#but i think he called me 'they' earlier????

[dear-ao3]

by popular request: how to write an email

a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.

credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)

Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go

there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.

also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)

Step 2: remember to be Polite

a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email

Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.

a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.

Step 4: cite your reciepts.

wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email

Step 5: use the appropriate lingo

you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:

As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved

See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.

Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.

Step 6: give a polite sign off.

something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.

Step 7: follow up and follow up often.

polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.

and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)

so an email. should be formatted something like this:

Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)

I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)

(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)

(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)

Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)

Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,

email signature

go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.

[cthulhus-curse]

Leather & Lace

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,012

Warnings: Age Difference, Breeding, Degradation, Jealousy, Mommy Kink, Nursing, Pervy!Stepmom!Wanda, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Slight fluff, Somnophilia, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: After a split-second decision, Wanda finally gets what she wants from her lovely little stepdaughter.

Eyes remained emotionless as a front to the anger that lay beneath them. Watching intently, they studied the somber scene, narrowing as they watched a hand lower to a spot they had previously claimed as their own — of course not officially, but you could only dream.

You hadn’t spoken a word during the entirety of the morning. Glaring at your father was second nature at best as you hid behind the excuse of him being away for too long and never having time for you. Adulthood carried on many things, one of them being a disdain for being around him. The same couldn’t be said for your stepmother though.

Wanda laughed as the man whispered something in her ear, biting down on her bottom lip — it was a move you found to be adorable each time you feasted your eyes upon it. She was finishing off the dishes, breakfast already having been served in earlier hours. The perfect housewife was to keep you all fed, to be a submissive entity for your father to walk all over.

“We were thinking about going to the park today. Wanda wants to take the twins there,” your father piped up when turning to you. A set of twin brothers from Wanda’s previous marriage were the only ones to keep to sane as you watched the relationship between your dad and stepmom develop further for years. “Wanna come?”

“Whatever,” came your huff. The harsh gaze Wanda threw at you made you squirm, but your eyes faltered and ignored it out of fear.

“Come on, don’t be like that. We just want to have some family time-”

“Not my family,” you repeated as you had many times through the years. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need mommy,” you turned to Wanda staring daggers, “to take care of me. The only reason I haven’t moved out is because I’m waiting to finish college. Then I’m getting the fuck out of this shit town.”

“Y/N, don’t you dare talk like that,” your father warned.

“Or what? You’re not even around enough to give a shit about whether I move or not. It’s always work, work, and wo-” as you rambled on about his absence since his divorce from your mother, his phone rang. Not even a Saturday, the boys with their father for the weekend, could be spent in peace with his own family. “Speak of the devil. Are you gonna answer that?”

Without a word, your father excused himself. During the early years of having moved with him, you surely blamed him for the lack of parenting he carried out. You’d move with your mother if she wasn’t halfway across the world teaching English as a second language in various countries, living her life to the fullest as she ignored her motherly duties. All through high school you had been alone. Now in college, the one person you didn’t know you could count on was the surrogate caregiver who pranced to your side.

“Darling, that’s no way of speaking to your dad,” Wanda said in a low voice, tender as fury rose from the depths of her words. “You should apologize. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“I’m not doing jack-shit for you. You’re not my mom, you bitch.”

Surely the tone was harsher than you meant it to be, especially when the woman towered over you in the kitchen, you sitting on the stool by the island gulping down a know of fear. She tilted her head and suddenly all the years of anger, hatred, and surprising lust you felt for her vanished, let alone for the last one of course. With dark viridescent eyes dripping with need, she dropped her gaze to your lips.

Neither of you were fazed when your father ran to get an overnight bag ready. His job called for spontaneous trips across the world much like your mother, seeking out investment opportunities for this technology company, and yet most of the time you deduced he was simply using it as an excuse to fuck his secretary — same as he had done with your mother before marrying Wanda.

While he was adding the finishing touches to his bag, distracted as ever, Wanda grabbed your arm. She didn’t hesitate to use undying strength when pulling you away, the heels of her flats clicking against the hardwood floor when you made your way upstairs. Regardless of how much you attempted to twist away, she still held you in place.

“Stupid girl,” she growled. “It’s time we have a little chat about those icky moods of yours.”

You never expected to find yourself thrown over your bed, the woman locking the door as quick as she could. Many times she’d be the one to crack it open and watch as you undressed, a hand shoved between her legs as she hummed at herself. Not that you knew, but she was devoted to making you hers.

“You’ve been in a terrible mood all week, I get it, but don’t you ever dare speak to me like that,” was the first thing Wanda yelped as she towered over you, you sitting by the edge of the bed while she stood proudly. “You need to learn to behave.

“Oh shut up.”

To say her fury escalated at that would be an understatement.

“What’s gotten into you?” She frowned at you, crowing her eyes before stalking forth. As soon as Wanda tilted her head once again, a trademark move of hers, you knew you were done for. She explored your features, eventually averting her gaze down between your legs that you were rubbing against one another. “Oh I see.” A smile spread across her face as she softened up. “Does it maybe have anything to do with this?”

Eyes widened as Wanda, who was well pressed against you, heavy hot breaths falling on your face, cupped your clothed sex. She roughly pressed her fingers against you until she rubbed you, giving you pleasure even with the layers you wore. The hum she let out was all-knowing. Leave it to her to solve a mystery that to you ages to come up with an answer for.

“Wanda what are you-”

“Shhh be quiet, baby. You wouldn’t want your dad to find out, right? Don’t you want to be a good girl for mommy?” She raised her eyebrows, deep green eyes crawling into your soul and pulling out the submissiveness that lay beneath, and you couldn’t help but nod immediately. “Good. Now let me make it better. Your little pussy is all sticky and needy huh? I bet you get all hot and bothered when you see mommy. Tell me, sweetheart, have you touched yourself before? Has my pretty girl made herself cum at the thought of her mommy? I know you have, I’ve seen it. Those fingers look so cute inside your cunt.” She leaned in dangerously close. “Maybe I can show you some of the pictures I’ve taken of you like that.”

“Sometimes,” you admitted to her question, although in your hazy mind you couldn’t tell which one. Closing your eyes, you gripped the bed sheets while she rubbed your clothed cunt lazily.

“Yeah? Well, you have to remember that this is all mine. Mommy owns this pretty pussy of yours. Whenever you want to play with my property, you have to ask for permission.” Wanda sighed with relief as she allowed herself to bask in the wet noises your throbbing pussy made while she touched it. Even with your pajama pants on, she could tell you were oozing with juices. “You have no idea how long mommy’s been waiting for this. I’m glad my beautiful princess seems to like it.”

You didn’t fight back as she began tugging off your clothes until you were fully naked, her own being thrown over the floor only moments later. Being pushed back, you allowed your head to hit the mountain of pillows, the chill of the Fall coming through small gaps in your window causing you to shiver.

Seeing Wanda in her nude gloriousness made you drool. Perfection was her name. Her breasts stood perkily waiting to be played with, a toned stomach, slightly full with beautiful rolls, sitting there adorably crafted just for your enjoyment. There were stretch marks along her thighs, chest, and tummy which you urged yourself to kiss, only she hovered above you before you could so much as move.

Lips pressed against your own languidly. Numerous times you fantasized about what it would be like to kiss her, to have her naked frame brushing against your own, hard nipples on your skin, as your mouths danced to a steady rhythm.

“Touch me, please. Just fuck me or something…” you murmured as Wanda dropped a chaste kiss on your mouth. “Do it now. Fuck,” you grabbed her hand and let it fall on your pussy, humping it as you did with your pillows. “That’s good. Oh Wanda that feels so fucking amazing.”

“How pathetic,” she noted with raised eyebrows. Rather than keep touching you as you wished, Wanda slapped you harshly, brushing against your clit slightly and making you scream. “I said to stay quiet. Are you too stupid to understand? Maybe you’re just a mindless little slut for mommy. I bet there’s not a thought behind those pretty eyes of yours, huh?”

While you wished to relinquish some power, you quickly realized Wanda wouldn’t let you have any of it. After years of stressfully marrying your father, all she wished was to turn the tables, to have a submissive pet to use as a means to relieve all her stress. Watching you from afar, peeking through your door or even taking lewd pictures of you without your knowledge only enticed her madness; especially when she rummaged through your underwear drawer and stole a few pieces to wear while getting herself off at the sight of such images. Her craving for you drove her to the depths of desperation. You’d have to do as she said whether you liked it or not.

Fingers teased your entrance, a mocking laughter coming from Wanda as you squirmed beneath her. Neither of you noticed nor cared about the words of goodbye your father threw into the ghost house, the front door closing as you had a space just for yourselves. A weekend entirely devoted to her destroying you and claiming you as her own — how fun.

“I really should punish you for having such a dirty mouth. Cute princesses like you shouldn’t be saying those words, or making their mommies sad at that,” Wanda explained as she placed a kiss along your jaw, fingers making quick work to sloppily thumb at your clit. Folds were then parted, her hand coated with your slickness. When you sobbed at her words, she chuckled. “Oh but you’re just a little puppy, aren’t you? My lovebug doesn’t know any better. That’s okay. I’ll let it slide just this one time, but if you behave like a stupid whore again then I won’t hesitate to punish you.” She smacked her hand against your aching cunt. “Am I clear?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, arms wrapped around her shoulders as you pulled Wanda close.

“Yes what?”

Crying, clinging to her for dear life, you gave in. “Yes, mommy.”

“Good girl.” In all the years you had known her, never did you feel so many tremors running down your body in the presence of Wanda. “Now lay back and let mommy play with you, toy. Let me see how many fingers I can fill your cute pussy with.”

Heat radiated from her body as she began easing her fingers in your tight hole. For a moment she closed her eyes and thought back to the times she had seen you in compromising positions on top of a girl she knew was a friend from college, touching herself while imagining . Kate was never liked by your stepmother, and seeing as she possessively swiftly thrust a pair of digits inside grunting ‘mine’ beneath her breath, it was clear why.

“So wet and so fucking warm for me. Oh baby you feel divine,” Wanda moaned as she pressed her thumb against your clit, the two fingers inside your sticky, aching pussy being pushed deep until her knuckles brushed upon you. “My little baby was just so fussy. Can’t think straight without mommy’s help? Now, next time your princess parts get icky like this, you tell me about it. No need to be a bad girl. Just tell mommy and she’ll make it all better.”

“Yes, mommy,” you whined. “I wanna cum.”

“Already? Oh no little one I’ve barely touched you! You can go a bit longer for mommy, right? I know you can,” she announced. The way her tits brushed with yours, nipples erect and hypnotizing enough made you want to suck harshly on them. With her newly found position as her mommy, you’d surely ask for that. “Good baby bears only cum when mama bear says so, and I know my girl is really good.”

While making out with her, Wanda nipped oh so softly on your lower lip to silently ask for permission that you gave her. Wetness coated your mouth as she swirled her tongue inside, exploring the area while devouring your own tongue, making all that was yours her own. All she desired was to own you, and without much effort she got exactly what.

“You’re such a little whore, you know that, right? I’ve seen the way you touch yourself. Do you think about me when you stretch your pussy out with two fingers, sweetheart, or is it your friend that you imagine? You don’t need her. Mommy will teach you how to be good, and I promise I will always take care of my pretty angel. I don’t think she can do that, can she?” Wanda’s jealousy was rampant, but had always remained silent and simply waited for the time to take her prey as the predator she was. “Hmm and you’re so tiny. Such a delicate doll. It’s so cute how much of you I own already.”

By no means were her movements tender. She had waited long months to have you, always coming second to the disdain you had for humanity let alone for Kate. The poor thing was nothing but a friend you had fun with at times, but Wanda wasn’t about to let you whore yourself off to someone else when she was to care for you. Daily inspections would be a must to ensure her little one was hers.

“So full,” you whispered with your heart on the line for her. All Wanda did was curl her fingers up, making you scream with her mouth hovering above your own. “I’m so full with you, mommy.”

Your velvety walls clamped down harshly against her causing Wanda to grunt. “Hmm time for my little puppy to cum. Be good and show me what I want. Show me who your rightful owner is.”

When you finally did come undone, Wanda was there kissing your pleasurable screams away, still deep in your pussy fucking your through your orgasm, not letting you catch your breath as she made you hers.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

During certain nights Wanda found her desperation growing by the second. She didn’t have trouble slipping away from her shared bed with her husband and instead waltzing into your room, a rather large toy nestled comfortably between her legs. Entering your room in the depths of darkness was nothing new, but with the hunger she felt, it would be the first time she took you without caring for what you had to say in response.

Earlier that day you had excused yourself to explore the world with friends. Weekends were the only times where you got to relax, to ignore all the workload being crammed through the week and instead find your inner peace. Since the weeks you’d been secretly seeing Wanda you’d spend extra time with her, the boys and your father away on certain occasions, so not having you around was a rather lonely task your stepmother had to get through by herself.

All Wanda had wished to do was wrap you up safely in her arms and nuzzle her face against your shoulder. After having cleaned on that day, the twins having gone away with your father on a camping trip, she entered your room. There she found a frame picture of you and her from when you finished your first year of college and were taken out to dinner as a means to celebrate. Once she undressed herself and eased down on a stuffed animal of yours, one she gave you as a birthday present the previous year, Wanda began getting herself off. Humping the plushie and teasing her clit with one hand, the other held the picture in place as she eyed your shining face, moaning your name as she came.

Now in the late hours of the night, she’d finally get her toy to play with.

When she first shifted over the bed, you slurred slightly. The last thing she’d want was to awaken you from your peaceful slumber knowing you never got enough sleep with all the stress that floated around you.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Wanda’s voice was low as she pulled at your pajama pants along with your underwear, her silk robe already pooling on the floor. “Let mommy touch you a bit. I’ve missed my little slut so much.” Laying you on your side, your cunt in full view, she ran a hand through your slick folds. “So wet already. Oh I bet you spent all day fantasizing about being fucked like the whore you are. Now be a good girl and take my cock.”

While still asleep she grabbed her strap and slid it up and down your slit, making sure to pry your legs open a bit so she could swirl it across your clit. Once fully coated with your juices, jerking herself off a bit as though it was real, Wanda began inching inside, groaning as she basked in the sloshing sounds that came as she stretched out your tight hole.

Strong hands went to grip your hips in place. Wanda pressed her faced against the back of your neck, cheeks flushed and barely visible in the dimly lit room as she fucked you nice and slow. Even in your sleep you were responsive, little noises coming from your parted lips. The deeper she moved her cock in your pussy, the more you stirred.

“Mommy?” You groggily asked, eyes fluttering open slightly. “What’s going on? I feel really weird.”

“It’s okay, princess. Mommy just missed you. Won’t you let me touch you?” Although exhausted, you nodded. “Good girl. I even brought the special toy. You can have all of mommy’s treat. Do you want it now, baby?”

Hugging you from behind, Wanda pumped her cock in and out of your puffy cunt, a hand sneaking between your legs to stimulate your clit. She had to remind you to be quiet, that only good girls would get rewards. The last thing she wished was to alert your father of the rather taboo relationship you held, especially knowing it would come to an end.

For a few moments your mommy allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of your pussy. She desperately wished to truly understand how tight you were as your walls held her faux cock, the toy sliding past your folds as you hungrily took it all. Neither of you minded the mess that formed on your sheets, Wanda being far too blissed out as she desired to take everything from you – your sanity, your freedom, and your love would be all hers.

“Whatever my baby wants she gets,” she husked out.

Wanda pulled out her cock, leaving you empty and sobbing with exhaustion. Right as she was about to squeeze her drenched length, you grabbed her wrist, turning over so you could face her. She left you with droopy eyes and drool falling down your chin.

“Mommy, inside please,” you begged. Grinding yourself down against her bulbous dildo, you threw your head back. The way in which you clung to her, hands on her shoulders with eyes drifting down to her uncovered tits made her pity for you grew. “Please, I need it.”

“Oh but honey I don’t want to get my fleshlight all dirty.” Wanda nuzzled her face against your own, her flushed cheeks brushing yours. “Maybe if you beg a little…”

“Please mommy! I promise to be such a good girl, a whore, and let you use me whenever you want to. I need you to stuff me. I can't stop thinking about you inside me filling my pussy up with your treat. You can use me even when I say I don’t want to. Please, just cum inside me. I need it so bad.”

Wanda was more than content with your response. She cupped your face with a hand, the other guiding her strap-on back inside your pussy. “Hmm such a good slut. So desperate to have her cunt pumped full with my cum. Maybe I can even give you a baby. Would you like that, sweetie? For mommy to stuff you so full that you have my pups? Oh how cute you’d look.”

The redhead didn’t waste any time squeezing her cock halfway inside you until white sticky drops began squirting in your pussy. Foreheads remained together, your lips tenderly touching down upon hers, kissing mommy innocently, as she filled you up. With cum dripping down your inner thighs, Wanda made sure to fuck all of the seed back into you.

“Mommy’s fleshlight,” Wanda breathed out as she held you in place, hips moving and turning your bodies into one. “All mine. No one can have this pussy, baby. Only I can stuff you with pretty pups. Never forget that.”

“I’m full,” you cried. Not only did you have your cunt all pumped with cum, but also Wanda’s thick cock stretching you out.

“I know baby, mommy knows.” Wanda kissed your worries away, eyelids feeling heavy as she shared her love with you. She pulled down your head so you’d press up against her chest, humming calmly. “You can use your mouth if it’ll make it better, darling. Latch on. Mama is here to help you get some more sleep, okay?”

Nodding, you did as you were told. You had yet to reach your climax, so close yet too tired to beg for more. Wrapping your lips around one of her erect nipples, you latched on quickly. Many times you spend laying on top of Wanda, your hazy mind drifting you into Sandman’s realm, as she helped you relax against her. It was one of the many ways she coaxed your stress from school away.

While you began falling asleep once again, mouth suckling on Wanda’s breast, the older woman thrust her hips. She spent the rest of the night using her fleshlight – your aching cunt – before removing the strap from her waist and riding one of your thighs. Holding you close to her chest, mouth agape over skin, Wanda moaned whenever her clit brushed against you. She was practically dripping – only a few minutes passed up until she came undone after having brought you orgasm after orgasm.

To your dismay she was gone by the time you woke up in the morning. That Sunday was spent happily dancing around each other, Wanda’s hand brushing against your ass from time to time before she pressed you against the kitchen counter from behind when no one was looking – it was the perfect opportunity to grope your tits then. Each little moment the two of you got alone, you were sure to make the most of it. And of course when you showered, your stepmother was there peeking through the curtain with a hand between your legs – at least until you invited her inside, through the week rewarding her with various texts with lewd pictures of you she’d treasure forever.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Lando's Obsession | LN4

⊹₊ ˚‧₊୨୧₊‧ ˚ ₊⊹ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando has an obsession for Y/N's boobs

⊹₊ ˚‧₊୨୧₊‧ ˚ ₊⊹ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⊹₊ ˚‧₊୨୧₊‧ ˚ ₊⊹ word count ━━━━━━━ 3k

⊹₊ ˚‧₊୨୧₊‧ ˚ ₊⊹ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

Lando froze for a moment, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He hadn’t expected that. She had always been so reserved, so careful with her words. But tonight? Tonight, she was different. Bolder. And it was driving him wild.

“I wasn’t—” he started, trying to play it cool, but the grin tugging at the corners of his lips gave him away. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was. But can you blame me? That dress is… distracting.”

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, exaggerating the way the fabric clung to her curves. “Distracting, huh? You’re lucky I didn’t call you out earlier. Every time you thought I wasn’t looking, there you were, sneaking glances like some lovestruck teenager.”

Lando took a step closer, his confidence returning in full force. “If I remember correctly, you were the one smirking every time you caught me. Almost like you wanted me to look.”

Her breath hitched as he closed the distance between them. The air between them crackled with tension, the kind that made her skin tingle and her heart race. She could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the night air.

“Maybe I did,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes flicked down to his lips, then back up to meet his gaze. “Or maybe I just wanted to see how far you’d go.”

Lando’s gaze darkened, and he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was feather-light, but it sent shivers down her spine. “Careful, love. You might regret teasing me like that.”

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Or maybe I won’t.”

---

The night had started like any other date they’d been on—except it wasn’t like any other date. This was their fourth date, and the tension between them had been building steadily since the first. What had begun as shy smiles and casual conversations had morphed into something far more intense. Something neither of them could ignore anymore.

When Lando had texted her earlier that day—“Be ready by 7. Wear something stunning”—Y/N had felt a thrill run through her. She knew exactly what she was going to wear. A black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, with a neckline low enough to make Lando’s jaw drop. She hadn’t planned to be this bold, but the sexual tension between them had become too much to resist.

As soon as he’d picked her up, Lando’s eyes had lingered on her chest a fraction too long. She’d noticed—of course she had—but she’d said nothing, only enjoyed the way his gaze kept drifting back to her throughout the evening.

They’d gone to a small, intimate restaurant in Soho, the kind of place where the lighting was dim and the music was soft enough to encourage whispered conversations. Lando had been charming as ever, making her laugh and hanging on her every word. But every so often, his eyes would drop to her cleavage, and she’d catch him mid-glance, her smirk growing wider each time.

After dinner, they’d walked along the Thames, the city lights reflecting on the water. The conversation had flowed easily, but beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of something else. Something electric. Every brush of his hand against hers, every lingering glance, fueled the fire burning between them.

Now, standing outside her apartment, that fire was threatening to consume them both.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” Lando murmured, his voice low and rough. His hand slid down to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “And if I’m being honest, I don’t think I want to stop.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from hers. “Then tell me to leave,” he whispered. “Because if I stay, I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself.”

Y/N’s hands found their way to his chest, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt. “Who says I want you to control yourself?”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

In one swift motion, Lando pressed her against the door, his lips crashing onto hers with a hunger that startled them both. The kiss was messy, desperate, filled with all the pent-up longing they’d been holding back for weeks. Y/N gasped into his mouth, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

He groaned, his body pinning hers against the door as his hands explored every inch of her he could reach. One hand slid down to grip her thigh, hiking her leg up around his hip. The other found the zipper of her dress, pulling it down slowly, teasingly, as if giving her one last chance to change her mind.

But Y/N didn’t want to change her mind. She wanted this. She wanted him.

She broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “Inside. Now.”

Lando didn’t need to be told twice.

Lando’s lips crashed back onto Y/N’s as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The hallway of her apartment blurred as he carried her toward the bedroom, their kisses hot and desperate, each one deeper than the last. She could feel the hardness of his body pressed against hers, the way his hands gripped her thighs possessively, as if he couldn’t bear to let her go even for a second.

Her dress had already been halfway unzipped, and as they crossed the threshold of her bedroom, Lando slid it off her shoulders in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her standing in nothing but her lace bra and matching panties. His breath hitched as he took her in, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. He stepped closer, his fingers trailing up her sides, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she tilted her head back, meeting his gaze. There was something electric in the air between them, a tension that had been building since their first date—no, since the moment they met. It was finally unraveling, and she felt both exhilarated and terrified by how much she wanted him.

“Prove it,” she challenged, her voice trembling slightly despite her bold words. Her chest rose and fell with her quickened breaths, her skin already tingling with anticipation.

Lando’s lips curved into that cheeky grin she loved so much, the one that always made her weak in the knees. “Oh, I plan to,” he said, his tone dripping with promise. Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his mouth claiming hers in a searing kiss that left no room for doubt.

His hands moved to her bra, deftly unhooking it and letting it fall to the floor. Y/N gasped as cool air brushed against her bare skin, but the sensation was quickly replaced by the warmth of Lando’s hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they hardened under his touch.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look at her. His eyes were practically black with need as he leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, and Y/N moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him closer.

He alternated between her breasts, teasing and tasting, each lick and suck sending waves of pleasure through her. His free hand roamed lower, sliding over her hip and down to the curve of her thigh before slipping beneath the edge of her panties.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice ragged as his fingers found her core, already slick with desire. “Please…”

“Tell me what you want,” he urged, his lips still pressed against her skin, his breath hot against her collarbone.

She hesitated for only a moment before whispering, “You. All of you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. In one swift motion, he lifted her again, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently. He stood at the edge of the mattress, his eyes raking over her body as he began to undress. His shirt came off first, revealing the defined muscles of his chest and abs, and Y/N couldn’t help but reach out to trace the lines of his torso with her fingers.

“So bloody impatient,” he teased, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm before releasing it. The rest of his clothes followed, and then he was climbing onto the bed, settling himself between her legs.

The weight of him above her, the heat of his body against hers, made her head spin. She reached up to cup his face, pulling him into another kiss as his hips pressed against hers. The feel of him, hard and ready, made her whimper into his mouth, and she arched her back, craving more.

Lando broke the kiss, his lips moving down her neck to her chest once more. “Still think I wasn’t trying hard enough?” he asked, his voice thick with amusement and desire as his tongue circled her nipple.

She laughed breathlessly, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Maybe you’re just getting better at hiding it.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin, and then he was kissing his way down her body, his hands pushing her thighs apart as he settled between them. His eyes locked with hers as he hooked his fingers into her panties, dragging them down her legs and tossing them aside.

“Let’s see how smug you are after this,” he said, his tone playful but laced with an intensity that left her breathless. And then his mouth was on her, his tongue exploring every inch of her with a skill that had her crying out his name within seconds.

Her hands fisted in the sheets as he worked her with relentless precision, his movements slow and deliberate at first, then faster, harder, until she was writhing beneath him, her hips bucking against his face. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, his fingers joined the rhythm, curling inside her and hitting that spot that made her vision blur.

“Lando, I—” she started, but the words disintegrated into a moan as her climax hit, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her. He didn’t stop, not until she was gasping for air, her body trembling with the aftershocks.

When he finally pulled away, he looked up at her with a satisfied smirk, his lips glistening. “Still think I’m not trying hard enough?”

She shook her head, too overwhelmed to form a coherent response. Instead, she reached for him, pulling him up to kiss him deeply, tasting herself on his lips. When they parted, she whispered, “Get up here. Now.”

With a groan, Lando obliged, positioning himself at her entrance. He paused, his eyes searching hers. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed, lifting her hips to meet him. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And then he was inside her, filling her completely, and all she could do was cling to him as they moved together, their bodies perfectly in sync. Every thrust, every moan, every whispered word of encouragement drove her closer to the edge again, until she was certain she couldn’t possibly feel any more pleasure.

But then Lando shifted his angle, his pace increasing, and suddenly she was falling, tumbling over that edge with him right behind her, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

Lando collapsed onto the bed beside her, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Y/n lay there, her body still trembling from the intensity of their shared climax. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex.

Lando turned his head to look at her, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with admiration.

Y/n blushed, her heart still racing. She could feel the warmth of his body next to hers, and it made her feel safe, cherished. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, though her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. Y/n nestled into his side, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

For a moment, they just lay there, basking in the afterglow of their passion. The silence between them was comfortable, easy, like they had known each other for years instead of just a few months. Lando’s fingers traced idle patterns on her back, sending little shivers down her spine.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice soft but filled with curiosity. “Can I… play with your tits?”

Y/n looked up at him, surprised by the question but also intrigued. There was something about the way he asked it—so casually, yet with a hint of mischief—that made her stomach flutter. She smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You can.”

His eyes lit up, and he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at her. His free hand moved to her chest, his fingers lightly brushing over her skin. He traced the curve of her breast, his touch gentle but deliberate.

She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of his hands on her. Every touch sent a wave of pleasure through her body, making her skin tingle with anticipation. His fingers circled her nipple, teasing it until it hardened under his touch.

”God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with awe. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her breast before taking her nipple into his mouth.

Y/n gasped, her back arching involuntarily as his tongue flicked over her sensitive flesh. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to her core. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him close as he continued to tease her.

Lando alternated between soft kisses and gentle sucks, his hands roaming over her body, exploring every inch of her. He seemed determined to memorize her, to learn what made her tick, what made her moan.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “That feels… amazing.”

He pulled away slightly, looking up at her with a smirk. “Good,” he said, his voice teasing. “Because I’m not done yet.”

He moved to her other breast, repeating the same slow, sensual torture. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle nip of his teeth, sent her spiraling further into a haze of pleasure. She could feel herself growing wet again, her body responding to his touch like it was second nature.

As he continued to play with her breasts, his other hand drifted lower, sliding between her thighs. She gasped as his fingers found her slick folds, his touch light but insistent. He teased her clit, circling it slowly, drawing out every bit of pleasure he could.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “I love how much you enjoy this.”

She moaned, her hips bucking against his hand. “Lando, please,” she begged, her voice shaky. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His fingers continued to move, his pace increasing as he felt her body tighten around him. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her entire being focused on the sensations he was creating within her.

And then, just as she thought she couldn’t take anymore, she felt it—the sudden tightening in her abdomen, the rush of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her. She cried out, her body convulsing as she came hard, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed, his voice rough with desire. “Let go.”

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, she collapsed back onto the bed, completely spent. Lando pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she caught her breath. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his fingers still lightly stroking her skin.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his concern evident.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “More than okay,” she replied, her voice still shaky. “That was… incredible.”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Good. Because I plan on doing that a lot more often.”

She laughed, the sound light and carefree. “I think I can handle that.”

They lay there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other’s arms, content to just be together. The world outside their bubble seemed far away, irrelevant. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of them, lost in each other.

Eventually, Lando broke the silence, his voice soft but curious. “Do you ever think about… what this could be? Us, I mean.”

Y/n looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat at the seriousness in his tone. “Sometimes,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “But it scares me. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You won’t ruin anything,” he said firmly. “If anything, I think we’re just getting started.”

She searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity there. It was overwhelming, the depth of emotion she saw in him. But it also gave her hope, a tiny spark of belief that maybe, just maybe, she could let herself fall for him.

“Maybe you’re right,” she whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Maybe we are.”

[thepitlanepress]

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? –

↳ max verstappen + gf!mom!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: since i have the emotional and mental stamina and strength of a decaying cabbage rn this idea has graciously been given to me by my other half @arqbella so big thanks to her for this <3 this is also a short one bc as stated earlier decaying cabbage

"liefje?" max's calls out from the kitchen.

he usually expects an answer within the range of three to forty seconds. if you're super distracted a minute tops. you've alway had this thing- no matter what, whenever max calls you, you somehow hear him every time.

he thinks you also just like it when he calls you liefje or any nickname in dutch. your favorite is liefje though, as you've told him oh so many times.

because who wouldn't want to be called liefje by max verstappen are the exact words you use.

so when you don't answer him for a solid five minutes, he goes searching. he's hopeless at this recipe and needs your expertise before he blows the kitchen up.

"liefje?" max calls out again, still no answer. you must be upstairs somewhere with the baby then.

when he reaches the second floor he calls out your name again, but still no answer.

what is going on?

and being the dedicated boyfriend that he is, he gives up on his search and starts to return to the kitchen hoping things didn't explode in the kitchen while he was gone. surely he can work out how follow the instructions and have a perfect little surprise for you when you come down stairs.

just when he reaches the top step he hears your voice. its higher pitched and it sounds like you're mumbling nonsense so you must be talking to the baby.

whenever he stumbles in on you with the baby you always seems to be singing, or talking, or even gossiping to your little girl, who stares back at you with wide eyes - and an adorable face.

he decides the kitchen will be safe without him - what a mistake that was - and follows the two of his favorite sounds in the world. your voice and your baby's laugh.

he gently pushes the door open and leans on the door frame as he- what are you singing?

"du du du du max verstappen," you coo to the little bundle in you arms. "du du du du max verstappen!" you bounce about causing a little laugh to erupt out of your daughter.

"what are you doing, liefje?" max asks a mix between a smile and a frown on his face.

"i'm singing our daughter a song that i like," is all you supply.

"really because it sounds awful lot like the song that i don't like."

"i'm educating our child on how her papa is a famous f1 driver."

"i think the excessive amount of f1 things in this room will do- its practically a shrine, liefje."

"i happen to like it," you huff at max and smile at your daughter. "and so does she, look at her face, see? she loves it."

"i think she loves the fact that her mama is singing and dancing with her," he points out he says pushing off the doorframe and coming to stand beside you and look over you shoulder at the little girl in your arms.

you both stand there for a mometn just savouring the little peace and memory that you'll most likely keep for a long while.

well that was until, "du du du du max verstappen."

"really?"

[enwoso]

YOU DID WHAT? | alessia russo x leah williamson

still part of the grumpy universe, just lovie’s not exactly in this. 🙃

grumpy universe masterlist

alessia sat on the edge of her couch, staring blankly at her phone. the house now quiet as you were tucked in bed, your soft snores barely audible through the walls.

alessia's heart was heavy with doubt as she re-read harrison's message for what felt like hundredth time.

(maybe) harrison | 'thank you for letting me spend time with her. i'll do my best to make it right.'

her thumbs hovered over the screen, debating whether to respond. how to response: a simple reaction to the message? a quick few word response? or just ignore it?

a part of her still reeled from the decision she had made — a decision which felt impossible to undo now.

a knock at the door startled her from her thoughts as she swiped off the chat with harrison, as she glanced at the clock: 8:30pm. it was leah.

she opened the door to find leah standing there, a bag filled with alessia's favourite snacks and an expression that immediately eased some of the blondes tension. but not all of it.

"i stopped on the way, got all your favourite snacks. you sounded like you could do with a few pick me ups when i called earlier" leah smiled, stepping inside.

"you have no idea," alessia replied with a faint smile, closing the door quietly behind her, the two not making too much noise in the hallway not wanting to wake you.

leah set the bag of food down on the kitchen counter, turning around to find the cupboard filled with small bowls — leah knowing the kitchen as if it was her own.

turning to face, alessia who was stood leant against the counter her eyebrows knitted together as leah took in her girlfriends tense expression. "all right, spill. what's happened?"

alessia hesitated, she hadn't told anyone of her thoughts and decision when it came to harrison all everyone knew was that he had been in contact. they didn't know that you had met your dad and spent the afternoon with him. 

alessia hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. "i- um." alessia paused, leah's look deepening before she continued, "lovie, she spent the afternoon with harrison"

leah blinked, her head tilting slightly to the side, "you did what? hang on, harrison? as in harrison, her dad harrison."

alessia nodded, avoiding her gaze, "alone?" leah asked as alessia immediately shook her head.

"no, i met him about a week ago see what his intentions were and then set up to meet him at the park and i took lovie with me and let him meet her there." alessia explained as leah looked on slight surprise in her face, "he is her dad. i thought it was the right thing to do"

leah stared at her for a moment, her shock evident, "so you met the boy who basically broke your heart and left you when you were pregnant to bring up a child when you were still young yourself and now, now he want to be in her life.. and for the record you said.. yes?”

“yeah” alessia admitted, her voice cracking as it filled with doubt. as leah looked at her pure confusion in her face, trying to wrap her mind around the whole situation. alessia had told her that harrison had been in touch but the blonde had never said anything else about it so leah thought alessia had just ignored him..

“why? and why now?”

“i don’t know, like i told you he messaged me out the blue. said he wanted to meet her and wanted to try and be in her life and lovie deserves to know her dad, doesn’t she?”

leah exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair, “i get that, i do. i promise i do. but the way you told me he reacted back then..” she trailed off, shaking her head, “i just don’t want you, or tiny, getting hurt”

alessia’s chest tightened slightly, “you think i haven’t thought about that? about how he might just disappear again. but also what if he doesn’t? what if he really means it this time and he has changed?”

leah softened, stepping closer. “you’ve been the one holding everything together for the last four and a half years, less. you didn’t need him then and you definitely don’t need him now. but i know your doing this for tiny, and i’ll be here to support you if you need it but it’s okay to admit this scares you”

“it terrifies me,” alessia whispered, her voice trembling, “i don’t want to let him hurt her, but le she was so happy today and i don’t know what’s worse letting him in and risking it or keeping him out and not letting her have a relationship she might need.”

leah reached out, placing her hands on alessia’s hips, “you don’t need to figure it all out tonight. but whatever happens your not alone. you’ll always have me and so will tiny.”

alessia’s eyes welled with tears, “what would i do without you?”

leah smiled softly, “you’d survive but i’m here and i’m not going anywhere, i promise”

before alessia could respond, leah leaned in, kissing her with a gentleness that seemed to wash away her doubts even if it was only for a moment. the kiss was grounding, a silent promise that alessia wasn’t alone in this. when leah pulled back, she rested her forehead against alessia’s”

“i know this isn’t easy for you, to let someone into tinys life,” leah murmured, “but no matter what, we’ll figure it out, together.”

alessia nodded, her tears spilling over but her heart feeling just a little lighter, “together” she echoed. and for the first time that day, she felt like every could maybe be okay.

[elytrafemme]

not to do all this again but it does genuinely make me nauseated sick how many of the old MYCT streamers were groomers / abusers etc. honestly i was just thinking earlier that i swear to God there were even more allegations about other streamers that just totally got dropped. i'm really grateful that people publicly shit on dream. but it's like. i just need all of this to center back to the point that dream is racist & conservative, dream is a piece of shit streamer who is obsessed with tommyinnit for no goddamn reason, dream calls people slurs and comes out with a new identity every fucking week to defend himself -- and dream is a groomer. dream is a groomer. like at the crux of all of it dream is a fucking creep. i'm not saying thats more or less imp[ortant than anything else but its somethhing that can get dropped sooooo fast in streamer circles but like dream is a fuckign groomer. &i hope he burns in hell for a really really long time.

[rootedinrevisions]

Worth More than Gold

SUMMARY: Glen Powell has asked you, his long-time friend and secret crush to be his date to the Golden Globes. The evening is filled with glitz, glamour, and the intoxicating spark of possibilities - both on the red carpet and behind the scene. And at the end of the day Glen may not have won the Golden Globe, but he just might have won something better—you.

A/N: Glen's look at the Golden Globes did things to me and gave me so many ideas. This will probably be the last fic I do for the GG and I'm going to try to get back on track with my WIPs and Requests.

As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments and reblogs! I seriously smile and get all giddy like a little kid when I get a notification from you guys so please let me know what I think.

WORD COUNT: 10.8k

TAGS: In Comments.

The hotel room was a whirlwind of chaos, a perfect reflection of Glen’s pre-event energy. The plush carpet was littered with tissue paper from a last-minute gift delivery, a shoe box sat abandoned near the bed, and the sleek black tie Glen had decided to forego tonight was somehow draped over a lampshade.

Glen himself was in the middle of the room, pacing in socks and dress pants, his phone pressed to his ear. “Listen, I’m just saying, Texas football isn’t a sport—it’s a religion,” he declared, his Texas drawl warming the edges of his words. “And if the Longhorns take the game against Ohio State this week, we’re coming for that national title.”

He paused, evidently listening to the journalist on the other end of the call, then grinned as he gestured animatedly with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you want to talk about the nomination. But did you see last weekend’s game? That last play in the second overtime?”

Across the room, you sat curled on the couch, scrolling through your phone but only half-paying attention to the screen. Watching Glen charm his way through an interview about his career or recent projects while managing to somehow steer the conversation to Texas football was nothing new.

“Cufflinks,” said Warren, the stylist ensuring Glen looked red-carpet ready. Warren stood to the side, arms crossed with the patience of someone who’d dealt with a dozen “Glen Powells” before.

“They’re in the pocket of your tux,” you called without looking up, your voice laced with playful exasperation. “Right where I told you I put them earlier.”

Glen froze mid-gesture, patting down his pants pocket first before moving to his jacket. When his fingers closed around the cufflinks, he shot you a sheepish grin. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” he mouthed, before turning his attention back to his call. “Listen, I gotta wrap this up. Can I call you tomorrow and we’ll finish this?” he asked the journalist.

With that, he hung up and turned to the room, raking a hand through his neatly-styled hair. “You believe this?” He said, grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’m on deadline and trying to get out the door for one of the biggest nights of my life. And GQ wants to talk about…wardrobe and clothes and who I’m wearing.”

Warren arched a brow, adjusting the velvet Armani jacket on its hanger. “Wardrobe is why I’m here, Glen,” he said with a grin. “Now, if you could refrain from wrinkling this masterpiece, we might actually get you to the event looking like a winner.”

You snorted, rising from the couch. “Poor you,” you teased, brushing imaginary lint off your own shirt. “Must be so hard being adored by millions while wearing designer clothes.”

Glen rolled his eyes and snorted, stepping closer as the stylist fussed with his cummerbund. “Hey, I’m counting on you to keep me sane tonight,” he said, half-serious as he began to tug at the cuffs of his shirt. “You’re my buffer.”

“Buffer?” you repeated, arching a brow. “That’s what I’m here for? Not moral support—just as a human barrier between you and Hollywood?”

“Exactly,” he deadpanned, his grin widening. “You’re overqualified for the job, though.”

You stepped forward, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, your fingers moving with practiced ease over the slick fabric. Glen watched you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Okay, be honest,” he said, tilting his chin slightly. “One button or two undone? What’s the vibe tonight?”

You paused, letting your gaze drop to the open collar of his shirt, catching a glimpse of the chest hair peeking out.

“One,” you said decisively, reaching up to fasten the second button. “Two buttons undone is too much chest hair. You’re going to a red carpet, not auditioning for a ‘70s cop show.”

He laughed, the rich sound filling the room as he placed his hands on his hips. “Hey, my chest hair is a crowd-pleaser,” he countered, feigning offense. “You don’t know how many compliments I’ve gotten on this chest.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Please never say that to me again.”

He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Admit it. You’re just jealous you can’t pull this off.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a playful tug. “Oh, please. If I wanted to show off chest hair, I’d buy a faux-fur vest and call it a day.”

“Savage,” he said, clutching his chest as though you’d wounded him. “You’ve got jokes tonight, huh?”

“Somebody has to keep your ego in check,” you replied, stepping back to inspect your work. “And you make it so easy.”

Glen chuckled, shaking his head as he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, I’ll have you know, Warren said I was rocking this look,” he said, gesturing toward the stylist, who was busy folding tissue paper into one of the garment bags.

Warren didn’t even look up. “Warren also said to stop touching your shirt or you’ll wrinkle it,” he replied dryly, earning a snort from you and an exaggerated groan from Glen.

“Fine,” Glen said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No more touching. But if I get to the carpet and I’m not turning heads, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, you’ll turn heads,” you said, crossing your arms and giving him a once-over. “If not for the suit, then definitely for whatever ridiculous sound bite you give on the carpet. You’re physically incapable of being boring, remember?”

He grinned, stepping closer so the space between you was almost nonexistent. “Is that a compliment?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly.

You tilted your head, refusing to let him win. “Don’t get used to it, Cowboy.”

“Ah, there it is,” he said, leaning back with a laugh. “The nickname. I knew it was coming.”

You shrugged. “If the boots fit…”

Glen slid the custom velvet Armani tux jacket over his broad shoulders, the deep midnight-black fabric catching the light in subtle, luxurious waves. He tugged at the lapels, ensuring everything was sitting perfectly, before stepping back with an air of casual confidence.

“Well?” he asked, doing a quick spin on his heels, arms spread out theatrically. “What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”

You leaned back slightly, arms crossed, pretending to appraise him critically, but your expression betrayed you. Your eyes swept over him, taking in every detail—the sharp tailoring that hugged his frame perfectly, the structured cut of the jacket emphasizing his frame, and the way the silk shirt beneath hinted at the faintest trail of chest hair.

The stylist had done a remarkable job on his hair, taming the usual tousled locks into something sleek yet effortlessly natural. And the stubble—God, the stubble. He hadn’t bothered to shave completely, leaving just enough scruff to lend him a rugged edge that, if you were honest, made him look even more attractive.

The all-black ensemble was a bold choice, but it worked. The mix of textures—the smooth silk of the shirt, the luxurious velvet of the jacket, and the matte sheen of the tailored trousers—created a look that was polished yet unmistakably Glen.

“You clean up nice,” you finally said, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you took him in from head to toe. “I mean, you almost look like a proper gentleman.”

“Almost?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he turned back toward the mirror, pretending to check himself out.

“Well, the stubble kind of ruins the whole gentleman thing,” you quipped, biting back a laugh.

“Ruin it?” Glen turned to face you again, his voice dripping with mock offense. “The stubble is the pièce de résistance, thank you very much.” He ran a hand over his jaw, grinning when he saw the way your gaze briefly followed the movement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Sure it is. But seriously, you look good, Glen. The best I’ve seen you look in a while.”

For a moment, his grin softened, and his eyes caught yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, more sincerely this time. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.”

He held your gaze for a beat longer than usual, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he broke the moment with his signature charm. “Well, I have to. You’re the one who’ll have to be seen with me all night. Can’t embarrass you on your first red carpet.”

You glanced at the clock and froze. Less than an hour until you were supposed to be ready and out the door. Helping Glen finish getting ready had been fun—maybe a little too fun, you realized now, as time ticked away faster than you’d expected.

“I need to go get ready,” you said abruptly, stepping back and pointing toward the door.

Glen smirked, his hands casually adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Go on, Cinderella. Clock’s ticking.”

Without another word, you bolted for your room next door, already running through a mental checklist of what needed to happen to make yourself red carpet-ready in under an hour. Once inside, you kicked the door shut behind you and headed straight for the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Okay. Hair. Makeup. Dress. You could do this. Right?

You pulled your hair loose from the lazy ponytail it had been in all day, raking your fingers through it and trying to decide if it would look better up or down. Your eyes darted to the neckline of the dress still hanging on the back of the closet door, but you didn’t have time to figure out how to make everything match. You groaned, pressing your hands to your face.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Hello?” you called out, cautiously heading toward the door and cracking it open.

Standing there were two members of Glen’s glam squad—one holding a bag of makeup brushes and palettes, the other with a small suitcase of hair tools.

“Mr. Powell asked us to check on you,” the makeup artist said with a kind smile. “He thought you might be running behind.”

You blinked at them, momentarily speechless. “He... sent you?”

The hairstylist nodded. “He figured you might need a little help. Mind if we come in?”

You stepped aside to let them in, still processing Glen’s uncanny ability to predict you’d be panicking. “Sorry about the mess,” you admitted, glancing at the clock again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Don’t worry,” the makeup artist said, already setting up her supplies on the bathroom counter. “We’ve got this. Can we see the dress? It’ll help us figure out the best look for you.”

You grabbed the garment bag from the closet and unzipped it, revealing the dress inside. You’d picked it out weeks ago, but standing there now, you suddenly second-guessed everything about it.

The hairstylist tilted his head thoughtfully, taking in the neckline and cut. “With this neckline, I’d suggest pulling your hair up—something elegant but not overdone. It’ll show off your shoulders and collarbone beautifully.”

You nodded, trusting his expertise. “That sounds perfect.”

“And for makeup,” the other stylist added, “we’ll keep it timeless—focus on your eyes, a little shimmer, and a soft lip. Nothing too bold, just enough to complement the dress and the hair.”

“Let’s do it,” you said, exhaling as you sat down.

With practiced efficiency, they got to work. The hairstylist began gathering your hair into an elegant style that framed your face while showcasing the neckline of the dress. Meanwhile, the makeup artist brushed soft gold tones onto your lids, added a touch of liner to define your eyes, and blended everything seamlessly. A quick swipe of lipstick finished the look.

You watched the transformation in the mirror, the tension slowly melting from your shoulders. By the time they stepped back to admire their handiwork, you felt like a completely different person.

“Done in thirty minutes, just like we promised,” the hairstylist said with a grin.

You stood, giving them both a grateful smile. “Thank you. Seriously, I wouldn’t have made it without you—or Glen, apparently.”

The makeup artist laughed. “He seemed pretty confident you’d need backup. Smart guy.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about his effortless charm and how much he looked out for you. “He really is.”

After the hairstylist and makeup artist left, you stood in front of the full-length mirror, a deep breath escaping your lips. You could do this.

You reached for the dress, still hanging from its garment bag, and carefully unzipped it. The soft fabric slid through your fingers as you pulled it off the hanger, feeling a flutter of nerves as you held it up in front of you.

The dress was simple, yet elegant, hugging every curve in a way that made you second-guess your choice. But it was beautiful.

With your heart racing a little, you slipped the dress on. You paused to glance at the mirror as you tugged the fabric up your body, hoping everything would fall into place.

But it didn’t.

The zipper snagged halfway up your lower back. You tugged a little harder, but it didn’t budge. Panic settled in your chest. You didn’t want to rip the fabric or make a scene, but there was no way to finish getting ready if you couldn’t zip the dress.

Your fingers fumbled for your phone, dialing Glen’s number before you could think twice. The seconds ticked by slowly, and your nerves only heightened with every ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said the moment he answered. Your voice trembled slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I need help. The zipper on the dress is stuck, and I can’t get it up.”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming right over,” Glen’s voice was calm, reassuring. You could almost hear the smile in his tone.

The call ended quickly, and before you knew it, there was a soft knock at your door. You quickly pulled the front of the dress to your chest and peeked out, your eyes meeting Glen’s as you opened the door just a crack. His presence was as commanding as ever, but now, standing there, you felt exposed.

“Hey,” you greeted him, offering a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, raising an eyebrow. “Need a hand?”

You nodded, opening the door wider for him to step inside.

As he entered, you turned, giving him full view of the situation. The dress clung tightly to your body, and you were sure your back looked exposed in the tight fabric. A slight blush crept across your cheeks as your fingers instinctively tugged at the fabric.

“Relax,” Glen said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved behind you and gently grasped the zipper. 

After a few tugs and a bit of effort, he managed to get it unstuck, smoothly pulling it the rest of the way up. The dress fit perfectly once it was zipped all the way.

Glen stepped back with a satisfied nod, patting your hip gently. “All good. You’re all set now.”

You took a deep breath, your nerves slightly eased but still there. With a nervous smile, you smoothed the front of your dress down, trying to calm yourself before glancing back at him.

“Do I look okay?” you asked quietly, suddenly unsure of how you appeared.

Glen gave you a slow once-over, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than you expected. Then, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “Seriously. You’re going to steal the show tonight.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension in your chest easing. Glen’s words meant more than you realized, and as he gave you that smile, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Once you were fully ready, feeling the weight of the evening ahead, Glen offered you a reassuring smile as he adjusted his jacket one last time. He gave you a soft nod, signaling that it was time to go.

Together, you left the suite, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway as you walked side by side toward the elevator. Glen pressed the button, standing close enough to be a silent but steady presence. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he moved—like he was born to own every room he entered, even though his demeanor was always so grounded.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Glen stepped aside, letting you enter first. When you reached the lobby, the bustle of the hotel faded in comparison to the calm, quiet space Glen seemed to create around the two of you. He was the kind of person who moved with purpose, but never rushed—always thoughtful, always present.

As you made your way toward the entrance, he gave a quiet wave to a few people who greeted him, but he kept his focus on you, his hand close to your lower back as if guiding you through the crowd.

Outside, a sleek black car waited by the curb, the driver standing at attention. Glen held the door open for you with a courteous nod, his hand outstretched to assist you into the back seat.

You smiled, appreciating the little things—his attention to detail, the way he never made you feel like you were inconveniencing him. You slid into the seat, and as you did, Glen quickly followed, settling next to you with a quiet grace that was all him.

The driver closed the door, and the car began to move smoothly through the streets, the city lights reflecting off the tinted windows. The buzz of the evening began to settle into a comfortable rhythm, and Glen turned his attention to you with a soft look.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his tone light but sincere. He glanced down at your dress, the slight gleam in his eyes making you feel all the more seen. “You’re gonna turn heads tonight, no doubt about it.”

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but his words still made your stomach flutter. “I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady. 

The car glided through the streets, the hum of the engine and the soft clink of the streetlights outside giving you a sense of distance from the chaos of the night ahead. Your fingers nervously drummed on the fabric of your dress, your gaze flickering from the passing city lights to the reflection of yourself in the window.

Glen noticed the subtle tension in your posture and the way your fingers twitched, like they couldn’t quite settle. His sharp eyes, attuned to every little shift in your mood, moved over to you. He shifted closer, his hand reaching across the space between you with ease, brushing lightly over your fingers before gently taking your hand in his.

"You're going to be fine," he said, his voice low, teasing but gentle, as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, smoothing away any remnants of tension. "Just smile and wave, Penguin. You’ve got this."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, the warmth of his hand in yours bringing a little bit of ease. “Penguin?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow, feeling the tension in your shoulders release with that soft chuckle.

He grinned at you, the kind of smile that melted any nervous edge. “Yeah, Penguin. You know—Madagascar. Smile and wave boys. Smile and wave.” He gave your hand a playful tug, the humor in his eyes lighting up.

You shook your head, but the tension you’d carried with you slowly began to melt. Glen had that way about him—without even trying, he made things feel easy, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you could pull this off.

The car hit a smooth turn, the soft hum of the tires filling the silence. You glanced at Glen, his easy grin still in place, his hand steady in yours. There was something about his presence—something grounding, comforting. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you let the last bits of tension drain away.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Glen glanced down at you, his expression softening. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away—he just stayed still, letting you rest there. His thumb continued its soothing motion across the back of your hand, and he tilted his head slightly toward yours.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice warm and steady. "You know I’ve got you."

For a moment, the world outside the car faded away. It was just the two of you, a quiet moment that reminded you why Glen was your best friend. His support, his calm energy—it was all you needed to take a deep breath and believe in yourself again.

As the car slowed to a stop, signaling your arrival at the red carpet, you felt ready. Maybe it was the way Glen always knew how to bring you back to yourself, or maybe it was just the fact that he was there beside you, exactly where he always seemed to be when you needed him most.

You stole a quick glance at Glen, catching the way his gaze softened as he looked back at you, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours.

“Hey,” he said, the tone shifting just a little, serious but with the same undertone of care. “You’re gonna be great, okay? And if you need me to do anything, I’m right here. Just... be you.”

Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, a reassuring pressure that grounded you, and you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

The driver opened the door, and the bright lights of the red carpet began to stretch ahead of you, already swirling with flashes and faces, the hum of excitement palpable in the air. Glen leaned toward you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your neck.

“You’re gonna shine tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with confidence, making you believe it for the first time.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, then flashed him a grin. “Thanks, Glen.”

He winked. “Anytime, Penguin. Let’s go make some memories.”

With that, you stepped out of the car, Glen’s hand still firmly in yours, ready to face whatever the night would bring—with him by your side, you felt ready for anything.

The roar of the red carpet hit you the moment you stepped out of the car. A wall of flashing lights and the constant hum of voices calling out names created a dizzying cacophony. For a second, you froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The chaos seemed endless, but Glen’s steady hand on the small of your back was the anchor you needed.

“Stay close,” he said quietly, his voice warm and reassuring, almost lost in the noise. He guided you forward with a gentle pressure, his touch never faltering.

Reporters shouted his name, cameras clicked furiously, and fans called out from behind the barriers. Glen’s demeanor shifted effortlessly, the easy confidence you admired about him coming to life under the scrutiny. But even as he navigated the chaos like a pro, his focus never strayed far from you.

When a particularly eager photographer stepped too close, Glen instinctively pulled you in, lacing your arm through his. The motion was protective yet natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “You doing okay so far?”

You nodded, the nerves still simmering but far less overwhelming with Glen beside you. “Yeah. It’s just... a lot.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers giving your arm a light squeeze. “It’s always a lot. Just keep smiling and don’t trip. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Moments later, you were ushered to the line of reporters waiting for interviews. Glen kept you close, his hand returning to your back as he led you toward the first microphone. The journalist’s attention immediately shifted to him, questions about his latest project firing off one after another.

“This is Glen Powell, looking dapper as always! Who’s your stunning guest tonight?” one reporter asked, her eyes flicking to you with interest.

Glen grinned, that signature charm lighting up his face. “This,” he said, his voice full of pride, “is the best friend who keeps me sane.” He glanced at you, his expression softening as if to emphasize his words.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as the reporter laughed. “Keeping Glen Powell on track sounds like a full-time job!”

“You have no idea,” you replied, finding your confidence in the moment. Glen chuckled beside you, his presence like a shield against the overwhelming spotlight.

The interviews continued, with Glen effortlessly steering the attention toward his projects while making sure you felt included. Whenever he wasn’t speaking, his hand either rested lightly on your back or your arm stayed looped through his. The gesture was subtle, but it kept you grounded, a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

In a rare lull between interviews, Glen turned to you, his expression softening as the frenzy of the red carpet seemed to momentarily fade into the background.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the noise around you.

You looked up at him, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of the evening. 

“Hey,” you replied, a little breathless.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of your updo from your face, his fingers lingering just slightly longer than necessary. His touch was light, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you. His eyes searched yours, the usual glint of mischief replaced with something quieter, more sincere. “You okay?”

The simple question held weight, as if he wasn’t just asking about the moment but something deeper. You nodded, your voice catching slightly as you said, “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, his hand dropping back to his side, though the warmth of his touch seemed to linger. “Good. Can’t have my Penguin falling apart on me now.”

The moment hung between you, brief but charged with an unspoken connection that neither of you dared to address. Then the chaos of the red carpet surged back to life, pulling you both out of it.

“Ready to keep going?” Glen asked, his tone light again as he gestured toward the next line of reporters.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

With your arm resting gently on his, Glen led you forward, his confidence bolstering your own. And as the night unfolded, you realized that no matter how overwhelming the evening became, you’d be okay—with Glen by your side.

The ballroom was a masterpiece of elegance, bathed in soft, golden light with tables draped in white linens and adorned with extravagant floral centerpieces. Each table bore name cards in ornate calligraphy, indicating an impressive roster of directors, actors, and other Hollywood heavyweights.

Glen pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat beside you, leaning in briefly to whisper, “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.”

You looked at Glen with a soft smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Powell.”

Within moments, the table began filling with familiar faces. To your left sat Richard Linklater himself, his unassuming charm making you feel more at ease than you’d expected. Across the table, a notable actress you’d only ever seen on-screen chatted animatedly with Glen, who was effortlessly charismatic as always.

“Glen,” Richard said with a warm smile, his Texan drawl coming through as he gestured toward you. “You didn’t introduce me to your lovely guest.”

Glen straightened, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he turned to you. “Richard, this is the best friend who keeps me sane—and who’s also had to deal with my Dazed and Confused impression far too many times.”

You laughed lightly, shaking Richard’s hand. “It’s true. If I hear him say, ‘Alright, alright, alright,’ one more time, I might disown him.”

Richard chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A classic never dies, though, does it?”

“I suppose not,” you conceded with a grin.

The quick banter caught the attention of the others at the table, who joined the conversation with playful remarks of their own. You held your own with ease, even managing to get a genuine laugh out of the actress across from you after a comment about the absurdity of some press junket questions.

Glen, sitting beside you, watched the exchanges with a kind of quiet pride, his gaze lingering on you whenever you spoke. At one point, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re killing it. Remind me again—why am I not bringing you to all of these things?”

You smirked, taking a sip of water to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Because you know I’d upstage you.”

“Touché,” he said with a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder playfully.

As the dinner continued, Glen made sure to include you in every conversation, subtly steering the spotlight toward you when someone asked about his current projects. You found yourself talking about Glen’s work ethic and how he somehow managed to juggle it all without losing his sense of humor.

“Sounds like you know him pretty well,” Richard observed with a knowing smile.

“I sure hope so after I’ve put up with him for all these years,” you replied, glancing at Glen. “Someone has to keep him humble.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Glen shook his head, though the unmistakable warmth in his expression betrayed how much he loved every second of it.

When dessert was served—an artfully plated creation that was almost too pretty to eat—Glen leaned in once more, his tone playful but sincere. “See? Told you you’d be great.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad for someone who almost didn’t make it out of the hotel room.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening, “you belong here, you know.”

The weight of his words settled between you, a quiet affirmation that carried more meaning than the playful banter that had preceded it. You nodded, the nerves you’d been holding onto finally beginning to ease.

The awards show was nothing short of spectacular, a seamless blend of glamour, artistry, and showmanship. The host kept the audience entertained with clever quips and light-hearted jokes, while presenters took the stage to announce the winners in a variety of categories. The room buzzed with energy as names were called, winners delivered heartfelt speeches, and cameras panned over the crowd of celebrities.

Sitting beside Glen, you couldn’t help but notice how his leg bounced slightly under the table, a telltale sign of his nerves. Despite the outward appearance of ease he projected, you knew him well enough to see through it. Every now and then, his hand brushed his jawline, the slight stubble catching the light, as he glanced at the stage and back at you with an almost imperceptible smile.

You leaned closer to him during a quieter moment. “How are you holding up?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the applause filling the room.

“Better with you here,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. The weight of his words sent a gentle warmth through you, grounding you as much as it did him.

As the night progressed, Glen laughed at the host’s jokes and applauded the winners, though you could feel his anticipation building as his category grew closer. 

The glitz and chatter around you seemed to blur as the presenter finally took the stage to announce the nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy. 

You felt Glen shift in his seat, his back straightening as his name was called alongside the other nominees. His hand brushed his thigh, and you noticed him take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. Instinctively, you leaned in just enough so your shoulder lightly pressed against his, a silent reminder that you were right there with him.

The presenter opened the envelope, the seconds stretching impossibly long. “And the award goes to... Sebastian Stan!”

The room erupted into applause as Sebastian rose from his seat, making his way to the stage. You clapped along with everyone else, but the knot of disappointment in your chest was impossible to ignore. Letting out a small, defeated breath, you glanced over at Glen.

He was smiling politely, clapping for Sebastian, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. The kind of flicker only someone who truly knew him could catch. Others at the table offered their own words of encouragement, but Glen only nodded politely, his attention still half-focused on the stage.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your voice low and meant just for him. “You’re still the most talented guy in the room.”

You reached over, resting your hand gently on his knee under the table, offering him the kind of comfort words alone couldn’t provide. For a moment, his gaze dropped to your hand, then back to your face. A small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hand briefly covered yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning.

Throughout the rest of the show, Glen leaned into your presence, subtly relying on you to keep him grounded. You noticed the way his body gradually relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the night continued. 

When another winner gave a particularly heartfelt speech, Glen turned to you with a quiet chuckle. “At least I don’t have to worry about tripping on the way to the stage.”

You laughed softly, the sound drawing out a more genuine smile from him. “See? There’s always a silver lining.”

By the time the final award was announced and the audience began filtering out of the theater, Glen seemed more at ease. 

As the two of you stood to leave, he placed a hand on your back, guiding you through the crowd. “Thanks for keeping me sane tonight,” he said, his voice low but warm.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the unspoken connection between you deepen as the evening came to a close.

The after-party was everything you expected it to be: glamorous, extravagant, and a little overwhelming. The main Golden Globes after-party felt less like a celebration and more like a carefully orchestrated networking event. The room was packed with A-list celebrities, producers, directors, and journalists, each armed with a drink in one hand and a carefully curated smile.

Music thumped in the background, but it barely registered over the hum of conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses. Glen stayed by your side at first, introducing you to a few people here and there. You exchanged pleasantries with actors whose faces you recognized from the big screen and smiled politely at directors whose names you tried not to forget. 

But before long, Glen was pulled away, whisked from one conversation to the next like the star of the evening. You watched as he posed for pictures, his easy charm making every interaction look effortless. He’d glance back at you occasionally, offering a reassuring smile or a quick wink, but you could tell even he was beginning to feel the strain of the crowd.

You nursed a drink at the edge of the room, trying to stay out of the way while still keeping Glen in your sights. It was easy to lose track of time amidst the chaos, but the constant flow of strangers and small talk started to take its toll. The energy in the room felt electric and draining all at once, and you found yourself wishing for a quieter corner to catch your breath.

After what felt like hours, Glen appeared at your side, his hand lightly brushing your arm to get your attention. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise around you. “This is… a lot, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a small laugh. “It’s a little overwhelming. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve smiled so much tonight my face might be stuck this way,” he joked, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He glanced around the room, then back at you. “What do you say we head to my party? I think I’ve shaken enough hands and posed for enough pictures to last a lifetime.”

The suggestion was like a lifeline, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Glen’s shoulders relaxed visibly at your answer, and he gave you a small, grateful smile. He offered you his arm, the gesture both protective and grounding as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Despite the noise and flashing cameras still lingering near the doorway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as you stepped out into the cool night air.

The car ride to the rooftop bar was quiet, a welcome change from the chaos of the Golden Globes after-party. Glen leaned back against the seat, his shirt now unbuttoned to a second button and the faintest hint of exhaustion in his expression.

You glanced at him, smiling softly. “You know, most people would just go to bed after a night like this. Not go to another party.”

Glen chuckled, his head turning toward you. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

When the car pulled up to the rooftop bar, Glen stepped out first, turning back to offer you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go see everyone.”

The rooftop bar was stunning, its perimeter lined with fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow. The city skyline sparkled in the distance, and the faint hum of music drifted through the air. Glen had rented the entire space, and as the two of you stepped inside, you were greeted by the cheerful buzz of conversation.

His parents were the first to spot you, their faces lighting up as they hurried over to greet Glen with warm hugs and congratulations. 

His mom pulled you into an embrace as well, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You look stunning tonight, sweetheart. And thank you for taking care of our boy out there.”

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the ease that came with being around Glen’s family.

You scanned the room and spotted Leslie, Glen’s younger sister, waving excitedly from across the bar. She was all smiles as she made her way over, throwing her arms around you in a hug. 

“It’s been forever!” she exclaimed, pulling back to give you a once-over. “You look amazing! And that dress—ugh, you’re killing me.”

“You’re one to talk,” you teased, taking in her own dress. “You look incredible.”

Glen was quickly pulled into conversations with friends and other guests, his charm and warmth on full display as he moved through the room. You stayed behind with Leslie, the two of you settling into a quieter corner of the bar.

“So,” you said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell me everything about the engagement. I need details.”

Leslie’s face lit up, and she launched into a detailed recounting of the proposal—how her fiancé had asked, the secret planning, how he included her friends and family in on the surprise. She showed you the ring, a design that perfectly suited her, and the two of you gushed over wedding plans.

“I’m thinking late spring,” Leslie said, twirling her glass of wine between her fingers. “Something outdoors, simple but elegant. Glen keeps trying to offer to pay for everything, but I want to keep it low-key.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, smiling. “And knowing Glen, he’ll find a way to contribute whether you want him to or not.”

Leslie laughed, nodding. “Oh, I know. He’s the best, though. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Yeah, we really are.” Your gaze drifted across the room to where Glen was laughing with a small group of friends, his easy smile making your own lips curve upward. His hand was resting casually in the pocket of his suit pants.

“You’ve got that look again,” Leslie said, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You blinked, snapping your gaze back to her. “What look?”

She grinned knowingly and nudged your arm with her elbow. “The ‘I’m totally into Glen but I’ll never admit it’ look.”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, trying to laugh it off. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh-huh,” Leslie said, leaning back against the bar with a smirk. “Sure I am.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to brush off her teasing. “He’s my best friend, Les. That’s-” But before you could finish your sentence, Glen glanced over at the two of you. His eyes found yours across the room, and when he smiled—soft, warm, and undeniably genuine—you felt your words falter. 

You didn’t even realize you had stopped speaking until Leslie let out a low chuckle.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely containing her laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”

Realizing what just happened, you tore your gaze away from Glen, your face burning. 

“I do not,” you muttered, but the weak protest only made Leslie laugh harder.

She shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. Honestly, I’ve suspected this for years, but that little moment right there? Total confirmation.”

“Okay, enough,” you said, waving your hands as if to physically push the conversation away. “Let’s focus less on your brother and my nonexistent love life. Let’s get back to your wedding.”

Leslie just smirked, clearly not buying your denial. “Fine, but for the record? He’s totally into you too.”

You gave Leslie a confused look, followed by a doubtful laugh. “Yeah, right?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Leslie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your self-doubt. “Why do you think he wouldn’t be into you?” she asked, crossing her arms as if she were gearing up to debate.

You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “I mean…look at him,” you said, gesturing vaguely in Glen’s direction. “He could have literally anyone he wants. Models, actresses, anyone. And I’m just…” You trailed off, shrugging.

Leslie tilted her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “Just what?” she pressed.

“Just me,” you finished weakly, feeling a little silly for saying it out loud.

Leslie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. Second of all—” She paused, leaning in slightly for emphasis. “You’re the one he asked to be his date tonight. Not a model, not an actress, you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the truth of her words. “That’s just because we’re friends,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Friends,” Leslie repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because friends definitely look at each other the way he looks at you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again. “He does not look at me any type of way,” you insisted, but Leslie wasn’t buying it.

She smirked, nodding toward Glen, who was now making his way across the room in your direction.

“Sure he doesn’t,” she said, her voice teasing. “But just in case you’re still in denial, why don’t you pay attention when he gets over here? You’ll see what I mean.”

Before you could respond, Glen reached the two of you, his presence immediately drawing your attention. 

“Hey,” he said, flashing that easy smile of his. “Am I interrupting something, or can I steal her for a bit?”

Leslie’s grin widened as she gave you a pointed look. “Not at all,” she said sweetly, stepping aside. “She’s all yours.”

You shot her a subtle glare, but Leslie just winked at you before turning to join the rest of the group. As Glen’s attention shifted back to you, your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always seemed to do when he was around.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking over your face as if checking for any signs of discomfort.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just catching up with Leslie.”

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “She’s been excited to see you. I think she’s secretly more interested in hanging out with you than me tonight.”

You laughed, the sound helping to ease the tension swirling in your chest. “Well, to be fair, I am pretty great,” you teased, falling back into your usual banter with him.

“Can’t argue with that,” Glen said, his tone light, but there was something in his eyes that lingered a little too long, something that made your breath catch just slightly.

The atmosphere shifted subtly as the music transitioned to something slower, a beat just mellow enough to set a softer, almost romantic mood. The chatter in the room seemed to quiet slightly, replaced by the rhythmic sway of the melody. Glen glanced toward the small dance floor, where a few of his friends were starting to pair off, and then turned back to you.

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand toward you, his smile warm and inviting.

You shook your head immediately, taking a small step back. “You know I don’t dance,” you reminded him, your voice firm but playful.

His grin only widened, clearly undeterred. “And you know I don’t take no for an answer,” he teased, stepping closer and gently taking your hand before you could protest further.

“Glen,” you said, a hint of exasperation in your tone, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.

“Relax,” he said with a laugh, glancing back at you. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is follow.”

You sighed in resignation, realizing there was no escaping this. When you reached the dance floor, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt. He wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You’ve done this before,” he said lightly as he started to guide you to the rhythm of the music.

“Once or twice,” you admitted, though you still felt slightly self-conscious. “But I’m warning you—I’m not great at it.”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured you, his voice low and steady, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leslie standing by the bar. She was watching you with an unmistakable smirk, her arms crossed in triumph. When your eyes met hers, she gave you a knowing look, the kind that said, See? Told you so.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head, trying to silently tell her to knock it off. Glen noticed the exchange, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced over at Leslie and then back down at you. 

“What am I missing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, though your cheeks were already starting to warm.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his tone teasing now. “What’s going on between you two?”

“Leslie’s just…being Leslie,” you said vaguely, hoping to leave it at that.

But Glen wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as realization started to dawn on him. 

“Wait a minute…” he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Is she messing with you about something?”

“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Not really?” he repeated, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked back toward Leslie, who was now openly grinning at the two of you. “Oh, she’s definitely messing with you about something,” he said with a laugh.

You groaned, your head dropping slightly as you muttered, “I’m going to kill her.”

Glen chuckled, his hand on your waist giving a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he said, his tone playful but his smile soft.

For a moment, you forgot about Leslie entirely, your focus shifting back to Glen as you moved together in time with the music. His gaze lingered on you, his expression unexpectedly tender, and you felt your heart skip in a way that made you wonder if Leslie might actually have a point after all.

As the slower song faded out, you felt a moment of relief. But then the next song started, and your heart sank a little as the unmistakable notes of a love ballad filled the air. The kind that spoke of longing and intimacy, the kind that made you suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were still in Glen’s arms.

You glanced up at him, your lips parting to excuse yourself, but before you could step away, his hand on your back shifted, a gentle but deliberate pressure that kept you in place.

“Stay,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Glen, I—” you started, already shaking your head. There was no way you could dance to a love song with your best friend. It felt too…loaded.

“Just one more,” he murmured, and when your eyes met his, whatever protest you had ready fell away. There was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a friendly look. It was softer, deeper, and for a moment, it left you breathless.

You nodded, barely, and he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips that made your stomach flip.

He pulled you just a little closer this time, close enough that your chest brushed against his. The hold on your back shifted, his hand sliding just slightly lower, resting at the curve where your back met your waist. It wasn’t inappropriate—just enough to feel a little less like friendship and a little more like something else.

Without thinking, you leaned into him, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. His warmth was comforting, grounding, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of the song and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You felt him tilt his head, the faintest brush of his cheek against the top of yours. It was such a small gesture, but it sent your heart into a quiet frenzy, a rhythm that seemed to echo in time with the music.

Neither of you said a word as you moved together, swaying gently to the melody. The first verse passed, then the chorus, and you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt to be here, like the rest of the world had melted away.

The song came to an end, the final notes fading into a hum of conversation and clinking glasses around you. Glen didn’t move right away, and for a moment, neither did you. You stayed in his arms, feeling the warmth of his hand still pressed against your back, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.

But then someone called his name from across the room, breaking the fragile bubble that had surrounded you both. Glen’s arm slipped away, though his hand lingered on your elbow for a second longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours, as if reluctant to leave.

You nodded, offering a small smile, and watched as he crossed the room to greet a new arrival. The absence of his touch left you feeling untethered, a sudden awareness of just how much you’d let yourself melt into him during that dance.

Needing a moment to collect yourself—and maybe something stronger than a moment of quiet—you made your way to the bar. You ordered a glass of wine and took a steadying sip, trying to push the last few minutes out of your mind.

Of course, Leslie found you before you even made it halfway through your drink.

“So,” she started, leaning casually against the bar with an unmistakable smirk. “That was…something.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the blush already creeping up your neck. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she asked innocently, though her grin was anything but. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother look at someone like that. Or hold someone like that. Or—”

“Leslie,” you warned, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your attempt at composure.

She laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, for someone who insists she doesn’t dance, you looked awfully comfortable out there dancing with my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you replied, taking another sip of your wine in a futile attempt to drown your nerves.

“Doesn’t it?” she countered, raising an eyebrow. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like something more.”

You shot her a sharp look, but she just shrugged, still grinning.

“Relax,” she said, nudging your arm playfully. “I’m not about to make a big announcement or anything. But if you don’t see it yet…” She trailed off, giving you a knowing look before gesturing subtly toward Glen, who was still across the room, laughing with a small group of friends.

You followed her gaze despite yourself, and your heart gave a traitorous little lurch at the sight of him. His smile was easy and charming, but every now and then, his eyes flicked toward the bar, as if checking to see if you were still there.

“See what I mean?” Leslie said softly, pulling your attention back to her.

You shook your head, trying to play it off. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” she challenged, her tone light but her expression serious. “Because I’ve known Glen my whole life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So, maybe it’s time you stop convincing yourself it’s all in your head.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself speechless, staring down into your glass of wine as if it held the answers you were so desperately trying to avoid.

Leslie let the silence linger for a moment before giving your arm another playful nudge. “Just think about it, okay?”

And with that, she pushed off the bar and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts—and the undeniable truth you were no longer sure you could ignore.

You stepped away from the bar, glass of wine in hand, and gravitated toward a quieter corner of the rooftop. The laughter and conversation from the party grew softer with every step, the music fading into a pleasant hum in the background. A gentle breeze brushed against your skin as you approached the railing, the Los Angeles skyline glittering like a sea of stars before you.

You leaned against the cool metal and took a slow sip of your wine, your thoughts drifting back to Leslie’s words. Was she onto something? No, she couldn’t be. Glen was your best friend, the one constant in your life through every twist and turn. You would know if he felt something for you… right?

But then again…

You sighed and rested your elbow on the railing, pressing your glass lightly to your lips. Leslie had known Glen her entire life. If anyone could read him, it was her. And the way she spoke—like she’d been holding onto this knowledge for a while—left you with an uncomfortable sense of doubt.

Could she be right? Could you really have missed something that big?

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts. You looked over, expecting another party guest, but instead, you found Glen standing beside you. The velvet tuxedo jacket was now off, and his hair was a little mussed from probably running his hand through it one too many times, but his smile was warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning casually against the railing next to you. “You okay?”

You managed a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, just needed a breather.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calm and steady, before arching a brow. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Leslie pestering you at the bar, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” Glen said, clearly not buying it. “Because Leslie may or may not have told me to come find you.”

Your heart gave a jolt, and you turned to look at him. “She what?”

“She didn’t say why,” Glen added quickly, holding up a hand as if to reassure you. “But… she said…enough.”

“Enough?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

He hesitated, his smile fading into something softer, something more sincere. “Enough to make me realize I’ve been putting this off for too long.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Glen stepped closer. His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to gauge your reaction before saying anything else. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, his voice low. “For coming with me tonight. For being here for me—not just tonight, but always.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat just a little faster.

“And I need you to know,” he continued, taking another step closer, “how much you mean to me.”

The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, and for a moment, neither of you said a word. His eyes searched yours, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

You felt it then—that shift Leslie had hinted at, the one you’d been too afraid to fully acknowledge. This wasn’t just your best friend standing in front of you. This was Glen, the man who had been at your side for years, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He took a deep breath and leaned in slightly, pausing when your noses were almost touching. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his gaze, your heart thundering in your chest.

Glen’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and then his eyes fluttered shut as he raised a hand to your face. His palm was warm as it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You closed your eyes just as his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into him and placed a hand lightly against his chest, he deepened the kiss, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you faded—the music, the laughter, the skyline. All that mattered was the way Glen’s lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath as you both stood there, processing what had just happened. Glen’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin. Your heart raced, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the surreal, breathtaking reality of the moment.

Finally, Glen broke the silence, his lips curving into that familiar, playful grin that always managed to put you at ease. “So…” he began, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intensity from before. “Does this mean you’ll let me take you to next year’s Globes too?”

The laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, breaking the tension in the most perfect way. You shook your head, resting your forehead against his chest as a smile spread across your lips. “We’ll see if you behave, Cowboy.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. “Behave? I’m a perfect gentleman,” he said, his voice tinged with mock indignation.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arching a brow. “Oh, really? Perfect gentlemen don’t usually kiss their best friends on rooftops in the middle of a party.”

His grin widened as he shrugged, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. “Maybe I got tired of being just your best friend.”

Your breath caught again at the sincerity in his tone, the way his teasing words carried so much truth. Glen had always been charming, always quick with a joke or a flirtatious comment, but this felt different. This felt real.

You didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, but instead of pushing, Glen just smiled and leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. And with that, he stepped back slightly, though his hand still lingered on your waist, as if to let you know that even with the space between you, he was still there, still yours.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation, but all you saw was sincerity. The smile that still lingered on his lips wasn’t one of teasing; it was genuine, like he was relieved to have crossed that line with you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you confessed, your voice quieter than usual. “This is... a lot to take in, you know?”

Glen nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress, a small gesture that seemed to ground you. 

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I get it.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he added, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a brief moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself truly hear what he was saying. The uncertainty that had clouded your mind earlier began to dissipate, replaced by something far more powerful—trust.

“I just don’t want to mess things up, Glen,” you admitted, looking up at him again, your voice low but clear. “We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to lose that.”

His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb now tracing along your jawline as he spoke, his voice steady. “We won’t lose it,” he promised, his gaze never leaving yours. “I wouldn’t let that happen. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, the sincerity in his words making your heart swell. “Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling like a vow in the quiet space between you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, as if the world had paused just for you two. It was peaceful, despite everything—the chaos of the party, the swirling emotions inside you. Glen was here, right in front of you, and he was offering you something more. Something you hadn’t expected but couldn’t deny.

Then, in the silence that followed, he grinned, that familiar playful glint returning to his eyes. “So, does this mean you’ll let me take you on a date?”

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, and couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes twinkled with excitement. He was waiting, his expression open and genuine, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like anything was uncertain anymore. The nerves, the doubts—they melted away in the warmth of his gaze.

"Yeah," you said softly, your voice filled with the quiet confidence that had come from years of friendship and, somehow, this unexpected moment. "I'd like that."

His smile deepened, and for a second, it was as if time stood still. He reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it shy. It was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. You both stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, as if savoring the moment before the world could rush back in.

"Come on," Glen said, pulling you gently by the hand, “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

As he led you back toward the party, his fingers intertwined with yours, and the moment felt complete. You’d crossed the line, yes, but it was the best kind of line to cross—one that made you excited for whatever came next.

You shared one last look, a silent promise between you two, before re-entering the party, side by side, ready for whatever the night—and your future—held.

[thef1diary]

A Steamy Prank | Dirtbag!Danny

— a lil replacement for dirty drabbles 👀

warnings: 18+ content below, dirtbag!daniel, oral (fem receiving), slight overstimulation, slight breath play, choking, degradation, unprotected sex, name calling.

wc: 2.5k

masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

The water bubbled around you, steam curling into the cool night air, but all you could focus on was Daniel. He sat across from you, shirtless, his tattooed thighs spread wide beneath the water. His damp curls stuck to his forehead, and his smirk was downright wicked. You should’ve known from that look alone that he was up to something.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a little heated under his scrutinizing gaze. The new bikini he’d gifted you earlier was tiny—borderline scandalous with your tits nearly slipping out to give him a peak. He had even bought matching swim shorts—a very slutty pair of shorts—and quite frankly, you loved the attention he gave you, so you didn’t think twice before putting on the two scraps of fabric. 

“How’s the water, sweetheart?” he asked casually, leaning back against the hot tub’s edge, the muscles in his arms flexing as he stretched. Your gaze was drawn to the tattoo on his bicep, and as you trapped your bottom lip between you teeth, you nearly forgot the question he’d asked. 

“Fine,” you muttered, eyes narrowing at the way his grin widened.

“Just fine?” he teased, tilting his head as he watched you. “You’re looking a little…unsettled.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the truth was far from it. 

Something felt off, and it wasn’t just the way his gaze was raking over you—no, you loved it when his attention was solely on you. The straps of his bikini were looser than they had been earlier, the fabric around your chest feeling precarious. You reached up to adjust it, but the moment your fingers touched the material, it began to dissolve under your touch. 

Your heart dropped.

“Daniel,” you hissed, panic rising as the bikini disintegrated like sugar in water. 

He barked out a laugh, sitting up straight, sloshing the water around in the tub. “Oh, shit, it’s happening already?” 

“You did this on purpose!” you accused, your voice a mix of outrage and disbelief. 

“Me? Never. What kind of guy do you think I am?” He raised his eyebrows but the smile tugging on his lips told you the truth. 

“The worst kind,” you hissed, though the flush on your cheeks had given you away, knowing he could see right through your act. 

He shrugged, completely unrepentant. “Thought it’d be funny. And, well…” his eyes darkened, roaming over your body as your nipples peaked through the dissolving material. “I wasn’t wrong.” 

You scrambled to cover yourself since you were still trying to make sense of the situation, your arms wrapping around your chest, but it was no use. The water did little to hide you, and Daniel’s gaze was searing. 

“Relax, baby,” he drawled, leaning forward. “It’s just us out here. No one’s gonna see what a desperate little slut I can turn you into.” 

“Danny, you’re such an asshole!” you snapped, though the heat spreading throughout your body due to his words had little to do with anger. 

He smirked, reaching out to grab your wrist and pull you closer. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t love it. You’re so desperate for me even your clothes couldn’t stay on.” 

You rolled your eyes and despite your best attempt, a small giggle left your lips. “Shut up,” you murmured, though your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch.

His hands slid over your hips, pulling you onto his lap. Your bikini bottoms had completely disintegrated in the water and the last remnants of the fabric covering your chest was plucked away easily by Daniel, leaving you completely bare. 

“Let me guess, your shorts are still intact,” you murmured, a tinge of annoyance lacing your tone which earned a laugh from him. 

“All this attitude…where does it come from, sweetheart?” he asked, sliding his fingers over your tits, squeezing the soft mound before circling your nipples. “Is it because you know I’m going to put you in your place? ‘Cause I'm gonna turn you into my personal slut?” 

A whine escaped your lips, your mind already turning hazy with his low murmurs of filth. His free hand rested on the nape of your neck, fingers finding their way into your wet strands of hair. Your head tilted back when he tugged harshly, exposing the column of your neck that he lazily traced with his tongue. 

You should have resisted, should have scolded him for pulling such a childish prank, but the second his lips met your neck, all coherent thoughts fled. He kissed and nipped at your skin, his stubble scraping deliciously as he worked his way down to your collarbone. 

Moans filled the air as he sucked and kissed all over your neck, leaving marks behind when his teeth grazed over you before soothing it using his flattened tongue. He hummed, finding your pulse quickening under his lips, and you could feel him smirk against your skin. 

“See, you do love it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I bet you’re so fucking wet already. What do you want, sweetheart?” 

Your foggy mind struggled to catch up when you felt quiet anticipation fill the air. “Daniel—” you started, only to cut yourself off because you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t even remember what he had asked. 

He cooed, grazing your cheeks with the back of his fingers, looking at you with pity. “Is my baby too dazed to think?” he asked, his soft, mocking tone only causing your mind to spin further. 

Daniel’s hand moved down to your neck, and in an instant, his fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing it with slight pressure. “That’s okay, let me take care of you, hm?” 

You whimpered, your eyes welling up with tears, only causing his grin to grow further. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, a broken moan quickly silenced by him. Using his advantage of his hand wrapped around your throat, he guided you, chasing after the intoxicating taste of your lips. 

Soon, his hand had finally released your throat, allowing the rush of oxygen and blood flow to return, making your head spin as a whispered plea left your lips. His hands were everywhere, sliding over your ass, your thighs, your waist. He gripped your hips and lifted you, setting you on the edge of the hot tub. The cool air immediately hit your wet body, making you shiver, but the heat of his mouth descending on your pussy erased any discomfort. 

“Fuck, Daniel,” you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicked over your clit. 

He groaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “So fucking sweet,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he buried his face deeper. “Could stay down here forever.” 

Your legs trembled, your hips bucking against his mouth as he sucked and licked with relentless precision. The filthy wet sounds filled the air, mingling with your breathless cries. 

“Danny, please–”

He pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his chin glistening with your wetness. “Please, what, baby? Use your pretty mind and tell me what you want.” 

“Make me cum,” you begged, shameless and desperate. 

“That’s my good girl, I love it when you beg f’me,” he said, before licking a stripe up your cunt.

It didn’t take long before you were falling apart for him, your body shuddering on his command as you came with a cry of his name. He licked you through the aftershocks, his hands firmly holding your thighs open as he devoured every last drop. 

Before you could fully recover, he pulled you back into the water, the warmth surrounding you as he positioned you to straddle his lap. He had already shrugged his shorts down, having freed his cock while he was devouring your pussy. His cock slid across your folds, thick and unyielding as he nudged your clit. You gasped when he thrust up inside you in one smooth motion without warning. 

You could only whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, a breathless moan of your name falling from his lips when you clenched around him. The water sloshed around you, the sound obscene as he fucked into you with deep, measured thrusts. 

“Look at you,” he said, his voice rough. “Taking me so well. A perfect fucking little slut, aren’t you?” 

You moaned, nodding, the degradation only spurring you on as you matched the movements of your hips with his thrusts. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he muttered, his hands gripping your ass to control your movements. “So desperate for me, you can’t even keep quiet.”

His words earned a loud moan from you, your head falling against his shoulder as he slammed into you harder. His fingers moved to your clit, creating tight circles that made you see stars. You cried out, tears staining your cheeks as the pleasure was coiling tightly in your belly. Another muffled moan escaped your lips and you couldn’t help but bite down on his shoulder, imprinting the marks of your teeth in his skin. 

He shuddered beneath you, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he whispered a curse under his breath. Then, he suddenly sped up his pace, hips snapping against yours with a sense of brutality, knowing he’ll leave your cunt aching the next morning. Water sloshed around you, only amplifying the intensity of the moment, the sound of wet slaps of skin against skin echoing loudly in the otherwise silent night. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you managed to choke out between constant moans, the soft uh uh uh’s turning loud and desperate with each thrust. 

“Yeah?” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear. “Cum for me, sweetheart, make a mess ‘round me.” 

An obscene moan filled the air, your head falling back as he angled his hips, constantly hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. 

Your release crashed over you, your pussy clenching around him as you cried out his name. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down until you slumped against him, completely spent. When you lifted your head and met his gaze with teary eyes, a lazy smirk graced his lips. 

“Don’t tell me you’re done, baby,” he murmured, “I’m still hard.” He punctuated his words by withdrawing almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for the briefest moment, only to plunge back in, hitting a spot so deep it left you gasping. A broken cry spilled from your lips, his name a plea as you clung to him.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and indulgent, shaking his head as though scolding you. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, brushing a thumb across your flushed cheek. "I thought you wanted to make me feel good. You do, don’t you?"

Your body betrayed your exhaustion, nodding before your voice could catch up. "Yes," you whispered, the word trembling with need.

His hand cupped your chin, lifting your gaze to his. His expression softened just enough to make your heart race before his lips curled into that maddening smirk once more. “Such a dirty little whore for me, aren’t you? Always wanna be stuffed with my cock.” 

You whined, “please, Danny, want you to fill me.” 

He shifted your body gently, turning you so your back pressed against his chest, trapped between his body and the corner of the hot tub. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your ear as he leaned in, his hands settling on your waist to guide you. Slowly, he pressed you down onto him, a deep groan rumbling through him as you took him in.

You gasped, overwhelmed by the fullness after multiple orgasms, the way he fit perfectly, as though made for you. He held you there for a moment, his strong hands steadying you as your body adjusted to the intensity.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, his voice a promise, steady and reassuring. The heat of his words wrapped around you, grounding you as you melted into his embrace. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began again, his movements coaxing soft, breathless sounds from your lips, drawing you deeper into his rhythm.

His grip on your waist tightened as he moved, his pace relentless, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of reason. The water rippled violently around you, but you barely noticed, your focus consumed entirely by him behind you—his strength, his control, and the way he handled you with ease.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and mocking against your ear. "So desperate. Falling apart on my cock, like the needy little thing you are."

A soft whimper left your lips, and his chuckle was anything but kind. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulled you back onto him with each thrust, his control over you absolute.

"You don’t even care how wrecked you look, do you?" he taunted, his tone dripping with condescension. "All you want is to be filled, isn’t that right? Say it."

"Yes," you gasped, your voice trembling, barely coherent. "Please—"

"Pathetic," he cut you off, a dark smirk curling his lips. "Can’t even form a proper sentence, can you? All that’s left in that pretty little head is me."

Your face burned, but the way he spoke only made you cling to him harder, the degradation sending a pulse of heat straight through you.

"That’s what I thought," he continued, his voice a cruel mix of amusement and dominance. "You’re nothing but my little toy, made for me to use however I want."

He punctuated his words with a particularly harsh thrust, and a strangled cry escaped you, your fingers clutching at the edge of the tub for dear life.

"You’re going to give me everything," he demanded, his voice firm as he leaned down, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "I’m not stopping until you’ve got nothing left to give. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," you whimpered, the word barely audible.

"Good girl," he said, his tone dripping with mock approval. "At least you know your place."

His pace quickened, his movements calculated and unrelenting. The pleasure built to an unbearable peak, his dominance overwhelming and all-consuming. You trembled in his grasp, his name spilling from your lips in a desperate cry as you reached your breaking point, the world around you dissolving into white-hot bliss.

He followed close behind, his groan low and rough as he buried himself one last time, holding you tightly as he claimed every inch of you.

When the haze cleared, you were slumped against the hot tub, your body spent, your mind hazy. He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his hands rubbed soothing circles against your hips.

"Such a good little thing," he murmured, the edge in his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. "Always so eager to please me."

You nodded weakly, your voice too shaky to respond, but the small smile on your lips spoke volumes. He held you there, pressed against him, as the water gently lapped at your skin, his presence as commanding as ever even in the quiet aftermath.

[ma1dita]

love spells evol

wc: 1.7k summary: [sylus qin x reader based on nightplumes] there’s an ancient myth about seeing the first snow of the season with someone you (might) love; based on the crash landing on you k-drama plot a/n: here’s a gift after not being able to put any creative words to paper for months. fluff! kinda angst? title from evol by adrienne lenker

—

A myriad of colors reflect in your eyes as the night sky booms with color. Despite the noise, a peaceful silence occupies the space between you and Sylus at the Linkon riverwalk tonight, the wind swirling around you as if trying to push you closer. 

But you resist.

You can barely call him a friend, after all. 

You’re not sure if he’d let you even if you tried. The words roll around in your mouth— a confidant, perhaps? An ally, for sure at the very least. You’ve both come far from your initial faceoff with the big and bad Onychinus leader. Now, he’s just…. you still can’t find the right words. He’s not just anything to you—that, you’re sure of.

Right now though, he’s as still as a statue watching the fireworks display while you get knocked around by gusts of cold air. You bear down, grabbing onto his solid arm briefly, before realizing you’re tugging at the wool of his sleeve like a petulant child. So, you decide to hold onto the metal railing instead.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, still not looking at you. Sylus is almost picturesque under splashes of iridescent light as if an artist let loose to make a masterpiece of him. And you can’t do anything but watch, mesmerized by all of him, from the sweep of his silver hair, down the steep slope of his cheekbones, and the small smirk that always seems to surface when he’s about to taunt you.

“There she goes. Without even looking back. How ungrateful,” he jokes, lining up his pointer finger with your viewpoint so you can spot the feathered friend you imposed upon him days earlier. He’s gentle, you realize—- when he wants to be. Protective when it matters. Despite the chill that races up your spine, you feel warm huddled close to him, chin against his sleeve as you see your dove flap its wings in the sky, getting smaller as she flies away from Linkon. 

“Bye-bye, my dove. Do you think she’ll remember me?”

He looks down at you with something softer now, as you wave at the white speck in the sky, realizing that you’re nestled against his body heat. No matter how cold-blooded you say he is, his cheeks admittedly warm at your proximity to him. He clears his throat, finding his nerve as he says, “Well who would want to forget you, kitten?”

A smile spreads across your face before you realize it, instead, glancing at the flicker of sincerity that crosses his gaze. 

You catch him looking at you like this a lot when he thinks you don’t notice—like how someone tries to remember the melody of a song; subtly in broken parts and then intensely, all at once. Sylus’ stare is equal parts wistful and affectionate, if he would only let himself be caught by you—but at the last moment, right when your eyes catch a glimpse of garnet, he always looks away. 

“We could’ve gotten Mephisto a girlfriend,” you bite back a smile, and now he’s chuckling, eyes shut and turning away from you. He would never admit it anyway. There’s a part of him that stays locked where your hands still cannot reach. Like a hidden treasure you have to scavenge for. Maybe one of these days he’ll let you in on the secret. 

But you are nothing if not persistent.

“That’s impossible. You do know that Mephisto’s made of metal right? And your dove…is real. Down to the bone.”

“But he can feel, right? You programmed him to feel—I swear he laughs at me when I get lost at the base,” you reason. Your mitten prods at his side, wanting him to continue the banter. Only you can do this to him, and Sylus rolls his eyes almost grumpily because he knows it too.

“Dove,” he calls you, “They’re incompatible. It’s impossible for them to be together.”

Your brow furrows, “Can’t you pick already? Am I a dove or a kitten?” 

He doesn’t answer.

You’re everything.

“Ugh. But they were happy together. Right, Sylus?” you prod again, wanting to pull him back from wherever his mind has escaped to. Whenever you’re together, his focus is always on you, except in tiny moments where his eyes get glassy and contemplative, like he can see something you don’t. And then even when he’s next to you, he’s not fully there. Sylus goes somewhere far away, somewhere you could only dream to be. 

You wonder what he could be thinking of wherever he goes. 

He blinks, coming back down to reality and seeing the hope in your eyes. It tethers him more than the linkage you both unwillingly share. 

“Yes, they were. Even for a short moment.” 

A beat of silence passes again. It’s not uncomfortable at all, and you find yourself leaning against his bicep before something catches your attention. A white speck. Could your dove have come back? But there’s more of them, dotting the sky, falling slowly towards the both of you.

You gasp then, quite dramatically. 

It’s snowing.

“Oh no…” you sigh dreamily, cheek against his thick coat. Of course, this had to happen with Sylus here.

“What’s wrong? Are you cold, kitten?” Sylus pipes up, slinging an arm around to wrap your scarf around the base of your neck, up until it covers your head.

“Sylus!”

The sound of his laughter stokes the fire burning inside of you. It’s a nice, velvety tone. You think he should laugh more often, even if it’s usually at your expense. When you free yourself from the woolen trap, the softness hasn’t left his face.

“Is this the first snow? We’re in trouble…”

Your words confuse him a lot—sometimes he wonders if you do it on purpose, or if your words are intentionally reactionary. 

He’s never met a girl like you, ever. And he’s been around for a while. 

Sylus scoffs, poking at a puffed-up cheek, “Compared to everything we go through on the daily, Miss Hunter—I never thought you’d be scared of a little snow.”

“Am not! Just you know how the story goes…”

“Do tell,” he drones, remembering he shouldn’t be so… vulnerable in his actions towards you. His hand lowers back to his side like he’s burned himself. 

Can’t get ahead of yourself, Qin. Just a while back, she was repulsed by you.

But your face inches as close as it can towards his, hands on his chest and tippy-toes in the snow as you speak as if it’s a big secret no one else can find out about. Despite the fact that there’s no one else out on the riverwalk, your voice is hushed, “Well, there’s a story…actually, I think it’s a myth, that whoever you watch the first snow of the year with will be destined for great love.” Your eyelashes are dusted with snowflakes, and Sylus has to restrain himself from brushing them away. And then your mitten extends upward and pats his hair clean like it’s nothing of the sort. Taking a step away and falling back to your natural height, you chuckle listlessly, “But well, it’s not supposed to work between us anyway,” you sniff, stating it like fact, “I mean, with what we both do for work and all.”

Eyes falling closed, you take a deep breath in of frozen air.

“Yeah. We would never work. It’d be a mess.”

One eye snaps open to stare up at Sylus nodding to himself, hand scratching his neck as he looks off into the distance again. His expression is unreadable, and the weight in his throat feels like lead.

“Wait a minute. I said we wouldn’t work, but why would YOU say we wouldn’t work?”

It feels like walking into a trap. Or better yet, a minefield with a blindfold on. Sylus blinks, trying to navigate through this conversation and he’s still unsure of how you feel.

“You’re one of the good ones. The best hunter in Linkon City. And I’m…”

Where should we begin? A convicted criminal, most wanted in all of Philos, actually. THE bad guy, head of Onychinus, and the list can go on…

“---My friend.”

Blood red eyes meet yours in surprise, but you show no fear. Not then, and not now. He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but you dust fresh snow off the lapels of his coat even as it continues to fall. Honestly, you just need something to do with your hands.

“Sylus, you know I trust you with my life right?”

It’s hard to read you sometimes. You chastise him on his way of life and criminal activity, and he can’t tell if it’s because you take your job seriously, or out of concern for his wellbeing. He doesn’t answer, letting you continue, “I wouldn’t have resonated with you if I didn’t.” And his signature smirk creeps back onto his face, any previous softness gone as you watch him build his walls up. He doesn’t take kindness very well, and some can say he even reacts badly to it. Sylus Qin is a man who loves to be in control, and that’s the truth. But two things can be true at the same time—the other is that when he’s with you, he can relinquish all of it so easily. 

You set the pace. 

You call the shots.

“Sure, kitten,” he drawls, “be honest. You’ve just been dying to get rid of me.” Your body vibrates underneath the coat you have pulled tight around your waist, and from where Sylus is standing, he’s unsure of if he’s said the wrong thing until you look up at him again and the sound of your laughter catches up with the rest of you. Sticking your tongue out, you say, “You wish! You can’t get rid of me that easily, you crow!” He grins now, shaking his head and turning away to start walking back to the car, because with everything in him he hopes that’s true.

“Hey! Sylus, wait up! Your legs are too long!”

No matter which way you choose to look at him— friend, or foe, you find yourself falling slowly, just like the snow that settles upon Linkon City.

—

“Deep in my enemy I find the lover.” -Pierre Corneille

[blackgirlsloveburrow]

NSFW 18+

i really need a fic of this bad and i am not a good writer at alllll. okay just imagine with me real quick. also this is completely imaginative don’t come for me lol

!jealous joe !bengals fan bf !cheating

your boyfriend is a really big bengals fan. i mean has so much bengals memorabilia, friends and family love the bengals. he even grew up in the good old land of chili cheese coneys and graeters ice cream. well you never really were into football. it was kinda boring, kinda long, and could have your boyfriend in a sucky mood the whole day.

until…

you saw him.

joe burrow. he’s gorgeous, humble, and is so passionate about the game and his team. you were obsessed. so when your boyfriend one day invited you to an event where you may be able to meet him and have him sign something, you said yes.

you didn’t really have bengals merchandise at the time, so you borrowed your boyfriend’s bengals hat and scarf, and just wore a black outfit to match. you were standing at the fence, waiting for the team to come out to practice. you felt kinda antsy. you really hoped you would be able to meet joe. all of a sudden him and his team came out and everyone started screaming to get his attention. joe was signing jerseys and footballs. it was all a bit overwhelming. he got to you and your boyfriend, and did a double take a bit. your boyfriend was asking him to sign his poster, which he did, and you took out a little notebook. he smiled and looked you in the eye. your boyfriend didn’t notice this as he was already facetiming his friends about his interaction. joe didn’t give you his regular signature, but rather, wrote his name legibly and his phone number right underneath.

your eyes went wide. he laughed and headed to practice.

you went home and laid in bed. it was about 9 pm and you were still staring at the number. you decided not to tell anyone, as you didn’t want joe’s privacy to feel invaded. you put the number into your phone and texted him.

“hi. is this joe burrow? i am y/n. we met earlier today at your practice”.

he immediately texted back, you kinda freaked out.

“hey this is joe. it was nice to meet you earlier, y/n. your bengals hat was cute”.

you screamed into your pillow. you texted back.

“thank you! it wasn’t mine cause im just kind of getting into football haha”. you cringed at yourself, not really knowing how to respond.

“well, maybe i can teach you a few things sometime. maybe you can come to my house?”.

flash forward a few weeks later, you’re in joe burrow’s lap, with an oversized bengals jersey on and no pants, in his huge living room.

he’s kissing your neck and squeezing your ass, as he rocks you back and forth on his underwear clad dick. your phone is ringing on the coffee table. it’s your boyfriend.

“joe-“ you tried to say, but he’s trying to distract you with his tongue on your neck.

“joey!” you say exasperated. he pulls back and halts his movement.

“i gotta take this phone call”. he furrows his brows and looks to the side.

“you don’t even like him!” he responds, aggravated.

“i know, but i want to give him the news in a way where he won’t throw a fit. it’s not the right time” you respond.

here’s the thing about joe. he really likes you. ever since he gave you his number, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. he liked how interested you were in learning about him, whether it was about his football career, or who he was as a person. he didn’t care that you had a boyfriend, because he knew he wanted you.

but joe is a jealous guy. there’s only so much he can put up with. i mean, you’re sitting there in his lap, wearing HIS jersey. you have HIS hickeys on your neck, and your wetness is on his underwear. he’s not gonna put up with it anymore.

you’re on the phone saying hello as he pushes your back onto the couch. you had been making out for hours so you were fully ready for what was about to happen. your eyes grow wide at him as he takes your underwear off and pushes your knees to your shoulders. you’re so wet he audibly grunts.

“where are you at?” your boyfriend asks.

joe’s mouth is so close to your pussy it’s kinda hard to make up a lie.

“the grocery store?” you reply like you didn’t believe it yourself.

“oh okay cool”. he brushes it off. nothing seemed out of the ordinary to him as he only really wanted to rant to you about how the season is going so far with the bengals.

you let out a sigh and before you know it joe was sucking on your clit. you cover your mouth trying to avoid moaning on the phone, but joe removes your hand and holds it by your side. he’s licking long stripes up your hole to your clit, making you want to scream.

as good and toe curling joe’s mouth is, you’re able to keep some composure to keep the phone call normal. he’s still talking with no chance of stopping soon. you roll your eyes at the conversation and then see joe taking his underwear off. you can’t help but ogle. he’s longer than average and so so girthy. he always has to go slow putting it in so that you don’t go insane.

well he thinks you’re ready to go a little faster, and he’s desperate to be all the way in you.

your knees are still to your shoulders as he sticks his tip in. you bite your bottom lip hard as to not let out your moans. everything is fine.

until he puts himself all the way in in one swift motion, bottoming out in you. a moan escapes you.

“fuck you’re so tight” joe moans out.

your boyfriend catches on.

“what was that? are you at a guy’s house?”

you didn’t even have time to respond before joe is pounding into you hard and fast. his face is right above yours, and all you can do is moan. you drop the phone, not even caring because all you want is for joe to fuck you dumb.

“p-please daddy”. you have tears pricking the corners of your eyes. you don’t even know what you’re begging for, you just want him to keep fucking you.

“you like that baby? are you gonna cum on daddy’s dick?” he can feel you pulsating on his cock. he keeps hitting your g-spot.

“yes daddy i’m gonna cum” you grab the back of his head and he kisses you sloppily. you unravel beneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. he continues using you, chasing his own high.

he’s grunting. mumbling how good you feel.

“please cum in me daddy”. you start to feel yourself wanting to unravel again. he fucks you with deep long strokes, until finally he cums deep inside of you, letting out a long moan. you cum again too, tears streaking your face. he kisses you again. foreheads to each other, all you can hear is each others breathing. smiling at each other, until you hear something coming from the phone on the floor:

“WHAT THE FUCK”.

[winwintea]

the call

PAIRING ↬ lee donghyuck x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, cheating!?, romance, angst(?), blood, attempted murder, i really don't know how to tag this, non-linear narrative, maybe horror

SUMMARY ↬ haechan leaves you a cryptic phone call on a night out. something about this doesn’t sit right with you.

WORD COUNT ↬3.3k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ surprise! this isn't the jisung fic but i decided to pull this one out of my sleeve as well. title and fic is inspired by "the call" by backstreet boys! the fic is also not written in linear order.

1 HOUR BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

“Hello?”

“Hi, it's me, what's up, baby? I'm sorry, listen, I'm gonna be late tonight So, don't stay up and wait for me, okay?”

“Where are you?”

“Wait, wait, say that again?”

“Haechan. Hello?”

“You're really dropping out, I think my battery must be low. Listen, if you can hear me, we're going to a place nearby, alright? Gotta go.”

4 HOURS BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

“Don’t pout,” Haechan teases, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. His voice is light, but his teasing smile can’t hide the affection in his eyes.

“I’m not pouting,” you argue, crossing your arms in mock defiance.

“You’re pouting,” he insists, stepping closer until he’s standing right in front of you. He tilts his head, studying your expression, before leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Admit it. You’ll miss me.”

“I won’t,” you shoot back, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Liar.” He grins, tugging on the strings of your hoodie playfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave. Just a couple of drinks with the guys, and I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me for real.”

“Uh-huh. Famous last words.” You roll your eyes, but you don’t stop him as he walks toward the door.

“Text me if you get bored without me,” he calls out, slipping on his sneakers.

“You mean when you get bored and want an excuse to leave early,” you counter, leaning against the doorframe as you watch him put on his jacket.

“Guilty,” he admits with a wink. “Alright, baby, I’m out. Love you.”

“Love you too,” you reply softly, watching as he steps outside.

This is normal. Haechan always goes out with his friends on Saturdays. You glance at your phone, opening the chat with him to send a quick, “Be safe. Don’t let them drag you into anything dumb.” You know he won’t see it right away, but it makes you feel better.

30 MINUTES BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

You’re pacing the living room, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. Haechan’s earlier call echoes in your mind. 

I’m going to a place nearby.

The shrill sound of your ringtone breaks through your thoughts, and you nearly drop the phone in your scramble to answer.

“Sunoo?” you ask, recognizing the name on the screen.

“Y/N, hey,” Sunoo says, his voice laced with hesitation. “Um, I’m sorry if this is weird, but I thought I should tell you something.”

Your stomach twists. “What’s wrong?”

“I just saw Haechan… I think,” he says nervously. “He was walking down the street near the bar, but he wasn’t alone.”

Your breath catches. “Who was he with?”

“A woman,” Sunoo admits reluctantly. “She was… kind of close to him. Like, really close. I thought it was weird because he looked tense—like he was nervous, while also trying to relax. But she was smiling, laughing. I didn’t want to assume anything, but…”

You sit down on the couch, your legs threatening to give out. “Where did you see them?”

“Toward the alley near the old convenience store. They were walking away from the bar,” Sunoo says, his words spilling out quickly. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if I should get involved or assume anything, but I thought you should know.”

Your mind races. That’s not far. But why would he leave the bar with a woman?

“Thanks for telling me,” you manage, your voice trembling.

“Y/N, I don’t think he—” Sunoo starts, but you cut him off.

“It’s okay. I’ll figure it out. Thank you.”

You hang up before he can say anything else, your hands shaking as you dial Haechan’s number.

“Come on, pick up,” you mutter, pacing again. The call goes straight to voicemail. You redial, but it’s the same result. “Haechan, please, just call me back. I don’t care what’s going on—I just need to know you’re okay.”

You end the call and clutch the phone to your chest, trying to steady your breathing.

You didn’t think he was cheating. You didn’t want to think that. But what if he really was with another woman? What if he lied about being late?

“No,” you whisper to yourself. Haechan wasn’t like that. You trusted him. But then why did he sound so strange on the phone? And who was this woman?

Your phone buzzes again, but it’s not Haechan. It’s a message from Sunoo: “Don’t make any assumptions. He looked… scared. Either he’s nervous about getting caught or something else. Be careful. Don’t do anything rash.”

Scared? Your chest tightens as panic fully takes over. Something is horribly wrong.

Without another thought, you grab your coat and keys, determined to find him yourself.

3 HOURS BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

The bar is alive with energy—music thumping, glasses clinking, and conversations overlapping. Haechan sits at a table with his friends, a round of drinks between them. He laughs at something Jaemin says, his head tipping back as he taps the table.

“Another round?” Jaemin asks, holding up his empty glass.

Haechan shakes his head. “I’m good for now. You’re not dragging me into your three-shots-in-five-minutes challenge again.”

“Come on,” Jaemin groans dramatically. “You’re so boring these days, man. What happened to the Haechan who used to party like a legend?”

“He got a girlfriend,” Renjun cuts in, smirking. “And he doesn’t want to die if she finds out he got plastered without telling her.”

The table erupts in laughter, and Haechan just shrugs, grinning. “Hey, priorities. Y/N’s cuter than all of you combined.”

As the guys banter, none of them notice the woman until she’s standing right by their table. Her hair is sleek, her makeup flawless, and her gaze sharp as she focuses entirely on Haechan.

“Hi,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.”

Haechan blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. Uh, hi.”

She smiles, leaning in slightly. “You looked like you were having fun, but maybe later… I’ve got a little place nearby. Wanna go?”

The air shifts awkwardly at the table. Although her invitation is innocent, her intentions are clear. Haechan’s friends exchange glances, their smirks fading as they realize what’s happening.

Haechan’s smile is polite but firm. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good. I’ve got someone waiting for me at home.”

Her smile falters for a split second before she recovers, her tone light but insistent. “Are you sure? It’s not far, and I think you’d enjoy it.”

Haechan shakes his head. “Thanks, but no. Have a good night.”

She lingers for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, before she finally steps back. “Your loss,” she murmurs, turning on her heel and walking away.

As she moves to a dark corner of the bar, Haechan exhales, muttering, “Well, that was weird.”

Jaemin snorts. “You should’ve seen your face, man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Haechan says, waving him off. But something about the encounter reminds him of something. He glances toward the woman, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes meet. 

Oh fuck.

15 MINUTES BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

The air is cold against your skin as you hurriedly zip up your jacket and step out into the night. The street feels far too quiet for a Saturday evening, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows on the pavement. You clutch your phone in your hand, gripping it like a lifeline as your mind races.

Sunoo’s text flashes in your head: “Don’t make assumptions.”

But when Sunoo had told the others, they weren’t so sure. 

“Y/N, maybe you should stop and think,” your friend Jihoon had said on the phone. He had called you as soon as Sunoo relayed the information to him. “I mean, I don’t want to make you upset, but what if… what if Haechan’s just—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you had snapped, cutting him off. “You think he’s cheating, don’t you?”

There had been a long pause on the other end before Jihoon finally said, “I mean, what else could it be? Sunoo said he was with some girl, right?”

You’d hung up after that, unable to handle the doubt in Jihoon’s voice. But then Giselle called, her tone softer but no less skeptical.

“Y/N, I’m worried about you,” she’d said. “I know you trust Hyuck, but... sometimes people surprise you. Maybe he’s not who you think he is.”

“He’s not cheating,” you’d insisted, though your voice had wavered. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Then where is he?” Minjeong asked, and for a moment, you’d felt your resolve crack.

But now, as you march down the sidewalk, your determination solidifies. You know Haechan. You know how much he loves you. And that phone call—the rushed tone, the way he kept cutting out—wasn’t the voice of someone sneaking around. It was the voice of someone in trouble. At least you thought so.

You stop at the corner of the street, glancing around desperately. There’s no sign of him. You dial his number again, only to be met with voicemail. Your heart pounds harder with each failed attempt to reach him.

Finally, with trembling hands, you call the police.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My boyfriend is missing,” you say, your voice breaking. “I think—I think something’s wrong. He called me earlier, and he sounded…nervous. And now his phone’s off, and my friend saw him with a strange woman—please, I need help.”

The dispatcher asks you a series of questions: Haechan’s description, the last place he was seen, the time of the call. You answer as best as you can, your voice growing shakier with every detail.

“We’ll send an officer to patrol the area,” the dispatcher says. “Please stay where you are and remain calm.”

But you can’t stay put. You hang up and keep walking, your eyes darting to every shadow, every alley.

“Y/N, stop.”

You turn to see Sunoo jogging up to you, his face etched with worry. Behind him are Jihoon and Giselle, who look less concerned and more resigned.

“We told you not to do anything rash. What are you doing?” Jihoon asks, crossing his arms. “The cops will handle it.”

“I can’t just stand around and wait!” you snap. “Something’s wrong, Jihoon. I can feel it.”

“What if there’s nothing wrong?” Giselle says carefully. “Y/N, what if he just… didn’t want you to know where he was going?”

“Stop,” Sunoo interjects, glaring at her. “I told you he looked nervous and scared. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw.”

“Or maybe you’re overthinking it,” Jihoon mutters.

You shake your head, tears pricking your eyes. “I know Haechan. He wouldn’t do this to me. If he hasn’t come back, it’s because he can’t.”

Your voice cracks, and Sunoo places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he says softly. “Let’s just keep looking.”

Jihoon sighs, but he and Giselle reluctantly follow as you start walking again. 

Haechan didn’t betray you. You were going to believe in this. And you’re going to find him, no matter what.

12 HOURS AFTER THE INCIDENT:

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor is the first thing Haechan registers as he slowly comes to. His body feels heavy, his limbs weighted down as though they’re not his own. He tries to move, but the sharp sting radiating from his side stops him.

“Where…” he croaks, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His throat feels like sandpaper.

“You’re awake.”

The unfamiliar voice makes him flinch. His head turns slowly, and he squints through the bright, sterile light. A nurse stands by his bedside, adjusting the IV bag hanging from a metal pole. She’s wearing a kind smile, but there’s a shadow of concern in her eyes.

“Where am I?” he manages, his voice rasping.

“You’re at St. Mary’s Hospital,” she says gently. “You were brought in last night. Do you remember anything?”

His mind feels like it’s wrapped in fog. He struggles to piece together fragments of memory, but it’s all blurry—flashes of faces, the sound of a scream, and an overwhelming sense of fear. His stomach twists.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits. “What happened?”

The nurse hesitates. “You were found unconscious in the middle of the road. You have some injuries—a fractured rib, a concussion, and some deep bruising. You’re lucky someone called the paramedics when they did.”

Someone. Who? His thoughts race, but they’re disjointed, scattered.

“Was I… alone?” he asks, his voice trembling.

The nurse’s expression flickers with hesitation. “There were others. Two men—they were taken to surgery for more severe injuries—and a woman. She’s stable now but hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”

Haechan’s breath catches. A woman. His mind scrambles for answers. The image of a smile—sharp, too wide—flickers in his memory, and a chill runs down his spine.

“Who… who is she?” he whispers.

“We don’t know yet,” the nurse replies. “The police are looking into it.”

Police.

His heart races, and the beeping of the monitor speeds up with it.

“Easy,” the nurse says quickly, pressing a hand to his shoulder to calm him. “Don’t push yourself too hard. You need to rest.”

Haechan squeezes his eyes shut, trying to slow his breathing. But his mind won’t stop spinning. Through the haze, he catches snippets of conversation from outside the room.

“…police said they found them restrained…”

“…looks like they were attacked…”

“…the woman was armed. Dangerous.”

Haechan’s stomach churns. He wants to ask, to demand answers, but his body betrays him, too weak to do anything but listen.

The nurse finishes adjusting the machines and steps back. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. If you need anything, press the call button, okay?”

He nods faintly, though he doesn’t feel okay. Not even close.

2 HOURS BEFORE THE INCIDENT:

The bar is alive with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the faint hum of music from the jukebox in the corner. Haechan leans back in his seat, laughing at a joke Jaemin just cracked. His glass is nearly empty, condensation sliding down the sides as he swirls the last bit of his drink absently.

It’s been a good night. Lighthearted, carefree. Exactly what he needed after a long week.

But then, his phone vibrates on the table, cutting through the noise. Haechan picks it up, glancing at the screen casually. The glow of the display reflects in his eyes, and in an instant, the ease in his expression vanishes.

His smile falters. His face drains of color.

The others don’t notice at first, too caught up in their conversation. But as Haechan’s eyes scan the message, his fingers tighten around the phone, his knuckles turning white. His shoulders stiffen, and his breathing becomes shallow.

“Everything okay?” Jaemin asks, nudging him lightly.

Haechan doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is fixed on the screen, his lips pressed into a thin line. His thumb hovers over the screen as though debating whether to respond, but instead, he locks the phone and places it face down on the table.

“I’ll be right back,” he mutters, his voice low.

Jaemin frowns, his brows knitting together. “You good?”

Haechan forces a nod, though his expression betrays him. “Yeah. Just… need some air. Plus I need to make a quick call.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs his jacket and stands, weaving through the crowded bar toward the exit. His movements are quick but shaky, his shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to make himself smaller.

As he passes by the bar, he doesn’t notice the woman from earlier sitting at the corner, watching him intently. She swirls her drink lazily, her red-painted nails tapping against the glass in a rhythmic pattern.

Her eyes follow him as he pushes open the door and steps into the cold night air. A smirk spreads across her face, sharp and knowing. She lifts her glass, taking a slow sip, and sets it down with deliberate precision.

Her fingers curl around the edge of the glass, tightening until her knuckles strain. The corners of her mouth twitch as if she’s holding back a laugh.

“Right on time,” she murmurs to herself, her voice drowned out by the noise of the bar.

30 MINUTES AFTER THE INCIDENT:

Flashing red and blue lights cast frantic, distorted shadows across the street, the wail of sirens blending with the hum of voices—police officers, paramedics, and onlookers.

You stand frozen at the edge of it all, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, your pulse racing so fast it blurs the world around you. It’s too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too real.

“Y/N!”

Sunoo’s voice snaps you out of your stupor. He reaches you in seconds, his hands gripping your shoulders as if to anchor you. “Breathe,” he urges, his voice trembling. “You have to breathe.”

But how can you? How can you breathe when the man you love might be—

You blink hard, tears streaming down your face, and your gaze shifts to the ambulance parked nearby. Paramedics wheel someone out on a stretcher, their face obscured by oxygen masks and bloodied bandages.

Haechan.

Your knees buckle, and Sunoo catches you before you hit the ground. “Stay with me,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “He’s alive, Y/N. He’s alive.”

But alive doesn’t mean okay. Alive doesn’t mean safe.

Jihoon and Giselle appear beside you, their faces pale and grim. Giselle’s hand wraps around yours, squeezing tightly. “We don’t know what happened,” she says, her voice hushed but firm. “But he’s in good hands now. They’ll do everything they can.”

You nod, but it’s hollow. Empty. The truth is, you don’t know if anything will be enough.

None of this adds up. And it’s eating at you.

The stretcher disappears into the ambulance, the doors slamming shut behind it. The sirens start again, louder this time, and you flinch as the vehicle speeds away into the night.

“What if this is it?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Giselle shakes her head. “Don’t think like that.”

But you can’t help it. Your mind spirals, filling in blanks with the worst possible scenarios. Did he crash his car? Was it an attack? Did that woman—

You double over, clutching your stomach as the weight of it all hits you. “I should’ve stopped him,” you sob. “I should’ve done something.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jihoon says firmly, though his own voice shakes. “Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

A police officer approaches, his face grim. “Are you Y/N?”

You nod, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “Yes. Is he—what happened? Is he okay?”

The officer hesitates, his eyes flickering to your friends before settling back on you. “We’re still piecing everything together, but… it doesn’t look like an accident.”

Your blood turns cold. “What do you mean?”

“We’ll need your statement,” the officer continues. “But for now, all I can say is… this was deliberate.”

The word hits you like a slap, leaving you breathless.

Deliberate.

“Do you know who might have done this?” the officer asks, pulling out a small notepad.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Because the truth is, you don’t know. You don’t know who she is. You don’t know why Haechan was with her. And you don’t know why this happened.

As the officer steps away, your gaze shifts to the darkened street where it all began. The ambulance is gone, the chaos fading as the night swallows the scene whole.

And as your friends hold you in comfort, you can only wonder. How did everything go wrong?

part 2 maybe 😛😛 ?????

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[dirt-str1der]

WHY DID YOU FEEL THE NEED TO TELL ME ABOUT YOUR AROACE SENKU HEADCANON ON MY GAY SENKU AND TRANS REI POST

Just finished Dr Stone Reboot

[loverboysturn]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ popular!chris and the football team take a visit to the diner when cinderella!reader is on shift !

find all popular!chris and cinderella!reader writings here and everything else here!

note: you might want to read this first before reading the below so some things make more sense :) my au’s are always open for this au! come yap or ask me questions about them!

you normally hated working the late shift.

but for a friday night, it was quiet. the diner was empty, a few regulars sat in their usual seats and some families scattered about but all in all, your shift had been peaceful so far. the constant hum of the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans, and the sizzling sounds of the chefs at work was comforting to you, you wipe down the counter in front of you for the third time since you started work tonight, pretending to not notice how time was dragging on. it was boring but you were grateful for the calmness of it all, especially after the last week.

the world outside the diner seemed to be moving slowly too, the streets outside empty apart from the occasional cars driving by, it was one of those rare nights where it was quiet enough that you could find the time to think, your mind always going back to the same thing, same person.

but, the peace didn’t last long.

the door swings open, and the group swarm in, instantly filling the diner with their energy. their voices louder than usual, bouncing off the walls as they joked and laughed. the football team walking in first, followed not long after by a cluster of cheerleaders, all of them still hyped up from practice.

you barely have any time to adjust to the sudden change in the atmosphere before they were all over the place. completely taking over the booths at the back of the diner, making themselves known to everyone else already in here. their noise filling every corner of the diner, and the chatter between them growing with every passing second. the peace and quiet you had only just been enjoying was suddenly replaced with noise, and lots of it.

your colleague pops her head from behind the counter quietly calling your name. “honey, can you take the booths in the back for me? i’ll take the tables after, i just need to wrap up what i’m doing”

you didn’t need to look over to know to known which booths she was talking about.

you hesitate for a second, trying to scramble up an excuse as to why you can’t, feeling a familiar knot of dread tighten in your stomach.

“but, i—i” you stutter, brain working overdrive to find an excuse.

“please?” she asks again, giving you a small smile.

you sigh, accepting your fate. “yeah, of course.” you really, really didn’t want to serve them. the teasing, the jokes—it was always the same when they were around, and you weren’t in the mood for it all tonight, but you couldn’t say no to her.

taking a deep breath, you straightened out your apron and forced yourself to look unbothered by them all, the last thing you needed was for them to start making more of a scene, but you knew the moment you walked over, they’d find something to laugh at.

as you make your way to the table, your eyes immediately land on chris sturniolo, and for a second, your stomach flips. the memory of bumping into him in the hallway earlier this week flashes in your mind—your books flying out of your arms, the way your cheeks went a deep red after falling to the floor, rejecting his offer to help you up, you quickly look away, trying to shake the feeling of being in his line of vision for the first time since, even though he hadn’t so much as even looked at you once.

“here she is, diner girl” one of the football team says as he sees you, loud enough for them all to hear. you recognise him as the guy who was rude to you you the other day when you bumped into chris. “don’t forget your service with a smile today.”

you bite your lip, forcing a smile as you click your pen and pull out your notepad to take their order.

it was hard to not feel the weight of all their eyes on you, you had enough going on at the minute, you’d been juggling assignments at school, your stepmother signing you up for shift after shift, and on top of it all, there were the late night texts you shared with someone you still didn’t know the identity of but for you it was easier that way, completely anonymous. there were no expectations, no judgement. just words on a screen, but they were words that were starting to mean a lot to you.

“what can i get you guys today?” you ask, trying to keep your tone professional. you wasn’t in the mood for the teasing from them tonight, but you’d try to just ignore it.

“milkshakes” one of the cheerleaders looks up at you with a fake smile, “the usual, don’t fuck it up.”

as she finishes speaking, another cheerleader giggles at her friends’ rudeness, a sharp, laugh that rings in your ears after, you recognise her as the head cheerleader—always the loudest, the first to join in with the diner girl jokes. your eyes briefly look over to where she has her arm casually draped over chris’s, trying to gain his attention, but he wasn’t paying any interest in her, not even looking up from his phone, clearly more interested in what was on the screen than the girl bedside him.

they were the stereotypical on-and-off couple—chris, the school’s golden boy and captain of the football team and her, the head cheerleader and the girl all her friends wanted to be. everyone knew their drama, how they’d broken up and gotten back together more times than you could count on both hands. the last you’d heard, they’d broken up for good just before the summer break started but you’d never paid much attention to it, the gossip of the popular crowd had never really interested you—it was always the same boring stories.

“got it” you say, your voice flat as you force a smile. you turn on your heel, rolling your eyes when they could no longer see you, the feeling of frustration brewing in your chest at the way they treated anyone not in their group but you’d gotten good at pretending they didn’t bother you at work, even when they did. you knew they’d leave a terrible tip anyway, that’s if they even left one at all.

you make sure the milkshakes come out exactly as they ordered to prevent any more rude comments from them—a few vanilla, a few chocolate and some strawberry flavoured. you place them carefully on the table, trying your best to avoid eye contact with anyone but as you set the last one in front of chris, he looks up at you, eyes locking with yours.

“you know, diner girl” one of his teammates interrupts the eye contact, a smirk forming on his lips. “i think we shouldn’t have to pay for these tonight, they’re on the house, right? you know.. ‘cause of your little accident running into chris this week.”

the whole table erupts into laughter, a few other comments muttered and fake giggles, a cheerleader chimes in “yeah, maybe you should stay out the way next time and you’d earn your tips.”

you still don’t let your frustrations show, just nodding at them. “enjoy your drinks guys.” you sigh, quickly walking away before any more comments can be thrown your way.

an hour or so later, the group finish their drinks and you notice them all start to make their way to the exit, their noise and laughter still echoing all around the diner. you stand behind the counter, cleaning a coffee mug, hoping they’ll just hurry up and leave.

“thanks for the free milkshakes, diner girl” one of the football team shouts. “you’ll have to bump into our golden boy more often.”

you don’t respond, just waiting for them all to finally leave, bringing the diner back to the quiet you were enjoying earlier.

you turn to grab a rag from under the counter, already bracing yourself for their mess that you’ll now have to clean, but as you’re about to head over, you feel someone standing on the other side of the counter infront of you.

you glance up, half expecting it to be one of the football team or a cheerleader, waiting to throw one last comment at you before they leave for good, but when you look up and your eyes land on chris, you’re taken aback. he’s standing there, his posture is calm, but you can sense the tension in his shoulders and for a second, you freeze, waiting for him to make some kind of snide remark.

but he doesn’t.

“i just wanted to say” he begins, voice softer than you expected. “i’m sorry for how they all treated you tonight. i didn’t like that they spoke to you like that” he looks down, eyes on the counter infront of him. “the thing in the hallway the other day with me and you, that was completely my fault. i wasn’t looking where i was going.”

you blink in surprise, a look of confusion taking over your face. you wasn’t expecting this, you open your mouth to say something, but the words are stuck in your throat.

“i—“ you start, unsure of how to respond. “it’s fine, i—I’m kinda used to it now.”

he shakes his head, finally looking up at you now. “no,” his voice firm, “you shouldn’t have to be used to it, that’s not fair on you but i’m sorry if my stupid clumsiness made it all worse tonight.”

when you saw him stood there just now, you expected the same attitude you receive off his friends, the same dismissive tone in his voice but instead, he’s apologising for them and you can’t quite figure out why.

“honestly, chris” you say, forcing a smile. “it’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.”

his gaze lingers on you, then without warning, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled bill, sliding it over to you. “here,” he says, “for the milkshakes.”

“thank you,” you murmur, voice softer with him now, you take the money, fingers brushing against his making the awkward tension in the air between you become thick enough that you feel yourself becoming flustered.

chris gives you a half-smile, a rare one that feels a lot more genuine than the usual one you see him throw about at football games and in the hallways. “it’s nothing,” he says, his tone softening. “and, uh…you really know how to make a great strawberry milkshake, guess i owe you one now for that too.”

you blink, completely caught off guard but before you can say anything else, chris turns and heads for the door, slipping out with his friends, door swinging shut behind him. you watch him go, still feeling confused by him being nice to you but you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he is still like the rest of them, charming when he wants something, but just as rude as his friends when it doesn’t matter to him.

you push your thoughts aside, just wanting to forget about the whole scene and pretend your shift tonight didn’t happen, you focus on the task waiting for you, heading over to the now messy booth where they’d been sitting that needed cleaning.

as you wipe the table, your mind drifts to your mystery guy and you can’t help but wonder what he’s doing right now. is he thinking about you too? you glance at the clock, a sense of relief running through you when you see there’s only an hour left of your shift.

sixty more minutes, and you’ll be able to talk to him again, the only thing that had been on your mind all night, the only thing that makes the chaos of your life all fade into the background.

little did you know, the guy who was keeping you up at night and consuming your thoughts, was standing just a few feet from you earlier, complimenting you on your strawberry milkshakes and you had no idea.

[cc1306]

hopeless romantic! suna, who can’t stop zoning out, while you’re telling him all about the fight the twins got in during second period. he stares at you blankly, thinking about the way your nose crinkles from laughter as you’re talking to him. cute.

hopeless romantic! suna, who asks, “sorry, what were you saying?” in response to you waving your hand in his face and snapping him out of his daze. with a slight blush on his face, he turns his head, mortified that you caught him failing to pay attention.

“seriously…keep up!” you reprimand him with a half-serious frown and a pout, and he forces himself to pay full attention not wanting to subject himself to such embarrassment again.

hopeless romantic! suna, who stays up late that night facetiming osamu, as he rambles on about some argument he and atsumu got into earlier in the day.

“sunarin, pay attention! quit thinking about [name], i’m talking to you,”

“i wasn’t thinking about her,” he defends, knowing full well that he was wondering if you were still awake before osamu interrupted.

“right, and i’m not the better twin. you know, you should just confess to her before it’s too late. someone else might make a move before you do, then you’ll never get to be with her.”

osamu’s statement made suna think hard.

“…yeah well she doesn’t like me like that. we’re just friends ‘samu.”

“you two are insufferable. let me know when you grow a pair and finally ask her out,” osamu groans out, growing tired of suna’s crippling fear of rejection.

“whatever… im tired now, bye,” suna cut off osamu’s rant with a yawn, before he ended the call.

would she really go out with someone else?

today was the day. suna decided that today would be the day he put his fear to the side and told [name] how he felt. he felt his hands tremble every time she was near and his heart pound, as adrenaline surged through his body.

during your lunch break, you sat on the roof together, just the two of you alone. suna saw this moment as his opportunity, the perfect chance to try and confess his feelings to you. you were currently rambling to him again, telling a story he honestly tried to listen to, but it proved difficult considering his heart was beating out of his chest, as he thought of how you’d respond to what he was about to tell you.

“and then aran and kita told me-“

“[name], i-“ he interrupts you mid-sentence, but his voice got caught in his throat. he cursed himself for being so nervous, all he had to do was say the three words but nothing came out.

“yeah, what’s up?” you ask him, as you drink from your strawberry milk carton contentedly.

“i…umm… i have something to tell you,”

okay yes, good start. just tell her.

“okay…should i be worried?” you ask, starting to get concerned about how serious suna suddenly became.

you thought he’d been acting strange the past week, like how he’s been zoning out recently when speaking to you, or just staring strangely. you’re getting the vibe that somethings wrong with him. maybe he’s sick? maybe he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore? you have no clue what to think, so you chose to hear him out.

“no…well, maybe.”

he felt his hands getting clammy and nervously rubbed them on his trousers. his eyes darted everywhere, looking at everything in the room except back at your own expecting pair. he realised he’d been silent for too long - he needed to say something now.

“i have to tell you how much you mean to me. you might not realise it, but i’m obsessed with you. i think of you before i sleep, and you’re the first thing i think of when i wake up. you consume me, and i don’t know what i would do without you,” he blurted out, speaking so quickly you wouldn’t have been able to keep up if you weren’t listening so intently.

you sat there, stunned in silence. of all things he could’ve said to you, you certainly didn’t expect this. he took your silence as a signal to continue his speech.

“i need you in ways that surely can’t be healthy,” he chuckled, releasing a nervous breath.

“i-“

“you don’t have to accept it. i don’t expect you to tell me you feel the same, but i’d wait forever for you. if you want to be just friends then we will. but you have to tell me what to do. i like you so much. you can say you hate me. you can say you don’t feel the same. just tell me the truth.”

he couldn’t muster up the courage to look you in the eyes, so he kept his gaze trained to the ground, staring hard at the laces of his shoes.

“suna..” you started, forcibly sucking in a breath of air since you felt like all of it had been knocked out of your lungs.

“that’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me. thank you. i don’t now what i’d do without you either because i like you too,” you confessed as he rushed to hold you in his arms in a warm hug.

“thank God, i don’t know what i’d do if you rejected me,” he joked, covering up his anxiety with humour.

“i could never reject you,” you beamed at him in return. he felt his heart explode.

hopeless romantic! suna, who returned to last period that day with a smile from ear to ear, as he entered the classroom hand in hand with you by his side.

[woozinhos]

Hii! I hope your doing well! Can you do a s.coups sugar daddy headcannon with a dash of smut? If it's uncomfortable to write please do not do it! Thank you so much! 🫶🏻

Sugar Daddy Cheol

- Seungcheol loves to take control in the bedroom. He's a dominant lover who knows exactly how to drive you wild with desire. He loves to tie you up and tease you until you're begging for more.

- Seungcheol has a secret kink that he's never told anyone about. He loves to be called "Daddy" in bed. The word makes him feel powerful and dominant, and he gets off on the idea of taking care of his sugar baby in every way possible.

- Whenever Seungcheol is stressed out or feeling overwhelmed, he turns to you for comfort. He loves to lie on your lap and let you play with his hair, feeling safe and relaxed in your arms.

- One day, Seungcheol decides to surprise you with a trip to a luxurious hotel for the weekend. He wants to pamper you and show you just how much he appreciates you.

As soon as you arrive at the hotel, Seungcheol scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bedroom. He lays you down on the plush bed and begins to undress you slowly, savoring every moment of your naked body beneath him.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers in your ear, his hands roaming over your curves. "And all mine."

Seungcheol's eyes darken with desire as he gazes down at you, completely exposed and vulnerable beneath him. He runs his hands over your body, tracing every curve and dip with his fingertips.

"You have no idea how much I've been thinking about this," he growls, his voice low and husky. "How much I've been dreaming of having you all to myself."

He leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging deep into your mouth as he devours you. He breaks the kiss, panting heavily, and trails kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promises, his hands roaming lower and lower down your body. "I'm going to make you forget everything but me."

He reaches down and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head as he hovers over you. "You're mine tonight," he growls, his eyes dark with possessiveness. "And I'm going to claim every inch of you."

-However there’s other times where he becomes jealous it’s so hot

Seungcheol couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched you interact with one of his colleagues. The way the man laughed at your jokes, touched your arm, and smiled at you made his blood boil. He knew he had no right to feel jealous - you were his sugar baby, not his girlfriend. But seeing you with another man still stung.

Later that night, Seungcheol was sitting in his office, trying to focus on his work, but his mind kept wandering back to you and the man from earlier. He couldn't shake the feeling of possessiveness that had taken over him. He wanted to mark you as his own, to show everyone that you belonged to him and only him. The thought consumed him, driving him wild with desire.

He stood up abruptly, unable to focus any longer, and walked out of his office. He needed to see you, needed to remind himself that you were his. Seungcheol stormed into your apartment, his eyes blazing with a mix of desire and possessiveness. He saw you sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Baby," he growled, his voice low and rough. "We need to talk."

You looked up at him, startled by the intensity in his eyes. "What's wrong?" you asked, sensing that something was off. Seungcheol didn't answer right away. Instead, he stalked over to you, his eyes never leaving yours. He stood in front of you, towering over you, and pulled you up into his arms.

"You're mine," he said, his voice firm and possessive. "No one else's. Do you understand?"

You nodded, feeling a shiver run down your spine at the intensity in his voice. You had never seen him like this before - so possessive and dominant.

Seungcheol's grip on you tightened as he pulled you closer to him. "I don't want to see you with anyone else," he growled, his lips hovering over your ear. "Ever."

You could feel his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers of desire through your body. You knew that you were in trouble - but you also knew that you loved it.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Tell me that you're mine."

"I'm yours," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Only yours."

Seungcheol's eyes darkened with desire at your words, and he pulled you even closer to him, crushing you against his chest.

"Good girl," he growled, his hands roaming over your body possessively. "You belong to me, and only me. I don't want to share you with anyone."

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue plundering your mouth as he claimed you as his own. You melted into his embrace, completely surrendering to his dominance. Seungcheol lifted you up and carried you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I'm going to remind you who you belong to," he promised, his voice thick with desire.

[soobnny]

we'll never have sex — changbin x reader ; established relationship & hurt/comfort (1.2k words)

there is nothing more beautiful than the promise of love even if you cannot guarantee or give that certain level of intimacy just yet

for my girls with a complicated relationship w sex & yes this is based off of leith ross’ song

Facetimes with Changbin always last longer than they should. 

Had it been anyone else, the call would’ve dropped more than an hour ago. You’d have been found guilty for finding any excuse to warrant you some silence–the slightest tinge of awkwardness, the moment conversation runs out, faking plans.

Never with Changbin.

The static of phone calls stretch on, neither of you having moved much. You can’t remember how long it’d been since either of you said something, but you’ve never minded. The quiet that came with your boyfriend had always felt comfortable. Almost safe.

In your periphery, just at the top most right of your screen, you can see him sprawled across his bed, signature hoodie to match the boyfriend look, and fingers lazily scrolling through his phone. 

“Still awake, baby?” His voice breaks the silence, teasing almost, but still gentle. 

“Mhm.” You hum, shifting in your position a little. “But ‘m a little sleepy.”

“You should go to bed.”

“No.” Changbin chuckles at your refusal, deep and raspy through the phone. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, distinguishably fond even with the poor quality of the video.

For a second, you allow yourself to just watch the boy–his glazed eyes, the softness in his features accentuated by the low light of his room, the warmth of his smile. 

Almost safe. Almost reassuring. 

You wonder if it’s all a facade, wonder when he’d finally break, wonder when he’d leave you because you refuse to let him do anything beyond a kiss. Maybe no amount of love, even from the right person like Changbin, will ever be enough to change that.

You try to scold yourself. Self-destructing thoughts are too familiar, they reverberate in your head like you’d been thinking about it for a while, like they’d been practiced and practiced until permanently tattooed. 

The tears come without warning, mid-scolding. Big and heavy and warm. They pool at the edges of your version, and it makes you feel pathetic that you hurry to press the sleeve of your hoodie against your face. 

Changbin notices immediately.

“Hey.” his voice sharpens, the playful edge he’d been sporting earlier gone in a split second. “(Name)? Baby, hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, and oh god, he’s going to leave you. He’s going to leave you because you’re such a crybaby, and anyone with a normal fucking mind wouldn’t do this to him. Anyone under normal—kinder—circumstances wouldn’t think like this. 

“Baby.” He tries again, softer this time. “Talk to me.” 

Your throat tightens around something akin to a lump. You try to swallow it down. 

“Why’re you crying? What’s wrong?” 

There’s a long pause before you finally speak.

“What if I… what if…” You start, voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know how to continue, words disjointed and dismembered. “If I said you could never touch me, would you still want to be with me?”

Changbin pauses for a fraction of a second, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion. But you go on, inundating him with the fears that have spent your entire life trying to catch up with you.

“I can’t give you what you want. It’s what you want, isn’t it? Would you still stay with me even if I told you that I never want to have sex?”

The boy’s expression softens immediately. He can hear his own heart break at how fragile you sound, at how shattering it is to look at your tear-streaked face through a screen, at the things that could’ve transpired for you to think that he’d ever leave you because of that, just because of something so menial to him in a relationship.

“Of course I’ll stay.” He says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “That doesn’t change anything.”

His words are meant to be comforting, the small but sure smile on his lips should’ve been enough to return your peace, but instead, the tears well up again. Heavier this time. 

“Wait. Wait, wait—hold on.” His face suddenly disappears off the screen as he fumbles with his phone. He sounds rushed. “I’m… I can’t just look at you cry and not do anything about it.”

Then the call ends.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later when a sudden knock on your door shakes you from your self-pity do you see him again. And he’s standing there, slightly out of breath, the same hoodie you’d seen earlier half-zipped with his hair tousled from the cold wind outside. 

“Binnie.” Your voice cracks. “What are you doing here?”

Changbin doesn’t say anything at first, just allows himself to look at you—eyes tracing over the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you’re hugging yourself with the sleeves of one of his jackets. 

Then, without a word, he slips a hand beneath your jaw, tilting your face to look you in the eyes. His palms on your skin feel warm, calloused but gentle as he cradles you in his hands. “I think…” He pauses. 

A heartbeat passes.

“I think you look lovely.” He murmurs, tone low and gentle, abating the tempestuous anxieties swelling in the pit of your stomach. “And I love you. Not because of what you think I’m expecting from you, but because I love you. The entirety of you.”

You press your face into the crook of his neck as an ugly sob escapes your throat. The tears spill over again, faster, and you feel so ridiculous for crying even more in front of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulls back, leaning in to press a kiss to your wet cheeks. His voice is firm, but not unkind. Never unkind. And his eyes held no hesitation, no flicker of doubt in the way he’s looking at you right now. “Did I say anything to make you feel this way?”

Changbin tries to hide how he feels about his question, like he could never imagine being the reason why you’re sobbing like this.

“No, oh my god. Binnie, no. It’s not you.” 

“Okay, it’s not me.” His voice is still kind, relieved. “I’m never expecting anything from you, okay?”

And just as gentle as he’s holding you, he kisses you. Nothing desperate, nothing hurried even. Just slow and lingering, like he’s savoring the moment for exactly what it is. He isn’t kissing you to take you to bed, not to ask for anything more, not even to change your mind.

Changbin kisses you just to kiss you. 

Just to hopefully show you that he means everything he said to you. 

“I’ll take care of you.” His fingers thread through your hair. “I love you.”

Quietly, tiredly, you start to show a small smile. “Thank you.”

Loving you is so easy for Changbin. Like second nature. Like falling in love with your laughter, and the little parts of you that make up your sum. And you’re aware that it’s going to take time to heal yourself—that it won’t be so easy all the time, that there will be days like these again, but you also know enough that he is genuine and that he loves you with no expectations even if it’s hard to believe sometimes.

Seo Changbin loves you with every bit of conscience he was born with. He loves you simply. 

You stay like this for a while. Safe. Reassuring. Until you feel the sickness less and less.