#as well as anything that could give to much away

[siriuslywicked]

Okay, hear me out… Robby with a partner who has a hard time orgasming (because I need to feel seen, and hopefully y’all do too). MDNI 18+!!!

a/n: I know we all love a good smutty fic where the reader gets to cum like three times, but let’s be honest, that is not reality for most people. I need some representation for those of us who live the antidepressant lifestyle. I know I asked about Robby/Michael, but something about this felt like a 'Robby' fic (idk). Next time I write about this man we will go with Michael, pinky promise. Wrote this after working a 50 hour week and did not revise it. Also haven't written smut in literal years. You have been warned.

In recent years, getting yourself to orgasm has become a challenge. Sure, you can get there on your own with some patience and a trusty vibrator, but it takes time. And sometimes being with a partner, especially a new one, means you don’t really want them trying to get you there for forty fucking minutes. So, when you and Robby start seeing each other you don't exactly fake it, but you don’t let him focus his attention on you for long before you turn the tables and start pleasuring him. 

But Robby isn’t stupid, and he needs to know you’re enjoying yourself as much as he is. So, a handful of times into sleeping together, he finds himself in a familiar position: dressed in only his briefs, lying sprawled out on his stomach, head between your open legs, putting his mouth to good use. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking amazing. His beard scratches at your inner thighs and below your entrance as he uses his tongue to steadily lap at your clit. The pressure and rhythm he's giving you is enough to make pleasure burn low in your pelvis; you can’t help but rock your hips into his face, using your grip in his hair as leverage to make sure he keeps his tongue right fucking there. 

Robby can feel the urgency in the way you’re pulling his face impossibly closer. He knows damn well that you haven’t cum for him in any of your previous times together, he’s had over thirty years of experience with women, not to mention he’s a fucking doctor, he knows what an orgasm looks like (and sounds and tastes and feels like). He can tell each time you give up and move the focus away from your own pleasure, trying to distract him. This time though, he isn’t stopping until he gets what he wants. He moves his hands from where they rest passively on your thighs, one going to grip your hip and anchor you to him, the other coming to rest flat and warm on your lower stomach. You let out a moan at the feeling of his palm on your stomach, the feeling in your pelvis has grown into something that feels more tangible. So much so, that your legs begin to shake with it and you think you might actually cum this time. Robby thinks so too, feeling your thighs trembling on either side of his head. He groans softly into you, and chooses this moment to push down on your belly. 

You jolt your head up in surprise, grip tightening on his head. “Fuck, Robby that feels good.” 

He moans again in response, and thanks to your more upright position you catch his hips rolling into the mattress. Dutiful as ever, he continues applying pressure with his palm and doubles down with his tongue, pushing himself to go faster, harder, anything to feel you cum on his face. 

You’ve moved to be fully sitting up now, one hand behind you for support and the other firmly anchored in his hair. You grind your hips almost frantically, sweat beginning to collect on your face and neck, chasing an orgasm that is so close you can taste it. 

“Oh,” you huff out followed by a hum that borders on whiny, “I think ‘m getting close.” Your teeth grit around the words, body tensing up in its pursuit of pleasure. 

Robby opens his eyes to peer up at you. Your head has lolled back, eyes squeezed shut, your mouth now hangs open on a silent moan. Your clit has gotten more swollen than he thought it could and he can feel you getting wetter by the second, it’s practically dripping off his chin. You are so close, so nearly there. 

And yet… 

“Fuck,” you whine out, and not in a good way. Your hips stop their movement, thighs no longer shaking with pleasure. Robby slows his ministrations and watches as you flop onto your back once more, arms coming to rest over your face, pout evident on your lips.

With a grunt, he pulls himself up and crawls to lay beside you. 

“Sweetheart, can you look at me?” He places a hand on one of your arms, tugging gently to remove it, only to be met with firm resistance. 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

You let out a sigh and allow him to move your arms off of your face. He pulls the one between you into his chest, interlacing your fingers with his. 

Still refusing to look at him, you stare straight ahead at the ceiling. This close, Robby can see the tears of frustration welling up in your eyes. Your face is flushed, now from a mixture of embarrassment and exertion. 

When you remain silent and continue to avoid his gaze Robby prompts you further. 

“You’re okay, nothing to be embarrassed about,” his thumb rubs soothingly along the back of your hand, “All I want is to make you feel good, sweetheart. But, I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me about what's going on.” 

Your eyes close tightly, tears finally spilling over and running down your cheeks as you nod in agreement. After a moment you open them again and finally turn to face him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper softly, eyes darting between his own. You elaborate a few moments later: “for not communicating.” 

“It’s okay, what’s important is we’re talking now. Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

Robby waits, prepared to begin asking you questions in a diagnostic manner if you don’t speak up, but is pleased when you begin without prodding. 

“I- uhm,” a pause, “It takes a lot for me to uh- finish, most of the time.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, scooting closer and pulling you into a quasi embrace, hand draped over your waist. 

“Can you tell me what ‘a lot’ looks like for you?” Your eyes meet his again, unsure. 

His voice is low, almost gravelly, “When you touch yourself, what do you like? How do you make yourself cum?”

He asks with genuine interest in learning how best to please you, but his manner of speaking makes you feel suddenly hot as your thighs squeezing together. Robby doesn’t miss it. 

“I use my fingers mostly… but I have a vibrator too that I like. Mostly it just takes a really long time.” 

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he waits for your nod of assent, “There is nothing I would rather do than take my time making you feel good.” 

Feeling at a loss for words, a small ‘okay’ escapes you. 

“Good. Now, how about we try again and you tell me what you need from me, and we’ll go for as long as you want to. I would happily go all night without getting off if it meant I got to see you cum for me.” 

A smile grows on his face as he speaks, the tone shifting from serious to playful once more. You mirror his energy, grinning as you respond, “That sounds really fucking nice.” 

-

Forty seven minutes later (after Robby had all but tackled you into the bed for a solid makeout sesh and used his mouth once more to warm you back up) you find yourself perched on his lap, cock snug inside you. Robby sits with his back against the headboard, hands on your hips to guide the steady rock of your hips into his own. You have a tight grip on one of his shoulders to steady yourself, and an even tighter grip on the vibrator that you had sheepishly produced from the bedside drawer. 

“Come on baby, you’re doing so good for me, take whatever you need,” he encourages, voice rough with his own pleasure. 

“Feels really good, Robby,” you moan, resting your forehead against his as your hips pick up speed. 

Robby rolls his own up to meet yours, feeling you start to clench around him periodically. 

“I know it does, can feel you gettin’ all tight on me,” he laughs and all you can do is moan weakly in response. “Turn up the vibrator, you can take it sweetheart.” 

He feels you almost shake your head no to his request, before giving in and increasing the speed. 

“Oh- oh shit,” the effect is instant, your cunt feels so wet and warm as it grips him somehow tighter. Robby can feel his control starting to slip, and despite his earlier promise he knows he won’t last forever like this. Oh shit indeed.

“Feel so good around me. Tell me what you need, baby. Please,” He begs. 

“Talk to me? Please, Robby ‘m so close, just wanna know I’m being good for you.” 

“I got you baby, we’ll get you there. Me and that vibrator,” you both laugh at his comment, but Robby doesn’t lose focus for a second, using his grip to maintain your rhythm. “You’re doing so good, keep riding me just like this.” 

Nodding, you can feel the tell tale signs of your orgasm starting to creep in. The relentless buzzing at your clit coupled with Robby’s assistance in rolling your hips back and forth have you barreling towards the edge. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Just let it happen baby you’re right there, gripping me so fucking tight.” 

Your movements start to grow erratic, hips beginning to lock up. 

Robby reaches down and places his thumb over yours where it rests on the “up” button. 

“Gonna look so pretty coming on my cock, such a good girl,” he presses his thumb down. 

It comes on fast and strong. Your core is tightening as your back curves, your hips go dead still and lift ever so slightly as you shake on top of him. “Robby, please,” it comes out as a pitiful whine, begging him for something, anything, even as your orgasm is ripping through you. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, hips slamming up into you, continuing to use his one hand to make sure the vibrator stays on your clit. 

Robby can feel you still clenching around him as his own orgasm overtakes him, and he rides it out for as long as he can, groaning out incoherent praises as his hips begin to slow. 

He’s brought back into reality when you whine frantically and at your joined hands holding the vibrator, suddenly oversensitive. Even without the stimulation, the aftershocks are powerful as you quake above him. He does his best to pull you back flush with his hips, tucking you into his chest as you ride it out. 

After several minutes of holding you in his lap, Robby helps you to the bathroom, only teasing you for how bad your legs shake once. Once you’ve both cleaned up, you wind up back in bed. 

“Thank you for that, I think you’ve ruined me for all other men.” You say it jokingly, but there’s nothing but truth behind the words. 

“The pleasure was all mine.” He kisses the top of your head where it rests on your chest. 

Just as you're drifting off to sleep you hear him mumble, “Do I need to be jealous of that vibrator?”

[wosospacegirl]

Hiya mate!, Can I have a request maybe a Leah x reader or Alexia x reader. Where the reader join the current girlfriend trend and video their reaction..... Thank you

Love all the fic you made love lots

Current girlfriend- Alexia Putellas / Leah Williamson

I couldn't choose between my captains, so I did a little thing for both of them - two separate blurbs in one.

Word count: 1.7

..

Alexia Putellas

You weren't really someone who posted a lot on social media. Not when you were a teen, and absolutely not now that you dated Barcelona's golden girl.

Alexia liked her privacy. She liked knowing there were things the fans, the media, and the world didn't know. Your relationship wasn't necessarily one of those things. She didn't keep you tucked away in some apartment, hidden from everyone and everything. 

No, she didn't mind being seen walking down the streets with you; she couldn't care less about the cameras in her face when a game ended, and you had come down to the pitch to hug her.

She just didn't like leaving much of a digital footprint, and you were the same way. You liked to keep some things just between the two of you.

But oh. When you saw that little TikTok prank, you couldn't help yourself. You wanted to try it, but you also didn't like the whole world seeing it…the camera would give away parts of your shared home, and that was something just for you two and the people closest to you.

So you decided to film it just for yourself. That way, you could still participate in the trend, keep yours and Alexia's privacy intact, but the prank would have to be tweaked a little.

You tucked the phone into one of the sofa pillows. Didn't have to hide it much, Alexia was terrible at noticing things she wasn't actively looking for.

You sat on the sofa and gave the camera one last look. Great, the frame was perfect.

"Ale, come here!"

Alexia was getting ready for training, focused, in her usual headspace, and of course, you had to mess with her. Just a little.

She said something back from upstairs that you couldn't make out, but then she appeared a few minutes later. And she looked so beautiful with her training jersey on, it made you wanna keep her to yourself.

"So I have this small party at work this Saturday, can you go with me?" You asked gently.

Alexia's face softened. "No lo sé, cariño, tengo que revisar mi agenda" [I don’t know, love, I have to check my schedule.]

You were very used to that response, you expected it even, so you just smiled back, leaning even further into the sofa, you were just getting comfortable.

"Well…as my current girlfriend–" you pretended to cough so it would give her some time to comprehend and let the word settle in. "--you need to be present! It's at 7 pm."

Alexia's smile faltered a bit, and you could see that she was caught between a mix of "did I hear that right?" with "that can't possibly be true."

"Qué?" [What?] She said, her eyebrows furrowing. She was so confused, it was funny and cute at the same time.

"Dinner, at 7 pm, amor," you repeated, but not the part she clearly wanted. "But if you can't go, it's alright…"

"No, no," she shook her head. "Current? Current girlfriend?"

Bingo

"Yes?"

"No? Why current? We've been dating for three years." She said, her voice a little impatient now, as if she was asking herself why she even needed to be saying that.

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't change anything, we are still CURRENTLY dating," you emphasised the word.

Alexia moved on her heels, she opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She looked at you, then looked at her training bag on the floor.

"No me gustó eso," she said. "Not current.. solo novia, okay?" [I don't like that/ just girlfriend, okay?]

The pout on her face was so extremely cute that you weren't able to keep your composure. You got up from the sofa and wrapped your arms around her.

For a few seconds, she stood there, arms crossed, but then she gave in.

"I don't like that word," she mumbled against your shoulder, her voice almost in a whine. "Current makes it sound temporary."

You couldn't help the smile spreading across your face as you held her tighter. "I know, baby. I'm sorry."

"We're not temporary," she pulled back just enough to look at you, that little pout still there. "Sí?"

"No, we're definitely not temporary." You said, kissing her whole face.

She studied your face for a moment. "Wait..." Her eyes narrowed. "You're smiling too much. Why are you…"

Her gaze moved around the room and landed on the phone peeking out from the pillow. Okay, maybe Alexia did have some hidden ability to find phones, actually. 

"Ay, por Dios,"  she groaned, but you caught the corner of her mouth twitching. "You filmed this?"

"Maybe."

"Qué tonta eres…" [You are such a dork] she said, fighting a smile. "Delete it."

"I was already planning to," you laughed, pulling her even closer. "It was just for me anyway. I wanted to see if I could make Barcelona's golden girl pout."

"I don't pout."

"Hmm." You kissed her forehead. "You definitely pout."

She huffed against your neck, but her arms tightened around you. "Next time you want to mess with me, just ask for attention like a normal person."

"Where's the fun in that?"

..

Leah Williamson

You were bored out of your mind. It was a rainy afternoon. It was grey, cold, and your girlfriend had some annoying thing she had to attend to. Meaning: it wasn't a great day at all.

Leah needed to be at some Lionesses' dinner, one to welcome the new girls who had just received their first senior call-up.

You weren't allowed to go since plus ones weren't permitted, so you decided last minute that you would go to some café and do something. You just didn't want to stay home alone.

You had a couple of uni assignments that needed to be done, some research you had to complete for your internship the other day, but the day was already depressing as it was…you didn't need to bring more of that into your already grey day. 

So drinking very expensive coffee and delicious pastries was the right answer. Plus, Leah felt bad that you couldn't go with her and had given you her card.

Your life had been so uneventful lately. With Leah's tight schedule and your responsibilities, you two couldn't go out much or spend the amount of time together that you would like. So you thought, why not make today a little different?

You weren't an influencer, per se, but you had a fair share of followers on Instagram, so why not do a little Instagram Live while you got ready for your outing and Leah got ready for hers? It was June–Pride month–and nothing better to celebrate it than showing off your very hot, very English Captain, Champions-winner girlfriend.

You had your dress on already, and Leah was doing her hair on the other side of the room. She looked pretty. She was wearing mom jeans, a plain white shirt, and a black leather jacket on top of that, you knew your followers would thank you for showing Leah and her outfit.

Again, very Pride Month. Very much gay.

You had obviously asked Leah if it was okay for her to show up in the live stream. She said yes (she always did whenever you asked her to film something with you), so you propped your phone on top of your makeup organiser and pressed play.

In a few minutes, you had a couple of hundred people watching you, to say the least. You began talking about random stuff, nothing really important, just about your day and your routine. 

Leah would casually walk behind you, stopping just long enough to wrap her arms around you and kiss your head before disappearing again, looking for her shoes or bag.

The people watching the live went crazy whenever Leah showed up. It was honestly funny, the amount of fire emojis running up and down on your screen.

Then, a comment popped up asking you to do a prank on Leah, the "Current Girlfriend" prank. The comment quickly disappeared among a hundred others, but it was enough time for you to read it and decide that you were going to do it.

"Leah," you said, looking at her while putting your lipstick on. "Come stand with me for a bit."

Leah was in a very good mood, so she did it quickly and without complaining. She stood by your side and wrapped one arm around your waist, bringing you closer. She kissed the top of your head while looking at the camera.

You decided that was the perfect moment.

"Well, my current girlfriend and I look so fine today and—"

"Current?" Leah interrupted, looking down at you, using the same voice she used when she was surprised. "Okay, wow!"

"What?" you asked, trying to sound clueless, which you were very good at.

"Current girlfriend?" Leah lifted her eyebrows cockily, as if she couldn't believe what was happening. "Who are you talking about? Not me, I'm sure."

"Of course I'm talking about you!" you said, looking at the phone, and then back at her. "Aren't you my current girlfriend?"

She laughed. Really laughed as you were trying to keep an emotionless face.

"I don't understand you," you said. "What's so funny?"

"You," Leah said. "You are funny, silly even, saying things like 'current girlfriend' as if you want to have a different girlfriend in the future."

"I never said that!" You smiled at her before pecking her lips, leaving your lipstick stain on her mouth. "You're being dramatic."

"Me? Dramatic?" Leah asked, pointing at herself, "You're messing with me, aren't you? That can't be possible."

You turned back to your mirror, the Instagram Live still going strong. You picked up some blush, applying it while watching Leah through the reflection.

Leah was so annoyingly confident that it was nearly impossible to pull these types of pranks on her. She didn't get annoyed or mad, she would actually laugh about how ridiculous it all sounded.

"Well…" She watched you through the mirror, making eye contact and putting two fingers in front of her mouth with that knowing look. She knew exactly how much you liked that gesture. "Maybe I should start looking for a future and steady girlfriend since this one–"

Now it was your turn to interrupt her. You rolled your eyes dramatically.

"Don't even finish that sentence," you warned, pointing the blush brush in her direction. "It was all a prank, okay?"

"Oh yeah?" she said, turning to face the phone screen with that smirk of hers. "I didn't even notice, baby." She winked at the camera. "Your girl's not as slick as she thinks she is."

..

a/n: hope you guys liked it!!

Tag list: @footy-lover264, @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender, @neutraiise, @milkveed, @browercc, @ace-of-baked, @ikzzzya, @sky-the-trans-guy00, @knight-16, @wosohk04, @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon, @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog

[twilightofthesandwiches]

…So we do have some implications that Kris… at the very least, does not care for Ralsei as much as they care for Susie, or as much as Ralsei cares for them. Most notably with Chapter 2’s Teas;

I think also maybe their tendency in the recent chapters to point out the differences between Ralsei and Asriel might be related to it. They don’t want to compare Ralsei to their beloved older brother.

But I wonder if that’s beginning to change. Most notably with all the scenes of Kris and Susie comforting Ralsei and encouraging him to be himself… Obviously we are the ones telling Kris to say the words, but... it seems like it was their choice to give him a hug.

Which kinda reminds me of our first indication that Kris genuinely considers Susie their friend.

Plus, like, sure we CAN force Kris to say certain things, but they can also subtly rebel against it by saying things 'weirdly'

or immediately contradicting our words with their own.

So.... not only do they don't really resist this attempt to help Ralsei, here is how they react if you try and pick one of the most flagrant "no Ralsei you and your feelings don't matter (:" options.

They are literally fighting against the Player's control to try and emotionally support Ralsei.

I wonder if this was a matter of Kris' thoughts about Ralsei actually mirroring many Players, that they also thought he was weird and shady and that his niceness was too-good-to-be-true and that he's probably manipulative and evil. And with the revelations about Ralsei and the way he thinks about himself and his reasoning for keeping secrets in Chapters 3 and 4, it's only now that Kris is starting to let their guard down around him and allows themself to like him.

Or if it's a matter of... clearly Kris' situation with the SOUL (AKA us) is a very unhappy one for them. Even if it also seems to be part of the plan Kris and Evil Phone Voice are on, it is not a pleasant experience for Kris. It might be that the thing that endeared them to Susie so much in the first place is the way that she also chafes and rebels against being 'railroaded' by the prophecy stuff all through Chapter 1 - and therefor they were always put off by Ralsei's happy-peppy lack of resistance to following anything the prophecy said....

Hell... we STILL don't know what these two talk about when the SOUL is away following Susie... if Ralsei told Kris they need to put on a happy smile and accept being a 'Cage' for an Amoral Time God, that will certainly sour their relationship.

But now Ralsei is opening up to how much this fatalism has caused him pain, and now he's starting to push back against it. And maybe now Kris can understand that Ralsei is also in the same boat as them and Susie, that they are kindred spirits.

Or maybe... that whole deal with Kris and the Evil Phone Voice seems to indicate they might've known about Dark Worlds and how they work before the story of the game properly starts, and at least that they understand them more than Susie does. Maybe Kris themself thought of Darkners the same way Ralsei thought. Maybe they were distant from Ralsei because they saw him as not 'real'. And watching Ralsei unlearn this mindset is causing Kris to reconsider the way they were thinking of Dark Worlds and Darkners.

Or... well... it could just be as simple as Kris seeing how much Ralsei matters to Susie. We have constant reminders through these two chapters of how much Susie cares for Ralsei and how much she sees them as a trio. So even if Kris just doesn't Vibe with Ralsei, thinks he's annoying or weird or creepy or whatever, Kris cares for Susie, so they know they have to care about her other very best friend.

I wonder if the reason behind the Person-Flavor-Teas being 'Rotten' past Chapter 2 is because Chapter 3 and 4 actually have a lot of subtle shifts in the characters' relationships and it would've been unpractical to keep track of them all, or simply narratively unsatisfying to spell them numericaly out like that.

[nephynes]

You thought letting your boyfriend fuck your best friend would be harmless—a weirdly selfless gift, nothing more. But when it breaks something in you, Sunghoon starts playing dirtier than ever. He says he did it for you, but now he won’t let you forget who he belongs to—or who you belong to.

nsfw warnings: SMUT, voyeurism, dub-con elements, manipulation, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic dynamics, rough sex, kind of orgasm denial, creampie, breeding kink, degradation + praise, crying, angst, emotional aftermath, mention of infidelity (consensual), very toxic sunghoon, reader spirals, unhealthy coping, manhandling, makeup sex, light coercion vibes.

2.7k

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You're sitting cross-legged on the bed, heart pounding as you say it. "I was just thinking...maybe you could sleep with her? Just once. She hasn't had good sex in a while and—well, you're amazing. Who better than you, right?" There's a long, terrifying pause. Sunghoon doesn't even look up from where he's lazily scrolling through his phone. His face stays unreadable, but the way his thumb slows gives him away.

He finally speaks. Quiet. Calm. "Say that again."

You hesitate. "I just...want her to have good sex. And you—" He puts his phone down.

"You want me," he says slowly, voice flat, "to fuck your best friend."

"Just once," you whisper. "It wouldn't mean anything. I trust you—"

"I'm not a charity service, baby," he interrupts, tone dangerously low. "You think I'll fuck someone just because you feel bad she's not getting laid?"

You shrink a little under his stare, but he doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to. There's a different kind of heat in his eyes now—darker, colder. "I don't share," he says simply. "Not you. Not me."

His fingers hook your chin, making you meet his gaze. "She can find her own dick. Mine belongs to you."

Then, after a pause, he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

"But the fact you even asked..." he murmurs, voice dropping to a whisper, "means I'm not fucking you hard enough. You're not loving it enough, since you just wanna share me with some girl."

It was two days after you suggested it, two days after he'd shut it down. You thought the quiet way he dismissed it meant it was over.

But now he's randomly brought it up again and being weirdly open to it.

"So...does she like it rough?" Sunghoon asks casually, flipping through a glass of water like it's wine. "Or is she the pillow princess type?"

You freeze. "What?"

"Your best friend," he says smoothly, lifting his eyes to yours with an unreadable look. "You never told me what she's into."

"I—I don't know," you stammer, heart tripping. "She doesn't talk about that stuff much."

Sunghoon hums, standing from the kitchen stool and slowly walking toward you. You shift where you're sitting on the couch, suddenly unsure of everything.

"She's cute," he adds. "Not as pretty as you. But I get it now. You didn't just want her to have good sex. You wanted her to know what it's like with me."

You flinch, looking down. "That's not—"

"You already told her, didn't you?"

Your mouth opens, then shuts.

"You did," he smirks. "Told her you'd let me fuck her. Made her all curious. She's probably been thinking about it nonstop."

He crouches in front of you now, brushing his fingers lightly up your thigh. "Are you thinking about it, baby?"

You blink, mouth dry. "I thought...you said you don't share."

"I don't," he murmurs, lips ghosting over your knee. "But you do. You offered me like a gift. So why wouldn't I enjoy it?"

Something sharp twists in your gut. You feel cold. Distant. You don't know whether you're imagining the heat in his voice or if he's really enjoying this—planning it—taunting you.

"Are you jealous?" he whispers, tilting his head. "You can say no. We don't have to do it."

But now, if you say no, you'll look insecure. Possessive. Dramatic. And you'd already told her. You'd already told her.

You manage a smile. "No...I'm fine."

Sunghoon's lips curl. "Good."

But the way his hand slides up your leg, slow and possessive, tells you something else—this was never about your friend. This was about reminding you exactly who he belongs to. And what happens when you forget.

You genuinely didn't think it would happen. You honestly thought he'd back out, maybe he was just teasing you. But now you're sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed, tense, trying not to fall apart, while your best friend stands a few feet away looking unsure and nervous, arms crossed over her chest.

Sunghoon is the only one comfortable. He sits back on the bed, legs spread, shirt off, calm like he's about to conduct a goddamn seminar. "She's shy," he muses, eyes flicking over your friend. "Not like you."

You tense. "Hoon..."

He ignores the warning in your voice.

"You're such a slut for me, baby. Always dripping. Always begging." His voice is soft. Fond, even. "She's scared to even look at me. It's weird."

You glance at your friend. She's biting her lip, unsure, flushed. This was your idea. You told her it was okay. Encouraged it. So now you can't say anything.

Sunghoon's hand reaches out, coaxing her forward, and she goes, slow and hesitant. She settles between his legs as he leans back on his hands, watching her. You want to look away, but you can't.

You shouldn't be here.

But Sunghoon insisted. "Sit there," he'd said earlier, pointing to the chair across from the bed. "I want you to watch."

It was supposed to be just sex. It was supposed to be for her. But the moment she gasps—really gasps—as he finally pushes inside her, you feel your stomach twist. She moans loud, thighs trembling around his hips, and Sunghoon just exhales through his nose, like he's savoring it.

"Shit," he mutters. "She's tight."

She nods helplessly, eyes fluttering shut, head falling back. It's too much for her, the way he moves—deep, slow, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot until her breath comes out in choked, trembling cries. You can tell she's never been fucked like this. She sounds like she's about to cry. From how good it feels.

And that's when you realize—he's not even looking at her. His eyes are on you. The entire time.

His jaw tightens slightly as she clenches around him, his pace picking up just enough to make her sob. But his eyes don't leave your face—not for a second.

And then you move. Just a little. Rising to stand. His voice cuts through the air like a blade.

"Don't you dare." You freeze.

"Sit. Back. Down." He says, punctuating every word with a thrust of his hips, shoving his cock into her sopping hole.

You sit.

His hips snap harder now, making her cry out again, and your heart is in your throat. This isn't for her. It never was. This is some form of punishment. A game.

He leans in, lips ghosting against your friend's ear as he whispers something low you can't hear. She nods weakly, breath hitching. And then he finally smiles—sharp, satisfied, dangerous—and murmurs your name without looking away.

"You wanted this, didn't you?"

Her fingers are trembling. Her moans are breathy and scattered like she doesn't know what to do with them.

Sunghoon has her knees spread wide, one hand around her thigh, the other pressing firm into her lower belly, right where she's most sensitive.

You're sitting there. Still and frozen. You don't even think you've blinked once. "You're doing so good," he murmurs—gently, like he's never spoken to anyone else that way before. "Just breathe. You're almost there."

You hate how good he sounds at it. How practiced and sweet.

Her eyes squeeze shut. Then they open—and for one second, they meet yours across the room. She looks ashamed of how good it feels.

And that's when she breaks. She cries out as her body arches, a full-body shudder making her hips jolt in his hands. She grabs at his wrist, her breath hitching.

"Oh—oh my God!—Sunghoon! Y/n!—thank you!"

It slips out, soft and breathless. Like she means it. Like you both just gave her some fucked up present. Sunghoon only hums, rubbing her through the aftershocks.

You can't breathe as you watch her pull her skirt up with shaking fingers. Avoiding your gaze completely.

You manage a smile when she glances your way. You nod, say something stupid—"Want me to walk you out?"—and she declines, says she's okay. Grabs her keys with shaky hands and hurries out the door.

The second it closes, you walk into the kitchen with no direction. Open the fridge. Close it. Open a drawer. Shut it.

Sunghoon appears behind you a moment later. "Okay. You're gonna act like that now?"

You stiffen. "Like what?"

He scoffs. "You're mad."

You turn around with an empty glass in your hand just to avoid clenching your fists instead.

"I'm not mad."

"Really? So what is this then? Hm? You being weird and quiet and pissed for no reason?"

You shove past him.

He follows. "Don't do that, baby. Don't be fucking rude to me when this was your idea. You asked me to fuck her. You asked me to make her feel good."

"What? You expected me to give her bad sex?"

"You didn't have to enjoy it," you snap, voice cracking. "You could've at least pretended like it wasn't that good."

His jaw clenches, and then—he laughs. It's not amused. It's bitter. Sharp. "Enjoy it?"

You flinch at the way he repeats it.

"You think I fucking enjoyed it?"

You fold your arms across your chest, looking away, but he steps in. Closer. You feel the heat coming off his body before you even register his hand catching yours.

He grabs your wrist—firm, not rough—and drags your hand straight to the front of his sweats, pressing it hard against the thick, unrelenting bulge beneath the fabric.

Your breath stutters.

"Does this feel like I enjoyed it?"

His voice is low. Laced with frustration. A different kind of ache.

"You think I got off?" he hisses, pushing your palm harder into the shape of him. "I didn't. Not a fucking drop. You think I gave her what I give you? I couldn't."

Your hand twitches, but he holds it there.

"I was hard the entire time. Still am," he mutters, eyes locked on yours. "My balls fucking hurt."

And it does. You can feel it—hot and heavy, straining against the fabric. His dick is pulsing under your palm, like it's begging for a release that never came.

"I wanted you the entire time," he says. "You. You had me riled up before I even touched her."

You finally yank your hand back, like it burned you. Like you don't know what to do with it anymore.

He exhales sharply. "I should've told you it was a bad idea," he mutters. "But I didn't. And now we're both fucked up over it."

The silence after his words hangs heavy, your hand retreating like it betrayed you, but the ghost of that contact still lingers between you.

You don't say anything.

You can't.

Sunghoon's eyes stay locked on yours—dark, stormy, searching—and then he tilts his head, stepping in slowly like you're a skittish thing he's trying not to spook.

"You're not gonna touch me?" His voice is low and quiet, but there's something mocking under the softness. A cruel kind of pout.

He brushes the back of his fingers along your jaw, then dips his face down, nuzzling your cheek with the bridge of his nose, his breath fanning warm over your skin.

"Hm? After all that, you're just gonna stand there?" he whispers. "You're not gonna help me?"

You turn your face away, refusing to meet his eyes, but that only makes him more relentless. He grabs your hand again, gentler this time, but still firm and guides it down slowly. Over the front of his waistband. Beneath the elastic of his sweats.

You feel the heat of him first, the slickness from how long he's been leaking, and then—him. Thick. Rock-hard. Twitching.

He groans, quiet but guttural the moment your fingers wrap around him. His hips stutter forward like he couldn't help it even if he tried. "Fuck, baby..."

He rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. "You feel what you do to me?" he breathes. "You think she got me like this?"

You're still frozen. But your hand—your traitorous, aching hand—tightens around him just slightly, and the sound he makes is sinful. Starving. "Go ahead," he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth with maddening restraint. "Take it. Do whatever you want. Hurt me, make me beg, punish me—just don't walk away."

Your hand stays wrapped around him, sticky and warm inside his sweats, but your expression sharpens—cold and unreadable now.

He said anything. So you truly act like it.

Without a word, you wrap your fingers tighter around the base of him, gripping hard enough to make his breath hitch.

Then you yank him forward by his dick. His body follows instantly, helpless to resist. He lets out a broken groan, stumbling after you like a man under spell. You march him toward the bedroom without looking back, ignoring the way his cock is tenting now—angry and leaking.

The second you're in the room, you shove him. He falls back onto the bed with a laugh—low, wrecked, way too pleased. "Fuck yeah, baby," he groans, spreading his thighs as you crawl over him, pinning him down with nothing but your stare. "You gonna fuck me on the same bed I just made your best friend cum all over?"

The words sting. Your stomach twists. You hesitate for half a second. Then your hand flies to his jaw. "Shut the fuck up."

He grins like he lives for this, almost like he's wanted this version of you all along. You straddle him fully now, grinding down, not to tease him, but to use him. His hands grip your thighs, but you slap them away.

"Don't touch me unless I tell you to," you hiss, voice trembling with anger you can't hide anymore.

"Yes, ma'am," he breathes, absolutely wrecked. "Whatever you want." But he's smiling, smirking even, like he already knows you're not really in control. Like he's just playing along.

And you don't realize it until it's too late.

Because the second you sink down onto him—tight, slow, making sure he feels every inch of how much he missed—his hands fly back to your hips. Gripping. Holding. Locking you in place.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, eyes fluttering shut like he's seeing god. You brace your palms on his chest, ready to ride him into the mattress, to take from him like he said you could but then his hips buck up hard. In one thrust, deep and mean.

You gasp, nails digging into his skin, but before you can protest, he's already doing it again—rolling his hips in slow, punishing strokes that reach everywhere.

You try to ride him like your pride depends on it, hips snapping forward, teeth clenched, trying to stay in control even as he grips your waist tighter with every thrust from below. It's filthy. Loud. Desperate. You try to slap his chest to get him to stop, but he catches your wrist mid-swing, pinning it behind you as he sits up, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

But the second you start clenching around him—tight, fluttering—he loses it.

"Fuck—fuck, baby—gonna cum—" he growls, burying his face in your chest, almost motorboating as his whole body tenses beneath you.

You feel the heat of it—his cock twitching deep inside, thick spurts filling you as he moans into your skin. His arms tremble, back arching, and for a second, you think it's over.

That you won. But before your brain can even catch up, he flips you—manhandles you—onto your stomach like your body weighs nothing. You gasp into the sheets, dazed, already overstimulated.

He doesn't even give you a second to adjust. Because he's still hard.

"Hoonie—" you pant, twisting under him.

"Did you think I was finished?" he hisses, lining himself up again, one hand braced on the bed beside your head. "You really thought one round was enough for that fucking stunt you pulled?"

He thrusts in again, harder this time.

You scream into the pillow, legs shaking as his pace turns punishing.

"You'll never offer me to anyone again," he growls, breath hot in your ear. "Not after I'm done with you. You hear me?"

You can't even answer. You're falling apart beneath him.

"Say it," he demands, slamming into you again. "Tell me whose dick this is."

"M-Mine!" you cry out, voice muffled. "It's mine, only mine—!"

"That's right," he snarls, slapping your ass before gripping your hip again, deep and brutal. "Yours. Always."

════════════════════════════

• a/n: where did this even come from?😭 this is kind of like a glimpse of what goes on in my head cause i love toxic relationship drama🤧

[matt0044]

And frankly... I feel we need to give it a better look over.

Story time: I vividly remember when

Netflix’s 13 Reasons Why was bandied about Tumblr and YouTube as this most offensive thing for it’s portrayal of suicide. I was aware of how this wasn’t the sort of subject to take lightly lest I be eating my foot for a full course meal. As such, I took the outrage’s word for it and steered clear.

I did start to get curious with a lot of specific scenes from Season 1 being passed around for the afformentioned dunking. Such as Hannah calling Clay a nerd for referencing Star Wars only for said post to show how much The Force Awakens grossed.

Said curiosity grew when I saw many video essays tackling 13 Reasons Why. Most were negative but what I footage saw didn’t seem bad. Some of it was pretty… nice actually. But still, this was the show that gave suicide and poor mental health a bad name with how the female lead took her own life seemingly out of revenge.

So… I stayed away. That is, until I saw a billboard for Season 2 in NYC. Now this got me seeing that this show had a legit audience. Not just hatewatchers but those invested in the story of Hannah Baker and Clay Jensen. That’s when I decided to add it to my watch list.

At best, it would be bad but maybe a fascinating kind of bad. The kind that RiffTrax would sink their teeth into. At worst, it would be a bore and I’d turn the other way. Then I started to watch it.

Twenty Six episodes later… I loved it. I felt that it… spoke to me emotionally on how life can be so messed up. I loved how no character was totally good or bad. How even Number 12 on the tapes had his depths despite being, well, the worst really.

When Hannah reached the end of her rope, I found myself begging her to not do what I knew she’d do. When Tyler Down tried to take matters into his own hands, I wished I could be there to talk him down. It takes a very special kind of story to invoke that kind of visceral dread.

Clay Jenson was the shlubby awkward dude that I saw a lot of myself from how he blamed himself for things outside of his control and took things very personally. Yet even he wasn’t the straight-laced good guy as our supposed audience surrogate, something that grew with each season.

While some claim that it glorifies suicide, it hardly if at all made the act out to be anything but damaging. The aftermath of Hannah Baker’s suicide isn’t the perfect revenge as some critics make it out to be. Even when recording the last tape, she held out just a little more before succumbing to her inner demons.

The second season finale even affirms that there’s never a reason no matter how much you might rationalize it.

Netflix would add in disclaimers for the heavier episodes and suicide hotlines to the credits as well as having the cast give a disclaimer before the first episode. However, it’s hard to deny that they cause plenty of grief despite their best of intentions.

Hello Future Me describes it well in his video on Mental Health’s troubled history in fiction in terms of how depictions of the suicide itself such as with Hannah Baker would push certain people struggling over the edge. While the character herself is hardly black or white in terms of morality, crossing the streams like this still made for what I like to categorize as “good story, poor takeaway.”

Now I could understand that the characters weren’t exactly totally good or bad so much as people trying to get through harrowing times in the lives. This isn’t always applicable to those struggling with dark thoughts or suicidal tendencies.

For some, the show can give them a vibe of, “This show gets me,” in the sense of emotional catharsis. For other, the show can give them a vibe of, “This show gets me,” in that the surface level depressing tone validates their negative mindset or makes it worse.

If I had stayed away, I would’ve nodded to the consensus and agree that it was trash. Yet… I gave it a chance and now can’t hate it now that I’ve looked passed the YouTube hate crowds (the ones that don’t give a fig about mental health outside of clout and profit from clicks, that is).

It’s just… the show stuck with me with each episode feeling real to me. The actors, the script, the visual direction. It just... all clicked for me.

And it's a darn shame that too many aren't willing to give it the time of day. Not talking about those who'd find it hard to stomach, by all means they do them. It's just... it feels like we're giving poor critical thinking a pass for this one.

i like that 13 reasons why's cultural impact is how poorly it handled suicide and sexual assault as well as inventing a new way for people to say they're going to kill themselves

[sinner-as-saint]

john walker x reader

I’ve been thinking thoughts about john walker again… what is happening to me

Themes: smut, switch!john walker, explicit language, praise kink, 

a/n: also i love this stupid scene below sm omg-

I have a feeling he would be down for anything. He wouldn’t mind leading, taking control, or being the dominant one in the bedroom:

“Come here, baby.” He’d called out, manspreading on the couch, patting his thigh for you to come get comfortable on. “Come give me a kiss.” 

And how could you resist that face? That voice? That sleepy, tired look in his pretty eyes. The messy blond hair, the rough beard to match. So you’d go over to him, get on his lap like his good girl. And he’d tell you how pretty you are. 

“Such a pretty girl for me…” he’d whisper into your ear, his beard brushing against your skin, while he slides another finger inside you. “All mine, huh? This is all mine.” He’d get you to moan louder and louder with his gentle, deliberate, slow strokes. “My angel… all mine.” 

John would also be the type of man to just take whatever he wants. He’d be demanding for sure, always seeking you out. Always touching you. Always reminding you how much you mean to him. Always reaching for you, always needing your warmth whether it’s late at night or early in the morning. 

Sleeping next to him would be such bliss because he’d just be so handsy. You’d wake up with his hand down your shorts, or up your shirt, grabbing you and cupping you possessively. Reminding you even in his sleep that you were his. Or you’d wake up feeling soft kisses all over your neck. 

“I want you so bad, kitten. Spread those legs for me.” 

Or he’d straight up refuse to let go of you once he starts. “Just one more, baby.” He’d gasp into your ear, pounding into you even after you were done coming for him. Multiple times. 

“I need some more, angel, give it to me…” 

But I guess, he also wouldn’t mind you taking control, and you telling him what to do:

Maybe he’d be extra sensitive after returning from a mission. He’d be tired, and quiet, and soooo needy because he’d missed your touch for days. He doesn’t even know how he survived not touching you. And now, he was starving and couldn’t even ask for what he wanted. He’d just sulk and give you puppy eyes until you figured it out. 

“Is this what you want, huh?” You’d grab his hand and shove it in between your legs. You’d catch the surprised yet vulnerable look in his blue eyes. He’d be needy. Moments away from begging. “You need it? Hmm?” 

“Yes…” He’d whisper, quietly, like he didn’t want himself to hear it. 

“Yeah?” You’d lean in to whisper in his ear. “What do you need, huh? To fuck me? You want to fill me up? Mark me as yours?” 

“Fuck,” He’d swear, his voice shaky. “Please, please just let me touch you.” His voice cracking in desperation. 

You’d mess with him then. A game of push and pull, giving him what he wanted but not entirely. Maybe you’d tease him for as long as you could until he was limp in bed, mumbling nonsense, his eyes shut and his breathing heavy… 

“Please, please, please,” He’d chant. “Baby…” 

“What?” You’d taunt. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

Or maybe John would be the type to follow instructions with no problem:

You’d find him while he’s with the others, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “You got ten minutes, Walker?” 

And he’d know. He’d just know… he’d know that for those ten torturous minutes in the walk-in utility closet, he’d be nothing but a gasping, whimpering, pleading mess. With his cock in your mouth, your tongue teasing him, and his hands obediently behind his back, wrists trapped between him and the wall behind him. His blond hair a mess with how roughly you ran your fingers through it earlier, kissing him until he was breathless. 

And he’d stand there and take it too. Playing by your rules, coming only when and if you’d let him. He’d moan so pretty for you. His voice strained and quiet, breathy moans that drove you insane. 

He’d react so well to praises too. 

Smiling to himself each time he’d make you come.

“You okay, baby? Can I make you come again?” 

Or feeling all happy and proud each time he’d fuck you to sleep. 

But mostly, your praises would make him weak during sex

“Yes,” You’d gasp, squirming under him as he fucks you nice and deep. “You feel so good, my handsome man…” 

“Baby,” He’d plead, tensing up at the praise and looking down at you with a pleading look in his eyes. “Please, I can’t hold it much–,” 

“Yes you can,” You’d argue, caressing his face. “Just a little longer, and then you can come, I promise, okay?” 

He’d groan and go back to fucking you, riding that edge for as long as he can before making a mess all over you. His cum all over your thighs and abdomen. “Fuck, baby…” He’d whisper, shoving his face into your neck, his body clinging to yours, “I’m sorry I made a mess.” 

He'd probably kiss his way down your body again, seeking your taste, wanting his mouth in between your legs, wanting to make you come again, not even bothering about the mess he just made.

"I want more, baby... just some more, please."

—

a/n: help me. I did not choose to come to this town– this is [looks around] this is not even my town i’m just visiting i promise [sobs] call bucky and tell him to pick me up pls

[vamptizm]

SNOOZE — p. bueckers vii.

pairing: paige bueckers x soraya mensima (oc)

synopsis: rookie paige bueckers enters the league with confidence, charm, and a bad habit of gravitating toward things she shouldn’t want— like soraya mensima, the wings’ respected star and reluctant heartbreaker. soraya’s been here longer, knows better, and refuses to let lines blur... even as paige keeps rewriting them with every smile.

warnings: some angst. manipulation. talks of mental health. flashbacks + uncomfortable age gap (freshly 18 and almost 21).

word count: 5500

masterlist

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

The game hadn’t gone well for Dallas.

Not in the slightest.

A fifteen point loss hung in the air like thick humidity—suffocating, sticky, inescapable. But it wasn’t the score that weighed heaviest on Soraya. It was Leah’s gaze. The way it lingered far too long. The way it burned, intentional, familiar, unwelcome.

It was also the memory of Paige’s voice, sharp and scathing, still echoing in her skull.

Those words had cracked something open in her, something ugly and vulnerable and angry. Soraya hadn’t said a word since. She hadn’t needed to. Her silence spoke louder than anything else.

Unfortunately, the universe had one more cruel twist lined up. The post game press conference.

Coach. Paige. Soraya.

Paige could practically hear the PR team’s logic—put the golden rookie and the cold ver together with the coach, make it look like unity. But it didn’t feel like unity.

It felt like being dragged onto a stage and made to perform a lie.

The room buzzed with fluorescent lighting and the dull rhythm of shuffling notepads, mic checks, and tired journalists filing in. Soraya took her seat on the far end of the table, away from Paige, next to Coach. Her shoulders were tense, her jaw set. She picked at the edge of her nail for a moment, then stopped, folded her hands in her lap. Unfolded them again. Cracked her knuckles once under the table. Rubbed the back of her neck.

Paige sat stiffly in her seat, barely breathing, eyes occasionally darting toward her teammate. She still hadn’t figured out how to say sorry.

The press conference began with the usual. The coach opening remarks, some softballs tossed at Paige about the ‘rookie experience,’ her first official WNBA game, what she learned, how the adjustment was going.

Paige answered smoothly, albeit more curtly than usual. Her mind wasn’t in it.

Then the questions shifted. Turned.

“Soraya, tonight wasn’t quite what we’ve come to expect from you. A bit of an off game. Can you talk us through what might’ve been going on out there?”

There was a pause. A long one.

Soraya’s eyes flicked up from the table where her eyes burned through the box score sheet. She gave the reporter a neutral look before exhaling lightly through her nose. She scratched lightly at her cheekbone, then dragged her fingers to the space between her brows as she leaned into the mic.

“It’s not a game I’m proud of,” she said flatly. “That much I can admit. I wasn’t in my best mind, unfortunately, and I cost us the game.”

Her hand dropped from her face, and she straightened her posture ever so slightly.

“But it’s everyone’s first game. I’m still trying to perfectly click with this team. That takes time. I’m sorry to all the fans that felt disappointed by our loss tonight.”

It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t emotional.

It was quietly resigned, measured and controlled. The kind of answer you give when you’ve spent the entire night trying to keep yourself from unraveling. Beating yourself up.

Paige stared in silence.

It was the most she’d heard Soraya speak at once while sober, and it felt completely wrong. Not because of the words themselves, but the way they sounded. Flat, hollow, like someone speaking from inside a locked room.

Paige’s chest ached. She rubbed the inside of her thumb anxiously under the table. Her foot bounced. The apology burned on the tip of her tongue.

Soraya didn’t look her way once.

The press conference dragged for a few more minutes—another question about coaching decisions, something about the rotation, a stat pulled out and dissected. But Soraya had checked out. She responded when prompted, politely but distantly, her gaze often slipping toward the floor or the wall clock behind the media scrum.

When it finally ended, she stood a second too slowly. Her movements were delayed, sluggish, like she was underwater.

Paige rose too, but didn’t follow right away. She watched Soraya disappear behind the curtain with a hollow ache in her gut.

She’d made it worse.

And she didn’t know how to fix it.

In the locker room, she moved through the motions like a ghost. Peeling off her jersey, slipping into her change of clothes, carefully avoiding both eye contact and confrontation. The rest of the team gave her space. Even Dijonai, who had every reason to pry, didn’t push. Just sent her a soft look, one of understanding and maybe, quiet worry.

But Paige…

Paige couldn’t stop glancing over. Not reaching out, not apologizing—because what would she even say? But she wanted to. She hated how her own guilt settled in her chest, heavy and acidic. She hadn’t meant it. Not like that. But she’d said it anyway, and now Soraya wouldn’t even look in her direction.

Not that she had done so before.

The private parking lot behind the College Park Center was near empty by the time Soraya stepped into it, the fading buzz of post game clean up echoing faintly in the distance. Most players had already cleared out, but Soraya had taken her time—showered last, dressed slow. She hadn’t been in a rush to get back out into the world.

A plain black tank top clung to her torso, and a pair of grey sports shorts hung low on her hips. Comfortable and breathable. Something she could drive in without feeling like she was suffocating.

She pressed the unlock button on her keys, the soft beep of her car echoing in the stillness. But before she could reach for the door handle, a voice curled around her like smoke.

“Well, shit. Still lookin’ good, Mensima.”

Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. That voice—smooth, smug, too casual to be anything but calculated—was one she knew far too well. It hadn’t changed a bit.

Soraya turned slowly, every movement sharp edged and reluctant. And there she was.

Leah Katz.

Blonde hair slicked into a ponytail, her Lynx shorts still on, water bottle swinging lazily from her fingers. She looked fresh faced, post game glow intact, as if she hadn’t just handed Soraya a humiliating on-court loss.

That damn smirk tugged at her lips. The same one she used to wear when she won arguments she started on purpose. When she knew she was getting under Soraya’s skin.

Leah’s blue eyes dropped in a slow, deliberate drag, scanning Soraya head to toe. “Didn’t think I’d get this lucky,” she added, spreading her arms wide, like it was some kind of performance. “Come here. Don’t tell me you’re gonna act brand new on me.”

Soraya didn’t move.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just looked at her. Blank. Cold. And yet, she could feel the heat rising beneath her skin—the phantom sensation of a hand gripping her wrist too tight, a voice whispering too close. Her spine straightened instinctively.

“Nah” she said flatly. “Back the fuck up.”

Leah tsked under her breath, dropping her arms in mock disappointment. “Oof. That cold shoulder’s still sharp, huh?” Her head tilted, feigning concern. “Come on, you don’t miss me just a little?”

Soraya exhaled slowly through her nose. “I don’t have the energy to play with you right now, Leah.”

“But you used to love playing with me.” That smirk curled again, sharper this time. Meaner. “Can’t say I didn’t teach you a lot of things, right?”

There it was.

The dig. The real reason Leah had walked over. Not curiosity, not concern, but control.

Soraya’s fingers flexed at her sides. She didn’t want to give Leah a reaction, but her jaw clenched on instinct. “You’re not gonna get whatever high you’re looking for out of me. So turn the fuck around and walk to your car, Yeah?”

For a second, Leah’s smirk faltered—just a flicker. Like she didn’t expect Soraya to push back without the old waver in her voice.

But she recovered quickly, stepping back with a half laugh. “Damn. When did you get so spicy? Guess I’ll let you cool down, love.”

And with that, Leah turned and strolled off like she hadn’t just picked open a half healed wound. Like her words didn’t still linger in the space between them like smoke from a fire Soraya had spent years trying to smother.

She stood there for a moment after Leah was gone, chest tight, eyes fixed on the ground. Her reflection blinked faintly in the dark window of her car. She didn’t recognize the expression on her own face. Anger? Shame? Something in between.

She opened the door and sat down in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring her. A sharp breath filled her lungs, then shuddered out. Her fingers trembled, and she pressed her thumb into the heel of her palm to stop it.

From across the lot, Paige had seen the whole thing.

She hadn’t meant to stare this long—she’d been walking towards her own car, phone in hand, half drafting a text to Soraya she knew she wouldn’t send.

But the second she’d seen Leah approach, her feet had stopped moving.

She couldn’t hear a word they were saying, but she could see enough. The way Leah leaned in with that cocky, self satisfied energy and open arms. The way Soraya didn’t move an inch. The way she held herself like a storm cloud trying not to break open.

Paige didn’t realize her jaw was clenched until it started to hurt. Her grip on her phone tightened. Her stomach twisted with the same slow realization that had haunted her since tip-off.

Something was wrong.

And appreciate, she’d missed the start of it. She didn’t know what Leah Katz was to Soraya—or had been—but whatever it was, it was enough to rattle her.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of the TV, muted reruns of a sitcom she wasn’t watching. Paige sat on the couch, slouched low, one ankle propped on her knee, still in her team hoodie and shorts. She hadn’t even bothered to shower yet.

Her game shoes sat in the middle of the living room floor, untied and forgotten. A bottle of Gatorade sweated on the coffee table. Her phone lay face down beside it, buzzing occasionally, mostly from texts she didn’t care to answer.

Her mind was elsewhere. With her.

Soraya.

Paige dragged her hands down her face, leaned forward, elbows on her knees. She’d watched the game film already—twice. Thought maybe there was something she missed, some technical answer to explain it all. But the problem wasn’t on the tape. Not really.

It was in the look on Soraya’s face and in her eyes.

The way she played like her body was present, but her mind had already left the arena. The way she’d barely reacted to mistakes, didn’t argue with refs, didn’t call the team over for huddles.

The way she hadn’t even looked at anyone once in the locker room. Not even accidentally.

It was more than just a bad night.

And then there was the parking lot.

Leah Katz. Paige didn’t need to know her to know her. The type was familiar. Girls who walked like the world owed them something. Girls who smiled like they were doing you a favor. Girls who got off on power and proximity.

She’d never seen Soraya look like that before in the last month she knew her. Not even when Paige was giving her the cold shoulder. Not even during that halftime fight.

Her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest, dragging her thoughts back to the tunnel. Back to the words she’d spit without thinking.

Paige buried her face in her hands.

She hadn’t meant it. Not really. It had just come out, born from a mess of jealousy, confusion, and the ugly twist of watching Soraya give someone else her attention—even if that attention had been full of dread.

And now?

Now Soraya was surely shutting her out completely.

Paige leaned back against the couch, head resting on the cushion, eyes staring up at the ceiling like maybe the answers were hiding up there.

Who was Leah to her? What happened between them? Why was it still haunting her now? And why did it bother Paige so much?

Was it just concern for a teammate? Guilt for snapping? Or was it something deeper—something she wasn’t ready to name yet?

She sighed sharply and grabbed her phone, finally flipping it over. One unread message from her mom, two from azzi, DMs she ignored. Nothing from Soraya.

Not that she was expecting anything.

She opened a blank text anyway. Her thumbs hovered.

’you okay? i miss you’

She stared at it for a full minute. Then deleted it.

Rewrote.

’i didn’t mean what i said earlier’

Deleted again.

She locked the phone and tossed it back onto the table, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eye.

She hated this. The silence. The not knowing. The feeling that she’d lost something before she ever fully had it.

The city had long gone quiet, but Soraya remained awake, anchored in the sleepless hours that made the world feel hollow and suspended. She sat alone on her apartment’s small balcony, one knee pulled up toward her chest, the other leg stretched out and bare in a pair of old cotton shorts. A thin tank top clung to her skin, sticky from the humid Dallas air. The tip of her cigarette glowed orange every few seconds, breaking the darkness.

She hated smoking. Hated the way it clung to her fingertips, the way it filled her lungs with heat instead of peace—but sometimes it was the only thing that could make the noise inside her head dull to a low murmur.

Her eyes traced the sky, stars barely visible beyond the city haze. Everything felt far away. Unreachable.

Behind her, the faint sound of Jiggy’s toy as the cat swatted it from one corner of the apartment to another, disinterested in the swirling nicotine clouds that curled from Soraya’s lips and disappeared into the air like ghosts.

She exhaled again, slowly. Her shoulders finally relaxed, just slightly, her body slouching deeper into the chair. The night buzzed faintly with crickets, distant cars, the occasional gust of wind. But her mind—her mind didn’t rest.

Not when the memory came creeping in again, like it always did when the world slowed down.

Stanford—august 2nd, 2018

She was 18. Nervous. Eager. Dressed in too new team gear, her lanyard with her dorm key hanging around her neck like a badge of both honor and displacement.

Stanford’s gym was colder than she expected, full of fluorescent lights and echoing sneakers. The sound of bouncing basketballs and laughter had made her pause when she first stepped in.

Then there was her.

Leah stood at the top of the key, all confidence and sweat slick blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight it seemed to hold her whole face together. She didn’t smile when she passed, she smirked. Effortless. Charming.

“Oi, fresh meat,” Leah had called, cocking her head, accent thick. “You gonna stand there looking scared all year or you gonna lace up and show me what you’ve got?”

A few girls laughed. Soraya’s face flushed hot. But Leah’s eyes, sharp and glinting like a dare, held no cruelty. Just a challenge.

She stepped onto the court that day with her heart in her throat and her pride clenched in her teeth. She played hard. Maybe too hard. Slipped up once. Then again. But she got back up every time.

And Leah noticed.

“Not bad, Mensima,” she’d said after practice, nudging Soraya’s arm with her elbow. “You’ve got hustle. I like that.”

That night, Soraya returned to her dorm sore and sorely lit up. That she had noticed. That Leah Katz, the team's captain, the one the coaches trusted like gospel, had praised her and singled her out.

The next few weeks blurred.

Leah started sitting beside her in team meetings. Practicing with her after hours. ‘Helping,’ as she called it. Correcting her footwork. Holding her waist a second too long while guiding her pivot. Encouraging her in front of everyone—“That’s my girl, she’s getting it now”—until Soraya could feel the blush creep all the way down her neck.

Off the court, it was lunches, occasional late night texts—‘Can’t sleep. You up?’—coffees snuck in between workouts.

Leah was charming in the way fire is warm before it burns.

And Soraya, young, alone and eager to belong, drank it all in. Every compliment. Every brush of fingertips across her wrist. Every time Leah called her ‘my new star player’ with a wink and a smirk that made her knees a little weak.

No one had ever seen her the way Leah did. Or maybe no one had ever pretended to.

Stanford—august 28th, 2018

It was late.

The gym had cleared out an hour ago, the court lights dimmed to a softer glow that flickered slightly overhead. Soraya sat on the hardwood floor, legs stretched out in front of her, sweat cooling sticky against her spine. Her muscles ached from extra reps. Leah had insisted they stay behind after team drills to ‘tighten up Soraya’s shooting form.’

Leah sat beside her, legs crossed, sipping from her water bottle. Even in exhaustion, she looked poised, like she belonged here in a way Soraya still wasn’t sure she ever would.

“You’ve been pushing yourself hard,” Leah said after a moment, glancing at her. “You always do.”

Soraya looked over, trying not to seem too eager for the praise. “I just don’t wanna fuck it up. First year, you know? Can’t afford to be sloppy.”

“You’re not,” Leah said, and her tone softened, not patronizing, not cold. Almost intimate. “You’re hungry. That’s what makes you different.”

The words warmed Soraya’s chest, like a sip of something strong. Leah had a way of speaking that made you believe it.

“Still,” Leah continued, turning her body slightly to face her, “you’re too quiet. You play like you’re waiting for permission. You don’t need it. You just need to take up space.”

Soraya blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in Leah’s gaze.

“What do you mean?”

Leah reached out. Her hand brushed Soraya’s knee, light, but purposeful. Not casual. Not meaningless.

“I mean you don’t have to play small to be respected. You’ve got the game. Now own it. Own them.”

Soraya didn’t speak for a moment. Her throat felt tight, unsure. She’d grown up working for everything, and being invisible was a defense mechanism. But Leah… Leah made it seem like there was power in stepping forward instead of hiding.

“I’m trying,” she said quietly.

Leah’s hand stayed. Her thumb moved slightly, brushing over the inside of Soraya’s leg. Her voice dropped.

“You’re more than good, Soraya. I see it. You just don’t see it yet.”

It should’ve been uplifting. Maybe it was. But something in the moment—the quiet, the way Leah’s eyes lingered a little too long, the way her fingers didn’t quite move away—made Soraya shift slightly, uncomfortable but unsure why. She didn’t pull her leg away. Not yet.

Leah leaned in a little closer. “You trust me, yeah?”

The words were low. Loaded.

Soraya nodded.

“Good,” Leah said, smiling. That infuriating, self assured smile. “Because I can make you the best player on this team. You just have to listen to me. Follow me.”

And Soraya, too young and too flattered, whispered, “Okay.”

Leah stood first, offering her hand. Pulled Soraya to her feet like she always did. Strong, steady, sure. Her grip lingered longer than it needed to, her fingers brushing Soraya’s palm.

“You’re gonna thank me for this one day,” she said. “I promise.”

Stanford— september 21st, 2018

The night was cold enough to warrant jackets, but not cold enough to keep them indoors. The air smelled like eucalyptus and freshly cut grass—campus maintenance had trimmed the lawns late again, the scent still lingering in the quiet.

Soraya pulled her hoodie tighter as she walked alongside Leah, hands buried in her sleeves. They had just finished a film study session at Leah’s campus apartment—though very little film had actually been studied. Leah had made dinner instead. Pasta, wine neither of them were really allowed to have, a playlist humming low in the background.

Now they were here, taking a long way back to the freshman dorms.

“I don’t usually do that,” Leah said, breaking the silence as her boot crushed a fallen leaf. “Cook for people. Stay up for hours watching shitty old basketball clips.”

Soraya smiled, eyes on the pavement. “You made my favorite food and played Diana Taurasi highlights. It could be worse.”

Leah chuckled. “You didn’t complain once.”

“I’m just polite.”

“No,” Leah said, stopping abruptly. Soraya stopped too, startled by the sudden stillness. “You’re sweet. There’s a difference.”

Their eyes met in the low amber of a campus lamp. Leah’s gaze didn’t waver.

“You’ve got something the rest of them don’t. That… spark. You’re smart. Quick. Too fucking humble for your own good.”

Soraya flushed. “You always say shit like that,” she chuckled lightly.

“Because it’s true.”

A quiet moment passed. One of those dangerously still ones. Then Leah reached up, tucked a curl behind Soraya’s ear. Her knuckles grazed her cheek.

“You ever had someone tell you that you’re too special to let waste?” she asked.

Soraya blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed.

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.” Leah’s voice dipped lower. “You could be great. Not just good. Great. And if no one else has the nerve to tell you that… I will.”

The warmth in Soraya’s chest expanded. It filled her ribs, curled up in her throat. She felt dizzy with it.

Leah stepped in, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

“I like seeing you like this,” she said. “Outside the court. Softer. You’re cute when you’re shy.”

Soraya let out a nervous breath, looking away. “Do all british people flirt so much?.”

“I’m not flirting.” Leah’s hand found her wrist, thumb grazing skin. “I’m stating facts.”

The tension was thick enough to taste, crackling under the surface like electricity. Leah leaned in a little, but not enough. Always toeing the line. Always letting Soraya be the one to close the gap if she wanted to.

“You ever kissed someone on campus before?” Leah asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

Soraya’s heart thudded. “No.”

“You want to?”

It was a question, but not really. It was permission wrapped in suggestion.

And Soraya, too eager, too smitten, nodded before she could stop herself.

Leah’s hand rose slowly, curling gently around Soraya’s jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip like she was memorizing it. The kiss, when it came, was light at first. Careful. But beneath it was something deeper—coiled, possessive. The kind of kiss that left no room for doubt about who made the first move.

When they pulled apart, Soraya could barely look at her.

“You okay?” Leah murmured, tucking more hair behind her ear.

“Yeah. Just a little surprised.”

Leah smiled again—slow, satisfied. “Don’t be. You’re mine now, rookie.”

And just like that, Soraya felt the world tilt beneath her feet.

Dallas, may 17th, 2025, 2:34AM

Soraya blinked, her cigarette now nothing but ash between her fingers. She flicked it over the balcony edge and watched the embers fall like a dying star. The ghost of that first smirk still haunted her mind.

Back then, she had been full of promise. She had arrived in California with her chest full of dreams and nothing to anchor her except the hope that she could make something of herself. That basketball would be her way out of the mess she'd grown up in.

And Leah Katz had seen all of that. Had leaned in, whispered praise and held her steady just long enough to make her trust her.

And then slowly… pulled the rug.

Soraya rubbed her hands down her face, exhaling harshly. Her skin was clammy, her thoughts sticky and raw. No matter how far she went, Leah was never far behind. In memory. In nightmares. In fucking parking lots.

The warmth of Dallas couldn’t reach the cold in her gut.

Inside, Jiggy meowed softly, nudging the door with her head as if to say, ’Come back. You’re safe.’

But Soraya didn’t move yet. Her eyes were still on the stars, still trying to figure out when exactly they’d lost their shine.

The apartment was still. Still in that early morning kind of way that made time feel suspended—just after 9AM, sunlight leaking through the slats of the blinds and painting faint lines across the countertop. The hum of the fridge was the only real noise, save for the occasional soft tap of Jiggy’s paws as she roamed in and out of view.

Soraya sat on the kitchen counter, bare legs pulled up, knees tucked close to her chest. A half melted homemade iced coffee sat beside her—its contents diluted, sweating against the glass from having been poured long before she actually started drinking it.

Her laptop was open, screen brightness dimmed, the soft glow illuminating her tired features.

The search bar was cluttered with different variations of the same need.

> ‘therapists in my area’

> ‘queer friendly therapists dallas’

> ‘trauma psychologists near me’

> ‘female therapists in texas’

There was a tab open to a therapist’s website—simple, clean, promising. A photo of a smiling woman, arms crossed, her bio littered with keywords like ‘inclusive,’ ‘survivor-centered,’ and ‘culturally competent.’

And still, Soraya didn’t click anything.

She just sat there. Staring. Clicking back. Clicking forward. Reading reviews, bios, fees, office hours. Clicking out again.

Her jaw was tight. The fingers on her right hand were slowly scratching at the inside of her left wrist, a nervous habit she hadn’t even realized had come back. Her eyes were blinking aggressively—a tick that only came when stressed out.

She wasn’t even sure what she wanted.

No, that wasn’t true. She wanted help.

She just wasn’t sure she could stomach needing it.

Admitting that something inside her still wasn’t healed—even after all this time, all this effort—felt like betrayal. Like defeat. Especially for someone who had spent years mastering the art of pretending she was fine. Even her silence had always been curated. Sharp, sarcastic, composed.

But that mask had started to crack, and she could feel it, especially now.

The run-in still hadn’t left her chest. Her skin still crawled thinking about that cocky little smirk, the way Leah’s eyes roamed her body like nothing had ever happened. Like she could still undress her with them.

Soraya’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. The lump hadn’t moved.

That night had followed her home. Had trailed her into her dreams, into the moments she couldn’t sleep, into the memories she tried not to let breathe.

A flash of Dr. Friedrich came to her then—neutral toned scarves, rectangular glasses, a calm voice that never demanded too much, never looked at her like she was broken or too complicated to fix.

Geneva felt like a lifetime ago. She’d been sixteen, maybe seventeen, when she started. The sessions had been consistent, supported by Switzerland’s universal healthcare system, and gentle. Dr. Friedrich had been the first adult to teach her that shame didn’t have to be carried a lifetime. That the things she had survived didn’t define her, but they did deserve space. Acknowledgement.

That lasted a year. One solid, healing year before she had to leave. Scholarship secured, future mapped, Stanford waiting.

And then she stopped.

No time. No money. No system that made it easy. And maybe, in the back of her mind, no courage left to open all those doors again.

Soraya’s fingers hovered over the trackpad. The cursor blinked in the ‘Contact Me’ section of a therapist's page. There was an intake form waiting to be filled. Nothing demanding—just name, pronouns, insurance, what brought her here.

What brought her here?

She breathed out through her nose, then shut the laptop.

Not now.

Maybe later.

Soraya had slipped her phone into her tote and was rounding the corner of the produce section, one hand on her cart, the other pulling unconsciously at her earlobe.

The day off had been spent ticking off errands like a list she was trying to rush through before her thoughts caught up with her. Grocery shopping was her last stop. A ritual, something steady. Something quiet.

Her cart rolled easily across the polished floors. High quality coffee beans, Greek yogurt, lemon scented soap, a bundle of mint, a fresh loaf of sourdough bread—and then with a soft clink, the metal jolted against another.

She blinked. Looked up. And immediately wished she hadn’t.

Of course it would be her.

There was a beat of stunned silence. Just the sound of the humming refrigerators behind them, a faint song playing overhead, and their carts now awkwardly pressed together.

Paige looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Hair in a low bun, hoodie unzipped over a tank top, shorts and slides. There was a pack of eggs and a bunch of slim jims in her cart. Her gaze flickered to Soraya’s, then held it, steady and unreadable.

“Sorry,” Paige said finally, her voice low and raspy. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Soraya didn’t answer right away. Her hand curled tighter around the cart handle, knuckles briefly whitening.

“It’s fine,” she said, flatly. She didn’t move.

Neither did Paige.

The tension between them was thick and taut, like a wire pulled too tight. This was the closest they’d been with no other teammates, no noise to distract and no press to fake smiles for, since their last proper conversation. Just them. A shared silence laced with everything unspoken and unresolved.

Paige looked like she might say something else. But before either of them could retreat, footsteps approached from behind.

“Oh my god, wait—are you two…?”

Two girls, maybe college aged, stood there wide eyed, excitement radiating off them. One of them already had her phone half out.

Soraya felt herself growing a little uncomfortable. Paige’s posture shifted just slightly—shoulders squared, chin lifted, that PR smile sliding into place like muscle memory.

“Oh my god, can we get a picture? You guys are so insane on the court. Like, we were literally at the game yesterday.”

Soraya forced a polite smile. “Thank you so much.”

The pictures were taken. Paige angled herself just a little closer to Soraya—too close—and Soraya held still, her body still as stone, barely mustering a smile for the second shot. The girls squealed a ‘thank you’ and hurried off, leaving the air heavier than before.

Soraya stepped back, instinctively pulling her cart with her.

“Look,” Paige said, quietly now, less practiced, “I wasn’t expecting to—”

“I know.”

That shut her up. Soraya wasn’t looking at her anymore, but she could feel Paige watching her.

Another silence that stretched out like a bruise.

“…Do you at least know what you’re here to get?” Soraya asked, not bothering to hide the fatigue in her voice.

Paige blinked. “I mean, I was just gonna… figure it out.”

Of course she was.

Soraya’s eyes skimmed her half empty cart, unimpressed.

“You’re missing the basics,” she muttered. “No oil. No greens. No protein unless you’re planning on living off eggs and dried beef.”

Paige breathed a halfhearted laugh, “Yeah, well. I haven’t done this in a while.”

Soraya hesitated. Then, with a quiet exhale that sounded a lot like resignation, she turned her cart, muttering under her breath. “Follow me.”

They moved slowly, aisle by aisle, a strange echo of what could’ve been normal. Soraya didn’t make small talk. She didn’t tease or soften or pretend. She just pointed. To veggies, to bread, to berries, to pasta—and Paige followed, putting the items into her cart without saying much at all.

Still, there was something in the way Paige watched her when she thought Soraya wasn’t looking. Something almost reverent. Regretful.

In the granola aisle, Paige spoke again. “You always this bossy?”

Soraya stopped, eyes dragging toward her.

She tilted her head slightly, suppressing a small grin. “You always this helpless?”

That shut them both up again.

It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t easy. But somehow, they finished the trip.

At the self checkout, their carts separated. Different lines. No words. But right before they walked out, a low voice broke the stillness again.

“Thanks,” Paige said, not looking at her now. Her voice was tight. A little raw.

Soraya didn’t respond. She simply nodded, barely. Then turned, walking out of the store, leaving the scent of citrus and cool air behind her.

And Paige?

Paige watched her go, a strange ache blooming somewhere in her chest. Unspoken. Unnamed.

But not unnoticed.

extended taglist 🐆 — @thelightknight21 @private-but-not-a-secret @angryflowerwitch @jieysiee @angelliicc @paigebaby5 @ttytttt-gndgnvbm @syraxbigfanfr @forward1212 @niya500 @wosolipa @enchantingesme @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @ksimsplayer @hggbiijj @pupbistro

[angelsafa]

My void success story

Hello everyone,

I fckn entered the void yesterday what the hell!! Tbh I've always had the feeling that I would somehow make it, because I belive in myself and because I control my reality (and you do too). Anyways, I am literally shaking while typing this because, even tho I knew I was gonna make it, I didn't expect it to happen so soon, in my third attempt. So here's the thing:

In saturday 7th of june one of my favourite f1 drivers came to do a roadshow. Basically show his car in this new track and stuff. Anyways, I was so so excited and kept affirming it was going to be a great day and stuff, which honestly was, but there was a little problem. When he got closer to the railing and next to the fans I had the amazing luck of being in the front row and being able to see him closely. And here's the thing. I kinda still doubted myself and didn't expect myself to be so close to him that day, so I haven't brought anything that he could sign on for me, and the phone was with my sister which was far away, so not even a photo !! So I had to conform with simply watch him closely while everyone got their things signed and photos and stuff. When he walked away and stuff, I felt so so dissapointed and sad, so I got to one of the bathrooms and started crying. Like raw crying. You guys cannot realize how much I cried that afternoon. And I kept blaming my strict parents for not letting me borrow the phone that day. When we got home my sister and me I honestly could not stare into my parents and not cry or get angry, so I went to sleep early that day. I cried. A lot. And then fall asleep. The next day while I was having breakfast I've decided that I was done with blaming everyone and being sad and angry. And I said to myself "Well, Safa, you know LOA, you know shifting, you know revising and you know the void. You can simply wake up with a new phone with a picture of you and him there, and a shirt signed literally on your wall. You have been procrastinating manifesting your dream life, so it's time for taking action again." And well, the rest is history. I decided that I would be entering the void that night and change some things of my life, like my strict parents or the small house I used to live in, or some appearence changes (which tbh with you guys I was already too pretty so I didn't care a lot about it but still) or more money. So I did it. The night came so I did the most basic method, kinda mixed with the distraction method. I laid on my side because I honestly thing it's more comfortable than the back, I focused on my breathing and then let my toughts and even a song pass by. I didn't force anything or be desperate, I simply got sick of the shitty life I was living in and I decided. Guys this is the key. Decide.

Don't try, don't attempt, don't hope.

Decide.

Decide that you're getting into the void. Decide that you're shifting. Decide that you have that life. Because you do. You already have it. You do. You don't have to worry. Everything else? Is past. That's simply who you no longer identify with. It's old story. That doesn't matter anymore. You are no longer that person. You've decided that you have your dream life? Then the 3D has no choice but to reflect. It's a literal mirror.

Anyways, I entered the void after some minuts and holy shit, I didn't know it was that easy. People put it in the pedastal. It's so fucking easy but I was procrastinating and stuff. Anyways, today when I woke up I did with my dream life. Guys I still cannot belive it. It's overwhelming. I literally woke up with an Iphone 16 pink under my pillow, in my dream bedroom in my dream room and dream house!! But the most important thing, my fucking white shirt (the one I decided to), was hanging in my wall with the driver's sign!!! Guys I'm crying. Literally crying. It's so fucking wholesom.

Anyways I just wanted to say this is your sign to not give up because I literally did it in the third attempt.

You got this. You're a master manifesting and shifting.

Lots of love,

Safa

[ifwdominicfike]

dilf!chris has to stay quiet during an important business call while brat!reader gives him head

── .✦. ──

you had seen him pace around the living room for about 20 minutes now, giving the person on the other end of the phone short and simples responses.

as time passed he seemed to grow more and more frustrated, the rough sound in his voice while he gave orders made your thighs rub against another.

he had been on and off the phone with multiple people all day and you could only handle so much time without his attention. he had spoiled you endlessly and even a second without his hands on you, you’re growing needy.

he had run off to his office to grab “important papers” you were guessing and he was writing down whatever, you didn’t really care. gradually you scooted closer and closer to him while watching him scribble down whatever the person was saying.

you’re now snuggled into his side with your head resting on his shoulder, letting out dramatic sighs here and there. he would soothe your waist or thigh to let you know he wasn’t ignoring you but he still needed to get this work call done.

you were getting bored, so what do you do? tease him a little bit, because.. why not?

your hand “accidentally” slips past his crotch when reaching for the tv remote on the other side of his lap. he doesn’t pay attention to it, honest mistake.

until that same hand finds its way to his thigh, pretending to smooth down a wrinkle in the denim of his jeans. your touch coming way too close to be counted as innocent. he glares over at you and you give him an unfazed smile, acting like nothing’s going on.

you yourself were getting impatient, you groan while throwing your head back, getting frustrated with the growing heat between your legs — you needed him bad.

without even thinking, you slip down onto your knees in front of him. you look up at him as he looks down at you confused, you rest your cheek against his knee silently begging for him. he smiles at you while brushing away a stray hair behind your ear.

while he looks over at his watch you took the chance to start working at his belt — catching his attention quickly he quickly goes to grab both of your hands, stopping your actions.

“please..?” you whisper, a slight pout on your lips. he grumbles a small curse before letting you go, he pulls the phone away from his ear and asks, “y’better not be loud sweetheart, got it?” you roll your eyes, “shouldn’t i be saying that to you, sweetheart?” he chuckles before going back to the phone, motioning for you to go ahead.

your teeth dig into your bottom lip while you start to slip down his pants along with his boxers, your quick to take him into your mouth. he feels heavy and warm inside, your hand goes to hold the base while you go to suck on the tip.

from above you hear a shaky breath leave chris, his lips pursed together while trying to contain himself. your mouth continues to work on him, teasing him every so often leaving small kisses from the tip all the way down to his insides of his thighs.

you decide he had enough teasing and begin to fully take him into your mouth, barely fitting half of him inside. you look up at him through your lashes to see him gripping onto the couch cushion, his cheeks slightly flushed while trying to form a coherent sentence through the phone.

the sight of seeing him so wrecked over barely anything had you grinning ear to ear, you let up from him and start to jerk him off. your hand moving at a teasingly slow pace, your thoughts are interrupted by his voice.

“fuck baby- keep going, none of th-that teasing shit.”

his free hand goes to rest atop your head, insinuating to continue sucking him off. you giggle while nodding, “well then y’better keep quiet sir, really wouldn’t those employees of yours to know how much of a needy boy you are hm?” he lets out the smallest whine and his hips lift up.

“don’t fuck- don’t say shit like that, just.. just hurry up ma. please?” his glassy blue eyes glare down at yours while begging.

as soon as he’s finished your lips wrap around him once more, taking him as deep as you can now. slightly gagging as he hits that certain spot in the back of your throat, you feel him slowly rocking into your mouth — setting his own pace.

your head starts to bob up and down even faster, trying to go along with his thrusts. you feel his hand tug at your hair while pulling you further down his length, until you feel one last thrust as he paints the insides of mouth.

he sits there for a second until he lets go, watching you swallow every bit of him. you look up to see the phone hung up and long forgotten about right next to him.

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

this seems too long to be a blurb tbh, but i wrote this in one sitting!! EVERYONE CHEER FOR ME >o<

anyway this is for @mattsstarlet, she basically YELLED at me to write for my beloved dilf!chris again, i hope you enjoy!!

taglist - @http-bellaa @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @chrisbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott @cherrynflowergarden @thinkshespretty @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @chaossturns @emely9274 @sturn777 @sturns-mermaid @st7rnioioss @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @pip4444chris @amyiasturnl @tezzzzzzzz @matts-wife @lilolebambi @raysmayhem-72 @chrepsi @chriscantwhisper @oopsiedaisydeer

[enhaeil]

BAD DESIRE ! ☆ 엔하이픈

"innocent girl, don't touch, don't do it, don't wanna take your golden light..."

bad desire (with or without you) - enhypen

c/w: suggestive in heeseungs, vampire!enha x reader, idk enha lore that well so sorry, angsty

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

heeseung ✩ ₊˚

a romantic night out that eventually leads to you straddling heeseung on his couch.

you can feel it in the way he kisses you, desperate yet careful, like he's fighting himself every second.

when your hands start to find their way to his shirt, he pulls away.

"i'm sorry, did i do too much?" you say moving off of him, until he grabs your waist to stop you.

"no— no, y/n. i want this. it's just ... if i lose control... if i hurt you ... i wont be able to live with myself."

you look into his eyes, sincere, soft, yet dark and desperate. you can tell he wants this as bad as you do.

"i trust you, hee. just please touch me."

heeseung's breath hitches, before he presses a surprisingly soft kiss to your lips.

"i need you to tell me if it's too much. if you say the word, i'll stop immediately."

jay ✩ ₊˚

you and jay have been dating for months, yet he wont let you touch or see him when the lights are on.

he comes home to you sleeping in his bed, chest rising and falling softly. he smiles to himself, ridding his clothes and hopping in the shower.

thinking you're still asleep, he comes out the bathroom, bare skin glowing in the moonlight.

but you'd been awake since he shut the bathroom door.

as he sits on the bed, you sit up, lightly grazing your fingertips over his faded scars and glowy skin.

he flinches, making you pull away.

"it's ugly isn't it? you can tell me the truth."

your heart twists. how could someone so beautiful say such hurtful things about himself?

"jay .."

"i can't stand the thought of you seeing me this way, y/n."

you don't say anything. you just lean down, pressing warm kisses over every scar and insecurity he may have.

"you're beautiful to me."

jake ✩ ₊˚

your relationship with jake was perfect, until it wasn't. until he started avoiding you. missing dates. not answering texts. eyes darting away.

so tonight, you corner him.

"jake, talk to me. what changed?"

he freezes. eyes avoiding yours once again.

"i'm not human, y/n. i don't want to hurt you. you deserve someone safer."

your heart aches for him, and you step closer, closing the space between you two.

"jake, i've only ever wanted you."

he stares at you like you've just undone him completely.

"don't... don't say that unless you mean it." he whispers, voice feeling weak.

"i mean it."

suddenly his hands are cupping your face, thumbs trembling as if he'll break you.

"then i can't hold back anymore."

sunghoon ✩ ₊˚

you tried pulling away, tried telling yourself you needed distance.

but tonight you felt the familiar grip of his hand on your wrist as you try to leave the club.

"you think you can run away from me?" his eyes are dark, voice low.

"let me go. this isn't healthy—"

"i tried to let go. without you, it's hell. i can't do it." he says, grip loosening just in case you wanted to leave.

"sunghoon.."

"please. please don't tell me to walk away again. i'm going crazy."

you shouldn’t give in. but the way he’s looking at you, is unfamiliar. a look that says he’d burn the world just to keep you.

sunoo ✩ ₊˚

sunoo hasn't fed in days. you can see it in the tremble of his hands and the gloss over his eyes.

"please, sunoo. let me help you." you beg, trying to get closer to him.

sunoo can't deny how sweet you smell, and how well he can hear your heartbeat. but he can't bring himself to do it.

"no, i can't. i'll hurt you."

"i trust you."

when you tilt your head, exposing your neck to him, his resolve shatters. he pulls you close, lips ghosting over you.

"if i do this, you have to tell me when to stop. promise me."

"i promise."

jungwon ✩ ₊˚

you and jungwon have been arguing back and forth for what felt like hours. he's just been so tense lately, and keeps taking it out on you.

"why do you keep pushing me away?" you shout, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

something in him snaps, his voice rises, fangs peeking through, eyes glowing faintly.

"because i could hurt you! are you too naive to see that?"

you flinch. the room falls silent. he goes still.

in the next second he's across the room, arms around you, voice small.

"i'm so sorry, baby. i didn't mean to yell like that i— i promised i'd never hurt you and i did, i'm so sorry." he mumbles into your hair, holding you as if you were going to pack your bags and leave any moment now.

your tears wet his shirt, as he rubs your back. "i just don't want you to leave me, won."

"never," he says, pulling you impossibly closer.

niki ✩ ₊˚

you were always such a sweet, innocent girl. so imagine niki's suprise when you show up at his door begging him to turn you.

it's 4:03 AM when niki hears a knock at his door. he opens it, and there you are. standing on his porch, hair messy from sleep, breathing staggered.

"y/n? what're you doing here?" he speaks, voice low and confused.

you look up at him with shaky hands. "i need you."

he frowns, pulling you inside. "need me? baby it's four in the morning, is everything good?"

"i want you to turn me." you blurt out, louder than expected. "please, niki."

"y/n, where is this coming from?"

you step closer now, eyes burning into his. "forever isn't enough for me." you whisper. "i want more. i want all of you."

"y/n—"

"i'm sure of this niki. bite me. ruin me. i don't care, just do it."

his breath stutters, hands fidgeting at his sides. "if i do this, there's no going back, y/n."

a/n: hey yawl long time no see. i have no motivation to write anymore but this was actually sooo fun to write 😭 i need to dig into enha vampire lore more this is tea

[firingstars]

in this life | ch. 2

bucky barnes x female reader

summary: "There's only one God, doll, and He's gonna bring me back to you." "I don't need God," you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. "I just need you."

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, wall sex, clothed sex, fingering, its a quickie, reincarnation trope, language, mentions of financial instability, memories are written with italicizes, no use of y/n, angst, yearning, longing, everyone's alive no one is dead because i said so, alternating pov's

word count: 4.2k

a/n: btw i guess i have an obsession with making peter parker the reader's friend but i promise peter is happy in this fic and mj is also your best friend and ned is also mentioned as well-- you work with mj at the diner LOLLL

previous chapter | next chapter

“Sergeant B̴̜̟̬̿͐ä̸̲̯̳͛̔r̵͉̆n̷͔̯̏̿ẽ̷̥̅͂s̸̠̣̹̒͒,” you read the order, forcing a smile on your face. “107th infantry. Sounds kinda important. Like you’ll be in the front lines.”

“Something like that,” he mutters, fussing with the belt around his waist. You let out a breath, re-reading the words on the ink smudged letter once more. 

You already memorized each letter on this small piece of paper. To you, this letter signified the end of your entire world.  

“How do I look, pretty girl?” he asked, turning to face you. He takes the letter from your hands once again, tucking it away into his breast pocket where you can’t reach it. You’ve been spending every waking moment of your time ingraining the orders into your mind like it was a death sentence. To you, it is. He’s trying to make you forget about it. 

You give him a hum of approval, letting your eyes roam all over his figure. As much as you hate the reason why he’s wearing the uniform, you can’t deny that he looks incredibly handsome in it. He had gotten it tailored to fit him, so it’s perfectly fitting his body in all the right places. Maybe it’s something about seeing a man in a work uniform, in the same way that you swoon when he wears a suit for special occasions.

“Like you’re about to head into war,” you replied with a snort.

“Probably because I am,” he said with a shake of his head. There’s a smile somewhere on his face. You can hear it. You don’t answer him though. You’re a bit busy undressing him with your eyes. Tearing off the uniform into scrapes of thread that you could reuse for something else would be nice. Pushing his naked body into the bed would be even better. Maybe you would keep his dog tags around his neck, just so you could use it to pull him down onto you.

Fingers are placed under your chin, and you’re forced to look up at him, to meet the eyes that you can’t see.

“We don’t have time for whatever you’re thinking of, doll. We have to go meet S̶͔̄͑t̸̙̜̏e̷̲͎̠̅̂v̴͚̤̱̐ḭ̶̊́̕e̴̦̥͖̋ for the Stark Expo,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low with that deep husk that makes a shiver run down your spine.

“Wasn’t thinking of anything,” you told him, feigning innocence with a sweet smile.

“Really? A shame, I thought we were thinking of the same thing,” he sighed, releasing his hold on your chin. You raise an eyebrow at him, tilting your head.

“What would that be?” you said, looking up at him from your lashes. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he whispered, his voice soft and teasing. 

“It’s an order, Sergeant. From your direct supervisor,” you said, watching as his shoulders shake slightly with a chuckle. “I suggest you hurry up and act before you piss me off and make us late.”

“Can’t be disobeying my first order, now can I?” he grinned, reaching for the sleeves of your dress. 

“Maybe you could,” you hummed, already making work of undoing the belt around his waist before getting to the buttons of his blazer. “Maybe you could get dishonorably discharged, get sent home back to me.”

“Don’t make me laugh, doll,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck.

“Worth a shot,” you sighed into him, carefully pushing his blazer off his shoulders. He allowed you to, and you made sure to gently drape it over the couch in a way that it wouldn’t wrinkle. 

“Can’t fully get undressed, pretty,” he muttered, gathering the skirt of your dress in one hand to get it out of the way to allow his other hand to reach beneath it. You let out a soft gasp as his fingers started to play with your clit over the fabric of your undergarments.You grabbed onto his arms for stability, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “We gotta be fast.”

“Fast– why aren’t you inside me yet then, Sergeant?” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he stuck a knee between your legs to spread them more. His fingers shifted, moving the fabric of your underwear to the side so he could slip his fingers right into your aching pussy.

“You’re naughty,” he clicked his tongue. “Already dripping. Is it the uniform?”

“No,” you quickly responded. A lie, one that he caught, and answered by curling his fingers in you the way that he knew would make you tremble. 

You moaned into his shoulder, and he hummed happily in response, his fingers speeding up the work. They massaged within you quickly, performing in ways that only he knew you liked. The ways that he only was allowed to touch you– ways that he could only have you. You were a goner, clenching around his fingers, trembling against his body.

“I got you. You’re doing so well. So good for me,” he whispered the praise in your ear. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Cum for me, then I’ll stuff you full of my cock. Sounds good?”

You nodded frantically, unable to produce the words to answer him. You were so close, right at the edge of the cliff– and he pressed the heel of his palm to your clit. You were undone just like that. A moaning, shaking mess. His other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you upright against him as you trembled in his arms, his fingers slowing but never stopping as you came on them. 

When the shaking subsided, you were being lifted up, legs being wrapped around his waist. You felt your back against the wall, and you lifted your head to look at him– only to throw your head back against the wall with a moan as he slipped inside you without warning. 

“B̷̺̝̤̉ṵ̷̓̑͑c̷̠̆̈́̒̋k̸̢̖̰͚͔̾͐̐̒͌,” you gasp, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you quickly. He was so pretty like this– still in his military dress uniform. He was slightly unkempt now, his dress pants pushed below his waist so he could bury his cock in you without restraint. 

“Yeah, doll?” he whispered, burying his face in your neck, breathing heavily. His heart was beating as fast as yours. You could feel him– feel how hard he was inside of you. His cock was twitching and jumping in reaction to every pulse of your already sensitive walls, and you were going to cum again soon.

“It– it’s too much,” you stammered, digging your nails through his shirt and into his skin. “Baby, slow down–”

“No can do,” he grunted, snapping his hips into you even harder. “We gotta be fast, sweetheart. You… you said it yourself. We gotta go.”

You whine in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You really couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t given you much time to come down from your previous release before he had set a punishing pace with his cock, and you were done for with him so close to you.

With one more specific thrust, one more moan that hit your ears, you were cumming around him, clamping hard on his dick and tensing against his body. Your lover cursed, holding you tighter to him as he came in you with one last thrust, filling you with his own release. 

He pressed kisses all over your face, murmuring praises in between each one. He held onto your legs as he carried you to the bathroom, only separating your body from his when he had you seated on the sink counter. You both moaned one last time as he slipped out of you.

Your lover grabbed a washcloth, and began to clean up the mess in between your legs, then himself, then made work to make both of you look presentable again before checking the time on his wrist.

“Looks like we’re gonna be late, doll,” he chuckled.

You wake with a deep sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes as you try to calm down your thundering heartbeat. More often than not these days, you were having wet dreams of this soldier man. You couldn’t even tell anyone you were lusting over a soldier from the 40s that was about to head off into war. 

The digital clock on your night stand lets you know you woke up a couple hours earlier than you needed to for your lecture. You could risk it by going back to sleep. You only entertain the idea for a couple more seconds before you force yourself out of bed and into the shower to clean the sticky mess between your legs. 

You have a neuroscience exam coming up in a few days and a psychology exam later that day, but you can’t study as much as you want to. With both your dreams harassing you with details that you haven’t even experienced in real life, along with the crippling fear of drowning in student debt, you’re stuck working late nights at the diner down the street from your university.

Honestly, you want to wrap your hands around your throat for doing this to yourself. The only reason you chose this field of study– Traumatic Memory Rehabilitation Science– is because of the doctors that let you down as a teenager. There has to be something wrong with you. You were convinced there had to be. Something that you missed in your developmental stages of life that’s causing all of these dreams.

That was the selfish reason, at least. 

The selfless version that you told others was simply the fact that you lived in New York and there were more than several times a year when the city became a breeding ground for trauma and heartache. You could help people while helping yourself. And get good money doing it, too.

Money.

You don’t even want to look at your bank account, and you ignore the way your stomach growls. It was the beginning of the month, and you already paid the rent. At the very least, you wouldn’t have to worry about that expense for another thirty days. If things really got tough, you could dip into your savings and treat yourself to a nice meal. You decided to refrain. You could charm the line cook into giving you a free dish later on when you clocked in for your shift. 

Which is exactly what you attempt to do after you put your uniform on. Thankfully, he’s a big softie and you get a warm plate of mashed potatoes and a lesser grade cut of steak, but beggars can't be choosers and meat is meat.

“Table in your section– two customers,” your coworker and one of your closest friends, MJ, called from the front.

“Coming,” you responded, forcing another few mouthfuls down your throat before washing it all away with two gulps of water. 

“Heads up,” MJ said as she handed you menus and a mint, “they’re kinda hot.”

“I’m telling Peter you said that,” you scoffed at her. She grinned at you as she watched you pop the mint in your mouth and tuck the menus under your arm before grabbing a couple of waters to bring to the table.

You wanted to shoot MJ in the foot the second your table came into view. You did everything in your power to stop yourself from tripping over your feet and spilling the waters in your hands. Your customers weren’t just kinda hot. They were the embodiment of desire and sex and all things sinful. 

Steve Rogers was sitting at your table, with James Buchanan Barnes in front of him.

Oh, shit.

“Good evening, boys,” you said, placing their glasses on the table along with the menus. You tell them your name, “I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something other to drink than water?”

Both men are staring at you like you have two heads. You’d be lying if it wasn’t unnerving. Did you smell like steak? Was your eyeliner smudged? Maybe you had a loop in your hair and they were staring at it, wondering if it was the polite thing to do to tell you about it. Either way, it was making your heart pound in your chest with anxiety the longer they didn’t speak. Usually customers wouldn’t bother you like this, but this was different. These were two war heroes and current superheroes.

“Should I give you two a few more minutes?” you finally speak once more, taking a deep breath as you do.

It’s Steve who snaps out of it, and clears his throat. “No, sorry. Lost in thought– um. Water is good. Thank you. We might need a few minutes to decide what we’ll order though.”

“No worries at all. I’ll come back in a few to check up on you. Call for me if you decide earlier,” you said, releasing the breath. Thank God.

Steve gives you a grateful smile, and nods once. You glance over to his partner sitting across from him, your gaze lingering on him for longer than you would like to admit.

You’ve read about both men in your history classes. You’ve had tests and quizzes on them for as long as you could remember. You recall having a field trip to the museum to see the memorial structure that was made for the two of them when you were in high school, and you remember when Captain America first emerged from the ice. You also remember when the Winter Soldier was all over the news, and how everyone online was torn into sides over the fact that he got a pardon.

Yet, you realize that you don’t think any of the pictures you’ve seen in your textbooks, in the museums, or on the news could do his face any justice. He looks tired, which is a given based on the information that you know about him, but it doesn’t hide how pretty he looks. Stormy, steel blue eyes that stared into yours without wavering. A short beard growing on his face from not shaving for a couple days. Hair that stopped above his shoulders, but looked well taken care of and maintained. He was also bigger than you remembered. He’s full of muscle and memories, all from the years of time that he’s spent fighting. 

You pause at the thought.

Bigger than you remembered? 

What the hell were you thinking of? This was the first time you’ve ever seen this man in person, first time that he’s ever been within arm's length to you. There’s nothing to remember here. 

You give him a smile, and tear your gaze away from his, ignoring the tug in your chest as you do. You need another drink of water. Or a shot. Something to get you through the next hour or two that these guys will be in your section.

You lock eyes with MJ briefly, and she raises her eyebrows at you in amusement. You glare at her in response as the front door opens, signaling that another patron has walked in.

Thankfully, the dinner rush starts to pile in not too long after. You don’t have the time to contemplate what just happened when you locked eyes with the soldier. You were even more grateful that both men seemed to pull themselves together out of whatever stupor they were in, and ordered without another awkward pause between the two of you.

You raced around the diner like this, checking up on them briefly to make sure they didn’t need anything else, made sure their food was cooked properly and tasted good, and kept refilling their waters when you noticed their glasses were running low. You would be damned if Captain America had to ask you for a refill on water. 

When Steve finally caught your attention to ask for the check, you decided to make an executive decision. 

“On the house,” you said, waving a hand like it was nothing.

“What?” Steve asked, pausing in grabbing his wallet from his pocket. 

You gave him a shrug. “For your service. Back then and now. I grew up on stories from my grandfather saying that you saved him from an enemy bunker during the war. He loved the two of you,” you confessed, shaking your head at the memory before looking at them again. “And for your service now. I don’t love that the city I grew up in is always being attacked, but it’s nice to know that you guys are around to put everything back together.”

Both men stare at you, and you think you’ve said too much. You feel a little embarrassed, gushing over your childhood superheroes like this. So, you clear your throat and give them another small, sheepish smile. 

“I hope you two have a great night,” you said. “Take your time, too. No rush to get out the door.”

You quickly leave their table before they can protest your decision for a free meal. Your paycheck will take the hit, but you feel good about it at least. 

Both men linger in the diner for a little while longer before they decide to pick themselves up and leave. Once they’re gone and out the door, you start to clear the dishes from their table. Then, you freeze. A fat stack of cash is sitting underneath one of the plates, next to a napkin with writing. You pick up the napkin, your hands trembling as you read the words over and over again.

Thanks for the meal, doll. - Sergeant 

You carried the money back home in your purse, clutching the accessory like you were holding some sort of bomb. You were still trembling that night when you counted every single bill, only to realize that each bill was a pretty Benjamin staring straight at you.

You ended up googling how much money Avengers made because there was no way that they just walked away from your table after paying your entire tuition for the year. Or rather– was it just Bucky? Barnes was a Sergeant, you knew that. The napkin that you had carefully placed on your nightstand was only from him.

Your mind was still reeling, and you didn’t touch the money for a week. You couldn’t. You kept your eyes and ears open more than usual, looking around every single corner, and perking up at every single patron that walked through the doors of the diner. Maybe Bucky would return, and you could confront him. Tell him to take back the money, that it was too damn much for you to just accept.

But when the first bill came in your mailbox, and you looked at your checking account, your mind only wandered back to the cash you had carefully hidden away behind your dresser. You’d become paranoid at this point, thinking that everyone knew how much money you were harboring. Of course, ten grand really wasn’t that much in the grand scheme of things. Still, it was more than enough to keep you comfortable for a while. 

You sighed and went down to your university’s finance department, ready to pay off a bill for the semester.

“Hm? It’s already been taken care of.”

You’re about to throw up.

“What?” you breathe, mind racing. “What do you mean it’s been taken care of?”

“You were accepted for one of the Stark Foundation’s scholarships,” the receptionist said, typing away at her computer. “Pretty impressive, if you tell me. Tony Stark has been pretty selective in who he chooses for that scholarship. Just keep your grades up, and the rest of your schooling is paid for. If you graduate with enough honors and recognition, I’m sure that he’ll take you in for an internship for the research you’re conducting.”

You didn’t know what to say. Reality didn’t feel real anymore. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you were dreaming at this moment, but there was no way that you could have been– he wasn’t here. All your dreams included him.

“Oh, and the scholarship includes a meal plan,” the receptionist said, taking a brochure out from her drawer. “For the university’s cafeterias.”

Your university had the best damn food you’d ever tried, but the issue was that it was too expensive without a meal plan to pay for it. You’d had it once, twice, when you were desperate enough between classes and on the brink of starvation. Your next planned time to go there was before you graduated and left the campus behind.

“Congratulations on your scholarship,” the receptionist smiled at you, and you could tell it was genuine. However, she looked behind you towards the line of other students waiting to pay their bills. “Is there anything else that I can help you with today?”

“No. Sorry– um. I didn’t apply for any scholarship,” you quickly said, snapping back into your body after the brief metaphysical journey you went through in your head. “I have the regular grants given to me by the state and some other smaller scholarships that I qualified for, but I wasn’t qualified for Stark Foundation.”

“Stark Foundation is always looking for bright young minds to push the world forward in these tough times. You must’ve caught his eye with a couple of your essays or papers that you published this year.”

You shook your head. No. You knew that it wasn’t enough because you researched it. You applied for every damn scholarship under the sun, and you didn’t meet all of Tony Stark’s requirements. He was looking for engineers. You were studying towards mental health and memory reconstruction and trauma rehabilitation. 

“What– what’s the exact name of the scholarship?” you stuttered, still confused.

The receptionist let out a little sigh, visibly more annoyed now. She clicked a few more buttons on her mouse, looking at her computer screen before glancing back at you. 

“It looks like you have received the Anthony E. Stark Foundation Legacy Scholarship of Distinguished Scholars and Scientific Excellence award.”

You have never even heard of such a damn thing before. 

You leave the administration office, feeling more confused than before. None of this makes sense. Your entire world had been knocked off balance in just one week, but nothing was technically wrong. Was this luck of the draw? 

You pull your phone out of your pocket, immediately calling Peter. It rang once, twice, and he picked up on the third time. 

“Hey!” he greeted you, sounding extremely chipper. “What’s up?”

“Since when does Tony Stark give out scholarships to people that don’t apply for it– people that don’t even qualify for it?” you asked him. 

“Huh? Mr. Stark? Uh… From what I know, and I’m just an intern– the scholarships are a real grueling process. He only grants them to the students that he wants to work with in the future, but there’s a bunch of different meetings and lots of processes that the person has to go through to even secure the scholarship,” Peter answered.

“Is that what you went through?” you demanded.

“Well, you know about my… special circumstances,” he said slowly, and you let out a breath. “And so does Mr. Stark.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry, Peter,” you murmured. 

“Are you okay? You sound a bit off,” he said, and you could hear the worry in his voice. 

“I’m fine,” you said, a bit too fast to sound convincing. “Um– is MJ working later tonight? If so, I’ll see her at the diner.”

“Oh, yeah. Me and Ned will stop by for dinner, too,” he replied, and you were thankful he accepted the topic change.

“Cool. Cool,” you whispered, then cleared your throat. “I gotta go now, but I’ll see you later.”

You didn’t wait for your friend’s response before hanging up the phone. Your mind was still reeling at the cards dealt to you. You had a scholarship. You had a meal plan to feed you when you were on campus. 

Your feet froze in place as the situation dawned upon you.

Steve and Bucky did something. If it wasn’t Peter, then it had to be them. You don’t know why this is tugging at your chest, or why you have such a strong feeling, but you just know that the two of them had something to do with this. They had to. It started off with the money that Bucky left you on your table. Both of them had direct connections to Iron Man, and you don’t think it would be that difficult for them to figure out who the hell you were by just seeing your face and hearing your name once.

Was this the positive karma coming back to you just for giving them one free meal? Did both men feel the need to repay you after showing them some basic respect for the work they’ve done for the city– for the world?

You try to ignore a deeper feeling inside of you. They looked at you like they knew you. Like they had history with you, and were making up for lost time in their own way. It was a silly, strange feeling, but all at the same time– you felt that you knew them. That they did this, that they have had to do this.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you saw the soft splatters of tears on the concrete at your feet. You let out a soft laugh, touching your face. 

It wasn’t tears of happiness. Strangely enough, you felt empty.

next chapter

taglist: @kitkatyap @bitchycheesecakecat @saintserpentine @miss-chuchu @majorasbat @sleepdeprivedfrfr @shortandb1tchy @bruiscdlikeviolets @thebuckybarnesvault @alltheusersaregone ** please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist for this series :) **

[hyuneskkami]

⭔ . 𐔌 방찬 .ᐟ ꒱  ─  birds of a feather ✦

⭑ bang chan ⓘ a day in the life of y/n and chan taking care of their stray kids at a mall. 

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕  bf!chan   ₊ ‎   ‎ 9th member!f!reader    ˙  .  ꒷ masterlist ! ⭑ 🕹️ ⋮  fluff  .ᐟ

ꪆ୧ 𝒶n  𓈒 𓈒  ⭑ every event in this fic is a detailed account of a day out with my friends lol, not even a single dialogue is fictional. this fic is solely written to document one of my favourite days ever. enjoy <3

ꪆ୧ 𝓌arnings + tags  𓈒 𓈒  ⭑ established relationship (secret) , reader and chan are the same age , ignore the fact that they’re at a public space , pretend they’re all wearing masks to keep their identity secret or something , timestamps , reader has glasses , ot9 feel like they’re lowkey drunk at one point (they aren’t) , mentions of alcohols (not consumed) , love language by txt mentioned , kisses , chan’s parents mentioned ;

ꪆ୧ 𝓌c  𓈒 𓈒  ⭑ 3.1 k

— ✶ 5:15 PM.

“okay, we missed the first fifteen minutes of this but I think I still understood what was supposed to be her premonition,” you whispered to felix who was sitting to your left. 

you all had a rest day today, so you decided to watch the new final destination movie in the theatre. you coordinated outfits—black top and blue jeans—with each other and looked nothing short of impressive. 

since you were late to the movie, you couldn’t grab any popcorn, so you decided to wait for the intermission.

you kept fidgeting with your hands, with nothing to hold on to or engage them. chan, who was on your right, quietly slipped his hand into yours. he looked over to you and smiled. 

if it weren’t for the darkness of the theatre, everyone would’ve seen the pink dusted on your cheeks as well as chan lacing his fingers with yours. 

you still hadn’t told the other members about you both dating, even though it had been seven months already.

“quite the romantic atmosphere,” he whispered, as someone’s head got crushed by a lawnmower and blood splattered onto the garden, on screen. you started laughing, trying to keep quiet. 

in the middle of the movie, chan gestured you, beckoning you to come closer so he could whisper something to you like you had all been doing with each other to talk about the movie. 

when you put your ear close to his face, he pulled you closer by your chin and placed a kiss on your cheek. you turned to face him suddenly and your eyes widened at his bold move. 

“chan!” you whispered suddenly. he grinned. “there’s too much light now, you can’t do that! what if the others see?”

it was chan’s decision to keep it a secret from the others for a little more while, and you respected it even though you really wanted to tell them all.

he waved you off, shifting comfortably in his seat, continuing to trace circles on the back of your hand.

during the intermission, you all collectively bought two tubs of popcorn and some chicken. hyunjin secretly bought two cans of coca cola, when you got just one. you eyed him suspiciously.

“after yours is over, i’ll let you have mine,” he rolled his eyes.

“good,” you nodded satisfactorily.

during the second half of movie, the seating arrangement got changed completely and chan ended up farther away from you. you shared a sad look as he sat down in his seat.

now, on your left, hyunjin was eating popcorn out of yours and felix’s shared tub. you glared at him, and he offered his can of coca cola as sacrifice. you grinned happily and took it from him.

you asked hyunjin and felix to break the pop tabs of their beverage cans and give it to you, since you had a hobby of collecting them (though, you never really did anything with them).

once in a while, hyunjin stole sips of your shared cola can but you just rolled your eyes and didn’t say anything. 

lots of times, on-screen, when people died in the movie, han and you burst out laughing quietly in a fit of giggles. other people in front of you turned back and glared at your entire group for disturbing the movie.

— ✶ 6:50 PM.

after the movie ended, seungmin was back with his creepy and annoying pranks. 

you were walking out by the exit, beside many motorbikes parked in a line. 

“since chan hyung and y/n are the older ones among us, they’ll die first, huh? like in the movie?” seungmin wondered out loud, on purpose. in the final destination movie you had just watched, the main character’s family had died in order of their ages, from oldest to youngest.

“I have a long life ahead,” jeongin commented. 

“yah! kim seungmin!” you yelled at him, smacking the back of his head. the others giggled at your antics. 

“guys,” minho started. you all turned to look at him. “you see that screw in the fan right there? what if it came loose, and the blades of the fan fell down onto one of the bikes, and something happens, and then the bike revs backwards onto one of us and then we die—”

“shut up, oh my god! you’re all creepy children! why are you all like this?” changbin said suddenly, plugging his ears with his fingers. seungmin and minho giggled evilly—if that was possible—and walked ahead of changbin.

we were waiting for the company’s car to pick us up to go back to the dorms, but then chan pulled out a card from his pocket.

“I have a card access to a nearby mall’s arcade from last year. I just need to get it recharged. should we—”

“we’re going to the mall!” han and jeongin jumped up and down in joy, hopping like kangaroos.

chan and you shared a soft look, like parents would do in the presence of their children. 

“it’s decided then. we’re going to the mall!” felix screamed happily. 

— ✶ 7:10 PM.

in the company car, felix, jeongin, and you were be sitting in a row, and hyunjin, han, and chan were sitting behind you three. changbin and seungmin were sitting in the front single seat.

in the darkness of the car, chan—who was sitting in the seat behind your own—snaked his arms around your waist from the side. you jolted suddenly but turned around quickly to glare at him.

“and if someone sees?” you whispered to him, quickly glancing at the other preoccupied boys.

chan shrugged and smiled, continuing to rub his warm hand against your waist.

by the time it was around seven in the evening, you had reached the mall. the ride there was definitely… cramped. 

you all walked around in little groups of your own, looking at other people, and judging some ahjussis and what-not.

you turned to see a small boy group debut showcase in front of you. it turned out that they were also from JYP entertainment, so you asked one of the managers there—whom you had known before—when the boys’ schedule today was to end. 

they notified you that it was their last performance.

“hey, chan? can we meet those boys backstage?” you asked him, making puppy eyes. “they’re all such adorable children and I want to take pictures with them—”

“you think everyone below the age of 20 is adorable,” he pointed out. you rolled your eyes. “but fine, they’re from our company too, right? we’ll probably see them around a lot too.”

you jumped in excitement, running away to tell han the good news, as chan watched you with a soft smile on his face. 

“hello! we’re—”

“stray kids!? oh my god, it’s stray kids—”

“holy shit!”

you all giggled at the young boy group’s enthusiastic reactions to your appearance. 

they immediately bowed and did their group’s hand gesture and started looking at you in awe. 

“we were wondering if we could take a picture with you guys. some of our members were super excited about that,” chan said while talking to their leader.

it was almost as if the boys had stopped functioning.

“you want a picture… with us?” they asked. 

after talking more with the boys, who were barely around 17 years old, you all snapped some pictures with them and broke away with promises of treating each other to good food after practice one day. 

you all were using the stairs to go up a few floors to the arcade when han spotted a dark room without any lights or people in it. there was no door, and just a single couch in a corner of the room.

you all piled in, while felix and you started recording a video with the flash on. 

“hey! we should take an aesthetic picture here,” felix said, gesturing to the couch.

you all squeezed into place on the couch, albeit extremely cramped, as felix took pictures with the 0.5 lens and flash. chan’s arm was around your shoulder and your foot was resting on his crossed legs’ ankle. 

“yah! who’s there?” a gruff choice yelled from another door in the room. at the sudden yell, you all scrambled to get up, grabbing your jackets quickly and scurrying away before you could get caught and yelled at.

as you left the room, you were all laughing and sighing heavily. it was quite awkward when that man saw you all pile out of the room quickly. 

— ✶ 7:25 PM.

after finally reaching your actual destination—the arcade—the others went to buy drinks from the vending machines as chan and you were waiting in line to pay and recharge the game card. 

“it feels like we’re their parents, doesn’t it?” he asked, turning to face you.

you sighed softly with a smile on your face. “it does.”

the first thing everyone wanted to do was go to the scary house. 

you usually weren’t scared to go to any scary houses before, but today felt different with your best friends right there. you didn’t know why, but your heart was hammering against your chest at the prospect of going in.

“it’s only three people at a time,” the staff outside the scary house said.

and you were nine people, so you decided on three groups of three: chan, hyunjin, and you. han, felix, and jeongin. minho, changbin, and seungmin.

you made up something about a ‘reverse age order’ so your group could somehow go last.

when han, felix and jeongin stepped out, they were all laughing and rubbing their faces. 

“he’s mad!” jeongin screamed about felix. “he was talking to one of the people inside! they even held hands!”

“han fell and broke his phone case, though,” felix pointed out. “he got scared and threw his pho—”

“shut up!” han screamed into felix’s ear as they both argued. 

the staff gestured the last three of you to go in.

as soon as you stepped in and the door closed behind you, you shoved hyunjin to your front as chan stayed behind you.

“I can’t see anything, i’m blind already,” you said, shifting your glasses on your face. “you go first, hyunjin.”

chan’s hand came to rest on your waist comfortably, assured that hyunjin wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark. 

you smiled for a second before getting jumpscared by a moving mannequin.

both hyunjin and you kept screaming the entire time as chan was talking to the person following your group, waiting to scare you.

“ahjussi! sorry! I meant oppa! please! I literally can’t see anything! scare the other guys, please!” you started screaming blindly at the scare actor following you all, as chan started laughing at you.

the whole time, chan’s hands were resting on your waist, not moving. 

at the end, a photo of a woman was framed on the wall.

“oh, smash— never mind, that’s disgusting,” you said as her face morphed into some weird gooey thing. 

as you finally stepped out of the room, stumbling, you started laughing like you went crazy.

chan let go of you as you stepped into the light and went to hug han.

hyunjin and chan shared a look, but you ignored it.

“I love you, ji, oh my god, I never thought i’d get to see your adorable quokka cheeks ever again—” you continued rambling.

you all moved onto the games in the arcade, starting with a car racing simulator. only one of them was working, so you all had to take turns playing on it. 

chan, arguably the best driver among the nine of you, had one hand on the back of the seat, and one on the steering wheel, along with the person who was driving. 

he helped you all win your races from the side as you celebrated each win.

when seungmin was still driving, you stepped back and looked at the whole scene: chan’s hand on seungmin’s, seungmin driving with enthusiasm, the other boys jumping around both of them while smiling and screaming. 

without knowing, you started to smile. 

years later, when you looked back to this day, would you remember it all? you hoped you would. 

soon after you all finished your car races victoriously, you decided to play on the bumper cars. 

since there were only four cars, so you split into pairs and felix decided to sit it out because of his back pain.

seungmin and you in the red car, chan and jeongin in the blue car, hyunjin and han in the green car, and changbin and minho in the orange car—that’s exactly how chaos began.

your controls weren’t working well, and every time chan came around to dash into you, you gave him a look and he swerved away before hitting your car, instead opting to bump into the other guys. 

girlfriend privileges, you thought, smiling to yourself. 

after you were all exhausted, you walked around and found the doubles air hockey.

none of them knew it since they’d never played games with you, but you were quite literally an undefeated champion at air hockey.

chan and you were set to play against minho and han. the three boys were stacking bets against each other, and wanted food as the prize. you agreed, smirking to yourself. 

less than ten minutes later, minho and han were groaning on the other side of the game while chan and you were giggling like schoolgirls.

being sore losers, they challenged us to a rematch in the arcade’s mini basketball. you laughed in their faces, and agreed.

chan and you got a score of 202 while minho and han got 144. they lost. again.

“didn’t you know y/n was the sports club captain for three years straight at her high school?” hyunjin remarked in passing. han froze and turned around dramatically. your lips curled, giving way to a grin.

“that’s not even fair! we were set up for failure! I have no money!” han began complaining, following behind you like a puppy, as you walked over to the register to buy tickets for the spinning tunnel.

“sore loser,” you said over your shoulder to him, throwing up your middle finger. he groaned, giving up and leaving to find hyunjin to annoy.

— ✶ 08:56 PM.

nine deranged and insane people in one small spinning vortex tunnel only spelt chaos.

as soon as the door closed behind the last one of you, it was almost as if everyone went mad.

chan and hyunjin were recreating the choreographies of escape and red lights; han was twerking while minho watched him like an adorable idiot; seungmin attempted to jump off the side of the tunnel but you pulled his leg back and cursed at him; changbin sat down on the floor of the tunnel and pulled felix to sit with him; jeongin and you were belting out the lyrics of love language by tomorrow x together.

everyone felt absolutely drunk.

at some point, every one of you was dancing in the small space like a rave party, the nine of you singing nine different songs at the same time and vibing.

when you were recording the whole thing, han’s face popped up close to your camera.

“vodka! tequila!” he said, and started laughing like a madman. he walked around and came back. ��whiskey!”

the door suddenly opened and the staff stared at all of you with questionable looks, as you hadn’t noticed the open door yet.

when you finally did, you all walked out of the tunnel murmuring apologies to the staff who witnessed the whole… ordeal. 

for the last game, you decided to go to a VR roller coaster.

chan and you opted out of it, deciding to just watch the others.

you waved a goodbye to them as they pulled their headsets on and started giggling.

“one day, it’ll be you and me and our kids here,” chan said softly, looking at the boys with a look of pure love and adoration. “and these seven uncles too.”

“today really was amazing,” you continued. “I don’t know if I will ever have another day in my life quite as memorable as today.”

as you both were talking about the future, while waiting for the boys to finish their roller coaster ride, chan suddenly said something that made your heart stop.

“my parents’ve been missing you,” he said.

“huh?”

“they haven’t seen you in so long! the last time they saw you in front of their own eyes was last summer at home. they really want you to come to australia once again,” he said, smiling down at you.

“oh,” you said, unable to comprehend that they actually thought of you when you weren’t there.

“I shouldn’t spill their secrets, but they have a nickname for you. back home, I mean.”

“wait what? tell me!”

“no.”

“tell me! we’ve known each other since I was a child, I should know this!”

“they call you their ‘sweetheart’.”

— ✶ 10:57 PM.

with the tickets you all collectively won—which weren’t a lot—you got nine toy cars as souveneirs for your day spent together at the arcade. two of them had the same numbers, which chan and you took first. the rest of them chose their own favourite colours.

for dinner next, you all went to get pizza.

at the restaurant, all of you filmed a car meet with your toy cars, drifting them with your hands and whatnot.

after everyone was satisfied with the videos—some of the boys secretly texted skijigi, letting them know they had enough content for another skzcode episode—you finally ate pizzas and burgers, forgetting about your diets for a day.

with your flower hair clip, you held it to each of the boys’ hair and snapped pictures to post for STAYs later.

— ✶ 12:00 AM.

on the way back to your dorms, the car was vibrating with energy and the only reason was jeongin, han, hyunjin, and you had energy drinks before getting into the car. a really bad idea.

as you kept talking fastly about a new anime, chan’s hand found yours on the side. with the same arrangement as your last ride, chan was sitting in the row behind you.

from the corner of your eye, you saw him bend lower.

you felt a wet kiss pressed to the back of your hand. a grin split across your face, that you couldn’t hide.

— 12:07 AM.

chan and you were cuddling and watching tiktok videos in his and jeongin’s shared room—without jeongin, obviously, who was asleep in felix’s room—when chan’s phone dinged with a text from hyunjin.

• hyunnie 🥟: “you and y/n and together? keep her safe <3”

۫ ꣑ৎ taglist :

@luvvchn @seraphicloves @itzzzzzzyyyyydaaaaa @trashlord-007 @jay-x-lee @lixiesstorys @inejghafawifesblog @angellcvkes

[momotonescreaming]

8x18 coda about Baby Boy Han's name. Angst. Evan Buckley focused. No character hate here please.

The first time Buck hears someone call his nephew Bobby, he flinches. A gut wrenching, muscles seizing, the sharp sting of a slap to the face flinch.

Buck's on Maddie's couch, sharing coffee and freshly baked cookies with her while while Chim takes care of his son in the other room. He listens and chats and smiles until she calls her son Bobby. And then Buck can't move. His muscles are constricting against the sickly whorl of his stomach, his joints locking up, breathing coming faster. Cookie held loosely in his hand, halfway from his plate to his mouth.

He bolds upright, cookie falling from his hand and Buck makes an excuse about an appointment he forgot about. His realtor rescheduled a meeting about his new apartment last minute, and he really needs to run if he wants to make it on time.

Buck stutters out an apology and runs out of Maddie's house.

He drives. Doesn't know where. Doesn't care. He's shaking, knuckles white as he grips the Jeep's steering wheel. Back impossibly straight, tense, muscles locking his shoulders in place. It's going to hurt later. But he doesn't care. He drives. He just needs to get away.

He needs to get as far away from his nephew as possible and he feels sick about it. That's his nephew. Maddie's his sister, been there for him through everyone, she gave him her jeep and got him out. But hearing her call her son Bobby makes him flinch.

He thinks maybe he could've handled them calling him Robby, better.

Buck pulls over. He finds a park on the side of the road outside a laundromat, and hyperventilates. Turns off the engine, and ducks his head, shuts his eyes to block out the light streaming in through the windshield.

He can understand why Chim and Maddie did it. Bobby gave his life for Chim, so he could live to see his son, his family again. Buck can understand why Chim would do this. To honour him, his sacrifice, so his legacy and his memory is carried with them always.

It makes Buck flinch.

He never told anyone — not even Bobby — but he wanted to name his future kids after him. He was more than Buck's captain, he was the father he never had, he loved and cared for him. Buck was going to give his kid the middle name Robert if it was a boy, or Wade if it was a girl. Bobby's middle name was Wade, and it felt gender neutral enough that Buck felt it could work with whatever first name he gave his kids. Or maybe even Robin, for either, if he and his partner felt it worked better.

He wanted to surprise Bobby with it. Make it special.

But he can't do that now. It'll feel cheap. Like he's just copying Chimney.

Buck heaves, nausea swirling at his stomach. He feels sick. Like the rest of his world is crumbling down around him.

He gets broken up with, Bobby dies, no one will let him carry out Bobby's last wish for him to be there for everyone, Eddie tells him he's making the death of his father figure all about himself and then Buck has to move out, Chim gives a speech and pointedly tells him not to transfer, and now Buck can't even name his kids after his own father figure.

If he says anything they'll say he's being selfish. Mean. Cruel. Making everything all about him again.

His phone vibrates, and he doesn't pull it out of his pocket to check who it is. If it's Maddie, or Chimney, he doesn't know if he's going to handle it well. So he doesn't look. Squeezes his eyes shut, presses his face harder against the steering wheel and begs tears not to fall.

He can't fall apart. He can't. He needs to hold it together, so the next time he hears Maddie or Chim or anyone call his nephew Bobby — he won't flinch. No matter how much it feels like its curdling his insides.

[r66dusthewriter]

In the noise, you.

Pairing: Drew starkey x reader

Masterlist | Author's blog note | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: just a sweet lil thing to ease back into it.

Genre: Fluff

Contains: struggles with anxiety

Word count: 0.6k

There were few things in life you dreaded more than standing under the spotlight, not for a lack of gratitude but because it never felt natural. Some would argue you had almost six years to get used to the fame but truth is, it never got better. Becoming famous in the stillness of a pandemic, tucked away from the real reach of it all, meant you had no idea how much impact your “little silly boat show” had had globally. 

Public appearances didn’t get easier, if anything, they chipped away at you differently each time. 

The cast had always been your anchor, showing up for you when it counted… but Drew? Drew had been something else entirely. A constant. A quiet kind of salvation.

You were both very similar in your way of being: barely online, barely seen, always opting for privacy over the chaos. That shared instinct to retreat meant you spent a lot of time in each other's company, quietly inseparable yet easily pointed out by fans. You never confirmed anything publicly, but people knew. It was hard to ignore that kind of connection, the one that needed no name to be understood. 

Now, standing next to the stage at the Tudum event, nerves curled tighter in your stomach with every passing minute. Chase, Carlacia, Jonathan, Madison, Drew and you huddled near the stairs, surrounded by crew and camera ops, voices overlapping in every direction. The crowd buzzed around you, fans screamed nearby, calling out your names and holding up signs. 

You soon started to drift. Your eyes locked on a point in the distance, breathing shallow and automatic while Chase spoke to the group, except to you, his voice was muffled, like he was underwater. Still, you nodded absently, trying to seem present while also trying to calm your pulse. 

Then, a hand on your lower back, gentle and grounding, pulled you a few steps away and with a gentle squeeze, it left your skin, its warmth lingering for a few seconds short of what you had wished for.

“Hey,” called a soft voice close to your ear “Where did you go just now?”

It took a few seconds for your eyes to focus on him, his were sharp, brows drawn together in worry, the kind that said ‘Im’ ready to get you out of here right now if that’s what you need’.

You cleared your throat, blinking the fog away. “I’m okay, just…I’m okay”

He studied your face, clearly reading your lips over the crowd noise. You could see it in his expression whenever you forced your wandering gaze to land on his, he didn’t buy it. His jaw twitched slightly as he leaned in again, mouth near your ear.

“Try now without the lie.”

You couldn’t help the twitch of a smile. That was the thing with Drew, he knew you in a way that left no room for pretending. Sometimes, you were sure he knew you better than you knew yourself.

“Just overwhelmed,” you admitted quietly. 

You didn’t mention how guilty you sometimes felt, enjoying moments like this but still getting caught in your own mind, but he knew. He could read it in the slight crease of your brow and though you could tell he wanted to pull you into him, to help block it all out, you were technically at work.

Still, he leaned down again.

“Want to make a run for it?” he murmured, entirely serious.

You huffed a laugh, short but genuine, knowing full well he could do it, contracts be damned. You didn’t need to answer, he already knew you just needed time, space and the impression of silence. He was the one person who could give you all of it without you ever having to ask.

He shifted in front of you, placing his broad shoulders between you and the world. A human shield. Then, without turning, his hand reached behind him.

You didn't hesitate sliding yours into his. Warm and solid around yours. And finally, you could breathe.

Three soft squeezes followed.

I love you.

Your heart stuttered, this time in a way you welcomed.

[flowercrownsandkisses]

Sun & Moon

(Sophia x Reader)

Pairings: Bratty Duelist! Sophia x Fem Gryffindor Keeper! y/n(but not really a Gryffindor...?)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, Brat & Brat tamer

Part of Series: Part 2 | Part 1 here Sypnosis: Daniella...well, not just Dani asks you to substitute her in that week's quidditch matches. And gradually, one match turns into two, and then ten. And it's no problem at all. You're Ravenclaw's prized genius. Everything comes naturally. Now if only you could find a way to tame the problem that it seems both you and the Gryffindor quidditch team share. Sophia Laforteza. She sabotages their quidditch matches and always suceeds. Somehow. And you need to know. Not just because you're a sore loser, because you're a scholar at heart. And definitely not because you and her made a bet. Not at all.

Summary of chapter: You start to see the problems behind the deal you made with McGonagall. You also start to have problems with Sophia, that you swear are definitely not your fault. You do try to avoid her. And yet, somehow, barely a day later, you know what she smells like and the exact sound of her giggling, and it looks like you're stuck with her for the year.

It's been a week since you took up McGonagall's deal, and you're kinda starting to see the drawbacks of it. First, sure, you probably should've accounted for it. It wasn't very intelligent of you, for all you like to gloat. The pure, unadulterated exhaustion. It's tiring to balance both the secret quidditch practice as well as your social life and standing in Ravenclaw. You don't even need to mention the increased pressure on the studies part, especially since...someone topped you in transfiguration classes. Ironically, the same exact teacher you cut the deal with-not that she's going to give you any extra passes in her actual classes, of course. The quidditch deal is strictly, as she made it clear herself, strictly mutually beneficial and must remain absolutely silent.

You haven't exactly figured out how she's going to convince the Gryffindor team to support you and the other Gryffindor supporters who the random player that helps them win is, but the trivial parts were never really your strong point. They were more of Dani's strong point. Which is wasn't here to help you with now, considering she was in detention. The very detention you got her in, now you think about it. You scratch your neck in slight worry and absolutely no shame at all. After all, you have a class to get to.

oh, and you almost forgot. The other drawback. Besides having much, much less time to spend sneaking around Hogwarts and Hogsmead with your group of friends(You saw Megan, Lara and Daniela go out that night, you know it), there's another major drawback. One that you didn't really consider, and for some reason...

It makes your heart race. It's excitement. The thrill, the risk. The same one you experienced when running away from McGonagall, you tell yourself. Your heart thumps and runs far away from you and up, up the stairs, where someone's currently descending from. Of course she's there. You wouldn't have expected anything less. There's something about the glow of the enchanted chandelier that's floating-no, hovering above both of you as the sunlight hits it at just the right angles and the light, god, the light licks her face, licks her skin just right before it falls on her lips. They're glossy, and her eyes are looking straight at you. The light is unfairly playing against you. You straighten up and turn around, hoping she didn't catch you glancing at her. You're too slow. You pride your self on your fast reflexes but time seems to slow, and god, so does the light apparently. She meets your eyes for less than a second, less than thirty milliseconds, and yet you feel bullets striking your heart. It leaves a bitter, bloody taste circulating through your throat and your lungs burn when you accidentally let out a little gasp of surprise.

But before you can do that, she shifts her gaze first. From you to her arm. You see it before she can cover it. You see it before she can pull her robe over her arm, over that...scarlet mark? It looks similar to scarring, but it's clearly a new wound as it's bleeding. But it's...in such a peculiar pattern. Her gait slows, you can tell, her footsteps slow by approximately 24 seconds. She's paused. You should move. But you don't. Because it's out of the good of your heart. Sophia doesn't seem like someone that would care to take care of yourself, and you want to scream at her for that, tell her to at least wash the wound or bandage it-and you blame yourself and your crude sense of justice and need to help. Perhaps you should've become a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor after all. Clearly you were not using your Ravenclaw wit with what you knew you were going to do next-

And even more since you knew, and you didn't stop yourself.

"You're bleeding-!" You rush towards her, pulling her aside to a more secluded part of the castle while hurriedly dragging down her sleeve-which honestly, you didn't need to. Her robe, meant to be black cotton, is seeping red and dripping on the floor. What seemed like milder scarring and small wounds from the distance, from the staircase is anything but. It is a deep wound that will definitely scar. She's losing blood at a fast, fast pace, somehow faster than you can feel your heart racing. It's too, too loud. It's as if they're racing against its other. The drip of her blood on the floor and the thumping of your heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. You can feel, hear the bleeding accelerate the more your heart races.

She looks up at you, and when her eyes meet your face, she's surprised. As if she's expecting someone else, or still processing what happened. You would, too. It's not every day someone drags you to a secluded area of the school and covertly exposes your wounds. She glances at you and back again, before flinching away from your touch and backing away.

"What the...what the hell are you doing?" Her gaze on you is completely different from the one she had on the staircase. You feel your cheeks burn. Figures. She was probably looking at someone behind you. Wait, what were you hoping for? You almost literally swat the thoughts out of your head. You need to focus your attention on the real, real, problem in front of you right now. She's bleeding. And you both don't-you admit it, you have far from the best relationship, but she needs help. Even if she's currently flinching away from you and looking like she wants to be everywhere but here.

You would be guilty about treating her like this, but there's no exact procedure for treating someone's wound that might cause them to either bleed out or get infections within seconds. And it's not like she deserves princess treatment either.

The light, somehow-the only light in this corner of the castle yet again finds away to catch onto her, and oh, it kisses her again, her hair, and suddenly it's not your black ebony but hundreds of other shades that differ wildly. The light does this every time as if to prove you wrong. You are at opposite ends with the light. With her hair like that, and her eyes, her lashes...she would've been treated as a princess by anyone else. Anyone but someone with a brain and slight medical training, that is.

You continue holding tight despite her resistance. Her very stubborn resistance, you might add. You end up needing to grip her with all your might and press your nails into her-you can hear her breath flatter and her grimace-but you desperately, no...you need her to stay still so she doesn't end up bleeding on the floor.

It is for the good of everyone, especially her. Not for the good of you, of course. You look like you committed a murder with your hands stained with blood already a different colour than that on the floor. She's really going to...

"I told you I didn't-*cough* I didn't need-let me go!" She's really fighting against you right now. And god. You're losing. You, and you consider yourself rather athletic, are losing to a girl that-

Well, she doesn't look bad. She doesn't look bad at all. And her body-

And it is these things that will get you fired and reprimanded, these thoughts, you remind yourself. You grip her tighter, and she grimaces again but finally relents when you shoot her the dirtiest look you know that you learned from Manon. And it works. You really need to thank Manon.

"Will you stay still for a second? I'm trying to save your life here, if you didn't realise!" You whisper-scream it, keeping care to not expose the both of you to outsiders nearing the corner if the both of your scuffling already didn't, and yet you put enough force in it to let her known you're serious.

She has an interesting look for someone that's bleeding out. She's not flinching at all. She's not flinching at all from the pressure you're very clearly inflicting on her arm by gripping it. In fact, she seemed to be more in pain from the harder gripping that was to restrain her-

Oh. Oh, god.

You don't even want to look at yourself right now. She's not bleeding out. It's probably some kind of plant puss from herbology class or something, or whatever the Slytherin's schedule has in order for them. It's red, but it's very clearly not a wound when you look closer. You don't know what's gotten into you-it's...you swear it was there, you swear it was bleeding, but all you see now is plant juice and old scarring from God knows what.

"y/n, I knew you were psychotic, but I didn't think I would be proved right. Now get the fuck off me. What were you even doing? Knowing you, you were probably up in your-"

Of course. You panicked and had another-whatever she called them again. Sure. But you're sure you saw...and yet, Sophia taunts you. You've faced away from her now, but you're pretty sure her face carries a large smirk that stretches more than the staircases in this area. You don't know what you're feeling. You panicked. It was genuine panic. Because she was hurt, but then she wasn't, and you have more questions than ever.

But now, your first response is not to try to answer those questions. It's to retort back to Sophia. It's as if it's built in your DNA, your mouth moving before your mind even-and you slap her. One large strike across the face. You want to, you want to dig your nails into the cream of her face and leave them there, let the valleys of your nails sink into her skin like on a sand bed and leave, leave those marks, or scratch them across and leave bloody trails across her cheeks.

"I was worried for you! I thought you were-what's the point? You won't appreciate it anyway. You're an actual bitch, Sophia. Can't you try to appreciate help?"

You don't actually mean it, or maybe you do. No, you do. You can feel it in your ears, in your blood, in your cheeks that are heating up and your eyes, your eyes that are burning. Definitely not from the dim light that seemed to only favour Sophia, anyway. You want to do so much more than a slap. Unfortunately, you don't really get that chance.

You've figured it out. She's tricked you. It was all planned. You remember Lara saying that Slytherin's only have herbology on Monday, and today's Friday. Furthest day away. She wouldn't have accidentally gotten plant pus on her either way, now that you think about it. As if the Slytherin princess would not clean herself up afterwards.

She's grinning. Nothing short of crazy, as if she's enjoying this. She's grinning like one would if they got a gift, and maybe she did. She toyed with you and she got what she wanted. You reacted. She brings her finger up to her lips and parts them, still grinning wildly.

"You just serve to prove me right and right again, you know. Perhaps you should consider myself as my future attorney." She smirks at you, and you feel yourself sink. It's burning. You can feel every muscle in your face attempt to contort into an expression that you're trying your best not to show. Every muscle, tells you to...

Why is it that your flight or fight response kicks in now?

You don't want to leave-flight. She'd have won again. And yet, you don't seem any other way to win this. You've punched her. She technically hasn't done anything wrong. She's the victim in this, she's...she's done everything perfectly. You will admit that at least. You've lost this one. You turn around and start walking away, and shockingly, she doesn't follow, and she doesn't taunt again, just continuing to lean on the wall with that frustrating grin of hers-and she's won this time. She's won.

She set up a perfect crime for you. No other witnesses, and no spells used. Just physical violence, which had a clear victim. There's something else there too, but you push it down. It burns you, but you can't hate her.

As you said, you like the risk, don't you? The thrill of a challenge. And oh, this is everything. This is a challenge. And you can't hate your challenger if you want to put all into it. Your expression changes again. You don't stop it this time like in the corner. You slip by a short cut, and pass a small, small mirror by the charms inventory, and-

You're grinning. It's the same, the same grin that Sophia had. You are the same. You are the same.

It's a while down the hallway, and you're walking at a much faster pace than normal, as if escaping from...her. What was she doing, anyway? It's only now that your thoughts catch up to you. She has the same classes as you. She has to show up eventually. She couldn't have just been there to do that. Though she'd definitely do something like that though. You wouldn't put it past her.

You're just thinking about her to think about her. Think about everything related to her to think about her. You need to clear your head and get to class. Oh. And your hands. Because somehow you've forgotten your hands are blood red from Sophia's trick-god, you really don't want to acknowledge that-and you need to wash it off before Sophia notices and really tries to convict you of a crime.

You sigh as you make your way to the nearest bathroom, praying it's empty, or that the people in there will not scream bloody murder. You hold your hands in front of you so that the plant pus doesn't drip onto your robes and cause a greater crime scene. You kick open the stall door(your hands are both occupied) and someone gasps, but thankfully there's not screaming or running to get the nearest professor. Though, you haven't seen one in minutes. God, Sophia really did her research for the perfect-

Someone slaps you on the shoulder. You know how it is almost immediately. You don't even need to turn around, and you just make your way to the sink.

You're still smiling like how Sophia left you. You drop your smile to a smaller one.

"So, are you going to explain why you look like you got into another fight, why you're currently, extremely-and I mean extremely late for class, or...?" You debate turning around and retorting but decide it's of no use. A single world will suffice of course, if not just cause more teasing. And gods know you need something to laugh about now.

But it wasn't hate. And that...

You turn around to them with a fake, extremely exaggerated glare, and sprinkle water on her, showering them while sticking out your tongue like you're seven and not nearing seventeen.

"Oh, real mature." Lara answers to your actions. "And you still haven't told us the reason. Unless you really did-and honestly, if you actually did, Megan owes me five galleons-"

You just look straight at her, and her now very wet and drenched robes. She knows that look, and she gives you a small grimace. But you wave it off, it's fine. You get yourself into these kinds of things. In fact, Lara looks more amused than concerned for you. Betrayal of the highest order, honestly.

" Sophia again? I told we all, collectively, told you to just stay away from her...?" Lara puts her right hand to her right cheek, as if thinking hard-and you know she's just teasing you.

"Hahaha, real funny. I'm not! I swear...she's the one after me, honestly. I just...happen to be the victim!"

Before Lara can perpetuate her teasing, you storm out of the bathroom to her giggles and check your watch-and god, you're very late to class. Maybe Lara is right after all. Maybe you do really cause all your problems.

You make your way to class, sprinting up the stairs, passing that dreaded corner where it happened a half hour ago, and you find yourself standing outside the door. One knock, and you let out a sigh of relief when it opens. And then-

God, you really do cause your own problems. It's not even funny anymore, and it can't be a coincidence.

Sitting in the only now empty desk is Sophia, Slytherin princess, with the same grin from that morning. It's still plastered on her face. You're going to sit next to her. Of course.

"Ah, finally. Miss y/n. You're usually a punctual student...what caused you to get caught up today. Well, no worries, we're starting a new class today, a more advanced course, thus the new settings. Ah, y/n, you're next to Sophia. Chop chop, let's start the class!"

Usually you love Professor Flitwick. Now you don't. Every step towards that desk in the middle of the class, as if strategically chosen to allow everyone's gazes to be entrapped on them both, feels like...

No, it doesn't feel like hell. You can feel the rush again, the thrill, and maybe it's because of Sophia's crazy grin-no smirk, now you think of it. Of course. It creeps onto your face again. God. Her smirk deepens when you finally sit down and put your books on the table.

"Hi again, y/n." She looks directly at you, and practically purrs like a cat with its gaze on a mouse.

You inhale, take in a deep, deep breath.

Charms class, start. Sophia one, y/n zero.

Flitwick speaks again, and you take out your textbook and flip to the correct pages. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Sophia doing absolutely nothing. She's just meeting your gaze, and everything your ears drift to her she's always looking back at you. She's maintaining eye contact. You can feel a slight heat cross your cheeks, so you keep staring at her too, until she turns around and is finally the one to catch your gaze for once. A pretty pink blush comes up over her face, subtle but there, a shade lighter than her lips, but you find yourself smirking inside. And then...

Huh? What page were you on again? Flitwick...what's he talking about? You look at Sophia again, but she hasn't touched her book at all, betraying no clue of what topic he's currently on. And all other desks are too far to-oh. You've fallen for another trap again. And she fully expected you too, from her silent giggles. You want to be frustrated, you truly do. But you've lost. Perhaps this is one of your better traits. You can accept loss.

This is what has always angered Megan, Daniela...really, almost everyone you're close to. That you give in so easily, accept defeat so easily. But you really didn't see the point in prolonging the argument further if you were just going to lose at the end. And when she brought up that point, either Manon or Megan would sigh and say that it was for the fun of it. Honestly, you found it more fun not wasting your energy prolonging it, but you'd nod along and play along with them anyway.

But not Sophia, apparently. She likes to win, and god, so do you. She likes it when you give in. Easy win for her. It lights something in you. You don't want to let her win that easily. You want to struggle, like Manon and Megan and...god, they were right. It was the feeling. It is the feeling that you have right now.

But for now, you need to save yourself first. You need to get back on topic, no matter how enticing pissing off the Slytherin next to you might be. What is Flitwick saying? You need to focus.

And you would be able to, if not for the goosebumps that suddenly travel down your arm, springing up all in waves, springing from the end of your arm to the very start, closing to your palms and fingertips. You involuntarily let out a gasp, and you inhale sharply. Cold air slams its way into your lungs, and you frantically push your tongue to the roof of your mouth to try to prevent yourself from coughing, from Flitwick's gaze. But of course, that doesn't work. It was already building up, and you trying to gulp down saliva to try to contain it clearly wasn't going to work. The coughs rose to the front of your throat and you already know what's about to happen...

You double over and start coughing, and the first thing you hear, of course, is not Flitwick's question of assurance-damnit, you predicted wrongly again. Are you really that off the mark all the time? No, it's far from that. Nothing you could've expected. It's bells. Soft, shimmering bells, no, not those you'd hear on Christmas or at those Muggle Churches-bells like wind chimes and flutes, yes, flutes. It sounds like a silver clarinet.

The bells shake against each other and vibrate, and soft, soft sounds emanate from it. You can hear it. You don't just hear it-it seems to premanate your senses somehow, just somehow. It's so close, you want to grab onto it. It distracts you, pulls you away from your violent coughing and now the cold burn in your throat.

It is a pretty sound. No. Pretty...wow, no wonder you failed English class back in Muggle schools. Pretty doesn't suit a sound like this. But neither does majestic. Your dear old teachers would be sighing in disappointment, or maybe the really old ones already rolling in their graves. Tinkering...devilish might be closer. You're sure that from the outside, this laugh is almost angelic. But for you, the root cause of the laughter, it's devilish. And you can't say that it's a bad sound.

But the sound might be angelic, its owner is not. Her hand is in fact starting to move up and down your arm, causing more goosebumps to form and you didn't even know it was possible to feel like that. Everytime her palm slid over a new section of your skin, another cold breeze would seem to wash over you, prickling your skin. Akin not to mint, but to winter. A snowstorm. That's what you're caught in, and the both of you are getting closer every time she drags her arm closer and closer to your fingertips. You can see her dark locks no longer in the corner of your eyes. It's directly, it could brush your arm. Another sharp intake, and-

"Oh dear, bless you! Would you like a break, y/n? You don't exactly look good. I heard you coughing earlier, and um, now apparently."

Bless Flitwick's heart. But later. This made your situation worse in every way possible. You're about to answer when it's no longer just a snowstorm, with its little flakes constantly falling on the ground and turning it white, exposing her skin further to the breeze. You're plunged in. You're suffocated in it, your chest and your head thrust headfirst into ice-cold water, to the brim of your lungs and your lungs fill with freezing fluid. You can't breathe, but you take a breath. A dying breath, because you yearn for warmth even when you can't get it.

Her hand, no both of her hands are cradling your singular arm, and her head is resting on your shoulder. It must be an uncomfortable position-but she doesn't betray any sign of that. You can feel her palms, her fingertips press against your skin, hugging it, holding it hostage. Your arm is now frozen in place. Her head, god-her hair tickles the base of your neck and your throat. Her long, dark locks-even without the light that seems to bend to her every whim, differ from the shades of the tables and the robes and about every colour you've seen on the spectrum. She's facing away from you, and all you can see is her hands and her hair and it's driving you insane. At this point, you've given up on Charms. She will drive you crazy regardless, there's no longer a point in listening.

Now, you want to win.

You place your head gingerly on hers, her arms still grabbing-no, gripping your left arm. It feels like stabbing, the throbbing. You can see her visibly jump a little, making a little squeak when her seat moves even just the tiniest inch. You sink deeper into her hair and sneak a glance at the clock. Five more minutes. It'll be fine for five more minutes. And then Flitwick will give out some assignments and ask them to leave almost immediately.

Her hair, unlike her, is like a fireplace. It's warm and toasty and its colour is reminiscent of the ashes that emanate from it. You sink your face deeper into it, turning your head around to inhale, and wallow in it like a cat in the box. You inhale again, and again, and it's an addiction. She smells the exact opposite of what she feels like. You giggle silently. The scent of the perfume she chooses to wear directly differs with how you feel. It's a sinking sensation, and it's not floral. She smells...like chocolate, almost? It's a deep, strong smell that comes even in the roots of her hair-which makes you realise that perhaps it's not a perfume after all. She is around things that smell like this, this is truly her scent. The combined smell of things around her make her smell like...

She makes you wonder what your scent is, while your head is still buried in her hair and your nose, your pores are singing angels. Your true scent from what you surround yourself with. You would've expected Sophia's hair to have a light floral scent like those that seem to flow in from the Slytherin girl's dorms all the time. Not that you'd know of course, you've only been there once, and that was for a prank at that. But no-she smells like a bakery. Like she bakes, though you can't put that image in your head. You cannot see Sophia try to bake cakes and muffins and whatever she does for her fellow Slytherins. Slytherins don't do that. Slytherins, like Ravenclaws, probably spent their time in the dorms plotting. The only difference being that they plotted not just for studies but also for quidditch. Probably why the Slytherin scores were always the closest to Ravenclaw's during examinations. At least, the theory ones. The practical ones always went to the Slytherins. The Ravenclaws always huffed and puffed about how the Slytherins must've cheated and bribed the teacher for the practical test-and it just serves to prove that your house is indeed full of sore losers that can't take a loss. Slytherins are more out there, they would willingly use the spells and charms they'd learn in class on other people. On other classmates, on dormmates, or to bully others-where Slytherins mostly got their bad reputation from. Ravenclaws would behave and only wish them in class, but when it comes to practicals, of course practice makes perfect. Slytherins are cold and their dorms green and black always gave off either a chilly breeze of mint or just smelled like Lavender. Slytherins smell like freshly-plucked mint and aged lavender, and the Slytherin princess definitely doesn't bake for her level mates.

But then again, when did Slytherin smell like warm chocolate?

You should probably pry her off you now, but you're too deep. Both literally and figuratively. You are practically bundled into her hair, the smell of melted and warm hot chocolate engulfing all your senses. She really smells like pasteries and butter and cocoa powder. She's tensing again, and you smirk silently since you know you've finally got her.

Her hands, her fingers continue to snake downwards to your own fingers. And with a snap, she interlaces them. Your finger, her finger, your finger, like they're simple shoelaces and just put together. But they are anything but. You freeze in her hair. This is when you're finally forced to let go, when she lifts her head up to look you straight in the eye. You miss the chocolate scent. This is why Muggles were diabetic, huh? You understand now. You wouldn't be able to resist at all. It's the pasteries, it's the sweetness. It is not Sophia.

She looks straight at you, her brown-oh, chocolate eyes locking on yours. You start to take a sharp breath but pause when you realise her gaze starts to shift towards your throat, as if waiting for it. This time, you've the one to catch her gaze and you both move it downwards, downwards. Your hands are still interlaced, and her palm is warm. You can feel yourself heating up already, warming up from the storm that is...

You find yourself almost laughing out loud at the contrast. She is a snowstorm, and yet she's warmer than you are. Her heat spreads towards your palms and flows through the fresh blood from your marrow. And yet, you don't let go. And neither does she. It's nice. Your palms are usually cold, and you'd assume hers are unusually warm. It is...comforting. To be at the same temperature as others, to be together with them. And if she protests, she shows nothing of the sort. Your eye contact breaks when you hear Professor Flitwick rap on the board for the class's attention, but you don't miss the slight blush spreading on her cheeks, lightly spotting them, like snowflakes. You smile, a real one. Sophia one, y/n one-you think in your head, at least before she squeezes your interlaced palms again. It's a connection that you both acknowledge before turning to face Flitwick again, having not paid attention at all throughout the whole class.

It crosses your mind that perhaps this is her tactic. Distract you till you lose your standings in class-but that wouldn't make sense, since it would involve her grades slipping too. You don't dwell on it further, the only thing in your mind whatever Flitwick is about to announce and the twin pulses at the end of the table, where your fingers are intertwined, beating at exactly the same pace.

He clears his throat before turning to face everyone. He raps on the board, not once, not twice, but thrice. It is important.

"So, remember to jot this down, students. Professor McGonagall and I will have a special collaboration between our classes-as I'm sure you've noticed by now, every one of you here is in both her advanced transfiguration class and my advanced charms class. This project will involve your deskmate."

"I-no, we both will have you research about animagus. Of anything kind, in fact. Work with your table partner and the project's duedate is to be decided. Class dismissed!"

What...?

Deskmate. Your heads both turn to face the other at the exact same time, with parallel expressions. You can only imagine yours is some shade of gray and dread. She is grinning wildly again. God, that grin.

Deskmate.

Well, this should be fun...

You both don't notice that your hands are still interlaced, only until you both part do you realise the absence. It is cold now. But a part of it, you don't know what-the chocolate, the fire, the flames licking your skin, it stays.

Well, you both lost this one-so it doesn't count. Sophia one, y/n zero.

Notes:

They're only going to get longer from here on out. This will be a long one, I'm sure of it now...

[freakmcnastyy]

Behind closed doors

Oh Beom-seok x f!reader (one-shot)

Summary: There wasn’t supposed to be anything between you two — until you realized that sleeping with your dad's best friend's son wasn't such a bad idea.

Warnings: Slow burn (really long), smut.

Note: Anon request! (I separated it with emoji before smut started )

⸻

The restaurant was huge. Loud with voices—dads talking business, the clinking of glasses blending with the soft clash of cutlery on porcelain plates. Everything screamed luxury. Not the warm kind.

And you… you were used to it. Maybe too used to it.

But Beom Seok?

He didn’t belong there.

You didn’t even notice him at first. He had on a plain black sweater, collar of a shirt peeking out faintly. Sat upright, stiff, hands clasped over his knees, knuckles pale as paper. Like someone had dropped him off and vanished.

You didn’t realize you were staring— Not until he noticed.

He turned his head slightly, caught your eyes for a heartbeat, then looked away almost instantly. That was the first time your eyes met.

His gaze was distant. Uneasy. Almost guilty.

Like he was silently saying, “Don’t look at me.”

But it was already too late.

Your father was laughing at something when you gently turned your head, pretending to be politely bored. But your mind stayed on him.

Everyone was talking, everyone was laughing, life moved on—

But he stayed frozen. Right there. Like he was afraid even breathing wrong would ruin something.

And for just a second, a thought crossed your mind:

What happened to him?

But you didn’t ask. You knew these dinners too well. You answer what’s asked. You say what’s needed. The rest? Gets lost in eye contact.

When your eyes met his again, he didn’t look away this time. Not immediately. He tried to hold your gaze—but failed. His pupils shrank, his jaw tensed. Like not just your presence, but his own existence was too much for him in that moment.

Because you…

You were something else entirely to him.

Maybe the child his father wished he had.

Maybe someone he could never be.

Maybe just… you.

You kept your face neutral. No smile. No judgment. Just attention. The kind people give when they’re trying to understand the difference.

But he mistook that too.

Took it as pity.

After that night, it became a routine—seeing them, eating with them. Your dads were close and wanted to hang out often.

⸻ /TIMESKIP/

Beom Seok’s mom greeted you at the door. She smiled, but didn’t say a word. Just a soft nod, then silence. It was so quiet your heels felt too loud. As you took off your shoes at the entrance, your eyes drifted—he was already there. Sitting across the living room.

At the table, the dads jumped into conversation—politics, the market, the usual nonsense. You poked at your food, listening quietly. Beom Seok did the same. Every bite he took seemed to last forever. Or maybe he just needed time. You couldn’t tell.

Then it happened.

His dad suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Like he’d been holding something in and couldn’t anymore. He slammed his fork down.

“You skipped school again today,” he said.

Beom Seok didn’t lift his head.

“Who were you with this time? Those delinquent friends of yours?”

The air in the room shifted.

Forks froze.

Even you turned without meaning to.

Beom Seok didn’t move. Didn’t say a thing.

That silence only made his dad angrier.

“How long are you going to keep disgracing this family?”

His voice rose.

Your father stepped in, smiling politely, trying to calm things down.

“Come on now, he’s just a kid. We were all young once. Friends matter.”

But Beom Seok’s dad snapped toward him.

Eyes narrowed like he was waiting for this chance.

“Easy for you to say. You’ve got YN. Always so quiet, so well-behaved. She sits like a lady. I hear she’s doing great in school too. Not like my failure of a son.”

Everyone turned to look at you.

You smiled.

Didn’t say a word.

Beom Seok still hadn’t spoken.

His eyes locked onto a spot on his plate.

There was nothing there, but he wouldn’t look away.

His mom?

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even look at him.

Kept eating like no one was being torn apart in the same room.

Your dad looked like he wanted to say something else, but the man had already changed the subject.

Your eyes met again—but he pulled away.

This time, not just from you.

He looked at the corner of the room like he wanted to disappear into it.

⸻

The dinner was over. The adults had sunk into the living room couches, drinks in hand, crystal glasses clinking with slow-melting ice.

You sat in a corner, quiet.

Nodding, smiling when needed. Pretending to listen.

But your mind was elsewhere.

There was an absence.

Beom Seok had left the table a while ago.

He hadn’t returned.

No one noticed.

No one called for him.

Like he was never really there to begin with.

You didn’t say a word.

Just stared at your water glass.

Finger tracing the rim.

Then: “Can I use the bathroom?”

No one objected.

Out in the hallway, it was even quieter.

No more laughter leaking through.

Your steps felt weightless on thick rugs, past clean-cut furniture.

You knew where his room was.

The door was sliding.

You didn’t knock.

You just placed your palm on the cold wood, held your breath—

And slowly slid it open.

There he was.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched forward.

Hands dangling between his knees.

Glasses in one hand.

Eyes locked on the floor.

He wasn’t thinking. Or maybe he was thinking everything at once.

He flinched when he saw you.

His shoulders jumped.

His eyes found yours.

Silence.

“Can I come in?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you for long. Just gave a small nod, patted the space beside him.

You stepped inside.

Now there wasn’t much space between you.

He was still gripping his glasses.

His hands were tense.

He didn’t speak.

So you whispered, “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“You let them crush you. Don’t you ever wanna fight back?”

That’s when he turned to look at you.

But not gently this time.

His eyes were sharp.

There was a fire in them.

Like every word you said had cut deeper.

“You don’t know anything,” he said.

Cold.

Tight in his throat.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know my dad. You don’t know this place. But you talk like you do.”

He turned fully toward you.

“Your life’s easy. Everyone likes you. You sit there and get praised. No one ever humiliates you. What would you know about being me?”

You hadn’t expected that tone—but your face didn’t flinch.

No fear.

Just disgust.

You didn’t hide it.

Your lips curled.

You stood up slowly.

“Oh God,” you said.

Just that.

And it chilled the whole room.

“Maybe your dad’s right,” you added.

“Your loser friends really did mess you up.”

You didn’t stay.

Turned around.

Slid the door shut behind you.

Left.

But some part of you…

Some part of you stayed in that room.

Because in Beom Seok’s eyes, there was a loneliness so deep—

Even rage couldn’t cover it.

Even you walking away… couldn’t erase it.

⸻ /TIMESKIP/

The restaurant was crowded.

Wealthy laughter, the thick smell of food, and the clinking of ice-filled glasses were all competing to be heard.

You sat quietly in your seat.

Pretending to listen, but you weren’t really hearing anything.

Slowly, you stood up. No one thought twice about it.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you said.

You didn’t walk too fast. You didn’t want unnecessary attention.

As you moved between the seats, the fabric of your dress brushed against your legs. Your heels tapped lightly on the wooden floor.

When you entered the hallway, the sound of the restaurant began to fade behind you.

Only your footsteps remained now.

You stepped into the women’s bathroom. It was empty.

You placed your bag on the counter.

Took out a makeup brush.

Touched it lightly to your cheeks.

Not too much. Just a little.

But then the door opened.

A hum ran down your spine.

You didn’t even need to turn around to know who those echoing footsteps belonged to.

It was him.

And just like that—he closed the door behind him.

Then… he locked it.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

You watched your face in the mirror first. Then slowly turned to look at him.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

Trying to stay calm, though the weirdness of the moment unsettled you.

Still, you stood your ground.

You weren’t scared of him. But… you didn’t understand.

Beom Seok took a step toward you.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t soft either.

But it was certain.

His eyes were locked onto yours.

There was something open in them this time.

Like a darkness mixed with hurt.

He spoke slowly.

“I’m sorry… for last time.”

You saw the shame in his eyes.

But what you felt wasn’t sympathy.

Just a brief pause.

“It's okay,” you said.

You didn’t want to drag this out.

You didn’t want to fix it with a confrontation or a conversation.

You turned toward the door. You wanted to leave.

But…

Suddenly, he grabbed your wrist.

Not tightly.

But firmly.

You didn’t pull away.

You slowly turned back.

He gently pulled you toward the counter in front of the big mirror.

Cold marble touched your back.

You shivered as it met your skin.

He was in front of you.

So close.

Not even an inch between you.

Your eyes drifted to his.

But this time, you couldn’t glare.

Because the tension inside you… was turning into something else.

It was hard to speak.

“What?” you asked.

Beom Seok’s eyes were frozen.

But the cracks were showing now.

“I don’t want to be your enemy,” he said.

His face was so close to yours.

You could feel his breath on your skin.

You looked away for a moment, then looked back again.

“We’re not,” you replied.

Short. Clear.

But he wasn’t satisfied.

“Then why do you… look at me like you pity me?”

His voice was low.

“Why do you act like I disgust you sometimes?”

That sentence—

It hit you like a nail in your brain.

You swallowed hard.

You didn’t answer.

Maybe because you didn’t have one.

Or maybe you did… but it was too close. Too raw. You didn’t know what it would touch if you let it out.

In that silence… Beom Seok’s eyes fell to your lips.

Your eyes were locked on his face.

And then—

For a moment.

Quick.

Sudden.

He kissed you.

The touch of his lips on yours—

It wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t soft.

It was short.

But it hit you like lightning in the chest.

Your eyes widened.

Your cheeks burned.

Your body froze for a second.

Then he pulled away immediately.

Almost like he startled himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

His breath was shaky.

“I don’t know why I did that.”

He looked down.

His face was burning red.

You were still standing there.

But your heart wasn’t.

Everything had scattered.

He walked to the door.

Unlocked it.

Opened it… and left.

You stood in front of the mirror for a while.

Just stayed there.

You didn’t know what to feel.

⸻ /TIMESKIP/ 🔞

Dinner had been over for a while. Everyone was sitting in the living room, chatting casually. This time, the gathering had taken place at your house. You never really understood why both families insisted on having a full meal every time they met. God, how boring they were…

You were in the kitchen, reaching for the plates on the counter, loading the dishwasher.

Each time you bent down and stood up again, the back of your dress tightened just a little. Your hair fell over your shoulder.

It was quiet.

Just the soft drip of water from the faucet and the clink of porcelain against porcelain.

You were placing the last plate when you heard footsteps.

Slow, deliberate…

There was a slight pause before someone entered.

You didn’t need to look back. You already knew.

Beom Seok.

You weren’t surprised. But he hadn’t known you’d be here.

A subtle smirk tugged at your lips the moment you realized.

You weren’t going to test him.

But you weren’t about to run, either.

A little mischief wouldn’t hurt.

You straightened up.

Turned around.

Beom Seok paused slightly when he saw you.

Like someone had flipped on the lights in a dark room.

His shoulders tensed ever so slightly.

His expression… not guilty, not exactly sorry—

But definitely uneasy.

Still, he composed himself.

Didn’t look away.

But didn’t look into you either.

You crossed your arms.

Didn’t take a single step back.

“What is it?” you asked.

Beom Seok hesitated.

As if the weight of what he wanted to say was sitting right at the edge of his tongue.

Finally, he seemed to gather up the nerve.

“About that day…” he said.

His words were scattered, like he’d rather die than have this conversation—

But could no longer avoid it.

“I mean… that kiss. If it felt disrespectful to you—”

“It didn’t,” you cut in, flatly.

His eyes locked on yours.

He held his breath, but you could feel it—whatever he’d been holding back was about to burst free.

“Yes, sometimes I do look at you with disgust,”

you said, tilting your head slightly.

Your words were cold—

But carried a strange heat underneath.

And then you took a step forward.

Slow. Deliberate.

“But you look at me like you want to eat me alive,”

you murmured,

“and that turns me on like crazy.”

Beom Seok’s eyes widened.

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Something flickered on his face—confusion, arousal, surprise.

By then, you were already right in front of him.

One step. Just one step left between you.

You leaned in, lips brushing near his ear.

Your breath grazed his neck.

“If you want to fuck me, don’t bother hiding it…”

You looked him in the eye. Whispered again.

“Because no matter how hard you try, your pants are already giving you away.”

It was jarring, hearing something so filthy come from someone like you.

On the outside, you looked so composed—

That contrast threw Beom Seok off completely.

In that moment…

His body stiffened.

His eyes locked onto yours.

“Good. I want it. Now.” he said suddenly.

You pulled back. That wasn’t your plan.

You just wanted to tease him and disappear—

You didn’t expect this.

His hand had already reached the edge of the kitchen counter, pinning you between it and his body.

“Not now,” you whispered. “Someone might catch us.”

But he didn’t care.

He stepped in closer.

Closed the distance.

His body pressed against yours.

His hands slid over your curves—possessive, rough.

“Just a quick fuck” he murmured into your ear.

His warm breath sent a shiver down your spine.

He leaned in, captured your lips in a harsh kiss.

One hand slid up, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your dress.

Your lips crashed harder. Your breathing grew heavy.

But life continued outside—

People were still moving around in other rooms.

Anyone could walk in.

You both knew it.

He unzipped his pants just enough—

In a way he could quickly fix if needed.

He didn’t undress you.

Just pushed your panties aside.

He lifted one of your legs, hooked it around his waist.

Pulled your dress up.

At first, he only slid in the tip—

And even that felt so damn good, you almost moaned—

But he quickly slapped a hand over your mouth.

You pushed yourself closer to him, wanting more.

And the moment he realized what you needed,

he buried himself deeper, without hesitation.

Bigger than you imagined.

It felt like he might tear you apart.

Too much. Too full.

“I-it won’t fit,” you gasped against his hand.

He didn’t answer.

Just kept pushing.

You bit your lip to stifle your moan.

His movements got faster, more desperate.

His hand tightened around your mouth.

You were wet enough to help him slide in and out without making too much noise.

You had the advantage.

He pulled you even closer—

His thrusts became shorter, deeper.

He was trying to hold it in, finish without a sound,

but it was getting harder with every push.

He buried his face in your neck to muffle his groans.

His other hand gripped your ass tightly,

fingers digging in.

With one last deep thrust, he came inside you.

Both your bodies trembled from the intensity.

He stayed inside for a moment, holding his breath.

Then he quickly pulled out, fixing his pants.

Left you panting, back pressed against the cold kitchen counter.

“Damn…”

⸻

The air in the kitchen still felt hot and electric, your bodies buzzing with aftershocks.

You both stood there, breathless.

Your chest rising and falling rapidly, heart pounding loud in your ears.

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

Your hands trembled.

What the hell did I just do? you asked yourself over and over.

Beom Seok looked just as stunned—

But a hint of pride lingered on his face.

You stood side by side,

a strange silence hanging between you—

An invisible curtain that hadn’t been there before.

Just then, the kitchen door creaked open.

Your mom walked in.

You quickly pulled yourself together,

smiling like nothing had happened.

“Mom?” you said calmly,

like this had been just another ordinary minute.

She smiled gently.

“Oh… I was just wondering where you two disappeared to. Looks like you finally became friends, huh?” she teased.

“Come on now,” she added, gesturing toward the door.

“You're about to go home.” she said, giving Beom Seok a little glance.

You and he shared a brief look—

Still carrying the tension,

but on the outside,

you were just two perfectly normal people.

⸻

Life went on surprisingly normally after that.

Neither of you pretended it hadn’t happened.

Because it had—

And neither of you regretted it.

Still, you had to hide.

Moments no one else knew about, saw, or even suspected.

Secret meetings began.

In quiet cafés, in parks, in alleyways…

You’d meet without a word.

Quick glances, stolen touches.

Now that your families sat you next to each other at dinners,

he’d always find a way to touch your thigh under the table—

Or you’d simply hold hands in secret.

Sometimes in crowded places, like restaurants or cafés,

you’d excuse yourself to the bathroom—

and he’d silently follow.

Your hands would meet, your lips would crash—

and you’d have quick sex behind closed doors.

Those brief moments washed away the exhaustion of the week,

lit new fires in your hearts.

What you were doing wasn’t exactly right.

But you kept doing it.

And you would—

for a long time.

Eventually, the families would find out.

But it wouldn’t be the kind of scandal that destroyed reputations.

If anything, if things got serious,

it might even bring both families closer.

And neither of your parents would complain about that.