#and to think there were so many points in time i thought i'd never make it

[luwritesstuff]

Heya! Can I get an Eddie Diaz x fem!reader?

911 is my newest obsession and I love his character :)

So sorry for the delay! real life is kicking my ass lately 😮‍💨 but i hope you love this!!

Moving Too Fast?

Eddie Diaz x fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

notes: afab!reader, no use of y/n. fluff, fluff, and more fluff :)

The first time Eddie said it, you thought it was a joke. You were on a call and complaining about having to drive all the way across town to get more clothes to stay with your boyfriend. It was a complaint you aired out often, you lived only a few miles from Eddie, but with LA traffic, the drive regularly took you over 20 minutes. Eddie shrugged his shoulders, “Why don't you just bring all of your clothes next time?” He'd said it so nonchalantly that you were sure he had been joking. Your patient began coding before you could ask and the topic didn't come up again until a few days later.

The two of you were alone in the loft of the firehouse on dish duty when it came up again. Which was really Eddie loading dishes into the dishwasher while you sat on the counter and watched, occasionally stealing a kiss. “Come over later?” He asked, shutting the door to the dishwasher and finally coming to stand between your legs.

You hummed and let your arms sling over his shoulders, “Can't. It's laundry day, and you know I have to be there so Mrs. Everly doesn't take my clothes out of the washer.” You weren't thrilled to be in your 30’s and still using a shared laundry space, but your apartment was rent controlled and really, you'd never had a reason to move. Until Eddie spoke again.

“You know, if you lived with me, you wouldn't have to fight anyone for a washing machine. I even have a dryer, too,” Eddie was so casual, again, and you had to take a minute to look at each other to tell if he was being serious. “I mean it,” he answered before you could ask, “Move in with me. I'm closer to work, too.”

And okay, he made some good points. You'd save so much on gas and his place really was nicer, but, “What about Chris? It's his home, too. And-” Before you could finish, the alarm was pulling you out of your conversation and down to the engines. The two of you shared a look that the conversation wasn't over, even if the rest of the day was back to back calls and you barely had a chance to catch your breath. Let alone make a major decision about the future of your relationship.

Later came when you were leaving the locker rooms and Eddie caught you before you could sneak out to the parking lot without him. “I already talked to Christopher about it weeks ago. What else is scaring you?” He was by your side instantly and reaching for your free hand.

You sighed and gave his hand a squeeze, “I'm not scared, Eddie. It's just a big decision, okay? And it's not one that I thought I'd be making today and it's just-” You stopped to stand in front of him, “It's a lot. I love you, and yes, eventually we should move in together, but-”

“It's a lot,” Eddie finished your sentence and leaned down to catch you off guard with a quick kiss, “I know. You don't have to answer right now. Just promise me you'll think about it at least?” He asked. And you weren't a monster, so obviously you nodded and leaned up to steal another kiss. After a promise to see each other the next day, you went your separate ways.

It wasn't really a conscious decision to show up on Eddie’s doorstep later that evening. But you were on your way down the half-broken steps to the laundry room and suddenly you felt ridiculous. Why were you about to fight an old woman over a washing machine just to stay in an apartment that was falling apart and in one of the most inconvenient parts of the city? Before you could talk yourself out of it, you decided that no, you weren't going to do that.

Which is how you ended up standing in front of Eddie with your laundry basket in your hands and a duffel bag slung over your shoulder. “You're not allowed to get tired of me. Or judge how many sweatshirts I have,” was all you said, letting the grin on Eddie’s face mirror your own.

“Deal,” he said and reached out to take the basket from your hands in favor of pulling you inside. “You're really sure about this? I wasn't trying to pressure you earlier, it just felt like something we should start talking about,” he added and you felt your heart ache fondly. Eddie’s need to check in only made you feel more secure in your decision.

“I wouldn't have just sat in that traffic if I wasn't sure, trust me,” you hummed and dropped your duffel in favor of reaching up to cup your hands around the back of Eddie’s neck. “You and Buck are gonna have to figure out how to get my dresser in your room, though. I'm not mixing my neatly folded clothes with your mess of crumpled up shirts.”

“I think you mean our room,” was all Eddie said before effectively ending the conversation with a firm kiss. “I love you,” he mumbled against your skin and dragged you down the hall to your room.

Later, when your clothes were drying and Eddie had gotten the rest of your stuff from your car, you were laying on his chest while he ran his fingers over your scalp. “Hey,” he spoke softly and sat up on his elbow to look down at you, “what you said earlier, about me getting tired of you. You don't really think that, do you?”

You shrugged and felt unable to make up some excuse with the way his brown eyes were staring into you. “I know you wouldn't, honestly. But you know about the last time I lived with someone I was dating and there's a reason I've lived alone ever since, you know? I know that this is the right decision for us, but I can't help worrying that it's gonna ruin this amazing thing we have going on.”

“That's not gonna happen, baby. You're it for me and I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I thought for even a second that it wouldn't work,” Eddie’s voice was reassuring as always and you couldn't help but agree. “Besides, even if we have second thoughts, Chris is never letting you leave. He's excited to finally have someone that cooks living here,” he teased. You rolled your eyes and pulled him down into a kiss, “You're right, I can't abandon him here with your disastrous cooking.”

“I love you,” Eddie promised.

You believed him, “I love you, too.”

[benny-the-spaceman]

happy 18th birthday to ME! and kind of benny. kind of. technically charlie day. whatevs. ive got more to say below the cut, but this goes out to the ppl ive gotten to know and the ppl ive learned from and admired in this community, thanks for making tlm so special to me <3

Alright. wow. 18. It feels weird to say that honestly. more importantly, this marks around 2 years of me being in the lego movie fandom, which is even crazier! I actually found this community at one of the worst parts of my life, I'd developed very severe drug related OCD, to the point where I was barely eating and drinking or leaving my room for over a month because i was so terrified of my intrusive thoughts. I went to a treatment center where I started ERP therapy, and during that time I watched a reel about the lego movie and decided that, since i was out of school and had way too much free time, maybe i could occupy some time with that instead. TLDR: best decision of my fucking LIFE. i got hooked pretty quickly, and after a few weeks i started interacting and making friends. I started using my tumblr again and i was drawing every free moment i could. joining this community started as a sort of coping mechanism for me, but as my ocd went into partial remission it became more and more of a passion and less of just something to occupy my brain. overall, awesome. however, it really wasnt until a year or so later that id REALLY start to get to know people, and leading into my senior year, I became friends with some amazing people. Superpeeboy and Mars of course, but also many other people, almost too many to name (yall know who u are tho (:, and if u think it could be u, it probably is). This community has made me so, incredibly happy, in ways even before my ocd i didnt think were possible. I never thought id find myself so enthusiastically looking toward my future, because despite every horrible thing going on in the world I have people around me that I know will be there, and I hope I can be there for them jsut the same. Honestly I just want to thank every person who's made this community special for me. Whether we've become best friends or have never talked even once, thank you for making the lego movie such an amazing place to call home. When I say this has saved me, I mean it. Happy birthday to me, I don't even know what birthday wish I could make, I've already gotten so many things that I'd always wished for.

[mizuki-foreshadowing]

Mizuki's Favorite Outfit

When Mizuki gets invited to a celebrity picnic with idols Hinomori Shizuku and Momoi Airi, she makes sure to wear her favorite outfit! We actually get to see what that outfit is, and it's not the one her sprite is dressed in.

It's referenced a few times throughout What's On Your Mind - Exciting Picnic that Mizuki wore her favorite outfit to the picnic.

In Journey to Bloom, we see the scene where she stumbles and falls while running to find someone who can save Ena and Airi, and we can actually see it isn't the outfit she's wearing on her sprite.

We get a perfect look at the outfit in her 4-star card, Mizuki: Between Feelings and Reality, and we can see Mizuki's favorite outfit is relatively subdued, tasteful, and, very interestingly, relatively gender-neutral.

The jacket does lean femme, and she's wearing a shirt which does two seemingly opposite things. It doesn't disguise the shape of her torso, but it does make sure to cover her neck. Her shirt also seems to be a very subtle Love Is Love pride shirt.

I don't actually know what to make of it. If it were me and I were a huge fan of idols getting to meet them in person, I might be nervous my own femininity would clash with or pale next to people who, in my eyes, simply embody it. I might be scared I'd suddenly stick out if I were seen in a group with them also dressed unambiguously femme.

But there's a little more to it, I think. Mizuki doesn't know what to expect from the idols when she meets them. Mizuki is troubled as Airi draws attention to wanting to call Mizuki by her first name. No prior dialogue puts Mizuki's sprite in this facial expression; this is Mizuki's reaction to Airi's question.

An important detail is Airi doesn't append anything to 'Mizuki'. This, plus Mizuki's expression gives some context for Shizuku saying 'Mizuki-chan' with the amount of emphasis she does. Her doing so instantly puts Mizuki at ease, even though, in theory, Mizuki never had anything to worry about from this question in the first place, since we (who have Airi and Shizuku's point of view) already knew it was well-intentioned.

Personally, I think Mizuki's surprised exclamation is her shock at being validated as a girl by such a beautiful idol as Shizuku.

Many times when Mizuki fangirls over idols, she'll make sure to talk about how cute they are, which acts to cast how much of a superfan of idols she is in the same light as her loving cute clothing and decorations. But I think given wherever she'd thought Airi was going with her question, and potentially, the outfit she wore if it wasn't entirely true it was her favorite outfit, that Mizuki is a little insecure she doesn't like idols in the same way girl fans of idols do (despite the way that she fangirls being almost identical to the way that Minori does) and had accepted beforehand she might be received by them as that kind of fan.

[localwebslingers]

Leaned back and arms crossed didn't exactly look relaxed but it seemed a lot less on edge than before, Peter was going to take that as some kind of win. It also was so just predictably a thoughtful, thinking position that he had to raise his eyebrow with some amusement, let the smile grow a little amused and fond. It stung a little to see that Harry still wasn't able to relax around him, which was fair and reasonable and Peter understood it, but he wouldn't call the posture subtle. Maybe Osborn approved, but for a moment he half expected it to be exaggerated in some way with the dramatics he'd gotten so used to seeing and hearing. Just to really lean into it.

They didn't happen, of course they wouldn't, they probably wouldn't be back for a while yet.

With the question, both of them, Peter's smile softened a little as he thought about his answer, "You were...pretty private, about it happening. I think most of it was that you worried about how it would go those first few days, if I'd really be okay with it and yeah...yeah I think you worried I might not be safe with you. You kind of gave me an apology warning that you could be a little...let's call it grouchy, at times." he held a hand up and squinted, fingers close together, "little bit." it was a light tease, and Peter lowered his hand again before shaking his head slightly, "But I knew that, and I told you I could handle it. That I wasn't worried and would be okay. If you really were worried about anything more specific then you kept it to yourself, but I had a couple guesses."

It was hard not to, not after the first time Peter had seen just how tense and cautious Harry had been when they were hiding from Kraven. When the identities were admitted into the open and the first real "cards on the table" conversation happened between them. The times in fights or close calls, tense situations passed that, even just bandaging major injuries, Peter had an idea of what he could be in for. It didn't scare him off all the times before, it didn't when he started coming by either.

"Just to be clear, you didn't. Hurt me I mean, or try to. Had a couple bad moods but for the most part it went fine. I knew to give you space when you needed it, what to try and help with and what I could actually do. Really what I did was just try to be there for you, help out how I could or just keep you company so you weren't alone..." Peter chewed his lip and was quiet a moment. Debating. What was better, to rip off the bandage now or to try and address one of the many elephants in the room days, maybe even weeks, later? Because it wasn't just having to get used to him that eventually got Harry to the point of being comfortable saying that Peter could be there, in those first days after the new dose of the serum was taken.

"We're- ....we're dating. Are...were, maybe, I don't really know if you..." if Harry wanted to still call it that, when he didn't remember it, and that made Peter's heart twist in a way it hadn't since he first saw Harry unresponsive in a bed, "I'm sure that sounds...completely believable and trustworthy, maybe, but that's why you said I could stay. You already trusted me, we hadn't been together a full year yet but we'd known each other for a little while before that and I knew how to try and make it easier, when stuff was a lot for you. Try and get you to focus on something that could help you relax. Sometimes I think I was even pretty good at it because it usually worked." he was trying not to get upset, trying not to feel hurt as that twist tightened more, because that wasn't what Harry needed right now. Someone to be upset and make him feel guilty for something completely out of his control.

"...and that's why even if you were worried that I might not be safe with you, I was sure I was. Because you don't scare me, or make me nervous, and if you did become dangerous, for whatever reason, I still would have been okay. I'm tougher than I look and maybe that reassured you...but I never thought I would have to. Not once, and I always told you I wasn't worried about it. You're just...Harry, to me."

|| @inhcritance ||

He knew that not feeling sick was a beginning, and not one to be underestimated: he didn't know what he'd have done, if his mind hadn't answered as it should but his body hadn't either.

Would it be alright, in the end? It was difficult to have hope, for all he knew he had reasons for it. For all he felt more capable, and while most of his memories hadn't come back, not exactly, there was enough that he could start feeling not so much adrift as lost, but with a chance of finding his way properly.

He wasn't sure, however, how much of a way he could hope to find when the mere presence of another human being was so distressing to his feelings. Knowing that Peter had been there for him, however... it was as close to hope as it could be, and while Harry did tell himself it could theoretically be a lie, it didn't feel like one.

For a moment there, he was even tempted to ask him to come in. To imagine what it would mean to have someone else close, maybe to even touch another human being. Touch and be touched and maybe even avoid the overwhelming impulse to harm that he didn't know how to control yet.

But that, he knew, was assuming the instincts, the impulses, were the same. And he couldn't trust on that, not when it could hurt the one person who was managing to make him feel less like something wild kept caged for the sake of everybody else, and more like an actual person.

So he leaned back, in the end, arms crossed loosely as he thought, because he didn't feel comfortable enough to lean forward and rest his chin on his hand, as he'd done so many times... before. Or thought he had.

"You said it happened eventually." He settled for, however. Because a part of him wanted to leave the topic, and stay at a victory, but the rest of him... well, he yearned for more. He needed to know more. "Was it a matter of exposition, of getting used to you... or did something happen?"

He couldn't believe in a magical cheat that would solve everything, but every single little tidbit of information was worth knowing.

"And... were you safe, when you were with me?" Because that was worth knowing, as much as the idea itself hurt.

But it was still a thread to pull on, a tiny sliver of hope, and he was determined to make something of it. Somehow. He just didn't have all the pieces he needed just yet, just the determination to try and collect them.

@localwebslingers

[astrxealis]

dear gods i adore horror tbh but i am way too sensitive to it

[mychemikuromance]

...

[euniexenoblade]

since we're talking about call outs lately, i've been called out many times, most of which are made from lies and sometimes by altering screenshots, but the most effective call out i ever got was like, in early 2015 there was a tumblr user everyone knew was a terf, but she would say "actually i support trans women" this was before crypto terfs were as talked about so the language wasn't really there to say "hey this person is a crypto terf." but yeah some people put posts of this woman on my dash and i made a random post on my blog "why do yall reblog her shes a terf" and of course she searches her own name daily, found my post, and replied to it that me calling her a terf was racist. that was it. no other interaction. but she went on all night talking about me being racist and just making things up as she went "oh i bet she says the n word all the time irl" kind of shit that had, like no basis? But her follower base took it 100% and i literally had thousands of anons telling me to kill myself, trying to goad me into being racist (didnt work), and the most concerning thing was i got hundreds of anons being like "what was the point of doing hrt if you still look like that, you should kill yourself." It was like, violent and overwhelming. and on top of it I'd get random young teenager trans people who followed her and bought into her bioessentialism showing up in my messages being like "you give trans people a bad name" "you're why transphobia exists" etc etc it was fucking crazy.

but i lost like, no followers because everyone around me understood, this woman was a terf. this all set up the real one though.

later in the year a teenage "communist" trans girl made some snarky comment about me being racist on a post of mine blowing up. i ignored her cuz like, who cares it's just some random teenager. but i guess people were looking for a reason to hate me cuz that blew up, lots of people just took that at face value no need to investigate. when someone finally did send the girl an ask being like "hey how is she racist" she replied "I dont remember but I know she is" and even more people just took this as 100%. the thing is, i do remember her being one of those "you make trans people look bad" terf following young trans people, it's not that she didn't remember, it's that she didnt want to admit she followed a terf and she believed a terf just saying shit. I lost like 3/4s of my followers, i had a lot of people i thought were my friends just stop talking to me, and going forward every time i got a call out there would usually be a line of like "also she's racist, everyone already knows this" all cuz this girl needed to make a snarky comment cuz she just loves terfs.

the thing about the "i dont remember" bit is it made some weird game of telephone. "I dont remember" became "oh she's racist, i think she says the n word" which became "she called black bloggers the n word" like people just made shit up about me and connected it to this call out. and when id be like this isnt true id be met with a "this is just known, youre a known racist" and it's like, to this day i will still find people be like "hey good on you for growing as a person and not doing that any more" and its like I NEVER DID IT TO BEGIN WITH

[eyesonlybutterflies]

Let me show you

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘺𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘏𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: experienced!Heeseung x inexperiencedf!reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 5.0k

𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: smut, fuckboy!Heeseung, swearing, reader in denial of her feelings for Hee, reader also kind of oblivious, Heeseung is DOWN BADDD, jealousy if you look close enough, Heeseung is still a sweatheart, pet names (baby, darling, etc.), (neck) kissing, grinding/dry humping, very slight restraints, boob sucking, hair pulling, teasing, big dick Heeseung, oral (m and f receiving), praise, face painting, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare w gentleman!Heeseung, lmk if I missed anything

18+ 𝓜𝓝𝓓𝓘!!!

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

'She was soo good, y/n. I'm telling you if she even breathes in my direction I'd 100% fuck her again,' Heeseung shamelessy confesses to you. Heeseung and you have been friends since middle school and you're both now well into college. You've finally hit the age and stage where you openly talk about your sex lifes. Well... Heeseung's sex life.

It's not that you're an unattractive woman, in fact most of your female friends praise how amazing you look in every outfit, hype you up when you need it and all in all let you know you're very attractive.

Guys just haven't seemed to notice. Or at least, not many guys. You've been on a date or two, kissed a guy, even made out with someone, but that's it. You've never had sex, never given or received head, fuck you've never even touched a clothed penis.

Hearing all these stories from your friends kills your curious nature, '𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭? 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥?' It's so bad that it's come to the point you're considering asking Heeseung to show you. I mean, he's your friend, you trust him and there are no feelings involved. It'd be a teaching moment for you and just another night for Heeseung.

Eventually you always pushed away that thought. It was just a stupid idea you had when you were horny and you chose Heeseung because he's the most attractive out of all your male friends. The first time had to be with someone you were actually into. Still, for some reason you felt the need to make him aware of your... situation.

'Hey Hee,' You shyly start. 'Mmh?' He says as he's staring at his phone, probably looking through his texts to see who to hook up with next. 'Have you never noticed I don't share my sex stories?' He stops and looks at you, 'Yeah, but I assumed you just didn't feel comfortable sharing.' 'Actually... I, I'm a virgin.'

Heeseung drops his phone in response. His eyebrows are raised and eyes so wide he looks like a deer in headlights, 'What??' 'I know it's embarrassing! I just, UGH!' You scream before grabbing a pillow and screaming into it, not being able to bare the embarrasment and too scared to make eye contact with Heeseung again.

A gentle force takes away the pillow you use to hide your face, Heeseung's face replacing the darkness of the pillow. His eyes soft, empethatic. 'Y/n, are you serious?' 'Yes and it's embarrassing, I don't even know why I told you, just forget it,' You ramble. You only had thoughts of telling Heeseung, not actually expecting you to have the balls to say it, and most certainly not Heeseung getting so close to you after your confession.

It'd have been a lot easier if he had just laughed in your face, whether it was because he didn't believe it or because he can totally understand why. Him just being a couple centimeters away from you was not what you had expected. It switched something inside you. You saw him from a different perspective, literally.

You'd never saw him as anything but your friend. Heeseung who was kind, Heeseung who made fun of you, Heeseung who took care of you when you needed someone. You never read into it too much. Why would you? He never confessed his feelings to you and it seemed like he was thinking of the next woman to fuck whilst still laying in bed with the previous woman.

But now that he's so close, you can almost look into his soul. The playboy facade almost seems to fade right in front of your eyes. However you quickly push it away. 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩.

He snaps you out of your thoughts when a hand lands on your cheek, 'Did you hear what I asked you?' You were so in your thoughts you didn't even notice Heeseung asking you a question. 'N-no, sorry.' With a smile, his beautiful smile, he asks again, 'Have you ever kissed before?' 'Oh god yes I have! I'm not 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 inexperienced!'

'Good, a pretty girl like you deserves appreciation.' Your cheeks flush, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺? Heeseung clearly sees your confusion and just laughs. 'You're just fucking with me! You fuckboys always say stupid shit like that!' You push him away, lowkey mad about the fact he'd play with your feelings in such an intimate moment.

Heeseung repositions himself next to you and you quickly grab a pillow to hug, both for you comfort and defense from Heeseung. 'I would never joke about that. Not when it comes to you.' Your head snaps to him, 'What the fuck is that supposed to mean?' 'Oh baby, please don't tell me you're that oblivious?' What??????

'You remember all those late nights where we would watch movies together freshman year of college because you felt homesick? God I can still remember all the songs in Mamma Mia.' 'What does that have to do with this?' 'Do you really think I'd do that with anyone else? I even cancelled bro nights with the boys to spend time with you.' 'But why are you in other women's bed every weekend?' You completely ignore the fact he basically confessed to liking you, only the other women he's been with occupy your mind.

'Because I've been waiting for you.' 'Heeseung what are you even SAYING right now?' You stand up, creating space between you two. Nothing is making sense right now. 'Y/n, I've had feelings for you since the day we met. Those feelings are still very strong, but I never dared telling you about them. I saw the way you were talking with other guys and just assumed you were hooking up, no strings attached with others and you just didn't feel comfortable telling me. So I did the same, but trust me, I wish it was you every time.'

The only thing you can do is throw your hands up to you head. Your mouth is hanging open but nothing is coming out. Everything is slowly starting to make sense. 'Why didn't you say anything?' You finally get out. All Heeseung does is stare at you. He studies your face, your body language, he's studying 𝘺𝘰𝘶. But not in a creepy way, but in a loving way. Like he's been waiting for this moment for so long and it's unfolding even better than he could have ever imagined.

'Heeseung, please talk!' You almost get frustrated, feeling tears in your eyes as you feel both confused, relieved and scared. He stands up, walks over to you and puts his hands on your waist. 'I'm sorry baby,' is all he says before he leans in to kiss you. Only he doesn't close the distance.

'Is this okay, darling?' You nearly melt into his touch as he moves one hand to your cheek and smiles. The kiss starts soft. Initially long and slow touches of your lips turn into more hungry motions as you both realise you're actually kissing each other and this isn't just a dream.

After years of yearning and denial, you're finally kissing.

And it feels good. Heeseung naturally takes the lead, licking your bottom lip as to ask for permission. You grant him that permission immediately, going in to grab his cheeks to prepare yourself for the lightheadedness he's going to give. Because if there's one thing you've learned about Heeseung's stories, it's that he knows how to kiss.

The kiss grows deeper. Heeseung pushes his lips into yours like he's a starved man. His tongue desperately searching for yours and once there's a steady, consistent rythm to your dancing tongues, something clicks in him.

Both his hands travel down to your ass and, without warning, lifts you up. A small shriek escapes out of your mouth ahead of you wrapping your legs around Heeseung. He leads the both of you back onto your bed. He very gently lays you on your back, as if you're made of marble and ready to crack at movement a little too harsh.

You wrap your arms around Heeseung's neck, letting him know you never want to change the scenery. Heeseung is so turned on by how beautiful you look under him, completely his and not wanting anything else that he's starting to moan in your mouth and slowly grind against your crotch. You push him slightly away, looking at him with large eyes, unsure of what to make of this situation.

Heeseung gets the hint and looks at you with concerned eyes, 'Is this too fast, baby?' You shake your head, gulping loudly. 'I've just never done more than making out,' you start, 'I've only kissed and made out with like 3 guys, never anything more.' 'Not even this?' He says as he presses his erection into your heat. You gasp and that's enough confirmation for Heeseung.

'Are you okay with us doing this?' Sweet Heeseung, always making sure you're okay and comfortable ever since the beginning. You nod, 'I actually... kind of want you to be my first.' Noticing his confusion you continue, 'I've been thinking about, you know, this, a lot and if I had to choose someone to do it with, I'd choose you.'

The smile that slowly creeps up Heeseung's lips give you butterflies, and not just in your stomach. 'Really?' He asks in that attractive ass expression, his eyebrow raised, a light smirk and slight sparkly eyes. You nod shyly, biting your lip to prevent yourself from saying something any more stupid. 'Well, baby, I'll make sure you won't regret this.'

Before he can resume the intimate kiss, you still slightly push him away, looking at him with doe-eyes, 'Is this gonna change us?' 'I better fucking hope it will.' The kiss picks back up right where it left off, except that it feels more intimate.

Heeseung's hands start to roam your body, starting at your cheeks, slowly going down and eventually landing on your boobs. He can feel your perky nipples through your shirt and it's making his buldge grow even tighter. 'Off,' he demands and you comply, taking your shirt off swiftly, making your tits bounce.

Sounds of you two kissing has stopped because of Heeseung's newfound focus on your boobs and looking at them in admiration. You get a little timid, never having shown them to a boy before, but as you try to hug yourself to hide them, Heeseung quickly grabs your wrists and firmly press them above your head. 'Don't hide,' he snarls, 'you're too pretty to hide.'

A warm flush spreads over your already burning cheeks. All this praise, action and physical contact making you lightheaded 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥'𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥. Your tomato-red face seems to go unnoticed by Heeseung who is too busy slowly feeling your right boob with one of his hands. Not soon after his hot, wet mouth attaching to your left boob.

The sudden contact makes you gasp and your back arches slighty. Heeseung smiles against your chest, loving every second. He sucks on your nipple and as he detaches from it, he faintly lifts your boob with his mouth and makes a pop sound as he releases it again, only for it to bounce back erotically. 'Fuck you're making me rock hard,' he says before promptly going in again.

This time he's making out with your right nipple. He's slowly releasing your hands and repositions his on your waist. Whilst his mouth is busy licking your tits, sucking loudly on your nipples and moaning inbetween your tits, he's slowly grinding against your still-clothed, but slicky wet pussy. 'Baby you feel so good,' breathy sighs escape his mouth, 'I bet you feel so tight.'

One of your hands travel to his hair and holds a harsh grab. You pull his face away from your boobs and see he already has a foggy expression from just your tits. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘵. Never in your years of friendship did you think you'd end up in your bed with your hot friend who looks like he's almost cumming in his pants from just touching your breasts.

As you're pulling him back up towards your lips, a string of moans escape Heeseung's swollen lips. 'What's wrong, Hee?' You ask him with fake concern. 'I need you so bad,' he whines, 'Need to feel your wet pussy tightening around my cock.' You smirk as you let your free hand graze over his body until it lands on his crotch.

You become aware of just how horny he must be. You slowly start to rub his hard-on. Heeseung is absolutely falling apart on top of you. Every brush of a touch feels overwhelming.

'Please keep touching me.' 'Yeah you like it when I do that?' 'Yes, Y/n, and don't fucking stop.' Deep sighs and low moans are exchanged before you signal for him to lay on his back. Heeseung catches on to what you're trying to do as you lift his shirt and unbuckle his pants with the sweetest expression on your face, 'You don't have to do this if you don't want to.' 'I want to, I really do. I've been waiting for so long to do this.' Your excitement alone makes his cock twitch dangerously hard.

Just because you're inexperienced and nervous, doesn't mean you aren't the usual tease towards Heeseung. Very slowly undo his belt and even do him the honour of taking the belt off of his pants. You throw it somewhere in your room, but Heeseung doesn't care what you did with it, he just needs to get his dick out of his restricting boxers. And he will let you know he doesn't like this slow pace.

'Fuck, Y/n, stop doing that and just take it off.' You giggle, but refuse his wish. As slowly as you possibly can you pull just his pants off of him. Heeseung throws his head back as he feels less and less restraint against his dripping cock.

The only piece of clothing remaining from exposing his dick are his boxers, but even with just that you can tell how big he is. Your mouth is slightly agape as you look up at Heeseung's face. When you make eye contact Heeseung's face turns into a big smirk. He gently caresses you cheek, 'You can take it, baby. I know you can.'

Once you've built up all the courage you can, you hook your fingers around his waistband and pull his boxers down. His dick escapes immediately with a soft slap as it hits Heeseung's stomach. His balls and length are twitching from the exposure. It's veiny, very veiny. His tip is a redish pink from how long he's been hard and its slightly covered in pre-cum. He's more lengthy than girthy, but it's still wide enough where you 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 you're gonna have trouble walking the next day.

So mesmerized by his cock, you're only making eye contact with it instead of looking at Heeseung's scrunched up face. After you've stripped him free from his boxers, you slowly start to touch him. First it's a finger to see his penis bounce, then you wrap your entire hand around him, hearing Heeseung take in a sharp breath.

Slow pumps follow, unconsiously leaving your mouth hang open a little and Heeseung doesn't think twice before putting his thumb in your mouth, 'Suck on it.' You start sucking on his thumb, warming up your tongue before taking him in your mouth in a different way. Your pumps start to speed up and you're including his tip into the pumps as well.

When you hit that sensitive spot at the back of his tip just right, the most beautiful moan escapes from Heeseung, 'Your mouth, baby.' 'You think I'm ready?' 'I know you are. You're such a good girl sucking my thumb and jerking me off.' You bite your lip before gradually coming closer to his tip.

You start by licking the top of his tip, looking him deep into his eyes to see how much effect you have on him. A groan escapes his mouth, signalling for you to take more of him, and so you do. You take his entire tip in your mouth and start to swirl your tongue around it, stopping at that same sensitive spot. Moving the flat part of your tongue up and down with still just his tip in your mouth.

'Oh my fucking god,' Heeseung whimpers, 'You're sure you've never done this?' You keep bobbing your head at the same spot until you can feel his tip spasm. Without warning you start to take in 𝘢𝘭𝘭 of him. Surprised by the sudden move, Heeseung grabs your hair and unintentionally thrusts his hips upward, hitting the back of your throat, 'Shit, baby, I'm sorry.'

The words aren't reaching your ears because of the surprising pleasure you got from getting accidentally throatfucked. Something in your brain changes and you start to pick up the pace of your head movement. Heeseung is taken aback by it, but can't do anything about it since you make him feel too good.

Taking him all the way, at a quick tempo and not being used to this length has you gaggingly shamelessly. Saliva is dripping down your chin and tears are starting to form in your eyes. However you ignore all of those things. Seeing just how good you're making Heeseung feel makes you want to go harder, faster, deeper. You want him so deep in your throat, you don't even care if you get a collapsed lung.

Whilst your mouth is bouncing of his rock hard cock, you grab his balls. Massage them lightly and occasionally giving them a lick or slight sucking. 'Right there, darling. Aah shit ah,' is all Heeseung can moan. His eyes strictly on you, but his mind so far away, he's not even sure you're actually doing this to him.

'Fuck I'm gonna cum.' He groans, head thrown back, preparing for the load he's about to release. You're not sure what to do and whether Heeseung likes shooting everything down your throat or painting your face, so you keep your mouth attached to him, sucking him off through his orgasm.

Very soon after you start to feel sharp loads shoot to the back of your throat. You try to not waste a drop of his cum, but fuck he's cumming a lot. When you think he's finally done you detach your mouth from his dick, a mewl escapes Heeseung's mouth by the sudden cold.

To your surprise, he was not done cumming. A few strands of his cum land right on your face, still painting your face. Once Heeseung is back on earth and looks at you he sees you trying to wipe away the remaining cum, 'Stop.' You stop in your tracks and Heeseung sits up straight right in front of you.

One of his hands reach towards your face and his thumb is gently cleaning the spots on your face you hadn't cleaned yet. 'Open your mouth.' You obey and Heeseung puts his thumb back into your mouth, 'Good girl, cleaning up the mess you made.' Heeseung is looking at you with so much fondness, loving the fact you're just as filthy as him.

Without you having much say, Heeseung grabs your waist and makes you switch positions. 'Now show me that pretty pussy,' is all he says before sliding off your bottoms. 'Fuck, Hee, please make me feel good.' 'Don't worry about that, darling,' he gives you a quick wink as he's pulling his top off.

His warm mouth connecting with your clit sends shivers down your spine. He takes his time as he starts licking it, making sure to keep his eyes on you to confirm you're feeling every single movement. The licking slowly starts to turn into sucking as one of his fingers is teasing the walls of your hole, loving the way it's clenching down on nothing.

'Hee, oh my god yes, put it inside.' Heeseung fulfils your wish and his long fingers enter your pussy. A gasp slips out of your mouth and you clench down on him. 'Aww, baby, already too much?' 'N-No! I just, ah shit-' It's mind-boggling just how much power he has with just one finger.

At a slow pace he starts to pump his fingers in and out of you, deeper with each time he puts his finger back in your cunt. 'Hee, oh fuck, yes!' Your words slurring the deeper he pumps into you. At some point he's still fucking you with just one finger and all you do is babble, producing more sounds than words. Heeseung fucking loves you like this, so he decides to add another finger to see how you'll react to that.

The second finger enters your already tight pussy and it sends your head spinning. You constrict so tightly around Heeseung, he almost thinks you're cumming, 'Holy shit, this is what just fingers do to you, dear?' 'O-Only- fuck shit- only yours,' you manage to get out.

With the biggest grin on his face he asks, 'Mmh your fingers don't have this effect?' You shake your head. 'Shit, baby, I guess we'll just have to do this more often,' he says before diving back in. This time he takes his fingers out of you and starts tongue-fucking you.

Two hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him away, 'Too much?' You nod. 'Wanna stop?' You shake your head. Heeseung snickers against your core. While he goes back to your hole, trying to push his tongue up to your sweet spot this time, his nose brushes against your clit.

The combination of stimulation has you close. Your cunt grips to Heeseung's tongue, your hands use his hair as support and your thighs start to shake violently. Heeseung continues eating you out even through you closing your legs. His head is now stuck between your inner thighs and dripping wet cunt.

If there's one place he wants to die, it's right here.

'S-shit- gonna cu-cum!' Is the last thing you yelp before a wave of ecstasy flows through you like you've never experienced before. 'Good girl, cum on my face,' Heeseung mumbles against your core whilst still riding you through your high.

'Are you okay, darling?' You nod, mind still in another place. 'Good. Are you ready for my cock now?' A finger enters your hole. Heeseung streches you out, making sure you can still take his girth. 'Your pussy certainly is.' You look at him, he's smirking wide, waiting for your verbal consent before rocking your world.

'Please be gentle,' you say as your mind slowly gets back to earth and realisation hits you that you're really about to lose your virginity to your hot friend, of whom you could only dream of fucking. 'Always, my pretty baby.'

An even darker red blush spreads your cheeks as you push yourself up a little more straight. Heeseung notices what you're trying to do and lifts you up, firm but tender. 'Are you comfortable?' 'Yeah, are you?' Your innocent, sweet, but still dazed eyes makes Heeseung's cock twitch so hard, he has to physically restrain himself from slamming his cock deep in your pussy right now.

'Y/n, baby, I'm always comfortable with you. If you're feeling any doubt, even if it's really small, tell me. We can do this another time if you're too worn down or are having d-' You interrupt his rambling by crashing your lips onto his.

'Fuck me, Heeseung. I need you.'

That's all Heeseung needs to hear. He lines himself up with your heat, teasing you by grinding against your fold, but not entering your gaping hole. 'Hee, stop playing, fuck me.' You say exasperated.

At a steady pace he slowly enters you. Both of you are gasping. Heeseung's cock larger inside of you than you expected. Heeseung on the other hand has to restrain and repeat to himself to take it slow. He sees how you're struggling taking even a fifth of him, so he can't just slam himself inside you.

After Heeseung has completely dissapeared inside of you, he stops, letting you adjust. 'You look so gorgeous right now.' Your hands shoot up to your face. You're so red you feel like your head is about to detonate. Heeseung caresses your head, smiling from ear to ear. 'Is my pretty girl ready for me to move?' You nod and Heeseung leisurely moves out of you.

Once out of you, he enters again, but this time filling you up a bit quicker. This continues until he's just short from jamming into you. 'You okay, dear?' 'Mmh.' Your face crunches up, hands now placed on Heeseung's back. He dips down to plant a kiss on your cheek, 'You're doing so good, taking me so good.'

'Hee, harder please.' Embarrassment smeared on your face as soon as the words slip out of your mouth. 'You want it harder?' He beams, 'Didn't see you as such a dirty girl, baby.' A moan comes out as Heeseung immediately ups the pressure.

His cock hitting you against your cervix, balls slapping against cunt and heavy breaths escaping Heeseung's mouth. He's such a mess, but he doesn't want to let you know. He doesn't want to let you know how much of an effect you have on him. He usually lasts rounds without cumming, but with you? God he grips the bedsheet beside your head so tight, his knuckles turn white, he's focusing more on not cumming than to pound inside you at a consistent rate.

But when your pussy clenches down hard on him due to hitting a mind-blowing spot inside you, he drops his head in your neck. He's biting his lips hard and grips your waist to stop you from creating more friction. 'Y/n, fuck you're gonna make me cum.' One of your hands glides to his hair. You pull his face up to look you in the eyes. You want to show him how good he's making you feel, since his dick makes you unable to make sentences.

'Hee, good, so fucking good.' 'You like it?' 'Uh-huh.' You bob your head fast. Heeseung's mouth falls open, he knows he's close. You can feel he's close too and you slam your lips together, kissing him fiercly.

Like a bomb, Heeseung explodes. Shots of hot cum hitting you deep in your pussy. Your tongues stop dancing as the only thing exchanging between you two are moans. The warm liquid inside you not only gives a mouth-watering sound, but makes everything feel extra sticky as Heeseung is slowly fucking the cum out of your pussy.

Heeseung pulls back, not just his mouth but his entire body. You don't want to stop. You wrap your legs around Heeseung's waist and your hands around his neck and passionately pull him back in, 'Not done yet, Hee.' Heeseung is surprised by your almost desperate attitude, but fucking loves it.

Sloppy thumps of his cock in your pussy continue. Heeseung ignores the overstimulation. How can he when you look so pretty and fucked out underneath him? So desperate for a climax, completely ignoring Heeseung's struggle to selfishly pursue the best orgasm you've ever had

Briskly, Heeseung repositions himself where he's not laying on top of you, but able to grab your thighs and fuck you hard. And so he does. He slams hard inside you, making sure he's hitting your G-spot. He rams in at a pace that has you gasping, crying and screaming all within 5 seconds. 'You like that, huh?' 'Yes! Heeseung yes!'

As your thighs start to shake and your cunt starts to clench down on him again, Heeseung knows you're gonna have an even better orgasm than before. From the overstimulation still lingering from your previous orgasm to the delicious moans coming from Heeseung's mouth, your whole body feels like it's gonna fall apart.

'Heeseung!' You scream in a high pitch as you're send over the edge. Everything collapses; your legs close tightly around Heeseung's body, your lower body moving up in the air before falling back in the mattress for your back to arch tall, pussy contracting Heeseung's cock so hard he can barely move as it's almost making him cum again, your eyes roll to the back of your head, mouth falling open with only moans and variations of Heeseung's naming falling from your lips, your hands latch on Heeseung's back and your nails digging deep into his skin, and sweat dripping down from every inch of your body.

Your head is pushed deep into the pillow with your neck strained. Once you've come back to your senses you see a proud Heeseung looking at you. His eyes shining and a smile sweet like candy. 'Knew my girl could do it.'

He slips out of you and quickly dissapears into the bathroom. Your head is still too hazy to comment something. Heeseung returns with a damp washcloth and starts cleaning you up. No words are exchanged as he cleans everything from you thighs to your face. He gently lifts you up in bridal style and sets you down on the chair at your desk. Before you can ask, Heeseung grabs a new set for everything for your bed.

When he's done he sighs, happy with himself. He grabs you a new pair of underwear and shirt and puts them on for you. You're amazed at how gentleman he is. Almost as if he can read your mind, Heeseung says, 'Only for my princess.'

Smiles are exchanged as he carries you back onto the, now freshly made, bed. You shyly close the distance between the two of you when Heeseung claims his spot next to you. Noticing your hesitation, he takes the initiative and places you on his chest. You hear his steady heartbeat in the comfortable cuddle as you both drift off to sleep.

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! <𝟑

[izvmimi]

unable to ever bask in peaceful quiet for too long, you rouse from your unintended sudden nap, where izuku holds you close with one arm to keep you from rolling from atop him to the floor, and the other hand scrolls on his phone, ever preoccupied with the latest news, considering how often it's his responsibility to deal with it. as you move, he shifts to accommodate you further, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you're fully up and looking at him.

"did you like your nap?" he asks, softly.

you didn't remember falling asleep, but it's not uncommon for you to doze off the minute you lay on top of him, and he chuckles as you mutter something about not knowing what the hell happened. but then your eyes quickly grow wide, and as if this were a normal topic of conversation to transition to upon waking, you're back to laying close on him, pressing your chin to his chest as you ask,

"how many lifetimes do you think there are where i haunt you as a ghost?"

izuku blinks rapidly, stunned by the sudden question, but you are nonchalant, your feet swinging in slow flutter kicks as you wait for him to respond. as he thinks, your fingers card gently into the curls of his hair, examining each one as if they were nothing but fine silk.

"excuse me? what exactly were you dreaming about, love?"

your eyes shift back to him. "it's not that odd of a question. what's your guess?"

his phone falls somewhere in the crevices of the couch cushions, but izuku doesn't bother to dig for it, now focused on your question.

"doesn't that involve you dying before me?"

you shrug. "yes but that's a moot point."

his eyebrows furrow together. "that's not a 'moot point', i expect there to be very few universes where you die before i do."

you roll your eyes playfully.

"what, because you'd 'never let me get harmed'?" you tease.

his lips pull into a frown, and now he's cupping your face. "are you doubting me?"

you sigh, and shake your head. "listen, there're a lot of things that could happen you'd have no control over like critical illness, a car accident, a boat capsizing-"

"you'd literally never be on a boat without me-" he interrupts.

"still not the point," you insist, pressing a finger to his lips. he pauses, but then makes a pretend motion to bite it and you retract your finger with a sharp, playful look.

he holds you tighter.

"i don't like this game," he finally says. you ponder for a moment, but his eyes are pleading for you to stop imagining your death even for a hypothetical situation, and you decide to free him from the thoughts for just a moment. laying your head against his chest again, you let your arms find their way around his waist and let out a long exhale.

"the point of it all is that i'd never let you go, okay? even if i die," you murmur into his t-shirt. you can feel the rumble of his laughter through his body so close to yours; you revel in the way he rubs your back gently, and agrees.

"same, but i don't think i'd go straight to haunting," he muses. you scoff.

"even if i immediately fall in love with someone else?" you ask.

his hand abruptly stops its petting motion.

"...never mind, i'm haunting."

you're the one to break out in laughter this time, as he peppers more kisses to the top of your head, and you continue to lay together until you fall right back asleep.

[confused-pyramid]

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 2

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make nothing into something for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). lando is abusive, full stop but like many survivors of abuse, it takes reader a bit to claw herself out of this. as a survivor of abuse myself, I am doing my best to give this story line the most respect and care that i can. please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. my sincerest apologies for not putting this in the warnings at first. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. sorry bubs. swearing. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 4k

Chapter 1 Master List

“You didn’t have to walk me home, you know. It’s only a few blocks.” You tell Max as you press into his side, shivering against the cold breeze of the Monaco night. It had been warm when you left the apartment earlier that evening but now the air held a chill that had you wishing you had taken Carles up on his offer to drive you back home. 

Around you, the city buzzes, a hive of activity on a Friday night but the extent of your world consists of only you and Max. 

“Of course I did. It’s late and cold and there was no way you were walking home alone.” 

“Max, we live in Monaco, I’m perfectly safe.” You joke but secretly, you’re glad Max had offered to walk you home. 

You’d never admit it but you liked being around him, his demeanor had always been calming to you and tonight, your nerves were frayed more than usual. It was probably thanks to the whispers you had heard at the gallery, asking not so quietly where Lando was as you walked around and spoke to the guests. He had never showed up and while you were disappointed he hadn’t showed, you weren’t quite surprised either. There had been something in his tone when you left that evening that had anxiety curling your gut before you even stepped out of the apartment. You hated to even think it, but you somewhat suspected he had never planned on showing up to the show at all that night but you wouldn’t ever put a voice to those thoughts.   

“Fine then.” Max huffs, but there’s no venom in his voice. “Maybe I just wanted to spend some extra time with you, okay? I feel like we never see each other anymore.” Max lets the unsaid end of that sentence hang in the air: ‘Because you’re with Lando now.’  

Your heart aches at the truth of his words. A lot of your friendships had taken a hit over the last three years. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but your circle had shrunk significantly since you had started dating Lando and it shocked you how you never had realized it until now. It had started small, with Lando saying he just wanted to spend the weekend only with you while he had a rare weekend off and then slowly morphed into him only wanting to spend time with his friends so if you wanted to see him you had to spend what little time you got with him with his friends as well. Slowly, your friends stopped calling and inviting you places because the answer was always the same: ‘sorry, Lando has plans this weekend and I’m going to tag along with him!’ Or just a straight up ‘no, not this time.’ 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, biting your lip as guilt creeps up your neck. “It’s been a rough year.” 

Max hates the regret that courses through him. He shouldn’t make you feel like this, shouldn’t voice his opinion of what he sees happening in front of him. He can’t help the frustration that bubbles to the surface when you talk like that though. He knows exactly where it comes from and it kills Max knowing that there is one person solely responsible for dimming that sparkle you’ve always had. 

Max stops in the middle of the sidewalk, causing a few tourists to shout in surprise when they have to dodge the Dutchman’s tall frame. A frown finds itself onto his face as he looks down at you. Your heart stutters to a stop, you’ve seen this look before and it has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. 

“I hate when you do that.” He can’t help himself, he’s kept his peace for far too long but the fact that  Lando missed tonights show has been burning a hole in his chest all night and the embers were about to flare to life. 

Panic squeezes at your chest. Around you, people are shooting glances your way as you both stand in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. You only have a few moments before someone notices it is you and Max Verstappen and start taking pictures. Pictures that will inevitably show up on some gossip instagram account and cause you more trouble than they’re worth. 

“Do what?” Despite your desire to not be seen arguing with Max, you can’t help the question that slips out. 

“When you apologize for things that aren’t your fault. Anyone with eyes can see who the problem is in your relationship and it’s not you, Dovie.” Max’s words come out more harsher than they intend and he knows he’s approaching a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed tonight. 

You can’t bring your eyes up to meet Max’s heated gaze but you can feel him looking at you. Those blue eyes you used to think you could get lost in when you were younger. Before everything changed. Before you met Lando and he swept you right off your feet. 

“Charles told me about the apartment.” Max confesses. Maybe if you know you have others supporting your decision to leave, it’ll make it easier. He hopes that his support would mean something to you.

Your stomach plummets to your toes, cheeks burning red with shame. “Charles should keep his big mouth shut.” You bite out, fists working themselves into a ball at your sides. 

Max’s eyes narrow at your outburst. There was the fire that you’d been missing. Something in Max heaves a sigh of relief, you’re still in there. You’re on the cusp of getting that fire back and Max can almost see you reach for it deep in the pit of your belly. You’re so close to the edge and Max knows you well enough to know when to back off.  

“I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I won’t press. I just wanted you to know that I miss you.” 

Max momentarily wonders if he’s gone too far when he sees tears well up in your eyes. His heart squeezes at the thought of being the one to make you cry. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” You sob, no longer caring who sees you or what could possibly make it back to Lando. “I know you’re friends with him and I shouldn’t put you in the middle of our mess.” 

Max’s brows knit together in confusion. The fact that you would question his loyalty to you over Lando simply baffles him. “I’ve been in your life longer than I’ve known Lando and you’ll be in my life long after he’s gone.” Max lets that last sentence hang in the air, the prophecy of his words clinging to your skin. 

“Max.” You whisper, floored by the fierceness of his tone and the sincerity of his words. 

Panic claws at him. He’s gone too far, revealed too much. He can’t do that with you now, not when you’re already so fragile. You don’t need that from him and he knows it. Back off, something in him orders and alarm bells clang to life. 

“All I’m saying is,” Max keeps his tone deliberately light. “If you need a friend to talk to, I’m here. Always.” 

You nod, appreciating how he backed off when he saw you panicking. 

Max takes your elbow before turning you around, pointing you in the direction of your apartment. “Come on, let’s get you home, okay?” 

As Max walks you the rest of the way home, Lando is still set up in his gaming room playing Tarkov with Max on his stream. As they begin another raid, Lando notices Max’s stream start to pick up at a much faster pace than it’s been running all evening. He’s been streaming for hours now, since before you left the apartment and while he knows the opening should be wrapping up right about now, he has a hard time caring. Those things are always so boring and he never understands the art, even if it is nice to be photographed out with you and your brothers. 

“What is this link everyone’s spamming chat? You all know if you start spamming, we’re going to mute you.” Max asks, frustration evident in his voice. 

Lando glances over at the chat screen on his second monitor and sees his name flying by along with what looks like an instagram link. He knows he shouldn’t click on dodgy links but curiosity gets the best of him because at the same time the chat starts to explode, so do his notifications from Instagram. “The fuck?” He mumbles, ignoring Max who is reading the chat as they come in. 

“First Verstappen steals your championship, now he’s stealing your girl? Chat, what the fuck are you all on about?” 

Lando can feel the heat rising in his face and he’s instantly thankful that he’s got his video off. He mutes himself quickly too before texting Max, who is desperately trying to regain control of the chat. The link finally opens and Lando nearly drops his phone. He’s been tagged in a series of photos that show you and Max walking out of the gallery together, then you two stopped in the middle of the sidewalk embracing with you clearly looking upset, and then a final one showing you two walking away together. 

Anger flares bright and sharp in his chest as he looks at the photos. You’re making him look like a fool, galavanting around town with the likes of Max Verstappen late at night, especially after all he went thorough with Max last season. What the fuck were you thinking?

“Alright, chat I think that’s going to be the end of the stream tonight. This is why we can’t have nice things!” 

Max ends the stream without a second thought, knowing that Lando is going to be incandescent with rage after seeing those photos and reading all the comments. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source First he steals the championship, now it looks like Max Verstappen is making a play for @/lando's girl. Uh ooooooh... user9928 I mean, she looked pretty upset in the other pictures I saw leaving the gallery. Lando didn't show to support her so... user298 paddock bunnies gonna bunny >>>user223 she's literally known Max almost her entire life??? user110 this isn't a thing...her and Max have been friends for YEARS. Leave the poor girl alone user1008 lando's loss, she's amazing. user918 idk but if my girl got caught getting a kiss from another guy, I'd go scorched earth >>>user028 SERIOUSLY I am floored by the people defending her??? Like??? >>>user928 maybe if Lando showed up for his girlfriend, Max wouldn't have had to step in and comfort her...?

As Lando struggles to come to grips with what he just saw, you and Max are standing in the lobby of your apartment as you desperately search for your keys. “Fuck, I think I forgot my keys upstairs.” 

“Just give Lando a call, I’m sure he’s still up.” 

You shrug, cheeks heating. “He sometimes gets tunnel vision when he’s streaming and forgets to check his phone.” You admit, not wanting to go more into detail because you know how bad it’ll sound if you have to tell Max that sometimes Lando will completely ignore you while he’s streaming. What you also don’t tell him is that this has happened to you before and all three times, you’d had to spend the night at either Jade or Charles’ house because he had been on stream so late you had nearly fallen asleep in the hallway. 

Max levels a glare at you, unable to believe what you’re saying. “Well, lets both go up then and maybe we can get his attention by knocking.” 

Anxiety ripples through you as Max starts off towards the elevators, giving you no other choice but to follow him. It’s a quiet ride up to your floor as you fidget with the hem of your shirt, unable to even attempt to make small talk with Max. You know the facade of your entire relationship is about to be lifted right in front of one of your oldest friends and you don’t quite know how to make it stop. 

When you raise your hand to knock, your heart hammers in your chest so wildly you momentarily worry Max is going to be concerned for your health. Much to your surprise, it only takes a few short moments for the door to swing open so fast you nearly stumble back. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Lando spits when his eyes land on Max. The venom in his voice is so shocking you need to take a step away, unintentionally stepping closer to Max, which seems to set Lando off even more. Rage flares in his eyes at your proximity to his on-track rival. 

“That’s a wild way to say ‘hey man, thanks for walking my girlfriend home in the dark because I couldn’t be bothered to show up to her art show’ but you’re welcome.” Max grits out, taking one step closer to you as if he might need to get between you and Lando. 

Tension hangs thick between the three of you as Lando seethes where he stands in the door. 

“Max, it’s okay.” You whisper, shame lighting a painful spark of fire deep in your chest. This was going to get out of control so quickly. 

“No, it’s not and you know it.” Max turns back to Lando now, eyes blazing with a level of anger that is miles more intense than the look Lando is giving you. “And why the fuck are you coming at her so hot? All I did was walk her home.” 

Lando scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Because this was just posted by almost a dozen gossip accounts and was being spammed all over Fewtrell’s chat while we were streaming.” 

You take the phone Lando is brandishing in your face and go pale. The carousel of photos in the new post are pretty damning, you have to admit but you would have thought that your boyfriend of all people would know better than to blindly believe a series of grainy photos above trusting his own girlfriend. 

“Lando…” You sooth, arm reaching out to touch his elbow. You wince when he pulls away from you. “You of all people should know how those things are twisted. Max was just walking me home and we were talking, that’s it.” 

“But why was he hugging you?” He shows you the third picture of Max hugging you after you had started crying out on the street. You had to admit you were kind of impressed with how fast those photos got out, but it was Monaco after all and you hand’t exactly been discreet when you were upset with Max. 

“Because she was upset you didn’t show up for her. Again!” Max shouts and you flinch.

 The words slice a fresh wound across your heart. The fact that Max knew that this wasn’t the first time upsets you more than you think it should. You’re not entirely sure why Max’s opinion of you matters so much but you’re not quite willing to examine those feelings yet. 

Lando’s glare swings away from you and back onto Max. “Because I’ve been to a million of them and they’re all the same. Same pretentious people pretending they have taste. Once you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all.” 

The words that come out of your boyfriend’s mouth have you audibly gasping, hand flying to your throat. “Lando.” You whisper, pain and shock coursing through your voice. 

You swear you feel a brush of fingertips on the small of your back but the touch is so light and so quick you think you’ve imagined it. 

Something flickers behind your boyfriend’s eyes then and it’s almost like he realizes he’s gone a step too far. His shoulders sag and he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry baby.” Lando reaches for you and before you can step away, he pulls you into his chest. He doesn’t miss the way you stiffen in his embrace though and neither does Max. “Please come inside and we can talk about it alone, okay?” He whispers, glaring at Max, clearly dismissing him. 

The way his arms used to feel around you was comforting, you’d seek his affection when you were anxious or upset and he would always take care of you but somewhere along the line, the affection you craved stopped being handed out so easily. Now, you craved it but only because if he was touching you it meant he wasn’t mad at you and maybe this time it would be different. Every time he showed you this kind of affection you hoped that this would be the time he would change. 

It never was. 

“Thank you for walking me home, Max. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” 

Worry lines crease the spot between his brows as he frowns. Everything in his body is screaming to put up a fight and not let you go inside with Lando. He knows if Charles were here and had just witnessed what he had, there was no way Lando would be leaving this building in anything other than a body bag but he wasn’t Charles and he didn’t have any entitlement to you. He wanted to fight but you weren’t his to fight for. 

“Call me if you need anything, okay Dovie?” 

Lando’s arms tighten around you at the nickname. He hates it and Max knows it. “She won’t need to, I’ve got her.” 

“You sure about that, mate?” Max asks, one brow tipping up in question. 

Without waiting for a reply, Max turns on his heel and walks towards the elevator. In his pocket, his fingers curl around his phone because the moment he gets out of the building he knows exactly who he’s going to be calling: Charles. 

As soon as Max leaves and your behind closed doors, the mask slips again. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, walking home with Max fucking Verstappen? And hugging him?” Lando is pacing the floor of your living room as you stand there, helpless to say anything against his raging. 

It’s usually like this when he gets angry with you and you’ve gotten good at being quiet while he rages. You have to let him work out all the anger and eventually you know he’ll calm down and apologizes for losing his temper. You’ve seen this before and you know exactly what to do, how to humor the angry beast that has surfaced once again. 

“Lando, it wasn’t like that and you know it.” You fight to keep the exasperation out of your voice, knowing that would just set him off even more. “I was alone, my brothers were going in the opposite direction, and Max offered. That’s it! It was completely innocent.” Despite yourself, you try to reason with him.

“You should have just gone home with your brothers then instead of putting yourself in that position.” He snaps and you glare at him. 

“You would have rather me not slept here at home tonight than take an offer from a friend to walk me home? All because you didn’t follow through with what you said you’d do?” 

You know you’re pushing him and Lando doesn’t like to be pushed. Your conversation with Charles two weeks ago flickers through your mind. How you deserve better and it strikes you then that everyone but you can see it. Everyone around you, everyone that loves you can see how bad he is for you, how poorly he treats you and how much you’ve changed since you started dating him. 

You supposed that if you had changed for the better, maybe everyone who loved you wouldn’t have anything to say. Don’t people change for the people they love all the time? You were sure they did but you weren’t sure you liked the change you saw in yourself anymore. You couldn’t fight it, this change that felt like you were wearing shoes that were three sizes too small for your feet. Like you had outgrown yourself in a way that wasn’t okay and you somehow needed to find your way back to who you were before Lando. Before he broke you. 

“And avoid you causing social media chaos that I’m going to be dealing with for weeks now?” Lando sneers, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down his nose at you. “Yeah, absolutely.” 

You laugh, cold and bitter, as you shake your head. “Thats real nice Lan, real nice.” 

“I’m just saying. Now the rumor mills are going to start up again. Whenever you’re at a race, people will be watching to see if you’re with Max again. Or maybe next time it’ll be Lewis. Or maybe you want to go a bit younger? Get a ‘friendly escort home’ from one of the rookies? I’m sure Franco would love to try his hand with you. My girlfriend, the paddock bunny being passed around.” 

The ache in your chest grows as he chooses his words carefully, barbed and sharp as glass, so they hit their intending target, cutting through you like butter and causing mortal damage.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” You whisper. “I’m sorry that the pictures hurt your feelings and were taken out of context but you don’t have to be so mean.” 

Tears threaten to spill and you will them to stop, knowing that will only fuel Lando’s fire. He loves when he upsets you like this, when he gets to tell you what a drama queen you are. Just like your brother, he would say, always whining and crying on the radio about how Carlos wasn’t being a team player and letting him win when he didn’t deserve it. 

“If I’m not the one to give you a reality check, then who will? Your entire family has coddled you for your entire life and you think you deserve some level of respect that you haven’t earned. If you deserved that kind of respect, you would have gone home with your brothers or walked home alone. People who deserve respect don’t put their relationships in jeopardy because they’re afraid to be alone at night.” 

“Put our relationship in jeopardy?” You laugh again, rolling your eyes at the audacity of what Lando is saying. “Lan, you really are being a bit over dramatic here, don’t you think? I’m sure the PR department at McLaren will take care of this by the next race, no big deal.” 

Lando laughs, dark and bitter as he takes a step towards you. You have to fight the urge not to flinch when he gets closer to you. Deep down, you know he’d never raise a hand to you but it’s hard to remember that when he gets in your face like this. “Now you expect McLaren to clean up your mess?” He hisses. “God, you really are a spoiled little girl, aren’t you?” 

“I’m just trying to find a solution to the problem that I seem to have caused.” You snap back, courage flaring in your chest as you stand up a little straighter. Max’s words from earlier play back in your head: ‘anyone with eyes can see who the problem is in your relationship’. “What if I come to the next race? If the two of us turn up in the paddock together, that will help quiet the rumors, don’t you think?” 

Lando narrows his eyes, “So you can get more attention from Max? Absolutely not. I’ll have McLaren handle this, okay? Just forget about it.” 

You want to scream at his solution because it was the same exact thing you had literally just suggested and been laughed at. But that was the way Lando was. If it wasn’t his idea, it was the worst thing you could have suggested. As long as it was his idea though, it was brilliant and the perfect solution to everything that was wrong. You should have anticipated this coming but you knew it was useless to fight with him. 

All at once, your body is overcome with this total wash of exhaustion. Total mental and physical exhaustion grips at your throat and you sway on your feet. “I’m going to go to bed.” You choke you. “In the guest room.” You tack on before turning on your heel and walking away from the fight like you do every time. Lando always gets the last word and as he stands there alone in the living room he feels like he’s won this one. He’ll have to call Sophie in the morning to get her to start working on damage control but for now? For now, he’s sure you realize your mistakes and you won’t put a toe out of line like that for a long time. 

Little does he know that all he’d done tonight was push you past your breaking point. 

(Quick note!!! If you want to be added to the tag list, I absolutely will but when you request that, can you pleeeeease let me know if you want to be on my general tag list or just the specific fic you're commenting on. ❤️)

Tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @ilove-tswizzle

[euphoria-looney]

I Got You On My Radar, Soon You're Gonna Be With Me, "Strategy" By TWICE

Creds to @dollywons for the dividers

This will have a lot of POV switches so get ready 😀

(This has a mother!darling and a daughter!darling, and they are separate from the reader- unless you decide they aren’t 😍😍)

gn!reader (if I accidentally make them seem too feminine, I’m sorry 😞)

Next chapter I'm going to make [name] crash out but not for the reason you think (hopefully not the reason you think)

So Much More.

Pt. 1 Pt.2

Alfred's POV

I couldn't say if I have a favorite among the Wayne family. I've served them for years even now in my old age. Left my own child, Julia, to train to be at my side, servicing the Waynes.

If you had to ask me to narrow down who was my favorite though, it would have to be young master, [name].

They aren't trained to be assassins, vigilantes, or even able to tame feral animals, instead, they excel in normal activities. I remember the first time they approached Master Burce, eyes that had stars glow in them. They wanted to invite Master Bruce to a ballet recital. They danced with such grace and perfection that many had asked them to continue the said sport. Professionally.

However, they had no time to spare as they raced down to see me, looking around frantically, and excitedly, it hurt my heart to see their eyes dim down so quickly after finding out that unfortunately none of their family had come.

Undeterred, they kept trying figure skating, football (soccer), and volleyball. They'd try the music pathway once they noticed sports didn't work. They excused the absences starting with opera since "opera was boring and easy anyway; maybe instruments are more interesting." They tried the violin, cello, organ, and harp. Still nothing.

Of course, it wasn't just these events that the family missed out on, it was also their birthdays, trophy events, everything. I could only try to support them on the side.

They were a gifted child, one, that had a fire burn so brightly. Till it wasn't.

They never stopped doing the activities, but you could tell they no longer cared if the family attended. I'd go and make excuses for them, and they would brush it off.

Then it seemed they had that fire extinguished when Lady [M/D] and Misstress [D/D] came into the picture.

I could only do so much as I wasn't their personal butler.

Then a day ago was their graduation. I believed I could make it, but the circumstances were too busy and important to go to the graduation. So, today, I hope I can make it up with cupcakes. Today is their birthday.

Imagine, my surprise when they started crying, how I felt such guilt, was it the missed events, or even bigger, the graduation?

None of that. They only said how thankful they were for me. I tried to spend the rest of the evening with them, but it just ended up with me being called to see [D/D] with a new animal. I didn't want to leave them.

I had to though, that is my duty as a butler. To serve my masters.

Another perk about [name] though was how understanding they were.

I should've seen the signs.

A smile and nod gave me all I needed to know that they were going to be okay if I left.

After a long day, I went back to my quarters, to see an envelope.

Sealed in wax with a Lotus flower imprinted on it.

Opening it up and reading the contents made numerous thoughts run rapidly in my mind.

Dear, Alfred

I can only hope this news doesn't affect you in any way. I simply couldn't find it in my heart to tell you in person. I'll be leaving the manor. I've left many things in my room that I hope you mind leaving in there. I don't want years of my work to go down the drain, as you see they hold memorial and sentimental value to me.

That's beside the point, Alfie, you mean the world to me. I don't think I could've made it this far without you. There were days I thought of quitting. Seeing your approval was enough for me to keep pushing myself. Alfie, you are the most capable person I've ever seen in anything. This is why I know my disappearance will help you more by taking the unneeded burden off your shoulders.

Alfie, I hope that when I make a name for myself, you will still look at me with such fondness that makes me feel like a child again, clinging onto you like my last hope, as you always have been. Take of yourself, as that is the most important thing about this message. You matter too much for me to ever forget or let go of you, whether it be through memory or anything else.

With love and appreciation,

[name] [last name]

I re-read that letter, over and over again.

True to their words I never saw them again, but they were wrong about one thing.

They were never a burden on my shoulders. Far from it. They felt like- my child, I raised them up and felt proud of the achievements they managed to get on their own.

I knew I had to understand. It was their choice. One that I didn't want to respect. I wanted to drag them back, but with no leads, how does one even do such a thing?

My only choice was to read their entries and watch recordings they did for themselves to look back on.

But that doesn't do the trick, does it?

I'll find a strategy to bring you back young master, I promise.

Journal 7th

(Entry #1)

I'm going into the 7th grade this year. Honestly, everything sucks. I wish to give up. Alfie has been busy since those two new people came into the house. They seem that they don't want to be here. Honestly, relatable.

Alfie tries but he can never understand me. (GUYS THIS WAS THEIR EMO PHASE, it's so unrealistic 😭)

I have to go, I have an ice skating competition to go to.

(Entry #45)

How is this fair!!! This is so sickening.

I've tried everything and what do I get?! NOTHING.

NoW I'm writing all sloppy! Forget it who says I even need their dumb attention!

Here comes waltzing in this mother-daughter duo!

"Oh~, I don't want you guys"

"But we're obsessed with you!"

WELL SCREW ALL OF YOU GUYS.

SIGNING OFF,

[name] [last name]

Journal 9th

(Entry #1)

It's been two years since [M/D] and [D/D] have entered the manor.

Despite what I wrote somewhere in my old journal, I don't hate them. If anything I feel pity for them. They do something that the family doesn't like and it is like their babies that did something wrong.

Not to mention Damian is always monitoring [D/D] at school and it doesn't help that not even the soundproof wall can block off the sound of Mr. Wayne and [M/D].

It's worse at home than before the family would be busy off doing whatever vigilantes do.

Also, it didn't take a while to find that out. As a kid, I thought they were playing dress-up without me. We'll ignore that though.

Anyway, now as soon as their done doing whatever they're to save the city they rush home to smother those two.

I'm starting high school soon. Slowly I'm changing my style so my hair, and clothing. The hoodie phase was... something.

Anyway

Yours truly,

[name] [last name].

Closing the entries, my thoughts are once again interrupted.

"Where's big sibling [name]?" a child/teenager approached me.

This would be [D/D] with a python on her shoulder.

"They're gone, young mistress." I kneeled down to her height.

"Gone?" The tone was menacingly, annoyed. You could hear the python hissing in agreement with his owner.

[D/D]'s POV

I hated how this family held me in such a possessive and obsessive way, but now I think I understand them.

How could I not when staring at [name]?

My precious sibling. If anything I do have something I appreciate this family for, but if I told them they'd probably annoy me even more, they ignored [name] allowing me to be their one true sibling.

They were special compared to everyone else in this whole world.

It sucked every second, moment, that I didn't spend with them. They give the best cuddles anyone could ask for, and they smelled so good.

I also liked their room, it was so ethereal sometimes. Mostly because they were in there but also because they had customized it perfectly, the decorations. I loved the figurines, the Hironos and Smiskis, the most.

However, the most important thing was the scent.

Did I mention that?

When I had first met them it had been a week since I got kidnapped to this god-awful place, I kept getting smothered and needed to just- get away from it all.

I felt so overwhelmed.

Then they walked in front of me, in this, from what I had assumed, abandoned hallway. It freaked me out and I asked what they were doing in this hallway as I was guessing that his hallway would be closed off or something.

"What are you doing here?! Did one of the freaks send you!?" I directed my anger at them since it would only make sense why I'd encounter them.

"What are you talking about? This is my 'wing' of the house, my room is right over there." They had made a confused face at me.

I felt embarrassed but I shook my head not believing them.

"Are you making this up? Listen as much as I don't want to admit this the only people who are living here are my family and Alfred, the only butler. You certainly can't be a part of this family with that attire, and not once has anyone mentioned you." I looked at them up and down.

"I get that a lot, well not really, I don't talk to anyone other than Alfie." Alfie?

"I'm [name] [la- Wayne. I think I'm older than Duke, so I'd be older than you. We don't really interact..."

"Oh, so you're my sibling." Weird her reaction was normal meeting me... "Well don't bother me like the rest of them." I stuck my head up, glancing at them, which wasn't as they were taller than me by a lot."

"The rest of them?"

"Yeah, they're so annoying, you're cool, for now. But they constantly bother me, going on and on about how I'm their precious little sister, boasting their love to me, notice all the jewelry? That's from them." I rolled my eyes.

"Oh." Their tone had changed seemed distance and the way their eyes sharpened, I didn't even notice.

"You know, I like you, you're perfect, want to hang out?" I batted my eyes at them. Something I wouldn't do in front of the others, they just gush over it.

"I'm busy." They answered shortly, already making their way out.

That made me frown.

"Busy? Doing what? I could join you."

"I'd rather you not, I have a performance to do and have no time to waste."

After that moment I would notice them more and more, that even a second not seeing them felt like my world was dying just to be fixed seeing them at the library. They Looked So Cool!

Flipping through a book, typing faster than my eyes could track, and their note-taking, gosh, that handwriting.

Just to be dragged away by that annoying pest, Damian, he'd be like "Good, you're in the library, I have a bunch of books that we can read together.

No, Damian, I don't want to.

I think I also grew on them, a wee bit.

Not to mention, my pets loved them, even more than they loved me sometimes, ungrateful 🙄.

Then one time, I wanted to skip school, and I knew none of the family would let me, even my mom! She would let me do anything to spite the family but not this, as she deemed education important.

So I maybe, sorta, kind of took [name]'s phone number at one point and called them up.

Damian wasn't near me at the moment. Thank Christ, since we attended the same school, same grade, and everything.

They showed up, sighing, they looked so cool with their windbreaker jacket, those s0ny headphones, the pants, the shoes, and that cool instrument case on their back!

They told the principal that they were my babysitter. Like c'mon, we're siblings. Signed their name really fancy and took me in the car.

One of the best memories as they allowed me to watch them practice at their school as long as I didn't bother them.

So I'm a bit peeved at the news I received today from Alfred.

"Gone?" Seems Copperhead agreed.

My head was reeling as a few days passed and my mom seemed to notice (so did everyone else but who cares about them)

I'll have you on my radar soon, my sweet-hearted [name].

"Honey, is something wrong?" She showed concern.

"Of course not, darling-" Father got cut off

"Not you, [D/D]."

"[name] up and left me" I could feel myself deteriorating even more at that sentiment I just said.

"They what?!" Mom seemed to explode at that moment. Her aura suffocating.

[M/D]'s POV

I had no choice; it was by some coincidence that I bumped into Bruce again. In some way, he tricked me, more like manipulated me into marrying him.

It was hard to adapt, of course, it was, somehow my daughter got used to it quicker than me, every time I did something simple one of the kids, those poor traumatized kids would ask to help me. At first, I didn't mind but they did become overbearing just like Bruce.

Don't get me wrong, they've somehow wormed their way into my heart even that dang handsome Bruce, which makes me show signs of Stockholm syndrome, but therapy is not something I need right now.

Though, they could never top [name].

They reminded me of the woman I met through Bruce, and how she was perfect.

So when I found out that she had a child, I couldn't be even more excited to meet her child, [name].

Even though they had no supporters, even one speck of some kind of light kept them going.

I love my daughter [D/D], but she gave up on doing anything used to being spoiled. That just makes me want to spoil her more though.

[name] did many things. I got an invitation to an ice skating competition. Alfred had handed me two tickets.

"Master [name] would appreciate it if you came to her competition, Lady Wayne." Alfred bowed before leaving."

"Woah!~ [name] ice skates?" [D/D] had stars in her eyes.

"Would you like to attend, sweetheart?" I patted her head.

"Anything to get away from home! Though one of my siblings will bother me again." [D/D] pouted.

True to her words we were delayed to the competition.

The sight that we witnessed though, well, I couldn't even describe it.

"Woah~! They did it! They did the triple axel!"

"Okay, but we all know they could've done a quad axel."

"Shut it, Coral, you got disqualified in figure skating when you were 5 years ago, you don't even know how to figure- much less ice skate anymore."

Apparently, the Axel move was one of the hardest moves to pull.

As they made their way off the podium and to Alfred, they smiled understandably as he made excuses for the Wayne household.

"Congratulations [name]!" [D/D] cheered, it made their smile drop for a moment, I didn't notice though, too enamored by their frame.

"Yes, congrats, I didn't know you had such a talent for ice skating." I gave them a bouquet of roses, which I have to thank that dang Bruce for, or else I would've had nothing to give them.

"Figure skating, but thank you." She accepted the flowers before motioning to Alfred that they were going away.

I was going to stop them, but my phone was getting flooded with messages, and when I looked over [D/D] phone was no different.

"Ah! So annoying! I didn't even get to say bye to [name]!" [D/D] had ruffled her hair out of agitation.

Year after year, my schedule got busy and I could never see them that much.

So tell me why, why in the world did my world have to crash and burn during this dinner that seemed to be perfect.

It even had scallop butre.

"Honey, is something wrong?" I was concerned. [D/D] had been in a bad mood all week.

"Of course not, darling-" Bruce got cut off by me.

"Not you, [D/D]."

"[name] up and left me"

"They what?!" I slammed my hand on the table.

"G-gone? What in the world are you talking about, angel?!" I tried to reason.

"They moved! Left! No one knows where though!" [D/D] cried shoving a piece of food into her mouth. Damian scolded her and tried to pat her back before getting his hand slapped away.

"Calm down." Dick went over to calm [D/D] down and Cassandra went over to rub my arm to console me.

"[name]? Darling, who is that." He chuckled, in that stupid possessive way, which would've made me drop this but this was his child!

"Your child! Yours! Remember! The one that has all the trophies!?"

"Trophies?" Tim chimed in.

"don't worry mom, They aren't that many trophies I've earned," Jason added in.

For god sake you pricks! Are any of your names, [name]?!

"I think they are referring to [name] [lastname], masters." Alfred brought out the dessert, his thoughts seemed to also be clouded.

Realization seemed to hit, starting off with Bruce and then spreading.

Who cares about them though.

Don't worry [name], soon you're gonna be with me.

Guys were already making our schedules for next year and being an academic weapon I am I signed up for all Ap.

Junior year is going to kick my ass.

Also

“I can write descriptions”

“Well I can write dialouge”

Man, I can't do either, unless… 😏 y'all beg to differ/j

Jk I feel confident on my writing, I just need validation 👁️🫦👁️

@cozmie @nxdxsworld @overcaffeinatedfreak @strwberryglass @leiiasurez

(Guys why is my taglist not working 😞)

[inbabylontheywept]

Weird Grandpa Story #2

I remember asking my mom once, if her dad had gotten ornerier as he'd gotten old. I'd heard about that happening, and it would've made sense for him. He was already the orneriest old cuss I'd ever met. Couldn't even imagine him being grumpier than he was.

Instead of answering the question directly, she told me about what it was like going to church with him as a kid. Their church was a small Mormon ward out in the sticks of Colorado, and he served as their Bishop - mostly by virtue of being the only one willing to do that much unpaid work. He was also the ward pianist. He actually liked playing piano, and he liked having an audience, so it was more or less understood that he was willing to be the bishop in exchange for being the pianist. 

Which could've been a good trade, but there were a few problems.

The first problem was that Grandpa Dale played every song at about triple speed. He was a deeply impatient person, and that extended to how he played music. The second problem was that he had a bad habit of cursing under his breath. That would've been a scandalous  enough habit for a Mormon bishop, but was made much worse (and also much funnier)  by him being pretty damn deaf. So what he thought of as "quiet" cursing under his breath was more of just a verse hoarse way of yelling. I only visited him for a week or two every summer, and I still learned most of my bad words from him. 

So every Sunday would start with a quiet prayer, and then Bishop Grandpa Dale would go to the piano, sit down, and play the nightcore version of Praise to the Man. He would occasionally play other hymns, but he really, really liked that one. This would continue until he hit a wrong note, which was basically inevitable because his music philosophy was that if he could play a song flawlessly, it was time to play it faster. So he'd play until he hit that wrong note, at which point he would scream-whisper SHIIIIIT and, because he did not actually read music so much as memorize it, the only way he'd be able to get his rhythm back was by going back to the start. 

If it was a good Sunday, he could get it in two tries. Some Sundays took as many as five. 

I learned two things about Grandpa Dale from this story. The first was that he could play piano. I'd never actually seen him do that before. Still haven't, come to think of it. Second was that the man that I visited once a year, who always seemed on the verge of exploding, who scared the absolute dickens out of me, was actually the chilled out version of the man my mom grew up with.

And it helped knowing that, actually. I'm actually a pretty anxious person, and my mom is, also, a pretty anxious person, and as a teenager we'd sometimes get in these doom loops where we'd wind each other up until our springs cracked. She'd be worried about me growing up to be happy, and I'd be worried about letting her down, and my worrying would make me unhappy, and my unhappiness would make her unhappy, and we'd just kind of dissolve into these anxieties like cotton candy in the sea and become totally unbearable to be around for a bit. Then my dad would sit us both down and very politely tell us that we were being crazy. He had this quote how being sad that someone else is sad that you're sad is the emotional equivalent of being a Klein flask and that at some point you have to just say I am allowed one (1) single layer of emotional recursion, at most, and ideally zero. 

And it was always kind of embarrassing and silly, but when I was tempted to be more upset with my mom about it, I could remember the piano story and go: Sheesh. She has more of a right to be anxious that I do. For me it's really just genetics, but she grew up with the Cactus-Killing Gopher-Smasher. A whole 18 years of that. I spent two weeks every summer with that guy, and I love him, but I always came home feeling like I'd survived something. She's a trooper.

[cookinguptales]

You know... I had an experience about two months ago that I didn't talk about publicly, but I've been turning it over and over in my mind lately and I guess I'm finally able to put my unease into words.

So there's a podcast I'd been enjoying and right after I got caught up, they announced that they were planning on doing a live show. It's gonna be near me and on the day before my birthday and I thought -- hey, it's fate.

But... as many of you know, I'm disabled. For me, getting to a show like that has a lot of steps. One of those steps involved emailing the podcasters to ask about accessibility for the venue.

The response I got back was very quick and very brief. Essentially, it told me to contact the venue because they had no idea if it was accessible or not.

It was a bucket of cold water, and I had a hard time articulating at the time quite why it was so disheartening, but... I think I get it a little more now.

This is a podcast that has loudly spoken about inclusivity and diversity and all that jazz, but... I mean, it's easy to say that, isn't it? But just talking the talk without walking the walk isn't enough. That's like saying "sure, we will happily welcome you in our house -- if you can figure out how to unlock the door."

And friends, my lock-picking set is pretty good by this point. I've been scouting out locations for decades. I've had to research every goddamn classroom, field trip, and assigned bookstore that I've ever had in an academic setting. I've had to research every movie theater, theme park, and menu for every outing with friends or dates. I spend a long time painstakingly charting out accessible public transportation and potential places to sit down every time I leave the house.

Because when I was in college, my professors never made sure their lesson plans were accessible. (And I often had to argue with them to get the subpar accommodations I got.) Because my friends don't always know to get movie tickets for the accessible rows. Because my dates sometimes leave me on fucking read when I ask if we can go to a restaurant that doesn't keep its restrooms down a flight of stairs.

I had one professor who ever did research to see if I could do all the coursework she had planned, and who came up with alternate plans when she realized that I could not. Only one. It was a medical history and ethics class, and my professor sounded bewildered as she realized how difficult it is to plan your life when you're disabled.

This woman was straight-up one of the most thoughtful, philosophical, and ethical professors I've ever had, one who was incredibly devoted to diversity and inclusion -- and she'd never thought about it before, that the hospital archives she wanted us to visit were up a flight of stairs. That the medical museum full of disabled bodies she wanted us to visit only had a code-locked back entrance and an old freight elevator for their disabled guests who were still breathing.

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? It's easy to theoretically accept the existence of people who aren't like you. It's a lot harder to actively create a space in which they can exist by your side.

Because here's what I did before I contacted the podcasters. I googled the venue. I researched the neighborhood and contacted a friend who lives in the area to help me figure out if there were any accessible public transportation routes near there. (There aren't.) I planned for over an hour to figure out how close I could get before I had to shell out for an uber for the last leg of the trip.

Then I read through the venue's website. I looked through their main pages, through their FAQs to see if there was any mention of accessibility. No dice. I download their packet for clients and find out that, while the base building is accessible, the way that chairs/tables are set up for individual functions can make it inaccessible. So it's really up to who's hosting the show there.

So then and only then I contacted the podcasters. I asked if the floor plan was accessible. I asked if all the seats were accessible, or only some, and whether it was open seating or not. Would I need to show up early to get an accessible seat, or maybe make a reservation?

And... well, I got the one-sentence reply back that I described above. And that... god, it was really disheartening. I realized that they never even asked if their venues were accessible when they were booking the shows. I realized that they were unwilling to put in the work to learn the answers to questions that disabled attendees might have. I realized that they didn't care to find out if the building was accessible.

They didn't know and they didn't care. That, I think, is what took the wind out of my sails when they emailed me back. It's what made me decide that... yeah, I didn't really want to go through the trouble of finding an accessible route to the venue. I didn't want to have to pay an arm and a leg to hire a car to take me the last part of the journey. I didn't want to make myself frantic trying to figure out if I could do all that and still make the last train home.

If they didn't care, I guess I didn't either.

If they'd apologized and said that the only venue they could get was inaccessible, I actually would have understood. I know that small shows don't always get their pick of venues. I get it. I even would have understood if they'd been like "oh dang, I actually don't know -- but I'll find out."

But to be told that they didn't know and didn't intend to find out... oof. That one stung.

Because.... this is the thing. This is the thing. I may be good at it by now, but I'm so tired of picking locks. I'm tired of doing all the legwork because no one ever thinks to help me. I'm tired of feeling like an afterthought at best, or at worst utterly unwelcome.

If you truly want to be inclusive, you need to stop telling people that you're happy to have them -- if they can manage to unlock the door. You need to fucking open it yourself and welcome them in.

What brought all this back to me now, you may be asking? Well... I guess it's just what I was thinking to myself as I was tidying up my phone.

Today I'm deleting podcasts.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving VI

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your schedules don't match

You love Alexia.

You were only little when your father died. You didn't quite understand it.

Your father was a football fan, a big Barcelona supporter so all of his daughters got taken to games with him.

Alba was never that into sports, even just watching them.

Alexia was definitely sporty. You think she was what your father really wanted. She plays football and she adores it.

Your father was already sick by the time you were born. He was already struggling but he still took you to matches. It didn't click with you like it did with Alexia but he could still some athletic speck in you.

He took you to a tennis match instead. He'd never had much interest in tennis but he seemed to know what would appeal to you. You were tiny and Mama had been worried that you wouldn't be able to sit through a match.

But you did.

You sat through a whole match and fell in love then and there.

You were still little though and your father was still sick but he took you to as many lessons as he could.

He was a football fan but he could learn tennis for you.

He never could in the end, not when he died so suddenly.

But then Alexia took over. She didn't understand tennis and she still doesn't understand but she took you to every lesson and went to every match.

You just wish she understood the difference in your schedules.

She was getting ready for another round of Euro qualifiers even though Spain had already qualified. You were at Wimbledon, trading shots with Iga on the practice courts.

"Have you called your sister yet?" She asks, sitting down next to you as you guzzle down your water.

You roll your eyes. "In a minute."

"Do it now."

"What are you? One of my sisters?"

You're teasing her.

Iga is the world number one, by a lot of points. You sit just outside of the top ten. It's a little annoying, your own inconsistency. You can pull it out of the bag during big matches like Grand Slams but you suffer a bit in some of the less grand tournaments.

You're officially the youngest player this tour so you know you're getting babied by some of the other players, Iga especially.

You hadn't thought she had even known who you were until your coach told you she was the one who pushed him to take you on.

She thought you were on your way to being one of the greats.

She also thought you would make a great doubles partner one day.

It was different moving to Poland, away from your Mama and your sisters but Iga made it easy.

She was easy-going and you practically lived at her place so, yeah, you guess she took the more sisterly role in your life with Alexia and Alba at home in Spain.

"Go and call your sister," Iga laughs, spraying you with her bottle until you shriek and run off," And grab me a protein bar or something!"

You roll your eyes but head off, pulling out your phone to video call your sister.

It rings for barely a second.

"Hi Jenni," You say," Can you give Alexia back her phone? I need to talk to her."

"You don't want to talk to me, mini Putellas? I'm offended!"

"If I wanted to talk to you, I'd have called you!"

Jenni laughs before Alexia appears on screen, snatching the phone away from her ex.

"How are you?" Alexia asks, cramming her face onto the screen.

"I'm good!" You laugh," You look good too. Covered in sweat."

"You can talk," Alexia teases back," Have you just had a workout?"

"Practice pitch with Iga," You say," We've got matches coming up."

Alexia frowns. "What do you mean?"

"We've got matches in the next few days. It's Wimbledon, remember?"

Alexia shakes her head. "No. That was last year."

"It happens every year, Ale," You remind her," Me and Iga are competing and then it's a quick turnaround for the Olympics."

Alexia's frowning. "No, because I've got a match on the twelfth. You're flying out with Mama and Alba."

"The Wimbledon final is on the thirteenth. I need to stay."

"What?"

"Iga's out and I've got a real chance. I could really do it."

"But...What about my match?"

"What about mine?" You counter with a sigh," Ale, our schedules just don't match this time. I'm sorry."

"But..."

It's clear to the other girls in the room that Alexia's getting a bit distressed as her mouth opens and closes as she tries to formulate a response.

"But..."

"Listen, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Hey, wait-"

You put the phone down and Alexia just stares down at it, frozen as she looks at your profile picture.

"What's up with the long face?" Jenni pokes her in the cheek. "You're more frowny than usual."

"Nothing. I just...My sister can't come to the game."

"Well, duh, Alexia. She's got Wimbledon to win. She can't just fly out to us."

"I know but..." She blows out all her air. "Never mind. I'm just...I'm gonna go."

When you were little, Alexia tried to go to as many of your matches as she could manage. Sometimes she would come straight from her own games, still in full kit to catch your last ten minutes or so.

It was difficult but it worked.

You've gone professional now and branched out, travelling the world to take part in tournaments and games so you can work your way up and become the world number one.

She shouldn't be upset about you missing her match and her missing yours because that's just how sports work. So many went on at the same time that it was impossible to make every match but, still, a deep pit forms in Alexia's stomach as she thinks about missing your final.

Across the world, you prepare.

You practice on the courts with Iga and your coach. You eat well. You sleep well. You watch Alexia's match on the tv and wish you could be there but Alexia's no longer the only athlete in the family.

She had her career and you have yours.

Paolini is who you face in the final and she keeps you on your toes the entire time. She hits hard and fast and you go one set down immediately.

You pull it back though, managing to equalise the next set and then it's all to play for.

You take a few gasping breaths as you guzzle down your water, leaning back in your seat.

You look up at your box, where your family is watching.

Mama is there, of course, and so is Alba. Alba looks incredibly bored. You know she only comes to the tennis because of you and you're glad she's trying to be supportive but she truly looks like she's about to fall asleep in her seat.

Mama looks much more engaged. She'd told you once that she preferred the pace of tennis to football. There was less risk of injuries in tennis, no one around to slide tackle you or crash into you.

The most harm your opponent could do was smash a ball into your face and that rarely happened. Sure, you could slip and fall but it's not like footballers didn't do that too.

Out of the two sports her daughters played, Mama always found herself calmer at the tennis.

Mama waves at you and nudges Alba in the ribs so she can look up from her phone to wave too.

Your brows draw together in confusion.

There's an empty seat between them and you can't understand why.

So, you just kind of stare as you puzzle out who could be sitting there.

It's not until she comes back, with two beers and a hotdog that you realise who is filling that seat.

She looks exhausted. You can tell even through those stupid big sunglasses and the even stupider hat she's wearing.

She must have gone straight from her match to the airport to get here in time and crashed in Mama and Alba's room to keep it all a secret.

So, Alexia sits in her seat and you grab your racket.

You've got a set to win.

[nouearth]

“POLKA DOTS AND MOONBEAMS”

steve rogers x male reader.

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 & 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓—headcanon [ 4.1k ] 〳 part one

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒—male reader 〳 domestic!au 〳 mid-century!era 〳 'roommates' 〳established relationship 〳 secret husband!steve 〳 mentions of period-homophobia 〳 brief quarreling 〳 sexual content: top!steve, bottom!reader, love-making, breeding, milking, praising, verbal, dirty talk, body worshiping, guidance.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who coasted the city and was on a mission to find the best spaghetti and meatballs with you.

‣ "Verdict?"

‣ Steve's gaze looked right past the fork held before your lips, watching your mouth and expression twist and turn like the spaghetti noodles around the fork prongs prior.

‣ "It's good... not great. The sauce isn't as thick as I'd like for it to be... but it tastes fresh? Basil leaves adds a nice balance to the acidity... but the meatballs are a little overcooked. What do you think, Steve? I'm too picky, aren't I?"

‣ It was written all over your face. Satisfied, but not impressed.

‣ Unlike the last restaurant where you two had the misfortune of eating bloated pasta noodles and watery red sauce, this place was edible and especially generous with their serving.

‣ Decent, if Steve had the chance of writing a one-worded review for the paper.

‣ "You're not picky, just particular, but I agree. Red sauce is good—Padrino's still better. Meatballs are pretty tough, aren't they... but I do like the flavor of them. You can tell they used a fattier mixture compared to the rest. A lot of garlic too, which makes up for the lack of it in the sauce..."

‣ "Not as good as Mama's?"

‣ "The moment we find a spaghetti that's as good as your mother's, is the day we find a way to squeeze water from stone, (M/N)."

‣ "Don't mention that to her. I don't need her ego to be any more inflated than it already has been."

‣ Dates like these were never boring.

‣ No matter how many times Steve had watched your face wrench in disdain or light up in surprise, he always found it a joy to watch you participate in this arbitrary—now routinely—idea of critiquing spaghetti and meatballs so earnestly.

‣ To be fair, it wasn't like you two had a slew of options to make dates seem... more like dates.

‣ In fact, there shouldn't have been any options offered on the table in the first place.

‣ Any intimations that you and Steve were on a date would've been subject to a location change.

‣ Most likely, a candle-lit dinner in a jail-cell, dined over cold hard concrete, and Steve was sure the spaghetti and meatballs served there was going to clutch last place in his ranking.

‣ Though, Steve was hopeful that the romance would still be alive and well had it ever come to that point.

‣ You had a thing for restaurants with a gimmick.

‣ "Seven out of ten sounds about right?"

‣ "What about dessert? We can't leave without getting the tiramisu, Steve."

‣ "Since when did we factor in desserts for the scoring?"

‣ "What—since we started. Don't tell me you've been only ranking the spaghetti and meatballs... it's all about the experience, the... the je ne sais quoi—heard that on the radio once!"

‣ "The je ne sais quoi—this is why I wanted you to be the one logging everything down, (M/N)!"

‣ It took more of a toll on him than it did on you.

‣ Well, if it did, then you did a stunning job at maintaining your usual optimism.

‣ Whenever you two were out in public, Steve felt hammered by this distance pushing him apart.

‣ It was a conscious effort on both ends—a natural one that pertained to the business of being in a homosexual relationship

‣ Or just being a homosexual, period.

‣ Steve understood it. He abode it. And he hated it.

‣ Often, when the conversation between you and him would come to a slow, Steve would look right past your shoulder, right at the lucky couple who were in his sight-line—a gentleman with an impressive mustache and his lady—and simply stare.

‣ His thoughts wandered.

‣ The gentleman was unabashed in his public flirtations with the woman.

‣ Massaging her hands, tending to the aches in her knuckles with firm, but appeasing presses.

‣ The smell of his cigar was pervasive, but the lady didn't seem to mind. It seemed like she thought it was rather charming when he blew a smoke towards her face.

‣ One hand would run up her arms in several strokes, rough callous grinding down her goosebumps, and the man would compliment how soft and supple her skin was.

‣ The lady would bat her eyelashes, giggle at the man's public display of affection whilst also maintaining some sense of courtesy to halt his advances when a pair of curious eyes were enough to render her cheeks scarlet—like the lipstick she had worn for the evening.

‣ Steve hated this restraint. This lack of freedom that forced him to talk to you as if you were his co-worker.

‣ To look at you as if he had no affection for you whatsoever when that was further from the truth.

‣ To touch you as if you were an infection that could cost him his life, and him to yours.

‣ That wasn't completely off from what society thought of people like you and Steve, was it.

‣ "It's not nice to stare, Steve... quit it."

‣ "If I can't even look at my own lov—you, what else am I supposed to do?"

‣ "Steve—come on, not now. You know how it is. It's hard, I know. But... we can't just be cooped up in our pad and wear out its virtues. It's nice to go out every once in a while, even if—it has to be like this."

‣ "It's just not—fair. Maybe—maybe we can do something. It doesn't feel right if we're doing nothing about those bar raids too. They're increasing, you know? Becoming more violent and—"

‣ "Hush. People are staring to look."

‣ "Why do you seem completely fine with this? Hiding ourselves—"

‣ "Look, I don't like it as much as you do. Hell, it's killing me on the inside that I can't even smile at you like how it would naturally come. But I'm okay with hiding—because it's for my safety, and most importantly, for yours. I don't ask for much, but I've envisioned the near end of my life to be fulfilled and labored with no regrets. With a house where I can harvest my own apples from my own tree. With a lazy pup that knows better than to eat through my laces. All of that would be possible because I hid—no—because I endured. And I would heavily prefer it if you would join me in that life. Call me a coward, spineless, or selfish, but I don't want it to be our last, Steve. It's terrifying—to know that any day I could lose you to violence and persecution, myself included. So, please—just hold it out for longer—that's all I ask of you."

‣ Most of all, Steve hated that he was envious.

‣ He wished he could be the one wiping sauce stain off your lips.

‣ He wished that he could hold your hand over the table and stroke the ring on your finger that you could've kept on.

‣ He wished that he could stop the tears from welling in your eyes like he often did back at home.

‣ He wished that he could tell you that he loved you, either with a mouthful of meatballs or none at all, because in the end—it would've felt better than communicating those three words with three taps of his foot to your shin.

‣ You nearly reached over for his hand to calm him down, but pulled your back straight upon the fright of a passing waiter and opted for the cipher that was could only be cracked between you and Steve.

‣ Three gentle kicks to his shin, once more to his other leg, and Steve sighed for pardon, returning the cipher gently to your own shin.

‣ He wished he could openly compliment how handsome his husband looked tonight, ramble how grateful he was to have you in his life, or complain about how you kicked him a little too hard, but that was all well and fine because it meant that you were still present.

‣ Freedom—All of it, the positives and negatives, without the looming threat of a policeman pummeling you and Steve with a nightstick afterwards—because that was normal.

‣ Because that was life.

‣ A life that will pay in the long run.

‣ "Check, please."

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who ambled the misty street of Brooklyn Heights with you, the night dew giving everything a hazy look as you and Steve passed through moist air, side-by-side.

‣ "I was brash tonight, Steve. I apologize."

‣ "No, no... you were right. If anything, I was being a fat head. I was out-of-line. I'm sorry."

‣ "You were right too, you know. It's not fair. It's not that I don't want to do anything about it, I really do. I just—it can't be the two of us tackling something bigger than us. Everyone is petrified, Steve."

‣ "I know... but if we somehow all come together in some kind of union, then maybe—we can call for a difference. Show them that enough is enough. Show them that fear is no longer something they can instill in us."

‣ "Like a rebellion or something?"

‣ "Well, if it has to come to that, then so be it."

‣ "You know a guy, don't you..."

‣ "I know a guy."

‣ "Is it Bucky?"

‣ "What—how'd you know?"

‣ "Steve, you only know one guy."

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who was detoured into a dark alleyway between business building blocks. There was the droning sound sound of night, the low and humming resonant as the city had fallen asleep, all but two guests.

‣ "(M/N), what are we—"

‣ "All that quarreling made me forget to tell you how dashing you looked tonight. You know I especially like your hair combed back like that, Steve-o."

‣ He didn't need much of a hint as to what you were getting at.

‣ Squeezing in between a narrow passageway that would luckily only admit two bodies at a time, you and Steve were obscured from any wandering eyes.

‣ From judgement of the world.

‣ "Steve, you ought-ta listen to me more. Blue polka dots look darling on you."

‣ "If I recall correctly, you were the one who wanted me to wear a pink tie, darling."

‣ "Pink would've made me sauced my pants..."

‣ "You. Are. So. Vulgar."

‣ Shadows cast over his squashed body against yours, the moonlight only lighting the parts that mattered the most right now.

‣ The laughter that left your mouth after each peck Steve would grace you with.

‣ The lips that had him feeling withdrawal symptoms after an unbearable few hours of watching you lick sauce off your lips.

‣ The hand that tug Steve closer by his tie.

‣ The eyes that drew Steve in closer, until the tip of his nose touched yours.

‣ "Have I told you how much I love my cologne on you, darling?"

‣ "Have I told you how much I prefer your cologne rubbing off on me, as opposed to me spraying it on directly?"

‣ Slowly, breathing, pacifying; Steve's invisible stubble made your mouth twitch with a scratch, one of your many quirks he found himself silently obsessing over.

‣ And that was enough to push him over the edge, and finally kiss you like he'd wanted to since the evening had started.

‣ It was slow, almost careful like Steve was afraid of breaking you.

‣ Steve wasn't expecting this self-restraint from you. He wasn't expecting your hands on his jaw, tenderly massaging at either sides to keep your hands preoccupied while he slid his tongue alongside yours.

‣ He wasn't expecting to hear his own pulse because you were so stubborn in maintaining this control—you refused to summon urgency by vaulting your moans into the back of your throat.

‣ But Steve knew you more than he knew himself. He knew how you liked your eggs in the morning. He knew the perfect temperature for your bath. He knew you from the mole on your back, to the stance when you were impatient.

‣ He knew that if he led one of your hands right here—feeling the cusp of his growing bulge—that you'd give Steve what he wanted, and fall completely apart.

‣ And Steve knew that—by the eager palm of your hand, shoving into his unbuckled pants and groping—he was right.

‣ "Steve—just fuck me right here, yeah? I can't take it anymore."

‣ "Honey, we don't have any slick..."

‣ "Then give it to me raw. Use your spit. The rain. I don't care, I need you—"

‣ Your lips were warm and soft when Steve kissed you from rambling into the void again. His hands were against your stomach and chest, and your moans sent shivers down his spine.

‣ "Christ—turn around."

‣ Against the brick wall, teeth sinking into your forearm, you took Steve in without any regrets. Cold sweat breaking over your skin like evening dew collecting on window sills.

‣ "O-oh, fuck—slowly, Steve—"

‣ You could feel Steve's heart beat against your back, pushing further into you, huffing into your neck.

‣ "I love you."

‣ "I love you."

‣ From then on, you and Steve lived without any regrets.

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who relished every inch of your body; with his eyes, with his mouth, with his hands, with his body, with his being—until you found yourself transported wholly to all different kinds of sensations, and he'd repeat to discover new ones for you.

‣ "You're good at this, you know."

‣ "Humor me?"

‣ Steve was mouthing at your inner thigh, one hand stroking your leaking cock, and the other pumping his Vaseline-slicked fingers into you.

‣ He looked up from his eyelashes, teasing your sack with a lick.

‣ Another lick, because he liked being distracted by your body arching off the bed, crinkling the sheets in the process.

‣ "Good at loving me. You know what I want, what I need—just like that. Putting another finger into me without asking of me if you can. Twisting—fuck—turning me out, all based on how my body responds to you."

‣ "Well, it's not difficult to gauge what you need. Your nails dig into the sheets when it's too much. Your fingers and toes curl when the pleasure's coming in. Your hips roll—when you need more, or a new fix. I'm no magician you're making me out to be, (M/N).

‣ "You notice all of that? That's embarrassing... and here I thought I was being alluring..."

‣ Steve layered his thick cock in slick, capping the tin and tossing it to the bedside counter after.

‣ He teased your prepped rim, observing how the ring of muscle would catch a string of his pre-cum and latch onto it with a clench.

‣ At the sound of your moan, at the sight of you toying with your nipples, at the torn decision between preening—you knew that he liked the sight of you biting your lips—and ceasing his taunts.

‣ Steve's cock veins pulsed, his cock pleading for him to fill that delicious hole before him, otherwise it would live in agony for as long as it could leak.

‣ "I do, and it's not embarrassing. I love how you—mm—like that. I love how you immediately wrap your arms and legs around me when I finally push my cock inside of you.

‣ "Oh, Steve—"

‣ "I love how you call my name, just like that. Say it again."

‣ "Steve..!"

‣ He pressed his forehead against yours and groaned with you. His hips racketed off your ass in a slow, but increasing rhythm.

‣ You held onto him, hands over his neck, anchoring him close until the only way you could have your fix of air was through Steve's lips.

‣ Steve's mind was empty, except for the thought of your hot tongue roaming into his mouth and the swelling grasp your walls had around his loving cock.

‣ "Like that... I love how I can decipher every meaning behind the way you call out to me."

‣ "Fill me up so well, Steve—baby. Can feel you deep inside of me. Ruining me with your cock. Your balls slapping against me, God—Steve!"

‣ Your moans tasted delicious on his tongue. If they were seeds, they'd bloom colorful hybrids of fruits because your love for him couldn't be defined by one singular hue.

‣ You were an array of colors—a prism conjured by the way Steve loved you.

‣ Red, because you were gritting your teeth as Steve had you taking him balls-deep, filling you up to the brim, and stretching you to the shape of his pistoning cock.

‣ "Fuck me harder, Steve—"

‣ "You're taking me so well, darling..."

‣ "When have I not?"

‣ Orange, because Steve rendered you speechless except for a few gasps, with his cock grazing your prostate and his hand over your cock, stroking while kissing at your neck.

‣ "O-oh, fuck—oh, fuck!"

‣ Yellow, because you were on top, straddling Steve's lap and yielding to the nearing high that you both had been gauging.

‣ You took your sweet time to make love to Steve with your body. Hands braced on his chest, combing your fingers through the light hairs, deeply rocking back and forth on his cock after a couple of lighthearted bounces.

‣ You marveled over his well-built body, following the contours of his muscles with one hand while silently admiring his broad chest, perky nipples, and wide shoulders with your tongue.

‣ The smell of aftershave on him was infectious when you came up for a brief kiss. You kissed at his lips, then his chin, licking at the short blades of stubble before pulling away to preen again.

‣ Your back straightened and you spread your thighs apart for Steve to get a good look at how hard he was making you.

‣ Your cock throbbed, swollen a pronounced shade at the tip, bouncing to the rhythm of your hips, all while you devoted your mouth and tongue to Steve's thick fingers, suckling and laving your tongue over every digit, every vein, every knuckle—thanking him for opening you up so well with the slick of your saliva.

‣ Steve was absolutely keen on watching you worship him with one hand tucked behind his head, the other stroking your cock when he would finish appraising your body with a couple of fond strokes.

‣ "God, look at you. You're so beautiful. I could do this all day, watching you ride every vein on my cock..."

‣ Green, because you built up enough energy to reverse your straddle and take the lead for once. You wanted Steve to see all parts of your body, especially the asset that had been drawing out those glorious moans deep from his gut.

‣ You knew it was a pretty sight that would teeter Steve closer to the edge.

‣ Sweat ran over the plump mounds of your ass as you were propped up on your forearms, slamming down onto his thick cock.

‣ Skin rippled when your ass repeatedly hit his groin, and then prickled, when Steve grabbed a handful of your sweaty flesh out of pure enchantment before swatting it as a stimulus to your slowing hips.

‣ "How's the view?"

‣ "Stunning..."

‣ Blue, because your body was covered in shivers from the way Steve had captured you into his arms and pummeled icicles into you from behind.

‣ Kneeling upright, Steve had embraced you tightly, supporting your core with a flat palm while simultaneously engaging his, thrusting into you.

‣ His hand was around your throat to feel every vibration that would squeeze from your throat and then pour into his mouth like a saucer of milk as he swallowed your sweet moans.

‣ Like Steve's cock, his other hand was equally uncompromising. He squeezed into the pulsating veins of your cock, stroked your shaft, and teased your glans with a thumb.

‣ When you sank back into the dip of his hips, Steve would propel you forward with a strong thrust, forcing you to fuck his closed fist in midst as he held you from ever retreating back on all fours.

‣ He loved that dazed look on your face. Wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. Flushed like how you were abashed by his compliments to your novice cooking, yet only a hundred times worse.

‣ He also loved the way he had fucked you into being inarticulate, muttering a slurry of words—warnings of you coming soon, Steve would later learn after turning his ears up.

‣ "Steve, stop, stop—I'm going to c-come—seriously—"

‣ "Come for me, (M/N). I want to see you stain the bed. Want to see you come because of me. Only me. Want you to drench my fist and—Christ, there we go..."

‣ Violet, because you were red, and Steve was blue.

‣ You spilled heavily over his fist, shooting large, thick ropes of cum over the bed sheets. The sound of the cum splatters making your cheeks run hotter than the warmth drawing out of you.

‣ Each spurt shot further and further the harder Steve pounded into you and milked your orgasm with unrelenting strokes to your shaft.

‣ His thighs slapped into yours, resonating the bedroom with a sharp thunder that was sure to wake up the tenants.

‣ His cock punctuated deep into your guts, hard and sweet against your prostate.

‣ You cried out as Steve battered your insides with his cock, with his undying love for you. Biting into your shoulder to contain his groans, but Steve had enough of this restraint, of constantly holding himself back.

‣ He growled behind your ear, filtering out the resentment society had instilled in his body as he let his grunts loose, replacing that bitter feeling with the antithesis of knowing that he wanted to live life to the fullest.

‣ With a house that grew oranges alongside your apples.

‣ Steve thrusted harder.

‣ With an indifferent cat that couldn't care less about your torn shoelaces.

‣ Your moans hitched at the sharp snap of his hips, his cock digging somehow deeper into your guts when he pushed you lower into his groin.

‣ With a fulfilling life that was lived without regret.

‣ Steve felt himself come undone upon the last thrust. Every fiber of his muscle unraveling like pointe shoes after intense wear.

‣ He held you tight as he shuddered against your, his pulse anchored and soothed by the palm of your head on his cheek, stroking him affectionately.

‣ Silken white, he spilled his hot seed deep inside of you, weakly propagating the warmth from the outer rim of your raw, swollen hole, then to the deep depth of your walls and prostate, milking himself until he was jelly in the legs, until you were creamed, from inside and out, with his thick cock.

‣ You and Steve shared one more kiss, another breath, heaving and panting like you two had never kissed before, before his stance eventually gave out and made him collapse over your body.

‣ "Think—I might bump the restaurant earlier up a few spots, (M/N)..."

‣ "Why's that?"

‣ "Must've put some kind of aphrodisiac in that spaghetti... I'm deeply spent."

‣ "I disagree. It must've been that couple! I told you it was all about the experience—that je ne sais quoi that I've been talking—"

‣ "You really aren't going to stop saying that, are you?"

‣ "Shouldn't have fixed my radio if you knew you were going to be disappointed, Steve."

‣ "That's where you're wrong. If you think anything about you is disappointing to me, then I'm not being a great husband, am I?"

‣ "Well, look at you being all sappy tonight."

‣ "Too much?"

‣ "Never too much. I'm far too gone to ever think otherwise, Steve-o."

‣ "Me too, darling. Me too."

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!