#I’ve been doing this for like months and somehow I’m still fucking going

[lucydixon]

Neighbours pt 4.

You can find part 3 here if you haven't read it yet. GIF credit to @sweet-dr3amer

Summary: You decide that you're going to play into Euro's jealousy after he marked you up unexpectedly, then make him use his words when he comes to confront you. (DW people, We're back with the smut)

Warning: NSFW, Unprotected P in V, No foreplay, Rough fucking, Taunting, Dirty talk.

After rubbing ice cubes over your bruised neck for an hour, hoping that it would somehow rid you of the hickey Euronymous had left on your neck, you gave up and flopped onto the couch, sighing in frustration.

You had no fucking idea what you wanted. Not sure if you were feeling something beyond physical attraction, or if the sex was just good. You figured that you didn’t know enough about him for feelings to be a factor. You hadn’t even known his real name until now. 

The two of you hadn’t had any proper conversations beyond screaming at eachother or arguing in front of the store. 

And yet, he was jealous. 

He was jealous, and you liked it despite your best efforts to pretend you didn’t. 

Your immediate thought was to find a way to keep making him jealous until he did something about it.

It was a little petty and childish, but every other time you’d fucked him, or well, to be more acurate, he’d fucked you, had been the result of a petty move. You got eachother all riled up until someone snapped and did something about it. 

Jan was cute, and he’d said he hung out on the stairs all the time. 

You could start smoking your morning cigarette down there. Your temperamental Neighbour was still refraining from pissing on the sidewalk, this time, you were pretty sure it was for good. If you really wanted to, you could really turn on the flirting with Jan. He seemed interested and the type to shamelessly flirt with strangers without getting attached. 

He wouldn’t be collateral. 

You didn’t know him well enough to be sure of it, but at that point, you didn’t have it in you to care. 

You used to be soft and compassionate and never fought with anyone, but three months of living above that pretentious asshole and you were out here using strangers and being vindictive. 

This man was ruining you. 

You got up in the morning and went outside anyway to smoke by the stairs, sure to wear a low-cut top and a tight pair of jeans.

Sure enough, Jan was sitting there, smoking. 

He smirked as soon as he spotted you. 

“Well, well, well.” He looked smug. “You see me out here, and all of a sudden it’s your favorite spot?” 

“They are my stairs.” You rolled your eyes playfully and sat a few steps higher, lighting your cigarette. 

“I think you missed me.” He teased, “Little warm for a scarf, don’t you think?” 

Your fingers brushed against the silk scarf you’d used to hide the dark bruise. 

“I’ve got a sensitive neck.” You nodded solemnly, cracking a smile when he laughed. 

“You’re not gonna pour your coffee on me, are you?” Jan eyed the mug in your hand. Narrowing his eyes at you, unseriously, after a minute of silence. 

“Not unless you start pissing on my sidewalk.” 

“I promise, I won’t.” He held his hands up “I’d never condone wasting coffee.” 

“Do you want some?” You felt the corners of your lips curl into a smile as an idea came to mind. “I’ve got a full pot upstairs.” 

“Are you inviting me into your apartment, mysterious Neighbour girl?” He raised a brow slyly. 

“I’m offering to go inside and bring you out a cup of coffee.” You corrected, chuckling. 

“Yeah,” Jan nodded, smirking. “I’d love some coffee.” 

“Do you want anything in it?” You pulled yourself to your feet, taking one last drag of your cigarette.

You’d barely smoked half of it.  

“A little sugar.” He shrugged, watching your ass while you climbed the stairs and disapeared inside. 

You came back a couple of minutes later and handed him a mug full of hot coffee. 

“Well,” You sighed dramatically, “I’ve got a pile of paperwork to get through, so I’ve gotta go.” 

“What about the mug?” His brows pulled together lightly.

“Oh, just take it in with you.” You waved him off, biting back a smirk as you turned to head back upstairs, “You can give it back in the morning. Same time?” 

“Yeah,” Jan chuckled, gazing down at your cleavage. “Sure thing.” 

He walked back into the store, coffee mug in hand, and a grin stretched across his face. 

“What’s with you?” Faust asked, eyeing him like he was crazy. 

Euronymous looked up at him and narrowed his eyes at the coffee mug in his hand. He hadn’t had it when he’d gone out. 

“I think the girl upstairs is in love with me,” Jan smirked smugly, sipping his coffee. “She made me coffee. Let me keep the cup and everything just so she has an excuse to see me again.” 

His jaw flexed, and his nostrils flared in anger. 

What the fuck were you playing at?

Had he not explicitly told you not to talk to Jan the day before? 

He’d even marked you up. 

And still, this?

He’d been thinking about you all night. 

He didn’t share. It was as simple as that. At least, that’s what he’d tried to himself. 

But if that were truly the case, he’d just forget about you. 

He didn’t want to see you with anyone else. Didn’t even want to see you talking to anyone else. 

It made his blood boil to think that you’d sat out there with Jan doing god knows what. What if you’d flirted with him or agreed to go out with him or something? 

What would he do then?

As much as he hated to admit it, he was jealous. 

He couldn’t outright tell Jan to stay away from you, not without revealing that there was something going on between the two of you. 

It would make him look like a little bitch, and he couldn’t have that. 

“Good morning, Øystein.” You greeted him so casually when he showed up less than an hour later, pounding on your door, that it immediately put him on edge. “Did you need something?” 

He opened, then closed his mouth, unsure what to say. 

Usually, your interactions started with shouting. This was throwing him for a bit of a loop. 

“What are you doing with Jan?” He snapped. “We talked about this.” 

“I just made him coffee.” You shrugged. “And really, you talked about this. Not me.” 

“You’re gonna stop doing that.” 

“Why?” There was a clear challenging look in your eyes as you crossed your arms over your chest calmly. “It’s only coffee. You ruined my favourite place to smoke, so I had to find a new one. Jan just so happens to hang around there.” 

He was very clearly taken aback by you keeping a level head. He almost looked flustered. 

At least he did until his eyes landed on the scarf wrapped around your neck. 

He immediately reached out and pulled it loose, only a little surprised when you just let him. 

Euronymous leaned in to get a better look at it, unable to help the way the corners of his mouth pitched upwards at the sight of the dark purple splotch. 

“It was kinda rude to just do that out of nowhere.” You tried to keep your voice firm, but having him that close to you was very distracting. Your voice wavered towards the end. 

“Asshole.” You breathed shakily when he pulled back and straightened, staring down at you. 

“No more scarves,” he muttered, holding your stare. 

“Oh,” You scoffed, suddenly annoyed “Go fuck yourself. I’m not going to stand here and let you order me around. You don’t get to choose what I wear or who I talk to.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” You jabbed a finger into his chest angrily “What the fuck do you want from me?” 

You barely had time to let out a gasp before you were being shoved inside your apartment and thrown against the back of the door. His lips were on yours, and you had to push him away from you. 

“Absolutely not.” You spat.  “Fuck you! Use your words or get the fuck out.” 

You were sick of thinking about it and not having any answers. You were confused and tired and that fucking hickey had made things worse. He didn’t get to slam you against the door, fuck you, then leave without a word. You weren’t going to allow it. 

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” He barked after a minute, a little shocked that you’d pushed him away. Were you as confused about what was going on between the two of you as he was? 

“Tell me you’re jealous.” You urged “Just fucking admit it!” 

“I’m not.” Euronymous didn’t even believe himself when he heard the words coming out of his mouth. “I just don’t want you fucking my friends.” 

“You don’t want me fucking anyone, so let’s try that again.” you corrected, keeping your distance so he couldn’t get you all hot and bothered again. “You want me to not fuck other people. You’re gonna have to ask me, not tell me.” 

“That’s not really how this works.” He shook his head, scowling. 

“It wasn’t.” You shrugged “But then you went and bruised the fuck out of my neck because you couldn’t just use your words. That shit hurt you know? It still hurts.” 

“So what?” Euronumous scoffed, “You want me to apologize or something?” 

“No,” You groaned, “You know what? Just fuck off! I’m gonna fuck Jan if I want to, you can get fucked.” 

“Don’t do that.” he said immediately, fists clenched at his sides “Don’t fuck Jan.” 

“Don’t fuck anyone.” 

He wasn’t really asking you, but he wasn’t necessarily telling you either. It was definitely less aggressive than it had been the first time, and it looked like he’d struggled to get the words out, but he’d at least tried. 

The bar really was on the floor. 

“Okay.” You nodded, “I won’t. Are you gonna fuck other people?” 

“No.” His voice was low, deep, and harsh in the quiet apartment. 

“There we go.” You cracked a little smug smile. “Was that so hard?” 

“You know I’m not your boyfriend. Right?” He muttered, slinking over to you, resting one hand above your head against the wooden door, pinning you in place. 

“Yeah,” You scoffed. “I know.” 

“I’m not gonna hold your hand or take you out for ice cream or anything.” 

“Good.” You tilted your head back slightly, only inches away from his lips. “I’m not interested in being your girlfriend.” 

“I’m only here to fuck you.” 

“Great.” 

You could tell that he was trying to get a rise out of you and was quickly growing frustrated when you didn’t take the bait.

“I still don’t like you.” 

“Sure,” You slung your arms over his shoulders, smiling mischievously. “You’re real tough and evil. Now, why don’t you toss me around a little?” 

He told himself that he’d slammed his lips into yours to shut you up, but that little voice in the back of his head was eating up your little teasing. 

You gasped into his mouth when his fingers hooked into your belt loops and pulled you flush against him. 

You could feel his bulge, hard and insistent, pressing into your stomach, and felt your panties dampen. He grabbed the bottom of your shirt, and you let him pull it over your head, locking eyes with him in the process. 

He looked softer in a way, but you still felt like prey being stalked.

Euronymous shrugged off his own shirt, only breaking your stare while he was pulling it over his head, before grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you off the ground. 

Your hands grabbed his shoulders, eyes slightly widened in surprise as he pinned you between the wall and his body. 

Your lips collided, and while it was still hungry and rough, it wasn’t quite as cold as every kiss before it. Something was different. The way his lips moved against yours and yours against his. There was some sort of understanding.

It certainly wasn’t sweet. It was more needy and desperate, hard and soft all at once, while your teeth crashed against one another and you swallowed one another's breathy sounds. 

“Where’s your bed?” He growled into your mouth, hands kneading your ass roughly. 

“Second door on the left,” you moaned, wrapping your legs around him before he could push off the wall and stagger down the hallway, still kissing you. 

Your bedroom door slammed open, and you were promptly dropped onto your mattress. 

You couldn’t help but laugh when you bounced. 

“You’re gonna fuck me in the bed?” You asked, looking up at him with a raised brow while he stood at the foot of your bed, gazing down at you hungrily as he undid his belt. “How romantic.” 

“Take your pants off.” He told you, keeping his expression as neutral as he could. 

“Yes, sir.” you winked, knowing it would piss him off. 

Halfway through getting out of your jeans, you felt hands around your hips and yelped when you were flipped over onto your stomach and dragged to the end of your bed. 

Euronymous ripped your pants the rest of the way off and hoisted you up to your knees before slamming his cock all the way into you with no warning whatsoever. 

You cried out, grabbing handfuls of the sheets while tears pricked at the back of your eyes. 

Luckily, you were wet enough just from the kissing not to tear or actually get hurt, but it still took the breath out of you to be filled that abruptly. 

“Not so funny now, is it?” He grunted, pulling out halfway and ramming himself into your cervix just as hard as the first time. “Shit, you’re so tight.” 

He could feel your cunt spasming around him, trying to accomodate his size. Your walls were gripping him so tightly that it almost hurt. 

You weren't even making any noises, you couldn’t. Your face was buried in the mattress, choking back sobs as you felt the abuse he was inflicting on your insides. 

You didn’t want him to stop either. 

After a few brutal thrusts, he took pity on you and reached around to work your clit. 

Slowly, you started to respond, hips backing back to meet his thrusts while muffled cries fell from your lips. 

You felt his palm on your ass and groaned, rolling your hips into him. 

Euronymous hissed at the feeling and grabbed a fistful of your hair with one hand while the other wrapped around your throat, pulling you back until you were pressed against his chest, practically in his lap. 

You could feel him squeezing the sides of your windpipe and restricting your airflow slightly. He didn’t block it completely, just enough to make your eyes roll back inside your head. 

He was panting into your ear, rutting into you while you writhed in his arms, gasping for breath. 

When he thought you’d had enough, he let go of your throat and groped your tits roughly, pulling you down onto his length with every thrust. 

“Fuck,” He groaned, nipping the skin at the nape of your neck “Wanna be tossed around, huh? You little whore?” 

You nodded, unable to help the low moan that fell from your lips. 

“Think you deserve to get what you want after pulling that shit with Jan?” He asked, practically snarling when he pulled out of you suddenly. 

You whined loudly, falling forward on the bed. 

Euronymous landed next to you, lying on his back, and guided your tired limbs until you were straddling him. 

“If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to do all the work sweetheart.” He muttered, looking up at you expectantly.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, but they fluttered shut when you lowered yourself down onto him, impaling yourself with his cock. 

It went in so much deeper at this angle. 

You gasped, not having expected the amount of pressure. 

You thought he might let his hips buck into you from below, but he just laid there, looking very pleased with himself. 

“Go on,” He urged, smirking. 

Initially, you thought you could tease him enough that he’d throw you down and take over. You rocked your hips and bounced on him painfully slowly, but he just let you, letting out the occasional groan. He was watching you intently, looking increasingly amused as you slowly folded, giving in to the humiliation of your desperation. 

“That’s it,” He hummed, hands resting loosely on your hips. “Give in, baby. You know you want to. Make yourself cum all over my cock.” 

Finally, you gave up altogether and let your fingers drop between your thighs, rubbing circles into your clit in time with the brutal movements of your hips. They rocked and bounced and ground themselves down so far on his cock that it hurt, but you didn’t care. 

You were very quickly working your way up to your peak. 

“Come on,” He grunted, really struggling now not to fuck into you from below. “Cum for me, you little slut, get yourself off.” 

His name was falling from your lips like a prayer, its pitch increasing in time with the speed until you came crashing over the edge, hands bracing themselves against his chest while you clamped down around him. Crying out so loud that Euronymous wondered if Jan could hear you from downstairs. 

The thought brought a smirk to his face. 

Before you even knew what was happening, Euronymous had rolled over, keeping himself buried inside of you, and was fucking you into the matress. 

“Scream for me.” His breath came out in pants. “I want everyone downstairs to hear you.” 

He was close, way too close. 

You cried out, but not loud enough, so he tweaked your nipple roughly. 

That did the trick. 

You screamed your throat hoarse, convulsing beneath him, unexpectedly dragged over the edge once again. 

“Fuck.” Euronymous muttered into the side of your neck, fighting his own orgasm, “You’re mine.” 

“Do you hear me?” He said louder, “Mine!” 

His thrusting got sloppier as you felt ropes of warm cum painting your walls white. 

You hadn’t expected him to keep you clutched tightly to his chest when he finally stopped, but he did. 

He wasn’t sure why, but he laid there with you and held you while you both caught your breath and only then did he pull his softening cock out of your spent hole and wordlessly start getting dressed. 

You let him go, staring at the door when it slammed shut behind him, and let your head fall back to stare up at the ceiling. 

What the actual fuck was that?

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics

[frozenjokes]

if I write another 5k fic within the span of two days I’m going to vomit

[strohller27]

.

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[exopelagic]

yeah I have more to say

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - vii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to “lovers.” suicidal resolve. major character death. violent drowning. a reckoning. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

When you’re sure that Johnny’s friends have left, you return to the beach. The wind has died down in the late afternoon; the clouds sit heavy and motionless in the sky.

Night is coming, and it promises to be cold. It hangs in the wary stillness of the air, in the waiting quiet. The seabirds’ calling is absent; the dune crickets’ singing has ended.

He’s there on the sand. Somehow, you knew he would be. Felt it, even before he came into view. He stands by the kayak, almost as if he’s been waiting there for you.

You hold the folded pelt with both hands against your stomach as you approach. The fur is so soft against your palms, your fingers. Cool from having spent a night in the ground.

He looks at it with sharp eyes. Then, up to you, expectantly.

His eyes on you in the cottage bedroom, moonlight shifting in them. Teeth in your neck. The taste of brine in your mouth.

Pearls in your memory. Parting gifts to enjoy, as you come to the close.

“Missed you at the end there, bonnie,” he says, even and purposefully steady. “The boys were glad to meet you.”

He’s known—the whole time. He always has. You don’t know how you know this, but you do.

“I’ve had a nice time with you, Johnny,” you say, when you’re only a few paces away from him. “But I think it’s time for me to go.”

Three days. That’s all it’s been. Nothing much, objectively, to say goodbye to. A good way to end things, truthfully, with the aftertaste of good food still on your tongue, the heat and girth of him still lingering inside you. The etchings of his calluses still fresh on your skin.

A kind ending. A gentle one. Better than you and he deserve.

You hold out the pelt.

He looks at it. Mouth a tight line. Brows low and flat. Then his gaze moves to you.

“Where will you go?” he asks, still steady.

“I’m not sure,” you say. “Maybe—Amsterdam. Does it matter? I don’t know.”

“Just like that,” he says flatly. “After everything.”

You frown. “I was always going to leave, Johnny. Remember? I only booked the place for a month. This is just…earlier.”

Something frenetic buzzes in his posture. The slight lean forward in the way he stands. The angles of his face seem harsher, more pronounced. Eyes dark as wet stone.

“Johnny, just—” you shake the pelt at him, still holding it out. “Just take it, okay?”

He looks at the pelt again, and then back at you.

At it, then you.

It—you—

Johnny lunges.

In one swift surge forward he snaps the pelt from your hands and flings it aside. As it flutters to the ground his hands whip at you, seizing fistfuls of your shirt a half-thought before you realize it, wrenching you forward.

“What the fuck?!” you cry, but then you’re off your feet, falling toward him, arms flailing as you lose your center of balance. You topple into him, and he hooks you beneath the shoulders with the iron bands of his arms, stepping away from the kayak, and only for a moment do you think that maybe he’s going to bring you back to the cottage before he starts dragging you in the opposite direction—

“Johnny, no,” you breathe, as you hear a wave break on the sand,“Johnny, no!”

You start to kick and thrash. You throw yourself against his grasp, dig your heels into the sand, try to find the meat of his forearm with your teeth, but he is resolute. Unstoppable.

You start to scream.

The waves eddy around your feet, rise up to engulf your ankles, your calves, as Johnny roils the water with wide, unfaltering steps, deeper in—

The water closes around your thighs. Your waist.

This is happening. This is really happening—

“Had a month to get to this, bonnie,” says Johnny, over your screaming, rough and harsh and completely unrecognizable. He slings you around to face him, jaw set hard, the muscles in his temples flexing as he clenches his teeth. “But I guess we’re doin’ it now.”

“Johnny,” you plead, “please don’t, Johnny, please—Johnny, no, no, no, no—!”

He clamps his hands on your shoulders and shoves you downward. You claw at him, push against the seabed, but your lover is too strong, immune to your fighting, and you are barely able to inhale before he forces your head below the water.

Frigid cold—it rushes into your ears, through your hair, knife-sharp and paralyzing. Salt flooding the open canals of your nose—

You close your throat. The surface swirls above you, distorting him, rippling and folding in on itself as a wave recedes. Hope waits for the retreating water to expose you, but he has dragged you out too deep, far enough that even the lowest point of the backwash still submerges you.

Seawater, eroding cilia, ramming against the rolled stone of your epiglottis. Burning the film of your corneas.

You reach up, swinging your hands at his face, but the distance of his straightened arms, muscles flexing to hold you down, is too great; you beat at empty air, or collide with the rock-hardness of his shoulders.

Another wave comes in, deepening the surf around you. You kick out, knee upward, wrench against him—you just need him to loosen his grip once, for just one moment, and then you can get away. You try to pry his fingers up, but they may as well have rooted in you.

Lungs pulsing. Throat already fighting to open. Chest heaving, diaphragm beating upward to pull in air. Pain lancing up your chest, unimaginably sharp, head so heavy it might burst—

You throw yourself to one side, kicking against the sand, and physiology subsumes your control. The cost of fighting is breathing. The floodways open—the ocean rushes into your throat—

Salt abrades the walls of your esophagus, claw-slashing downward. Acid bypasses the filters of your alveoli, honeycomb structures collapsing to the pressure, to the spasming of your lungs desperate to send oxygen to the rest of your body. Your diaphragm contracts—your chest convulses to cough, to force water out, only to welcome more of the sea in.

You beat at Johnny’s arms again. All you manage is to throw water against him. He is a sea stack above you. A pillar. Unmovable.

Holding your body against his in the bedroom, frighteningly strong, moving against you like the ocean itself—

The water churns above you with your struggle. You cannot see his face. All you see is the unstable shape of his silhouette, wavering lines distorting the edges as the corners of your vision darken.

More seawater, expanding your chest. Heart stuttering between your lungs, yanking in the last of your oxygenated blood, with nothing to send back out. The weight of your body swells, arms too heavy to hold up. They crash into the water before you force them back up again, searching and unwieldy.

Perception narrows. Him, and you. That’s all.

Sunlight through the window the next morning, rimming him in gold. The heat of his shoulder pressed to yours.

The seawater steals the tears from your eyes, throat convulsing on a sob you cannot make.

Grinning as you shared oysters.

You slap your hands against his arms, clapping your palms to whatever they can find, begging, praying—

Him moving inside you, his warmth, his smell, the weight of his tongue in your mouth. The tug of his hand on your arm.

His smile, his voice, his hand in yours—

Fists like weights holding you down. Fire in your chest. Too full.

Upward—something in you tugging upward.

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live—

It’s done.

Johnny lifts your body from the surf and carries it back to the beach. You fit in his arms as if they were the mold you were cast from.

He knew you would the moment he saw you in the airport. Perfect. You were perfect for him. He saw it in the angles of your body, the way you stood, the emotions moving behind the mask of your face.

He tried to explain it to Price once—the seeing. The knowing.

How he could look straight at his old captain, for instance, and know, without ever hearing the man say a word, that he felt responsible. For everything. For the gunshot. For the months afterword. Even though he hadn’t chosen to discharge Johnny himself, Price saw the mold of his hands in the shape his sergeant’s life had taken.

It’s how he knows Gaz couldn’t see the change in him, because he saw what he wanted to see—his best mate whole and healthy, thriving in a new stage of his life.

It’s how he knows Ghost doesn’t even recognize him anymore. Not really.

And it’s how he knows you’re just like him.

He lays you down on the sand, cradling the back of your head so it settles lightly down. Stretches your legs to rest straight out. He aligns your limp arms with the length of your torso, turning your hands upward so the sand will not cling to your palms.

Beautiful. Even with your face slack. Eyes half-open, unseeing. Mouth parted; seawater dripping from the corners.

Your feet touched the island the same way his did, years ago. Running away. Looking for the end, without really trying to find it. It was in the set of your brows, the tight pull of your mouth against your teeth.

Life had gone in every direction opposite of your intention. And it had left you alone.

Johnny smooths a few stray hairs away from your forehead, and kisses the place between your brows. The little line that has sat between them this whole time is gone, smoothed away. He kisses the bridge of your nose, and then your mouth, and then stands.

It took him a while, back then, to make the decision. It was hours before he woke to find Price watching him, sitting despondent on the sand, tears tracking salty down the older man’s face.

He goes to the place he threw his pelt away and retrieves it, shaking it out. Holding it in his hands assuages the anxiety that has wriggled in the back of his mind since the day he shoved it into the lintel of the croft. He’d known where it was, but survival instinct prevails over logic—for the rest of his life, he will always fear its loss.

It’s a consequence, but not one he’d been unfamiliar with.

And, in the end, preferable to the alternative.

He lowers himself to the sand a little ways away from you, propping his knees up and spreading the pelt across them.

When he had done this—he’d done it alone. It had been close. He almost hadn’t made it.

If he takes up this vigil—if he stays, the whole time, watching you—you’ll make it. It’s not a matter of hope or belief. It’s a matter of knowing.

He knows every time he looks into your eyes. Every time he’s been inside you. Every time your body has risen to meet his touch.

You want to live.

So he sits back. He keeps his eyes on you.

And he waits.

The sky claps you between its palms and hurls you back down the gravity well—

You vomit up the ocean.

Panting, with burning lungs. Closer—everything is much, much closer, loud and bright, and suddenly, individually distinct.

Channels of sound and aroma dance on the wind—sea salt, the smoke of someone’s grill from the village, burning meat, the rolling crash of the incoming tide, birdcall and the gust of beating wings and—and—

And you can sense them all.

A gap in the clouds lets the sunlight touch the earth.

You move on the sand. Turn onto your belly, chest heaving, empty and light. The cove—you’re still in the cove. There’s the path back up to the cottage. There’s the kayak. There’s—

Johnny, riotous, waiting in the crashing waves.

He calls to you: loud, long, triumphant, teeth bared in jubilation.

You cry out. Wordless. If you’d had any words to say, your lips could not shape them.

You’re alive.

It crashes into you. Alive.

You lift your head into the wind coming off the ocean. It caresses your face softly, tenderly, like a mother’s kiss on your cheek.

Johnny suddenly turns from you and darts into the water.

You wail with surprise. A wave rushes up to where you lay, water licking up the fibers of your body. You’re not ready. It’s too soon. Why did he leave you? What’s happening? Why isn’t the water cold?

You clutch at the sand. You can’t find your legs—you can’t stand up. All you can do is crawl, shuffle your ungainly body forward with the clumsiness of a newborn child. You cry out again, trying to convince him to return, to come help you, but if he hears it, he does not come to your aid.

Another wave surges forward; salt water crashes across your face. You flinch away from it, but something nictates over your eyes, shielding them from the burn.

Once you reach the surf, the water cradles your body, buoyancy easing your way. You submerge, finding something to kick with—

And then you’re gliding.

Murky, and blue. Sand clouding in the tide. But comfortable—cool, without being cold. You remember frigidity cutting into your skin only hours earlier, rending you at the seams, unmaking you.

Now, it receives you like an old friend.

Ahead of you, Johnny moves further out. You can feel him, far out in the distance, tiny eddies of water rippling against your cheeks.

He’s not the only thing you can feel. The radius of your awareness vibrates with blips of movement, darting, swaying, dancing, below and above and all around. It shocks you to realize, and you go still, hovering in place, momentarily stunned by how much there is living around you.

Johnny pauses too, ahead of you. Waiting. A lone distinct figure, patient for you to follow.

You shiver with startled wonder, and resume your way toward him.

The coastal shelf slopes downward, falling away. The water gradually clears as overhead, past the surface, the sun sinks in the sky. Warm golden light dyes the sea around you. He leads you on, further and further, until a forest of kelp grows up around you.

In the turquoise, ribbons of twisting green undulate and twirl, feathery and dancing in the windy current. Silvery bubbles trail toward the sunlight, intermingling with tiny schools of glimmering fish that dart and jump between the fronds. Down below you, red and green algae fur valleys of rock, swaying lazily like prairie grass.

It’s beautiful.

Johnny drifts to a stop in the middle of it all, wheeling around to face you. You approach him, coming in close—and it’s almost like approaching the sun, so much that he radiates across your senses.

His dark eyes hold yours the same way they had that day on the beach, and the pendulum swings balanced now between you.

He brushes the side of his face along yours, and with his touch he leads you downward, following the stipes of kelp toward the stone to which their holdfasts grip. The heat of his huge body warms the water that flows in the narrow spaces between your bodies, even as the coolness intensifies the further you dive.

The two of you draw up along the forest floor—and find the myriad little denizens of the sea. You’d known they were there, at the very edge of your senses, and now they bloom into fullness in your attention.

Shrimp perambulate beneath rocky ledges. Crabs walks along the ridge of a huge boulder, like climbing a mountain. And there, further down, snails in their spiral shells, pulling themselves across the sandy grain. Starfish, in shades of red and blue and orange. Anemones, translucent hair streaming.

Tiny lives—insignificant to you, before. Hardly worth your notice. Now, you marvel at them, reeling. You want to cup them all in your palms and bring them up to clutch against your chest.

Something brushes against you.

You look up—Johnny, sliding along your side, curving back in toward you, then looping underneath. He nudges at you, then darts away; you gaze at him, confused, so he comes back in, shunting you with his body, and once again retreats.

Behind him, you catch a turtle fluttering in between the green leaves. Atlantic salmon chasing capelin. An eel peeking out from its cave. Undisturbed by Johnny’s—and your—antics.

He nudges you again, then backs off, looking at you expectantly. Realizing his intentions, you follow—he makes a low clicking sound in his throat, pleased, and jets into the flowing leaves, buffeting you with the wave he leaves in his wake.

You’re shocked only for a moment before the kelp parts for you in your pursuit. Johnny quickly disappears ahead of you, dipping down below the canopy. You feel him rapidly shrink in your awareness, and you propel forward, scanning for telltale splashes of gray and white, arms of green caressing you as you pass.

You close in on him, but suddenly he evades. You follow again, only to find he’s nowhere in view. Then the chase is on: he stays in one place only long enough for you to catch sight of him before he bolts, or wheels around and backtracks to confuse you every time you approach. Teasing, taunting, flaunting the dexterity he has underwater which you have yet to acquire.

Golden shafts of dancing sunlight begin to dim and shorten as he leads you on. Frustration rapidly builds in your chest, buoyed as your lungs press against your ribcage. You need to breathe, even as Johnny becomes no more than a dot of movement in your senses, confounding you at every turn.

Why is he doing this? Why won’t he stay with you? If you surface, you’ll lose him, but the sudden memory of saltwater flooding your chest has you kicking toward the fading daylight. Self-preservation taking its place at the head of your priorities, and you follow it with no longer any second thought.

Above you shifts a mirror of silk.

You rise. Faster as the weight of the sea lessens, your reflection blooming as you approach, closer and closer to the wedge-shaped face, the large, dark eyes—

You swim into yourself and breach the air. Your nostrils open, and you inhale the wind.

You see the twilight bleeding into the day. Clouds moving quickly off as the sun sinks into the horizon.

Where is Johnny?

You can’t sense him anymore—as you knew would happen—and your chest contracts with fear and longing, suddenly believing you’ve seen him for the last time—that he’s left you all alone, to figure out what to do next, with no idea how to live in the skin of this new self you’ve become.

You give a mournful howl. You don’t want to do this alone, you can’t, you thought you wouldn’t have to—

But in the distance, back the long way you came, you hear an answer.

You whirl around, facing the shore, and almost too far away to see, a dark shape rests on the sand.

Your throat convulses with a clumsy breath, and then you dive. The water parts for your body, sliding around you, streaming through your hair. Faster than you expect, the slope of the shelf draws close, and you jet upward, belly meeting the sand, and when the water recedes and you drag yourself back onto the beach, your own weight settling heavy on your bones, you cry out again.

You shake the water from your head, wailing at the top of your lungs, desolate and blind as you blink the salt away, and then there’s a warm body up against yours, weight melding against you, heat reaching out to drive away a coldness you hadn’t felt until you’d surfaced.

You continue crying as Johnny closes his teeth around a hank of your neck and drags himself on top of you, pressing you down into the sand. You shift to let him settle over you, and all of his weight compresses your body—sandwiching you between himself and the earth, pinning you down in one place.

Something in you still wants to fight. To shake him off—to escape. But all you can do is cry. He enters you with no resistance, and you cry more, harder, until your lungs deflate, and then you take a deep breath and start wailing again.

Saltwater streaming down your face, dripping into your own mouth. Your voice hits the cliff walls, rebounds off the stone until the air fills with your weeping. Johnny shifts on top of you, pressing your head down to the sand.

The vessel you have contained yourself within overturns. You cry.

You cry for yourself. You cry for him. You cry for what you’ve done, what you haven’t, and for what you can never undo. Your lament fills your own ears and spills out again, all across the beach, catching in the wind to fly off into the ether, raised to the birds, to the passing clouds overhead.

You cry with despair of never going back. You cry with the terror of Johnny finally rolling off of you, to dart back into the waves, to leave you here alone again. You cry until your throat hurts, stinging and raw—

And Johnny’s hands, strong and warm, edge beneath your pelt and pull you out, still bawling with every drop of shame you’ve carried in your body since the day you realized you hated yourself.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, drawing you up into his chest, arms steady and strong around you. “It’s alright now, bonnie, it’s alright. I’m here.”

You cannot respond to him. Your mouth hangs open only to wail your grief. Your body wracks against him, convulsing, involuntary, as you scream with despair and relief and horror and resolve, too much to contain, too overwhelming now to ever split yourself away from.

You find his arms with your shaking hands and grip on tight. He slips the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes every so often to clear away your tears, and you feel his mouth press against your forehead. You wait for him to drop you. Wait for him to see the mess you’re making and wash his hands of it.

He doesn’t. Every time another sob wracks you, he grips you tighter.

Eventually—when you begin to wonder if it ever could, if this is all you are now, a squalling bundle of fragile skin pebbling in the cold—it passes.

The next time you pause to draw breath, you find nothing more inside you to disgorge. You begin to shake in Johnny’s arms, trembling with exhaustion, whimpering with clenched eyes.

He breathes slowly against you. Calm and even. He strokes your face with gentle fingers, even and patient, as if there’s nothing more in the world he’d rather do.

You find the courage to meet his gaze when your heartbeat steadies, finding the rhythm in Johnny’s chest to match. You see again what you saw that first day, that next night; you know now what you’ve always known, somewhere inside you. Your face is familiar in the reflections of it in his eyes.

His mouth curls gently as he gazes down at you. His eyes dance in yours, corners creasing as he traces the curve of your cheek. Light catches in his pupils.

You see him clearly, as the sun gives way to the evening, and the moon rises over a cloudless night of stars.

epilogue

a/n: shoutout to @/gildui for suggesting screenshots for that one section of text. Thank you to @/bi-writes for trying to figure out how i could keep the formatting with tumblr's coding. Please let me know if alt text is necessary. God forbid a text-based website allow for formatting said text.

[evie-sturns]

Cry - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you and your boyfriend, matt, have spent the day together. you've been snapping at him the whole time, until it gets too much for matt and you accidentally make him cry. you find a way to make everything up to him.

contains: sub!matt, nsfw, blowjob?, matt crying, angst.

------------------≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫-----------------

matt and i have been dating for 7 months, sure, we’ve argued before but it’s never lasted more than a day and it’s never affected us that much. i’ve never seen matt cry, according to his brothers he hates crying infront of people, or even talking about it. 

today we’ve been bickering non stop, i’ve been making snarky comments and snapping at him for pathetic reasons, matt’s just been ignoring it.

9:24pm

i sit on the dining table, matt directly opposite me on his phone as he takes small bites of his dinner. “matt.” i say, my voice almost like a robot.

“mhm?” he hums, his eyes fixed on his screen, i groan, “for fucks sake matt.” i huff under my breath. 

“what is it?” matt asks, his finger continuing to scroll across his screen. 

i don't know why i've been so on edge today, everything matt's done has pissed me off. the way his hand is cemented onto his phone pisses me off.

“fucking stop! you don’t even care about me the only thing you do is go on your phone, your an actual excuse of a boyfriend.”

the words leave my mouth quicker than i can process, i don’t even fully comprehend what i’m saying.

i finish off my yelling fit by slamming matt’s phone out of his hands.

he stands up abruptly, his bottom lip shaking as his eyes well with tears. “don’t fucking say that.” 

i scoff, folding my arms and playing with my nails. matt lets in a sharp inhale, a shaky sob exiting his mouth.

my head snaps up to look at him, he’s got tears soaking his pink cheeks, his lips a raw red. he reaches his ringed fingers up to rub his eyes before speed walking out of the dining room, directly towards our bedroom.

my heart drops, an aching infecting my body. i feel a wave of guilt wash over me, tears somehow prickling in the corners of my eyes. i wipe my face quickly, 

i’ve just made matt cry. shit.

i stand up from my wooden chair, the chair legs screeching on the wooden floor. 

my footsteps tap on the ground as i slowly walk towards matt and i’s shared room, the door is shut. 

i stand outside for a few seconds, pressing my ear, which is decorated in sets of earrings, up to the wooden planks.

i hear sniffles coming from inside the room, and small crys. my heart pounds against my ribs as i twist the door handle.

i’m met with matt’s body which is sitting at his desk, his back facing me. i’m not sure he heard me, so i walk over to him. 

i tap his grey sweater, the cute wool sweater that he wears whenever he’s cold, the sweater his mom gave him in high school, which still fits him.

i feel him tense under me, he swings his head round to look at me, his eyelashes are dark and wet, his cheeks a deep red and his lips swollen. 

i take one look at him and my stomach forms a pit, i wrap my arms around his neck, yanking him into a deathly tight hug as i bend down to his seated height.

matt doesn’t hug me back, his arms hang loosely by his sides. i bury my head into the crook of his neck,

after a few seconds i pull away, visible nerves on my face, matt’s tilts his head down to his lap, where his hands rest, fiddling with his rings.

“matt please, look at me.” i say, my voice barely audible. his head shakes, i nod my head “okay.” i whisper.

“i’m so sorry sweetheart, i didn’t mean any of that, i promise it’s just the week before my period. you know i get in these stupid moods that i can’t handle.”  i say softly,

matt continues to stare down at his lap.

i get down on my knees my hands resting on his thighs, my nails scratching the material of his sweatpants.

im at the height where i can see his full face, his lips slightly pouted. i stare up at him, his eyes lock with mine for a split second. my hands travel to his waistband and grip the elastic, i look up at him again, asking for permission. matt's gaze drifts to my eyes again, he nods, his top teeth sinking into his lower lip.

i pull down his sweatpants to his midthighs, he's got no boxers on, already half hard.

i brush my thumb over his tip, earning a shaky groan from matt. i maintain eye contact with him, i feel him grow fully hard in my hand. i run my hand up his length a few times before taking my hands off him completley.

"please" matt clears his throat, "please what?" i tease, resting my hands on his thighs, he almost looks as though he’s going to cry again,

i can see his breathing intensify, "tell me what you want." i say calmly, matt lets out a whine, his leg bobbing up and down on the spot, "please." matt breathes out again.

i lean foward, wrapping my lips around matt's tip, a soft moan exits his mouth as he gentley tangles his fingers into my hair. i swirl my tongue around his tips before taking more of him further down my throat.

"close-" matt warns, bucking his hips up as his hands grip my hair tighter. i pull off his cock for a second to catch a needed breath,

"i need to." matt protests as his cheeks flush, small droplets of sweat gathering on his forehead, he runs his hand though my hair. i wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, "i know, i know." i say, quickly wrapping my mouth around him again as i scratch his thighs with my nails.

i bob my head up and down quicker, matts whimpers filling the room. i look up at him with doe eyes, he squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting his cock deeper into my mouth.

i can see his breathing intensifying before he releases in my mouth, i pull off of him.

matt leans back in his chair, before quickly reaching a hand down under my mouth, i spit it out into his hand "sorry.." matt laughs slightly, grabbing a bunch of tissues and cleaning his hand and my lips.

"don't say sorry matt, my fault for getting you so worked up." i say, standing up and grabbing matts arm, pulling him up onto his feet. i lead him towards the bed, he stumbles slightly as he recovers from his orgasm.

i sit down on the bed, my back resting against the headboard. matt lays down next to me, i pull his head onto my chest.

"matt, i feel really bad." i start,

"what? for what? that was the best fucking experience i've had all month, the nails did somethin-" he rambles, i cut him off.

"no! about the things i said, and.. you know.. making you cry" i say with a small laugh.

"trust me, you made up for it, can you do the same tomorrow so i can get another blow job." matt smiles, i run a hand through his hair, shaking my head with a scoff.

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

[astonmartingf]

VOODOO DOLL ; LH44

lewis hamilton x mercedes driver!reader

. . . hamilton is a penchant for opposing teammates, and after the previous one he somehow got stuck with another, but after years of dominance new emotions develop between the two.

amgf i am a sucker for yearning and fluff and this is exactly that, lewis the man that you are... also if the format is different from previous posts it's because i'm testing out formats

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

[2025]

“You called us for this?” Alonso raised his brows looking pitifully at you sharing the same expression as Nico from the left side. You groan in your palms, hiding your face from the two men.

“This is a big deal okay. Why are you invalidating my feelings?” Mumbling under your breath, you reason out hoping for a sliver of understanding. It’s been so long since you bottled your feelings, and as much as you hate to admit it, you might start-

“No one is invalidating your feelings other than yourself amor, otherwise why would you call us to convince you that you actually like-”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up will you, it’s like you want the whole world that I like…” You turn around, checking the surroundings. “Lewis.”

Nico pressed his lip into a thin, a short sigh leaving his mouth, “You’re in denial and in love.”

You shot Nico an incredulous look, a scoff escaping your lips, “I am not in love. Alo, tell him.”

The older Spaniard grimaced, shaking his head. “At this point, you may as well be- four years? He’s already moved to Ferrari for God’s sake and you have yet to make a move.”

You groan once more, reminding yourself of the signs and signals you missed or accidentally dropped towards Lewis. “I have made a few moves…” Your voice thinning as you feel two pairs of eyes staring right at you.

“And I’m embarrassed to say that they also flew over Lewis’ head. So no, don’t ask me what I said, or did- just ignore what I said.” You rest your head down on the table, sad and moping.

Nico laughs at you, “Look at the state of you, hung over a boy.”

“He’s not just any boy Nico, gosh you’re acting like you moved on quickly from him- this is Lewis we’re talking about. Heck that was a semi-platonic relationship you had going on there, how am I supposed to cope with actually knowing that I can’t be in a romantic relationship with him?”

A gasp left your lips, hands shaking as your cover over them. Avoiding Nico’s gaze who was still laughing at you, despite your jab at his relationship with Nico and Alonso who took a sip from his cup of tea.

“So you admit it…”

Alonso broke the silence leaving you nodding to yourself.

“I actually- Fuck.”

[2023]

Lewis sits in silence, watching Nico squint his eyes from the other side of the table. “When was this?”

Gulping, Lewis didn’t think this far. He was ranting first, and then eventually spilling in some white lies in between before Nico filled in and connected the dots. He should’ve known Nico would catch on- Lewis is being too obvious. At least that’s what he thinks.

Sighing, Lewis mulled over his thoughts gathering his words before speaking it out into existence. The three words he’s been replaying over his head for the last two years- When did things get complicated?

“Two years ago? I thought about it far longer than I’ll admit. But I’ve recently come into terms with it…” Lewis nods his head, sitting in silence with Nico.

“And what happened? What’s different?”

Smiling to himself at the thought of you, Lewis goes through all the times you’ve managed to tug the tiniest of his heartstrings causing him to malfunction like the current state of their engine. It was pitiful, not just the team, but the state of his heart.

“I don’t even understand… Which makes me even more furious! How could she do that to me? I think about her all the time, she’s not even racing anymore. She’s nowhere near me, yet she’s all I think about, it’s driving me insane. And don’t get me started on whenever she’s actually on the paddock- I see her what? Once a month, I go to the F1 Academy races to get a glimpse of her. I'm such a loser. And her face! How could I not stop by and greet her, she’s always enthusiastic whenever I’m there- Not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty good company, and we are friends but God I wish she’d take in the signs I’m putting down. I like YN- too much at this point, I can’t believe it. And you! You’re laughing at my misery.”

Lewis raises his head, far too into his thoughts only realizing that Nico has been laughing at him for the past minute. His back flushed into the seat, legs crossed with arms resting on the table.

“At least one of us is enjoying this, because I’m a suffering loser, who can’t get a grip. She’s actually doing things to my mind. I’m acting crazy because of her.”

Nico bursts into laughter, “You’re- you have a lot to say about YN.”

Lewis scoffs, giving his friend a pointed look, “That’s all you have to say? Wow, I miss talking to you, but this- this is a personal attack towards me.”

Shaking his head, Nico wheezes at Lewis, “No, no, no… Think about it- look at you. It’s just funny to me, I remember when you first talked about her. You said, and I quote, “I will never like her as a teammate.” and you also compared her to me. Look at you now. I think it’s funny.”

Lewis shakes his head, disappointed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.”

“No- you’re not taking all that back. Go on- tell me more.”

Lewis raises his brows suspiciously, “What? So you can tease me?”

Nico raises his hands in surrender, “Hey if not me who else would listen to you talk on and on about YN?”

“I know Seb would listen to me without judgment, and maybe Charles…” Lewis lists the few people in and out the grid who are aware about his feelings towards YN.

Nico raises his brows laughing to himself, “Oh Lewis, you truly are living in your own bubble- you’re too good for yourself. Guess how I know what you’ve been talking to Seb about? Right, he calls me to check on you.”

Lewis pales at the realization, how Nico is somehow always available, how he calls on the right time.

“And Charles, who calls Seb, who calls me. Right Lewis, there’s three of us- and you’ll always end up with me if you don’t get your act right.”

lewishamilton

liked by nicorosberg, charles_leclerc, and 21,582,953 others

lewishamilton me when my crush finally noticed me...

view 1,648,592 comments...

user1 EXCUSE NE? WHAT HAPPENED TO HELLO AND HI?

user2 am i seeing this right?

user3 the power of yn

user4 why would you assume it's yn?

user5 i mean who else could get lewis to post like this?

user6 bro got 21 million people watching this confession

nicorosberg this is what you got from our conversation two years ago? embarrassing, even i can do better than this

sebastianvettel5 he's trying, leave him be

charles_leclerc is this what we've been waiting for the last four years? the bar is actually low

user7 what do you mean 4 years?

user8 HELP, they're actually implying that this is for YN

user9 there goes the lewyn fans going crazy it could be anyone 🙄

user10 can't a girl have their fun, jeez leave people alone

user11 it's embarrasing

user12 they're actually eating lewis up with this

nicorosberg this is your plan?

lewishamilton yeah, it's working is it not?

nicorosberg i don't think so man

charles_leclerc is she even on instagram?

lewishamilton ...

sebastianvettel5 for someone who has a crush on this person for the last 4 years i might add this is actually embarrassing behavior

user13 what is happening?

user14 i love this too much what the heck

user15 i know they're grilling him in the messages

user16 another one for the history books 😤✍️🔥🔥🔥

user17 it's blow after blow for hamilton

user18 he's a loser in love actually, does it make you stupid?

lewishamilton i don't care if i look stupid i want her to see this

amgf ahahahahaha the end! uhm... enjoy 👍 this actually had me giggling and shit wtf, maybe it's lewis maybe it's the fluff but /sighs/ the lore i can add to this fic... just you wait 😤

[leona-hawthorne]

for military what if he was off on a mission for a long time and he finally comes back home to you and its just so so so sweet?? like reader would just be showering him in affection and trying to reassure him and he’s just physically clinging onto reader like a sloth

⊹ ࣪ ˖ military!mattheo coming home after a long mission

warnings ; fem!reader, fluff, kissing

₊⊹ navigation ; military!mattheo ; him and reader ; au’s ; m.list

the front door barely creaks open before he’s there, dropping his duffle bag with a dull thud, boots kicking it aside as he stumbles forward like a man possessed.

“baby.”

it’s barely a word, barely even a whisper, but you hear it—feel it, like the weight of him crashing into you the second you step closer. his arms wrap around you so tight it knocks the breath from your lungs, his entire frame pressed against you, clinging to you like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go. his face is buried in your neck, and you can feel how deep he’s breathing, like he’s trying to pull you into his lungs, into his bloodstream, like he needs you to live.

“you’re home,” you murmur against his shoulder, your fingers threading through his grown-out curls, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. “i missed you so much, matty.”

he doesn’t say anything. just shakes his head, his grip tightening, his hands pressing harder against your back like he can somehow fuse you together. his uniform smells like gunpowder and earth, but beneath it—beneath the months of distance and longing—you can still smell him.

“let me see you,” you whisper, gently nudging at his jaw until he lifts his head, his tired brown eyes drinking you in. his face is rough with stubble, his skin sunburned in places, lips chapped. he looks exhausted. he looks beautiful.

“you look so good, baby,” you tell him, smoothing your hands over his cheeks, fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the scar near his temple that wasn’t there before. his eyelids flutter shut when you kiss it, when you whisper, “my perfect boy.”

his breath shudders out of him, and when he opens his eyes again, there’s something glassy about them. something raw. “god, i—” his voice cracks, and he shakes his head again like he’s trying to physically shove the emotions back down. he’s always been like this. never letting himself feel too much, never letting the world see when it gets to him. but you know. you always know.

“it’s okay,” you murmur, lips brushing against his. “you’re okay.”

he exhales sharply through his nose, a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and before you can say anything else, he’s kissing you. hard. desperate. his hands are everywhere—tangling in your hair, sliding down your back, gripping your waist like you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

“missed you so fucking much,” he breathes against your lips, forehead pressing against yours, his thumb stroking over your cheek like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“i know,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through his curls, pressing soft, soothing kisses to his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “i’m here, matty. i’ve got you.”

he lets out another breath, shaky and uneven, and when you take his hand and guide him toward the couch, he follows without hesitation. the second you sit down, he’s on you—practically in your lap, arms wrapped around your waist, head tucked beneath your chin like a fucking sloth.

“matty,” you giggle, running your fingers through his curls, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“shut up,” he grumbles, burrowing closer, his arms locking around you tighter. “just lemme hold you.”

“not going anywhere, baby,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, his temple, his cheek. “i’ve got you.”

he sighs against your skin, and after a long moment, you feel his entire body relax, all the tension melting from his muscles, his weight completely pressing into you.

“yeah,” he breathes. “yeah, you do.”

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[eggyrocks]

SICK: KUROO T.

tags/warnings: kuroo x f!reader, coworkers to lovers, new year’s party, throwing up, drinking/alcohol, reader is throwing up from being too drunk that’s basically the plot, it's a little gross

word count: 1.1k

Through the thin walls of the bar’s bathroom, she can vaguely hear the cheers of the crowd, and she can only assume that the clock has hit midnight. It’s the new year, and she’s face down in a toilet, spitting up green tea shots. 

The noise of the crowd fades, and the music gets turned up. But it’s harder to hear now, because she’s heaving and coughing, body desperately trying to expel all the poison she filled her body with, up until about twenty minutes ago. 

There’s a large hand holding up her hair. Because the physical pain of puking in a sticky bar bathroom isn’t enough, she has to endure the humiliation of doing it in front of Kuroo Tetsurou. 

When Kuroo had asked her if she wanted to accompany him to this New Year’s party that his friend was hosting, she didn’t hear him, because she was too focused on the way his hand tugged at the knot of his tie, yanking it away from his neck. When he asked her again, her face got hot and the blood whipped around in her body so fast she thought she might pass out. Naively, she had assumed that after months of festering a fat, blistering crush on her coworker, she would finally have an opportunity to look desirable in front of him. 

She didn’t account for the fact that, out of nervousness, she would compulsively order shots and drink them like water, leaving her with blurry vision and a swayed step before Kuroo even finished his first beer.

When the bile first started working it’s way up her throat, she had tried to excuse herself quietly, without much commotion. But because Kuroo is fucking perfect, and has to be a gentlemen, he followed her to the single-stall bathroom, water bottle in hand. 

A hiccup pops out of her, and she slumps. Her stomach feels almost empty now. And the worst part of it is, the puking killed her buzz, and now she has to face Kuroo that much more sober. With her face still pointed down, and a bit of spit dripping from her chin, she says, “Please don’t get me fired over this.” 

Kuroo laughs, and his hand releases her hair, and travels down her back, spreading out between her shoulder blades. His thumb draws circles over her shirt. “I blew chunks at the office Christmas party, so, y’know, mutually assured destruction.” 

She chuckles, and then regrets it when she thinks she’s going to throw up again. She holds her breath, but nothing comes up. It’s a false alarm. 

“C’mon,” Kuroo urges, and uses his thumb to tap on her back. “You should sit up, have some water.” 

She doesn’t want to. She’s not sure she can look Kuroo in the eye, but she can’t live in the toilet bowl forever, so she lifts her head, and whips off the corner of her chin with the back of her sleeve. His hand slips off of her and settles back into his lap. Her eyes dodge his, and instead they linger on the floor between them. 

His long legs are folded as he sits on the floor, and his knees brush against hers. Kuroo grabs a plastic water bottle, and holds it in her direction. “You should drink.” 

Without any protest, she grabs the bottle and it crinkles under her grip. She uncaps it and swishes water around in her mouth, spitting it out back into the bowl before she takes a good, proper gulp. Once she’s done, she caps it again. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Kuroo replies easily. Neither one of them makes a move to leave. 

“I’m really sorry,” she says. “I know you didn’t want to spend New Year’s with your puking coworker on the bathroom floor.” 

Kuroo smirks. “See, that’s what you would think. But I’ve actually been hoping for this outcome. This is actually really lucky for me.”

Her body is exhausted from the drinking and the puking, but it still somehow finds enough energy to get nervous over this. Her spine straightens out. “Why, you have some weird fetish or something?” 

And Kuroo laughs, but she groans, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave her mouth. She’s still operating off the whiskey in her body. “Ugh,” she bemoans, “don’t get me fired for that either.” 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a fetish,” Kuroo tells her. “I’m just happy to be alone with you. I can deal with the puking if it means getting away from the crowd.” 

Her face gets hot again. Her whole body gets hot, and her ears start to buzz. “Well, maybe next time you want to be alone, you can be the one throwing up, and I’ll be the cool one with the water bottle.” 

Kuroo nods, and she can almost swear that there’s a tinge of red to his cheeks. “Okay, next time I’ll drink all the green tea shots. Then we’ll be even.” 

She smiles. Her stomach has stopped rolling, but it’s oddly comfortable on the bathroom floor, sitting cross-legged across from Kuroo. And even though her throat is burning and her head is throbbing, she’s content, sitting there with him. She doesn’t want to get up, and she wants him to feel the same. “Do you want to go back out there?” she asks softly, voice hoarse. 

“Nah,” Kuroo replies. “The party kind of sucks.” 

“Maybe you’re not drunk enough,” she rebuttals. “Seemed great to me.” 

Kuroo shrugs. “To be honest with you, I didn’t really wanna come out tonight. The only reason I did was because you said you’d come with me.” 

She swallows thickly, and now she feels dizzy again. “Really?” 

“Yeah. If you had said no, I wouldn’t have come. But you said yes, and I thought that maybe you’d let me kiss you at midnight.” 

She throws up again. 

It comes quickly, and she coughs it up as fast as she can, not sure if it’s from still from the alcohol or now it’s the nerves or it’s some awful combination of both. When her stomach’s emptied again, she sits up so quickly there’s black spots in her vision. “What?” she pants. 

Kuroo looks at her with wide, amazed eyes. “Y’know, that’s the first time someone’s thrown up at the idea of kissing me.” 

“I’d kiss you,” she rushes out. “If I wasn’t puking, I’d kiss you.”

For a moment, Kuroo studies her. His eyes trail over her face and down to her chest that rises and falls with each breath. “Are you sure you’re not just drunk?” 

She nods, almost too eagerly, but she can attribute that to being too drunk. “I’ve wanted to for so long.” 

Kuroo leans forward, and his hand raises to gently cup her cheek. His skin is pleasantly cool, and she leans into his touch, enjoying the way it cools her hot, clammy skin. “Well, let’s get you home, then,” Kuroo whispers, “so you can brush your teeth.”

an: this was stupid lmafo

[nevarrhoe]

mea culpa (m.m) - 3

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut, angst, swearing, fem! reader

masterlist

(anyone caught interacting w/ out their age in their bio will be blocked)

Part of you was a little nervous to hang out with Matthew. 

You had undeniable chemistry. Undeniable. It was like a fucking nuclear bomb, in fact. But that was in the bedroom, miles away from the real world and in a place where talking - at least the conversational kind - was far and few. All the factors that made you different - age and money and social standing - made things hotter in that sense. It was frowned upon, even forbidden, and you craved it like an addict. Craved him like an addict; the rush, the highs, the feeling of his hand around your throat. 

In real life, though, you were the District Attorney’s rich daughter, fresh out of law-school and Matt Murdock was a small-time lawyer in his mid-thirties. Those things weren’t meant to be compatible; not when your outfits alone were three times his rent and his life experiences made you look fucking juvenile. You weren’t meant to understand his lifestyle. He wasn’t meant to understand yours. And yet, you both begged to try and wrap your head around one another. 

You knocked on his door at exactly 9:15PM; late, but fashionably so. Especially when you had been raised to think that you were always on time, and that everyone else was simply early. Matt had told you to dress comfortably - maybe you had different definitions of that, but you’d tried. Your oversized jumper was Versace but it was casual. It was also the cheapest thing you had in your wardrobe, but somehow still worth more than the average person’s college tuition. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Matt met you with a smile. He looked different out of his work suits, but still charming in a tight shirt and sweatpants. No complaints on your part. 

“Hey,” you replied, following him inside his apartment. “I’m dressed casual, so what are our plans?”

He wrapped a large hand around your wrist and led you to the sofa. “Chinese takeout, since I sort of duped you out of it the other day at lunch-time.”

You dropped onto the couch opposite him; Matt kept a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles as he reached to the coffee table and handed you a menu. The prices were a tenth of what you usually paid at your upscale places - most of them required reservations months in advance, and cost a small fortune for a tiny fucking plate. Your food bill was normally hundreds of dollars alone. 

“You did trick me,” you smiled. “What do you recommend?”

“The kung-pao chicken is good,” he replied. “I have this place on speed-dial. It’s the best restaurant to go to when it’s 3AM and I’m neck deep in a case.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” you said. “When I was doing my finals at Harvard, I would order take-out every night.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “You went to Harvard?”

“Yeah, and I graduated Summa Cum Laude,” you explained. “What? You weren’t expecting that?”

“Honestly? I wasn’t,” he said. “I mean…I assumed you must have had some kind of legal background, with your dad and everything, but graduating Harvard with honours takes…”

He trailed off, pausing. 

“Hard work?” you offered. 

Matt grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Charming, Matthew. Real fucking charming,” you snorted. “You know you sound like every other man I’ve ever met, right?”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he gave your leg a squeeze. “You just continue to surprise me is all.”

You sighed, giving him a small smile. “I know I seem like a spoiled little rich girl to you - maybe I am, but I did study my ass for my degree and one day, I’m gonna put it to good use.”

This. This is exactly what you were about: Matt had probably worked a thousand times harder than you for his career. You figured he didn’t come from money - not in a bad way, just in a way that meant he was normal to some degree. His future wasn’t guaranteed like yours. There was no nepotism or family money for him to fall back on so of course he was going to see things differently to you. Everyone did. You didn’t care what anyone else thought most of the time, and you could safely say there were only two people in the world whose opinion mattered right then: your father’s, and for some reason, Matt Murdock’s. 

God, you hoped that Frued wasn’t right. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Matt said. “What about everything before that?”

“What do you mean by everything?”

“I mean everything,” he shot back. “I wanna know about you.”

You smiled. “Okay. I’m the youngest of three; my older sister is married to some guy who’s like 500th in line to the British throne, and my brother is on a party boat in Mexico right now with his boyfriend and Kendall Jenner. My dad’s family earned a fuck ton from oil in the early 1900s and my great, great grandad once tried to fight John D. Rockefeller.”

Matt snorted. “Who won?”

“Think about it, Matt - who has their own skyscraper?”

“Not your own grandad, I’m assuming.”

“Exactly,” you replied. “That’s all the interesting stuff. All the other stuff is kind of boring-”

“- it’s not,” he cut you off. “What about now? Do you also try to fight billionaires?”

“Not fist fights.  I once got into an argument with Anna Delvey at a banquet because we both wore the same outfit,,” you said with a grin. “Honestly, though? I probably just do everything you think a rich girl does. I eat, I drink, and I tell people that someday I’m gonna make a change.”

“What’s stopping you?”

You shrugged. “I got my law degree because I wanted to help people, like Nelson and Murdock do. But that means taking the stand against my father and things get complicated, you know? It’s a big risk to take if I want to stay good with my family.”

Matt pondered for a second - his initial thought was to call you out for choosing a corrupt man like your father over justice. Then he thought about what his own father meant to him. Jack Murdock likely had strikingly different morals to your dad but wasn’t that the common denominator? He was your dad. Matt would have given up everything he had in the world to get his back, if even for just a second. There was so much he never got to say; so much he never got to do. And for that, he couldn’t blame you for choosing family over making a difference. 

“Yeah, I get that,” he replied. “Where did you study before Harvard?”

“Guess,” you said. “It’s not hard.”

“Cambridge?”

“No,” you dropped your head into your hands, letting out a small groan. “Oxford.”

“Ah, of course - how could I be so stupid?” Matt grinned. “I’ve heard England is nice, though.”

“It’s not New York,” you shot back. “That’s enough about me. Tell me about you, Matthew Murdock.”

He paused for a second. “We have lived very different lives.”

“And I want to hear about it.”

“Are you sure? I was happy listening to you-”

“- Matthew, are you deflecting?” your tone was joking, but your actions were gentle as you took his face in your hands. “There’s no pressure to share but don’t avoid it because you think I don’t want to listen.”

“Okay,” he smiled. “It was just me and my dad, growing up. He was a boxer so things were a little tight but we got by. He died about a year after I lost sight and then I, uh, I grew up in an orphanage.”

“Wow,”  you murmured. “That’s a lotta history in not many words.”

Matt shrugged. “That’s the abbreviated version, I suppose.”

“What was your dad like?” you asked. 

“He was my best friend. I know I was probably biased because I was nine but he was the best guy in the world,” he continued. You couldn’t help but notice the way he smiled when he spoke about him. “It was always just me and him. We had very little money and the worst apartment on the block but we also had each other, you know? That was all that mattered.”

He’d said you know? but truthfully, you didn’t. Maybe your father had money and riches and had given you all the material things you could need, but you weren’t sure he’d ever loved you. The man had certainly never said it. Your entire childhood was nannies and boarding schools and the amounting pressure to give your parents more in a world where they already had everything. Perhaps they’d loved you in their own way, but it hadn’t been enough. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Matt gently asked. 

“Yeah, it’s just…your dad sounds amazing,” you replied. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

“I made my peace with it a long time ago,” he said. “I am who I am today because of him and I’m forever grateful for that.”

Then more than ever, you realised just how fucking incompatible your lives were. You’d had the audacity to complain about your parents not showing enough affection when people had actual, real problems. And Matt, a man who was no stranger to those actual, real problems, acted like they were nothing. Like losing his dad and his sight in the space of two years was something casual and flippant. 

You should have gotten up at that point and left. Told Matt that it had been a nice week of fucking and chatting, but now you had to go. You back to your world, and him back to his. Worlds that were supposed to stay separate, and not collide right here on his couch. 

The key word there was should have because like fuck did you get up in leave. Right in front of you was a beautiful man with a complicated past and crystal clear morals and leaving him was a Herculean task. Some part of you wished that he’d been an asshole - at least then you could have set the boundaries at just fucking, and no talking. 

You didn’t half ass things though. Maybe that was a good enough excuse to get emotionally involved. 

“You’re deep in thought,” Matt commented. “Wanna share with the class?”

“We’re so different, Matt,” you said. 

“I had noticed that, funnily enough.”

“No, I’m serious,” you said. “You’re a person with like���actual substance. And if you were a vigilante or something? You’d have a killer backstory.” 

He laughed nervously. “I guess so.”

“I get why you want to sleep with me, I’ll admit that,” you continued. “I just don’t get why you actually want to talk to a girl whose main personality trait is an American Express card.”

Matt didn’t say anything - instead, he pondered for a moment. You made a fair point; you couldn’t have been more different if you tried. Still, he was drawn to you the same way you were drawn to him. It had started with just an exciting fling but the more you spoke, the more it got him thinking. 

“You’re right,” he said. “You are a spoiled little rich girl, but you’re also smart, and funny, and…I don’t know. Every time I talk to you, you surprise me.”

–

You had to leave Matt’s early the next day.

Even though you didn’t work for your father, you still ran the occasional errand for him. It was obvious what his intentions were every time he introduced you to every judge and partner he saw in passing: daddy dearest wanted you to have in on the family law business. If only he knew that the singular reason you bothered helping him with the occasional legal job was for your own sanity. You had to be productive every now and then. 

After slipping out of Matt’s bed around 7AM with a soft kiss, you’d crept back home and gotten changed into something a little more…formal. Black and Chanel was always the way to go, with your red-soled heels and a little more concealer than usual to cover up the hickey on your jawline. 

Tired felt like an understatement. You’d stayed up talking til some stupid hour; your food had gotten cold and by the time you were done chatting, you were distracted by other things. 

You couldn’t help smiling, despite your exhaustion. Any worry you'd had before about Matt - about your age, or social standing, or anything - had gone. There was something there. Something good. You might as well have been the only two people in the world when you were alone together. 

“Once you’ve run the witness statements by Rand’s office, I need you to come back to my office and go over some testimonies for me,” your father was droning on and on. “Nothing too complicated, so you don’t need to worry-”

“- I passed the same bar as you, father,” you cut him off, tearing the papers from his hands. “What am I doing before that? Rand isn’t around ‘til midday.”

“I need you to sit in on a meeting with the defense attorney on the Althorpe case,” he explained. “Again, nothing too hard for you. We just need to reiterate what their point of law will be for their defense and - ah, here he is now!” 

Your dad grabbed your arm and pulled you to the court waiting area. 

“Mr Murdock!” he called. 

What were the chances? What were the fucking chances? 

Matt looked equally as surprised as you. He’d mentioned the night before that he had an early meeting but surely he would have mentioned if it was with your dad. You’d both made an unspoken point to not bring up work too much but it seemed like a huge fucking detail to skip over. 

“Good morning,” Matt gave him a tentative smile. “Sorry if I’m mistaken, but I thought I was meeting with the assistant district attorney-”

“- something came up,” your father cut him off. Gross. “Have you met my daughter? She’s a representative for my office and will be meeting with you this morning.”

“Uh, no, we haven’t met,” you quickly said, pulling Matt into an awkward handshake. They were warm and familiar. “It’s nice to meet you…sorry. What was your name?”

Matt bit his lip in an attempt to hide a smile. “Matthew Murdock, ma’am. Just Matt is mine.”

After exchanging a quick goodbye with your father, you both headed down the corridor and into your assigned meeting room. It was a box room, with a simple chair and table in the middle; grey walls, grey floor, grey roof. A perfect metaphor for the entire legal profession, it seemed. 

If you’d been exhausted before, you didn’t know what you were now. New York City was small at the best of times but that only increased tenfold when you limited it down to a courthouse. How many times had you and Matt breezed past one another before now? How many times would it happen again in future? Were you just meant to act…casual? Because acting like the perfectly respectable man right in front of you hadn’t had his hand wrapped around your throat less than twelve hours ago was difficult. 

“A representative for your father’s office, huh?” Matt teased you, tossing aside his cane as he took a seat. “You told me you avoided his work-”

“- I do!” you cut him off. “Generally speaking, at least. He just needed some help with stuff and I agreed. It’s no big deal. I’m literally just here as a formality.”

“Your acting was impeccable, by the way,” he chided. You could tell he was fully relaxed now, a smile on his face and broad arms folded over his chest. His morning had just become a thousand times better at least. “I don’t think he suspects a single thing.”

You let out a sigh, taking the seat opposite him. “He can’t. It’s over for both of us if he works anything out.”

“Hey,” Matt reached a hand across the table, taking yours. “He won’t.”

“This is very…grounding,” you muttered. 

“Grounding how?”

“Because it just goes to show how fucking small the world is!” you groaned. “We’re going to be running into each other a lot. How are we meant to act when we see one another?”

“If I see you then I would be very concerned. I am blind, after all.”

“Matt, I’m serious. This is serious,” you huffed. “We need to lay out some ground rules.”

He ran a hand over the back of your palm and gave it a squeeze. “The we that we both like only has to exist where we want it to.”

“Your apartment,” you said. “I like your apartment.”

“Okay, fine,” he gave you a smile. “My apartment is our safe space and in the court house, we are strangers.”

“Yeah, strangers,” you nodded. “Unless we find like a closet, or something-”

“- I am not going to fuck you in a court room closet,” Matt lightly whacked your hand. 

“Fine,” you grumbled. “You do realise we actually have to do work now and you have to sign off on these witness statements, right?”

“Right,” he nodded. “Just two strangers, doing some work.”

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY MONTHLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

The fics I’ve read and enjoyed for the month of January. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

He has never argued with a punishment, not since he was a toddler, if then. Surely she’ll listen, surely she’ll see this is too harsh, that he wouldn’t be disrespecting her like this if he was simply sulking over not getting his way. He needs that food, needs to be able to eat enough if he wants to be Robin.

He’s been hungry before, but back then, it never mattered if he was a little weak or dizzy. It never risked his life or the life of his partner when he was a kid.

She turns, sighing softly and pursing her lips. She reaches out to pat his cheek, and for a moment his heart soars hopefully, and he barely restrains himself from leaning into the rare bit of contact and soaking up his mother’s touch. “Oh, Timothy,” she tuts. “This is for the best. And honestly, I think it’s wise for you to cut down a bit on the snacks. I’d hate to have to listen to anyone tittering at the next gala that you’re getting chubby.”

And without another backwards glance, she turns and heads upstairs, leaving Tim alone and frozen at the bottom of the steps.

Day 6 - TOUCH AND GO bruises | touch starved | hunger

Screaming In The Dark (While We All Play Our Part) by WakingNightmares

The boy makes a choked off noise, but slowly, with trembling hands, he pulls the hood of his hoodie down. “I… I… I’m… Robin.”

Immediately, Oliver steps back, pulling the knife out of his bathrobe pocket.

Robin. There’s no way this boy is Robin. Logically, Oliver knows that ‘Robin’, protege to the greatest serial killer in American history, is young, but there’s been sightings of the boy for over a decade. The young man standing in front of him is Roy’s age. Robin, with over thirty suspected kills of his own, can’t be this scared, frightened looking thing standing in front of him.

Dick's kept his promise, and finally escaped with his brothers. Now he just has to figure out what comes next.

Cats and Communication by InkpotSprite

Damian wants to befriend Tim, but after their difficult start, Tim is more guarded than ever.

Then Dick says something that changes everything.

"Treat him like an abused cat."

And Damian does.

Clone Wars

one step back and to the left by sithlordbinks

Cody’s mouth is dry, words stuck in his mind. Which perhaps is a good thing considering in response to I think I may have you, all Cody’s brain is providing him is please do.

And it’s then, Cody realizes, that with the most inconvenient, embarrassing, unprofessional timing ever, he’s hard.

Kriff. Fucking kriff.

or: cody thinks he's doing Real Great at the friends with benefits thing with his general. spoiler: he is not…and somehow this saves the entire galaxy

The Hunger Games

17 Last Words from Hunger Games Tributes That Are STILL Echoing In Our Heads. Yes, Still. by ghostwriterofthemachine

It’s the most wonderful time of the year! We can’t wait until we can say Happy Hunger Games in earnest (only another month!), but in the meantime, we are celebrating the best moment of Games from years past. Make sure you also check out our list of the most iconic final showdowns and our favorite post-victory moments. What’s on the plate for today? Glad you asked! The Games are all about triumph, but they’re also all about tragedy (which makes those victories even sweeter). Today, we’re looking at 17 final moments from Tributes that we are still thinking about. To make it harder for ourselves, we could only pick one from each Games (so if your favorite didn’t make the cut, that could be why!). Some made us scream, some made us cry, and a few even made us laugh (you’ll see!). Read on! 

A listicle from Capitol Buzzfeed.

SVSSS

FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: On My Time as a Student Under Shen Qingqiu by Margo_Kim

On the desk in between Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu was a printout of the email. Shen Qingqiu refused to look at it. If he tried very hard, he could pretend it wasn’t there. When the email had hit his inbox this morning, Shen Qingqiu had read it and reread enough to have it memorized, as he tried to comprehend the meaning of these words arranged in this order. The second that comprehension dawned upon him, he’d deleted the email then promptly tried to forget everything about it.

He wasn’t being very successful on that front.

The message, written with the extraordinary eloquence that Shen Qingqiu knew Luo Binghe was capable of, had been sent en masse to the entire faculty and student body. It stated two main points. Firstly, that Luo Binghe attested that Shen Qingqiu had never slept with, assaulted, molested, groomed, or was in any way inappropriate to him during his time at Cang Qiong Academy (thanks for the endorsement, Binghe!!). Secondly, that Luo Binghe was announcing this because he intended to marry Shen Qingqiu and did not want even the whisper of false impropriety to stain his Shizun’s name. 

Original Works

Inheritance by Juna_R

Rulin discovers the house his cousin had left him came with three magical “dependants”. And they haven’t been fed since the day of the funeral.

[mcondance]

lovely

“You say things with your mouth, cobwebs and flies come out / I hear a second voice behind your tongue somehow / Luckily, I can read your mind, flies and cobwebs unwind / They will not take you down, They will not cast you out”

Or, you’re fine. And whatever other words hide behind those four letters. Spencer sees what a piece of you wants to hide from him.

notes fluff (mcondance writes fluff??) but still MDNI, reader is neurodivergent this is for my baby girls (audhd spencer reid kissers), inspired by those lyrics from lovely by twenty øne piløts, do not listen while you read. this is what having a dual tøp-spencer reid era does to a writer. gif from pinterest. also guys please i’ve been experimenting with layouts for my works for like… months now if this layout is ugly just ignore it please please. mcondance capitalizes ?!

word count 1.1k+ (closer to 1.2k hello i am proud)

You lie still on your back in the middle of the bed as you watch Spencer close the door and set his cardigan down on the chair by the dresser. He floats through the dim room, momentarily lit up by the interludes of soft moonlight wafting through the windows. He takes his place beside the bed. Your music pauses.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

“I’m fine.”

You’re lying. Spencer knows you’re lying; it wouldn’t take a genius to deduce that. It’s in your voice, most obviously. But it’s in the other details that only Spencer would notice, too. Not because he’s a genius, but because he’s your Spencer. 

The room is dark. Which wouldn’t be much of a problem, if you didn’t sound so bleak and tired when you spoke. You have your big headphones on, which, again, wouldn’t be so bad if you’d have pulled one back when he walked in, or even just told him that the song’s almost at the good part, and then after it hits you’ll take them off.

The room is bathed in moonlight. The moon, and your Spencer. Two shoulders for you to lean on. Three, actually, with the music you were just listening to. 

But all of the shoulders just aren’t enough to block out the bad feelings you’re having right now.

Overwhelmed. Sad. A little depressed. Whatever. 

“I don't think so, honey,” Spencer speaks softly from where he stands in a split of moonlight, hands in his pockets as he shrugs.

He glows in a silver streak. You sniffle. Fuck.

He allows silence to ensue, obviously giving you time to get your thoughts together. The bed dips to the left as he sits down beside you and props his leg up. A part of you wants to laugh at the common knowledge that if you had the will to look down you’d see an interesting sock and a Converse, but you don’t have the energy to do anything but what you’ve been doing since you let your playlist roll into its fifth run— lay down and alternate between staring out into the blackness of your room and the backs of your eyelids.

“It’s nothing,” you obfuscate. But it’s obviously not nothing.

Again, he lets his silence give you comfort instead of pushing you to talk. You take it gratefully, as it gives you the time you need to collect yourself and try to put words to what’s going on in your head and all under your skin.

You breathe in.

“I'm just… irritated.”

You breathe out.

A bit of weight lifts off of your chest at your short admission, but the elephant in the room continues to perch tall and proud on you, crushing you and leaving very little room for you to exist.

Still, Spencer is silent. The quiet puffs of his breath and the dip in the mattress are enough. Anything else would be too much, and he knows that. So he lets you lead him into the dark with you, he stays still and lets you guide him into the cavernous deep of all that you feel right now.

The fan whirs and cars pass outside the window. The stillness of the night almost laughs at the chaos ensuing in you.

Another breath, deeper this time as you gather the courage to try to express what it is you’re feeling.

“I don't know,” you blurt. “Everything's just too loud and my friends are all annoying and nothing on YouTube is interesting and I feel like I'm gonna explode and crumble all at the same time.” Those tears are bubbling up under the surface of your skin again and threatening to spill out of your eyes. 

And now that you’ve spoken and some of the tension in the air has dissipated, Spencer feels it’s appropriate for him to talk.

“It’s okay, baby. You’ve been working a lot lately without many breaks and now you’ve run out of steam, and that’s okay. It happens. You’re just burnt out.”

Horribly, his sweet words inflame a mean, hot part of you. You scoff, finding the strength to wipe a stray tear as it falls. Spencer knows you don’t mean it, that something up in your brain has just had enough and is now denying you of any feeling but solitary petrification.

Burnout. You hate that word. You wish it didn’t happen to you. You wish that you were normal and being stressed didn’t mean paralysis and staring at the ceiling like it’ll change and morph into an answer or a semblance of comfort. 

In the dark, you strain your eyes at his form. You can just barely make out the wisps of hair flying in all directions away from his face. His posture is terrible. You can tell he’s looking off to the side of you so you won’t feel overwhelmed under his eyes. Perhaps he was made for you.

The air softens, and you do too. The facade of anger slips away as quickly as it reared its ugly head. You take a shuddering breath and let your head fall towards him.

He moves closer and a beam of moonlight illuminates him as he takes you in with warmth etched onto the comfort of his face.

Something up in your brain has just had enough and is now denying you of any feeling but solitary petrification. 

Fortunately, Spencer won’t let that happen. 

How grateful you are for this man who won’t let you get the aloneness that some tired part of you craves. He’ll stick beside you and sit in silence for hours upon hours if it meant you wouldn’t feel alone. He has done that before. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

With him smiling softly at you even in your cocoon of darkness, that sweet quirk of his lips that is ever-present when he’s looking at you, you feel a little better. Now, he can touch you. Before that thought even registers, he reaches out for your knee and rests his hand there, rubbing his thumb up and down over your skin.

It doesn’t cross the line of overstimulation, and it doesn’t feel like not enough. It’s just enough. Spencer can read you as well as the surplus of books he reads daily. There’s no push to get up, to take your headphones off or turn the light on.

Spencer wants only for you to breathe, and to know that he is here. When he hears your breathing become easy again, and he feels just a bit more of the discord you’re swathed in slip off of you, he knows you know.

His hand on your knee won’t nurse you back to your functioning form. And it’s not what he’s striving to do. 

And as you look through the darkness into his moon-bathed eyes, you know you’ll have him here with you every step of the way, by some divine power that put him in your life. And that’s okay. You won’t be okay for a while, but you have him to lean on. You’ll always have him to lean on. You feel the love he has for you radiating off of him, pushing into your skin as he caresses it slowly.

Getting out of bed sometime later sounds a little easier, now.

[beloveds-embrace]

Heya Noon!! So recently I’ve been thinking nonstop about tf141 x special forces/venom! reader. Let me explain! Tf141 found the reader on a mission and the reader was an in progress experiment. Kinda like Hydra with Bucky if you like marvel. So they save the reader and they thought it was just going to be normal after that and somehow she gets added to the task force. And over the few months of bonding and missions they’ve had together the guys realized she would often talk to herself (to venom), eat much more than you could expect her body to be able to contain, etc. but pushed it off as nothing but when the guys get hurt on a mission the reader protects them and ends up letting venom come out. What do you think their reactions would be? Would they still like the reader? If you have time I love to see an imagine from your point of view with this idea!

Lots of love🫶

Enjoy!! <3

Maybe it’s routine extraction turned into an ambush. Trapped, surrounded, and outnumbered, and to top it all off Gaz is injured. All of them are, but his injury requires him to be pulled back to to take cover.

Your breaths came ragged, your heart pounding in you ears. The world slowed, each gunshot a distant echo. Then, you heard it- the familiar deep, guttural voice rumbling from within.

Let me help.

“No,” you hissed, eyes wide and wild. You felt it stirring, the dark entity that lived beneath her skin, the result of twisted experiments you barely survived. For months, you had kept it at bay, refusing to become a monster, to potentially hurt the ones who had saved you and given you your life back. But now…

Your gaze flicked to your team- yours- pinned down, bleeding, fighting for their lives. The choice was no longer yours.

Do it.

You closed your eyes, and when they reopened, they were no longer yours

Venom erupted from you body, a mass of writhing tendrils and razor-sharp fangs. You and Venom moved as one. Bullets bounced off your shifting form. Enemies screamed, weapons falling uselessly as they were lifted and tossed like ragdolls. Venom’s laughter echoed, a terrifying symphony of power and rage.

When the dust settled, the battlefield was silent. They stared, wide-eyed, weapons half-raised. Your body trembled, the monstrous form receding as you fell to your knees. Venom’s voice, now a whisper, coiled in your mind even as you begin to sob and heave.

You needed me.

You glanced at your team through teary eyes, fear and shame warring within you. Would they see you as an ally still- or a monster? John stepped forward first, his expression unreadable, and then he knelt down to drag you into his arms.

“I’m sorry- John, please, I’m so sorry. Don’t hate me, please-“

“We’ll talk about this later,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “We don’t hate you. We don’t. But for now, we need to leave. Though… thank you.”

The others nodded, their trust tentative but present, still there and none of them looking at you like you were a monster. Johnny even came to hold you instead of Price, patting your back gently and mumbling about how ‘fucking sick ya looked, bonnie’. You exhaled, relief mingling with exhaustion and leaning your weight against him.

Today, and hopefully for far longer, you will not be hated or seen as a monster. They will not abandon you.

[steddieas-shegoes]

a new bottom in town

for @steddieholidaydrabbles pop up event 'anniversary'

rated e | 902 words | cw: references to injury | tags: post-vecna, established relationship, top eddie munson, bottom steve harrington, anal sex

🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃🔃

“Can we try something new?” Steve asks as they finish eating the cheesecake Eddie brought home to celebrate their anniversary.

Six months may not seem like a lot to some, but for Steve and Eddie, it was a major milestone and they wanted to treat it as such. The first four months they spent together was mostly at the hospital while Eddie learned how to walk and talk and eat again.

“Sure, baby. What is it?” Eddie sets his fork down and leans forward so he’s in Steve’s space.

“Um. Could you…could you fuck me?”

Eddie’s heart stops.

Listen, it’s not that he doesn’t want to. If anything, he’s fantasized about doing just that for years.

But he’s still gaining muscle mass back in his legs and abs, and he doesn’t have the stamina he had before the bats took it with their teeth.

“Like…put my…”

“Yeah. I’d really…I’d like you to be inside me.”

Eddie’s not sure if he’s dreaming, but this feels like something right out of his best fantasy. He’s just a little hesitant because, well, he doesn’t want to be a disappointment. Their sex life is great as it is, and changing it up now, especially before Eddie’s back to full health, may put everything to a screeching halt.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to.” Steve continues when Eddie doesn’t answer. “I’m good with fucking you if you prefer that.”

“No! No, Stevie. I want to. Trust me.” Eddie gives a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m just not sure I can?”

Steve seems to realize what he’s worried about quickly, nodding like he understands. But after a few seconds, he’s smiling.

“I could ride you?”

Eddie’s definitely dead and somehow he got into heaven or hell is a lot nicer than people led him to believe.

“You would wanna ride my dick? Like, while I do nothing?” Eddie asks for clarification.

“I mean, I’m sure you could do something. But yeah. I could do most of the work,” Steve shrugs like this is not life-changing to Eddie.

“You want me inside of you that bad?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda all I’ve been thinking about for a while,” Steve flushes as he scoots his fork along his empty plate.

“And you think this is a gift for you?”

“It’s a gift for both of us.”

“Then let’s get upstairs, sweetheart.”

Steve’s head snaps up, his eyes bright with desire and excitement. “Really?”

“It’s not exactly a big ask of me to lay in bed and let you ride my dick, baby.”

Steve is out of the room before Eddie’s even up from his chair. Eddie laughs as he follows him, much slower, but finally able to go without the cane around the house. He doesn’t really mind it, but it’s nice to feel more independent without it for something like this.

By the time he’s in their room, Steve’s naked and pouring lube onto his fingers.

“Damn. Okay. Are we in a rush?” Eddie leans against the doorway and crosses his arms.

“I was gonna prep myself so you could watch.”

“Steve. Baby. Love of my life.” Eddie walks to the bed and sits down, crossing his legs and leaning his face in his hands. “This is the best gift you’ve ever given me. Continue.”

Steve flushes from his chest to his forehead and Eddie can’t get enough. He resists further interrupting him, though.

He watches Steve lean back against the pillows at an angle, teasing his own hole while Eddie barely bites back a moan. He’s been hard since he walked in the room and saw Steve’s bare ass in the bed, but now he can feel the urgency of needing to lose his clothes and get inside Steve.

Steve’s efficient and Eddie is definitely asking him about how he’s so good at opening himself up later, and within minutes, Steve’s begging for Eddie to lay down.

Eddie gets undressed as quickly as possible and finds a comfortable position against the headboard.

Steve straddles him, lines up his cock, and slides down before Eddie can even process what’s happening.

They moan together, long and loud.

“Fuck, is this how you feel when I’m inside you?” Steve gasps as he lifts himself and drops back down.

“Full? Hot? Tingly?” Steve nods. “Then, yes. Shit, Stevie, you’re so tight. It doesn’t hurt?”

“No, feels so good.” Steve’s head falls back as he finds a slow rhythm, still cautious as he stretches himself further.

Eddie’s hands rest on his hips, not helping, just holding.

“Wanna do this every night,” Steve groans as his pace picks up. “Forever. Can we?”

“Baby, if I wake up and this wasn’t a dream, we can do it whenever you want.”

“Touch me.” Steve demands, always so bossy even when he’s getting everything he wants. Eddie touches him because he will always do what Steve asks of him. “Fuck, faster. Yeah, like that.”

When they come less than a minute later, Steve collapses against Eddie, head on his shoulder and arms a deadweight by his sides.

“You okay?” Eddie asks as he rubs his back with one hand.

“So good.” Steve kissed his shoulder. “I’m the bottom now.”

Eddie cackles. “We can take turns.”

“80/20?”

“Okay. Let me get my strength back so I can fuck you properly and we’ll see if you still want that.”

Steve pulls back and smirks. “Where’s your cane?”

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER FOURTEEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch

warnings none! my girls are getting on the right track in this one.

kalena speakss 🪽! this chapter might be a little underwhelming for y’all but it’s so key for the ending of this story and allat!

July 2025 — Kia Forum, Inglewood, California 

I never imagined that singers— especially really fucking good ones— could be so terrible at singing happy birthday.

Backstage at Kia Forum I’m joined by none other than Destin Conrad and Victoria Monet, and multiple other members of my team, just minutes away from going out on stage.

I can hear the crowd and feel the rumble under my feet even though no one is out yet. 

“You guys do know my birthday isn’t until tomorrow, right?” I laugh when the singing comes to an end.

Destin drapes an arm over my shoulder, slightly bumping his hip against mine. “Yes, but it will be by the time we’re off stage.” He responds, squeezing my shoulder gently and leading me closer to that black stage. The instrumental of Unpredictable plays, and Destin is walking out to start his verse.

I shake off any nerves that reside on my mind and adjust the grip on the microphone in my hand.

There’s always a moment of clarity whenever I’m about to go on stage, like the feeling of being so loved by thousands of people is surreal. 

Footsteps grow increasingly louder behind me, I tug out my inner ear monitor to look over at who is behind me.

“Kea?” My eyebrows furrow and I gasp just slightly surprised. I knew she would be here, she made a big deal of explaining how Cameron, Paige, and herself would get comfortable in their suite and cheer for me the loudest of anyone in the arena.

So I fully expected her to be, well, in her suite. Not here.

“Listen—”

“I have to go—”

“I know, just listen. I know about Paige. She told me everything, and I'm not mad it’s just,” Rickea pauses with a sigh and I look at her pointedly, silently telling her to hurry it up before I miss my cue.

“You should hear her out. I know you’re hurting over it all, and rightfully so, but I know Paige. And I don’t think she’s ever been more regretful of something in her life.” She adds.

“Is she here?” I ask.

“No, she thought you didn’t want her here.”

It makes me frown. Because even now, after all the things I’ve said, or rather left unsaid, I still wish she was here. 

When she came and saw me the first time, I didn’t even know she was there and it sucked. It sucked because I was so desperately missing her. My mind was racing over thoughts of her and she wasn’t there. Somehow, knowing that she stayed home tonight hurts even more.

Knowing that Paige thought I’d rather have her at home than here, fucking hurts. I did that. I made her feel like that.

I didn’t think that it was possible to miss someone this bad. Paige had literally weaved her way into my life and in two months had me wrapped around her finger.

She should be here. No matter what. She said she would so she should’ve followed through. Why didn’t she follow through?

I reluctantly nod at Rickea’s words, hearing Destin’s voice echo through the building as my verse approaches. I look back and forth from my sound manager and herself, my words resting on my tongue, mouth slightly parted.

“I— I gotta go.” I murmur wrapping my hand tighter around my microphone and backing up towards the stage, and Rickea looks defeated. I can only imagine how many conversations about me she had to have had with Paige in order for her to tell me to speak to her.

“I will.” I called out. “I’ll talk to her, I mean.”

That’s all I say before beginning my verse, exiting to the stage and being greeted by the cheers of my sold out audience.

—

July 2025 — Two weeks ago

“Your birthday is coming up soon.” Paige mumbles into the air. 

We sit on her couch, my legs resting on her lap while we do nothing but talk. I didn’t want to go home even though I knew I should. After the entire argument I had with Julian earlier, my phone has been blowing up with texts and calls from him. I knew that if I were to go home, I’d be responding and giving him the exact response he’s wanting.

So instead I sit here, letting Paige rub up on my legs and tell me everything I want to hear. All too intimate for two people who aren’t supposed to be seeing each other.

“Yeah.” I respond, feeling goosebumps travel up my skin from the way her fingers play with the charm anklet by my foot.

“Why you say it like that? You ain’t excited?” She asks me, a chuckle tumbling past her lips.

“No, no! I am!” I smile. Her eyes on me are almost suffocating, I still can’t even find it in me to break the eye contact. “There’s a lot to be excited about. The show. Imma drive out to San Diego too.”

There’s a sly bite to Paige’s lip as she looks at me, taking in everything I tell her. “San Diego? Whatchu doin’ out there?” She asks.

“I used to spend my birthday with my grandma. She got this nice ass place in La Jolla.” I start, thinking about all the birthdays I got to spend in California before even moving here. “She passed away a few years back, so I try to stay at her place for my birthday weekend. It’s like she’s still here with me, y’know?” 

Paige frowns a bit, trailing her hand up my leg to squeeze at my calf. It’s comforting, saying all the words she has yet to.

“I’m sorry ‘bout that.” She says, her eyes softening just slightly.

I shrug. “Don’t be, it’s alright.” I slide my legs off of her lap and they drop to the floor. She looks at me almost disappointed that I’m no longer touching her. It’s late, past one o’clock, and the city is nearly asleep. We should be too. “You coming to the show?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, ma.”

That damned pet name is about to make me lose my mind. She knows exactly what she’s doing when she says it. The eye contact and lick of her lip, sometimes she smirks after and it turns me into a puddle every time. It’s almost more sensual than when she calls me ‘angel’. When she does that, I just feel warm inside. Giddy almost. She’s being a sweetheart. 

But when Paige fixes her lips and relaxes her jaw and opens her mouth to call me ‘ma’ it’s raunchy, and I can only imagine how it would sound when she's breathing all heavy. Whispering it in my ear, talking her shit to me in a way that would make me fall apart just for her. On her hands or mouth or literally anywhere.

“We should do sum. Like dinner after the show.” Paige suggests, voice sort of quiet. The sweet suggestion takes me out of my otherwise dirty thoughts. I can tell she’s been thinking about how to bring this up. Like she’s trying to get a feel of whether that would be too forward or not.

“So y’wanna take me on a date?” I smirk, watching the way her face flushes. We sit even closer to one another, my knee pressed up against her thigh as I sit on my haunches.

“I wanna do something nice for your birthday, actually.” She teases. “But if you wanna call it that, then sure. Lemme take you out then.”

I look at her incredulously, this was the same woman who just told me she didn’t want to be a home-wrecker, the same woman that swore she would give me space and time to figure my shit out. Yet here she is, with the bite of her lip and eye contact that makes me feel naked. The words fell from her tongue so sultry, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I was blushing so bad that I was pink.

“Stop it.” I laugh, pointing at her with a squint of my eyes.

“Y’ont wanna go out wimme? I thought I was doin’ a great job at being all charming and shit.” Paige leans into me, her head just slightly angled as she bores into my eyes. “I think you and me would have a great night at dinner.”

“I think you are very bold.”

“I think you should kiss me.”

It shuts me up, and I freeze and look at her like she has three heads. Paige, however, looks very proud of herself. Smug, even.

“You’re crazy.” I mutter, sitting up from my spot on her couch to trot towards the door. She follows me instantly, her laugh echoing in my ear. Paige grips my wrist, pulling me to her until my back is pressed against her chest and her arms are wrapped tight around my waist.

“C’mon I’m just kidding.” She mumbles.

“No you’re not!” I laugh, attempting to get her off my back, but really really I don’t want her to move. I like this feeling of Paige all on me like this. Her body is warm, breath fanning my neck.

“Okay, just one last kiss.” Paige turns me around in her embrace. I always forget how tall she is, because most of the time we’re just close enough where it feels eye to eye.

But she towers over me right now, Calvin Klein scent traveling down to my nose, blonde hair tickling her tanned skin. She’s stunning. Gorgeous in a way that I’ve never seen before. 

“Just one, before you go.”

“Are you begging me?”

“Will it make you kiss me if I say yes?”

I roll my eyes, but it doesn’t stop me. I’m instantly reaching for her face, cupping her cheeks in my hands and angling my head towards hers. She kissed me slowly, lips barely even moving against my own as she grabbed my hips.

I don’t think I want this to end, if I could spend the rest of my life kissing her I think I’d be happy. 

“—Good kisser.” Paige groans against me.

I pull back from her sucking on my bottom lip which is now wet from her saliva. “Whatchu say?”

“Said you’re a good kisser, ma.” She repeats. Her thumb traces over my bottom lip. “You break up with what’s his name, and we can do a lot more of that.” Paige shrugs, moving in and kissing me again. It's even shorter, something I could barely consider a peck.

But I’d be a fool to stop her.

—

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California 

Only I would be distracted by Maraye while she isn’t even in the room.

My flight to Indiana is in the morning and I should be packing the clothes that surround me where I sit on the floor. But I can’t tear my eyes away from my TV, the Amazon Prime replay of her birthday bash playing on my screen.

She looked incredible last night. A long crystallized black dress was what she wore first. Then some baggy jeans and a vintage Atlanta Falcons jersey that was tucked just right where I could catch a glimpse of a new tattoo on her rib. The camera can barely make it out, but I saw it and it was occupying a spot in my brain all night.

I shouldn’t be here. I mean sure, I should be packed and ready to go for the weekend. But I shouldn’t be sitting on the floor like an idiot.

I should be at some fancy restaurant, Maraye sitting across from me in some pretty dress with that fucking lip combo she wears that makes me forget my name. 

It’s her birthday for God’s sake, I should be wishing her a happy birthday and telling her how fucking important she is in my life. I texted her earlier today, first thing when I woke up actually. Just like my other texts, it went unread and unanswered.

I reach for the rest of my clothes on the floor, packing jeans and shorts and shirts into my suitcase haphazardly. It was hard to focus when I could hear her singing in the background. 

SOS. The first song I ever heard of hers, the song that is probably to blame for what became an obsession with her. She sounds just as perfect as she did then. Maybe even more. But I'm not sure if that’s because she’s gotten even better as a musician or if it’s because I’m so embarrassingly down bad that the slightest change in tone makes me think that.

Probably both.

I can feel my phone vibrate against the carpet, my lock screen, or rather the bible verse written on it flashes bright. John 13:7.

I see her contact name almost as bright.

It’s been what feels like forever since she’s texted or called me. Even longer than when I saw her at the gala. My mind short circuits and I haven’t even opened it yet.

When I do, I feel like I can breathe again. It’s minor, not an emoji or exclamation mark in sight but it still makes me feel like everything is right again. 

Happy birthday angel, missin you extra today sent 7:02am

thanks sent 6:12pm

That’s it. Thanks. But it’s something, something that lets me know she knows I exist. That’s all I can really ask for right now.

i miss you

can we talk soon? i know you’re busy with all star stuff but whenever ur ready, i am too sent 6:15pm

That one I didn’t expect. Not in the slightest.

But I smile anyway, staring at my phone like a fucking high school girl with a crush.

i miss you too

i’m free rn, i’ll come over just say the word  read 6:16pm

maraye 🫀 started sharing location 6:16pm

When I click her location I nearly scoff. La Jolla, San Diego. Over 2 hours away. I’d be crazy to get in my car, and drive out there when I have a flight at four in the morning. When I have clothes that still need to be paired together and shoes that need to be picked and toiletries to be packed.

I’d be crazy to drive to San Diego to see her when I don’t know what she wants to say. She could tell me she doesn’t want shit to do with me.

But then there’s that other possibility. The one where she could tell me she wants me, needs me, loves me. I think the fact that there is a chance, no matter how slim, that she could forgive me and that I can fix this means more than everything else.

So I’d be crazy not to go. Right?

—

July 2025 — San Diego, California 

I’m crazy.

I know she’s leaving, maybe tonight, probably in the morning. And I am too. A flight to Indy is waiting for me tomorrow morning. I shouldn’t distract her before the biggest weekend of her life with this. With something that could’ve been fixed forever ago if I just let her speak.

I was going to let the silence go for the rest of the weekend. Talk to her when we get back, maybe even after the game.

Then Rickea got to me, and Paige was texting me happy birthday, and then I saw them.

Texts that started with long paragraphs, apologies that then I would’ve called phony or weak. They dwindled from those long thought out messages to short ones. A few sentences that turned into a few words. 

But they never stopped. She never stopped texting. 

So now, when I read them, I know she was serious. I know she was sorry.

I know that when she texts me, saying she stayed up at night thinking of me, or that she funnily enough thought she was playing terrible without my live texts— she meant it. All of it.

I’m otw

Traffic is shitty but I’m coming

Stay up for me?

Omg I just triple texted like an idiot.. ignore all that sent 8:00pm

i’m waiting :) read 8:01pm

That’s all I really can do. Just wait. 

And when I do hear that knock or get that phone call I know where I’m going. I’m going back to her. Because it’s always going to be her.

Paige is my person.