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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 days ago

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Shelter - 4

Summary: You saved Soap's life. And you might need more than some ice. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No Y/N) Warnings For This Chapter: Continued military inaccuracies, my attempt at writing accents, slow burn romance, canon typical violence, Soft!Simon, and descriptions of injuries A/N: Thank you for all the comments on the last chapter! As an aside, while there is no smut in this story yet, my blog is strictly MDNI. And do not feed my fic into c.AI. Thanks!

Previous Chapter

The gas station (you were ignoring how Soap said it was a petrol station) was a dump but you weren’t about to complain because the grimy bathroom was the first place you could be by yourself. It wasn’t as if you could ask the men for some space in the cramped SUV. Saying you needed to use the restroom was a good enough excuse, you supposed, even if Ghost said he’d be standing right outside the door.

It was weirdly comforting.

For a moment, at least.

The bathroom’s mirror was cracked and had a film on it that clouded your reflection. It was probably for the best because the skin of your neck was so discolored it had angry, stupid tears burning your eyes. Every breath hurt. In or out, it didn’t matter. It ached. And you could see where the dead man’s fingers had wrapped around your throat. The whites of your eyes had been almost completely overridden by red. Your right was worse than your left, but that wasn’t saying much. You weren’t sure how long you’d been in the car but it must have been hours before Price deemed it safe “enough” for the pit stop in the middle of nowhere.

You’d been squished into the SUV’s floorboards for an indeterminate amount of time before Simon hauled you up into the seat beside him, and Price and Gaz asked you question after question about what had happened in your bedroom. You answered honestly, your voice scratchy and hoarse. It was when you mentioned that the man who had attacked you wanted to know what you had learned about the men you lived with that they went quiet.

“Which is kind of ridiculous, you know,” you’d said, your mind spinning from the earlier lack of oxygen and the absolute chaos of what had followed. “I don’t even know your real names.”

The men didn’t ask anything else after that but Ghost did place a familiar blanket over your lap and told you to go to sleep. And now you were in your pajamas—the loose joggers and oversized shirt the only clothes you had left now that the safehouse was burnt down—and shoes that Gaz had found god knows where that were two sizes too big.

How had your life gone to shit so quickly and spectacularly? All you had wanted to do was take a damn vacation and be there for your sister. And now people wanted you dead, thought you knew something about the men you were unwittingly living with, and knew you had probably heard something in the tunnels.

Great. Just…great.

A few of the tears escaped and you sniffled with a grimace as you wiped at your cheeks. You hated crying and you had cried more in the weeks since the tunnel than you had in the last five years combined. Not a milestone you’d been hoping to achieve, honestly.

And you weren’t about to splash whatever water came out of that dirty tap on your face to feel better. Clamping your eyes shut, you willed the tears to stop and nearly screamed when you saw Ghost lurking behind you when you opened them again. “What is wrong with you?”

“Got you something.”

And instead of just handing whatever he had to you—like a normal person—his giant hands clapped over your hips and he picked you up, sitting you down on the edge of the disgusting sink. The noise that punched out of you, an embarrassing mix between a squeak and a hiss, was almost immediately snuffed out by a whimper when the entirety of your throat protested, heat snapping at every single nerve ending like the crack of a whip.

Ghost stared at you for a moment but he didn’t even blink as he reached into one of his (many) pockets and pulled out a tube of…something. You couldn’t read the label with the bulk of his hand covering it.

“What is that?”

“Tip your head up.”

“No.”

He paused again before pressing a knuckle to the point of your chin. “Did a number on you.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response but you did glance down when you heard the tube’s lid snap open. And then to your surprise, he peeled a glove from one of his hands.

He had thick fingers. Scarred and bruised but dexterous, you surmised. A hint of a tattoo poked out from beneath the edge of his sleeve. He squeezed the tube and a white cream spilled out, curling around itself before he capped it again. And you weren’t entirely sure why but you didn’t pull away when he raised it to your neck. The shiver it pulled out of you couldn’t be helped. His fingers swirled around your throat, rubbing the lotion into your tender skin without a word. The cream was cold but you could feel the heat of him and his movements were gentle. Soft.

Like you were something delicate.

And maybe in comparison to his usual crowd, you were. But no one had treated you like this in a long time. And this close you could see the black smudge around his eyes had started to fade, flecking away from the long hours. And he had long, pale lashes around his dark brown eyes. There was a scar bisecting one of his brows, disappearing beneath the edges of his mask. His nose had probably been broken a time or two, resulting in the strangely cute way it flattened and curved to the side beneath his mask. (What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you?)

The scent of the cream was comforting, scratching at some long forgotten scene from your past. It took you a moment to realize it was arnica cream. It would help with the bruising—and if you remembered correctly, probably help with the smallest bit of the pain, too. He had been strangely gentle with you last night, too, even with the threat of violence that had preceded it. His hand on the back of your neck had been grounding and calming. And that’s definitely all it was. Not the most erotic thing that’s happened to you in years.

“Thank you, by the way.” Your voice was scratchy and every word hurt but you did need to say it. He had come for you. “For saving me last night.”

“Seemed like you had it ‘andled. Never seen a lamp used like that.” He smeared a little more lotion into your skin and you heard his laugh again. You were both quiet as he continued, slowly rubbing the lotion into your neck until the entirety of it was covered.

“Would now be a bad time to ask if I can see my sister?” You asked as he handed you the tube, finished.

Ghost just looked at you, not even blinking.

“Please? Soap said he’d talk to someone about it for me and I just…” Despite the ache in your throat and the embarrassed shame that grew with each word, you kept on. “I just want to see her. Even if it’s just for five minutes. But I promised her. I promised.” The tang of copper filled your mouth as you licked at your lips. “Don’t you have someone that you want to get back to after all this?”

But he was still quiet.

Another knock came, three sharp taps followed by two slower ones, and Gaz stuck his head in. “Cap wants us on the road.”

Ghost still didn’t say anything but capped the cream and handed it to you before helping you off the sink’s edge. He led you out back into the dulled sunlight and Gaz was quick to step to your side, skirting around the large man with another one of his magazine-worthy smiles. “I got you a bit of ice for your throat. Figured it might help.” He handed you an ice pack wrapped in a small bit of cloth, long enough for you to tie loosely around your throat so you wouldn’t have to constantly hold it.

You smiled and thanked him as you shuffled back to the SUV. He was quick to open the door for you, too. But it was Ghost who helped you into the SUV, his (large) hand catching yours when you’d reached for the side of the door to heft yourself up. You might have stared at his hand for a moment before ungracefully plopping into your seat at the back again with a quick, muttered “thanks.”

Wonderful. You’re so good at being a normal person.

Thankfully, you seemed to disappear after Soap offered you a protein bar (which you declined) and Price told you, kindly if not to the point, to buckle up. So, you sat in the back of the SUV with the ice pack across your throat and your eyes trained on the road passing you by.

She looked like she’d been put through the ringer. And, for a civilian, she had, he supposed. When he’d gone into that shitty little washroom, he half-expected to find her sobbing. Plenty of civilians sobbed and howled for less. But not her. She’d been crying, no denying that. But she looked more annoyed to see him than anything else. It twisted at something behind his ribs that he could almost name. Her skin had been soft. And Simon knew—he knew—that he should’ve let her apply the lotion on her own. But he couldn’t help himself.

Just like he couldn’t help himself last night by being the first to go upstairs when they realized the safehouse’s perimeter had been breached. And she’d been fighting for her life—the lamp had been a good weapon all things considered. It was impressive. But he still hated that he’d been so late to get to her; the dead man must’ve slipped through during shift change. Johnny was beating himself up about it but Simon knew she wouldn’t hold it against him. She might spit nails and know how to throw a punch, but she had a soft spot for the Scot.

And maybe him, too. Maybe. He didn’t want to let himself hope for it like a kid. He would, however, remember how she shivered beneath him.

And right now, it didn’t matter as Laswell was waiting for them at a small airstrip an hour away. She said she had answers about the men (other than the obvious fact that they were part of the Konni group) but wanted to talk to them in person. That was a fact that didn’t sit well with him. Not with shit hitting the fan so spectacularly last night.

Simon looked back to see her asleep again, Kyle’s ice pack drooping but still tied loosely across her throat. When he reached out, he felt that it had melted and slowly undid the loose knot at the back, trying to ignore how she let out a sigh when his finger brushed against the edge of her jaw. That was good. She needed the rest. He wanted her comfortable, safe. And he, selfishly, liked to be the one to make sure that she was comfortable and safe.

The SUV rumbled on and Price eventually pulled onto a dirt pathway, his white knuckle grip on the wheel receding a fraction when they weren’t on the motorway anymore. Gaz had also let his sidearm rest against his leg for a moment instead of having it raised beneath the edge of the window. Johnny, however, hadn’t stopped tapping his finger against his firearm’s trigger.

The dirt road continued on for a little longer before ending at a large patch of more dirt that had possibly once been a parking spot. It had probably been one of those parachuting traps for thrill seekers who had more adrenaline than sense. It looked abandoned, if Simon was guessing, aside from Laswell who was standing near the rusted gate and a waiting helo behind her. The steady thump-thump-thump of its rotating wings had Simon’s shoulders falling from around his ears the smallest bit. And to his surprise, when he looked at the woman beside him, she was still asleep as they rolled to a quick stop and the doors opened.

“Good to see you all in one piece. I got here as soon as I could,” Laswell said in greeting. Her sharp eyes moved to the SUV where she could no doubt see the other woman asleep in the back. “She give you trouble?”

“Not a lick of it,” Johnny said, casting a glance back at her, too.

“Let ‘er be,” Price said, stepping to Simon’s side. “The bird’s had a long night.”

“She can sleep through anything,” Kyle said, a small smile on his face.

Laswell glanced over at her and then nodded, seemingly satisfied with seeing her out of the way or, at least, in a place that didn’t seem like she was trying to escape. She waved them forward, ushering the group into the vacant building a few steps away. It was as rusted and abandoned as the rest of the place. The chair Simon lowered himself into groaned beneath his weight.

“We have a problem,” Laswell said. She never did have a problem cutting to the chase. “No one should have known where you were.”

“Or where our families live,” Johnny said. He curled his hands into fists at his sides. His family had been the first to be targeted, if Laswell’s intel was to be trusted. Then Kyle’s family’s house. And then Price’s mum’s house.

She nodded and then looked to Price. “I think we have a mole.”

“Someone sold us out?” Simon asked, the words like ash on his tongue. It wouldn't be the first time that someone had betrayed them but this time it felt… It was closer to home. Both figuratively and literally. Their families were supposed to be safe. Protected. They didn’t tell them about their jobs and what they did in the shadows. They were supposed to be safe.

Simon wanted his teammates’ families to be safe. He knew what it was like to lose that anchor and he didn’t want them to know what it felt like.

“I’m working on finding out who could have done it. But, for now, I’m moving you again. Only I’ll know where you are. But before that, I want to know everything about last night. How many there were. What weapons. What they wanted. Anything you have, I need.”

Kyle went first, listed five men he’d picked off. Then Soap with four more. They had high powered munitions and tactical gear. They’d been ready. It hadn’t been apparent how they arrived at the property and Price offered up the possibility of a transport several clicks out on the other side of the woods, followed by his own count of four men.

“And you, Ghost?” Laswell asked, her arms folded.

“Six. Needed to get upstairs.”

Johnny and Kyle nodded. “Ye said something about that man who tried to kill our girl.”

“She was a target?”

“Caught one of ‘em with their hands around her throat.”

One of Laswell’s fingers tapped against her arm. Just twice. “Interesting.”

Simon could remember the way she fought. The way her fingers slid between his and then through his belt loop as he led her downstairs. She had shivered under his hand and he couldn’t help but pull another out of her when the safehouse burned behind them. Simon was a selfish bastard. He knew that. And she made him even more selfish. And curious. A dangerous combination for anyone in his line of work.

“He was asking her what she knew about us.”

“And did she say?”

“She said she knew nothing and then hit ‘im in the face with a lamp.”

Johnny laughed and Simon didn’t miss the approving nods from Kyle and Price. Yeah. She’d done well. And he’d killed the man who’d put his hands on her. He’d do it again.

“Are you still thinking she has something to do with this? A plant from Makarov?”

“She isn’t.” Simon didn’t care that the question was probably for Price to answer.

There was no way she would look like she was beat to shit if she was working for Konni. Simon knew what fear looked like. She had been scared but fought the entire time. Just like down in the tunnels when Johnny almost got a bullet to the brain. She was scrappy. A fighter. Not necessarily a good one, but a fighter.

“She’s jumpy,” Kyle said. “But I think any civilian would be. She’s a good one. Kind.”

“She saved my life. Got shot doing it.” Johnny thumped the side of his fist of his shoulder and then pointed at the still-too-pink scar on the side of his head. “There was no guarantee she’d survive that. No plant would do that.”

“Agreed,” Price said after a moment. “But now she’s an asset twice over. If Makarov thinks she knows something about us and thought they could get her to give up intel, that is something we could use.” The captain leaned forward, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Bait?” Laswell followed where Price led. “Draw him out into the open.”

“Make him think we let her out of our sights and-”

“Then we cut the head off the snake.” Simon could feel Johnny’s anger. They’d hurt his family and he knew he had a soft spot for the girl caught up in this mess. She did save his life. That wasn’t something any of them took lightly.

Laswell nodded, probably already forming plans in her head. “I could let anyone we suspect of being our mole know different locations of where she’d be. Wherever Makarov’s men show up-”

“Then you’ll know who your rat is.” The smile Price gave was the one he usually reserved for a mission nearing its end. A job well done with more bullshit to follow.

The thought of her as bait didn’t sit right in the hollow Simon’s chest. But it was the fastest way of dealing with Makarov. They needed to end this. “When will you have your list of suspects?”

“We’re working on it now.”

“Until then? What’s the plan?” Kyle’s eyes darted to the dirty window behind Laswell. There was just another stretch of barren field on the other side but there were supposed to only be some trees outside the safehouse and they all knew how that panned out last night. They could be sitting ducks out here. They needed to move, quickly, before they were caught off their guard (or as much as they could be) again.

Simon watched Laswell tap her arm again. “She said she wanted to see her sister, right?”

Both Johnny and Simon nodded.

“That could be arranged. I have a contact in Chicago. She and her brother-”

“I thought she got out after her old man died?” Price asked.

Simon almost arched a brow at the tone. Too sharp for a simple question and it seemed everyone in the room caught it, no matter how subtle it would have been to anyone else.

Laswell almost smiled, pulling her lips into her mouth for a moment. “She didn’t. She still runs the hotel. I’ll tell her you’re coming. All of you, plus a guest. I have a jet an hour out—they can be here in no time and I’ll get the pilot the proper clearances.”

“Off the books?” Kyle asked.

Laswell nodded, already pulling out her phone. “You can have a few days to regroup there before I move you again. Enjoy your vacation.”

Waking up on a private plane wasn’t exactly pleasant like your romance novels made it seem. It wasn’t the worst way you’ve woken up, but not something you’d recommend. And as to how you wound up in the plane, you could only guess but with the way you’d drooled on Ghost’s shoulder and Soap was smirking at you, you could probably put the hints together.

Wonderful.

Great.

Not at all embarrassing.

The plane wasn’t as luxurious as you’d read about in your books or seen in random magazines detailing this or that celebrity’s “beautiful life.” It was a bit utilitarian, which you supposed made sense. Just enough seats for everyone to mostly stretch out and a door to what you hoped was a washroom. Honestly, being shuttled out of a safehouse where you’d been strangled, to being in the back of the SUV for an indeterminate amount of time, to waking up in a private plane wasn’t exactly doing wonders for your anxiety.

But a quick glance around let you know that the others were doing fine. Dare you say it, almost relaxed. Price and Gaz were soon playing cards at the small table near the cockpit and Soap was sketching something in a tiny notepad on the couch a few steps away.

But it was Ghost’s thigh pressing into yours that grounded you a little more as he sat beside you in one of the two seats left. And no, you weren’t going to think about why that was. Mostly because he nudged his leg against yours one more time and caught your attention.

“Go wash up.” He tilted his chin toward the door.

Well, you weren’t about to tell him no and left your seat without much preamble, sliding into the small washroom with a sigh. You almost smiled when you spotted the bag on top of the sink. A small post-it with your name on it was slapped on top. When you opened it and saw a change of clothes and a few different things to wash your face and generally feel cleaner, you couldn’t stop the smile now. You wiped yourself down as best you could and washed your face, whacking your elbow into the door twice. Your throat protested most of it and the skin around your eyes was tender, too, but you still couldn’t help but feel better. The clothes were comfortable and almost your size. You stepped out into the cabin a little while later and you were almost immediately startled by a growling snore. Soap was asleep, mouth wide open, sprawled out on the couch. Price had pulled his ridiculous hat down over his eyes and was sleeping like an old man in his seat. Gaz had reclined his seat back and was asleep, too. You must’ve been in there for a while.

But Ghost was awake when you retook your seat.

He dropped something onto the padded armrest beside you as you buckled back in. It took you a moment to realize what you were looking at. It was your passport. You snatched it up, the small, blue booklet warm in your hands. You thought it was lost in the shuffle after the tunnels. You slapped it against your palm as thoughts whorled. “Are we leaving the country?” you asked, dropping your voice to not wake the others. “And why did you have my passport?”

He didn’t answer but he dropped his shoulder enough to lean a little closer. “Tell me something,” he volleyed in return.

And you were going to ignore how his whisper, low and rough, sent a shiver down your spine. He seemed to have a bad habit of doing that to you. “What? Like a random fact or-”

“About you. I want to know about you.”

Your heart hiccuped behind the cage of your ribs and you could feel the heat inching its way up your throat. God, you must really need to get some sleep. Real sleep. There was no way he was interested in you. You were a mess the entire time you’ve known him and now you look like a reanimated corpse. “Why?”

“Why not?” He didn’t even blink. His dark eyes were anchored on you.

“I…” Your heart continued its battering of your ribs. Wetting your lips, you tried to pull in a steady breath. Like you weren’t affected by the simple fact that someone wanted to know you. “Fine. But you have to tell me something about you, too. Quid pro quo or however the saying goes.”

The behemoth of a man just nodded.

You thought for a moment, trying to find something about yourself that 1) he wouldn’t already know from that file he must’ve read and 2) wasn’t completely ridiculous. All you could come up with was a tame: “my favorite color is yellow.”

“What kind?”

The smile twitched on your lips. No one ever asked you that follow up question. “Soft yellow. Like a pale pastel. Or a daffodil petal.”

He nodded, like he was expecting that answer.

“Your turn.”

“M’name’s Simon.”

Oh.

You hadn’t been hoping to know where you were going but this…this was nice, too. “That’s…that’s a nice name. I won’t ask for your last name. I won’t push it.”

“It’s Riley.”

Your heart was trying to leap out of your chest and all he’d done was tell you his name. Jesus Christ. “Yeah, um, that’s nice, too.”

He just blinked and then waved a hand at you. Just once.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You mimicked the movement.

“I gave you two. That’s the deal. Now you give me two.”

The heat you’d felt came roaring back with a vengeance. As did your inability to be graceful with your embarrassment. “You know, we didn’t negotiate more than a fact each. Not my fault.”

“What kind of game only stopped at one each? Give me another. ‘S only fair.”

The smile that started to crawl up your face almost hurt the more you fought against it. “Just one?”

“You owe me two.”

“What do you want to know? You’ve gotta give me some sort of parameters here. I’m sure I can’t just list off my favorite television shows or movies and leave you satisfied.”

The giant man didn’t move but you could have sworn the fabric obscuring his mouth moved like he was smirking. “You worried about satisfying me?”

This man! “That–that is not what I was-”

And he laughed at you. It was a short sound, but you knew it now. You might know it forever, seared into your memory.

But you still hurried to find two more facts about yourself. Why did your mind always draw blanks when it came to stuff like this? You were terrible at icebreaker games while still in school, too. “I guess I spend more money on perfume and books than I do on clothes. And I think my favorite animal is the fennec fox.” You tapped your passport against your hand again. Ghost…Simon looked like he might like wolves. Or dogs. Maybe bears. And he obviously spent money on his wide array of masks.

He cocked his head to the side and you wondered what he was thinking of telling you, mulling over what he could share without it being a security issue, maybe.

“We’re going to see your sister. Keep your passport with you.”

The next breath stalled in your lungs and only served to make your throat ache when you tried to breathe again. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter when more tears blurred your vision. You were going home.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate all the comments. They really keep me motivated to keep writing this story. They mean more to me than I can say. Please let me know what you think!

#Simon Riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader #Simon Riley x you #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #Simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #female reader

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stellamarielu · 3 days ago

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late night visits

michael robinavitch x female reader

summary: somehow your neighbor is always finding himself at your front door hoping to find relief through casual hookups, but you both can’t deny your feelings any longer

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, mutual pining, oral f!receiving, mention of an age gap because i can’t help myself, just dr robby having a realization of feelings while going down on you

author’s note: told y’all i was gonna write some dr robby smut!! like usual, it didn’t feel right to jump right in with nasty jaw dropping smut so here’s a little fluffy— but still saucy, hookup drabble with the hunkiest emergency doctor i know

Michael Robinavitch was your neighbor.

Your apartment doors faced each other which lead to many casual exchanges and brief interactions.

They started off innocent; shy waves and polite smiles.

Then, they turned into conversations about what each of you did for a living and how long you’d lived in the city— just a culmination of small talk and harmless banter that took place in the little hallway of your apartment building.

But then, after weeks of coy chitchatting outside of your front doors, your exchanges escalated.

Your conversations with Robby had turned into hushed moans and deep throaty groans as his hands gripped furiously at your hips while he thrusted into you after an exhausting day at work.

The first time you tested the waters of shared desire was a little over a month ago. You spontaneously invited him over to join you for dinner as he was getting home from work. Neither of you thought much about it. It felt like a simple invitation to get to know a new-ish neighbor. Just a friendly meeting over a quick meal, but it turned out to be something entirely different.

That evening ended with his calloused hands greedily sliding up your body with your back pressed against a wall.

Both of you were stewing with pent-up frustration and using the other for an easy thoughtless release.

The next time you found yourself underneath his body was just as unexpected but far more impassioned.

He had knocked on your door, his expression unsure yet somehow laced with anticipation when you answered.

He started trying to make up some excuse as to why he was interrupting your nighttime routine until you pulled him into your apartment, meeting his lips with your own in a hurried and desperate kiss.

It continued like that for weeks, late night visits full of eager touches and sinful craving.

The exact nature of your relationship was unclear. You just found one another for physical connection, never getting in too deep or finding meaning in your dubiously satisfying meetings.

But, of course you had feelings for the guy, he had his dick buried in you on a nightly basis. You just weren’t sure if he felt the same way.

You couldn’t help but assume he saw you as a quick fuck— an easy way to detach from his day in a bout of vulgar connection.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Sure, the first time had been because Robby needed a distraction. You were just stood there, cooking a meal for him and listening intently as he told you about his profession. You were completely enthralled with him, your lips turning up into a cute little smile, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that; let alone a beautiful woman nearly half his age. It was almost criminal how fast he gave into temptation, letting himself get a taste of you through hungry kisses and tainted intentions.

After that he became addicted to you.

He even found himself thinking about you at work— a place that didn’t allow more than a sliver of space in his mind to think about anything other than the task at hand, yet you occupied nearly every corner of it.

So he kept showing up— kept seeking you out in hopes that he could stay high on your presence long enough to stay satisfied before getting the next inevitable taste.

You seemed to enjoy the unspoken arrangement. He didn’t want to ruin anything with the complication feelings and exclusivity. Plus, he was a busy man, relationships never seemed to work well for him, so maybe this situation was for the best.

But now, his face was buried between your legs, and he peered up to find your head thrown back and your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen something so picturesque. So undeniably perfect.

“God, You’re beautiful.” His voice was a hum against your skin as he stopped to place a sloppy kiss on the inside of your thigh along with his words.

Your fingers tightened into his hair as his mouth hungrily worked at your core.

You opened your eyes to glance down at him, unsure of how to take his compliment while he was busy doing such lewd things to you.

He caught the silly grin on your lips at his words— so pure and gentle. The innocent curve of your mouth only made him want more. He gently grabbed at your thighs, spreading them even further.

The soft moan of approval slipping from your tongue had an involuntary groan breaking from his chest.

With every sweet sound off your lips he dived deeper into you. His mouth was expertly working you toward your release, and just as you felt the pressure getting ready to snap, he pulled away.

He rested between your legs, his torso propped up just enough to get a good look at you.

“Let’s grab a bite to eat after this.” His statement came out in a breathless whisper. It seemed more like a question with the way his eyes were looking up, watching intently.

You tried to hide the giggle that at your lips as a small smile took over your expression.

What on earth prompted him to bring this up while he had you on the verge of coming undone on his tongue?

But also, why was it so sweet? The way his words held such sincerity felt extremely intimate.

“Just- I want to take you out somewhere.” His grin was wide as he watched you react to his ill-timed inquiry.

He knew it was late and maybe you wouldn’t be interested, but he couldn’t help but ask.

Watching your back arch under his touch and hearing your sweet whimpers fill his ears had him losing his patience.

He needed more of you.

Needed it so badly that he was stopping himself from tasting your sweet release just to ask for more of your time. The two of you were only ever together in a dimly lit apartments under bed sheets, he wanted to go out with you; somewhere different, somewhere new. He wanted to take you to grab a coffee down the street at that place that stays open until 2am. He wanted to ask you questions about yourself and watch you smile while you talked— to see the sweet curve of your lips that he'd grown so attached to.

Maybe he wasn’t much of a relationship guy, but he couldn’t deny the feelings he harbored for you.

“Like a date?” You were leaning back on your elbows with your eyebrows raised subtly at his suggestion.

“Yeah, a date.”

“Ok Robby. I’ll go on a date with you.” Your smirk met his idiotic grin as he dove back down, satisfied by your answer.

He resumed his previous actions with a fervor of victory.

“Perfect.” The word was messy as it left his lips and landed directly on your core.

It wasn’t long before your body was tensing, and mumbled profanities filled the room at your release. Even though you had just finished on his tongue, you weren’t done. You wanted to let him fuck you into the sheets, to repay him for getting you off, but he refused. No— he was determined to follow through on his promise.

The two of you walked side by side to grab a coffee at nearly midnight; you laughing and him watching, as he got to know you outside of the walls of your apartment.

#i feel like this is something he would do idk #a date (and a fuck) with dr robby would cure me #man of my dreams fr #michael robinavitch #the pitt #dr robby #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch smut #dr robby smut #the pitt fanfiction

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onsomenewsht · 3 hours ago

Text

And through the clouds, I see love shine

About when, on a Wednesday in a restaurant at Barcelona, you watch it begin again

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: 12.8k

》 fight a losing battle [idiom]: also known as “losing game”, to try hard to do something when there is no chance that you will succeed, a failing effort or activity

Your last relationship ends so badly that you consider abstinence from everything – processed sugar, alcohol, and even people. A period of deep cleansing, as if you could purify every cell of your body, like a celebrity spiraling from rehab to full-blown identity crisis.

This emotional state explains why you find yourself on a one-way flight to Barcelona, all your things crumbled in a backpack. A rash impulse led you to declutter your belongings, a wishful attempt of turning into a completely new person just because your closet is now half what it used to be.

The decision to straight-up flee is rushed and quite terrifying, much like many of your recent choices.

Elena, your best friend since you were barely old enough to share made-up stories and Barbie-like careers, thinks you’re going mental. She nearly cries when you decide to donate your vintage Christian Lacroix jacket, but you’re convinced it’s the only way to get a new lease on life, so she mourns in silence.

The loudest reaction comes from your brother, who, if you could be mature enough to admit it, is the only voice of reason that almost resonates in your head.

Almost.

Despite your stubbornness, you accept the offer of hospitality from one of his university friends, who gives away a spare room. You don’t plan on staying in a hotel for gods know how long, and you certainly don’t have the patience to search for an apartment. You’re not completely out of mind, if they want to help, so be it.

Barcelona is brighter and feels as welcoming as you hoped, though that might just be the nicer weather and the fact you’re far from your problems. And your ex.

The first month flies by in a rush of Catalan cafeterias, art galleries, and little boutiques that refill both your closet and your spirit.

The people here are kind enough to put up with your attempts to speak the language, humoring you since you’re oh-so-sure that eleven consecutive days on a passive-aggressive app have made you fluent.

The places you visit and the ones strangers recommend are loud enough to ignore the voices of reason in your ear that start to sound a lot like your brother’s.

Still, there’s only so much one can do to avoid responsibilities and self-consciousness.

“You need a job”, Ricardo states one morning, finding you in the kitchen eating cold pizza, still in the clothes you wore two nights ago.

Your closet isn’t as limited anymore.

“I’ve saved enough money to enjoy my vacation, thanks for your concern”

“I thought that was the money saved to buy a house with your ex”

“I do not have an ex nor a house to worry about, do I?”

As soon as the pizza starts to taste like regret, you’re ready to end the conversation to sleep the rest of day away.

Ricardo means well, you know that.

He’s a nice guy and a good roommate, but, like your brother, he’s overprotective and likes to gossip a little too much. Sometimes, it’s surprising how much he knows about you. Most of the time, it’s just annoying.

“I’m want to say– maybe a routine could be good for you”

“I have a routine”, you retort, knowing it’s a fat lie.

You’re out of the bed before eleven only if you didn’t sleep through the night before, wandering around the city with no real destination until something, somehow, catches your attention.

It’s not a bad thing per se, but it’s not a sustainable lifestyle.

“You quit a well-paid accounting job, right?”

“Ricardo, I swear, I’m this close to reporting you for stalking”

His laugh is too loud this early in the morning, but the comfort of bantering with someone who knows you is too familiar to ignore. Even if most of his insight comes from your nosy brother.

They both need to find a hobby that doesn’t involve judging your questionable life choices.

He sips his coffee while studying you, assessing how risky it would be to keep pushing the subject.

Apparently, he feels brave enough.

“My friends’ restaurant could use some help”

You’re not sure if Ricardo downplayed it or if he’s just blissfully unaware, but his friends don’t need some help – they need a miracle.

That’s what happens when you get scammed by your bookkeeper.

Despite not being really familiar with Spanish tax laws and regulation, it’s clear as the day someone exploited every possible loophole in the profitable business run by three way-too-trusting men. The truth becomes evident as you examine their accounting ledger, your frown deepening with each passing moment.

You have been to their restaurant before, and have loved it.

The place is cosy and carefully maintained. The food is prepared by a grumpy man from Puerto Rico named Paco, who, after twenty years in Barcelona, learned just enough cursing in Catalan to run the kitchen. Local bands play live on the weekend and someone’s mom made sure everyone is nice and well mannered. The worn wooden tables are witness of countless shared meals.

Pedro and Paul, the other two owners, can only be described as a comedy duo with a really questionable sense of style and even worse jokes. But they’re nice enough, definitely good company when you have a bad day. They can turn it upside down so quickly, for the better or the worst.

However, Ricardo tells you how much the restaurant means for his friends and the local community, guilt-tripping you into helping them to fix their finances.

The truth is, you love math and numbers so much that a challenge like this excites you more than it’s appropriate to admit.

Hence, you agree to help them for far less money you could have asked anyone in the same situation.

They take it as a promise to make sure the business keeps running and organise a dinner with way too many people to celebrate your help.

“I’ve barely started looking into it, Pedro”, you complain, not used to such enthusiasm.

“¡Cállate y bebe tu sangría!”

You meet Alba that same night.

She’s nice and quick-witted, no one is safe from her clever remarks. It feels nice, the way she makes sure you’re included when everyone seems to forget you’re still learning Spanish from a green bird on your phone, and that, in most conversations, you relate more to vibes than actual words.

Flirting is a universal language, though.

If her hand brushes on your arm a couple of times you make sure to smile and get closer, and if you lean into her with the excuse of needing a translation she makes sure to whisper right into your ear. There’s a note in her voice that makes you feel at ease.

Of course, Ricardo ruins everything.

“I’m starting to think you’re running from tax collectors, not your ex”

It’s a good joke, you know it is nothing more than that. But it suddenly reminds you how messy your life is and how out of place you feel sometimes.

Not just far away from home, but also far away from everything familiar.

A job for a company you hated but paid good money; friends you didn’t see as you’d liked, but who knew damn well when to drag you out of your apartment – and out of your own head. A boyfriend who barely tolerated your love, but somehow always managed to say and do the right things at the right time.

Every morning, you wake up knowing what to wear for work, what numbers to punch into the computer to get the needed results, and how to act to be sure you’re not too much.

You’re not running away from just your ex, you’re running away from your life as known until finding out about the cheating.

“¿Todo bien?”, Alba asks, noticing how you miss the opportunity to jab Ricardo.

It takes you a moment to register her reassuring hand on your arm and the talks moving to a completely different topic.

“Yeah, sorry, just tired”

“You better get used to the Spanish nightlife”

“It’s pretty much all I’m doing so far”, you admit, slowly sipping a beer and making sure your annoying roommate doesn’t hear a word about this.

The rest of the dinner passes without too much trouble, despite not remembering most of the names and following even less of the conversations.

Alba stays close and you blame the spicy food for the way your face reddens when she bids her goodbye with three kisses and a promise to meet up with less people.

“It’s a surprise”, Ricardo comments, his grin spreading across his face as soon as you settle onto the couch to debrief the day’s events.

It’s starting to look a lot like a new routine, a tradition in the making.

“What? Something my brother didn’t mention?”

“¡Ay, claro!”

“I hate you”

“I had no idea Alba is your type”

You have to give credit where due, he displays incredible reflexes. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, your punch barely grazes his arm, and your kick misses his shin by a mile.

To be honest with yourself, you’re not really sure who is your type.

Not even getting in the mind-space to think about your ex, the past relationships you care about to recall all look pretty different. There’s no consistent pattern, not a clear preference in haircuts or any kind of colours, not a style that catches your attention more than another.

The only thing most of your exes have in common is tiring you to the bones and leaving your life making you trust less and less in others.

Maybe you do have a type.

It’s not a date, you both agree on that.

She doesn’t ask about the infamous ex, she’s good company and even a nicer distraction.

But your mind drifts and, as you recount the highlights of how that relationship crumpled in slow motion, it becomes clear as the day you shouldn’t be with someone until you’ve committed to a good therapist.

It’s not fair to anyone, but it’s definitely not fair to Alba.

You kiss her anyway, and she makes you promise to let her be your first date as soon as you’re ready to get back into the game again.

“Ricardo told me your ex is un cabrón”

If not for the possibility of blemishing your otherwise spotless record, you could have shoved Pedro down the hill you’re currently struggling to climb, losing too much dignity.

The guy looks like he had one beer too many, but he’s surprisingly in shape and apparently unaffected by the whole hike so far.

“Am I the only topic of conversation he has?”, you ask, mostly to buy a few more seconds to catch your breath.

“Creo que sí”

You raise the finger as you outpace him to keep going.

The sun has set, casting a warm, golden hue across the clear Barcelona sky. Despite Pedro knocking on your door when it was barely socially accessible to be at someone’s place, it takes the two of you more time than necessary to reach this point of the trail.

Not close enough to the top yet, but definitely too late to turn back without regrets.

It’s mostly his fault.

The view is impressive, and the Catalan knows too many fascinating details to not be amazed by the nature around.

“¿Estás bien?

“Cabrón is a nice word”

“It’s not”

“No, it’s– I mean it’s not a bad enough word to describe him”, you clarify with a faint smile as Pedro slows his pace.

Your final destination is just a few steps away.

It may be the pleasant company, a good friend you’ve discovered in an unexpected place at the most unexpected time of your life. It may be the warm rays of sunshine that tickle your skin or the ache making your legs feel alive. It may be the weight on your chest, the one that crushed good intentions and caused too many sleepless nights, now becoming smaller under a new sense of resolve.

It may be for many different reasons, but for the first time in more than you’re comfortable looking back, it feels better.

“It was a good relationship”

He gives you a moment, sitting on the slightly damp grass next to your sprawled figure.

“It was good, until it was really bad. But it’s hard to do anything about it when you’re doing such an impressive job at hiding all the signs”

“A bad relationship can’t be blamed on just one person”, he tries to reason.

“It can”

“Guapa, mira–”

“No, it can. He was controlling, aggressive, and incredibly talented at making me take all the blame and the shame”, you admit, for the first time out loud, “My only fault was pretending to ignore when I finally saw it all for what it really was”

As you gather the strength to rise to a more dignified position, you almost expect Pedro to hug you or be the over affectionate Spanish stereotype he usually is.

Instead, he’s looking somewhere away in the sky, pensive.

You feel the need to reassure him, “I’m fine now, I–”

“No, lo siento, lo siento”, he turns with a small, yet genuine smile, “We don’t know each other that well”

“You’re hurting me now, I thought we were friends”

“We are, tonta!”

Pedro raises and his large hands, marked with tiny cuts, extend to pick you up. He paves the way down the hill with no words, and for the first time since you meet the man, the silence it’s a surprise.

It’s not uncomfortable, maybe just a little unsettling.

And short-lived.

“We don’t know each well”

“You already said that”

He shoves you playfully, not impressed by your attitude, but used to it.

“Lo que quiero decir es que– you’re a good person, I can tell, even if we don’t know each other for long”

“Don’t get soft on my right now”

“You’re a good person and you love good, you have to keep loving”, he states, so casually, “Once you know love, you should never try to forget”

“At this point, I’m pretty sure you hit your head hard enough to go mental and somehow no one noticed”

“I miss you so much, Elena”

Your phone is precariously balanced on a glass of wine as you cook a recipe Paco scribbled on a piece of paper. In Catalan.

It makes less sense than his finance decisions, but you’ll take it.

Your best friend’s face is half out of frame but you can clearly point out every step of her beauty routine. It’s a grueling and painfully long process, her boyfriend is way more patient than you about it.

But tonight Ricardo is out for his bi-weekly pottery class, and you’re happy to indulge her just for the sake of spending some time together, even if it’s through a screen.

Not like there’s a slight chance you’d say it out loud.

“What are you trying to cook?”, the eyebrow in frame raises skeptically.

“No idea”, you admit, coming to the conclusion the number you’re looking at is five and there’s no way this dish needs so many onions.

“Good, now, let’s track back to your mental instability”

“And you ask why I am in different country?”

The wasp she lets out is so loud, and the silence that follows is so deafening you look at the screen to make sure the call is still on. She can be so dramatic.

“Don’t joke about it, I’m still grieving”

“I’m still alive”

“Barely”, she mutters.

Elena is a good friend, despite the theatrics.

When the world seems a little too much to handle, she turns into a safe space for you to be at peace. When you’re overthinking the stupidest choices, she always has a comforting, new point of view.

To people who don’t have the privilege to know her well enough, she may look shallow and too noisy. The truth is, you’ve never met someone so aware of herself and her life that she perfectly understands how to give due weight to even the smallest things.

And she doesn’t keep quiet, she loves loud and proud.

You learned to hold yourself back. You were forced to.

That’s the biggest lesson she’s still teaching you.

“Just saying, you’re surrounded by hot, Spanish people–”

“Happens when in Spain”

“You’re allowed to have fun!”

“I have plenty, thank you very much”

A strange smell comes out of the pan as the lid is lifted, prompting you to close it and pretend it’s not even there for the rest of the night. Not planning to call a poison center, ordering takeout is how you opt to end this cooking attempt.

If Elena thinks you paused the video to piss her off, it is on her.

When your best friend’s face pops up on the screen again it’s so serious you’re tempted to hang up for real.

“I mean it in a good way, don’t get me wrong, but taking a leave of absence and flying to Barcelona is the most selfish thing I witnessed you do in forever”

“I’m actually thinking of quitting for good and going freelance”

“See?”, she gushes, although she can’t be taken seriously with a panda-shaped face mask on, “You like to do your nerd-numbers-shit again, you’re trying new things, even if you clearly can’t be trusted in the kitchen–”

“Fuck you, that man can cook, but for sure can’t write”

“You’re making friends, not as amazing as me, but we’ll take it!”

Trying to argue could be useless and, honestly, you have no arguments.

“You’re fine, you’re doing good”, she smiles, and you miss her a little bit more.

This time you say it out loud, and she cries.

The guys are planning something.

By now, you know them well enough to sense trouble the moment you step into the restaurant.

Paco wears a grin that’s almost creepy, a beam blasted across his face, while Pedro is cleaning the tables with unnecessary vigour and his usual commitment is taken to an unusual level.

They’re clearly waiting for something to happen, lingering around as you try to explain to Paul, the musketeer you pointed as the most reliable when money is on the line, how to delay a payment reminder.

“Okay, what is wrong with them?”, you ask, trying to recall a single reason why you put up with these people’s ethics.

You only need one.

“No te entiendo”

“Tú me entiendes perfectamente”

“Your español is getting so good, ¿lo sabes?”, Pedro chimes in, and you’re sure whatever they want, you’re not going to like it.

Paul is usually the voice of reason, the emotionally adult one. Why is he looking at you like he’s about to commit the worst betrayal?

“We were thinking–”

“I’m scared when you guys think”

“We are allies, feminists, and strong supporters of women in male dominated fields, equality–”

“Please, shut up”, you interrupt as if the conversation is physically hurting you.

“Barça is playing the Copa on Saturday. We organise una fiesta every year when they come back, es una tradición”, Pedro cuts in, feeling like the best way to get to the point is to dive straight into it.

“What if they lose?”

“Ellas no pierden”, Paul’s voice is so final you don’t dare to object.

“Cool, fine, why are you acting like this party is something I’ll not like?”

“We pay for it all”

It’s nice.

It is a really nice gesture, knowing how much they care about their community and their friends and apparently the women’s side of their favourite club.

Then you remember they have a huge debt to pay up because an asshole took advantage of their kind hearts and the accounts are just starting to make sense again.

“It’s a good thing”, you admit out loud, “But–”

When Paul starts a passionate rant about the team’s season so far and how sure he is they are gonna win those trophies all over again, apparently setting a new record for the sport itself, it’s not strange to feel thrilled too.

Even Paco joins the excitement at the prospect of adding another title to the collection.

You have been in Barcelona long enough to understand football is a big deal here, and you can’t deny it’s really wonderful to see three big guys hyping up their club – women’s and men’s side alike.

Pedro looks at you like he knows you’re about to crumble.

“They better win then”, you agree, pretending it takes a lot of thinking.

They wrap you in a group hug so welcoming you don’t have the heart to tell them the restaurant can’t really afford to pay out an entire party right now, on a weekend, literally planned for a football team and their mothers.

You’ll make sure the numbers check out later.

You meet Alexia that same night.

Alba makes the introductions, and you shake her hand a moment too late and too long than socially acceptable.

You’re busy shifting your gaze back and forth.

They look alike. A lot. But somehow, they’re also so different.

You make a mental note to dig up some old pictures of a younger version of yourself and your brother.

“She’s the reason this party won’t bankrupt the guys”

“I’ve heard only good things about you”, Alexia admits.

If a slight redness tints your face it’s due to the compliments, not the feeling of her eyes on you, or the way your body seems to jolt awake.

“All lies, probably”, you try to compose yourself – get a fucking grip, “They’re just impressed ‘cus they can’t count to save their lives”

The laugh that leaves the older woman’s lips is the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard. Something in the way her face lights up and her features relax makes your chest ache with a surprisingly comfortable feeling.

A desire to make her laugh again.

And that is what you do all night.

The girls are way too excited – deservedly so, after another title added to their already impressive collection. The live music is loud, the food and the drinks come in flows. You’re too busy to mentally estimate the costs.

When one of Alexia’s teammates decides you’re her new favorite person in the whole restaurant, you’re perfectly fine with it. Just because she’s funny, not because she seems to have an impressive amount of stories to tease her captain with.

When Paul hands you another beer, you sip it without a care of keeping count. Just because you’re allowed to get loose, not because you noticed Alexia is making sure everyone will not regret a drink too much tomorrow.

When Alba drags you to the makeshift dance floor, you let yourself feel the music and the bodies around. Just because the party is definitely worth it, vibrant, not because her sister joins the group at the same time.

You go home, much later than intended, with an unfamiliar feeling prickling beneath your skin and a somehow familiar pair of eyes stuck in your head.

The first time you end up in the stands for a football game is purely by accident.

An unmistakable electric buzz fills the air, lingering all the way from the parking lot to the seats that seem to keep filling. Everyone is smiling and chanting, sporting just two different colours but expressing their support in an unique way.

The games you endured watching on TV to spend a few hours with your brother as a kid can’t compare to the real thing.

You never imagined finding yourself in such a place, but when in Rome. Or, well, when in Barcelona.

It’s all on the Putella sisters, to be honest.

You meet Alba in the most unusual place you could think of, or being yourself in the first place. A sports shop.

Planning to go on the hike a stranger at the restaurant pointed out, you need appropriate trekking shoes. Since the decluttering phase is officially over, you looked up one of those obnoxious places that sell overpriced sports-related shit.

Not the kind of shop you’d picture Alba willingly entering.

“Mind you, I actually like sports”, she objects.

“Do you?”

She giggles as your head tilts in a mocking way, “Vale, I like watching more than doing the sports”

“No way!”

The bags she’s dragging out of the shop are the only thing stopping her from not-so-playfully smacking you. It’s surprisingly easy to tease each other.

She reminds you of Elena, who called this morning to discuss how to act now she discovered where her boyfriend hides the ring. As if she hasn’t been snooping around for months.

Not entirely her fault, the poor guy left the jewelry’s receipt with the car keys at the entrance.

“Are you?”, the younger woman asks.

“What?”

“A sports person”

“My brother used to kick footballs at me when we were kids, the only sport I ever pretended to be remotely interest in”

Her smile dims slightly.

For some reason, that seems to have been the wrong thing to say.

“Have you been to a Barça game yet?”

“What if I’m a Madridista?”

That’s even worse, apparently, since Alba dramatically drops the bags to gasp in shock. Her acting of a heartbreak is surprisingly convincing.

A second voice chimes in out of nowhere, “Don’t even joke about it”

Alexia’s comment is dead serious, you can tell, with just the hint of a grin on her lips as a clear giveaway that she’s more than comfortable teasing a person she barely knows.

You’re definitely not going to complain.

The hat she’s wearing hides half her face, but you can see her lighting up behind it.

“What if I’m not joking?”

“Alba, you said she is a nice person”, the midfielder complains, a huff escaping her lips as she adjusts the weight of the bags she’s carrying.

Did they just raid the whole shop?

“Bold to you to assume I can’t be a nice person and a Madridista”

“Please, don’t fight her on this, she’s gonna be insufferable”, Alba complains, playfully rolling her eyes at her sister’s antics and your teasing.

“No, she needs to be educated. She’s coming to El Clásico with us”

As simple as that.

You find yourself in the home section of the stadium for one of the most anticipated games of the season.

Or that’s what Alexia is ranting about all the way to your seats, going off about the rivalry and basic football knowledge you have to thank your borther for drilling into your brain against your will.

It’s all worth it when her blush spreads across her face as she realises, in the middle of her fourth attempt to explain with yet another example, that you actually do know what offside is.

Alba watches the interaction closely, amused by how easy it is for you to tease Barcelana’s captain and how comfortable she seems to be around you, despite not having known each other for long.

A couple of minutes before kick-off, Alexia returns from wherever she went – one mission in mind. She takes her place on your side, handing you a Blaugrana jersey, “You can’t sit here without wearing the right colours”

Maybe wearing a white t-shirt was a bit too much.

You burst out laughing, opting to put in the item immediately to avoid upsetting the filled seats around you, “How’d you find your own at a men’s game?”

“I happen to be pretty beloved around here”

“Did you hear that, Alba? La Reina is bragging!”

The only reason she doesn’t retort is due to the referee’s whistle announcing the start of the game, followed by a surprisingly enjoyable night with the two sisters.

Summer in Barcelona is nothing like you pictured it.

The streets are filled with tourists, too many people crammed in too little spaces. Complaints about the crowds and the chaos drown out any excitement. You have to remind Pedro that it’s awful, but it’s good for business.

Sometimes, it’s too hot to even think of leaving the comfort of your place. Fans blow in every room because, of course, the air conditioner broke the day it was turned on.

Sometimes, it’s so loud you don’t need to ignore the voices of doubt in your head, subdued by everything that’s happening around you.

Sometimes, it’s exactly the kind of life you can see yourself living.

Your brother came to visit for a week, spending more time teasing you with Ricardo than doing anything else. You hate it, but you missed him too much to complain.

Maybe you pulled some strings to make his dream of visiting Camp Nou come true, just so you could look cool, but then what?

He’s as happy as a kid in a candy store, and all you have to do is endure an overexcited guided tour and bribe Alexia with overpriced drinks the night after. Totally manageable.

Your therapist announces her vacation like it’s not the worst news she’ll be sharing, leaving you with tasks to occupy the time. You dutifully completed them all, never quite managing to shake the nerd label off, and, quite frankly, you pay her too much to not do her homework.

Some tasks seem a little over the top, though – signing up for a dating app is definitely not how you’ll get over your ex.

You started hanging out with a group of passionate excursionists. Perhaps a bit too excited about life in general, but nice enough to follow during their hikes.

Pedro joins when he can, most of the time, someone from the Barcelona team manages to invite themselves.

Since you and María aren’t allowed to be on your own, Ingrid or Esme supervise. It may be an overreaction, but the last time you two were alone, you sprained your ankle and the defender got nasty cuts on her legs before the trip even started, so you can’t really judge them.

If you say Alexia is a better hike partner than most is just to piss María.

That summer in Barcelona makes you miss your family and friends back home a little more than usual, but it’s also the first time in months that you feel like you’re actually living your life – not just letting it flow right through you.

When the new school year starts, Irene and her wife come to the restaurant a couple of times before Paul suggests that you could be the perfect person to help their son with his math homework.

Your attempt to explain that you really are not qualified to teach in a different language goes completely ignored.

They’ve already tried different tutors, and Mateo seems to hate them all. You accept, mostly because of the kid’s puppy-dog eyes.

The two of you fell into an easy routine. Once a week, he would lend you basic grammar school manuals and children’s books to help with your Spanish, and you would explain math to him in the simplest way possible.

It goes well.

Mateo decides pretty soon you’re his new favourite person, and you basically become one of Irene’s as well.

That’s how you find yourself on the sideline during a Barça training session, reading a book about a dog that doesn’t know how to bark while Mateo is too pleased with himself, checking all the math exercises he nailed.

“Good one?”

You raise your gaze, shielding your eyes from the sun enough to point out Alexia’s silhouette.

The weather is still too warm for your comfort, making you question the girls’ mental stability for running lap after lap under such conditions with a smile on their faces.

Sports people are scary.

“You look too good to be someone who just finished training”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Derogatory”, you clarify, pushing your stuff aside so that Alexia can sit beside you on the sideline.

She’s drinking some sort of sport drink like she’s just eaten sand, and this close, she looks human. She’s grinning, enjoying the sun picking at her skin and Mateo’s passionate explanation of the math exercises he’s done all by himself.

The training session is wrapped up, she stays until Irene comes back from the changing room, washed and dressed, ready to take the little boy home.

The blonde lingers a bit longer, talking about books she loved growing up and how she takes management courses when she can. You find out Penélope Cruz is both your favourite actress, but the midfielder acts shocked when you tell her you haven’t watched her favourite film.

That night, you put it on and change the language setting, live-texting Alexia all your reactions.

Halfway through, you’re pretty sure she’s watching it too.

Almost nine months after booking that life-changing one-way ticket to Barcelona, you buy another one to go back home.

With a return ticket in hand.

It’s your mother’s birthday, so you kind of have to.

Recently, she’s been repeating a new favorite line, rambling about the uncertainty of life and the precariousness of old age. She’s barely in her 60s and has less back pain than most people of your generation, but she’s not willing to listen to reason.

You come to the conclusion you can’t lose any more points against your brother in the unspoken sibling race for your parent’s love. So you book the flight, pack a suitcase big enough, because you literally have nothing to wear left behind, and mentally prepare for the investigation your family will conduct.

The tension in your shoulder melts away the moment your brother wraps his arms around you in the airport terminal.

“You grow up so much”

And, just like that, he’s your annoying, stupid older brother again.

“I didn’t miss you at all”

“I can see you holding back tears”

“You’re literally crying!”, you accuse with a grin on your lips, lightly punching him.

“Just wait until mum sees that new tattoo”

The truth is, your mother is too busy peering deep into your soul to care about the tattoo.

It takes two days of constant reassurance that you’re working, eating, and sleeping properly; a ceramic salamander figurine – maybe overpriced, but a gift meant to make an impression; and Elena backing up your story to calm her worries.

Barely enough to get you through the rest of the week unstretched.

“She’s just worried”, your best friend tries to reason, sipping a flashy pink drink that you’re not even sure is made from real fruit.

“I moved to Barcelona, not a war zone”

“Oh, so now it’s permanent?”

The shit-eating grin spreading across her face should annoy you, but you have to admit she has a point.

At first it was just an impulsive decision, an urge to run away from everything and everyone. Then, without really realising it, the Catalan city started to feel a lot like a place to settle in, to let your wings spread wide open.

Now you almost call it home.

The waitress interrupts your flow of thoughts, saving you from Elena’s pointed gaze long enough to be properly distracted by the huge amount of food presented. He leaves with a charming smile, but you’re genuinely too focused on the salty chips to notice.

“Are you pregnant?”, you ask, looking as she almost chokes to avoid comically spilling her drink on you.

“The Spanish heat fried your brain?”

“What? You didn’t even have soft drink when we were underage”

Elena pauses for a moment, weighting if knocking over you the rest of the pink beverage could be worth it. It takes genuine pondering.

She decides to take the highest road.

“Are you dying?”

“Are you taking comedy classes in Barcelona?”

The last time your best friend was this over the edge it was because of a pregnancy scare. First year of university, and her boyfriend at time wasn’t really the guy you’d take home for Christmas. A memory that doesn’t help her case right now.

You slip under the dim lights of the bar, a classy spot where she hangs out with the women from her pilates class. A shiver runs down your back, a bad feeling overcoming deep inside you.

Then, she speaks up.

“I’ve already bought a wedding dress”, she admits, as if she’s confessing a crime, “It’s a size smaller and I have to–”

“Elena, for fuck’s sake, I thought you were actually dying!”

“It is, indeed, a tragedy”

“He hasn’t even proposed yet”

“Details”, she chugs the rest of the drink, smirking and grabbing the last chips you’re too shocked to care about.

The same waitress hovers around your table, drawn in by the loud exchange and your clear distress, “Excuse me, is everything okay?”

He’s young, charming enough for this to be just a gig while he waits and hopes for his acting career to take off. However, he looks genuinely concerned, his gaze shifting between the deep frown and your friend amused grin.

“All good, she’s just dramatic”, Elena points at you with the straw, before delivering the final blow, “And she is single”

The poor boy’s face lights up, naively thinking the commotion was a creative way to play matchmaker.

What a mistake.

You don’t even dignify her with a glance, rolling your eyes before addressing him directly, “Excuse her, she’s panicking because her long-time, overly in-love boyfriend still hasn’t popped the question”

“That’s not–”

“And I’m not interested”, you finish, kind but firm.

He leaves with a nod, cheeks slightly red.

Elena watches him disappear as you sip your own drink, studying you the way she used to when you were confused teenagers who didn’t know how to deal properly with all those feelings and real-life emotions.

“Oh”

The reason you still encourage her goes beyond your understanding.

You’re not starting to question it now, “What?”

“You like someone”

“Elena, I swear–”

“No, no, it’s just–”, her gaze softens as she looks at you, teasing and playful attitude making space for her most supportive side, “It’s good to see you, you know, welcoming back some happiness”

It doesn’t matter how she’s always capable of reading you like a book, like you’re a poem she knows by heart but she’s never tired of.

After all the years and the lessons you’ve learned together, it feels so comforting to know there’s someone out there who deeply understands you. Who truly sees you.

You don’t deny it, you don’t retort to her observation.

That's not the point right now.

You break the promise made to Alba.

Kind of.

It’s early in the morning, the sun has barely risen in the sky, but it’s the perfect time to arrive at the little market. It arrives every two weeks, with vibrant stalls full of everything – though you understand half the things the vendors say. The freshness of the fruit and the unique clothing finds you always manage to come home with are totally worth it.

Alexia is buying vegetables and, judging by the passion she shares with the old lady in front of her, discussing important geopolitical questions.

You enjoy the exchange, taking a moment before approaching.

She jokes about the fact you’re up before the clock even hits double digits, laughing at your retort about fighting with the elderly over groceries.

The footballer suggests breakfast in a cosy place not far from the market, the promise of fresh bakeries enough to convince you.

It’s not a date.

But you walk side by side, bags lightly colliding sometimes, and before you know it, you’ve arrived at the café. Alexia holds the door open, pointing out her favorite pastries. She scoffs, unamused, when she realizes your questions distracted her long enough for you to pay for both your orders.

It’s not a date, obviously.

But you sit at a table in the far corner of the café for almost three hours, talking about everything and nothing. The bubble you find yourself in bursts when Ricardo calls, complaining that you’re late for lunch, despite insisting on making a reservation.

“We should do this again”, she says as she hugs you goodbye, a smile lighting her entire face.

It’s not a date, but it definitely feels like it.

You remembered the promise you made to Alba, to save your first date for her once you feel ready, just a second after realising how badly you wish to go on a real one with her sister.

You refuse categorically to celebrate your birthday at the boys’ restaurant.

They could make a big deal out of it, insist on paying for everything, and you couldn’t let that happen. After months of knowing them and the “Barcelona way” of celebrating loved ones, you can’t let them be in charge of this.

Also, the bills are finally adding up. They can afford it, you can’t let them do it – at least, not emotionally speaking.

So you host a little party at your place – your place, because Ricardo says you basically own it as much as he does after the bathroom’s makeover.

The small kitchen quickly turns into chaos the moment Paco takes charge and ropes Ricardo into helping. Pedro shows up with decorations and a banner that was most likely used for his little sister’s. Paul, however, closes the restaurant that same afternoon, brushing off your protests and reassuring you that your birthday is more important than the evening’s earnings.

You can’t find it in yourself to fight them.

The apartment fills with laughter and a vibrant energy that eases the weight pressing on your chest when overthinking takes hold. Balloons cover nearly the entire floor, raised voices and the scent of spices travel from the kitchen.

Your friends from the hiking group arrive in waves, immediately hitting it off with some of Barcelona’s team. You’ve grown close to a few of them through your relationship with Irene’s family and the one Ingrid and Frido practically forced on you.

Some regular customers from the restaurant also show up, people you’ve grown pretty comfortable with after spending so much time there during the first weeks of taking over the accounting job.

There’s also a nice girl you met at a concert, who Elena stalks on social media to make sure she’s not a serial killer.

Alba and Alexia are the last ones to arrive.

Your life in Barcelona is full of new people, new experiences and adventures.

At your lowest point, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be loved out loud.

And those people are the loudest you ever met.

The noise around the apartment subsides just as most of the guests leave. The music is turned down to a minimum, because of the late hour and Pedro’s questionable taste, as he hasn’t let go of the speaker once all night.

The small group gathers around the couch, drinks in hand, still willing to celebrate with you.

“I’m just saying, I think they taste the same”

The entire room erupts in protests at Ricardo’s comment.

“Absolutely no”, Pedro chimes in, seated on the edge of the armchair with a half-drunk beer in hand, “Black olives are made to be a pizza topping, green ones are perfect for everything else”

“What do you even know about pizza topping?”, you interrupt with a grin, “You put pineapple on yours”

Somehow, the complaints grew louder, the room buzzing with indignation.

“What’s wrong with that? Pineapple is a great pizza topic, you’re just too pretentious to admit it!”

“Can we move on from the pizza argument?”

“Oh, no, let’s get into it!”, you wave your hand dismissively, “Pedro, please, tell everyone what you put on first, cheese or sauce?”

“Fuck you”

“You work in a restaurant”, Alba says, her voice laced with disbelief.

“I’m not the one cooking, am I?”

“Thank God!”

The conversation quickly turns on poor Pedro, who now finds himself defending his questionable taste and own belief.

Alexia, who’s been quietly sipping from her glass, looks at the scene with a raised eyebrow before turning to you, relaxed on the couch beside her, “Honestly, I never imagined pizza to be the thing that ends a friendship”

“I’m just happy we’re not talking about pineapple anymore, that’s a sin”

“You started this”, she points out, giggling.

Ricardo shrugs from his spot on the floor, amused but staying out of it for now.

“It’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want”

“Oh, por favor”, Alexia says with a playful roll of her eyes, nudging the paper crown still perched on your head, “This must have cut off circulation to your brain”

You gasp, your dramatic antics in full display, fueled by the time, the alcohol, and, likely, the footballer’s shoulder still brushing against yours.

“You’re just jealous you’re not the only reina in the room”

“Keep dreaming”, Alexia responds with a grin.

The proximity lingers in a way that’s not just playful. It’s comfortable, like an inside joke no one else is allowed in on.

Ricardo watches the interaction from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on you and the blonde for a moment longer than necessary. He notices how her cheeks redden slightly, the way you look a little different – softer, at ease.

Alba catches the moment too, still pretending to be involved in the pizza argument. She notices the quiet exchanges and private moments that have unfolded all evening. The way you and her sister have fallen into a different rhythm, a different world.

She’s seen it before.

There’s something between you two, something unspoken, but not quite hidden. She wonders how long it’s been there, how long it’s been that way.

But, like Ricardo, she keeps her thoughts to herself.

The rest of the group laughs, the debate seems to fade into a more relaxed conversation that doesn’t involve food or questionable life choices.

As the night goes on, the teasing continues, but, underneath the surface, there’s something deeper.

There’s the way you lean in a little closer to Alexia when someone says something ridiculous, how your eyes linger on her when Pedro makes a joke and you think no one is watching.

There’s the way Alexia’s knee brushes yours when you laugh, how her fingers dance on your arm simply because you’re close enough to.

There’s the exchange of gazes and smiles, quiet signs of complicity in the loud room.

Ricardo waits to the tune of three days before cornering you.

You mention being a bit homesick after your birthday and the Putellas sisters literally drag you to have dinner with them at their mom’s. Eli is the sweetest woman ever, going above and beyond to the point of making that one pie you mentioned once being your favourite.

The house is filled with memories and tender gestures, a haven of support and a desire of caring for your own that squeezes your heart with a bittersweet beauty. Spending the night there makes it clear how Alexia and Alba were raised, revealing the roots of their kindness.

“You had fun?”

It’s a miracle you don’t drop dead on the floor right there, Ricardo’s voice echoing from the middle of the couch in the dark room.

“Why are you lurking like a fucking killer?”, you shout at him when your heartbeat slows down enough to let you come up with proper words.

“I was waiting for you”

You don’t even dignify him with a response, watching how he’s sipping from a mug like a scene from the shittiest b-movie you can think of.

Crossing the room to sleep the unease away, the guy’s next words make you stop right where you are, “You need to come clean with her”

“What are you talking about–”

“You like Alexia”

It’s not a question, there’s no doubt in his voice.

There’s not a single reason to even try to fight his assumption or your own overthinking.

You reach for the seat next to him on the couch, noticing the second mug just when he offers it to you. It’s a fruity tea you enjoy hot, with way too much honey and not a drop of milk – exactly like the one in your hands.

The silence wrapping around is comforting in a way that makes sense just because it’s the two of you, sipping tea in the quiet darkness of the room.

“I do”, you admit after a while, even if you don’t need to.

“I know”

“That obvious?”

“Yeah”, your roommate confirms with a soft smile.

He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t accuse you of anything.

It’s so typically Ricardo that you feel a surge of affection, a need to embrace him and accepting the support of someone who, in a twisted and brotherly way, looks out for you – and your heart. So you do just that, jumping into his arms without a care of your reputation or of the almost-empty mugs.

The man, despite the surprise of your reaction, is ready to hold you for how long you need.

Turns out, you need it a lot.

“Sorry, sorry”, you say after a couple of minute, trying to pull yourself together, “I didn’t see it coming”

“Me being so observant and clever or you falling in love with Alexia?”

“I’m not in love with Alexia”

“Yet”

He’s lucky the tea is not hot anymore.

“I’m not in love with Alexia”, you repeat.

Not yet, resonates in your head – your own mind betraying you.

Yes, Alexia is beautiful. Yes, you two apparently clicked perfectly right the moment you met. Yes, recently the time together doubled the time spent with anyone else. You can admit you like Alexia, the therapy is worth the commitment and the money put into it.

But being in love?

It’s a good feeling, the one that makes her cheeks flush crimson when your smile catches her gazing. Even better, the one that fills you with pride when Alexia’s laugh resonates in the room because of something you say or do.

It’s an exciting force, the one that unsettles your stomach when she reaches for you just for the sake of touching – of feeling you close. Even better, the one that makes you two sure of finding the other in a room full of people just when needed.

It’s so terrifying close to love, what it’s blossoming.

You want to fall in love with Alexia.

Ricardo raises from the couch, taking the mugs and putting them on the sink to be dealt with tomorrow. An annoying habit you’re sure he keeps up with just to annoy you.

He returns a minute later, “Are you going to do something about it?”

You don’t miss a bit, “Yes”

“Let Alba know first”, he says with a serious note in his voice, “She liked you”

The stadium buzzes with the loud roaring of fans and the sharp, clean scent of freshly cut grass under the rain. Barcelona dominates the pitch, their control of the midfield a suffocating grip as the opponents scramble, desperate for a counterattack.

Between miscalculated slides and short passes, Alexia weaves through defenders in a blur of motion and focused energy. She’s calm when the ball is glued on her feet, sparkling to light, her presence igniting the pitch, as soon as her teammates take over.

Patri finds her captain just outside the box and you lean forward, smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

You may be new to the whole thing, new in the Blaugrana’s home stands, but you learn quickly and you know exactly what Alexia’s movement means.

The shot curves perfectly, the stadium exhales a collective gasp as the goalkeeper’s fingertips fail to reach it. The ball hits the bar loudly, the sound echoing before it flies out of the pitch.

Beside you, Alba lets out a whoop, clapping her hands with a grin stretching across her face, “She’s out for blood”

You laugh, not like anyone could disagree.

Barça is winning by three goals, outrunning the defence and shooting as if they need to score at least three more to sleep peacefully tonight.

The poor goalkeeper will have nightmares for sure.

“She really want to take home that ball”

“She’s playing to impress”, Alba points out, not so subtly.

You chuckle, her remark flying over your head, “She’s just– good, I guess”

“Good? ¡Por favor!”, the younger Putellas scoffs, rolling her eyes, “She’s acting like a ballet dancer out there, doing pirouettes and running around like she has two sets of lungs”

As to prove her sister’s point, Alexia nutmegs another midfielder and executes another perfect movement, clearing the field for Aitana to set up Vicky for a chip goal.

The crowd erupts, but Alba’s attention remains fixed on you.

“¡Mirala!”, she says, pointing at the pitch where the team is hugging and celebrating, “That was another ‘look at me, soy la Reina’ moment!”

“Your sister is the most competitive person I’ve ever met”

“Competitive? Chica, she’s showing off! And don’t even get me started on the way she keeps looking up here, fixing her hair between plays– It’s ridiculous”

You watch as Barcelona’s bubble dissipates and they get back at their positions, Alexia waves towards your seats, her face illuminated by a radiant grin.

Your cheeks flush slightly, a mixture of amusement and something else.

The game keeps on with the same level of excitement, and even more shots on target. They win narrowly, unconcerned by their soaked clothes, lingering happily in the rain to sign autographs and chat with supporters.

Alexia immediately seeks out you and Alba, trying to embrace you both despite your not-so-playful protests. The damp material of her kit clings, accentuating her defined muscles, and your thoughts stray to less innocent territories.

Alba sends her sister to the changing room, accepting the kiss landed on her forehead and watching as you nod like an idiot when she leaves with the promise to be back in no time, her hand lingering on your arm.

“¡Ay, esto es increíble!”, she interrupts your thought flow, tilting her umbrella just enough for a stream of rain to drop on your face.

“Alba!”

“You’re not exactly subtle either, ¿sabes?”

The stadium noises fade into a distant hum. The air between you thickens, the playful banter morphing into something more charged and intentional. Your fingers fidget with the edge of your jacket, avoiding the younger woman’s gaze.

“How long have you known?”, you ask.

“The moment I introduced the two of you, idiota!”, she says, her voice teasing, “But I knew for sure at your birthday’s party”

“Nothing happened between us”

Alba’s smile softens, a gentle understanding dawning in her eyes, “I’m not blind and I know my sister pretty well. And honestly? I think it’s cute, you two glow when you’re together. She likes you. A lot. And you like her too"

Your shoulders relax, “I do. I really like her, Alba”

The wave of relief that washes over you is comforting.

You don’t owe her anything, and Alba definitely doesn’t owe you anything. But it’s good to know this love growing between you and Alexia is real, people around you see it too. People you care about support it.

Your smile spreads naturally on your face when you spot Barcelona’s captain approaching, hair still wet but changed in warm clothes.

Alba doesn’t miss it, nudging you with her elbow just before her sister’s close enough to hear, “It’s good you feel ready to date again, and I’m happy it’s her”

“I’m going to say it just once, so listen carefully”, you stop in the middle of the road with a stoic face, “Please, don’t make me regret our entire friendship”

The grin on Elena’s lips tells you everything you need to know, but you give her the benefit of the doubt. Because she’s your best friend, because she knows how to behave.

But she’s your best friend, and she’s not going to behave.

Her visit is not unpleasant, just unexpected.

It’s barely six in the morning when loud bangs on the front door wake you up and almost scare Ricardo to death. He takes it well enough, greeting Elena and going back to sleep the shock away. You, on the other hand, think of leaving her waiting outside until it’s socially acceptable to show up. Her immediate embrace is a clever attempt to smooth your annoyance.

She booked a red-eye flight for a hit and run, so you take her around Barcelona all day and agree to a late night out in a club Alba suggested you join with some of her friends.

“Relax”, she says, skipping steps like a kid as you approach the place.

“Elena, I’m serious”

“Why are you so stressed? Oh– oh, I know!”

She turns around in her heels, too graciously for someone with shoes so high and such low alcohol tolerance – you two may not be in your early 20s anymore, but you figured pregame was necessary this time around.

Her good resolution of not drinking alcohol crumbled as soundly as it started.

“Is she here too?”

“I don’t know what–”

“This mysterious woman you can’t shut up about, who is so great you have heart-shaped eyes but I can’t know her name”, she interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulder as you approach the club’s entrance.

It’s not like you’re hiding Alexia, or your feelings for her.

She’s a frequent topic of conversation with your best friend, you’re comfortable sharing the moments between the two of you and the way your heart beats at a completely different rhythm around the Barcelona’s captain.

But Elena can be protective, and curious.

All she needs is a name, and she’s going to find out if Alexia has ever got a bad grade in primary school. The teasing for liking a football player? You aren’t ready for that either.

“Yes, she’s here and I need you to–”

“This is the best day of my life!”, she doesn’t even let you finish, leaves you right there, flashing the bodyguard at the entrance a huge smile and sweet talking her way in – even though they have your names as vip guests.

“This is going to be the worst day of mine”, you mutter to yourself, following after her.

The energy in the club is charged with a dangerous combination of freewill and alcohol. The place is packed and colored lights go on and off with the music, bright enough to see who’s in front of you, but not enough to make your decision clear. Not tonight.

Alba sees you first, waving her hand to catch your attention so you join them in a secluded table in a corner of the place.

You don’t even ask how Elena is already seated in the cool leather booth, talking animatedly.

“She’s funny”, Alba comments after greeting you with a hug.

“Don’t believe a word she says”

The younger girl’s laugh mixes with your best friend’s, and you know your fate is sealed when a guy hands her a drink.

You look around the table, noticing some people from Alba’s close circle and some you met in passing at the restaurant or at a Barcelona’s game.

“She’s in the bathroom”

Your body betrays you before a coherent thought can leave your brain, your cheeks redding to the tips of your ears.

“Told you, you’re not subtle”, Alba comments, too amused at your reaction.

As if she knows you’re talking about her, as if a magnetic energy forces your body to get closer and closer, Alexia’s gaze locks with yours as she approaches the table, followed by a vaguely familiar face.

She greets you with a dimpled smile and a welcoming hug, it may look like months passed but it’s been a matter of days. The black top she’s wearing emphasizes her toned stomach, and your fingers itch to trace the subtle sheen of sweat crossing her back – a sign she’s been dancing for a while now.

You’re fashionably late, regardless of the time Alba suggested you to be here. Spanish people are stragglers, you have learned it at your own expense.

“Are you ready?”, the footballer asks.

“For what?”

“You owe me a dance”

“Absolutely not!”, you protest, trying to escape her hug.

“Oh, yes”, she smile, her arm around your waist dragging you even closer, “You made fun of my dancing moves, now you have to prove yours”

Next time, you will think twice before sending the blonde every single comment you found online about a TikTok video one of her teammates posted after a huge win. In your defence, you find it very cute.

The dance floor is filled with people, dancing in fluid movements like you learned Spaniard are comfortable with. A sea of arms fling around, bodies smoothly moving to feel each other. The music vibrates with a bass so deep that your ribs pulses at the same rhythm.

Alexia guides you in a less crowded section, far enough from the table so Alba and Elena can study every single movement, but out of earshot.

You try to ignore the thought of your best friend gossiping with Alba.

Thinking, however, is the last thing you do when Alexia’s hand finds the small of your back, skin waking up by the slight hint of touch.

It doesn’t really matter how you managed to get this close, how the music runs through your bodies with an unmistakable energy and desire to get even closer. Your arms rise to frame the blonde’s face, her grin growing as soon as she notices your reaction.

It’s not like either of you is hiding the attraction, the pulsing needs to be together. To talk, to touch, to be around one another. It’s always been there, you just never acted on it.

“Are they like that all the time?”, Elena asks, still studying the way you seem to speak a different language with Alexia.

“I’m thinking about locking them somewhere until they kiss or whatever”

The disbelief is clear in Elena’s voice, “Are you sure they haven’t kissed yet?”

“If I know my sister, she must be really fucking scared”

“If I know my best friend, she must be really fucking stupid”

The two nod before bursting in a loud laugh, clicking their glasses.

Almost an half an hour later, you find them like that, giggling and talking as if they have known each other for years and not just met. Alexia raises an eyebrow, silently questioning if she needs to hold back Alba’s enthusiasm – Elena is matching it without a problem, and that’s what really worries you.

“And that’s how she ended up with the sister of her blind date”

“That’s not how it happened, at all”, you complain, hitting your best friend’s arm as she decide telling the worst stories possible is the best way to spend the night.

“Must have been a great date”, someone jokes.

“I’m a fantastic date, thank you so much”

“I can confirm”, Alba says with a teasing grin, raising her empty glass as you flip her off with an equally open smile on your lips.

Alexia, on the other hand, straightens up a bit at the exchange, switches her gaze between the two of you, almost taken aback, “You two dated?”

“I told you”, the younger girl retorts.

“I thought you were messing with me”

The change in her posture is subtle, but you’re close enough to feel it. Close enough to notice the way she moves her knee, breaking contact with yours, her fingers toying with the ring on her pinky.

Alba is a bit too drunk to pay attention to the footballer’s dampened mood, not affected anymore by that one date with you so long ago.

She told her sister about it when she first clocked in her interest for you, hoping to clear the way for her to do something about it – a sort of blessing.

Turns out, Alexia’s so sure she was teasing her, lying about it just to annoy her.

Thankfully, your best friend reads in your face the panic and drifts the conversation on a completely different topic.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughs, questionable drinking choices, and more dancing.

Every single attempt of catching Alexia’s eyes fails miserably. She’s not ignoring you, she doesn’t leave her seat next to you, and her touch is light but grounding. Your mind, however, spirals in a way it hasn’t in months.

It’s late when the group decides to call it a day, stumbling out into the cool, damp air of Barcelona. No one is sober enough to even think of driving, the decision to summon taxis rather than risk the roads is unanimous.

A strange intimacy settled inside the car. You and Alexia sit in the back, while Alba, in the middle, sleeps on the older woman’s shoulder with soft snores. Elena is deep in conversation with the Catalan driver, despite not speaking a word of the language. The city lights flash outside, blurred by a light drizzle that you trace with a finger against the window.

Upon reaching Alexia’s apartment, you insist on helping her carry her sister inside, ignoring her half-hearted protests. Your best friend, armed with a winning smile and a ‘thank me later’ attitude, somehow manages to convince the driver to wait for you outside.

The place is quiet when you enter, amplifying the tension that crackled between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s never uncomfortable.

You and Alexia carefully settle Alba onto the bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the guest room. Each gentle adjustment of her sister’s blanket, each soft whisper to ensure her comfort, stretched out the delicate balance.

It’s minutes later, right by the front door, that something snaps.

Before you can reach the handle on the way out, the footballer’s fingers wrap around your wrist.

There’s urgency in the way her body feels stirred by an electric discharge all of a sudden, her voice low, “You dated?”

“What?”, your confusion is mostly prompted by Alexia’s distressed tone.

“You dated my sister?”

“No, we– I mean, we went out like one time and I was, clearly, still fucked up by my ex– It’s not like we actually dated or something”

“She said–”

“She was joking”, your hands cupping the blonde’s face seems to do wonder at calming her, but you still feel the need to clarify the situation, “I kissed her, once, then found a good therapist and said to her I wasn’t interested like that”

“Are you interested like that?”

“Alexia, I just said–”

“No, no”, she interrupts shyly, never dropping her gaze, “Are you interested in me like that?”

Despite the voices still filling doubts in your head, kissing her is the easiest, most natural thing to do at that moment.

Her lips are soft, warm, and taste faintly of sweet drinks. Her breath mingled with yours, a shared rhythm in the quiet intimacy of the kiss.

A current of interest, desire, and care pulls you closer. There’s complicity and belonging, mingling with curiosity, and the thrill of uncharted territory.

And there’s Alexia, right in front of you, vulnerable and exposed and trusting enough to lay her emotions in your hands. Making you feel so safe that you don’t even have to think about doing the same.

So you kiss again, trying to convey how sure you are about your feelings. Because the insecurities and the questioning silence when Alexia’s heartbeat syncs with yours and her hand caresses your face.

The sharp honk coming from the taxi outside is the only reason why you separate.

The late afternoon sun drapes over the Barcelona streets as you and Alexia stroll, fingers laced together.

It’s a familiar feeling now, holding hands after a date.

You have explored hidden hikes, shared tapas after her games, and even attended a couple of flamenco lessons. Nothing too different from what you’ve already experienced.

Except, of course, for the kissing.

And there’s been a lot of that.

Your phone buzzes, interrupting Alexia’s recall of Vicky’s last attempt of convincing her to do another stupid trend. You drop her hand, your fingers flying across the screen, muttering in concentration.

The footballer raises an eyebrow, complaining playfully, “Am I annoying you?”

“It’s this stupid bird!”

“Still fighting with ser y estar?”

“I’m sorry, my Spanish teacher is a tease and gets distracted five minutes after promising to help me study”

“She sounds like an incredible teacher”, she counters, too pleased with herself as she hints at your last private tutoring.

Despite your best effort, the other woman had other plans. The sentences she whispered right at your ear, with a raspy voice and a note of teasing in every single movement of her lips, made your resolution crumble in a matter of minutes. The books, not even opened, fell off the bed with a kick of her foot.

You do, however, learn some new words.

Your cheeks flush at the memory, “Shut up!”

“I said nothing”

You ignore her grin, still welcoming her embrace as she pulls you closer to help with the lesson.

“This app is useless! Why do those Spanish animals always do weird things? It’s making me questioning my entire existence”

“Tan dramática”, Alexia snorts, nudging you with her hip, “Why are you even using that thing? You can learn everything you need from me”

“I’m trying to actually learn something here”, you retort, faking annoyance, “Besides, you’re not always available for Spanish lessons. I want to get better, impress the locals”

“After more than a year?”

“Never too late”, you grin, “Just wait, I’ll be ordering in flawless Catalan in less time than it took you to ask me out”

Alexia stops in her tracks at your teasing, taken aback by your admission and by way of calling her out for the stalling after the first kiss you shared. She may have needed a little push then, trying to find the best moment to ask you for a real date to just blur it out in the rush of a late game night you attended.

You continue walking, too focused on the lesson to acknowledge the blonde’s momentary pause.

“Wait, I thought you were taking Spanish lessons”

“Yes, from you and the stupid bird, but I have an actually tutor for Catalan”

“You’re learning Catalan?”

“I live in Barcelona”, you say, matter of factly, but the flush creeping up on your cheeks betrays you.

The truth hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken. It isn’t about fitting in, not anymore. It’s about her.

To understand her better, wrapping deeply into the fabric of her world. It’s commitment, to the city and to a future that you can’t picture without her in. It’s a promise, somehow, to bridge any gap and to learn her culture, her soul.

Alexia’s gaze lingers, the weight of your growing feelings both exhilarating and inevitable.

She told herself she set a pace comfortable for you, respecting your need to get better with loving yourself and trusting others.

But you’ve been ready for this love for quite some time now.

The way you open up with her, hold her after a long day, and gently kiss the creases around her lips when she smiles. The way you not just proudly wear your heart on your sleeve, but you hand out your emotions to be seen. The way you make her feel safe enough to be vulnerable, to be taken care of.

The way you’re learning to love her by learning to love everything that makes her who she is.

A nervous flutter, like trapped butterflies, stirred in your stomach as Alexia catches up to you. You could feel the energy radiating from her, the subtle scent of her perfume, a mix of wood and something undeniably her.

“Estic enamorada de tu”, she confesses, cheeks slightly tinted but her voice so firm, so sure.

“I know what that means”

A smile, genuine and carefree, grows on both your lips. You study her face for a moment, finding nothing but pure care and a force that feels like arms keeping you safe and warm.

Nothing but love.

The way you kiss her is almost too intense for a late afternoon in the streets of Barcelona, but barely enough to convey all the emotions that you discovered and learned to welcome in your life again.

You may not be ready to say out loud you’re falling in love with her too, not yet. But the firmness of your hands on her face, the happiness lightning in your eyes, the resolution conveyed by your kiss.

She knows.

On the day you declare the restaurant officially debt free, Paco lifts you up off the ground, spins you around with ease and plants a loud kiss on your forehead.

Paul’s reaction is a bit tamed, even if he declares he’s going to name his firstborn after you. Still single and hopeless romantic, you’re not sure how much to read into his words.

Pedro cries, of course he does, but he also hugs you in a way that conveys almost too much not to shed a few tears yourself.

It’s not difficult for you to admit you own them more than they own you.

Taking care of the restaurant’s ledger and the guys’ enthusiastic opinion about your accounting job opened a lot of small businesses’ doors. The idea of opening your own office never even crosses your mind, not planning on entangling yourself in a structured system anytime soon. The new apartment you rent has a small room that works just fine as a study.

You will still keep an eye on them, though, not sure enough your finance lessons really drilled in their heads.

“So, you’re finally letting us treat you with dinner?”, Paul asks, serving you up with way too many pleasantries.

“I already have someone who pays for me”, you retort, playful smirk on your lips.

“¡Ay, I thought you were taking me out tonight!”, Alexia complains next to you, keeping up with the joke as she pretends to not be interested in the food anymore. She can be such a dork.

“Wait, am I crushing a date?”, Alba intercepts from the other side of the table.

“You’ve been crushing our dates since the day we met!”

The laughs that erupt are loud enough to catch the attention of the other patrons, thankfully not really annoyed by the chaos. The truth is that, despite being a menace of a group, it is not like you can drag your friends in any other place without the risk of getting banned forever.

It’s a familiar scene. The restaurant feels like a second home now, one that you built on your own around people that truly see you, support you and never miss a chance to tease you.

So you shake your head at Ricardo’s antics and glare at Alexia when she keeps teasing her sister, effortlessly distracting her with light movements of your fingers on her knee.

The conversation flows between shared memories and inside jokes, carrying the night away until your table is the only one left. Not planning on leaving the place anytime soon. And as you sit there, surrounded by your friends, questionable recalling of stories, and the magnetic pull of Alexia’s presence, you just know that this is it.

This is your life, your love, your chosen family.

Then Pedro has to ruin the moment, persuading everyone you have to make a toast for whatever reason. You try to fight it, embarrassed and quite frankly taken aback by the respect and genuine admiration this people seems to feel for you.

A subtle nod of your girlfriend’s head, her hand finding yours beneath the table, is all you need to indulge with their antics.

“To us”, you say, raising a glass, “To finally getting our shit together!”

Laughter and cheers fill the restaurant, everyone congratulating each other for the most random things and joking around as if life could always be this simple.

Alexia’s hold tightens, her eyes meeting yours. Her face lights up in a way that never fails to make your own heart grow.

“T’estimo”, you whisper, just for her to hear.

Your love is usually so loud. A love that grows unexpectedly, but burns with a fierce and tender flame. But your promises are quiet. A silent acknowledgment of commitment that goes beyond, that stretches confidently into the future.

Together.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso community #ap11 #woso world #my wo(rd)so

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pinkmoontaco · 1 day ago

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Hii it's me again lol about the g dragon, can i request something like kwon jiyong x idol reader, reader is younger than him (OF COURSE LEGAL AGE HAHA), she's a soloist or in a girl group (you decide 🥰) when bigbang performed in the mama awards just last year so iconic lol, after they performed they have to sit with other artists, he purposely planned talked to some staffs to make his and her group sit together, and they have some moments that the fans caught on and yes HAHAHA you continue BUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT, idk if you could understand it 😔😔😔 i dont know to explain this properly lol

Exposed || Kwon Jiyong

Pairing: Idol Jiyong X Idol Reader Genre: Fluff Summary: Jiyong and Y/N, a idol from a popular girl group, have been secretly dating. However, their relationship starts sparking rumors after several accidental (and not-so-accidental) moments at the MAMA Awards. A.N: Please let me know if you guys want a part 2 continuation of this story

Please give it lots of love and support! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts, comments and don't forget to follow for more stories like this—they mean so much to me and help me improve. Your feedback and encouragement keep me motivated to keep writing. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Love you guys 💖💖 And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other groups M.list

The night was electric. BIGBANG had just finished their performance, a stage that would be talked about for years. The energy was still buzzing in the air as the members walked off, their breathing still heavy from the adrenaline. And from his place on stage, Jiyong had already located you.

Your group had been watching from the front rows, standing, clapping, and cheering along with the other artists. But unlike the rest, you felt the heat of his gaze.

You knew you had to play it cool. You kept your eyes forward, lips pressed together in the perfect image of a professional junior idol. But when he bowed, when he let his eyes flicker to yours for half a second longer than necessary, you felt your pulse quicken.

It wasn’t over.

Because when it came time for seating arrangements, suddenly, your group was ushered toward BIGBANG’s section.

Your leader glanced at the staff in confusion. “Oh, we’re sitting here?”

A staff member just nodded, completely unaware of the tension brewing beneath the surface. Or maybe they did know. After all, Jiyong had made sure of it.

As you sat down, your assigned seat just happened to be diagonal from his. Close enough for accidental touches. Close enough for subtle games.

And Jiyong? Oh, he was enjoying himself.

The first time your knees brushed, you thought it was an accident. The seating was cramped, and idols were squeezed together with barely any space to move.

But then it happened again.

This time, he pressed his knee deliberately against yours.

You didn’t react. You kept your posture perfect, eyes locked on the stage. But your fingers curled slightly in your lap.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

Jiyong chuckled under his breath, low enough that only you could hear.

"You're good at this," he murmured, barely moving his lips.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your eyes on the performance. "At what?"

"At pretending like I’m not here," he mused. Then, leaning slightly closer, he added, "But I know you feel it."

Your breath hitched. The warmth of his leg against yours, the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine—you hated how easily he affected you.

But two could play this game.

So, without missing a beat, you pressed your knee back against his.

And that was the moment his smirk faltered.

Sometime during the award announcements, a staff member brought bottled water to each table. You twisted open your cap, taking a small sip—only to nearly choke when Jiyong’s ringed fingers casually reached forward, stealing your bottle.

Before you could react, he took a slow sip, completely unbothered.

Your eyes widened, but he merely wiped the corner of his lips with his thumb, setting the bottle back down in front of you.

"Yah," you whispered, shooting him a glare.

"Problem?" he asked innocently, tilting his head.

You scoffed, reaching for another bottle, but before you could, he leaned over and slid the original bottle back toward you.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "Just drink from mine."

Your stomach flipped. You hated that he was enjoying this.

And you hated even more that you took the bottle and drank from it.

It started as something harmless. Just a quick glance in his direction.

But you didn’t realize the camera had zoomed in on you.

At that exact moment, Jiyong, ever the instigator, tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythm only you recognized—a song he’d written for you.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. He noticed.

And before you could stop it—before you could school your expression into something neutral—your lips curled up in the tiniest smile.

And the fans caught everything.

The camera cut away almost instantly, but not fast enough.

Twitter exploded.

"WHY DID Y/N JUST SMILE OUT OF NOWHERE WHEN GD WAS TAPPING THE TABLE HELPPP"

"WHAT WAS HE TAPPING?? HELLO CODEBREAKERS??"

"Y/N SMILING AFTER GD LOOKED HER WAY... Y'ALL WE'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE 👀"

"GD took HER bottle?? And she didn’t even react?? Oh nah they are not slick."

And then—dispatch dropped a clip.

A grainy, fan-taken video from the upper seats of the arena. The footage was shaky, but clear enough to show:

Jiyong passing your group a drink, but ONLY handing it to you.

The knee touch under the table.

Your stolen glance. Your tiny, traitorous smile.

It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking.

But the fans? They saw everything.

The awards continued, but you barely registered the winners.

Because Jiyong wasn’t done.

His fingers drummed against the table again. This time, the rhythm wasn’t a song. It was a message.

T-A-L-K T-O M-E

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly.

Jiyong grinned. He saw that.

Then, the absolute menace that he was, he raised a brow and mouthed, "Scared?"

You nearly scoffed. Oh, he wanted to play? Fine.

You leaned in slightly, just enough for only him to hear.

"Oppa," you murmured, voice sweet but laced with warning. "Behave."

The effect was immediate.

Jiyong’s smirk twitched, his fingers freezing for just a second—because he liked it when you called him that. And you knew it.

His hand curled into a loose fist on the table, jaw tightening for a moment before he exhaled and shot you a half-lidded gaze.

"That’s unfair," he murmured back, voice husky.

You bit back a smirk.

You knew Jiyong was watching.

You felt it.

The moment your group took the stage, the energy in the arena shifted—louder screams, flashing lights, and a certain someone sitting comfortably in the artist section, front row, with that signature smirk.

At first, he was composed—just nodding to the beat, sunglasses perfectly in place.

But then?

Then came your part.

The camera panned to him just as you stepped forward for your solo.

The moment your hips rolled, your gaze sharp and commanding—

Jiyong?

Gone.

The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he openly stared.

The live audience noticed instantly.

"HE'S STARING. HE IS NOT EVEN HIDING IT."

"DID Y'ALL SEE HIS SMIRK WHEN Y/N DID HER PART? EXCUSE ME????"

"THIS IS NOT EVEN A FANBOY REACTION. THAT'S A MAN ADMIRING HIS WOMAN."

It got worse when you locked eyes with him for half a second.

Jiyong?

Smirked.

The type of smirk that said, "You know exactly what you're doing, jagiya."

The camera caught it all.

And just when people thought it couldn’t get any more insane—

Mid-performance, a cameraman—who deserves a RAISE—zoomed in on Jiyong again.

This time?

The man was biting his lip.

"JAIL. JAIL FOR THIS MAN."

"Y/N NEEDS TO PAY FOR MY THERAPY BECAUSE HER PERFORMANCE GOT GD LIKE THAT."

"HE'S SO OBVIOUS IT'S EMBARRASSING PLEASE."

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck.

Jiyong?

Still shameless.

By the time your performance ended, he was back to normal, clapping like nothing happened.

But when you walked back to your seat—next to him—he leaned over and whispered:

"You almost killed me up there, sweetheart."

You gritted your teeth. "Serves you right."

He chuckled, voice dangerously low.

"Just wait till later."

Your breath hitched.

And just like that—the night wasn’t over yet.

At the very end of the night, artists were standing, clapping, saying their goodbyes.

Jiyong was walking ahead with the BIGBANG members when, for just a second, he glanced over his shoulder at you.

And you looked back.

The moment lasted only a second, but someone caught it on camera.

A single, slow-motion GIF.

Jiyong turning his head, looking back at you.

Your eyes meeting his.

That split-second smirk before he faced forward again.

Twitter? In flames.

"HE LOOKED BACK. HE LOOKED BACK. OH MY GOD HE LOOKED BACK."

"That was NOT a casual glance. That was a ‘meet me later’ look."

"THE SMIRK. I CAN’T BREATHE."

"They think they’re being sneaky. THEY ARE NOT."

Later That Night…

Your phone buzzed.

Jiyong: So, when are we announcing the wedding?

You: Jiyong-ah.

Jiyong: Yes, my love?

You: I’m going to kill you.

Jiyong: But you’ll miss me too much, won’t you?

YOU: You did that on purpose right?

Jiyong: Of course I did. How else will they know you’re mine?

You: WE ARE NOT GETTING CAUGHT.

Jiyong: Sweetheart, we’ve already been caught.

Jiyong: You looked unreal tonight.

You: You made it OBVIOUS.

Jiyong: You make it hard to behave, jagiya.

You: STOP.

Jiyong: Make me. 😏

You groaned, flopping onto your bed. The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

And the actual worst part?

You liked it.

It started as fan theories.

A harmless coincidence.

But by the time the MAMA afterparty ended, it had escalated into a full-blown scandal.

TRENDING ON TWITTER

#GDxY/N #Y/N_LuckyGirl #GDRAGON_LostHisCool

THE CLUES THAT STARTED IT ALL:

The Seating Arrangement Scandal

Why was your group suddenly seated next to BigBang when it wasn’t in the original floor plan? 🤨

Fans dug up footage of Jiyong talking to staff before the show.

"HE PLANNED IT. THIS MAN WENT OUT OF HIS WAY TO SIT NEXT TO HER."

Jiyong’s Reactions = A Man Down BAD

The lip bite. The smirk. The unholy stare.

"We’ve seen GD fanboy before, but this? This is different."

"He was watching like he already KNEW how that dress looked up close." 😭😭

The Afterparty Coincidence

You and Jiyong left around the same time.

Different cars, but same direction.

Fans noticed your manager looking stressed while BigBang’s team tried to be low-key.

"They didn’t even try to stagger their exits. HELP."

The Matching Accessories Debacle

The next day, Jiyong posted an Instagram story.

A hand, casually holding a glass of wine.

A familiar ring on his finger—the same one you were seen wearing months ago.

"SO WEARING COUPLE RINGS IS JUST A THING NOW? OKAY."

THE COMPANY RESPONSES = SUSPICIOUS AF

Your Agency:

"Y/N and G-Dragon are just industry colleagues. The seating was arranged by MAMA organizers."

YG Entertainment:

"We do not comment on our artists' personal lives."

TRANSLATION: "We're not denying it."

"YG NOT EVEN TRYING TO LIE LMFAO."

"If they weren’t dating, they’d have shut this down IMMEDIATELY. Oh, they’re so caught."

"Just drop the wedding invitation at this point."

After days of speculation, Jiyong did what he does best—

Trolled everyone.

NEW IG POST: A selfie. Smirking. Caption?

"I love MAMA."

THAT’S. IT.

"HE'S PLAYING WITH US HELP."

"SIR JUST CONFIRM IT OR DENY IT. DON’T TEASE US LIKE THIS."

"This man enjoys chaos too much I can’t."

THE INTERNET STILL HASN’T RECOVERED.

And neither have you. 😭🔥

If people weren’t sure before—

Now?

They were certain.

All thanks to one tiny, completely avoidable mistake.

NEW IG POST: Y/N’s Group Behind-The-Scenes Photos!

Your group’s official account posted casual snapshots from rehearsals, practice rooms, and random candid moments from recent schedules.

Harmless, right?

Wrong.

Because eagle-eyed fans noticed something immediately.

THE CLUE THAT BROKE THE INTERNET:

In one mirror selfie, you were holding your phone in the corner.

Reflected in the mirror? A very familiar-looking silver bracelet.

The exact same bracelet Jiyong had been wearing for years.

FAN REACTIONS = PURE CHAOS

"I NEED EVERYONE TO ZOOM IN RIGHT NOW."

"THAT. THAT IS GD’S BRACELET. THAT MAN DOESN’T TAKE IT OFF."

"SO SHE WAS WITH HIM? OR…???"

"Not them getting caught by a MIRROR REFLECTION."

Hours after the bracelet debacle, Jiyong—being Jiyong—made everything worse.

NEW IG POST: A Random Aesthetic Shot

A simple photo of his hand, resting casually on a table.

Except…

The bracelet was front and center.

The background? Suspiciously similar to a place you had visited just days ago.

Caption?

"Good things should be kept close." 😏

FAN REACTIONS = ABSOLUTE CHAOS

"SIR. SIR, THIS IS NOT SUBTLE."

"ARE THEY EVEN HIDING ANYMORE??"

"Y/N POST THE MATCHING PHOTO OR WE RIOT."

"I feel like we’re getting a dating confirmation in 3…2…1."

Chats:

You: Jiyong. YOU. NEED. TO. STOP. 😡

Jiyong: Stop what?

You: YOU KNOW WHAT.

Jiyong: I just like my bracelet. 🤷

You: I WILL THROW THAT BRACELET INTO THE OCEAN.

Jiyong: Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t dive in after it.

You: I AM BLOCKING YOU.

Jiyong: Again? Cute. 😘

One week later, just when the rumors started to die down—

Jiyong did something so reckless that even your company gave up.

NEW IG STORY: A simple photo of his hand intertwined with someone else’s.

The angle? Purposely vague.

But the bracelet?

Still there.

And the nail polish color on the other hand?

The exact same shade you had worn the day before.

Caption?

"Some things don’t need to be explained."

INSTANT WORLDWIDE MELTDOWN.

OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM BOTH AGENCIES:

"We ask fans to respect our artists’ personal lives."

TRANSLATION: "Yeah, they’re dating. We’re tired. Leave us alone."

THE INTERNET GOES INSANE

"AFTER ALL THAT TEASING, WE FINALLY HAVE CONFIRMATION???"

"GD REALLY SAID SOFT LAUNCH THEN HARD LAUNCH LMAO."

"Y/N YOU ARE THE LUCKIEST WOMAN ALIVE."

"MAMA 2024 BETTER HAVE A COUPLE SEAT ARRANGEMENT READY."

You: Are you happy now?? 😩

Jiyong: Very. 😌

You: You're insufferable.

Jiyong: You love me, though. 😘

You: …Shut up.

Jiyong: Make me. 😏

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suzukiblu · 3 days ago

Text

Day twenty-six of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Don’t get my boy excited right now, babe, he just woke up. We need to take care of him before we can let him get too riled-up again,” Tim tells Bernard mildly as he reaches over to ruffle Kon’s hair, and Kon nearly chokes on the bite of mango bar in his mouth. Fucking Christ, this bastard. “Clean him up, brush his hair, make sure he’s eaten something and gotten enough water.”

“I am literally eating right now,” Kon reminds him, his face burning again even as he can’t help holding very, very still for the stupid hair-ruffling. Tim rubs his thumb in behind his ear and his face less “burns” and more “incinerates”. He also doesn’t look at him or acknowledge that he’s spoken.

“Maybe we should just get him a bath, actually,” Tim muses consideringly. “He did get a little dirty when we were playing before.”

Okay, maybe Kon should’ve saved the word “incinerate” for another minute or two. His bad.

“Oh my god, Tim,” Bernard says with a helpless–and kinda strangled–laugh. Kon is impressed it’s only kinda, frankly, because he isn’t actually sure he remembers how talking works right now? Like, just as a thing? Like maybe he just won’t do that again for a little while, if–

“Color, pet?” Tim asks, rubbing his thumb in behind his ear again.

Never mind.

“Green,” Kon answers immediately, because Tim’s asking, and can’t help feeling just–fucking relieved, maybe, that Tim still trusts him to be good for–this. Him. Whichever. That Tim took his word on it when he said he still wanted to, like–scene and all. “Like I am in my full Emerald City era right now, Krypto, we are not in Kansas anymore.”

Tim snorts out a surprised little laugh, but still doesn’t look at him. Kon kinda wants to do something that’ll give him a reason to, except then–

“Though the bathroom probably isn’t big enough if he gets too riled-up during that, admittedly,” Tim says to Bernard like he didn’t even notice Kon saying anything himself, and Kon immediately just wants to suck his fucking dick about it. Like, he has been spending a lot of time thinking about sucking Tim’s dick this weekend, yeah, but he is really thinking about it right now. Like–just something about how it feels to be sitting here with stuff Tim gave him to eat and drink–brought him to eat and drink, even, and picked out for him ‘cuz they were his favorites–and Tim’s hand in his hair and Tim looking at and talking to Bernard, but not him.

Because, like–why would Tim need to talk to his boy if he didn’t feel like it? Kon’s not going anywhere no matter how much attention he does or doesn’t get. He doesn’t even wanna do that when he’s straight, for fuck’s sake; he already wants to hang out with Tim all the goddamn time as it is. So like, right now he definitely isn’t going anywhere.

At least not ‘til Tim tells him to.

“Like big enough for all three of us or big enough to actually play in?” Bernard asks. “Because I dunno about you, babe, but I believe in that Bat-ingenuity of yours. And, like, possibly the TTK, depending on whether or not any towel racks or shower bars or sinks or whatever might need reinforced for a minute or two in there.”

“Might be more the shower wall that needs reinforced, but fair,” Tim muses consideringly. He scrapes his thumbnail in a little closer under Kon’s ear–a little tighter–and Kon definitely, definitely wants to suck his dick about this. Wants to do something for him without having to worry about being enough, for once, because he already knows Tim’ll tell him exactly how to be “enough” for him, and even if he still isn’t . . . well. Bernard’ll fix it, if he isn’t.

So that’s a totally normal-dude thing to think about his best friend and said best friend’s boyfriend who he’s just met, for sure. Definitely, definitely normal-dude thoughts.

Kon is way less concerned than usual with what the “normal” thing to do would be, though.

#timberkon #timkon #timbern #konbern #kon el #conner kent #bernard dowd #tim drake #superboy #dc robin #wip: think pink #dom/sub

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cressidagrey · 1 hour ago

Text

White Horse - Chapter 4: June 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of the death of a parent, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The kitchen was a mess—takeout boxes stacked on the counter, two wine glasses half full, and Max barefoot, leaning against the fridge like he didn’t want the night to end.

Isabelle stood a few steps away, curled into the oversized sweater he’d lent her after she complained she was cold, even though they both knew it was just an excuse to steal something that smelled like him.

They’d eaten on the floor. Talked for hours. Laughed until she’d nearly dropped her chopsticks on Sassy, who had decided that Isabelle was her favourite human. It was one of those nights—unguarded and easy, where everything just fit.

Isabelle didn’t know what she’d said to make him go quiet—some small, unremarkable comment about how being with him made her feel like she could finally take a breath—but when she glanced up, Max was looking at her like she’d cracked open the sky.

“What?” she asked, smiling, suddenly self-conscious under his stare.

He shook his head slightly, still watching her.

And then he said it.

Quiet. Unflinching. Certain.

“I love you.”

Isabelle blinked.

The words landed so gently they didn’t make a sound—just settled between them, warm and heavy and real.

She hadn’t been expecting it. Not now, not tonight, not when she had rice stuck to her sweater.

But Max—Max looked like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting to say it. Like it had been there all along.

Her heart stuttered.

“You…” she started, then stopped.

Max didn’t move. Didn’t fill the silence. Just let her have it.

“I didn’t think—” she tried again. “I didn’t think you’d be the first to say it.”

He smiled softly. “Didn’t plan to. Just felt it.”

And that broke something open in her chest.

Because it wasn’t planned. It wasn’t grand or dramatic or wrapped in perfect timing.

It was just him. And her. And the quiet truth sitting between them.

She took a breath. “Say it again?”

He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love you.”

And this time, she didn’t hesitate.

“I love you too.”

The smile that spread across Max’s face made her dizzy.

Then his arms were around her, lifting her off the ground just enough to make her squeal and laugh and cling to him tighter.

She kissed his cheek, then his jaw, then finally his mouth.

“I love you,” she whispered again, just to see the way he looked at her when she said it.

And it was everything.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max said “I love you” tonight

Emilie: WAIT

Emilie: WHAT

Emilie: WHAT DO YOU MEAN MAX SAID “I LOVE YOU”

Emilie: LIKE CASUALLY???

Emilie: OR DRAMATICALLY???

Isabelle: casually

Isabelle: quietly

Isabelle: Like it was the most obvious thing in the world

Isabelle: I think I forgot how to speak for a full five seconds

Emilie: ISABELLE

Emilie: Did you say it back???????

Isabelle: yes

Isabelle: After I made him say it again because I needed to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating

Isabelle: And then I said it

Isabelle: And then he looked at me like I hung the stars

Isabelle: And now I’m sitting in his hoodie trying not to lose my mind

Emilie: OH MY GOD

Emilie: YOU’RE IN LOVE

Emilie: HE’S IN LOVE

Emilie: YOU’RE BOTH IN LOVE

Emilie: I’M GOING TO THROW FLOWERS AT YOU NEXT TIME I SEE YOU

Isabelle: Please don’t.

Isabelle: You’ll wrinkle my outfit

Emilie: I love you

Emilie: I’m crying

Emilie: Also you saying “I love you” for the first time and then texting ME immediately after is everything

Isabelle: Of course I did

Isabelle: You are my emergency emotional processing hotline

Emilie: I’m framing this whole conversation

Emilie: I hope Max knows he’s never allowed to break your heart because if he does, I will learn how to operate a pit stop jack and throw it at him.

***

Isabelle sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her thighs, her phone propped up beside her with a pronunciation guide open. She had told herself for weeks that she was going to do this. If Max was learning French for her, then she could at least try to learn some Dutch for him.

The problem was… Dutch was hard.

“De kat… zit op de stoel,” she murmured, trying to match the robotic voice coming from her phone.

Her brow furrowed. Did she sound anything like that? She hit the playback button again and repeated it, slower this time.

“De kat zit op de stoel.”

The voice app chirped happily, but she was fairly certain it was lying to her. She scribbled down the phrase in her notebook, along with the ten others she had attempted today. A lot of them had been completely useless sentences. Something about elephants drinking water. Another about red dresses.

And yet, she was determined.

She flipped to another tab, a list of common Dutch phrases. Her eyes scanned down to one she recognized immediately.

“Ik hou van jou.”

Her stomach flipped just reading it.

She already knew those words. Max had said them to her before—quietly, softly, in the safety of their world away from everyone else. She had understood them then, even without knowing the direct translation.

Still, she traced the words in her notebook, mouthing them to herself.

“Ik hou van jou.”

She barely noticed the front door opening until she heard Max’s voice calling her name. She scrambled to close the tabs, slamming her notebook shut just as he walked into the living room.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm. He glanced at her suspiciously. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing.”

His brows lifted. “That was very fast.”

She kept her face neutral. “Just… reading.”

Max clearly didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned down, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and murmured, “Ik hou van jou.”

And even though she wasn’t ready to say it back in Dutch just yet, she smiled.

“I love you too.”

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Max: Hey, can I ask you something?

Sophie: Of course, sweetheart. What is it?

Max: It’s about Isabelle.

Sophie: Oh?

Max: Her family. The way they treat her.

Sophie: What do you mean?

Max: They don’t listen to her. They don’t take her seriously. She plans things for them, does so much, and they just… don’t acknowledge it. Like it’s expected.

Sophie: That must hurt her.

Max: It does. But she never complains. Just brushes it off like it doesn’t matter.

Sophie: Because she’s used to it.

Max: Yeah. And that’s what makes me so angry. She deserves better.

Sophie: She does.

Max: I just don’t know how to help.

Sophie: You already are.

Max: How?

Sophie: By noticing. By making sure she knows she’s valued. That’s more than they’ve ever done.

Max: But it doesn’t change them.

Sophie: No. But it changes her world. And that’s what matters.

Max: I just want her to feel like someone actually sees her.

Sophie: And she does. Because of you.

Max: I hope so.

Sophie: I know so.

Sophie: You love her, don’t you?

Max: Yeah. I really do.

Sophie: Then keep loving her the way she deserves. That’s all she needs.

Max: I will. But it still frustrates me.

Sophie: Of course it does. You care about her.

Max: Yeah, and I don’t understand how they don’t.

Sophie: I think they do, in their own way. But they’ve taken her for granted for so long that they don’t even realize it.

Max: That’s not an excuse.

Sophie: No, it’s not. But it helps you understand why she doesn’t expect anything different.

Max: I want her to expect more.

Sophie: And she will. Because you’re showing her what it’s like to be loved properly.

Max: I don’t know if it’s enough.

Sophie: It is. Trust me.

Max: I just want to protect her from all of it.

Sophie: I know, Maxie. But you can’t change them. You can only make sure she always has a place where she feels safe and valued.

Max: She does. With me.

Sophie: Then that’s all that matters.

Max: I hate seeing her hurt.

Sophie: And that’s why she’s with the right person. Because you see her.

Max: Always.

Sophie: Good. Then just keep doing what you’re doing. She deserves someone who fights for her, even if it’s just in the quiet moments.

Max: I will.

***

Max hadn’t really thought about saying it out loud until the words were already out of his mouth.

“I think I want to learn how to ride.”

Isabelle, who had been adjusting the saddle on the horse, froze. Then, very slowly, she turned to look at him like he had just announced he was retiring from racing to become a ballet dancer.

“You what?”

Max shrugged, trying to look casual. “I want to learn how to ride.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, suspicious. “Since when?”

He hesitated. Since the first time he watched her ride, probably. Since he realized how her entire posture relaxed when she was around the horses, how she spoke to them with quiet affection, how they seemed to understand her without needing words.

Instead, he just said, “A while.”

Isabelle crossed her arms, still watching him like he might be joking. “Max, you don’t have to do this just because of me.”

“I know that,” he said simply. “But I want to.”

She was still studying him, like she was trying to make sense of it. Then, after a long pause, she let out a quiet breath. “Horses used to be the most important thing in my life,” she admitted, almost absently. “Until one day, they weren’t anymore.”

Max leaned against the stable door, waiting. Letting her take her time.

“I had a horse,” Isabelle continued, voice soft. “Blanche. I loved her more than anything.” She smiled faintly, but there was sadness beneath it. “She was stubborn but kind. She was mine.”

“She was a dapple grey,” Isabelle continued. “Not pure white, but close. Tall, strong, stubborn. The first horse I ever loved.”

Max didn’t say anything, just nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“She was mine for 6 years,” Isabelle continued, her voice steady, almost detached. “We grew up together. She was there for every fall, every scraped knee, every bad day. I thought we’d be together forever.”

Max shifted beside her. “What happened?”

“My parents sold her.”

Max stiffened. “What?”

What the absolute fuck was he listening to right now?!

“To pay for Charles’ karting,” she said plainly. “One day she was there, and the next she was gone.”

He could just stare at her.

He knew that Isabelle loved horses. She had mentioned that during their very first date. He had known that she still went to that stable outside Monaco at least 2 or 3 times a week for riding lessons.

But he hadn’t known…he hadn’t known that.

“They didn’t even tell you?” Max asked, fury burning deep in his gut.

They had taken away something that… something precious from her?!?

“Not until it was done.” Isabelle let out a short, humorless laugh. “They told me it was for the best. That Charles had a future in racing, and I could always ride again someday.”

Max swore under his breath. “That’s—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That’s not okay.”

“It was practical.”

“I don’t care if it was practical,” Max shot back. “They took something that mattered to you and acted like it didn’t.”

She swallowed. “It wasn’t just that they sold her. It was that they didn’t think I’d care enough for it to matter.”

Max’s hand curled into a fist, his knuckles white. “Did you ever find out where she went?”

“No.” Isabelle shook her head. “I tried asking, but they didn’t have answers. Or maybe they just didn’t want to tell me.”

Max was quiet for a long moment. Then, softer, “Did you stop riding?”

She hesitated. “At least, for a while. We didn’t have the money,” she said simply. “And later… I thought—what was the point, if it could all just be taken away?” She swallowed. “But when I went to university, I found a stable near campus. I worked there, just to be around the horses again.”

“You never told anyone?” Max asked.

She shrugged. “Emilie knows. You know,” she said simply. “I never told my family. It wasn’t…It was mine. For once, it wasn’t about Charles or Arthur or what my family needed. It’s just… mine.”

Max reached for her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. She let him. “You should have never had to give that up.”

Isabelle just reached out for her lesson horse, a dark brown gelding that obviously adored her. “It was just how things were,” she said simply.

No anger. Not really. Just simple acceptance in her words.

Max didn’t think that he would ever have gotten to that point if the same thing had happened to him. If he had needed to give up racing for an older brother and didn’t get to go back for it for years.

He would still be utterly furious.

“That doesn’t mean it was right,” Max said sharply.

She just shrugged, going back to closing the girth on the horse.

He swallowed.

“I know I can’t change the past,” he said quietly. “But if this is something you love, I want to understand it.”

Isabelle’s expression softened. “Okay.”

Max smiled. “Okay.”

She smirked slightly. “Just don’t expect to be good at it.”

Max huffed a laugh. “I drive a car for a living. How hard can a horse be?”

Her laughter was warm, and it lingered even as she shook her head. “Oh, you are going to regret saying that.”

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: …Max told me he wants to learn how to ride.

Emilie: LIKE A HORSE???

Isabelle: Yes, Emilie. Like a horse.

Emilie: OH MY GOD.

Emilie: wait.

Emilie: wait wait wait.

Emilie: He’s going to take LESSONS??? voluntarily??

Isabelle: He literally said, “If it’s important to you, I want to understand it.”

Emilie: Girl. GIIIIIRL. Do you understand what you have here?

Emilie: Men don’t do this. Men don’t do activities that don’t revolve around them unless they are deeply, hopelessly in love.

Isabelle: I mean… I thought it was sweet.

Emilie: Sweet? SWEET?

Emilie: This man is a two-time world champion and he is willingly signing up to be humbled by a horse just because you like them. Max Verstappen, the control freak, is about to have his entire ego destroyed by a pony.

Isabelle: I did warn him that it’s not easy.

Emilie: please tell me you’re taking him to the stable soon. I need this. The world needs this.

Isabelle: He’s already asked when we can go.

Emilie: Max Verstappen riding a horse. Max Verstappen falling off a horse. Max Verstappen developing a rivalry with a horse.

Isabelle: You’re getting way too much joy out of this.

Emilie: I’M RIGHT AND YOU KNOW IT.

***

Max Verstappen had done a lot of things in his life that required balance, control, and sheer nerve.

Driving a Formula 1 car at over 300 km/h? No problem. Threading the needle between two cars on a soaking wet track? Easy. Taming a thousand-pound animal with a mind of its own?

Apparently, impossible.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, shifting awkwardly in the saddle.

Isabelle, who was standing beside the horse and very obviously trying not to laugh, gave him an innocent look. “What’s ridiculous?”

Max shot her a glare. “This. Everything. All of it.”

Her lips twitched. “You’ve only been on for five minutes.”

“Feels like an hour,” he grumbled, adjusting his grip on the reins.

He had expected this to be easier. It was just riding a horse, right? He was an athlete, for god’s sake. His coordination was elite. His balance was second nature. How hard could it be?

Answer: very hard.

He had barely gotten onto the horse without embarrassing himself, and now that he was sitting in the saddle, he felt bizarrely out of control. The horse—an old, patient gelding Isabelle had assured him was "perfect for beginners"—shifted slightly, and Max tensed like it was about to take off at full gallop.

Isabelle sighed, reaching up to adjust his posture. “Relax. You’re sitting like you’re bracing for a crash.”

“I would rather be in a crash,” Max muttered.

Isabelle ignored him. “Loosen your grip on the reins. He’s not going to run away.”

Max loosened his grip. Immediately, the horse flicked an ear back and took a step forward. Max panicked.

“What is he doing?”

“Walking.” Isabelle’s voice was far too amused.

“Make him stop.”

“You make him stop,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Use your seat, not just the reins.”

Max had no idea what that meant. His instinct was to lean back and pull. The horse stopped, but not before giving an exaggerated huff, like it was exasperated with him.

Isabelle patted the horse’s neck. “Good boy. He’s trying his best, unlike someone.”

Max scowled at her. “I am trying.”

“Try harder.”

He glared but adjusted his posture again. Isabelle instructed him to nudge the horse forward, and when he hesitated, she rolled her eyes and demonstrated on the ground.

It took a few attempts, but eventually, Max managed to get the horse moving in a slow, steady walk.

“This is good,” Isabelle said encouragingly. “Now just—”

The horse sneezed. Loudly.

Max, unprepared for the movement, nearly lost his balance. “What the—”

Isabelle was laughing now, actually laughing. “He just sneezed, Max.”

“He tried to throw me off.”

“Right, of course.”

Max muttered something in Dutch that his mother would have washed his mouth out with soap for.

She walked alongside him, giving him small instructions, but every time the horse did something unexpected—took a deeper breath, flicked its ears, shifted its weight—Max tensed like it was about to bolt.

After what felt like a lifetime, Isabelle finally called an end to the lesson. When Max slid off the horse, his legs wobbled slightly. Isabelle definitely noticed.

She patted his arm, barely holding back a grin. “Not bad for your first time.”

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance.”

He groaned. “Fine. When’s the next lesson?”

Isabelle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re actually going to keep going?”

Max shrugged. “I don’t like losing.”

She grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

***

Instagram Post -@/maxverstappen1

Comments:

@/charles_leclerc: ????? @/landonorris: mate, blink twice if you need help @/gridgirlgossip: There is absolutely no way Max Verstappen woke up one day and said, “Yeah, I think I’ll ride a horse today.” @/danielricciardo: Is this a cry for help? Be honest. @/carlossainz55: This is the most unexpected thing I’ve ever seen. @/F1: Should we be concerned? @/redbullracing: Is this an challenge we weren’t aware of? @/monacopaddockqueen: Imagine driving at 300 km/h every weekend and then deciding… horse. @/hannahshelmetcam: Somewhere, a woman is responsible for this, and I respect her immensely. @/speedyspice33: He’s been spending time with a horse girl. I just know it. @/verstappenthirst: Can’t wait for Drive to Survive to ignore this completely. @/hornersburner: Red Bull gives you wings, but it also apparently gives you hooves now. @/landoandchaos: This is what happens when you let Max make his own life choices. Absolute madness. @/girlsonpolepod: Max Verstappen Horse Girl Era: a crossover episode we didn’t see coming. @/queenoftheredbullring: Bro saw a Ferrari and went, “Yeah but what if: REAL HORSE?” @/paddocktea4u: The real mystery is why he looks good doing it. @/theDR3effect: So uh… when’s the cowboy hat debut? @/sainzismo: I’m begging for a video. Just imagine the commentary. @/maxymaxmaxxed: If you told me this morning that Max Verstappen would post a horse-riding pic, I would have laughed in your face. @/paddockclown: I need Christian Horner to explain this in an interview immediately. @/hotgirlpitwall: MAX VERSTAPPEN. ON A HORSE. WHAT IS HAPPENING. @/chaoticenergy33: At least he didn’t caption it ‘Yeehaw’… small mercies.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Christian Horner

Christian: Max.

Christian: Please, for the love of everything holy, do not fall off that horse and break any bones.

Max: …Good morning to you too, Christian.

Christian: You are a Formula 1 driver. You are worth millions in contracts and sponsorships.

Christian: And now you are willingly climbing onto a large, unpredictable animal that could throw you off and break something.

Christian: WHY are you on a horse?

Max: Because I wanted to learn.

Christian: You do not need additional risks in your life.

Max: I’m being careful.

Christian: That doesn’t answer my question. Why are you doing this?!

Max: You ride.

Christian: Yes, but I’ve been around horses for years. You, on the other hand, decided this completely out of nowhere.

Max: Not really.

Christian: Not really?

Christian: What am I missing here?

Max: …

Christian: Max.

Max: Hypothetically speaking, if you loved someone and they had a passion, wouldn’t it be nice to learn about it too?

Christian: I don’t need you breaking an arm trying to impress your girlfriend.

Max: I’m not trying to impress her. I just… wanted to learn.

Christian: Max.

Max: I already have good balance, fast reflexes, and control over my body. It’s just… a different skill set.

Christian: You drive for a living.

Max: And now I ride for fun.

Christian: …You really like this girl, don’t you?

Max: More than anything.

Christian: Fine. Just—helmet, body protector, don’t be an idiot.

Max: I already wear a helmet for a living.

Christian: Yes, and yet you still manage to make my blood pressure spike on a regular basis.

Max: My girlfriend says I’m improving.

Christian: You know what? Fine. Whatever.

Christian: But I swear, if you turn up to a race weekend with a limp and I have to explain to Helmut that you got bucked off a horse, I’m going to lose my mind.

Max: …So that means if I do fall, I just shouldn’t tell you?

Christian: MAX.

Christian: So, how long have you been seeing her?

Max: A while.

Christian: A WHILE?!

Christian: Max, you’ve had a girlfriend this whole time, and I’m only now finding out because of horses?

Max: You never asked.

Christian: That is not how this works.

Christian: But… you’re happy?

Max: Yeah.

Christian: And she’s good to you?

Max: Very.

Christian: …Okay. That’s all I need to know.

Max: Just like that?

Christian: Max, I’ve spent years watching you put everything into racing. You’ve never let yourself slow down. If you’ve finally found someone who makes you want to do that—even just a little—I’m happy for you.

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments:

@/emilie_abadie: this is giving “peaceful main character energy” and I approve

@/paddockprincess: how is this not a painting???

@/victoriaverstappen: Can’t blame you. The light hits different there ❤️

@/sunsetseasondaily: Every time you post from Monaco I want to sell everything I own and move there immediately

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Max.

Max: That’s my name.

Isabelle: Why did Victoria just follow me on Instagram???

Max: Oh. Yeah. I told her about us.

Isabelle: YOU WHAT???

Max: Relax. I told her a month ago.

Isabelle: AND YOU’RE JUST TELLING ME NOW???

Max: I didn’t think it was a big deal?

Isabelle: Max, your sister just randomly following me is a big deal!!

Max: She said she wanted to, but she didn’t want to freak you out. I guess she finally decided to do it.

Isabelle: …She didn’t want to freak me out?

Max: Yeah. She said you were always a little quiet at karting races, so she wasn’t sure if you’d be weird about it.

Isabelle: She remembers me?

Max: Of course she does. She likes you. Said you were nice.

Isabelle: …

Max: So are you going to follow her back, or should I tell her you’re ignoring her?

Isabelle: MAX.

Max: I’ll tell her you’re playing hard to get.

Isabelle: MAX EMILIAN.

Max: She’ll think it’s funny.

***

Instagram DM – @/isabelleleclerc → @/victoriaverstappen

Isabelle: Hi, uhh… this is Isabelle. Leclerc.

Isabelle: this might be the weirdest message I’ve ever sent someone, but I figured… if anyone would understand, it’s probably you.

Victoria: Hi!! I want to meet the girl who makes my brother this happy, but Max has been keeping you all to himself!

Isabelle: …He talks about me?

Victoria: Constantly. But in a Max way, so it’s more like, “She’s incredible, but she doesn’t believe it”.

Victoria: Oh, and my favorite: “I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

Isabelle: …He actually said that?

Victoria: He actually said that.

Victoria: What do you need? Blackmail material? I have plenty. I imagine that there is a good reason why you are sliding into my Instagram dms.

Isabelle: I need help with Dutch.

Isabelle: Max has been learning French. Like, properly. Quietly. Seriously. He pretends it’s casual but I’ve caught him watching French YouTube videos and writing down verb conjugations in Notes. And—well—I kind of want to return the gesture. So. Would you maybe be willing to help me with a little Dutch?

Victoria: Okay, first of all: this is absolutely NOT weird, it’s adorable.

Victoria: Second: I would love to help.

Victoria: Third: I’m going to send you a list. You’ll be fluent in romantic, slightly sassy Dutch in no time.

Victoria: And if you ever need help pronouncing anything, just send me a voice note. Sister-in-law privileges and all that.

Isabelle: You’re amazing. Thank you so much.

Isabelle: Also—I’ll absolutely take you up on the voice notes. But only if you promise not to laugh too much.

***

Pre-race press conference Transcript - Canadian Grand Prix 2023

[Scene: Pre-race press conference. Max Verstappen is seated alongside Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, and George Russell.]

Journalist: “Max, there have been some rumors that you’ve been spending time with some horses recently. Can you confirm or deny?”

Max: [Sighs, then nods] “Yeah. I tried horse riding recently”

*[Lando immediately chokes on his water. Charles and George exchange wide grins before the laughter starts.]

Lando: “Please tell me there are videos.”

Max: [Deadpan.] “Yes, I have been on a horse. And, in case you’re wondering, I have no talent whatsoever.”

Lando: [Wheezing.] “Oh my god. This is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

Charles: “Wait, but like… how bad are we talking?”

Max: [Shrugs.] “It’s way harder than I thought. The balance, the movement, trying not to fall off… And trotting? It’s horrible.”

George: [Grinning.] “The bouncy part?”

Max: [Dead serious.] “The bouncy part.”

Lando: [Nearly in tears laughing.] “I need to see this. Max Verstappen getting humbled by a horse.”

Charles: [ thoughtful.] “So… are you done, or—?”

Max: [Clears his throat, avoiding eye contact.] “I… I am taking lessons.”

*[Immediate chaos. Lando actually slides out of his chair laughing. Charles stares in shock. George is shaking his head, grinning.]

Lando: “YOU’RE TAKING LESSONS?!”

Charles: “Oh, this is amazing.”

George: “I have never respected you more.”

Max: [Shrugging, trying to play it cool.] “Well, I sucked at first. But I figured I should at least try to be decent at it.”

George: [Teasing.] “And how’s that going for you?”

Max: [Sighs.] “I am still terrible.”

Charles: [Grinning.] “But you’re improving?”

Max: “...Not really.”

Lando: [Absolutely delighted.] “This is better than winning a race.”

***

The door clicked shut behind Max as he stepped into their apartment, exhaustion lining his features but the unmistakable glow of victory still in his eyes. Red Bull cap slightly askew, and his bag hung off his shoulder. He barely had time to drop it before—

“Welkom thuis, kampioen.”

Max freezed.

His head snapped up, eyes locking onto Isabelle, who stood a few feet away, hands nervously clasped in front of her. She looked stunning—she always did to him—but right now, all he could focus on was what she just said.

“Say that again,” he demanded, stepping closer.

Isabelle bit her lip, suddenly shy, but she straightened and repeated, “Welkom thuis, kampioen.”

Max blinked. His hands were still mid-motion, as if he'd forgotten what he was about to do. “You’re speaking Dutch.”

She shrugged, trying to play it off. “A little.”

Max just stared at her, stunned. His heart was racing—not from the adrenaline of winning, but from this. From her. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“You learned Dutch?” His voice was softer now, almost reverent.

“I slid into Victoria’s instagram dms,” Isabelle admitted sheepishly. “She’s been helping me.”

Max let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Of course she has.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” she continued, shifting nervously on her feet. “You’re always learning French for me, and I just thought… I should try, too.”

Max moved before she could say anything else, closing the space between them in an instant. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. His lips crashed against hers, not just in gratitude, but in pure, overwhelming love.

When he pulled back, his forehead rests against hers. He was smiling, wide and radiant. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Isabelle smiled back, breathless. “I think I have some idea.”

Max grins. “Say something else.”

She hesitated for half a second before murmuring, “Ik heb je gemist.”

That did something to him.

Max exhaled sharply, his grip on her tightening. His jaw clenched, like he’s trying to keep his emotions in check, but his voice betrayed him when he murmurs, “Isabelle.”

“What?” she asked, suddenly worried she said it wrong.“Do you like it?”

Max huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? I love it.”

“Good,” she said, growing bolder. “Because ik hou van je, Max.”

Max freezed for the second time that night. His breath caught, and for a moment, he just stared at her. Then, something shifted in his expression—something softer, deeper.

“Say it again.” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

She smiled. “Ik hou van je.”

Max let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping against hers.

And then he kissed her again—slowly this time, like he was savoring every moment, every syllable of her Dutch, every part of her. Because he didn’t need to say it out loud for her to know:

Ik hou van je, ook.

***

Red Bull Racing Video – "Max Verstappen Answers Fan Questions!"

The video opens with Max Verstappen sitting casually in a Red Bull Racing hoodie, arms crossed, a can of Red Bull next to him.

Interviewer: "Alright, Max, we’ve got fan questions for you. Ready?"

Max: grinning "Let’s go."

Interviewer: "First question—what’s something new you’ve tried recently?"

Max: shrugs "Horse riding."

Interviewer: laughs "Really?"

Max: smirking "Yeah. Turns out, it’s harder than it looks."

Interviewer: "And why exactly did you try horse riding?"

Max: casually "My girlfriend rides."

Interviewer: "Oh? That’s new information."

Max: grinning, taking a sip of his drink "Next question."

Interviewer: "What’s your go-to post-race meal?"

Max: "Pasta. Preferably good pasta."

Interviewer: "Define ‘good’?"

Max: mock serious "Not made by me."

Interviewer: "What’s something people would be surprised to learn about you?"

Max: thinking "I actually enjoy sim racing just as much as real racing."

Interviewer: *"I think everyone knows that, Max."

Max: laughs "Yeah, fair enough."

Interviewer: "What’s your favorite thing about Monaco?"

Max: "It’s home. It’s quiet when I need it to be."

Interviewer: "Last one—what’s the best advice you’ve ever received?"

Max: "Surround yourself with the right people and focus on what really matters."

Interviewer: "And you feel like you’ve done that?"

Max: grinning slightly "Yeah. I think so."

Comments:

@/F1Obsessed97: Max casually dropping ‘my girlfriend’ like we weren’t all going to freak out???

@RBRfan4life: HORSE RIDING. MAX VERSTAPPEN. I need a moment.

@/GridGossip: Did we all just collectively miss the fact that MAX VERSTAPPEN HAS A GIRLFRIEND?? AND SHE RIDES HORSES??

@/SimRacingKing: Max really went ‘surround yourself with the right people’ and immediately smiled. Sir, who is she??

@/F1MemeLord: Red Bull: ‘Max answers fan questions!’ Max: Gives us a relationship soft launch instead.

@/TifosiTears: I’m sorry but ‘next question’ after mentioning his girlfriend??? Sir, that is NOT how this works.

@/MaxSupermax33: Max went from never mentioning a girlfriend to learning horse riding for her. That’s commitment.

@F1TeaSpiller: ‘My girlfriend’???? EXCUSE ME, SIR???

@/RedBullRacingFanatic: Max casually mentioning he moved and has a girlfriend in the same video like that’s not the biggest news drop of the year.

@/OversteerKing33: He really thought he could sneak that in and we wouldn’t notice. WE NOTICE EVERYTHING, MAX.

@/SoftLaunchDetective: So… Max has a girlfriend. Max learned horse riding. HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?

@/Horner’sBurnerAccount: The way he just smiled and moved on after saying ‘my girlfriend’… I am unwell.

@/TifosiPainClub: The FIA needs to investigate how Max managed to keep a whole relationship secret.

@/HorseGirlMax: I am begging Red Bull to release footage of Max on a horse.

@/VerstappenFanatic: Max, blink twice if you’re being held hostage by a woman with an equestrian background.

@F1Gossip: MAX VERSTAPPEN HAS A GIRLFRIEND AND HE LEARNED HORSE RIDING FOR HER. DO NOT SPEAK TO ME.

***

The sun warmed the white stone path leading through the cemetery, birds chirping gently in the background as Isabelle made her way to the familiar headstone tucked beneath a slender tree.

Six years.

The ache hadn’t gone away—it had just changed. Softened. Settled. It lived with her now, quietly, like a shadow that didn’t ask for attention but never really left either.

She knelt in front of the headstone, brushing a bit of dust and pollen off the smooth stone. No frills, no flourishes.

“Bonjour, Papa,” she said quietly, placing the bouquet down. White roses, lavender, and the soft green of eucalyptus. The kind of flowers that looked like peace, not performance.

She sat cross-legged in the grass, like she always did, tugging at her dress to keep it from wrinkling and resting her elbows on her knees. The breeze pulled gently at the hem of her dress, tugging her hair loose from its clip. “Six years.”

She exhaled slowly. The ache wasn’t raw anymore—it was worn in, like a bruise she didn’t flinch from, but never quite forgot.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately,” she admitted. “And not just today.”

Her fingers picked absentmindedly at the grass beside her, pausing at a small patch of dandelions. “I used to come here and pretend I only had good memories. I think I did that to protect myself, and you. But I don’t think I have to do that anymore.”

“Maman’s… still Maman,” she began, her voice light, like she was easing herself into it. “She misses you more than she admits. Though she hides it behind self-help books and gift-wrapped life advice… She got me a pantsuit for my birthday, by the way. Black. Structured. She knows I don’t wear trousers unless I’m working out. I think she thinks if I dress like a different person, I’ll be one.”

A small pause. Then a sigh.

“She also gave me a book. How to Be More Assertive. You’d have laughed. Or said nothing and nodded. Which is worse, probably.”

She looked down for a moment, voice quieting.

“The boys are alright. Arthur got into Formula 2. He’s thrilled—he’s already planning how to outshine Charles. He won’t, but I like that he dreams like that. It reminds me of you, sometimes. And Charles…” she smiled, but it was tinged with something bittersweet, “he placed fourth in Canada. Said it like it was a tragedy. I think he forgets how much he’s already done.”

Her fingers stilled. “And Lorenzo is still Lorenzo. Always the calm one. The problem solver.”

The silence stretched, until it turned heavier.

“You probably already know, but... I never really forgave you for Blanche.”

Her voice didn’t shake, but it softened.

“I know it wasn’t easy. That money was tight. That you wanted Charles to have a chance. But Blanche was mine. You didn’t even ask. Just said she’d gone to a good home and expected me to smile about it.”

She swallowed.

“I was thirteen. And I didn’t have much that was mine. You took the one thing I loved and gave it up for someone else’s dream.”

A breeze moved past her, rustling the eucalyptus leaves.

“But I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she said after a while. “You were doing what you thought was right. You always put racing first. Always.”

She stared at the ground for a moment, lips pressed together.

“I used to think that made you a bad father. But now, I think it just made you… human. Flawed. Stubborn. Messy. You were trying to hold a family together by chasing a finish line.”

Her voice cracked just a little. “Sometimes I wish you'd seen me more clearly.”

And then—after a long pause, a small smile ghosted across her lips.

“I met someone.”

Her eyes stayed on the headstone, like she needed to say it just right.

“I haven’t told anyone yet. Not Maman. Not the boys. It’s still just ours right now.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them.

“His name’s Max. Max Verstappen. I know you knew him—you used to talk about how talented he was in karting. You said he and Charles were ‘the kind of rivals who’d make each other legends.’ I remember. You always respected him.”

“He’s competitive, sure. But there’s kindness underneath it. Stillness. And when he looks at me, it feels like… like I’m not invisible.”

Her voice softened.

“He’s not like people think. He’s quiet. Kind. Steady in a way I didn’t know I needed. And he listens. Like—really listens. He even started learning French for me. Just… because.”

She smiled, quietly.

“I think you’d be surprised. Not just that it’s him. But that I’m happy. Really, truly happy. It doesn’t feel like I’m shrinking anymore just to keep other people comfortable.”

She stood slowly, brushing off her dress, gathering herself.

“I’m happy, Papa. I didn’t know I could be, not like this. I just wanted you to know. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

She bent to press her fingers lightly to the cool marble.

“I’ll come back next year,” she said. “Same day. Same flowers. Maybe a different story.”

***

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edenarchives · 2 days ago

Text

♯┆𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 .ᐟ

𝟎𝟏. 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 || 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Three years.

Three years since you last set foot in Japan.

Three years since you packed your life into two suitcases, boarded a one-way flight to the States, and swore you’d never look back.

And for the most part, you haven’t.

You built a new life. Found new routines, new allies, new problems to solve. You climbed the hero rankings in America faster than anyone expected — maybe because you had something to prove, or maybe because drowning in work made it easier to forget what you left behind.

No texts.

No calls.

No visits.

Not a single message sent to the person you once swore you’d love forever.

You didn’t look back.

Not really.

But when the call came — urgent, direct from the Japanese Hero Commission, flagged confidential — something in your chest shifted.

You told yourself it wasn’t nerves.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t anything but duty.

Because that’s what heroes do.

You didn’t hesitate when you accepted the assignment. You packed fast, left faster. One suitcase. One duffel bag. One voice in the back of your head whispering you said you’d never go back.

But things change.

And you’re not seventeen anymore.

The flight is long. Exhausting. Too many hours in the air with too much time to think.

You stare out the window over the Pacific and tell yourself it doesn’t matter. It’s just a mission. A job.

You’re not going back to your old life — you don’t have an old life anymore.

Everything you used to be is gone, buried somewhere beneath the version of yourself you forced into existence.

But still… the memories bleed in.

The taste of your old apartment’s tea.

The buzz of vending machines outside U.A.

The weight of his hoodie around your shoulders at 2AM.

You tighten your jaw and close your eyes.

No.

You won’t let him take up space in your head.

Not after everything.

⸻

By the time you land, the airport is quiet — early morning, cold wind curling through the terminal doors.

You step through customs with your hood up, sunglasses on, and heart in your throat.

You don’t know what to expect.

Who will be waiting.

What they’ll say.

But as you walk toward the exit, your eyes land on one very familiar face — bright red hair, sharp smile, and a giant handmade sign that reads:

WELCOME BACK, BADASS.

You freeze.

“Oh my god. Eijirou.”

Kirishima beams, drops the sign, and crosses the distance between you in two long strides.

He doesn’t hesitate. Just pulls you into a hug that nearly crushes the air from your lungs.

“You’re here,” he says, voice low, warm. “You actually came.”

“Of course I came,” you mumble into his shoulder, eyes already burning. “They said it was urgent.”

“Still.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes scanning your face like he’s not sure if you’re real. “Three years is a long time.”

“Yeah,” you say. “It is.”

You don’t say I missed you.

You don’t have to.

He knows.

⸻

The drive from the airport is quiet at first.

You’re too tired to pretend you’re not overwhelmed, and Kirishima, bless him, doesn’t force you to talk. He hums along to the radio, points out a few changes around the city, tells you Mina started her own hero agency and Denki’s still terrible at texting back.

And when the silence stretches too long, he just lets it.

Until—

“You nervous?”

You blink. “About what?”

“Coming back.”

You hesitate. “A little.”

“Because of him?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to.

Kirishima glances at you, then back at the road. “I don’t know if he even knows you’re coming.”

You look down at your hands. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Are you gonna talk to him?”

“I’m here for a mission,” you say, too quickly. “That’s it.”

He nods. Doesn’t push.

But the weight of his silence says everything.

⸻

The Hero Commission building hasn’t changed.

Same sleek walls.

Same high security.

Same cold air that settles beneath your skin like a warning.

Kirishima signs you in at the front desk. The woman behind the counter glances at your name and raises her eyebrows slightly — recognition flickering across her face.

You ignore it.

The elevator ride is tense.

Kirishima clears his throat. “You don’t have to stay long after the briefing. I can drive you to your hotel. Or, if you want, you can crash at my place.”

You smile, soft. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

You walk down the hall together. You pause outside the door to the conference room, heart pounding harder than you want to admit.

Kirishima touches your arm. “You’ve got this.”

You nod. Try to breathe.

Then step inside.

There are a few agents already seated. A woman in a black suit hands you a thick envelope stamped CONFIDENTIAL – CLASSIFIED – LEVEL A.

“Your briefing packet,” she says. “Top priority assignment. All details inside. You’ll be operating with a joint task force.”

“Who’s on the team?” you ask, tone flat.

“You’ll find everything in the file.”

She turns to answer a question from someone else.

You sit down. The room is quiet now. Cold. The envelope is heavy in your hands.

You open it.

The first few pages are standard — mission objectives, confidentiality waivers, threat assessments. You scan quickly, skimming for names, for assignments, for something that grounds you in the present.

And then—

Your eyes land on the team list.

Assigned Unit: EAST DIVISION

– Team Lead: Dynamight

– Red Riot

– Shoto Todoroki

– Y/N

Everything goes still.

Your fingers tighten on the paper.

Your throat closes.

You stare at the name like it’s not real. Like if you read it enough times, it’ll say something else.

But it doesn’t.

Dynamight.

Bakugo Katsuki.

Your ex.

Your first love.

Your last goodbye.

The boy you blocked, erased, left without a word.

The boy you haven’t seen in three years.

He’s here.

He’s on your team.

He’s your fucking team lead.

“Everything alright?” someone asks.

You look up. Blink. Nod once.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

But inside?

You’re already burning.

⸻

BAKUGO

The email hits his inbox at 7:06 a.m.

He’s in the middle of his second coffee, halfway through reading a damage report from last week’s mission, when the notification pops up on his tablet.

Subject: CLASSIFIED MISSION DEPLOYMENT – URGENT

Sender: Hero Commission Japan

Priority: LEVEL A – TEAM LEAD DIRECTIVE

He clicks it without thinking. These days, everything’s urgent.

Half his life is red alerts and countdowns. He doesn’t flinch at much anymore.

Not until he gets to the team roster.

That’s when the blood drains from his face.

His eyes freeze on one name.

Y/N.

And everything else stops mattering.

For a long time, he just stares at the screen.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

His breath comes shallow, too quiet in the silence of his apartment.

He reads it again.

Still there.

Still you.

Same name. Same spelling.

He exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, like he’s gearing up for a fight. But there’s no villain to swing at. No building to blow through. Just a name on a screen and three years of silence roaring in his ears.

No fucking way.

The last time he saw you, you were standing in his doorway, eyes wet and wild, voice shaking with everything he didn’t know how to hold.

You said you were done.

You said he didn’t love you the right way.

You said goodbye without letting him say anything that mattered.

And then you were gone.

Blocked. Erased. Like he never existed.

He checked.

Of course he did.

He tried texting. Calling. Messaging on every platform he could find. For weeks, maybe months. Until he got the message — undeliverable.

That silence ate him alive.

He kept telling himself you’d come back. That it was just a break. That it was just anger.

But you didn’t come back.

And he never got to say what he should have said then.

Bakugo stands from the kitchen table, shoving his chair back a little too hard.

The tablet clatters as he drops it on the counter.

He rubs a hand over his face, jaw tight, heart pounding in his ears.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

This isn’t a coincidence.

The Commission doesn’t do coincidence.

If they’re bringing you back — from another country, no less, it’s because they need something big. And if they’ve put you on his team, it means they trust you to work together.

Like that’s ever been a thing we’re good at.

He grabs his jacket. He needs air.

⸻

The gym is empty when he arrives.

It’s early. Still cold. The scent of sweat and old impact tape clings to the walls like a memory.

He slams his gloves on, starts hitting the bag hard, fast, no rhythm — just rage.

He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing your name under his breath until it slips out mid-punch.

He hits harder.

You left.

You blocked him.

You walked away like none of it mattered.

And maybe you were right to. He’s not gonna pretend he didn’t fuck it up. He’s not gonna act like he was some perfect boyfriend. He was loud. He was defensive. He didn’t know how to talk to you when shit got hard.

But god, he tried.

And now you’re back.

On his team.

And he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do with that.

Later, he’s showered, dressed, and pacing in his office, the mission packet open in front of him.

The brief confirms it: high-risk operation, East Division deployment, joint task force. He’s lead. Of course he is.

And you’re listed under him.

That hits him sideways.

Because you were never beneath him. Not in class. Not in battle. Not in life.

You were always beside him. Always pushing him, keeping pace, sometimes sprinting ahead just to prove you could.

And he loved that about you.

Even when it scared the shit out of him.

Especially then.

He flips to the logistical details. You’re flying in this morning. You’ll be arriving at the Commission within the hour.

His heart stutters.

Kirishima probably knows.

Of course he does. That bastard’s got a soft spot the size of Hokkaido, and he was always your biggest fan.

Bakugo doesn’t message him. Doesn’t call.

He doesn’t want the warning. Doesn’t want the pep talk.

He just wants to not feel like he’s nineteen again and about to watch the best thing he ever had walk away for the second time.

He doesn’t go in for the briefing.

No one expects him to — he already got his orders, already knows the mission inside and out. It’s not like him to skip this kind of thing, but he’s not about to sit in a room pretending not to notice the moment you read his name.

He’s not ready for that.

So he stays in his apartment. Runs the mission details again. Pretends it’s just another day.

But every second ticks louder than the last.

Because you’re here.

You’re in the building.

You’ve seen his name.

And any minute now… he’s going to see you.

He rubs a hand over his face and lets his head fall back against the couch.

I’m not ready.

He never was.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @rednicotine @hana-patata @crispchocolates @jazoewazoe @kalulakunundrum @bakugouswh0r3

#my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #fix #bakugo fic #mha x reader #smau

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pukefactory · 2 days ago

Note

also if i may, i'd like to request black sapphire cookie x gender neutral tsundere!reader pretty please! we need more tsundere content (and black sapphire teasing) >///< 🙏

✦ ─ ˗ˋ MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS ˊ˗ ─ ✦

⬨ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Black Sapphire Cookie X Tsundere Reader

⬨ Character(s): Black Sapphire Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

⬨ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

⬨ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⬨ Image Credits: @yukiexpress

★ Black Sapphire Cookie is a menace when it comes to teasing you. He knows exactly how to press your buttons, and oh, does he have fun doing it. “Oh dear, why the pout? Surely, you don’t have a crush on little old me, do you?” he coos, all sly grins and twinkling amusement. You turn away with a huff, arms crossed. “As if! You’re so full of yourself!” But he just chuckles, eyes glinting. “Hehe… You’re adorable when you’re in denial.”

★ He loves watching you squirm. Every time you react—whether it’s a flustered glare, an indignant scoff, or a hasty retort—he eats it up like it’s the juiciest gossip he’s ever heard. He’ll lean in close, voice dropping to a low purr, just to see you panic. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little attention, sweetheart?” You shove him away, face burning. “Don’t call me that!” He only grins. “Oh? Would you prefer darling instead?”

★ You’re his favorite mystery to unravel. Black Sapphire Cookie is a master of deception, a connoisseur of facades—but you? You’re different. You act all cold and dismissive, but he sees right through it. “You say you don’t care, yet you always seem to listen to my broadcasts. Interesting, don’t you think?” You nearly drop the radio you were totally not tuning into. “It’s just background noise, okay?!”

★ When you actually compliment him, it throws him for a loop. He’s so used to teasing you that when you quietly mumble, “You… You actually looked kinda cool back there,” it’s his turn to freeze. “Oh?” His smirk falters for just a moment, but then it’s back, sharper than ever. “You must really like me to say something so sweet.” And just like that, the moment is gone as you yell, “Forget I said anything!!”

★ He knows exactly how to make you crack. You try so hard to keep your composure, but he’s relentless. Casually resting his chin on your shoulder? Check. Whispering things in your ear just to fluster you? Double check. One day, he catches you staring at him, and instead of teasing, he just smirks and holds eye contact. “See something you like?” You nearly combust. “I WASN’T LOOKING!!”

★ He absolutely uses his radio broadcasts to mess with you. He’ll drop just enough hints to make you panic. “And tonight, dear listeners, I’ve got a very special topic—a certain Cookie who insists they don’t like me, but their actions say otherwise.” Your face goes up in flames as you shout at the radio, “STOP SPREADING LIES!!” Somewhere, Black Sapphire Cookie is laughing himself silly.

★ He lives for catching you being soft. The moment he sees you fussing over him—adjusting his cravat, fixing his hair, muttering a quiet “Be careful, okay?”—he knows he’s won. “Oh, darling, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re worried about me.” You immediately retract your hands. “Shut up before I change my mind!”

★ You’re the only one he lets see his unfiltered side. To the world, he’s the ever-charming, ever-smug host of deception. But with you? He’ll let his exhaustion slip, just for a moment. He’ll lean against your shoulder, sighing. “Even I get tired of playing the part sometimes…” And despite your usual prickliness, your hand finds his, squeezing just once. “Yeah, well… You’re pretty good at it.”

★ He loves making you jealous. Oh, the sheer joy he gets from watching you fume when he flirts with others just to get a reaction. But when he sees you looking genuinely upset, he dials it back. “Now, now, there’s no need for that adorable pout. You know you’re my favorite, right?” He laughs when you shove him. “Oh, don’t be mad, sweetheart! You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

★ At the end of the day, he adores you. As much as he teases, as much as he pushes your buttons, there’s no one else he’d rather have by his side. And when you finally, finally muster up the courage to whisper, “I… like you, okay? So quit teasing me for once,” he simply smiles. A real, genuine smile. “Well, well… Took you long enough.” And for once, he doesn’t taunt—you’ve already given him the sweetest secret of all.

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ateracha · 17 hours ago

Note

Could you do Felix coming home crying just stressed over everything and all he wants to do is bury his head between your thighs until everything goes away. He sees you curled up on the couch watching his fancam with bbokari. He asks you softly if he can have your taste to cheer him up. He ends up making you finish like 8-9 times while crying nd nonstop with his tongue but you not wanting to stop him because of how upset he seems to be. Could you put a lot of praising and reassurance in it and eye contact? "Eyes on me baby", "Being so good for me, yeah?", "Does that feel good sunshine? Use your words sweetheart."

you sat up at the sound of keys jangling in the hallway. you grabbed the bbokari plushie that was lying next to you on the couch and hugged him tight in anticipation of your boyfriend walking into the living room. “lixie?” you called out as felix walked into your vision with heavy footsteps and a sniffle. felix was someone who wore his heart on his sleeves and you had seen him upset many times before. this didn’t stop you from worrying about your sweetheart of a boyfriend however - you wrapped him in your blanket as he dropped to his knees in front of you. “what’s wrong baby?” “…just overwhelmed and stressed” he answered as he leaned into your touch, resting his head on your thighs. you ran your fingers through his black hair, “is there anything I can do to make it better my love?”. his tearful eyes met yours, making your heart skip a beat at the intimacy. “..can I taste you baby?”. felix’s fingers danced at the hem of your plaid shorts. he kissed your inner thigh sensually, his lips barely touching your skin but just enough to create goosebumps on your skin. how could you say no to him? you nodded and lifted your hips up as a signal for him to pull down your shorts and panties. you had countless amounts of sex with felix, but it felt special every time. as soon as your pussy came in contact with the cold air of the room, you felt yourself dampen and your breath quicken. felix loved to make love to your pussy - he took his time kissing every inch of your inner thighs to your folds, then to your clit. you practically nearly slid off of the couch as you keened at the plush sensation of his lips on your sensitive bud. at the jolt of your body, his tear fell onto your clit, trickling down into your folds. his tongue followed immediately after, disappearing into your pussy. moans and whimpers escaped your lips involuntarily as he repeated this process of kissing and sucking on your clit to making out with your pussy. “Does that feel good sunshine? Use your words sweetheart.” his voice vibrated to your core. “..ye-yes fuck lixie!” at this point, felix didn’t even care if he had a stressful day, all that mattered to him was tasting all of you on his tongue. “that’s my good girl…being so good for me baby.” he lapped his tongue around your clit then, and you grabbed a fistful of his hair, your eyes rolling back. felix’s low groan alone was almost enough for you to tip over the edge. “Keep your eyes on me baby. Cum with your eyes on me.” one last hard suck on your clit sent you seeing stars, your back lifting off of the couch.

as his cock throbbed in his pants, felix now needed a lot more than just tasting you.

#skz scenarios #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #ateracha: felix #felix yongbok #ateracha writes: felix #lee felix x reader #felix x you #felix smut #stray kids felix #felix x reader

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skimmingmilk · 2 days ago

Text

Pizza and a Pretty Solid Pep Talk

A/N: One shot fic based on TailsTube episode 11

His face burned as the hushed murmurs of students in the corridor whispered past his ears. Dozens of phone screens lit up in their hands and any eyes that weren’t preoccupied by their pocket pixels followed him on his exodus through Spagonia University’s hallowed halls of knowledge. A place he’d always felt safe to explore his ideas, where all questions and theories were welcomed and encouraged and never made to feel like… to feel…

Childish.

Stupid Orbot. Stupid Eggman for creating such stupid dumb bots time and time again. If only Tails had thought to have his tools on him, he’d have dismantled the pile of scrap in seconds and turned his overinflated head into a bowling ball.

He couldn’t even pretend all eyes weren’t actually on him, given that the Miles Electric 2.0’s massive external monitor was floating just behind him like a big, yellow version of his own scarlet letter, leaving no question what social faux pas he’d been branded with. Even if they didn’t watch TailsTube, news would make its way to the student body eventually. He had amassed enough of an audience over the months that surely talk of his most recent show was already trending on random people’s “For You” pages. Students would recognize their school or their professor and curiously click to see what it was all about.

The ornate, glass doors to the university swung open as Tails shoved his way through, frustration still simmering on a low heat as he barely kept himself from stomping down the stone steps like a child who hadn’t gotten his way. Even if, technically, that’s what he was.

“This has been very… cute.”

Embarrassing had been an understatement. Tails had been humiliated. He’d managed to keep his cool for his audience, used to embodying a certain persona for his livestreams that made him sound intelligent as well as relatable. A reliable source of information to combat the swathes of misinformation people like Eggman and other enemies of freedom who crawled out of the woodwork to sow panic and doubt in the minds and hearts of the masses.

All of that would’ve been undone in seconds if he’d let his composure slip, and it nearly had.

Cute.

Tails couldn’t think of anything more insulting than to be condescended to by a fellow scholar.

The intensity of his glare was enough to burn holes into his sneakers on his descent of shame. As he rounded the stone fountain set in the center of the steps, his downturned gaze caught sight of a familiar pair of shoes just at the edge of his field of vision. Tails stopped. His tails, which had been discreetly tucked around his legs, flicked themselves free instinctively. Whether out of irritation or elation was still up to the jury in his mind, but the moment Tails lifted his head, his surly expression softened.

Sonic sat perched on the edge of the fountain with a flat, cardboard box beside him. A lopsided sort of smile pulled at his muzzle as he watched him, waited for him. He wasn’t supposed to be in Spagonia today. He’d been hanging out with the Chaotix in Seaside City for the past couple of days. He’d even gone as far as to make a big fuss about Tails being in Spagonia, claiming he’d purposefully picked the setting for his first livestream on the road to be somewhere Sonic wasn’t close to just to spite him, despite having told him his plans when he first started organizing his itinerary and guest list weeks ago.

But Tails knew, even if Sonic wasn’t always around in-person for his shows, he never missed a single one. He was always the first comment in the chat, always claiming that title too, because no one was beating the fastest thing alive to his best buddy’s streams. This one wouldn’t have been any different, regardless of being in another timezone, on another continent.

“Was in the mood for some pizza,” Sonic volunteered as an answer to Tails’s unspoken and unnecessary question. He knew exactly why he was here.

He’d seen everything.

“Couldn’t get one in Seaside City?” Tails asked dryly, though his tone was a little too flat for their usual banter.

“Nah, they just can’t do it like Spagonia!” Sonic flipped open the lid of the box, revealing a fresh pizza piled high with soft discs of mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, arugula, and garlic; Tails’s toppings of choice. “Might’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic, too. This was Chip’s favorite place to get pizza.”

It might’ve been a ploy to tug at Tails’s heartstrings, but if Sonic had been watching the live stream, then he’d absolutely heard them discussing Dark and Light Gaia. He’d have seen Orbot’s cartoonish rendition of Sonic with Chip, their doodles surprisingly accurate for someone who hadn’t even been invented yet at the time of that particular adventure. Tails’s gaze drifted to Sonic’s wrist, the one Chip’s bracelet sometimes adorned, but it was hidden by the lid of the pizza box so he couldn’t tell if the token was there as a reminder as well. His brother wasn’t often the sentimental sort, but after the events of the Starfall Islands… he’d been a bit more…

Well, as he’d put it himself, nostalgic.

Tails didn’t fight it; he let Sonic’s not-so-subtle attempt at comforting him carry him to his big brother’s side. “It was the only place we took him to get pizza,” he replied, knocking his shoulder into Sonic’s as he settled on the fountain’s edge beside him.

Sonic nudged him back in playful retaliation, then grabbed a slice from the box and held it out to Tails. “Alright, smart guy. Even if we'd taken him to every pizza place on the planet, it'd still have been the first place he ever had pizza with us, which makes it pretty special in my book.”

“You really are feeling nostalgic, huh.” Tails took a small bite, watching as Sonic attempted to wrestle his own slice out without losing too many toppings. “You know what that means. You're getting old.”

“Pfft. Yeah, right. I'm as spry as a hedgehog half my age,” he boasted, kicking up one leg over the other as he took a huge bite.

“No cap, you just don’t have that rizz, fam.”

“Half of those aren’t even words. Stop speaking witch.” Sonic flicked Tails in the forehead, grinning when it got a laugh out of the kid. “You’re cringe, little bro.”

“What can I say? I learned from the best.” Tails stuck his tongue out at him.

“And yet somehow still severely lacking in the sense of humor department,” Sonic drawled, polishing off the rest of his pizza slice.

Tails glanced down at his own slice, but didn’t take another bite as he picked at one of the cherry tomatoes threatening to slide off the end. He was suddenly extra conscious of the sounds around them; the steady trickle of water as it flowed from the fountain into the shallow pool just behind them, the hum of distant car engines in the streets throughout the city, and constant clatter of footsteps on stone as pedestrians passed them up and down the stairs. Watching them when they walked by. Whispering.

Tails’s ears drooped, but even that couldn’t drown them out. “And the rolling with the punches department,” he murmured.

Sonic glanced over at him. “Nah, I’d say you’re pretty good at that.”

“And I’d say you’re pretty biased,” Tails huffed, then shrugged one shoulder self-consciously. “I dunno. Could’ve handled today better. I just let Orbot roll over me completely, which is pretty pathetic on my part considering he doesn’t even have wheels. Or treads.”

Sonic cast a glance at the giant yellow monitor still hovering nearby. “You were hosting your livestream and interviewing someone you really admired. A meeting of the minds, like you said. You didn’t show up here thinking you’d need to square up for a fight. He caught you off-guard on purpose, that was the whole point. His ‘revenge’ scheme, or whatever.”

“Yeah, and I let him,” Tails sighed, slumping forward. “You wouldn’t have let something like that slide.”

“No, but I’m not exactly known for my tact, am I?” Sonic’s smile turned rueful as he tapped his fist against Tails’s shoulder. “Don’t really care what people think of me either, which isn’t super helpful when it comes to building a rapport with ‘em. You know firsthand how many people I piss off on a regular basis, and half the time it’s not even on purpose! Something tells me that professor gal definitely would’ve been one of ‘em. I don’t think she’d have appreciated me trashing her office with busted up robot pieces.”

Tails tried to imagine it, and the picture it painted wasn’t a pretty one. “Probably not.”

“Ya kinda had your hands tied, partner. But you salvaged what you could. You didn’t completely burn a bridge with that professor, after all.”

“What are you talking about?” Tails’s brow furrowed as he stared at Sonic in sheer disbelief. “The interview was a complete disaster. There’s no salvaging any of that. She called me cute. You know what you call cute? Chao, babies, Cream’s tea parties, Knuckles when he understands a reference. You know what’s not supposed to be cute? Scientific discoveries. Cosmic theories. Bridging gaps in the timelines of our planet’s history. I look like a joke. A laughing stock to everyone in a field focused on the pursuit of knowledge. Tori—Professor Victoria—even made up a fake lecture so she could get out of the situation. I checked her class schedule ahead of planning the interview. She was clear for the next hour. But she knew spending even a second longer with me would’ve been a waste of her time.”

“At least she made up an excuse,” Sonic pointed out.

Tails bristled. “What do you mean ‘at least?’”

“If she really didn’t want anything to do with you, she probably would’ve just said so. The fact that she made something up means that, maybe, she didn’t want to burn a bridge with you either. Besides, didn’t she say you guys could continue your conversation another time? I’d like to think she wouldn’t make a point to say that just to be polite.”

Tails blinked, the creases in his forehead smoothing out as he considered the logic behind Sonic’s words. “She’s a professional. An educator. Not to mention an archaeologist and historian. There’s a certain level of decorum she has to adhere to in this line of work. And unyielding patience is practically a job requirement.”

“Then maybe she’ll have some of that patience on hand the next time the two of you cross paths.” Sonic’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “Because she’ll remember a sweet kid who didn't push or press his luck and respected her decision to back out of a conversation that got outta hand, even though he was totally in the right to call her out on it. And she’ll give that kid the second chance he deserves.”

It might’ve been more of Sonic’s bias on full display, but Tails had to admit it helped to hear. “You really think so?”

“You bet,” Sonic assured him, slinging an arm around Tails’s shoulder, the comfortable and familiar weight of his brother’s belief in him made it a bit easier to bear the burden of his own embarrassment and disappointment. “And if she doesn’t, then maybe she’s not the kinda mind worth meeting.”

“Yeah, I guess you have a point,” Tails agreed a little reluctantly.

“I have several, actually,” Sonic teased, gesturing towards his own quills.

Though it was absolutely a joke worth rolling his eyes at, Tails let him have that one since he brought him pizza and a pretty solid pep talk. “I was really looking forward to meeting her.”

Sonic’s cheeky grin eased up at the soft admission and the way Tails leaned against him for comfort. “I know, bud. I’m sorry it wasn’t everything you hoped it would be.” He rubbed his arm, then gave him a firm squeeze. “Wanna try and track down bolt brains before he goes crawling back to old egghead and take out some of that disappointment on him? Maybe turn his empty head into something that’s actually useful. Like a bowling ball.”

Tails snorted and his twin tails fluttered as his mood improved; they really were cut from the same cloth. “Nah. Let him think he’s won this round. I’ll get him back when he least expects it.”

“Atta boy,” Sonic praised, removing his arm so he could ruffle the fur atop his head instead. “Keep me posted. I’ll want popcorn and a front row seat.”

“You got it.” Tails held out his fist and bumped it against Sonic’s before reaching for another slice of pizza. “So you heading back to Seaside City after this?”

“Eh. Figured I came all this way, might as well do a little sightseeing.” Sonic nabbed a second slice for himself. “Whaddya say? Mind if I tag along for a bit?”

Tails shook his head, holding up his pizza like he would a glass for a cheers and Sonic met him halfway. “For a bit,” he agreed, his grin all teasing before his eyes lit up. “Oh, but first—Professor Pickle’s got open office hours in a few minutes. Want to stop by and say hi while we’re here?”

“Sounds good to me. It's been a while since I’ve checked in on the old prof.”

Sitting on the edge of the historic fountain, sharing a pizza between them, and equally recognizable on their own rights, Sonic and Tails might've attracted a few curious stares and been the subjects of hushed conversations. But they sloughed off Tails like cherry tomatoes off melted cheese, because what they thought of him didn't actually matter. Not when he had someone like Sonic in his corner. He knew what he'd experienced, what he was capable of. He knew his own merit.

Someday the world would see it, but for now, Sonic was more than enough.

He could always count on Sonic to see him.

---

A/N: I would’ve had this written faster, but we had a party at work earlier in the day so I was away from my desk for most of it and then I had tummy ache when I got home :( It shouldn’t be so hard to write with tummy ache.

Anyway, I just have one thing I’d like to say: Tails, babes, sweetheart, why is your floating monitor so huge. Honey, how do you take that on the road with you? Where do you pack it? That can’t possibly fit in the tornado, it’s like a 50” television.

The thought of it just floating around behind as he walks through Spagonia was just too funny for me, so I gave up on trying to logic the compatibility and portability of this stupid thing. I love it.

Also I based Tails’s favorite pizza toppings on some of the ingredients that can be found in his recipes in the Sonic Cookbook. I feel like he’d really like curry pizzas based on the spices in his chickpea recipe, but for a more traditional Spagonia pizza, I went with some of the veggies in his fish skewers recipe, as well as combinations I saw on the menu of an Italian restaurant I ate at while I was in France a few years ago, since Spagonia has both of those influences in its design, lol.

Lowkey, part of me also thinks Tails would enjoy a caper, olive, and anchovy pizza… like his recipes also have a salt and vinegar component to them that makes me think he’d be onboard with that xD Not so sure about Sonic though. He's an adventurous guy, but something makes me think he wouldn’t be super keen on that combo, so I played it safe with the cherry tomatoes and garlic. Both these boys love their tomatoes and garlic <3

109 notes · View notes

grimmsbride · 22 hours ago

Note

omf umm 🫣 your rex was so good. this is so specific but i feel like our preferences line up p well so im humbly requesting...

douchebag!rex and chubby!reader where rex is constantly teasing her, maybe pinching her side or teasing her for eating sweets or something. but behind the scenes he CANNOT get enough of her, furiously jerks off to the thought of her nightly, gets jealous when other ppl get too close to her.

she gets hit with sex pollen at some point and he gets assigned the job of taking care of her and making sure she doesn't try to fuck everyone she sees. but rex is the one having a hard time keeping it together bc fuck why is she so cute when shes a desperate mess

𝄃𝄀⠀⠀love potions⠀╲ rex sloan ֤ࣨ🫀𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary * 𓈒 you didn’t particularly like rex-splode, and the feeling seemed to be pretty neutral on his end. but a sudden mix of mystery smoke and being quarantined together, brings the two of you far closer then it should have.

author’s notes * 𓈒 this fic was supposed to be posted like two days ago but i made it way longer then i should have, and i genuinely don’t love how it came out but i still wanted to give my best in fulfilling your request— ty for requesting by the way 🫶🏾. the smut is towards the end if you don’t want to completely read the plot and as always please excuse any typos. i hope you enjoy this fic.

Had you broken your promise to Cecil? Your bold vow that you would never hex any of your teammates, no matter how much they pissed you off? Rex Sloan simply couldn’t wrap his head around it, brain nearly emitting smoke from how much his gears were turning.

It.. had to be a hex, right? Some spell in a fancy language he couldn’t identify, written right in those dingy pages of that grimoire you held so dear. He wondered how you did it, if you stood over him while he slept— whispering saccharine words and giggles, slipping in and out while he was none the wiser.

Only for Rex to wake with nothing but you, on his mind.

It was comical really, how much the outside body covers. One would think Rex hated your guts. And his mouth surely didn’t help. Releasing random remarks about your clothes clinging to your skin, how you should put down that donut once in a while, even going as far as pinching your sides — which always resulted in a quick slap, but still — if anyone on The Guardians were ever asked what relationship the two of you had it could always be described as borderline hostile.

However, appearances can be deceiving. It wasn’t that Rex hated you, or your body for that matter. Quite the opposite actually. The man couldn’t count on two hands how many times his eyes have trailed to your ass whenever you walked by or how he could nearly tremble whenever your form brushed up against him. You consumed him entirely; smell, face, everything about you was intoxicating to the point he simply could not get you out of his mind.

Working out? Rex was wondering if he would be able to lift you at his current rep. How his fingers would probably sink into your warm flesh as he tugged you closer by the hips, maybe you would even whine about being heavy— only for him to prove you wrong.

In the shower? All that steam surrounding him? Oh, the man could only imagine having you right beside him, suds sliding down your body like the stretch marks etched into your skin; the man would be steady wondering how hot and heavy the two of you could get— melting into the other until you’re basically forced to get out.

In his bed, under those comfortable blankets was the worst of all. During the day Rex was able to ignore his thoughts and focus on being a dick to everyone — mostly you — and being a superhero. But in his bed with nothing to ground him, his mind went wild.

Wild enough that it affected the rest of his body.

Most nights were spent rather sinfully, a hand wrapped tightly around his dick whilst arousal dripped from his angry red tip. Rex’s free hand was always on his face, as if shameful for what he was doing. And technically he was.

He was Rex Sloan, basically resident fuck-boy; meaning, jerking off should be really be at the bottom of the list. But when it came to you, any thought of approaching you for such a thing, for something other than random insults and remarks— the man was suddenly mute.

“Rex. Are you listening?”

The mechanical voice cut through the flood of thoughts swarming the man’s mind, snapping his eyes from the random buildings passing by to the machine currently driving the vehicle that soared through the air. And to the side was you, sitting so prim and perfectly in your dark clothes; hand currently occupied by a mirror to which your free hand plucked and fluffed your hair. In the midst your hand dragged down towards your chubby cheek and lower, fingers resting upon your lips to which you gently smoothed— probably assuring they were free of anything.

Rex couldn’t help but stare, throughly entranced with it all— suddenly feeling very jealous of your finger tips.

Were your lips as soft as they looked? He wondered how you would taste, he could just imagine them wrapped around his di—

“Rex?”

The moment his name was spoken again your eyes suddenly snapped to his through the mirror, causing the man to quickly look away, nearly glaring daggers into the back of Robot’s head.

“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” He waved it off, forcing a nonchalant facade. “We go to some greenhouse, blow up some freakish plant monster— and then get on with the day.”

Rex then allowed his gaze to tilt back to you, a rather stupid grin suddenly crossing his features.

“But what’s Ms. Sabrina the Witch doing here? You and I could handle this job no problem without the extra weight.”

Your eyebrow twitched, slamming your compact mirror closed as you turned to glare at the man.

“You think you’re so funny.. Maybe I should call Amanda to whoop your ass again.”

“What, you need a little girl to fight your battles?”

“Rex, you aren’t even worth a single spell in my book.. Though,” Your eyes trailed away from the man, suddenly looking deep in thought as your arms crossed over your bosom; “— Maybe I could turn you into a toad.. I’m not sure you would look any different, however.”

Rex couldn’t help but scoff, feeling far too many emotions swarm his stomach the moment he noticed those perfect lips lift into a simper. His own parted, ready to release some fast remark when Robot interrupted;

“From the information gathered by Cecil, there seems to be magical forces at play; explaining the sudden behavior of the plant. Both of you are needed for this mission, and you two are expected to act as a team.”

Those final words were spoken, the tense atmosphere quickly delving into silence. Like teenagers ridiculed the two of you crossed your arms, leaning back into your seats and waiting silently for this damned mission to begin.

Moments passed before the vehicle suddenly stopped, lowering to the ground before a large greenhouse. The windows were frosted, yet large shadows seemed to be pressed against the glass.

With ease you slipped out of the car, tucking your spellbook close and inspecting the outside carefully. What Robot said was right, there seemed to be some type of magical presence; strong enough you felt it from the outside.

You turned, hearing your other teammates exit the vehicle— Robot stepping to stand beside you. His metallic hand rose to the handle of the building, giving the two of you a single glance;

“Are you ready t—“

“Let’s get this over with already!”

. . .

Minutes, possibly even hours passed with the three of you attacking the plant that had taken over the building. With each vine Rex seemed to explode, another grew; dwindling all your progress to zero.

Finally in a sudden turn of events you found the perfect spell, reciting the olden language as a dark spiraled glyph etched into the ground below the plant.

Light sprung from your magic, incinerating the monster from within.

In the midst of this however, a sudden pinkish hue entered the air in the form of smoke, chasing towards you desperately as the plant breathed its final moments. You quickly flung an arm around your face, but it was far too late; feeling the foreign air run up your nose in a painful burn. It trickled down to your throat, clogging so much you began to cough; body shaking from the excursion. You fell to your knees, struggling to catch your breath, as sloppy wet coughs escaped your chest.

“[Name]!”

You didn’t know whether it was Rex or Robot speaking, deciding to focus on your breathing instead. Your eyes shut close, sucking in harshly to hopefully fill your lungs with fresh air and not whatever that mysterious smoke was. It took a couple of tries but you eventually succeeded, feeling your rushing heart relax the moment you could breathe again.

You slowly lifted from your hunched position, noting the way Robot stood close to you whilst Rex stood off to the side, gaze settled upon you with an unreadable expression.

“What the hell was that, Robot?! Did it just piss on her?”

“You’re..” You huffed softly, slowly rising to your feet, tucking your book close to your body. “— so immature.”

“I’m asking a serious question!”

You shook your head, switching your gaze over to the still machine, waiting for some type of answer. You secretly prayed Rex was wrong, knowing you would probably gag if it truly was magical monster plant pee.

“It wasn’t urine, Rex; the plant released a pheromone as a response to [Name] killing it. “ Rex explained slowly, stepping a tad bit closer to you, clearly scanning your form. “It’s current effects are unknown to me, however you seemed to have inhaled most of it and absorbed it through your skin.”

“What?” You hissed in concern, eyes falling to your body as if searching for some type of answer. You even went as far as swiping your skin, truly desperate to get whatever the hell it was off you.

“That won’t work.”

“Yeah, no shit Robot—“ Rex stepped in, eyebrows furrowed for a moment as he glanced down at you before switching his gaze back to his other teammate. “What are you gonna do?”

All was silent for a moment as Robot thought it over, possibly doing millions of calculations for an answer. You stood quietly, attempting to swallow your fear. This so called pheromone couldn’t be that bad.. right? Maybe it was like a skunk thing?

Okay, that did sound pretty bad.

Robot stole you from your thoughts the moment he spoke again, your eyes flicking to him and noticing his own head switched towards Rex.

“For now, while I assess the effects the two of you will be quarantined together.”

“What?”

“There’s no way in he—“

“You could possibly infect the others through contact and given Rex was nearby during the event, there’s a possibility the pheromones hit him as well.” Robot cut through your childish remarks with ease, watching your mouths clamp shut in response.

“This is only temporary. I will figure out an answer soon. For now, please work with me.”

. . .

You wanted to work with Robot, or more like needed to. So you were pretty silent on the ride back to headquarters albeit the little groans of irritation that escaped you each time you shifted, suddenly feeling every bit of fabric clinging to your skin.

It was a blur making it to the quarantine area— or rather your bedroom. You didn’t love having your biggest enemy in your safe haven, but you would have to make do.

“Feel any different?”

“You asked that three minutes ago, Rex.” You murmured softly, eyes closed as you laid amongst your soft blankets. You had taken a shower the moment you got back, something Robot recommended and something you definitely needed. Removing your clothes to relish under the hot water was pure bliss, you would have stayed under there for hours if you could. After which you dried and dressed in a simple shirt and shorts, baggy to combat the sudden suffocating sensation surrounding you.

You turned from lying on your back to your side, allowing your eyes to open and focus on the man across the room. He was seated on your vanity chair, dressed in a simple white tank and his super-suit pants. The man’s hair was done up in a messy bun, a few strands framing his face. You began to stare longer than you should have, only realizing the moment his eyebrow twitched up, clearly questioning your sudden interest on his face.

You breathed softly, “I don’t feel any different.. just, hot.”

“Hot?”

You gave a little nod, rolling onto your stomach as your face smushed into the blankets and pillows below you. “Hot.” You repeated softly, eyes closing for a moment. Hot, was an understatement. While your shower helped cool you down in the moment, it felt as if your temperature was slowly rising and rising— with no end in sight. It explained why you suddenly felt so suffocated; the fabric you wore clinging to your body as you began to sweat.

Along with this, you felt dizzy as if developing the worst super powered vertigo known to man. The only remedy was shutting your eyes tightly, even going as far as shoving your face into your bed to help.

“Really.. hot.” You murmured more to yourself rather than the man, but he heard regardless.

Rex couldn’t help the tinge of worry invading his body as he looked at you. He could hear the way you basically panted, as well as see your body rise and fall with every breath. He sucked in his own, rising to his feet and crossing the bedroom quickly.

“You’re not gonna be able to breathe like that, c’mon—“ he leaned upon your bed with a single hand whilst the other went for your arm, gently pushing you, however hissing the moment his palm made contact with your skin.

“Fuck, you’re boiling [Name].” Rex murmured, eyes casing down your front the moment you rested on your back. He immediately noticed the sweat presented on your skin, shining underneath your overhead light and trickling down your body. With each huff your chest was rising, hands clenching the shirt you wore as if to ground you.

“I’m.. starting to feel weird.” Your voice came out in a croak, as like it burned to speak; eyes blinking open to stare up at the man before you, which proved difficult given how you could barely focus.

Rex sucked in a breath, his hand gliding from your arm to instead maneuver towards your forehead. From the heat radiating against his palm it was clear you had a fever, terrible enough that it seemed to incapacitate you completely. Such a thought caused the man to worry, something he didn’t typically like doing but he couldn’t help it at this point.

“Are you in pain anywhere?”

You slowly shook your head, causing the man’s hand to glide lower, coming into contact with your cheek. The moment it did, you shivered, eyes shutting close and seemingly leaning into his touch. It felt cooling compared to the rest of your body, a funny thought given his entire power was exploding shit.

Still, it seemed like the remedy to your situation, causing you to basically sink into his touch; a sigh gliding through your nostrils.

This took Rex by surprise, eyes widening slowly at the display. You, the woman he was oh so sure hated him, was leaning into his touch? It truly must be winter in hell for such a thing to happen.

“[Name]..?” He called on hushed breath, throughly confused by the situation. You didn’t respond, at first; seemingly content with your cheek in his hand. But the moment Rex moved your eyes were flying open, reaching over to lock your fingers around his wrist.

“Don’t.. move. Please don’t move.”

You murmured softly, borderline whimpering as you turned to place the full weight of your head into his palm. Your fingers dragged down his wrist to his arm, coaxing him to stay just where you wanted— needed him to be. Your entire body was overheating at this point, your clothes feeling far too restricting as if you were ready to burst out the seams. You released a shuddering breath, shifting once more and allowing your lips to graze his skin, nose pressed up against his wrist in turn.

The moment his smell hit you, you were murmuring a soft swear; nails dragging against his skin as desperation began to fill your entirety.

Rex couldn’t do a thing but sit there and gape, attempting to stay composed despite what was unfolding before him. His fingers twitched as they glided close to you hair, feeling something else twitch as your lips traced his skin— fuck, what were you doing? The man wanted nothing more than to ask just that, tearing his hand away in the process.

But he couldn’t, not with the way those pretty eyes were fluttering at him, clearly so desperate for his touch. Rex’s tongue slipped out to glide across his bottom lip nervously, nearly convulsing as he watched your gaze fall to the simple action.

Everything was growing so hot around the two of you, as if the pheromones had seeped out completely and covered every inch of your room. Silence carried before your lips parted to speak a sweet,

“Rex..”

It took a moment for the man to reply with how his name tasted on your tongue. You had abandoned that usual hint of annoyance and frustration crafted specifically for him, instead choosing something so soft, and downright irresistible it was causing his mind to go wild.

His teeth dragged across his cheek, finally releasing a simple; “What is it? Do you.. want me to go get Robot?”

You couldn’t have shaken your head any faster, hand even tightening around his arm— as if truly scared his touch would leave. You brought your body closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him; eyes carrying down his form as soft huffs pushed through pouted lips.

“No..— please, please stay. I need you to stay, Rex.” A drawn out beg escaped you quickly, Rex sucking in air at your words. Stay? He had no choice but to. The two of you were quarantined after all.

But something told him that wasn’t what you were only entailing. Something, like how your gaze simply couldn’t focus on a single spot; trailing from his face down to his legs— lingering there for a moment before returning back to his features.

“Then wha—“

“I need,” You begun slowly, struggling to find the words as hurried breaths escaped. The feeling running through you was completely foreign, sensations, senses, all of it; cranked up completely to one hundred. Fear of the unknown pooled deep in your stomach, followed by something else entirely the longer you looked at the man before you.

Finally you seemed to find what you wanted, fingers dragging against his skin once more, it pricking with each touch.

“You. I need you, Rex. I need to feel you..”

You were lying. This was a trick to fuck with him right? There’s no way you, wanted him in that way. It was all some ploy to admit something he didn’t want to, right? It had to be..

Rex wanted to open his mouth to refuse you, brain screaming at him to push you away. Push her, push her, push her— it thundered in his head as if the only plausible answer to the situation.

But the moment a single please escaped those pretty lips, the only thought in Rex’s head was;

Fuck this.

The hand upon you gripped your cheek with purpose, the man leaning to snatch your lips in a heated kiss. The moment the two of you connected, a soft whine escaped right into his mouth— your free hand latching onto his body quickly. Your lips moved in such a perfect rhythm, igniting your already hot body to basically boil over. You couldn’t help how desperate your lips were getting, whimpering and whining; practically begging for more out of the man.

The two of you parted, Rex watching the way you attempted to chase his lips, eyelids coming to hang low over green eyes that took you in so intently.

“Rex, please..”

“I hear you.” His words broke through the fog slowly clouding your mind, you completely focused on him and only him. The way he breathed, stared, how he ever so slowly lifted himself to hover over your sweltering body; bringing himself to rest on his forearm whilst the other hand continued to hold your face.

“I got you mama, shit..” Rex dragged softly as he pressed another kiss to your lips, leading his own down to your chin, neck, before stamping kisses right against your collarbone. Your taste was a perfect swirl of salty and sweet, curtesy of your sweat and the body wash you had previously used. The man released your face to instead carry his hand downwards, soon reaching the edge of your shirt; breaching the clothing to spread his hand across your stomach.

Rex could nearly groan the moment his fingers clenched, delighted by the way his digits sunk into your plump flesh— hot against his hand and completely perfect despite what he claimed. His eyes took you in searching for something, anything that would tell him to stop— that you didn’t want this at all. But the man only received a pout, and eyes filled to the brim with want.

For him, and only him.

Such a look had him shuddering, leaning close and muttering a quick so desperate for me right upon your lips— such words causing you to keen and melt into him completely. Your arms wrapped around him tightly, never wishing to let go as you felt his comforting hand crossing from your warm stomach and up, the cool air gliding across your skin the more exposed it got.

You gasped as Rex’s fingers traced your breast for a moment, simply playing with you before allowing two of them to enclose a hardened nipple; stimulating the peak so perfectly that sparks were emitting between your thighs. You couldn’t help but lift your hips up, finding what you wanted — his thigh — and dragging yourself up and down slowly.

The stimulation caused you to pant into him, sounds overtaken the moment his tongue intruded your mouth; licking into the dark space with such interest. With a twirl of your two wet, appendages you were moaning softly, feeling the combined spit trickle down your chin the longer you kissed.

You were already dizzy before but with his mouth, fingers, and thigh; you could only describe your mind being a spiral with no end in sight.

As he pulled away you panted, grinding against his thigh like some pathetic dog in heat— clearly desperate for friction to ease the ache between your legs.

Rex took you in greedily, rising up to his haunches, continuing to tweak your breast whilst his other hand carried from your bed and to your body, dragging across your covered sex. Your shorts were soaked, basically ruined; arousal seeping through the fabric easily. He watched as you practically withered at his touch, not so secretly rising your hips to his hand once again.

With another drag of his hand you were whining, peeking up at the man;

“Rex.. don’t tease, please don’t tease me.”

You were palpable, shaking, wanting, needing— everything and anything Rex could have ever wanted. The last thing on his mind was teasing you again.

He was practically tearing your pants and panties off, tossing them to some corner you could worry about later. Your thighs parted, exposing the way a glossy, slick coated your aching cunt; clit swollen, begging for attention as your hole fluttered. Rex couldn’t help but drool, dipping his fingers to coat in your essence, watching the way you practically shook from the naked touch.

“Fuck.. you’re soaked.” Rex whispered, dragging a finger along before finding your little button, circling it carefully. He watched the way your face screwed up in pleasure, how your thighs twitched, slowly enclosing his hand— refusing to let him go where you needed him most.

Your eyes glossy, a film of pure lust covering the pretty gaze; such a look had the man basically huffing, feeling all inhibitions leave his body in a single trickle. Rex continued to circle your swollen clit, feeling the way you so desperately rose into his hand, he knew this was the most sensitive part of a woman, but god— the way you withered was otherworldly.

“Rex, Rex, Rex..” You were whining his name so pathetically, fingers tugging at your blankets as your hips swiveled in the direction of his finger. The ache inside of you only seemed to grow, the pressure building up in your stomach and threatening to spill over. You could feel the way globs of arousal basically pooled from within you, trickling down to your taint and surely staining the bedsheets.

“Fuck… why do you look so pretty like this?”

The question was spoke out loud, yet truthfully not for you to answer. Rex racked his brain on why exactly he waited so long to have you like this. He was such a dick, truly and utterly— to you, and to himself.

The man’s eyes flicked from your pretty pussy back to your even prettier features, gliding his fingers lower to prod at your weeping entrance; easily pushing two digits in to which your velvety walls basically sucked in.

He wasted no time in thrusting the appendages in and out, enjoying the way your moans pitched so perfectly; hitting every inch of his brain in the best symphony. He scissored and curled, brushing up against that spongy spot you; yourself, have never been able to reach with your own fingers.

And the moment Rex’s thumb rose, sweeping across your sensitive button; you were truly done for.

Your hand flew down to his wrist, gripping, refusing to let him go as rushed cries quickly turned into sharp bellows of his name the longer he ruined you with his fingers. It shouldn’t feel this damn good at all. Not simply because it was his fingers but also because it was Rex himself.

The idiot that always looked at you with such disdain, always treated you oddly, mocking you— the whole nine yards like some little bully. Yet here he was, staring at you so sweetly while easing that desperate ache that only he could solve. Only him.

You would slap yourself later. When your mind wasn’t so warped. For now, you wanted nothing more than to be ruined and built right back up by the man you claimed to hate.

Your nails scratched at his skin, thighs closing in around his arm as that pressure thundered deep in your stomach— ready to burst at any time. You couldn’t help the way tears pricked at your eyes, spilling over with each of your quick blinks.

In your daze you heard Rex coo, maybe whisper; soon feeling him move towards your side, face hovering close to your own whilst his fingers continued that perfect rhythm inside of you.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you like this,” Awe clung to his words, heavy lidded eyes dedicating each pleasure stricken feature to memory; refusing to let it go. “So fucking perfect like this.. I’m such a dick, fuck—“ Rex wondered if he was suddenly getting infected, given the way you so easily took over every sense of his. He felt, smelt, saw, and tasted just about every inch of your presence; a concoction that even the best bartender couldn’t even begin to replicate.

“—Mm close! Fuck.. Rex, please..!”

Your walls clung to his fingers, peak rising so quickly only to crash even faster. The tears spilled over, coating your cheeks whilst your arousal coated his fingers, and your bedsheets. You shook from the aftershocks, desperately trying to catch your breath; whining the moment you felt Rex remove his fingers.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but you moved much faster, reaching out to plant your hands onto his shoulders. You rose, pressing your lips to his own whilst pushing at his body; affectively getting him to lay onto his back whilst you crawled over his body.

Rex could nearly cum in his pants the moment you laid out amongst him, his hands immediately falling to your plush thighs, tugging them; eyes rolling back at how soft you felt against his skin. And the moment he realized you were dragging your hips, smearing your messy pussy across his covered bulge; the man pulled back to groan, shuddering breaths escaping his chest.

“Fuck, fuck— wait, don’t you need to, recover— [Name]?”

“Nnn.. no, no..”

He watched as you rose to sit in his lap, hips still bucking, still grinding and rolling like some machine that refused to turn off. You looked like a fucking goddess above him, hair a mess yet framing your features perfectly, eyes glossy, lips shining with your combined saliva; Rex wondered what he did he do to deserve such a display.

“Need more.. fuck I need it Rex, please!” With a particularly long drag of your hips you were shaking, hands pressed against his chest, crumpling the shirt he wore within your palms. It was like your body didn’t care you had finished just a second ago, still completely aching in desperation as if you were completely untouched.

Your sweet whines did something to Rex, the man swearing under his breath, the previous worry he held for you no longer present. Wasting no time, he allowed his hands to fall from your body to instead find the waistband of his pants, resting his feet onto the bed to shimmy his garments down to his thighs.

His length sprung from its confinements, tip flushed with pearly globs of white slipping from its slit. You brushed close, sweltering center dragging across it so perfectly the both of you could only groan.

Rex’s hands found your hips again, squeezing the flesh within his fingers as his own hips rose to buck into you. “C’mon mama, it’s all yours.. don’t tease.” His head tilted, eyes fluttering closed the moment you ground against him once again. His tip bumped against your swollen button, dragging to your fluttering hole; prodding there for a moment before slowly pushing past the ring of muscle.

The man downright shivered, sparks running down his spine the way your wet walls clung to his dick, shaping around it so perfectly he swore you were made just for him. You weren’t any better, nearly falling apart as you enveloped him completely— ass rested on his legs, seated so perfectly. The stretch should have burned, but you only felt pure bliss with every inch pushed into you. Filled to the brim, his dick basically throbbing inside you, veins brushing against your walls; hitting places you didn’t even know existed.

You didn’t wait to adjust, to allow air to even fully expand your lungs before you were lifting yourself until only the tip remained inside— dropping down in one full motion. The moan released you was pure sickeningly sweet honey, clutching the man so desperately as more hurried drops of your hips followed.

Rex clung to your hips for dear life, barely being able to keep himself together. The single thought of don’t come, don’t come, swirled inside his mind; proving more difficult the longer you rode him. His body shook with each heavy pant he released, nails digging into your plush skin as his eyes nearly met his skull.

“Jus… ha— just like that baby, fucking use me—“ His feet suddenly planted firmly upon your bed, meeting each of your ruts with his own thrusts, tip striking your g-spot so perfectly.

Stars invaded your vision, body sweltering, sweat trickling down every single part of your body— but you refused to stop, you couldn’t. You felt as if you could die without this. And they may have been true, with how you were clinging to the man like he was some kind of anchor.

You lowered yourself, quick breaths fanning across his exposed skin; whining the moment you felt his arms wrap tightly around your waist, feeling him drill into you without a care.

“Rex, o—oh god, fuck!” You shoved your face into his neck, sniffling and sobbing as that ache swelled. You weren’t even thinking properly nor making sense, incoherent words that sounded like some jumbled prayer of his name slipping off your tongue far too quickly.

Before you could even breathe the man was suddenly flipping your positions, hands going for your thighs and spreading you open— fucking into you so deeply, you could have sworn he was in your cervix at this point.

“So perfect.. fucking perfect, fuck, fuck..” His words came out in a drawn fashion, eyes glued to your body. He pushed your thighs, watching the way your stomach rolled up in response; Rex swearing he was getting hard all over again. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, ass rippling each time his hips made contact.

Far too quickly you were coming undone, coil snapping without warning leaving you a shaking mess that could only gasp and cry. Your slick escaped, coating his dick; creating a creamy ring around the base as he simply would not, stop, moving. Instead the man lowered, coming closer and sliding your legs to his shoulders.

Through shallow thrusts Rex spoke, “Been so fucking mean to you. You forgive me baby, huh?” All while planting the sweetest kisses against your skin, as if he wasn’t utterly wrecking you.

You could only whine, hands sliding to his back, dragging your nails against him as you shook your head far too fast— making yourself even more delirious then before.

But that wasn’t enough for the man, no, that wasn’t what he wanted, needed.

A hand came between the two of you, easily finding your messy clit and rubbing circles into the bud. You shook, overstimulation biting at your body to the point you were keening.

“Wanna hear you say it, pretty…” Rex spoke in-between sharp thrusts and shaky exhales. “—I was a fucking ass..asshole, and liar; every inch of you is perfect.. shit, you have me obsessed [Name].”

It was clear the man wasn’t thinking straight from how easily the confession swept from his lips, some type of metaphorical weight being lifted off his shoulders the moment it was uttered however. Rex took in the way you struggled to keep your eyes on him, and with how you were tossing back and forth between ecstasy he was sure you hadn’t heard a damn thing.

Still, the pace of both his fingers and hips quickened, moving much closer to kiss you, soft cooes of forgive me, being pushed into your mouth.

Your hands trailed to his hair, bun long forgotten as the strands peeked and slid between the gaps of your fingers. Rex swallowed your last bellow, your entire body jerking as you squirted, making a complete mess of him, yourself, and your bed.

He wasn’t too far behind, groaning into you as he drove himself deeper, gripping your skin as he flooded you with his come; adding to the mess the moment it began to trickle out.

Rex’s hips finally stilled, hand even moving away from your pretty cunt yet his lips remained on you, still kissing you so sloppily yet gingerly. Moments passed of this lip locking before he pulled away for air, forehead resting against your own as he greedily sucked it up.

You panted as well, that once unquenchable ache now very dull compared to before. You melted into the bed, sighing heavily as your hands dragged from his hair to his cheeks, collecting them in your palms.

“I forgive you.” You whispered, watching recollection cross his features, causing your lips to curl into a little grin. “But yeah, you’re a dick.”

Rex couldn’t help the little grin pulling his lips, “I know. But hey, I helped you get rid of that monster plant piss— just had to sweat it out.”

You groaned softly, pushing at his body to which the man laughed, refusing to break away.

“You ruin everything.”

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