s eyes stay on your cheek as he stuffs his hands into his front jean’s pockets. “I didn’t know that was your type.”
When you look at Tyler, your brows knit at the disappointment on his face. He offers a smile, but it’s far less convincing than what he is capable of, like he didn’t even bother trying to give you one of his good ones. And you’ve seen a good smile from Tyler Owens. It can knock anyone off their feet. 
“It isn’t,” you tell him as you turn your attention back to the miles of grass in front of you. At night, under such little light, the eye gets tricked and the blades blend into a vast span of blackness, like a giant hole in the ground just a few feet away. One you might consider jumping into it if you could. 
“I mean, it was,” you continue, “but not anymore.”
He nods. “You have to work close with him?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.
“Unfortunately.”
Tyler blows out a breath. His hand runs through his hair before his head falls back against the brick wall of the motel, eyes closed and chin tilted toward the night sky. 
“Fuck,” he mutters. 
“Yea.”
Cicadas fill the following silence. Lightning bugs sprinkle throughout the space around you, thriving in the intense humidity that adds a thin sheen to your skin. You can see him thinking. Questioning. His fingers tap against his clothed thigh and your stomach clenches with dread. The last thing you want—the thing that would crush you—is Tyler sizing up whether or not you are worth the trouble of an ex even cockier than he is and more arrogant than you once believed him to be. One thing Tyler and Scott have in common: the adoring attention from young women. You’ve heard the stories from Lilly and Boone, and at any point, Tyler could tip his hat in adieu and return to his many fans to seek the encounters you’ve been hoping to share with him.  
Tyler turns his head to you. “You still like him? At all?”
“No,” you answer, trying not to be offended by the question he has a right to ask. To you, it’s absurd, insulting. To him, it’s covering his bases and understanding what, if anything, he is getting in between by pursuing you, or considering pursuing you. “The way he approaches relationships mimics the way he approaches chasing,” you continue. “Controlling, nit-picky, demanding. I couldn't stand it.” He’s nothing like you, you want to say, but for some reason, don’t.
Your heart’s discomfort eases with the slow spread of a smile across his face. You step toward him. “Look, Tyler, I know we haven’t really talked about us, but I–”
“There you are. I was starting to think I ran you off.”
The intruding voice snatches your attention and Tyler immediately pushes off the wall, positioning himself closer to your side. “I'm not sure you're threatening enough for that,” he says. 
Scott smirks, one eyebrow arching. “And you are?”
“Tyler,” he says, reaching out his hand in a play-nice gesture. “Owens.”
Realization dawns on Scott. “Oh, of course,” he replies, a mocking grin forming as he accepts the handshake. When he takes his hand back, he crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side. “Your reputation precedes you. How many followers have you managed to stack up by playing around for entertainment?”
“Subscribers,” Tyler corrects. “A mil.”
“Must be validating after failing to make it professionally.”
Your gut twists, fists almost clenching, but you restrain yourself from showing his effect on you. “That’s not why he does what he does,” you scold your ex sternly. Tyler’s head whips to you. You can just barely detect the gentle smile on his face. 
Scott hums, nonchalantly advancing closer to hover over you. His eyes penetrate like lasers into yours. “You know, you should really think before you fraternize. You wouldn’t want to make us look bad,” he says, running a knuckle down your cheek. You flinch away from his touch and he grins. “That’s all,” he says. “Good night, you two” And then he turns on his heel and returns from where he came. 
“Charming,” Tyler sarcastically snips. “I see the appeal.”
He fucking left you behind. 
You were trying to finish up his job after he failed to properly secure Javi’s tech, but as you were doing so, the tornado’s size grew and its speed picked up and it was headed right for you. Scott screamed at you, panicked in a way you’ve never heard before, but when you weren’t quick enough for his liking, he slammed your door and drove off, leaving you to looming disaster. 
If not for Tyler, you’d be dead. He spotted you in his crew’s attempt to flee, and though it was an insane risk, he came for you, leaping out of his truck and grabbing you as he yelled for Boone to take the wheel. 
He practically threw you into the back seat before crawling in after you and wrapping your shivering body in his arms.
“Tyler, man, I don’t know if we’re gonna be able to outrun it!” Boone called back, eyes darting between the blurry road in front of him and the rearview mirror. 
“Then drill us into the fucking ground!”
And that’s where you stayed, huddled together, your face in his neck as the storm tried to tear you apart. 
Are you out of your fucking mind!” Tyler shouts, stomping through the parking lot of the motel refuge. 
To your relief, the small, aged structure was out of the tornado's path, if just barely, and in the aftermath, the owner offered free rooms to those in need. Except for Boone, who holds you steady as Tyler storms off, the Wranglers pass out whatever shirts and food they have available, providing what comfort they can.
Javi inserts himself between Tyler and Scott, his hands up to keep Tyler back. “Woah, woah, calm down.”
“He could’ve fucking killed her!”
Javi’s concerned brow settles from shock. “W-What?” he asks. “What are you talking about?”
Tyler’s as vicious as a lion, his teeth bared, claws out as he tries to side-step Javi to get to Scott, who has backed up a step. “He left her out there!”
You can see the Adam’s apple bob in your ex’s throat. His composure is on edge. He’s never been called out before, not even by you. “She was being stupid.”
“She was doing your job!”
Scott scoffs as Javi blinks, trying to adjust to the rapid-fire information being thrown at him. He’s never been good at an onslaught of facts, needing that adjustment period for things to properly sink in. He’s careful that way. It’s his methodical mind. He takes his time with his planning, and that extends past his inventions. “Look, everyone’s safe. Everyone’s tired. Let’s just get some rest and we can deal with this tomorrow.”
“You’re letting him stay? After what he did?”
“Right now, no one has anywhere to go,” Javi explains, and though true, it doesn’t mean Scott has to remain here now that the threat is gone. Javi’s eyes dart past Tyler’s shoulder to your shaken form. He sighs an exhale that deflates his entire chest, his eyes close, and he shakes his head. He brought this on. He knows it. Scott was a mistake, and while it wasn’t Javi who put you in danger, you don’t mind him absorbing some of the guilt of what happened. “Just…take care of her.”
Tyler huffs and says, “That’s more than you people do,” before turning around and coming for you. Boone passes you off with a nod. Tyler’s arm goes around your body, his hand rubbing up and down your bicep. You wonder where he stored the rage so quickly, but you appreciate that he didn’t set any of it aside for you. After all, you’re the reason he almost died. You’re the reason his friend almost died. Just because it was not a potential consequence of your choices, the stress of near death can keep anyone on edge. But not Tyler, apparently. He has other priorities.
“Come on,” Tyler says. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” And he guides you to your room, the very same one you’ve been tempted to invite him to since your first chase together. You didn’t imagine this was how he would come to join you.
Tyler’s jaw slackens when you exit the bathroom in a small towel that barely covers your body, and he quickly rises from where he is sitting at the end of your mattress, wiping his palms on his jeans as if to remove the moisture collected there. His eyes go wide, but they can’t seem to meet yours, his green orbs trailing up and down your body. 
“They’re a bit short,” you tell him.
“Yea, I, uh,” His hand runs over his hair down to his neck. “I know,” he says, instantly conjuring the image of a bare Tyler, water droplets covering his skin, a measly towel wrapped around his waist held together by one hand; a hand that, if removed, would cause the towel to drop to the ratty carpeting. “Do you, um…you need anything? I can try to get you–”
“No,” you stop him. “I’m alright.” A beat passes, and then he nods and blows out a breath. “Thank you, for saving me. You didn’t have to risk yourself like that.”
His eyes find yours then. “You can’t possibly think that I wouldn’t.”
“I know you’re kinder than most. Braver than most. But you’re not stupid, and saving me was a bit–”
“Don’t say that. I’d do it again,” he says. When he steps toward you, the towel suddenly feels much smaller. You feel exposed under his gaze, but to your surprise, not embarrassed. Scott had a way of making you feel less than in what seemed like a thousand different ways, but not Tyler. His eyes marvel. “And again.”
You take a deep breath, releasing it slowly out your nose. 
“Are you still shaken up?” Tyler asks you. 
You shake your head. “Not really.”
He stops directly in front of you. “Can I finally kiss you then?”
Your lips part. The towel falls, not necessarily with intention, but you can’t hold the thing up and wrap your arms around his neck at the same time. And, right now, one is more important than the other. 
Tyler tastes like the cola from your fridge that he must’ve had while he waited for you in the shower. His teeth nibble at your bottom lip, and you open for him. His hands settle on your bare waist for what seems like all of two seconds before they’re sliding lower, squeezing flesh, and pulling you in closer. Your fingers pick at the buttons of his shirt, the first few coming free. 
“You sure about this?” is muffled out between kisses.
You pull apart just long enough to say yes before you’re kissing him again, helping him out of his clothes, and falling into bed together. 
A knock wakes you. You turn over under Tyler’s arm and, careful not to wake him, rise from the bed. You grab his shirt off the nearby chair and pull it over your head, then slip on some sleep shorts before heading for the door. 
Javi smiles when he sees you, a sense of relief allowing the muscles to release their tension in his body. “Hey,” he says before his eyes fall down to your—Tyler’s—shirt. He raises a brow. 
You shrug. “I like him.”
Javi clicks his tongue. A modest sign of disapproval. “Right, well…I just came by to apologize and let you know that I kicked Scott off the team. He left about an hour ago.”
You hum in acknowledgment. At least you’ll avoid the drama of your ex figuring out you ‘fraternized’ with the leader of the other team. Being storm chasers, dramatics runs through your blood, and it’s not as if Tyler would shy away from any remarks Scott may throw at him or you, but this just happens to be one issue you’d rather not waste the energy on. It’s not his business, anyway.
“Thanks, Javi.”
“I really am sorry,” he says. “I never would’ve imagined he’d–”
“I know. Me either.”
Javi sighs in the silence that follows, then he says, “You sure about Owens?”
You nod. “I’m sure about Owens.”
“I guess we can’t be on opposite sides then, can we?”
“That would be nice,” you say. Javi gives you another smile. “They’re not so bad. I mean, I know they do stuff…differently, but they don’t leave anyone behind.” When a twinge of guilt flashes across his face, you say, “It wasn’t your fault.”
You can’t tell if he believes that’s how you truly feel, but as you nod in reassurance of that statement, he nods with you. 
“Ok,” he says. 
“Ok,” you repeat, and then with one final grin, Javi disappears down the hall. 
You close the door and strip yourself of the clothes you’d thrown on to get back into bed. Tyler’s still asleep. His breathing is soft, even, comforting, and luckily, your spot beside him has maintained its warmth from where you’d been laying all night. 
“I’m sure about you, too,” he suddenly says, voice groggy and eyes remaining closed. He lifts his arm, and you tuck yourself back into his embrace. 
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annoyed-at-things · 9 months ago
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i imagine damian and jason having a 'friendly' rivalry and doing things just to compete with eachother (its how they bond) and they realize the only thing they have even ground on is affection from tim - he seems at an okay level of affection with the both of them but when they look at his relationships with dick, bruce and literally everyone else they're so far behind.
so of course they make it a competition. tim knows something's up but dick keeps saying its fine because they're being kind to him (that's the problem dick)
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harryslittlefreakk · 2 months ago
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make me, darling
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summary: harry and y/n’s shared hatred for each other finally reaches its breaking point when they realise how deep their feelings go. based on the prompt ‘do all of us a favour and just leave’
warnings: angst, drinking, harry being a bastard
wordcount: 2.2k
a/n: thank you so much to the anon who sent this prompt!!!! this was so fun to write
⚠️ obviously it goes without saying that harry is just a face claim and my characters are completely separate to him as a person ⚠️
masterlist | send me more prompts!
The moment Harry walked into the room, your stomach dropped. You didn’t even need to see him to know he was there, you could feel the shift in the air. It was like the temperature had dropped a few degrees, sending an icy chill straight down your spine.
Your rivalry was infamous among your friends, a tension simmering just beneath the surface every time you were in the same room.
You turned your head, catching sight of him just as he strolled into the party, a smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips, your body stiffening.
It was the one night you’d promised Claire, the birthday girl, that you wouldn’t fight. It wasn’t a promise you couldn’t afford to break, after so many nights had been ruined by your constant bickering.
But it was Harry, and as much as you wanted to be civil, you knew him too well. The way his eyes flicked over you, taking in your appearance with a smugness that set your teeth on edge, confirmed your worst fear - he hadn’t come to play nice. Harry was already gearing up for a showdown. It was like a game to him, one he never got tired of playing, no matter how exhausting it was for everyone around you both.
You plastered a tight-lipped smile on your face, the tension already building, your patience already thinning. You’d never gotten along. Not since the first time you’d met. Where you were level-headed and diplomatic, Harry was all sharp wit and provoking comments. It was like he thrived off pushing your buttons, and tonight, he looked ready to push every single one.
As he walked closer, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, the slight quirk of his lips, like he was waiting for you to break the silence, to snap first. You took a deep breath, downing the last of your drink and reminding yourself of the promise you’d made.
Don’t fight. Not tonight.
But when Harry stopped in front of you, resting his hip against the tabletop, he tilted his head just slightly as his gaze lingered on you a moment too long. You felt the familiar prickle of irritation, heat spreading across your skin like hives. He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as if he could sense your internal struggle.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, baby girl,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with that same infuriating arrogance you’d come to know all too well. His eyes trailed down your body, pausing just a second too long on the hem of your skirt.
Your jaw clenched, but you held your ground. He was baiting you, just like he always did. And no matter how badly you wanted to respond with something sharp, something cutting, something not too dissimilar to your fist flying into that stupid smirk, you couldn’t. Not there. Not tonight.
“Nice to see you too, Harry,” you muttered, turning your back on him to fix yourself another drink. If your initial interaction was anything to go by, you’d need a lot of alcohol in you, and fast.
But, of course, he could never leave well enough alone. You pushed through the crowds as he called something after you, refusing to give him any more of your attention. You’d said hello, you hadn’t murdered him, he didn’t need any more of your time.
You were determined to enjoy yourself despite his presence, to celebrate Claire’s birthday without any problems. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and your friends were in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, laughing and moving to the beat. You joined them, forcing yourself near the middle where you knew Harry wouldn’t reach you. Your body swayed effortlessly to the rhythm, the alcohol sliding down your throat with a sweet burn, a haze coming over your mind.
But no matter how much you tried to stay in the moment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you.
You knew whose eyes it was without even having to look - Harry’s. You hadn’t seen him follow you, but you could feel his presence like a weight pressing down on you. Wherever he was, his gaze was unmistakable, sharp and unrelenting, cutting through the haze of the room.
Trying desperately to ignore it, you turned to Max, Harry’s roommate, letting him take your hand and spin you in an exaggerated twirl. The movement was carefree, but the moment you steadied herself against his side, you could feel it again - Harry’s eyes on you, burning into you with a mix of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place.
You cast a quick glance across the room, scanning for him. There he was, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, whiskey in hand, his expression unreadable but his focus entirely on you. Your eyes met for just a second, and it was like a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. Your heart skipped a beat, though you would never admit it. There was something about Harry, his arrogance maybe, or the fact that he was handsome enough to be justified in his arrogance, that left you reeling.
You tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach, the way your skin prickled with warmth every time you imagined his gaze sliding over your body. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For you to be aware of him, to get under your skin like he always did. The worst part was, as always, it was working, and you knew that you needed to slow down.
You could normally ignore the trail of heat that came with your arguments, but tonight was different. The frustration you felt simmering below the surface was mingling with something else, something dangerous.
Your skin felt warmer, the tension coiling low in your stomach with every sharp exchange. You told yourself over and over again that it was the alcohol working its way through your system, but that wasn’t the whole truth. It was Harry, standing there with that damn grin, looking at you like he could see right through you.
Your legs carried you towards him before your brain could fight back, the control you had over yourself loosening with each drink. You grabbed a hold of his wrist, pulling him towards the garden.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop.” you demanded, rubbing your forehead, voice barely audible over the pound of the music inside. “I’ve promised Claire we won’t get up to our usual shit tonight.”
Harry’s gaze flickered, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk. “I’m just making sure you don’t trip over that tiny skirt. I’m looking out for you.”
You leaned back against the brick, rolling your eyes as a shiver ran down your spine. You needed to fight back, not let your mask slip, but the alcohol was mixing with your frustration, the line between anger and something else blurring with every second.
You hated how he always seemed so unbothered, how he never let you have the last word. He enjoyed getting under your skin, and worse, you were so aware of your body responding to it in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge.
"You look flushed," Harry said, his voice dripping with fake concern, but his eyes gleamed with something else - he could see it, you realised. He knew exactly what was happening. He leaned in, his breath hot your her ear, and you could feel the heat rolling off his body. “What’s wrong, princess?”
You hated that he noticed, hated how your body betrayed you. You could feel your pulse thrumming, your thighs pressing together as you tried to hold on to your last shred of dignity. The tension between you felt unbearable now, thick and electric, and the alcohol had stripped away the thin layer of restraint.
You turned to walk away, desperate to leave before he realised how rattled you were, but Harry’s ringed fingers caught around your wrist, pulling you back to face him. He leaned in closer this time, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just a word of advice, that skirt - or lack of - makes you look a little desperate,” he whispered.
The word hung in the air between you like a lit fuse. Your temper flared instantly, wiping out arousal that was coursing through your veins. “That’s low, even for you,” you shot back, voice laced with venom.
Harry didn’t flinch, meeting your eye with an irritating calm. “I’m just being honest. If anyone wanted to take you home, I’m sure they would even if you’d made an effort to cover up,” he shrugged.
Your eyes shot down to his chest, where half of his shirt was unbuttoned and opened just enough for tanned skin and tattoos to show. “You wouldn’t know about desperate, would you?”
Harry straightened up, stepping closer to you, his gaze hardening. “It’s not judgment, baby girl. I’m just saying it how I see it,” he told you, his tongue rolling over his bottom teeth as he stared at you.
You rubbed your fingers over your lips, buying yourself some time before you did something you’d regret. His eyes sparkled as he watched you, his cheeks tinged pink with the satisfaction he got from watching you hold yourself back.
“Do all of us a favour and just fucking leave,” you told him, checking behind you to see if anyone was there to witness the pair of you ruining yet another social engagement.
“I’ll go if you really want me to,” Harry whispered, planting his hands on either side of your head, blocking you in.
That cocky tone was back, but this time, it sent a thrill through you. You should’ve pushed him away, thrown a snarky remark in his face, but instead, you stayed frozen, breath catching in your throat as his gaze lingered on your lips.
“Back off, Harry,” you muttered, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded breathless. He didn't back off, of course. Instead, he leaned in closer, so close that your faces were mere inches apart.
“Tell me that’s what you really want and I will,” he repeated, pulling his lip into his mouth as his eyes trailed across your face.
You glared at him, your chest heaving as you tried to calm the storm inside of you, the heat in your core mixing with the white-hot rage. “You’re insufferable."
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I want you to leave,” you told him, cocking your head to the side as you tried to keep hold of your resolve.
“Make me, darling,” Harry whispered, his smirk widening into a grin, those fucking dimples prominent.
There was a sudden shift in the air, the charged tension between you twisting into something darker, more intoxicating. You stood there, inches apart, the silence heavy around you as the anger that had fueled your argument bled into something else. Your eyes locked, and in that moment, you felt the desire. It was undeniable, that pull that had been lurking beneath the surface for so long.
Without thinking, you closed the distance between them in a single, reckless move, your hands grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him toward you. Harry's breath hitched in surprise, but he didn’t resist. His mouth crashed down onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away, all the anger and frustration transforming into raw passion as his kiss dominated yours.
The kiss was messy, desperate, full of the fire that had been burning between you both for so long. His hands found their way to your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you even closer, as if he couldn’t bear the space between you for even a second longer. You moaned softly into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his curls as you poured every ounce of frustration, confusion, and need into the kiss.
Harry stepped between your legs, pressing you back against the brick with his bulge pinning you in place. His lips moved hungrily against yours, tasting the remnants of whiskey and something sweeter, something uniquely yours.
You were lost in each other, your bodies merging together as you both gripped and groped at everything you could reach, caught in the madness of your desire.
When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, your chests pressed together as you tried to steady yourselves, you could feel Harry’s eyes on you again.
The tension was still clouding the air between you, but it was different. It was no longer just anger and hatred, it was something deeper, something that had proved infinitely more dangerous.
“That fucking skirt,” Harry groaned, his breath warm as his lips moved over your neck, suckling at the sensitive skin.
“Now I would really like you to leave,” you told him, your voice breathy and quiet. But still, you made no effort to push him away, craning your neck to give his mouth more access.
“And I’d really like you to come with me,” Harry replied, his voice finally soft as his lips ghosted back over yours.
taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever @stylesbrock @harry-nialllover @triski73 @meetmeintheemeraldpool @harryshousewitnessprotection @danaehldy @fairytale07 @storyschanging @wannaliveinparadise @mrs-anna-styles211994 @mema10 @fangirl509east @devilsqueen722
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patscorner · 5 months ago
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write a Paige fic with them being rivals on the court but secret lovers off the court please and thank you patty🫶
yes ma'am 🫡
Always and Forever
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Summary: You and Paige hate each other, or that's what you have everyone else thinking.
wc: 1,780
Contains: swearing, two kisses, just fluff
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For as long as you could remember, you loved basketball. You don't know when it started, but you knew that it was gonna be your future career. You joined your first team in 5th grade, and quickly became MVP, making progress faster than you could blink.
There was another girl in your class, and for whatever reason, she hated you. She also happened to be on the same basketball team. She made it known she didn't like you, because the first day of tryouts, she shoved you for no reason. Her hatred for you didn't stop there though, she refused to pass the ball to you, even if it meant costing your team a game, or taking unnecessary risks.
Nobody knew why she disliked you, but that animosity only grew as you both did. But there wasn't anything you could do, you both loved basketball, and you weren't gonna stop playing because some kid didn't like you.
But what you didn't know is that she felt the exact opposite. She was so painfully in love with you and so deep in the closet that she didn't know what to do with these feelings. Her only solution was to make you hate her.
Another thing you didn't know is that you felt the exact same way. If an outsider were to look at you two, you'd think it was one of the most intense long lasting rivalries of all time. But you two were head over heels for each other.
You only found out your junior year in high school, because the teachers and coaches were tired of you both bickering. They put you two in a room and told you to figure your shit out. Obviously, it started in a screaming match, but eventually you both grew tired of arguing, and a different type of tension filled the room.
You both start to have an actual conversation, without the arguing and fighting. Of course, there were small jabs at each other, you both still weren't friends, but by the end of the day, you weren’t enemies. Nobody knew that you were gay, so the only solution in your eyes was to pretend to hate each other.
Eventually, she admitted her feelings for you, and you didn't say you liked her back, but instead answered with a kiss. You started dating shortly after, and decided to keep your relationship on the down low. You both know it's for the best, as not everyone was open to the idea of you being gay, including your parents, so you both continued pretending to hate each other.
Even if everybody else thought you couldn’t stand each other, you were so head over heels for the kid who hated you for all of elementary and middle school.
Little did you know that kid would end up being the Paige Bueckers.
“So how does it feel being matched up against Paige Bueckers? I know that you guys have a long history.” the reporter asks, her smile matching yours. Oh, you have history. She's been your girlfriend for about five years now, but the media didn't know.
You and her were never super far from each other, since she got accepted to Uconn, and you got a scholarship to CCSU. The colleges were only thirty-five minutes away from each other, so that made seeing each other much easier.
“Yeah, it's gonna be tough, she's a good basketball player, y’know, great defense, amazing three-pointers.” You smile at the camera. “I'm excited, I can't wait to absolutely destroy her. I've done it before, and I'll do it again, no problem.”
The reporter chuckles at your words. “Big talk, can't wait to see the match up. Anything last words for Paige?” You can't help but smile at the reporter’s egging you on.
“Yeah, give me your worst, Bueckers. I'm coming for you, baby.” You say with a wink, before thanking the reporter, and walking away. You can't help but shake your head at the ridiculousness of your empty words. Everyone but Paige thought you were being serious, and to an extent you were, you had a bet with her that you'd score more than twenty points this game, but the rest was bullshit.
Of course, Paige saw the interview, laughing at your ‘seriousness’. So when it was her turn to be interviewed, she had to say something back.
“I mean, it'll be a fun game. Can't wait to see the big game that CCSU’s ‘top player’ was yapping about.” She throws up hand quotations and tilts her head mockingly as she speaks. “I'm excited to bring her hell and knock her off that tall ass high horse she's sat herself on.”
The reporter is eating up every word coming out of Paige’s mouth.
“Lots of trash talk from both ends, it seems the feud continues?” Paige nods and smiles. “Always and forever.” She winks at the camera as she speaks.
Always and forever.
The words Paige made you repeat back to her when she gave you the promise ring that you had safety-pinned to your jersey at all times. When you first put it there, it sent the media into a spiral, rumors spreading like wildfires. When interviewers finally asked you about it, you said there was someone, but the rumors about who were all incorrect.
Nobody would've guessed Paige, and you both made sure to keep it that way.
The game was just as tough as you imagined it would be. With 4 seconds left in the fourth quarter, the score was tied, 89-89. It was the Huskies ball, and they had one chance to win.
Nika passes the ball to Aubrey from out-of-bounds, starting the shot clock. Aubrey sneaks past defense, and attempts to pass into Paige. But, Aubrey's defender blocks the shot with her fingers, sending the ball flying into your hands.
You react quickly, sprinting back towards the basket, watching as the shot clock hits one second. You're only half-court, but you don't have enough time to get any closer, so you take the risk and let the ball fly.
Just as the ball leaves your hands, the buzzer goes off, and the stadium goes silent as the ball soars through the air. You freeze as you watch the ball fall through the net, the crowd erupting into screams. Your shot went in, making the final score 92-89.
You're immediately surrounded by your teammates, who are chest bumping you, and dapping you up. This moment is something you never want to end, but there's something missing. This moment won't be the same without one thing.
You manage to wiggle free from your extremely hyped up teammates, ignoring your name being called as you make your way to the Uconn bench. You try to ignore the eyes on you, as you find the only person you want to ever have to look for.
When you spot the back of her head, you quickly make your way to her before your confidence runs out. You pull her sleeve, and her eyebrows furrow as she makes eye contact with you.
“What-” She starts, but you cut her off.
“I'm going to kiss you now.” You say, but you don't move. You want to make sure this is what she wants, but as the smile grows on her face, her compliance becomes clear.
“Okay.” she nods as her face turns a bright pink.
You grin as you pull her into a searing kiss, her hands finding your waist as she reciprocates your passion. You hear the gasps around you, which only makes you smile more. When you feel Paige grin against your mouth, you wrap your arms around her neck.
She pulls away, laughing as your whine. Even though there's thousands of people in the room, she only cares about you. “Guess they know now.” she chuckles.
“Paige Madison Bueckers! What the fuck?!” KK screams, causing Paige to roll her eyes and look over her shoulder. “Can I help you?” She deadpans. “I'm a little busy right now.”
KK’s jaw drops even more from the audacity. "I can see that, I better be filled in after."
Paige looks back at you and smiles. “Yeah, later. Now, do you mind?”
“Oh, by all means, continue making out with your arch-nemesis. Don't let me, the six giant cameras, or the sold-out arena stop you.”
You laugh at this, kissing Paige’s cheek before pulling away. You look at your team, and around the stadium, and everyone's sharing the same expression, jaws dropped, eyes wide, and frozen in shock. You look up, and see yourself on the big screen.
Paige smiles down at you, her arm still wrapped around your waist. “I can't believe you did that. You're fucking crazy.”
You shrug and smile. “You love it.”
She kisses the top of your head. “Damn right.”
After the excitement of the kiss calmed down, the same reporter from earlier asked to interview both of you, to which you of course said yes.
“So what is your guys’ relationship status?” She asked, pointing the mic in your direction. You smile widely before answering. “Paige is my girlfriend, and she has been for five, almost six years.”
The reporter shakes her head in shock. “What made you guys choose to keep it a secret and cover it up with a seemingly harsh feud?” This time, she hands the mic to Paige, who shakes her head.
“Well, it started out real. Like I could not stand her, ever since we were on the same basketball team in fifth grade. But eventually, I started to like her, then I started to love her. Turns out she liked me too, so in high school we started to date.” She finished with a shrug.
“Oh wow, I mean this is a shock to everyone. You both played it off very well. What were some of the hardest moments?” You nod as the reporter speaks.
“Probably pretending to not care, especially if one of us has a rough loss or a great win. It was hard not to comfort or celebrate publicly.” You say.
“So everything after junior year in high school was fake? The rivalry, I mean.”
You smile. “Yeah, it was all for the cameras.” Paige’s eyes light up as she looks down at you. The camera picked up on the sparkle in her eyes as she looked at you with nothing but love.
Her hands squeeze your waist as the interview ends, and you both walk away. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and you've never felt happier.
You knew that whether the world knew or not, it was gonna be you and her.
Always and forever.
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taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris
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