#but she just thought she wanted to be ~best friends~ with her

[kyber-crystal]

10 things i hate about you || f.w.

summary: rumor has it that you and fred weasley are going out. being the instigators you two are, you decide to play into said rumors. but just how far could you go before you lose sight of the line between fiction and reality? 

words: ~7.9k LMFAO I REALLY WENT OVERBOARD HERE

warnings: cheesiness, cliche 10 things i hate about you vibes, both y/n and fred being oblivious idiots. what’s more to love

a/n: you thought i’d avoid writing another fake dating fic? with fred? NEVER. ik there r some fake dating fred fics out there but i swear we need MORE bc this is the best trope ever idc. also made up a name for the school paper cs i forgot if it was a thing in the books/movies lol. reader is an implied gryffindor/ravenclaw but can technically be in whatever house you’d like : )

The problem with Hogwarts was that rumors spread through its halls like fiendfyre.

It all started during the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Harry had narrowly caught the Snitch after a Dementor false alarm and carried the team to victory, causing the stadium to explode into ground-shaking cheers.  Waves of deep crimson and gold were pouring onto the field and you almost got trampled in the midst of it until someone pulled you into the center. 

“There you are—I was looking all over for you,” Fred beamed. “You were watching, right?”

“I was sitting front row…you literally saw me, Fred,” you stated plainly. 

“I know, but I wanted to make sure,” he winked at you, sidelining you into a hug. “You look very pretty, by the way. I think my hat looks better on you than me.”

“Anddd there’s the woman of the hour! He couldn’t stop staring at you—almost crashed into the teachers’ section ‘cause of that,” Lee came over and clasped your shoulder. 

“That’s what that was all about? Freddie, you need to get it together!”

“Can’t help when you’re as alluring as a Veela,” the compliment rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He then tilted his chin down to kiss your forehead, and you didn’t bother pushing him away despite the fact that he was all sweaty after being up in the air. 

A bright flash of light pulled you out of Fred’s embrace, and you blinked to see Colin standing there with a wide grin on his face, camera in hand. 

“Just capturing the moment,” the younger Gryffindor said excitedly. “This is gonna be a good one!”

You thought nothing of it until you went down to the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning. You went over to find your Ravenclaw friends, who seemed to be huddled around something, staring at it intensely.

“Oh, hey Y/N!” Cho beamed brightly at you, moving over to make room for you to sit next to her. “Have you seen the latest school newsletter?”

You filled your plate and took a copy of the Hogwarts Daily Digest that Padma gave you. “No…what’s it all about?”

“Check page 3,” she told you. You took a bite of your toast first, pausing as you scanned over the page. At the front and center was a moving picture of you and Fred embracing, him pressing a kiss to your temple, smiles of pure bliss on both your faces. You had to admit that Colin had a way with pictures; so much so that you almost would’ve believed you and Fred were a true couple just by looking at the article. 

“So we’re going out, apparently,” you said, taking another bite of your food, “...Interesting.”

“Several students were interviewed about it, and they’re wondering if you guys are,” Cho explained. “With the way he kept looking over at you during the game, and how he was searching for you after it ended.” 

“I—I’ve ought to talk to Fred himself, see what he thinks about this—” you spluttered, feeling hot all of a sudden. “I just—we’re not even—”

“But you would be very cute together,” your best friend added. “I mean, you have known each other for how long now? It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone if you were.”

At the end of the day, you went to the library to squeeze in some quiet alone time for reading, curling up on one of the plushy sofas near the bookshelves. You were deep into a mythical book that Hermione recommended, fully zoned in for what felt like forever until the cushion sank a bit, indicating that someone had sat down next to you.

“What do you want, Fred,” you sighed without even looking up from your book. “Come to bother me again?”

He took the book from your hands in response and closed it. 

“Hey, I was reading that—” you began. 

“I wanted to ask you about the article,” he stated, “don’t you think Creevey’s quite the photographer?”

You scoffed. “If this is about us being a couple, you know we’re not.”

“I was going to suggest something else.”

“And what is that?”

“Given that half the school is talking about us already,” he referred to the whispers in the halls that followed you from class to class, “why not play into the rumors a bit?”

“So you’re suggesting that, what?”

“That we say we’re a couple.”

“...you want to pretend that we’re going out?”

“Why not?” 

“That’s insane,” you shot him a glare. “What do either of us get out of it?”

“Practice, of course,” Fred had a proud look on, “but also, why not have some fun with it?”

You stopped and thought about it for a second. He was right—who were you to not want to have a bit of fun? After all, it was just Fred; it couldn’t be that hard to fake-date someone, especially when you had no real feelings for them.

“Fine, but only on one condition.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Promise not to fall in love with me?” You stuck your hand out towards him. 

Fred took it and gave it a firm shake, his signature mischievous grin making its appearance. “As long as you don’t fall for me either.”

“Dream on.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a low whisper. “10 galleons says you’ll fall in love with me first.”

“Oh, please. 20 says you won’t even last half as long.”

“You’re on.”

So it began—settling into the whole routine was surprisingly easy. But of course, it was probably easier since you had money on the line; asides from George, you and Fred were the most competitive people in the entire school. You’d do anything for extra money, glory, and infinite bragging rights. 

Making it a point to one-up each other, you began to brainstorm ways to really play up the whole “fake girlfriend” thing.

i. the pda competition, part 1

Monday afternoon’s Potions lesson proceeded as always, with Snape’s annoying, drawling voice instructing you on what to do. 

Today’s class was boring but ended early, the only downside being that you were assigned a hefty load of homework. 

“By the beginning of Wednesday’s class, you shall turn in to me two feet of parchment on the history of Strengthening Solution and its’ properties…” Snape ordered, “...for now, follow the instructions on the board. Ingredients are in the back. I expect the utmost perfection and accuracy…those who fail shall not be tolerated.”

Groaning internally, you headed to the back of the classroom towards the supply cabinets, Fred following close behind. Either Snape was out to get you both or it was sheer luck that had you paired together for this assignment. 

“Wait, you forgot something,” Fred called out as you were about to walk away. 

You turned around, a snarky reply ready. “What is—”

You didn’t even have the chance to finish your sentence when he grabbed you by the wrist and tugged you into his chest, kissing you square on the lips. You were completely taken by surprise and had no time to react whatsoever. 

Low wolf-whistles and “ooohs” reverbrated throughout the entire classroom as you broke apart. 

“What was that for?” you hissed. 

There was a devilish grin on his face, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it right off him. “Just trying to be a good fake boyfriend, of course,” he whispered into your ear.

“Touch me again without warning and I’ll break your nose,” you said in a low tone, ignoring the heat rising up your cheeks.

“Miss Y/L/N…Mr. Weasley…” Snape said lowly, “...back to your seats, both of you. This is a classroom, not a bedroom. Get to work.”

Several students giggled at this and you huffed, heading back to your seat. You didn’t speak more than a few sentences to Fred for the remainder of the lesson, face still flushed from the sudden incident. He kept stealing glances at you as you worked in silence, adding the ingredients into your bubbling cauldron with careful, precise movements.

“That’s 1-0 to me,” he reminded you. “Better hurry and catch up, or I’m winning those Galleons.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you muttered, uncapping the bottle in front of you and pouring some of the liquid in.

ii. the pda competition, part 2

After Fred had kissed you in the middle of a packed classroom, you were determined to get back at him, racking your brain for ideas. 

You sat under a sprawling tree by the Great Lake with Cedric, Cho, Padma, Ernie, and several other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. Somehow, you got lucky and all had matching free periods today, taking the opportunity to have a picnic by the water together. 

“A little birdie told me that you and a special someone were going out,” Cedric pointed a finger at you, the other arm slung around Cho’s shoulders. “Now what’s going on?”

“They’ve always been mad about each other, only took them a million years to see it,” Ernie butted in. “Isn’t it obvious? One would think they’re already married at this point, though.” 

“Who’s married to who?” you heard someone ask from behind you. 

“Speak of the devil,” Ernie said, “there he is!”

“Was going to check on you—see you at supper?” Fred lightly touched your cheek. You nodded blindly, the skin of his hand hot on your face. 

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

You turned back around to see everyone smirking at you knowingly. 

“What?” you questioned, adjusting the collar of your shirt as if nothing had happened. 

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Cho laughed breathily, “Ernie was right. It’s like you’re married.”

“Oh shut up, we’re still much too young for that.”

“Not for long!” 

Of course the only empty seat at the Gryffindor table that evening was next to Fred, and he made sure that you were sitting as close to him as humanly possible. All it would take was an extra few inches and you’d fully be sitting on his lap. You shook off the embarrassment and snapped back into it, determined to win the bet.

“I missed you all day, you know,” he admitted, placing a dinner roll onto your plate for you. “Where have you been?”

“By the lakes,” you said matter-of-factly. “Where else would I be?”

“With me, obviously.” 

“I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Well that hurt,” he pretended to look hurt. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“Second to last,” you joked. “Hey, wait—there’s something on your mouth.”

“Where?” he tried motioning around with his fingers but to no avail. 

“Right…here…” you murmured, gently grasping his chin and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lip, tasting a hint of the sweet cranberry sauce he’d been eating on the tip of your tongue. Loud gasps erupted through the Great Hall at the sudden private but public display. 

Fred inhaled sharply—he knew you were bold, but like this? For once, the jokester had nothing sarcastic to counter you with and was at a loss for words. 

When you pulled away, both yours and his faces were a shade of deep scarlet.

“Cat got your tongue?” you smirked, discreetly slipping a sheet of paper into his back pocket. “That’s 1-1 now, Fred.”

Again, Fred was left speechless. 

“I feel like I’m interrupting something very…” Ron coughed, damn near choking on his chicken leg. “Intimate. Scandalous. Very—”

“Shut it, Ronald,” you cut him off. “Can’t a girl snog her boyfriend when she wants?”

More jaws dropped at your reply, and you simply continued eating, a victorious grin on your face. Fred looked down and fished the note out of his pocket, unfolding the smooth parchment to reveal your tidy penmanship. 

Now who’s the flustered one? you know where to find me if you need me xx

You were so going to win. 

iii. the serenade

You found yourself sitting on the bench watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice—it was Fred’s idea to show up to as many of them as possible to really sell the whole “fake dating” thing. You didn’t mind all that much, as you got bored easily and liked to have a change of scenery every so often while you were studying. 

A loud, abrupt screech caused you to look up from your textbook and you winced, covering your ears. 

“You’re just too good to be true…can’t take my eyes off of you…” a melodic voice began flowing across the stadium. Confused, you set your book down and stood up, looking around for the source of the noise. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much…at long last love has arrived…” 

Fred suddenly appeared from the commentator’s box, holding a microphone. He casually leaned against the pole before sliding down and hitting the bleachers, gracefully making his way down the steps. 

“...And I thank God I’m alive…” his eyes remained focused on you, blazing gold and green. “You’re just too good to be true…” 

“What the—”

He spun around and pointed at you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a childish grin, “...Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“HIT IT, WOOD!” you heard someone (was that Lee?) yell, and music began blasting from the speakers.

Your friends were eyeing you with delight, fully entertained by the fact that you had absolutely no clue what was happening. Fred continued singing while he sauntered down the bleachers with a grace that you had never seen. 

“I love you, baby, and if it's quite alright

I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night

I love you, baby, trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay

And let me love you, baby, let me love you”

A blush coated your cheeks as he finally approached you, taking one of your hands in his and twirling you around. He held your gaze the entire time, eyes alight with what looked like genuine joy and passion. The rest of your classmates joined in as they crowded around you, joining together in one voice. 

It was impossible to hold back the smile creeping up your face as Fred continued to sing—he was undeniably charming, and you had to admit, this was well worth suffering a brief loss for. 

“Oh pretty baby, trust in me when I say…” the final lyrics left his mouth and everyone burst into applause. He made a show of bowing dramatically and kissing your hand in an exaggerated motion. 

You rolled your eyes at the overly extravagant gesture. But deep down, you had enjoyed every second of the impromptu serenade. 

Within minutes after it ended, Fred’s musical spectacle was the talk of the school. Students nudged each other in the corridors as you passed by, whispering words of encouragement, saying how they wished for a relationship like yours, and wondering where they could possibly find someone like Fred. 

You felt him slip something into your robe’s pocket. Fred had sidled up next to you as you headed up the stairs to the common room, still grinning widely. 

“2-1,” he reminded you, kissing your cheek before turning to the Fat Lady and uttering the password. He stepped through the portrait hole and turned back to wait for you, then walked all the way inside. “Better continue that game of catch up, I might just steal the title of ‘best fake partner ever’ from you.”

There’s that beautiful smile, the note read. Keep it on for me, will you?

iv. the nightmare

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, because it was 3:27 a.m. and you were wide awake after barely squeezing in a few hours of sleep. 

Nothing you did worked; even the Potion for Dreamless Sleep had failed to keep the nightmares at bay. You didn’t last long before jolting awake, beads of sweat forming at your forehead and chest heaving with raggedy, jagged breaths. 

After several minutes of tossing and turning you gave up, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs to the common room. The fireplace was on, indicating that someone was already there—

“Y/N?” Fred turned around from his spot on the couch to look at you. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

You yawned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Finishing an assignment,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sheets of parchment, a vial of ink, and several books were spread out on the coffee table. “You?”

“Nothing,” you lied, sitting down next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t miss the hoarse tone in your voice nor your tear-stained face, stopping what he was doing to fully focus on you. “Now I know that’s not true. What’s bothering you, really?”

“I said I’m fine, just can’t sleep.” You let out a shuddering sigh and attempted to will the tears away, but your vision began to blur. “Go finish your work—”

“Hey.” Fred’s voice was soft. “Come here.”

His arms gingerly wrapped around your trembling frame to envelop you into a tight hug. He reached one hand up to smooth out your hair as you shook with silent sobs, your hands curling  into the fabric of his robes as if holding onto him would keep you from slipping away and losing yourself again. 

Fred was never one to be patient, but he knew that you just needed this moment free of chaos. So he waited, laying there with you as he continued murmuring soothing words into your ear, gently rubbing your back; he’d wait for as long as he’d need to. 

You didn’t know how much time passed until the tears ran themselves dry and your throat felt like it had been scraped raw. 

“Want to tell me what happened?” he suggested. “But only if you’re comfortable, that is.”

You hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him. Maybe he’d think you were strange…but seeing how he looked so genuine in that moment changed your mind. 

“I lost you…I lost everyone. I watched you die, Fred.” Your voice was cracked and raw, which sent a pang through his chest. The image of Fred’s lifeless body trapped between the rubble flashed across your vision, feeling as if it was wrapping its cold fingers around your throat. “I watched you all die and I couldn’t save you.”

“But I’m alive and well right now, aren’t I?” he assured you calmly, “I’ll be here for as long as you want me around. You’ll have to fight to the death to get rid of me.”

Managing a broken laugh, you looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really. What are fake boyfriends for, anyway?” His hand found its place against your cheek, fingers gently skimming across your skin. You leaned into his touch and let out a sigh, lips just barely brushing over his palm.  

“No one’s here, Fred…you don’t need to pretend.”

“I know I don’t.” Any and all traces of half-witted sarcasm were gone; wiped clean off his face. Instead, his eyes were glossed over with concern as they raked over yours. “Figured I could keep you company? Since I didn’t want you to be alone in your head like this.”

“I’d like that.”

He then passed a familiar folded square to you, and you opened it with a smile.

I’m here, whenever you need - F.W

v. the hospital wing run-in

“For Godric’s sake, how many more times will I have to see you in here?” Madam Pomfrey demanded as she hurried around, setting a metal tray by your bedside. “This is the third time this month.”

“Sorry,” you winced as you shifted your injured leg onto the pillow she’d set out. 

“What is it this time?”

“I broke my ankle.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Pursing your lips, you elected to tell her the modified version of the story, which was the one where you had tripped while going down the stairs, not the one that included running down the Astronomy Tower after sneaking up there for a dare (the twins’ doing). 

She shook her head in disbelief, glancing over the cuts on your face and fixing the bandages around your foot. “You’ll be in here for a few days. We’ll have to regrow the bones in your foot and ankle…my, how someone can break this many bones just from missing a step, I can’t seem to understand…what are all of you doing here?”

You followed her gaze to where Hermione, Ginny, Cho, and Fred were standing by the hospital wing’s entrance, alight with excitement upon seeing that you were awake.

“Guys—”

“Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Weasley, need I remind you that no visitors are allowed at this time! I advise that you all head back,” Madam Pomfrey ordered sharply. 

“But we haven’t seen her all last night and this morning! Can we just stay for a minute,” Hermione begged. “Please?”

The older woman sighed as she scanned your friends (and fake? boyfriend’s) desperate, pleading faces. “...Alright, then. Don’t stay too long and for Godric’s sake, let her breathe.”

They immediately crowded around your bed and Fred walked over to your side, crouching down so that you were eye level with him. 

“There’s my princess,” his charming persona was back in full force, and he smoothly brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. For what felt like the eleventh time, he was swooping in to kiss your cheek. Not that you were counting. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here,” you winked as you attempted to prop yourself into an upright position, but failed, giving up and flopping back down. “Ow. My foot.”

Ginny pretended to throw up on Hermione, who then elbowed her in the stomach.  “Ow!” she yelped. “What was that for?” 

“Let’s leave the happy couple alone,” she hissed, and they slowly backed away to give you some space. 

Fred pulled up a chair next to your bedside, propping his chin in his hand to stare at you. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean for you to end up with five broken bones.”

“And a concussion, a killer headache, and not to mention dozens of sore muscles,” you grimaced, but felt a slight ache in your chest when you realized he looked genuinely guilty. “I don’t blame you, really. I mean, I was just as stupid and reckless. I definitely could’ve been more careful but I wasn’t.”

“I’m supposed to mess up your lipstick,” he groaned, “not your bones.”

“Someone took ‘public displays of affection’ the wrong way,” you said sarcastically, and then there was a brief moment of silence before you both burst into laughter.

“Damn right he di—OW, Hermione!”

“Gin, let’s go!” With that, the two girls left the hospital wing, leaving the two of you alone.

“Why are you here, anyway? Hermione and Ginny are because they’re my friends, and you’re my—”

“—lovely, charming, undeniably handsome boyfriend, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” Fred finished your sentence for you.

“Right,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I? It seems like you’re always around.”

“And yet, you don’t push me away,” a smile tugged at his lips. “Which clearly means that I’m just that irresistible. I don’t need a charm or some silly love potion to reel you in.”

“Don’t think that because I’m incapacitated, this game is over,” you warned him. “I will beat your arse to a pulp, and you’ll be twenty Galleons lighter. I bet you’re madly in love with me already.”

“Believe what you want, my darling,” he sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. “But we all know I’ve already won this game.”

“Yeah, right. We’re tied now, by the way. That’s for getting me injured.”

“Oi! You can’t just—”

“Shh…don’t come crying to me ‘till you lose.”

He ended up staying overnight. 

You didn’t protest at all. 

Neither did Madam Pomfrey later that evening after seeing him slumped over on your bed, fast asleep, one hand clutching yours like you were the only thing he had left to lose. 

vi. the howler 

For once you managed to get to the Great Hall before Fred did. The bloke was always criminally late or ridiculously early to everything; it was almost laughable how there was no in between for him. 

He finally showed up just ten minutes before breakfast was supposed to end, breathing hard with his hair all messed up.

“What’d I miss?” he asked you.

“Nothing,” you responded. “Just another ordinary day…”

A gust of wind suddenly swept through the hallway causing the napkins to flutter in the air. A giant grey owl came swooping down onto the table and landed straight in front of Fred, clutching an envelope in its curved talons. 

“What’s Errol doing here? We’re not supposed to get our daily mail til’ tomorrow,” Ron gawked, “surprised that he’s here given the number of times he’s collapsed mid-delivery—oh blimey Fred, you must be in trouble! You’ve got a Howler!”

Several Gryffindors around you giggled at this. 

With a slight look of confusion and fear, Fred carefully removed the seal on the bright red envelope. Molly Weasley’s booming voice immediately came bursting from the pages. 

“FRED WEASLEY, HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU WERE DATING MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW! I AM DISAPPOINTED IN YOU—Y/N dear, if you’re hearing this, I’m very happy for you and hope to see you at the Burrow soon, I’ll make sure to whip up some homemade custard for you—YOU OUGHT TO TREAT HER RIGHT, BOY, OR ELSE! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND I SURE AS MERLIN CAN TAKE YOU RIGHT OUT!”

A silence fell over the entire Great Hall and Fred sat there, in shock. The red envelope folded itself up and then burst into flames, its ashes crumbling to the floor. 

“I’ve never seen him turn that red,” George sniggered. “You’re bloody brilliant, Y/N.”

“Y-you did this?” Fred spluttered. 

“Can’t say I didn’t,” you hummed, patting his head affectionately. “Your mum was bound to find out, one way or another.”

“And you thought this was the best idea?”

“Aww, is little Freddie all embarrassed?” you teased. “Never thought I’d live to see that day.”

“Quit gloating,” the redhead grumbled. “You haven’t won yet. Better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

vii. the pda competition, part ∞

As it turned out, continuing to slip into your fake relationship only became more fun as the days and weeks dragged on. And being competitive only added to the fun, as you were scrambling to one-up each other. 

You often opted to hold his hand when walking from place to place, which wasn’t difficult given that you were almost always with him now and had to sell the idea that you really were together. His hands were rough and calloused from all those hours working on joke shop prototypes, but they were still surprisingly comforting. A way to keep you grounded when your head got stuck in the clouds. 

Fred’s signature move was, of course, dropping random kisses on your cheek when you didn’t expect it. Sometimes, when he was feeling bolder than usual, that would change to the tender spot between your ear and jaw, your shoulder, or your nose. And each of those times he made sure they were extra drawn-out and that you were in a crowded area so others would see it. The courtyard. The Quidditch pitch. The classroom (two of those incidents were in Potions, much to Snape’s dismay. He didn’t even bother taking points off due to being too disgusted).

“I have a massive exam today,” he declared loudly to you as you stood in front of his upcoming class together. “I think I’m going to need a kiss.”

“Why?” you scoffed. “What do you need that for?”

“For good luck,” Fred said, “it’s kind of a tradition, isn’t it?”

“You…want a kiss for good luck?” you started.  

“I’m waiting…” he sang, face turned slightly in an invitation. You sighed and went up on your tiptoes, doing as he asked. “Thank you. But you have terrible aim…you missed.”

“I fear you’re having way too much fun with this,” you muttered. “Don’t make excuses. My lips are not going near yours unless they absolutely need to now.”

“Oh come on, you know you’re having loads of fun too,” he called out as he walked into the classroom. “Catch you later, sweetheart!”

viii. the butterbeer (alt: the pda competition, part ∞)

It was the day of another Hogsmeade outing and you were hand-in-hand with Fred as you walked down the cobblestone streets together. You had planned to spend the day alone for the most part and join Cho for a meal, but Fred had cornered you at breakfast and insisted you go on a date with him.

“To keep up the façade,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t people find it odd if the castle’s favorite couple wasn’t together?” 

You nodded and didn’t protest further; you had no energy to do so anyway. It was far too cold for your taste; you had been dragged out without having time to grab your gloves, blowing hot hair into your hands that were steadily growing numb. 

“Love,” he called for you as he took your hands in his, “oh, your fingers feel like ice.”

“No…shit…” your teeth chattered as you attempted to respond steadily. “Might lose ‘em if we don’t hurry up and get inside—”

“Wait one second,” Fred said as you two stopped right outside the Three Broomsticks, wasting no more time in taking his gloves off and handing them to you to put on, while he wrapped his house scarf around your neck. “There. Let’s head in.”

“But—”

“Boyfriend duties, remember?” he winked at you as he pushed the door open, holding it for you to step inside first. “Come on. I think a butterbeer or two’ll warm you up.”

Fred’s hand remained on the small of your back, pressing in gently to lead you to a cozy booth in the back. The added warmth felt quite nice, you thought, but you also wondered how he managed to stay like a human furnace when it the weather outside was so dreadfully cold. 

It was hard not to stare at him; catching his gaze every so often while sipping your drink. His hair was all tousled from the frigid winds; you took notice of the way it slightly curled out at the ends, glowing under the hazy yellow bar lights. It was annoyingly endearing how he could look so flawless without any effort and even more so that you didn’t have anything snarky to say. 

“Fred, I think we’re being followed…” you whispered as you scanned the near vicinity, fingers brushing against the rim of your mug. There in the far opposite corner sat Padma, Ernie, Cedric, and Cho, attempting to look nonchalant as if they weren’t half-stalking you but they were doing a rather terrible job at it. You quickly looked away.

“So? Isn’t that what we want—for people to see us?” he countered with a tone of confidence. His voice dropped low as he continued to speak to you. “Why don’t we give them a show? No need to be so private.”

Your face burned. “What do you—”

“Not like that,” he chuckled lowly, “what did you think I meant?”

“I…”

Fred paused, then raised his hand and brushed something off your cheek with his thumb. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“Oh, so we’re playing that game now, are we?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

You scoffed quietly and imitated his motion, reaching up to smooth out the crease that had formed between his brows. “Put a smile on your face, why don’t you? You look better that way.”

“I always look good, though.”

“I look better than your greasy arse.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. “I’d like to see you tr—”

Before you could say anything else and before he could stop himself from what he was doing, Fred placed a hand on the nape of you neck and pulled you in, kissing you without another word. All protests left behind flew right out the window (along with your morals, too, you thought) and for a split second, it almost didn’t feel like you were pretending at all. 

When you broke apart eventually, breaths a little heavy, neither of you needed to look over to see that your friends were gaping in shock, mouths dropped wide open. Sure, Fred was confident and cocky and you were equally so, but both of you would be lying if you said this didn’t take you by surprise. 

“You still keeping track?” His voice still had that low, almost husky tone to it. He was cupping your cheek now, and you let him keep doing so. “There can only be one victor, right?”

“Wouldn’t forget it,” you exhaled. “You think we look convincing enough right now?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

ix.  the thunderstorm 

The day’s exciting Care of Magical Creatures lesson was cut thirty minutes short due to the heavy downpour that had suddenly came crashing down, bringing with it a booming thunderstorm and soaking all your clothes within minutes. 

“Well, that’s it fer today, everyone,” Hagrid announced, “now let’s head back inside, don’ want yeh to catch a cold, we’ll continue when the weather lets up…”

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and flipped the hood on over your head, eyes narrowing as you stared up at the suddenly stormy grey sky. It just had to be on the one day you got to go outside and do something exciting, damn it….

It was freezing, nearly as horrible as that one day in Hogsmeade, and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to simply curl up by the fireplace with Hermione, the Patil twins, and Cho, and talk all evening long. If you could even make it back to the castle in one, unfrozen piece, maybe you’d at least get your hands on some hot chocolate from the kitchens…

A warm hand found yours amidst the strong winds, and all of a sudden you didn’t feel so cold anymore. 

As if he had read your mind, Fred said, “how about we sneak into the kitchens and grab something to drink? Hot chocolate, perhaps?”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled and he draped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you into his side. It felt so natural now, like this wasn’t part of some long-standing bet to fool the whole school; as if you were just two best friends trying to keep warm in subpar temperatures. And it was almost too easy to get used to it. 

“Oblivious idiots. I told them for years that they’d be perfect together and it’s only this year that they start going out,” George exclaimed from several yards behind, walking side-by-side with Lee Jordan. “Dunno why it took them so long.”

“Love takes time, obviously,” said Lee as he watched Fred lean into your ear and say something, and you giggled lightly in response, “and now, what matters is that I finally have an excuse to make fun of them during Quidditch matches.”

“Oh—good point.”

“And you’ve noticed that he stopped pranking her? Unlike him, isn’t it?” 

“Wait…” George paused as he took in Lee’s questions. His mouth formed an ‘o’ in realization. “He’s utterly whipped, that git.”

“What happens when boyfriend duties overcome prankster duties…this is perfect. Professor Flitwick owes me 2 galleons. I called it that he’d fall first!” 

“You bet on them?” George squawked. “With Flitwick?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t either,” Lee laughed, “I know you did too.”

The expression on George’s face shifted into one of defeat. “I lost,” he muttered, “I owe McGonagall 3 galleons.”

x. verum exeat (let the truth come out) 

The Gryffindor common room was alight with chatter once again. After a long, grueling week of exam revisions, Quidditch practice, and a brutal match to be remembered, Lee and the twins decided that a small celebration was in order. They had originally planned on inviting half the damn school but after arguing with Hermione, had to shrink the party down to just their smaller, usual friend group (they swore up and down that they’d clean up and not get detention like last time, but she wouldn’t buy it). 

But you knew that if things had the Weasley twins’ names pasted next to them, they’d be far from peaceful; as far as you could possibly get—no matter how big or small. 

“Oh, there you are,” you heard someone say from behind, and turned around to see that it was Hermione.

“Not drinking?”

“Someone’s got to take care of the boys after they go wild, right?” she explained. “Besides…I can’t stand the taste of firewhisky. It burns.”

You offered a tired half-smile and agreed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Hermione seemed to be deep in thought for a moment until she told you, “You’re very lucky, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“To have Fred, that is. To find someone who’s that in love with you, it’s quite rare.” 

“Oh, please,” you tried to suppress a laugh, “I told you why we’re doing what we’re doing.” 

“And?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at you, “feelings change. Bet or no bet, he cares about you and anyone would be crazy not to see that. Ronald is half-blind and he can tell, too. You can’t possibly tell me that everything you’ve done up to this point has been a lie.” 

“It’s meant nothing to me,” you said bitterly. “I hate him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And it doesn’t help that he’s everywhere,” you stopped to take a swig of firewhisky, “and I can’t stand it!”

“Do you not, really?”

“I do, but I—”

“You what?”

“I just hate him!” 

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think? I hate everything about him!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I hate the way he always tries to compete with me, I hate the way he doesn’t take things seriously, I hate that stupid, annoying little smirk he has on his face half the time I see him—”

You inhaled quickly; it felt like you’d just drank an entire vital of Veritaserum with the way that words were tumbling out of your mouth. Hermione gave you a look that seemed to say ‘Go on,’ so you did, “—I hate the way he walks down to the Great Hall every morning with his annoyingly perfect messy hair, I hate the way he risks freezing his arse off to give me his favorite gloves so that I don’t get hypothermia, I hate the way it’s so easy for him to kiss—borderline snog me like it’s nothing, I hate how this is all just supposed to be a game of pretend, and—and most of all, I hate the way he made me fall in love with him without even trying. I hate the way I don't actually hate him. Not even close, not even a little bit…not even at all…”

“You…really mean that?”

You whirled around to see that Fred was standing right behind you with his hands behind his back, eyes hopeful, and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. “Fred—”

“Y/N, I—”

Suddenly it seemed like the walls were closing in on you from all sides, the room spinning; and then, everything around you jumbled into one chaotic mess of noise and color. Without looking to see either his or Hermione’s reactions, without caring that half the room had stopped to see what was going on, you pushed past your friends and quickly clambered out of the portrait hole. 

“What was that about?” Ron’s nose crinkled in confusion. “So much for being a cute couple. Now this is just sad.”

“Will you shut it, Ronald,” Hermione whacked him on the shoulder. 

“OW—”

“Stop being so dramatic! Don’t let me catch you drinking even one more shot or I will drag your arse back to bed,” she snapped. 

“Pleeeease do, I would lov—ow, ow, OW! OKAY!” Ron exclaimed as she pinched his ear and began dragging him away. “Okay! I’ll leave them alone, I’ll stop…”

Chest heaving and vision blurring with tears, you rushed outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was quiet in the courtyard asides from the faint trickling of water but that did little to calm you down; it was still too loud, too chaotic, too much. Sitting down at the marbled edge of one of the fountains, you tried to catch your breath and balance, but the world still kept spinning…it felt like it wouldn’t stop spinning; for Merlin’s sake. All you wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear forever, or jump off the Astronomy tower and fly off to a distant land. You didn’t want to have to worry about how you poured your entire damn heart out in the middle of the common room about your fake boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend that you realized, with horror, you had begun to develop not-fake feelings for. 

A chill ran through you at that moment and you shivered.

Then the feeling of something warm—a thick coat—being draped over your shoulders shook you out of your trance. You instinctively slid it tighter around yourself.

“Thought I might find you out here,” said Fred. You opened your mouth, ready to ask how in Godric’s name he knew where you were at all times when he didn’t even have the Maurader’s Map anymore, but stopped. This was Fred Weasley, and you had spent an unhealthy amount of time around each other over the past several months that he had to have picked up on your little habits. He was more observant than he let on. 

“What are you doing out here?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. 

“I couldn’t leave you alone outside to freeze, could I?” he asked, sitting down next to you. “What kind of boyfriend would that make me?”

“Please, just…” you inhaled sharply, “I can’t do this. You won. I lost. The game’s over, Weasley.” 

“On a last-name basis now, are we? Ouch,” he said jokingly, but dropped the teasing lilt in his voice when he noticed your eyes starting to water. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

“It just isn’t fair,” you whispered, looking down at your feet. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not fair,’” your voice faltered, “you’re not supposed to do that. To do this.”

“Do what?”

“To sabotage the bet. To make me lose track of the scores.”

“Well, I stopped counting, you know,” Fred admitted, tucking a hair behind your hair. “There’s no need to keep track anymore, I think we’ve done enough convincing, don’t you think?”

“But that’s the problem!” your voice cracked as you finally turned to look at him. “It isn’t that I’m probably going to be dozens of Galleons poorer after this. It’s that I’m feeling something I shouldn’t, that…that you made me fall in love with you—”

“Y/N—”

“—I hate the way I care about you far more than I should,” you continued on, “and I hate myself even more for even wishing what we had was real. Because it was all fake, Fred, and you know it. We were faking it, and—”

“Y/N,” he repeated more sternly this time, causing you to stop mid sentence. “Look, I already told you I stopped keeping track. After that night in the common room….that’s when I realized I couldn’t. Lee damn near had to hit me over the head and force-feed me Veritaserum to admit that I was in deep. Galleons and glory be damned, I didn’t care about any of that anymore; it was easy for me to pretend when I was already in love with you.”

“But we weren’t supposed to fall in love, that was the rule,” you sniffed, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I thought we were supposed to follow the rules.”

Fred’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, I think some rules are made to be broken.”

And then, he was closing the gap and connecting your lips in a deep kiss. The gentle motion cut through the chilly evening air, washing over you in a blazing heat that had you melting into a haze of firewhisky, adrenaline, and something that smelled distinctly like a crackling log fire and cinnamon. 

You had kissed him multiple times before this, but this one felt different than all the rest. It didn’t feel like you were doing it for show in the slightest; it felt genuine and warm and so real. 

And the biggest difference was that you never wanted it to come to an end. 

“So?” The grin on his face was palpable; contagious, as you broke apart, “What do you say, we stop faking it?”

“Are you fake breaking up with me?” you gasped and pretended to look surprised. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“I’m asking to real-date you, darling,” he said.

“There’s no money on the line this time?”

“No,” he hummed as he leaned forward to kiss you a second time and pretended to think for a second, “but there might be something else on the line instead.”

“And what is that ‘something else?’”

“You’ll have to wait a few years and see.”

xi. the promise 

—FOUR YEARS LATER—

Fred was a great planner, of course. “Brilliant,” Harry would say, “absolutely brilliant.” He might’ve been a jokester, but he was a very organized jokester. He always knew what he was going to do and when. 

So when it came to you, he thought he had a plan. He thought he had it planned for years; he was thinking fireworks, extravagant displays in the sky, taking you on a sunset ride across Romania on one of Charlie’s dragons. Something to match your free and daring spirit. 

But, the moment ended up presenting itself on its own. 

It was an ordinary night with yours and Hermione’s families joining the Weasleys for a quiet weekend at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley was listening intently as Mr. Granger and Harry explained the function of rubber ducks and the Internet in great detail, and the rest of you chatted with your parents,  Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger by the kitchen counter about post-graduation plans. 

Mrs. Granger had made an off-hand, passing comment about how lovely your silver bracelet—the one with charms of yours’ and Fred’s initials and Patronuses dangling from it—looked on your wrist. And then Fred was saying, “I know something else that would look great on her,” and taking a small box out of his pocket and flipping it open, revealing a blinding bright, silvery diamond ring. 

Even as shouts of realization and cheers of joy rose up from around the kitchen, the world seemed to fade away into complete silence when he put the ring on your finger and encircled his arms around your torso, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear, 

“I told you there was something else, didn’t I?” 

tags: @xhanthexzoria @arkofblake @fictionalsimp449 @polar-myst @katelikeslaughs @lmllsl @schlattandcompany

[banjo15]

First of all

Canada is booing us

China is booing us

Mexico is booing us

They are our 3 biggest trade partners.

Our 3 biggest trade partners hate us. Is that good for the economy?

“Hey Max, can I buy that sandwich from you? “

“Hey fuck off I know you’re just gonna tax it again”

“What about you Catie, can I buy some wood from you?”

“Fuck you and your tariff tax”

“Can I buy stuff from you, Charlie?”

“Fuck off dude stop taxing us, I hate you capitalists”

What about intersex people? I’d argue they’re a minority. Non-binary, gender-fluid, everyone of the such. They no longer exist because of you. Trans people can’t even leave the country or get a passport.

Literally a high school student I’m 15 dude. I know I couldn’t pass an immigration test, how about you go try to pass one and just come back to me?

My philosophy about illegals is back in the day our grandparents came here peacefully. If they come here peacefully in search of a better life, who am I to deny them that? But if they’re a pedo or a rapist they deserve to get shot, regardless of place of origin, gender identity, sexuality, gender, sex, religion, race, etc.

Trump literally went to Epstein island 7 times. He was best friends with Epstein. Also, did Elon apologize for his actions? No. He made Nazi puns on the internet.

Mexico and Canada is pissed off because first of all, trump said he was gonna BUY Canada.

“Yeah I’m gonna buy your house, what’s your price?”

“Not for sale.”

“You liberal boy, I bet sleepy joe and Kamala told you not to sell it, all you do is just sit down and drink maple syrup. Give me your house.”

“No? Fuck off dude”

“I’m still gonna buy your house.”

*He went up to the next neighbor*

“Also your pool is mine now.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the pool of america”

“No, my pool. Pool of Mexico.”

And Mexico is LITERALLY sending us people to help with the LA fires.

Canada is our friend, why the hell are we trade warring with our brother?

What the fuck even is MSM? I get all my thoughts from people I agree with, and then I think about my thoughts to see if I agree with them.

Denmark said Greenland is not for sale. We are literally pissing off our allies. We are a laughing stock. China is fucking BEATING in ai. “But deep seek is censored” so are all ais. Ask google’s ai if google has ever done anything wrong. And ChatGPT is also censored a decent bit.

As I said before, if you don’t hate so much why can’t they just up and leave? They can’t get a visa.

About abortion… You do know how dangerous pregnancy is right? And I don’t consider ending a pregnancy murder, would you let a tapeworm stay in you if it would turn into a human person?

The reason why women back in the 1950s had kids is because they were lobotomized and on a shit ton of “medication.” After that, they didn’t have many rights. Women couldn’t say “no” to their husbands untill 1993. It took us a bit to give women the right to vote. They couldn’t have a credit card at one point. A driver’s liscense. Lesbians were fucked at the time, do you vote for the Indian woman or the man who and I quote…. “Grab them by the pussy.” He literally called his daughter “volomptuous” and said “if she wasn’t my daughter I’d be dating her.”

You can fact check me on that. No, seriously, fact check me. Do it. I’m begging you.

And as for many cases, abortion is necessary. I’m not gonna go praising it but… it has to exist. What if they get raped? What if it’s incest? What if the pregnant person is underage? What if the pregnancy threatens their life? Denying them abortion doesn’t seem so “pro-life to me.”

“But that’s less than 1%”

So are trans people and people similar to you have campaigned to take their rights away.

Me personally I feel like they can be a man or a woman if they want to IF they don’t hurt anybody. If I gender-swapped you I’m quite sure you would want your original gender.

My argument for/agaisnt trans children is there are Christian children. I’d argue they shouldn’t go through a life changing procedure they likely won’t be able to un-do for the rest of their lives untill they’re 18/21. If children can be trans, why can they be Christian? Why can they participate in religion they’re supposed to be devoted to untill they die?”

Even then, what about single mothers? Do you want them to suffer through it? Childbirth is a punishment from god, yes? I read the Bible. Why should we punish these women for having sex? I feel like you shouldn’t have to labor a baby just because the boy from the dinner date thought you were hot, you thought they were hot, so you fucked. Imagine if men were in a coma for 9 months after sex. And there was a chance of that happening but instead.. after a baby pops out of them. I’d argue most men would get abortions and it would be a normal thing. And if god cares so much about abortions… why does he let miscarriages happen? That’s another pro-abortion talking point. Should they have an abortion if they know damn well the baby can’t survive out of the womb? And another thing, what if they can’t financially afford to have a child? “Adoption” not all kids get adopted. I was adopted and I wouldn’t have minded getting aborted to be honest dude. I know a lot of people would, friends, family, etc. I don’t support killing out of the womb though. And even then, if you care about children so much, are you willing to make safer gun laws to stop school shootings? Are you willing to donate to homeless children in need? You’re not willing to make insulin cheaper for diabetic people (and children), you’re not willing to fund cancer research (for adults and children), what are you willing to do for children?

And we can both agree that the world is a horrible place for kids, left or right.

Another thing… why the fuck would the FBI make the protests violent? If that’s your justification for that then why didn’t the FBI make the blm protest violent? Black Lives Matter was good in concept, but people looted local businesses to make a point. I still think Black Lives Matter, I just don’t really know if I should support the organization that says so.

There are J6ers who rejected their pardon. They agree that what they did was wrong, why can’t you? Even then, what about the J6ers who… Beat up a police officer? So many others beat up police, I thought you backed the blue? The whole movement was to “fight for your country.” Trump told you to… Fight. Fight. Not protest, not speak up, fight. Fight tooth and nail for your “freedom”. And if you don’t hate minorities why don’t you support DEI? And the plane crash wasn’t because of it it’s because trump FIRED everyone. Literally.

The Nazis called themselves socialists because at the time everyone loved socialism. Do Nazis fight for workers rights? Do Nazis fight for free healthcare? Do Nazis give a fuck about equality? Hell no. Nazis didn’t support a community where they have the means of production. He was a capitalist, if he was a socialist he couldn’t afford to make the wonder weapons that he usually made. If communism is socialism capitalism is facism. I’d argue that if I was a big ceo who makes a shit ton of money, would I vote for the people who tax the rich, who give workers rights, or enslaved everyone to work under me? I would vote for the slaves because I’d be a billionaire, but I’m not so I have basic empathy for people less fortunate than me. Do you?

I’d argue I could beat you up with the American flag.

Yo, correct me if I am wrong please, but didn't Hitler rise to power because he promised to fix the German economy and people really liked that so they looked past everything else he was doing??? Like exactly what's happening in America right now???

So many people said they voted for Trump, put a truly evil person in power, because he said he'd fix the economy, and a little voice in my head is going, "Isn't that what happened with fucking Hitler??"

But I've seen no one point that out so maybe I'm miss remembering???????

[vivwritesfics]

End Up Here

you were a rockstar, you thought he was just a dj. he was so much more than that. but he was kind and sweet. how the hell did you end up here

3.5k

cw: drugs mentioned (not taken), ass grabbing, lando whining)

the media liked to portray your party girl lifestyle. fast cars, lots of booze. sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. the life of a rockstar, right?

wrong.

partying had never been your thing. sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll (as a collective) had never been your thing. you liked sex, you liked rock 'n' roll, but they were two separate things. your status as a rockstar was never used to get sex.

your first party was in monaco. every party your band mates went to, you stayed away from. they were a little bit older, were a band before you. you were just the missing piece that boosted them to stardom.

they went to parties. sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll parties. you went home to sleep.

but your best friend dragged you to the party in monaco. her brother was going, her brother who worked in motorsport. you didn't know much more than that.

a party in monaco. you didn't know if you had fans there, didn't know if you were going to be stopped every five seconds for a picture. "monaco isn't like that," bianca reassured you. "you're gonna have a great time, i promise."

so, you went in with her.

the room was dark, floor vibrating with the thumb of the bass, the moving bodies. lights flashes and you shut your eyes for just a second. but you opened them back up and looked across the room.

what kind of party has a dj booth set up?

"come on!" bianca shouted and pulled you over to the drinks table. you downed your first drink; fruity and weak. you downed another, just for a light buzz.

bianca pulled you onto the dance floor. you went willingly, dancing with her. the dj wasn't half bad, you noted as you danced to the music.

if anybody else in the room knew who you were, they didn't say so. they let you dance with your friend, let you enjoy your night.

but then, one of your songs played. you stopped, the thundering beat of your heart being all that you could hear. bianca kept dancing, blissfully unaware of your distress.

you turned towards the dj booth. the dj stared right at you with his pretty green eyes. the cheeky smile on his face suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.

turning on your heel, you moved to leave the party. but bianca grabbed your arm. "where are you going?" she shouted over the music, your music. it was your voice, filling the party, singing along with the rest of your band.

you looked past her, spotted her brother striding towards the both of you. "i'm gonna get out of here!" you shouted back. she went to protest, but you nodded past her, nodded at her brother.

as bianca turned towards her brother, you slipped out of the party. past the bodies dancing to your music, to the song you wrote in your twenties, past the group of girls shouting your lyrics at each other, and out into the night.

monaco at night. you didn't live here. bianca was the one that moved here just a few months ago. she knew her way around the streets; she knew the way back to her apartment.

you were lost.

it would have been easy to go back into the party, to pretend everything was fine and you weren't fuming. you had no reason to be fuming, you should have been happy that your music was being enjoyed.

but you wanted a night away from it. a night away from fame, a night away from plucking your guitar strings or turning your thoughts into songs with elaborate lyrics that nobody but you could really understand.

you sniffed as you stood there. no jacket, no coat, you were cold. a shiver came from your toes and ran up your back, shaking your entire body. maybe you should just go back inside. at least then you would be warm.

two fingers tapped your shoulder. you turned quickly, heartrate picking up. shit, you should have googled the kidnapping rate in monaco. because this was it, you were going to be murdered or kidnapped and sold back to your band for an extortionate amount.

but the dj stood there. finally away from the dj booth, from the lights, you could see how pretty he was. shit, he was gorgeous. tanned, his curls hidden by a hat. shirt open, revealing his chest, the necklace laying against it.

"you're an asshole," you said.

he shrugged his shoulders, but that smile came onto his face once again. "it's a good song," he replied, tongue poking out between his teeth. you didn't expect him to be british.

"yeah, it is," you answered back, your words cold and biting.

"i'm lando."

you quirked your eyebrows at him. "funny, i didn't know assholes could have names."

he let out a laugh, but you couldn't tell if it was genuine.

he knew who you were, so you didn't bother to introduce yourself. "are you going back inside?" he asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

"look, i'm sorry i played your song," he said, finally sounding sincere. "don't let that ruin the party for you. come back inside."

when he held out his hand, you took it and followed him back inside. lando returned to the dj booth and you returned to dancing with bianca and her brother.

you kept looking at the dj booth. lando kept looking at you. at least, you thought he was. there was no way he could see you when you followed bianca and her brother away from the dj booth. he lost you in the crowd, lost you when the lights shined in his eyes.

he didn't play another one of your songs for the rest of the night. your appreciated it, let yourself enjoy the night.

at the end of the night, when the lights stopped flashing and the music stopped playing, you wanted to find lando. if he hadn't pulled you back inside, you would have been wandering the streets, searching for biancas apartment. you wouldn't have had the great night you ended up having if it wasn't for him.

you needed to thank him.

you pushed your way through the crowd, headed towards the dj booth. but it was empty, lando and the people that surrounded him nowhere to be found.

"shit," you breathed as you looked around.

giving up, you made your way back outside, back to bianca and her brother.

except you didn't make it very far. no, you collided with a hard body. his hands shot out, grabbing you to steady you.

you stared up at him, stared into his pretty, green eyes. "hi," you said, not entirely sure what else you should say.

lando grinned down at you, tucked a stray bit of hair behind your ear. and intimate act for two people that barely knew each other. "you had fun?" he asked.

you nodded and he wrapped an arm around you, led you out of the party. "thank you," you muttered as you let him lead you outside. you wouldn't let anyone else do this for you, but there was something about his big, strong hand on your exposed shoulder. "for taking me back inside earlier."

he shook his head. "shouldn't have played your song," he mumbled as you pulled him back to your friend.

"how did you get into dj-ing in monaco?" you asked as you stepped into the cold night air.

he released a laugh, one that could have had your knees buckling.

"I'm not a dj," he answered as he led you to the front of the building. "im an f1 driver."

your jaw dropped. "wait, seriously?" you asked. he was just as famous as you were, and you had no idea.

lando nodded his head. you pulled your lip between your teeth and blinked up at him. "maybe I could come to a race at some point."

"id like that," lando answered as he let you go. he looked past you, at bianca and her brother, who were waving you over. "give me your phone."

you fished your phone from your pocket and placed it in his hands. lando quickly put his number in your contacts and gave you your phone back. "lemme know when you get home," he said and gently pushed you towards your friends.

you did just that. you texted the new number in your phone and waited for him to reply. he did, just something short, and you fell asleep soon after. body buzzing, head swimming, you were perfectly content.

***

returning to the US and you kept texting lando. the time difference made it difficult, but you sent him pictures of the tour bus, of setting up the stage. you sent him pictures you were tagged in by fans, pictures of you rocking it.

you sent him videos your social media team put together, your fingers dancing across the strings. you were talented, that was undoubtable. backup singing with your lead singer as the lights flashed on you, singing with such passion that your voice was hoarse by the end of the night.

but you loved it, and you loved showing it to lando.

he loved showing you his life, too. he sent you pictures when he was in england, when he was at the McLaren Technology Centre. he sent you pictures of him sitting with his teammate (oscar, you thought his name was). pictures of the f1 cars they had there.

he sent you pictures of him at race weekends, videos of your songs playing in the garage. artsy pictures in the mirror of his drivers room, with his black and orange cap on backwards.

i want one, you replied to that picture.

he sent you a signed one that day, and it arrived to you within a week.

but you wanted to go to a race and he wanted to come to your concert.

the two of you made a deal. COTA. you would come to that, he would come to your texas show the next week. you didn't tell him that you ran to management and demanded that the concert dates be moved. you didn't care that your band was performing in california a few days before; you'd drive the tour bus yourself if you had to.

you just wanted to see him again. the late night phone calls (either late for him or late for you), the constant texting, it wasn't enough. you needed more. you needed him.

your band followed you through the paddock in texas. you didn't know where you were going, looking for any signs of orange, of mclaren. you walked past the garages, walking past blue cars you didn't care about, red cars you hoped wouldn't win.

you saw him before you saw his car. cap on his head, hiding the curls you loved so much, orange shirt on his body and jeans on. you could see the chain of his necklace peaking out from the back of his collar as he faced away from you.

you couldn't help the way you ran towards him. he jolted slightly as you wrapped your arms around his waist. "wha-"

"hi," you said, and his large hands came to rest over your own.

"rockstar." you couldn't see the way his smile lit up his face as his thumb rubbed over the back of your hands, smaller than his. "you made it," he mumbled and tried to turn around in your arms. but you held him tight.

"i can't wait to see you drive," you mumbled.

"i can't wait to see you perform tonight."

finally, you released him, stepped back as he turned towards you. "hi, rockstar," he said and threw his arm over your shoulder. he pulled you in and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

you didn't know what you were. after weeks, months, of texting, you didn't know what the two of you were. you weren't together, not in any way that mattered. but being near him again was incredible. him. his big hands, the way he fucking smelled. holy fuck, you never wanted to leave his side.

your band watched his drive from the paddock. you still didn't know much about formula one, even after talking to him for so long. you tried to watch races, tried to understand what was going on, but it was background noise until you heard the commentators say lando's name.

he didn't win while you watched him, but it was still incredible watching him come second. you watched as the winners girlfriend ran forward and kissed him. could you have ran forward and kissed lando? maybe, but you didn't want to risk it. didn't want to risk making him uncomfortable in front of such a large crowd, so many cameras.

your bassist had his hand on your shoulder as you watched lando on the podium. "how did you meet this guy again?" he asked as the champagne was sprayed.

"party in monaco," you answered as the guy in the red race suit, with the gorgeous hair and incredibly attractive nose (rip ferarri carlos i already miss you) sprayed the champagne in lando's face.

"but you won't go to a party with us?"

"nope," you answered.

you couldn't hang around, couldn't congratulate him on your own terms at the race track. after sending a quick text to lando, the four of you got going, headed to the venue.

setting up was a drag. you yawned as the team taped down the last of the wires. it was all things that should have been done the day before; you should have been able to just rock up and play, without having to do all of these extra things to set up.

as soon as that was sorted, as soon as the team tested that you could run about the stage without your wires getting caught, you headed to your dressing room. just an hour until the show started, and you wanted to get dressed.

jeans with stars on the butt and a muscle tee. it was a look, one your fans had come to expect. (the inspiration was 2014 luke hemmings and you told him that when you met him last year).

after getting changed, you joined the rest of the band. harrison had his drumsticks, nervously tapping them against the arm of the sofa, as he did before every show. marty was going through lyrics, but you knew he'd end up taking at least one sheet of lyrics on stage with him. robbie was standing in front of the mirror, fixing his hair again and again and again.

you were checking your phone, reading the few texts lando had sent you. a text telling you he was on his way, a picture of him at the front of the stage with a group of fans that recognised him. it was a wholesome picture, one you screenshotted to add to your camera roll.

***

"how long have you been a fan?" the group around him asked. lando answered every question they had, most of them being about you. shit, he could talk about you for hours, and you'd only really texted each other.

his phone buzzed, your response to the picture he'd sent. heart eye emoji, a promise to be out in five minutes. you send a picture in the back, you and your band standing in front of the mirror, game faces on.

the lights dimmed in the venue. nobody could see anything as dry ice appeared, as the drumming started. the girls around him screamed. "H! H! H! H!" they chanted as the lights focused in on the drummer.

guitar started up. you ran on the stage, fingers somehow not missing a note as you moved. shit, you were impressive. lando watched as you faced the drummer, playing at him. it let lando see the stars on your jeans. that was where his hands should be, he didn't mean to think. but he did think that, and he didn't regret it.

for the entire show, lando kept his eyes on you. he didn't care about marty, dropping to his knees to sing to the crowd. he cared about the way you stepped towards marty, fingers playing a lovely melody. it was one of your songs, the lyrics you had written back in your teens.

you met his eye. at least, he thought you did. there was no way you could see him with all of the lights shining on you. artwork was displayed from behind you, artwork you and your band had made for your first album.

lando wasn't a concert guy. he wasn't a 'stand there with a bunch of fans and shout the lyrics back' kind of guy. he was a dance at the club with his friends, standing at the dj booth, kind of guy.

but seeing you up there, playing so fucking beautifully, head thrown back as you did a slower guitar solo, maybe he could become that kind of guy.

the concert was over all too soon. your bandmates joined you at the front of the stage, the four of you bowing together. lando tried to shout and cheer louder than anybody else, but it was damn near impossible.

all he had to do to get backstage was give his name. security let him through and he followed them until he found you,

lounging backstage with the rest of your band, you chugged a bottle of water. your hair stuck to your forehead from sweat and your chest heaved. performing was physical, he knew that, he didn't expect you to look like this, though.

fucked out, that was the only way he could describe you. but you looked so damn beautiful.

as soon as you saw him, you were on your feet. you rushed towards him and threw your arms around him. you stank of sweat, but you were so damn happy, lando couldn't pull away from you.

"you were incredible up there, rockstar," he muttered as you pressed your forehead against his shoulder. your breathing was still heavy, but it had eased slightly. the adrenaline, he knew. he stroked your back, fingers catching on the material of your faded muscle tee slightly. it pulled it up, exposed your back, and you shivered.

"you were incredible earlier, racer," you replied, pulling away to look at him, to look into his pretty green eyes. "i could watch you race forever."

"i could watch you perform forever."

his large hands slipped under your muscle tee. they came to rest on your back, so damn warm against your sweat soaked skin. you wrapped your arms around his neck, played with his curls. no cap to keep them hidden from you, this time.

your fingers caught on the chain before you tangled them in his hair. "maybe you should," you whispered, almost forgetting anybody else was in the room with you.

(it was a private moment, your bandmates knew. robbie elbowed harrison and marty. he pointed to the door of the room and the three of them made their way out, leaving the two of you alone. they had never seen you like this, couldn't help but feel like proud dads)

"maybe i should," lando replied, his forehead coming to rest on yours.

you opened your mouth, ready to say something more. ready to stop him before he did something he would regret, before he got involved with someone like you. the media would take this story and run with it, you wanted to tell him.

but you kissed him. you just kissed him.

he tightened his grip on you, pulled you flush against him as he kissed you back. there was no hesitation, nothing to stop him as he pressed his lips against your own.

you tugged on his curls and he released a whine. a beautiful noise, but this wasn't the place to hear them. "rockstar," lando said through a breath as he pulled away.

you slipped your hands from his hair to his shoulders. "i don't want this to just be a 'thing'," you said quickly. "i know the kind of lifestyle people expect me to lead, but i don't want that. i want this to be real."

"i want this to be real, too!" he said quickly, completely agreeing with you. his hands slipped down to hold the stars printed on your back pockets. "come on, rockstar. let me show you just how much i want this to be real."

lol i love not writing for fucking ages and then writing something longer than usual. but yk, if i had it in me to write 10k chapters, i so would

[foreveia]

take two ⤨ iwaizumi hajime

⨭ genre; fluff, idiots to lovers but like they're actually so dumb

⨭ pairing; iwaizumi x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 5.7k

⨭ descriptions; your boss has been trying to set you up with her son for months, but as it turns out at the holiday party... you've already met him before.

⨭ warnings; explicit language and dialogue, no graphic content tho, alcohol

⨭ a/n; fun little short fic to fill the fix to publish something lolol enjoy this iwa love dump as i work on my next long fic (tell me in the comments if y'all like these better)

one.

There are exactly three things you know to be true about Iwaizumi Emi:

She is the best divorce attorney in Tohoku, possibly the country.

She is the kind of woman who could negotiate her way out of murder charges and secure the victim’s house in the settlement.

She is, without a doubt, trying to set you up with her son.

You respect her. You admire her. You are, on occasion, lowkey terrified of her.

Which is why you’re currently sitting at your desk, nodding at all the appropriate intervals while she breezes through yet another pitch about why her son and you are, in her professional opinion, a perfect match.

“He’s back from Irvine for the summer,” she says, skimming a property settlement document like it personally offended her. She tosses it onto your pile nonchalantly, and you let out a short sigh because it’s just more backend filing to do and, despite your adoration for your career path and real passion towards legal work, entry jobs in the firm are mostly busy work. “I really think you’ll like him. He’s—”

You tune out. Not in an obvious way, of course—no, you’re a professional. You sprinkle in the occasional mmhmm and sounds great so she doesn’t catch on, but this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve heard this pitch before—multiple times. Hajime is intelligent, responsible, not an idiot like some of these men out here, blah blah blah.

It’s not that you have anything against him, really. It’s just that you’ve spent months perfecting the art of dodging your boss’s matchmaking attempts, and frankly, you don’t have the energy to entertain her latest scheme.

“You’re finally going to meet him at the firm’s ball this weekend,” Emi continues, finally looking up from her paperwork, her smile entirely too satisfied.

You blink. “Oh.”

“He’s excited to meet you too.”

Now that is new. Usually, these monologues are strictly one-sided—I told him about you! and You two will get along so well! But he’s excited to meet you too? That’s an escalation. That’s a game-changer. That means he knows about you. He has an opinion about you.

You resist the urge to groan. Instead, you summon a polite, professional smile—the same one you use when dealing with particularly insufferable clients. “Looking forward to it,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the woman who could single-handedly end your career if she wanted to?

In reality, the only thing you’re looking forward to about the ball is the open bar. Being in your early twenties means being woefully broke, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of unlimited free alcohol wasn’t a strong motivator.

So, you strike a deal with yourself: you’ll put on a fancy dress, endure painful heels, and let Emi parade you in front of her son like a prize show poodle—all in exchange for an endless supply of pinot noir, cocktail shrimp, and, if you play your cards right, an entire bottle of champagne to sneak home in your purse.

It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.

two.

Because you’re an adult with an absolutely thriving social life (read: you have two friends who are willing to tolerate your bullshit after 6 PM), you, Yachi, and Kiyoko are now seated at your favorite little izakaya, wedged into a corner booth with plates of karaage and a pitcher of beer between you. 

Kiyoko is talking about wedding venues. Because she’s engaged. To Tanaka. Which is objectively insane because in your head, they’re still in that “grossly obsessed with each other but pretending they’re just friends” phase, even though they’ve been together for years. The whole thing is a crime against single people everywhere, but you are supportive because your already jaw-dropping friend is somehow glowing even brighter now that she has a fat rock on her ring finger. She looks lighter, happier. She deserves it.

Yachi, meanwhile, is explaining—between delicate sips of her beer—that she’s too swamped with work to even think about dating. Which, yeah. Fair. The woman works harder than most people you know, so you respect it.

Then, as the conversation naturally shifts to your love life (as it always does, because you’re the group’s designated mess), you sigh, sinking into your seat dramatically.

“I haven’t had sex in months.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kiyoko and Yachi both roll their eyes in unison, like they rehearsed it.

“Oh my God,” Yachi mutters.

“You cannot still be caught up on GDD,” Kiyoko says flatly, pouring herself another drink.

“Okay, first of all,” you say, holding up a finger, “it is not about him. It’s just a general fact about my current state of being.”

“Uh-huh,” Kiyoko hums, entirely unconvinced.

“Second of all,” you continue, undeterred, “GDD was life-changing, and I feel like I should be allowed to mourn the lack of that level of—of excellence in my life.”

“Life-changing,” Yachi repeats, deadpan. “You hooked up with him once.”

“Yeah, and my life was changed.”

GDD—Good Dick Dude, as he has been dubbed by your dear, unsupportive friends—was a guy you hooked up with in January after a truly legendary New Year’s Eve party.

The night itself had been pure chaos. Hinata had somehow scored an invite to this insane rooftop party—one of those bougie, exclusive, if-you-know-you-know events where you absolutely do not belong but somehow manage to fake it enough to get through the door. He’d gotten a few plus-ones, which is how you ended up there, sipping champagne you definitely couldn’t afford and making out with a guy who, to this day, remains one of the most mind-blowing hookups of your entire life.

Gorgeous, buff, and dangerous with his hands. The kind of guy who knew exactly what he was doing, which, honestly? A rarity these days. You barely remember his name—something short, easy to moan—but you do remember his stupidly perfect smirk and the way he all but ruined you against the nearest flat surface.

But then the party ended, the night faded into a haze, and you never saw him again.

Which is fine. It’s fine. Really.

You’re definitely not still thinking about it.

Kiyoko takes a sip of her beer, unimpressed. “You’ve been on, what? Five Hinge dates since then? Six?”

“Seven,” Yachi corrects.

You point at her. “Exactly.”

Kiyoko gives you a long, slow blink.

“I mean that as proof that I am not hung up on him!” you clarify. “I’ve been trying, okay? But the bar is in hell. Do you know how many ‘we should get drinks’ texts I get from guys who put crypto investor in their bios?”

Kiyoko sighs. “Okay, but let’s be real—are you actually giving any of these guys a chance?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Frown. “I mean… like… conceptually?”

“Right.”

Yachi, forever gentle but devastatingly perceptive, tilts her head at you. “Is it possible,” she says carefully, “that maybe none of these guys are measuring up because you’re subconsciously comparing them to him?”

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

Is it ridiculous?

Because, okay, maybe—just maybe—no one has quite lived up to that night. And maybe you’re being a little unfair to the dating pool by expecting every single guy to have that same kind of chemistry with you. And maybe you do occasionally find yourself staring at random ceilings, wondering where GDD is now and if he even remembers you.

But still. That doesn’t mean anything.

You’re pretty sure.

“I hate you guys,” you grumble, stabbing aggressively at a piece of karaage.

Yachi pats your hand sympathetically. “We know.”

Kiyoko, ever the queen of smooth topic transitions, nudges the conversation in a new direction. “Speaking of your questionable taste in men, your boss is still trying to set you up with her son, correct?”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the booth. “Unfortunately, yes. And now, apparently, he’s excited to meet me.”

Yachi perks up. “Wait, so you are meeting him?”

“At the firm’s ball this weekend,” you say, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get a little wine drunk, take advantage of the seafood bar.”

Kiyoko raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re not going to entertain the idea of this Hajime guy at all?”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

Yachi hums, tilting her head in that way she does when she’s about to say something devastatingly reasonable. “I mean… what if Emi’s right?”

You blink. “What?”

“What if this is it?” she says, half-teasing, half-genuinely curious. “Like, what if you meet him and he’s actually your soulmate? Imagine if this whole time, your boss has been playing the long game, orchestrating your love story like some kind of corporate fairy godmother.”

You snort. Loudly. “Right. Because that’s totally my luck.”

Kiyoko and Yachi exchange a knowing look, but they let it go.

You take another sip of your beer, shaking your head. Hajime Iwaizumi—whoever he is—is not the love of your life.

That would be insane.

three.

You had to pull out your graduate school formal gown from the back of your closet for this, but wow, you really forgot just how good you look in red.

Your day-to-day work attire consists of pantsuits and button-ups, neatly tucked into cautiously ironed trousers, so you’ve honestly forgotten how nice it is to get dressed up once in a while. There’s something about slipping into a gown that fits like a dream, sweeping your hair up just right, and swiping on that perfect shade of lipstick that makes you feel invincible. Like you could negotiate a million-dollar deal, steal the firm’s best clients, and seduce someone’s husband all in the same breath.

Not that you would, obviously.

Probably.

The venue is ridiculous in the way all law firm events are ridiculous—held in a ballroom large enough to house a small country, chandeliers dripping in gold, servers weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne and fancy bruschetta topped with fucking caviar of all things. All this just to celebrate another year of making money off people’s divorces. Incredible the way capitalism works.

You’ve barely made it through your first glass of wine before Emi finds you.

“There she is,” she croons, linking her arm through yours. She looks positively radiant in an emerald gown, diamonds at her ears, and the kind of effortless elegance that comes from winning. You’d respect it more if she weren’t actively dragging you toward your inevitable doom. “Come on, sweetheart. Hajime’s here, and I cannot wait for you two to finally meet.”

You bite back a sigh, because of course. No warm-up period, no buffer—just straight to the matchmaking. “Can’t I get a few more drinks in me first?”

She waves a hand, utterly dismissing your complaints. “You’ll like him. I know you will.”

You doubt it. But you let her lead you anyway, mostly because you know resisting is pointless: your boss has the world’s most spell-blinding smile and enough charm to always get her way. Emi always wins.

She stops near the bar, where a man stands with his back to you, broad shoulders wrapped in a sharp black suit, one hand resting on the counter as he talks with someone just out of view.

Emi squeezes your hand. “Hajime,” she calls, her voice warm.

The man turns.

And every thought in your head immediately ceases to exist.

Because standing before you, looking unfairly good in a tailored suit and sipping from a glass of whiskey like he isn’t single-handedly ruining your life, is GDD.

Good Dick Dude.

Hajime Iwaizumi is Good Dick Dude.

Your brain short-circuits. This is not happening. This is some kind of fever dream, a cruel trick played by the universe to punish you for your sins.

Hajime’s sharp green eyes land on you, recognition flickering behind them, and then—oh no. 

He smirks. Like he knows exactly what’s running through your mind right now. Like he remembers everything.

Emi, completely unaware of your crisis, beams. “Hajime, this is the associate I’ve been telling you about.”

His mischievous, more than just amused smile widens. “Oh, I know who she is.”

Your soul leaves your body.

Because that voice? That voice is the same one that had whispered filth against your neck four months ago. The same voice that had laughed when you moaned his name. The same voice that had ruined you in ways you still haven’t fully recovered from.

You are going to die. Right here, right now, in the middle of this godforsaken gala.

“Hajime Iwaizumi,” he says smoothly, offering a hand. His palm is rough when you take it—calloused, strong, a stark reminder of exactly where those hands have been. His grip is firm, steady, and entirely too knowing.

You swallow, pasting on the best Oh wow, I am totally not spiraling internally smile you can manage. “Yeah,” you say weakly. “We’ve met.”

“Oh!” Emi beams, clasping her hands together like she’s just delighted by this new revelation. “That’s wonderful! I knew you two would get along.”

You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a strangled choke. Hajime is still watching you, head tilted slightly, like he’s enjoying this: like he can see the exact moment you realize how deeply, horrifically screwed you are. Because there is no way Emi knows. She’s too composed, too pleased. If she had any inkling that her son and her associate had met four months ago in a completely inappropriate context, she’d have you both buried in litigation faster than you could say conflict of interest.

Which means Hajime is choosing to be a menace.

God, you’re going to kill him.

“Hajime just got back from Irvine a few days ago, for the start of his summer break,” Emi continues, completely oblivious to the absolute war waging behind your polite smile. “I’ve been telling him all about you, of course.”

You almost choke on your drink. “You have?”

“Of course I have!” Emi nods enthusiastically. “She’s one of the brightest associates we have, Hajime. Sharp, diligent, absolutely ruthless in negotiations—she reminds me of myself when I was her age.”

Your lips twitch. You do enjoy being compared to the most terrifying woman you’ve ever met, so it’s really too bad that this entire situation has you currently dying inside.

Hajime hums, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah,” he says, voice dipping just slightly. “She’s definitely memorable.”

Your entire body lights on fire.

Memorable.

Oh, he’s being insufferable on purpose.

Emi sighs happily, taking a sip of her champagne. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

You want to scream. You want to throw your drink in Hajime’s face. You want to rewind time and never step foot into that rooftop party.

Instead, you just smile tightly. “Mm-hmm.”

Hajime grins at your suffering. “So,” he says, tilting his glass in your direction, “how have you been?”

You resist the urge to kick him in the shins. “Busy,” you say, voice clipped. “Working.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, that does sound like you.”

You stiffen. Hajime, you realize, is having the time of his life watching you squirm. And it’s only going to get worse.

Because Emi suddenly claps her hands together, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh! I should leave you two to chat,” she says. “Get to know each other properly.”

Oh. Oh no. Emi. Emi, please.

But before you can protest, she winks at you—winks, like she’s a fairy godmother orchestrating the perfect romance—and disappears back into the crowd.

And just like that, you are alone with him.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes gleaming with amusement. “So,” he says, smirking, “I see you haven’t forgotten me.”

Your jaw clenches. “You smug little—”

“You look good,” he interrupts smoothly, scanning you from head to toe. His gaze lingers, appreciative but blatantly teasing. “Red suits you.”

God, you want to strangle him. You cross your arms, willing yourself to stay calm. “You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “I had a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

He tilts his head, as if contemplating. “Well,” he says, “it wasn’t confirmed until I saw you.”

You glare. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that reaction?” He grins. “Not a chance.”

You hate him. You hate that he looks so effortlessly good in a suit. You hate that his voice is still just as devastating as you remember. You hate that even now, months later, you can still feel the phantom weight of his hands on your hips, the rough scrape of his callouses against your skin, the way he had murmured just like that, baby against your ear—

You inhale sharply. Nope. Absolutely not. We are not thinking about that right now.

Hajime, unfortunately, definitely knows what you’re thinking about. His smirk is downright criminal. “So,” he says, leaning in slightly, voice low, “been a while, hasn’t it?”

You refuse to give him the satisfaction of blushing. “Oh, shut up.”

He laughs, warm and amused, and you are horribly aware that this night is only just beginning.

four.

Hajime happens to actually be a pretty intelligent and funny person, which is making it much, much harder to dodge his attempts at flirting and his mother’s attempts at forced-proximity matchmaking.

It was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to sip your wine, endure some polite small talk, and then fade into the crowd before Emi could corner you into any serious you’d make such a beautiful couple talk. But instead, you’re somehow still here, talking to him, because Hajime Iwaizumi is annoyingly easy to talk to.

Which is not fair. It’s not fair at all, actually.

He makes it look effortless, like this isn’t completely unhinged, like it’s not absolutely deranged that your boss has spent months trying to set you up with a man who has already—

You take a sip of your wine. You are not going to finish that thought.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his whiskey glass, looking entirely too entertained by this whole situation. “You seem tense.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t argue. “Hey, could be worse,” he says. “At least my mom has good taste.”

You choke on your sip, feeling the bubbles tingle in your nose and really regretting every life decision you’ve made in the last six months. “Oh, my God.”

He laughs, tilting his glass in a mock toast.

You squint at him, wary and slightly annoyed, unable to fathom how he’s not also dying at this situation. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, all easy amusement. “I’m just saying—this could be a lot worse. Imagine if she was trying to set you up with someone actually terrible.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, swirling your wine. “You’re already pretty high on my list of worst-case scenarios.”

“See, now that hurts.”

You roll your eyes. “You’ll live.”

Before Hajime can respond—before you can regain any sense of control over this conversation—Emi appears out of nowhere, her eyes shining.

“There you two are!” she says, absolutely beaming. “It’s time for the first dance!”

You freeze.

Hajime—the absolute traitor—just raises an eyebrow. “First dance?”

“Yes! It’s tradition,” Emi says, already ushering you toward the ballroom floor. “Senior partners and their dates open the dance floor—it’s been that way for years.”

You dig your heels into the floor. “But I’m not—”

“Now, sweetheart,” Emi interrupts, entirely ignoring your panic, “you wouldn’t want to break tradition, would you?”

You stare at her, betrayed.

She smiles.

Oh, she planned this.

Hajime, standing beside you, lets out a quiet, amused sigh before draining the last of his whiskey. “Well,” he says, offering you a hand, “guess we should give the people what they want.”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “That’s why you’re still holding my hand.”

You drop it immediately.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from leading you on to the dance floor. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you gently to the center of the ballroom; you’re struggling to ignore the far too many pairs of eyes on you two as he rearranges your arms around his neck.

And—oh, hell.

You forgot how solid he is.

His grip is firm but steady, his palm warm where it rests against your back. He moves easily, like this isn’t completely ridiculous, like your brain isn’t currently melting out of your ears.

“Relax,” Hajime murmurs.

You scowl. “I am relaxed.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah, totally.”

You hate him. You hate the way he’s looking at you—amused, interested, entirely too smug for someone who has already ruined your life once.

He leads you into a slow, easy step, and goddamn it, of course he’s good at this, too. His movements are effortless, confident. He keeps the rhythm perfectly, and you hate that you match him so well.

He tilts his head, watching you. “You’re thinking really hard about something.”

“No, I’m not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Right. So you’re definitely not thinking about how good I am at this.”

You promptly step on his foot. He laughs, and it ignites your hatefire even more.

“Asshole,” you mutter.

“I was going to say you look good tonight,” he muses, unfazed. “But now I don’t know if you deserve the compliment.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

Hajime smirks. “Touchy.”

He spins you as the music hits a crescendo, dropping you abruptly into a dip that catches you heavily off-guard. It makes you lock your fingers tighter around his neck, and when he lifts you back up, you nearly slam right into his very, very firm chest (what the hell, is this man made entirely of protein?), face first.

“What the fuck?” you huff, a little winded. “You are actually a horrible human being.”

Hajime hums, tilting his head slightly, his eyes flickering with something too smug, too entertained. “You keep saying that,” he muses, voice low enough that it barely carries past the space between you, “but I think you just like having someone to complain about.”

Before you can deliver a scathing reply, he tugs you a fraction closer. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone watching, but you feel it—the shift of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, the way your body slots against his just enough for warmth to pass between you.

Your breath catches, and it’s infuriating how he notices. How his hold tightens, like he can read every single thought running through your head and is thrilled by it.

“You’re such a dick,” you frown, shifting slightly, trying to put some space between you.

Hajime chuckles, and the sound is entirely too satisfied. His mouth is right by your ear, so you practically feel it more than you really hear it, when he murmurs, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because that—that—is not fair.

That is the kind of thing a man should not be allowed to say in that voice, in that low, teasing rumble, into your ear, while holding you against him like this.

It happens before you can even think about it.

Before you can register that you are, in fact, in the middle of a ballroom at your company’s annual gala. Before you can process the reality that Emi is somewhere in this crowd, and she has already been insufferable about this whole ordeal.

Before any of that can hit you, you grab the lapels of his stupidly well-fitted suit, tilt your chin up, and kiss him.

It’s instant, sharp, devastating. Your hands tighten against his chest as you crash into him, and Hajime—because he is the worst person alive—immediately reacts.

One hand presses firm into your back, the other finding its way to your jaw, fingers curling just slightly as he deepens the kiss without hesitation. His lips are warm, just the right mix of soft and steady, and when he angles his head just so—his nose brushing against yours, his thumb skimming your cheek—you feel yourself sink, like he’s pulling you under and you don’t even mind drowning.

It should not be this good.

It should not set your pulse racing like this, make you forget for a single, damning second that this is the worst possible thing you could be doing right now.

But it does. And for just a moment, nothing else exists. Not the party. Not the music. Not the fact that literally everyone is watching you right now. Just the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his fingers at your back, the way he exhales sharply like he wasn’t expecting this either, but he’s not about to stop it, not for anything in the world. 

And then you remember where you are.

You rip yourself away, blinking rapidly, your brain racing to catch up with what you just did.

And that is the moment you hear it: the loudest, most delighted squeal of your entire existence.

Your stomach plummets.

Because standing at the edge of the ballroom, her hands clasped together in sheer glee, is none other than Emi Iwaizumi herself. And she is positively vibrating with joy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she gushes, and the way she looks at you is the exact way someone would look at their child who just announced they were getting married. “I knew it! I knew you two would be perfect together!”

Your soul leaves your body. You stare at her, horrified. You slowly turn back to Hajime—who, because he is an absolute menace, is still standing entirely too close, still holding you just slightly like he isn’t ready to let go.

And he is smiling.

The kind of smile that says I win. The kind of smile that says he is absolutely going to remind you of this for the rest of your natural life.

You physically have to stop yourself from shoving him away.

Instead, you inhale, sharp and deep, and will yourself to stay calm. Emi is still talking. She is still gushing. And you cannot deal with whatever she’s about to say next, so before she can so much as breathe, you turn back to Hajime, seize his wrist, and drag him off the dance floor, because if you don’t get away from this immediately, you are actually going to die of secondhand embarrassment and shame.

five.

This is because of your dry spell.

Your dry spell is the reason why your entire sense of self-control and awareness have gone out the window, and the reason why, now that you and Hajime have successfully escaped the ballroom onto the balcony, he is doubled over laughing and you are actually freaking out.

“Jesus fuck,” you groan, pressing your hands to your face. The cool night air does nothing to soothe the absolute catastrophe unfolding inside your brain. “I kissed you. I kissed you in front of everyone.”

Hajime straightens, still grinning like an asshole. “Yeah,” he says, entirely too pleased. “You did.”

You drop your hands, glaring. “Fuck you, dude. You’re not helping.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t aware I needed to.”

You let out an incoherent noise of distress.

Hajime, because he is insufferable, just leans against the balcony railing, watching you unravel like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all night. His tie is slightly loosened now, his jacket unbuttoned, and somehow, he looks even better like this—a little rumpled, a little amused, looking at you like he already knows how this is going to end. 

That is actually unacceptable.

“This is your fault,” you snap, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You goaded me into it.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so I made you kiss me?”

“Yes,” you declare, with full conviction, even though you definitely grabbed him first. “You set me up.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You really can’t handle taking the L, huh?”

“I can handle it,” you insist. “I just don’t want to.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying very hard not to laugh again. “So you kissed me against your will?”

“Yes.”

Hajime tilts his head, amused. “Interesting. Because you seemed pretty into it.”

Your jaw drops. “I—you—shut up.”

He chuckles, and God, his voice is all warm and low and pleased with himself, and you really need to get it together before you do something stupid again.

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms and shifting your focus to the city skyline instead. Sendai stretches out before you in a sea of golden lights, a stark contrast to the absolute nightmare happening in your head. 

This is fine. You can recover from this. You just have to never, ever acknowledge it again.

You square your shoulders, turning back to him. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to go back inside, pretend this never happened, and move on with our lives.”

Hajime hums, considering. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

You squint. “What do you mean that’s not gonna work?”

He pushes off the railing, taking a step closer—too close, enough that you feel it again, that ridiculous, stupid warmth that shouldn’t still be there after all this time. “I mean,” he says, slow, deliberate, “you’re acting like that kiss was a mistake.”

You blink. “Because it was.”

He lifts a single eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, but it comes out way too defensive, and Hajime knows it.

He grins. You decide that you hate him.

“I’m sure,” you insist, crossing your arms tighter, like that will somehow make this whole situation less insufferable. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. A lapse in judgment. That’s it.”

Hajime tilts his head, thoughtful. “Okay. So if I kissed you again right now, you wouldn’t like it.”

Your entire brain short-circuits. The audacity. The unbelievable nerve.

You gape at him. “You wouldn’t.”

His grin widens. “Wouldn’t I?”

You hate how smug he looks. You hate that your stomach flips at the idea of it. You hate that you don’t immediately shut it down.

He watches your expression carefully, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, like he won’t actually do it unless you give him some kind of sign. Which is so much worse, because it means he’s giving you the chance to say no, to walk away, to end this before it can spiral any further.

But you don’t.

And that—more than the kiss itself, more than Emi’s squealing, more than the public spectacle you just made—is what finally sends you into full-blown panic mode.

You do want him to kiss you again.

You stare at him, pulse thrumming, brain caught in a violent tug-of-war between denial and desire. And Hajime? Hajime is watching you with the patience of someone who knows he’s already won.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

You scowl. “Say what?”

“That you want me to kiss you again.”

Your jaw clenches. He’s baiting you, letting you choose, waiting for you to meet him halfway. You exhale sharply, tilting your chin up. “You’re so full of yourself.”

His mouth twitches. “Not an answer.”

“Fine,” you snap. “I want you to kiss me again.”

Hajime grins. “That’s all I needed.”

And then, he does.

This time, it’s slower, deeper, not rushed by the heat of the moment. He takes his time, like he’s savoring it, like he’s memorizing the way you melt into him. And you? You let him. Because, goddamn it, you were never winning this battle.

When you finally pull away, breathless, he smirks down at you. “See? Not a mistake.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

He laughs, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead that feels far more intimate than a casual pair of friends-with-benefits should. You, scandalized, shove him away, but Hajime just grins, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, pressing your fingers to your forehead, like that will somehow stop the ridiculous heat crawling up your neck.

Hajime hums, smug. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You are still standing here. You could have left, could have walked back into that ballroom and pretended this entire thing never happened. But instead, you’re here. On this balcony. With him.

You shift, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “So… what now?”

Hajime leans back against the railing. “Dunno. Guess that depends on you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do I feel like you already have an answer?”

“Because I do,” he says plainly, in a way so nonchalant and effortless it could only be said like that by him. 

You exhale sharply, tilting your head up to the sky, like the stars might have some kind of solution for this. “You know this is gonna be a thing now, right?”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “A thing?”

“Yeah,” you say, making a vague gesture between the two of you. “A thing. Emi’s gonna lose her mind. She’s probably already telling the senior partners that her matchmaking career is a success.”

Hajime laughs, the sound easy, effortless. “Yeah. She probably is.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “I am never going to live this down.”

“Probably not.”

You squint at him. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

Hajime shrugs, then reaches for your hand, tugging you forward so suddenly that you nearly stumble into him. His hands slide down to your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress. “I could,” he murmurs, close, too close, “but we both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

You scowl. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he says, smug, “you still kissed me. Twice, actually.”

You glare. “Stop counting.”

“No promises.”

You groan, pressing your forehead to his chest in sheer exasperation. “This is my villain origin story.”

Hajime just laughs, wrapping his arms fully around you, and you hate—hate—that it feels nice, that it feels right.

“Hajime,” you say, voice muffled against his suit jacket.

“Yeah?”

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze. “If we’re doing this, you are legally required to make it up to me with at least two fancy dates. Minimum.”

Hajime smirks, like he was already planning on it. “Deal.”

“And no getting too smug about this, either,” you squint.

He tilts his head. “Define ‘too smug.’”

You groan, shoving at his chest. “God, I hate you.”

Hajime just catches your wrist and grins, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your knuckles. “Sure you do.”

You really don’t. And both of you know that very well, because he has his mother’s spell-blinding smile and you have always been a sucker for them both.

⨭ closing; churned this out over one 3 hour writing sesh bc i got this idea in my head and had to see it through. not proofread and very very hastily written, but i like her anyway. #comment #reblog #lemme know ur thoughts mwah xoxo

[wosoloml]

crawling back to you II leah williamson x reader

warnings: toxic, hidden relationship, jealousy, angst

summary: After hiding their relationship for years because Leah was still in the closet, they eventually broke up. Yet, they always found their way back into each others lives.

wc: 1,3k I based on this request

"it´s been two years, Leah. Why are you still referring to me as your best friend and roommate to your teammates? You didn´t even tell Keira about me?! She's your best friend!" I yelled at Leah, more out of frustration than anger. I'm so tired of hiding this relationship, of hiding myself behind the 'best friend´ label.

leah being in the cloest was never a problem for me - for us. But since rumours about her dating her male best friend were a thing it as hard to keep everything private. Growing up in milton keynes it was hard to be openly gay.

"Y/n you know its hard for me to tell everyone we are dating. We both know how they reacted after Keira came out to them. She still suffers from it and i dont wanna experience it please undertstand that." leah tries to explain her situation to me and i wish i could understand her the way i want to. But im too hurt.

"I should understand you? Have you ever tried to understand me? I can't do this anymore, Leah. You deserve someone who can handle this - but I can't. I'm sorry, Lee. It's for the best if we break up."

I say the words with tears in my eyes, my voice barely holding steady. It's a hard decision, but itt's one I have to make.

Being with Leah from the time I was 14 to now, at 17, has meant everything to me. I'm so grateful for the past three years, but I just can't do this anymore.

---------

"Y/N, I BOUGHT US TICKETS FOR THE NEXT GAME AT JOIE STADIUM!"

My girlfriend's excited voice echoes through our shared apartment. It's been seven months since I moved to Manchester and three months since we started living together.

"I'm already excited!" I shout back while checking who City's opponent is. Of course - it's Arsenal.

It feels strange to be thinking about football again, especially after breaking up with Leah almost a year ago. But maybe she's not even playing anymore.

Little did I know, she's been captaining the squad for the past year.

Our seats are incredible, giving us a perfect view of the pitch. As the teams walk out, my eyes immediately land on the captain's armband wrapped around Leah's arm. A strange sense of pride swells in my chest. Playing for the Gunners - leading them - had been her dream since she joined the club so many years ago. Seeing her live that dream now brings an unshakable smile to my face.

My thoughts are interrupted when my girlfriend starts chanting loudly, her passion for the game contagious. For a moment, I forget my ex is even on the pitch.

I never told Sarah about my past with a certain blonde Arsenal player.

I could feel Leah's eyes on me the entire game.

A part of me wanted to tease her, so every time she came over to take a corner, I laughed extra loud at whatever Sarah said or kissed her deeply-just to make a point.

I wanted her to see what it felt like to be in a relationship that didn't have to be hidden. To know how beautiful it is to be loved loudly and openly.

Later that evening, my phone buzzed.

leahwilliamson wants to send you a message. My heart started racing. My eyes widened as I read her message.

'Cute little show you put on earlier today.'

I had no idea how to respond to that, so I just sent back a few question marks. It didn't take long for her to reply.

'The way you laughed extra loud at whatever that girl said. The way you kissed her while checking to see if I was watching. I don't care, Y/N' . My blood starts to boil.

----

"Y/N!!"

I snap out of my thoughts as my coworker calls my name. I hurry over to the counter, my eyes widening.

'Can you serve them? I need to make a quick call.'

I manage a nod, but then I notice here - Leah. Sitting in my cafe. With another girl.

I take a deep breath, forcing a polite smile. "Hey, what can I get for you?" I ask, keeping my tone professional.

Leah smirks. "ll have a matcha latte. And what about you, babe-?" She turns to the girl beside her. "A flat white, please. Thank you" the girl says with a warm smile.

I already don't like her.

"Give me one second"

I know exactly why Leah is here - to get under my skin. And it's working. But beneath the teasing, beneath the smug attitude, it just hurts.

Seeing her be so open, so affectionate with someone else. calling her pet names, touching her without hesitation - it stings in a way I can't ignore.

Whenever we were out together, she barely even said my name, let alone held my hand. Now, she's making sure I see how different things are.

Every time I glance at their table, Leah is already looking at me, eyes filled with something I can't quite place. But I do notice how touchy she is, how overly flirty she's being.

And it makes my blood boil. I text her 'now we are even'. Her eyes darkened as she read the message.

-------

The club was alive with loud music, the clink of glasses, and the smell of sweaty bodies. It was my best friend's 25th birthday, and we decided to celebrate it in our hometown, London. I was also hoping it would serve as a distraction from my recent breakup. After two years of dating Sarah, she ended things last weekend because I couldn't bring myself to tell her I loved her. It's not that I didn't care about her or that I wasn't in love, but things felt different. The only woman I will ever truly love is Leah. Forever.

Suddenly, someone bumped into me, spilling their drink all over my shirt. "Oh god, I'm sorry!" They said as I looked up, meeting their eyes. It was Leah. Who else could it be?

"I didn't know you were here" she said, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, it's Anna's birthday today, and I thought Id come back to London for the occasion" I replied. "What about you?"

Leah seemed taken aback by how easily I kept the conversation going. "Actually, we won the league today. It was the last game of the season against Aston Villa, and we won."

The conversation flowed naturally, and then, unexpectedly, she asked THE question.

"So, is your girlfriend here?" she asked.

"No,†I said "we are not together anymore." "Oh, really? Im sorry to hear that. Funny enough, my girlfriend broke up with me two weeks ago" she replied, a look of surprise crossing her face. I was stunned, my eyes widening in disbelief. The tension between us shifted, and an unfamiliar but unmistakable feeling of missing her washed over me.

After that, we kept texting and even FaceTimed a few times. The vibe was strange but oddly familiar, as though we had never stopped talking, despite having broken up over 3.5 years ago. Nothing had really changed.

---------

"Happy one year, baby!" Leah greeted me with breakfast in bed and the most beautiful bouquet of red roses. I couldn't have been happier with her by my side.

Even though she had a game on our anniversary , it didn't make the day any less special. I cheered her on from the 'Friends and Family' section, proudly wearing her name on the back of my Arsenal jersey. When she scored the winning goal, she celebrated by making a special gesture just for me.

Right person, right time.

[vifilms]

❝ FWB!ABBY HEADCANONS ❞

word count: 2k+

content warning. eighteen+, minors dni, strap!sex, scissorcity, just a lot of p*rn written out, but omgee i'm writing foir abby again? am i returning home? me saying that when all my long fics are about a certain pink-haired butch.

masterlist.

fwb!abby who is a star-athlete, potentially a hockey player because c’mon, look at her. it starts right before the end of last season. there used to be a trio, three girls who grew up together, forever inseparable. but with a nasty fall out of abby’s break up with your best friend — you picked a side. not that anyone would believe you, but it was innocent. purely innocent.

fwb!abby who keeps you close throughout the breakup, she leans on you when she emotionally breaks, when she doesn’t want to be alone; you’re right there for her. ready to help her in whatever way you can. maybe it was naive of you to expect it to be nothing more and it’s exactly how you end up here — abby’s hand shoves down your skirt as she presses you against the locker room right after the most important game of the season. it could be how good your ass looked in the soft fabric, she couldn’t help herself. 

“mhm, how long have you been thinking about this?” gently, abby asks. “pretty girl, wanna have your fill so bad, huh?” 

all she does is tease. it’s all abby wants to do, pull those god-given moans from your lips and your whines are nothing but a symphony to her ears. but all of this is very wrong. in your bones, with every pint of blood pumping to your veins, it feels like something forbidden. even if you aren’t friends anymore, even if she hates you for siding with abby, you can’t help but love the way she strokes your puffy lips with a flick of her wrist. 

you groan as she slips a single finger inside you, whining at the welcomed intrusion. abby knows this is a slippery slope as much as you, maybe even more. it’s not lost on her what would happen if anyone were to find out, but especially your ex-best friend were to find out you loved getting fucked by her ex. 

“shut up and fuck me, yeah? you don't need to know any of that—” you shriek as she slips another inside you, effectively stretching you out as she pumps your slick, back into you as it drips over her fingers like fresh honey. 

“what was that, princess?” abby tilts her head to the side as she presses on your clit with the pad of her thumb. 

“nothing, i—” 

“hm, right. i guess the rumors are true.” 

“what rumors?” 

abby doesn’t provide any response as she fucks you into the stars, each thrust of her fingers effectively shutting you up from saying anything else. as you cry out for a release, she places deliberate kisses along your neck, her hot breath swarms goosebumps along your skin as your hips buck into her body. 

“heard a few…one from your roommate in particular.” 

oh fuck. 

the little shit knows. 

“what did you, f-fuck, hear?” abby chuckles when you can’t keep your thoughts straight. you’re close and she knows it as well when she presses her lip to your ear, it’s intentional, the cocky little shit knows just what you like. 

the first time she’s touched you and you’re already melting in her warm and needy hands. 

the sultry tone in her voice will haunt you whenever you sleep, you’ll see her in your dreams, those taunting pair of blues, the scarred cheek you love but she hates. when she says the words you fear, for some reason it sends you over the edge. 

“i heard you like moaning my name when you get yourself off, so why don’t you put on a show for me, princess?” 

fwb!abby who thinks about you, slumped against the lockers trying to catch your breath. the mantras of her name don’t leave her mind, how pathetic did it make her she couldn’t stop thinking of you. how you couldn’t escape her mind, even during practice, those stupid whimpers wouldn’t leave her. her mind can’t escape that night, the endorphins pounding her skull as she fucked you into oblivion. the secret you held close to your heart raw and exposed as you released over her pumping fingers — it all felt a little too real. a little too perfect. 

fwb!abby who tries to play it cool whenever you’re around. abby knows it’s her best shot of forgetting what happened, slipping back into normalcy. but what she doesn’t expect? how jealous she feels when she sees you chatting up one of her teammates. she suspects you might be doing the same, trying to find a distraction, anything and anyone to stop your mind from thinking of it. it’s the secret she holds close to her as she deciphers on why her blood couldn’t seem to stop boiling. she hadn’t been this possessed, the need for her sweet salvations to be found on each roll of her tongue. it’s agony as she watches you leave with them, but she just sips on her beer, calling it night at the same time as you. but her sheets will be ice while yours will be kept especially warm. 

the first thought entering your mind, this isn’t as good. she doesn’t touch you the way abby did, fuck, this girl’s mouth is eager to devour you, every drop not being wasted but you just pretend it’s abby. even if you feel slimy, a bit dirty, but it gets you where you need to be. 

when you ride the plastic cock, invisioning abby holding your hips, guiding them as you slide down and fuck yourself, chasing the high she gave you just a few weeks ago but you see golden-waves flowing on your navy-blue cotton sheets. your mind drifts to how the blue in the sheets would bring out abby’s eyes, how she might look up at you while you fuck her like it’s your right to. 

as if she belongs to you. 

the more you think of her, the easier it becomes to find your release, it comes to you quickly as you moan; you chase the high. but it still doesn’t feel as good as last time — not when you don’t have her whispering in your ear. telling you just how much you need it, whispering your dirty secrets like an oath. a string for her to pull, only one tug needed until you come apart for her like it’s the only purpose you have in life; you’re just here to please abby anderson. 

fwb!abby who doesn’t see you for a week straight. you’re avoiding her with all of you might. even going as far as missing one of her games which you never do. it pisses her off to no end and the final straw is her teammate talking about how much the two of you can’t stop fucking. yeah, god, she’s so perfect. sweetest i've ever tasted. it’s said in passing, quietly to one of her friends, not meant for abby. slamming the locker form, she sets her sights on you. she’s ending whatever the fuck this is. 

the knock on your door is harsh, spinning you out of your thoughts as you open the door to find her completely outraged. abby might as well be a bull with her nostrils flared, puffing out smoke as she only sees through a tunnel vision of red. you know why she’s upset, and you’re sure she’s heard about just who you have been spending your time with, making this all the more messy. 

“ashton? fucking ashton?” abby burls straight past the entrance, shoulder checking you in the process. 

“why does it matter if it’s her? or anyone? why do you care all of a sudden?” you go back to cleaning, as if you don’t have a very enraged woman standing in front of you. you try not to think of her sweet vanilla scent mixed with mahogany. the way she filled you up perfectly. 

“i don’t care.” abby nods as she showcases a bitter smirk. 

fwb!abby who has you pinned against the wall with her strong frame, pelvis pressed against hers, still sweaty from practice as she has you pinned against the wall. you’re not sure who kissed first, who grabbed the other closer, but she has you turned around, fingers plunging knuckle deep as she reminds you of that night. writhing against her as she whispers in her ear, “next time you crawl in her bed, remember this, when she’s failing to make you come apart. remember how easy it is for me.” 

fwb!abby who brings you back to her apartment. her lips pull the air from your lungs, suffocating you but lighting you ablaze. like a lioness when she paws at you, nearly ripping your closes to shreds with the claws she has buried in you so deep. abby is cocky about it as you pull off her clothes just the same, desperate, needy — with a angelic glint in your eyes she’ll have nightmares about. 

“princess, it will stay between us. alright?” abby groans as her baby blue dildo slips inside you. watching her defined abdomen clenched as she pushes, fully tilted inside you. “promise.”  

another secret to holster, keeping close enough to keep but not close enough where it would seep into your skin, surely to infect whatever she so craved to do. you expect everything to be a little rough, a means to an end — just a way for the both of you to fuck this out of your system — but abby’s delicate. doing her best not to completely lose it. 

you feel full as she hesitates to move, watching your face contort in divine pleasure, the way you try to move your hips, but her hands keep you in place for a moment longer. 

“baby, please, shit i need your—” a groan leaves your mouth as abby moves, thrusting her cock inside you. 

“yeah, you need it, princess?” 

it feels condescending, the stupid pet name is being thrown at you as a way to incite raw need, to instill such a primal emotion, and you feel it stirring the pits of your stomach. with each heartbeat, your chest flutters. 

your mind shuts off, all the worries that infect your mind like a disease, every reason that tells you this is a god-awful, terrifyingly horrible idea. there’s too many webs, you’re bound to be trapped up in her, with no way to come out of it. it’s the only truth settled within your soul but then she’s fucking you. it’s hard but slow. 

she’s taking her time, building you up so she has you right towards the edge. all you do is wrap your legs around her, bringing her close to you, her temple kissing yours as she loses herself inside you. it’s all more than you expected, quiet whimpers echo in her bedroom, her sanctuary she’s coaxed you into. 

“you look so hot taking my cock, pretty girl. fuck, it’s like it was made just for you but i have an appetite for something else.” 

you whimper as abby removes herself and the harness secured on her hips, until you feel her blonde bush and aching lips slide over yours. the woman above you can’t help but chuckle as your eyes roll back into your skull, a leg thrown over her toned shoulder as she slides perfectly against you. 

“you—” you gasp as she pushes her hips faster, you have no choice but to buck against her. “a-abs, oh shit, oh my fucking god.” 

quickly, you’re losing it as abby is being loud. “right in front of me all this time, fuck!” 

almost comes across as animalistic as she grunts, fucking your faster than anyone ever has, you’re so close when she grips your chin, demanding you to open. sliding her fingers inside of your mouth as you suck off your cum. effectively shutting you up in the process. 

“yeah, it’s too much, huh? are you sure you can take it, princess?” you nod your head as one thrust sends you over the end, your body twitching as you come. she soothes you through it, whispering your name over and over in your ear and it goes straight to your cunt. it’s too much but she eventually stops but you still feel her against you. everything becomes sticky and warm. 

the blunt of her nails begin to scrape lightly over the skin of your abdomen, enjoying how much your body twitches. you’re sensitive and abby chuckles.

“whenever you wanna fuck princess, just give me a call.” and after, she whispers so quietly you almost miss it, “i’ll gladly make this pussy mine any day of the week.”

[tinkeraroha]

I will now actually answer VERY SINGLE QUESTION OF THIS XD

also i wrote this in an interview type style... you can also read this on my AO3 .... this is over 5000 words long gods help me ...........

Name: Ashryn De Riva 

Pronouns: They/She /Her 

Race: Elven 

Faction: An Antivan Crow

Class: Mage

Specialization: Spellblade

Before The Veilguard

Where was Rook born? Who were their childhood family and friends? What did they spend their free time doing as a child? What did they want to be when they “grew up” if anything.

A: Uff good first question. Well, as far as I know I was born somewhere in Antiva, I don't really know where as I didn't really stay there for a long time. As a kid I didn't really have friends, like before I became a crow. I had other problems than who I should play with at the time. My mother was my only blood family I knew as she was taken with me. She was a slave for a Powerful Mage, and if I had to name a friend during that time I would say the stable boy, he was also a dalish captive but I heard he had been sold from Tevinter , or was he a present I don't really remember … He was the one I could talk with and he hid me more than once when the Mages son was looking for me. What I wanted to be when I grew up? Mmmh another good question, free maybe? ( she laughs) No, I wanted to be powerful and able to help others. Actually I wanted to be Crow, I  heard from the other slaves that there were those dark Asassines who would kill if you paid them enough. I actually used to save up any coin I could find, or steal, to pay them one day. In the end I didn't even save up enough to buy a loaf of fresh bread.( laughs again)

Where and how was Rook educated? What did they enjoy learning; what did they dislike learning? Who did they admire most? Who was an example of what not to do or be?

A: My Mother, bless her , tried her best to teach me things. Thanks to her I actually still speak elven, well to some extent. My magic abilities showed very early. I was still a little kid, maybe around the age of 7 or eight, so she also tried to teach me about those things even though she didn't have any magic gifts. She always said I got that from her father. The other slaves also tried to teach us young ones. I  snuck into the attic often, from there you could hear the teacher of the Mages son ramble for hours, while his student fell asleep most of the time. 

How did they experience gender as a young person? Did they grow up in an environment of strict gender roles and expectations or were they allowed to be themselves? 

A: I  never actively thought about being anything other than a woman, I am what I am and I like it. But I don't really care as to how people call me, okay maybe ‘he’ just doesn't fit with me but if they want to people can call me ‘they’ as well. ( shrugged) I don't really care. 

My mother wasn't really strict about gender, she always said being me was enough. She even kind of adopted another young slave who had been shunned by the others, as she identified herself as a female, despite being born a male. Gods did I hate that girl, not because of this obviously but she wasn't the nicest person, when the adults were not around. 

What was their take on sexuality as a young person? Did they experiment with romance or find it entirely uninteresting?

A:  Again never actually thought about it. I liked men as a kid … tho I never had a puppy love or how you call it… And after I joined the crows as a fledgling I started to notice how I felt for women ( shrugges ). I used to flirt with Teia as a  young one just to annoy Viago, and I had a bit of a crush on her , but please don't tell him that. I want to live for a bit longer.

What was their take on spirituality as a young person? Did they grow up around one particular religion and if so how did that affect their beliefs?

A: I was fascinated by the veil and the fade as a kid. Loved to study on Spirits and things like that, so I would say I was fond of Spirits… oh you mean spirituality like religion… mmmmh i grew up with both elven gods and the maker. My mother taught me the tales of our ancestors and I loved hearing them. And the crows showed me the beliefs of the Maker. But I associate myself more with the elven beliefs I would say. 

What childhood fear(s) did Rook carry with them into adulthood?

A: It's not really a fear but… I can't really swim that well, which is ironic when you think about where I grew up but the mage that owned me had this spell… Made you feel like you were drowning so I never went deeper than knee deep water till I was what? Like 17? 

How did Rook become involved with their chosen faction? Who did they meet first, and how, and where, and why did they join up?

this is gonna take a while ( laughs) the first Crow I ever got to meet was Viago… I am not surprised as he is my house's Talon and something like my older brother, which he would never under any circumstances admit. I met him at a job of his.  Okay maybe i have to further explain that. I met him after I ruined his contract by killing his target , who was also the Slave owning Mage I mentioned before… i dont think I'm actually gonna elaborate on that one, sorry. Let me have a few more secrets or surprises left. ( laughs) 

Was Rook interested in finding a life partner of some kind when they joined their faction? Why? Who were their best friends and how did they meet? Who were their rivals, who did they trust? 

A: Of course I want a live partner, but that's certainly not why I joined the crows. You die alone more often on the job than you find a spouse being an Assassin. Also I was only eleven, boys were disgusting at that age and growing up under Viagos keen eyes… It's a miracle I actually got to meet other beings other than snakes and other poisonous things.  My best friends would actually be Teia and Viago. I know that's lame but its like that. I'm also close with Jacobus now… I hope I'm something to him like Viago was to me. My rivals mmmh all the other fledglings I guess, i don't know. 

Did Rook have any scars or tattoos? What’s the story behind them?

A: I do have a few of either one. My most notable scars are the one on my nose and the one on my cheek up to my eyebrows. The nose one is actually quite embarrassing. I got it sneaking out of the De Riva mension when I was 16 to meet a merchant's son I found… rather interesting. Viago caught me and threw a book after me, hit me right in the face and had me falling off my Balcony…. Right on his Motto being killed by my own stupidity. 

On the cheek that one is fairly new got it fighting the Antaam 1 vs 20 to free their captives. That's how I meet Varric. 

I also have one on my right shoulder and one on my neck that when a fledgling from another house tried to kill me… Got damn near close to it, but let's just say I'm a Crow and he's not. 

For tattoos I have my Vallasin , my mother gave it to me when my Magic began showing,  and I also have a snake on my chest for the way Viago and the De Rivas saved my life. My house tattoo is on my right wrist.

Did Rook ever strongly identify with a particular nationality, city, race, creed, or religion? Is this something they explored on their own or a tradition that was passed down to them? Did this identity evolve as they grew into adulthood?

A: I am an elf, so of course I identify with them. They are my people and my heritage as I said I was born dalish but not raised like them, traditionally. But Antiva and over all Treviso is my home, it's my city, it's my country. I will protect it even if it means going against the rules or losing my life. 

Lightning Round - PREGAME VERSION

Favorite scent: snake babies… don't ask, just smell them. And maybe Thymian 

Favorite food: I love anything with Caramel, also anything with potatoes 

Favorite animal: mmmmh Wolves are pretty neat, maybe mabaris and cats too. Oh and of course Crowds

Favorite book or story: the dreadwolf and the Halla its a tale my mother used to tell 

Favorite drink: Cioccolata calda

Favorite item of clothing: capes 

Favorite keepsake: a little halla statue,  my first dagger 

Favorite place: the diamond 

Favorite person: Teia

Favorite little treat: Caramel drops and cake. 

During The Veilguard (HEAVY SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT)

Act 1: Signs and Portents

What was Rook’s status with their own faction at the beginning of the game? Why were they recruited by Varric?

A: I was good on the side , I think, okay I pissed them off with the shit I pulled with the Antaam. Tho Teia said she and Vi were a bit proud about me, beating them 20 against 1. Varric recruited me because I freed him, but if you ask him it's because I went against my orders for a greater cause thinking only about the others, not me as I freed them. 

What did Rook think of Varric when they first met? Did Rook support Varric’s choice to confront Solas alone?

A: At first I found him strange, I did know about the Inquisition and heard tales of a dwarf with them but still strange. Funny thing is, I actually own a few of his books. But he grew on me and we made a contract so…

Did Rook take Neve or Harding with them when they went to interrupt the ritual themselves? Why?

A: I took Harding, as a Mage Neve would be more skilled fighting the demons of while we would be a tad more difficult to spot for solas 

How did Rook engage with stories of the elven gods at the beginning of the Veilguard? Were the familiar or strange? Was it disorienting to have them rewritten or did it make no real difference to them?

A: Oh I knew them as I said my mother used to tell me stories about them even my lullaby was about Ghilan'nain and her Halla. 

Having them rewritten as tyrants was…. something. Like a half identity crisis, they are not my whole life like for the Dawlish, but still they are my ancestors' gods.

What was Rook’s instinctive reaction to having Solas in their head and dreams? How did Rook respond when Solas asked them why they should be the one to lead the Veilguard?

A: It was concerning, him using blood magic to speak to me. I wondered if he could read every thought of mine if he could control me. And again he is the Dread Wolf, the god my mother said to love and fear at the same time. He's the trickster of trickster, the one who's neither an forgotten god or an evanuris. 

I answered him directly. There is no use to lying at him, maybe half truths are the way to go. Nobody else would do it, and Varric told me to look after them for him. I'm just a Rook who switched with the king. 

Did Rook think Neve was right about needing more investigation before acting or that Harding was right that there was no time to spare? What made them think that?

A: I was with Harding on this , yes we needed more information but the situation was… Not really time giving. 

What did Rook decide to do with Mayor Julius of D’Meta’s crossing? Why?

A: I saved him, ironically I'm not a murderer , I don't kill if it's not a contract or a necessary thing. He was wrong and the best way to punish him was living with what he had done.

How did Rook react to Harding’s new magic? Were they supportive or wary or a mix of both? 

A: I think magic is a gift and that I told her even though it did make me worried about how she got it. It was something to worry about after..

How did Rook feel among the ancient elven magic and ruins of Arlathan? Did they find Bellara’s work disturbing or fascinating or something else?

A: It was fascinating, very very fascinating. The ruins made me feel small and insignificant in comparison with the history of those places. It felt heavy and rich with tales that were never told and lost in time.

How did Rook feel about working with a bunch of assassins, the Antivan Crows? Were they familiar with the organization, a Crow themselves, or something else? How did they feel about Lucanis, specifically about Lucanis and Spite?

A: I'm a crow so I was excited. I had heard about the Demon of Varentium, but oddly I don't think I have ever met him before. At least I don't remember, maybe at some banquet or something. I find him and spite… fascinating a none mage that was possessed or better to say bonded with a demon without it taking over… fascinating.  And of course I respect him as the first Talons Grandson. He is… powerful to say the least. I do keep my eyes on him… to keep track of Spite of course

  How did Rook feel about the Shadow Dragons? Had they ever been to Minrathous before or just heard stories? How did Neve strike them at first?

A: It's a good organisation fighting for their city and it's good to have a widespread connection for information.  

Neve is competent and powerful. Also she is kind and fights for those who can't fight for themselves.  And her mind, wow it's sharp as a knife and gods that women are charming.

What did Rook think of the Wardens when they met them? The First Warden? Antoine and Evka? Davrin (and his tits)? And of course, the MVP, Assan?

A: I have adored Antione and Evka with my whole life. I have known them for like a day and if anything happens to them I will kill all of Thedas.  The first Warden? He can fuck himself in his metal protected knee. He has to come down from his high horse or he's gonna fall very very deep, in my Knife. 

Davrin is… A blessing of the eyes and mind. He's someone reliable and I think we are gonna be very good friends. 

Assan? That's my kid and I will fight Davrin for it… I love that damn winged cat so much, do you know he can Purr. 

Did Rook choose to help Minrathous or Treviso? Why?

A: Treviso,  it's my city, my home, my people. It was still a hard choice 

How did Rook feel after seeing what happened to the city they couldn’t save? Who did they talk to about it, if anyone, and how did they feel toward Neve and Lucanis in the aftermath?

A: saying I was devastated is the understatement of the Age. Iwas…. In pure shock especially as I saw the Viper blighted it…. It was such a huge decision and only one person made it? That's not fair,  I thought that maybe with the army and the Shadow dragons Minrathous had the biggest chance of keeping themselves safe, how could a single mage do anything more. 

Had Rook ever been to Rivain before? What were their impressions? Did they have any experience with Antaam or Qunari outside the Qun? What did they think of Taash and Shanthann?

A: I've been to Rivain before on a contract on a Pirate. Pretty fun one actually. Oh and I KNEW the Antaam before,  I had seen a few Qunari before, those who fell out of the Qun but aren't Antaam but not too many. For Taash and their mother…. I like Taash, they are a bit hot headed and that comes from me soo… Their mother is odd, too strict about Taash and the Qun about living like a Qunari when she was the one that brought them to Rivain.

What was Rook’s first impression of the Nevarran Necropolis? Were they interested, disturbed, or something else? What did they think of Emmrich and, most importantly, Manfred?

A: I LOVE THE NECROPOLIS.  It's so haunting and spooky while you can learn so many things there. Also Vorgoth is just I love him, them, i don't know. Also Emmrich is just so inspiring and I can learn so much from him. It's so good to have him join us. Manfred is also an enrichment, finally. Someone to play with our little Griffon. Also I don't really drink tea but the tea Manfred makes…. so good. Even though I do have to say it's a bit of a waste of my work , necromancy I mean what does it bring killing someone just so they can be resurrected at a mages will.

What did Rook think of the Inquisitor? Did they become personal friends or did they keep it professional? Who was the Inquisitor’s lover, if any, and did Rook have an opinion of that?

A: The Inquisitor is such A strong person and she is powerful and stunning. We write eachother often and I admire her even more for her strength to keep believing in Solas and the love they share.

At the Siege of Weisshaupt, how did Rook deal with the First Warden and why?

A: I punched that prick's face. Didn't think he would go down with one punch. I mean he's a warrior after all, but he went down like a sack of stones. There was no reasoning with him,  he would have killed way more of the Grey Wardens. 

Act 2: The Price of the Past

How did Rook react to the aftermath of Weisshaupt? Were they sad, angry, scared, all of the above, or something else? Did they blame themselves? Lucanis? The First Warden? Ghilan'nain? Who did they talk to about it, and did they show their true feelings to their companions?

A: I blamed myself, I was the one responsible for the team, I was the one with the most information on the gods…. It was not Lucanis' fault or anyones else's, it was mine. We should have taken her down at Weisshaupt and the guilt we didn't lie with me, the guilt is my burden to bear so no I didn't tell any of the companions…. It's my burden to bear.

Had Rook developed a romantic interest in one of their companions--or someone else!--by the time Weisshaupt fell? If so, were they eager to explore it or afraid to? Why?

A: Okay, I admit it.. I do have hots for Lucanis. Can you blame me? Have you seen this man cook or heard him talk? …. that's better than anything. Also he's just… wow how can he be so careful with us all, so soft around us, helping us, care for us while he's a feared assassin. And also while he's possessed by a literal demon. And no I did not act on it, he has enough things to handle himself and spite. I don't wanna add myself and my one sided feelings to it. Though I did catch myself that I do talk to him more often and that I look at him….. I believe Neve might have caught that. 

Who were Rook’s closest companions, and what did they like about them? Who irritated Rook, if anyone, and how?

A: Most of the time on the road with Lucanis and Bellara, or sometimes Emmerich. I'm closest to those three I would say. Nobody irritates me really, maybe Taash sometimes.. They really need to work on their patience but no one really gets on my nerves 

How did Rook respond to Davrin and Lucanis’s animosity finally boiling over? Were they sympathetic to one or the other or to both?

A: I understand both. Davrin lost so many friends at Weishaupt, the survivor's guilt is eating him alive faster than the blight could. Lucanis is spiraling because of guilt ,  he never missed a shot before he always meets his Target, failing to kill Ghilan'nain is a hard blow for them both,  they needed to let go of that steam.

When Elgar’nan took the Dalish prisoners to use as sacrifices, what was Rook’s first reaction? Were they resolved, raging, sad, or some combination? Did they talk to any of their companions about it?

A: Horror pure Horror,  the way he slaughtered those Halas, the casualty of the Venatori that attended it was gruesome and got my blood boiling. His whole Plan, the dalish everything was just, he may not be as visually shocking as Ghilan´nian but he is so mu=ch worse than her. I will rip his damn heart out of his chest while it is still beating. I talked with Bellara about it for hours after. 

What was Rook’s reaction to The Butcher’s proposition to them in Treviso? Did they respect it, think it was bonkers, or something else? Did they discuss it with any of their companions after the fact?

A: It was weird to say the least but I respect that, kind of.  Treviso is a  jewel and we have to protect it. 

Did Rook express concerns about Illario’s behavior to Lucanis? Did Rook encourage him to punish or to forgive Illario? Did Rook encourage Lucanis to work with Spite to save Catarina or to punish Illario? What were Rook’s impressions of Catarina both before and after her kidnapping? How did Rook feel about Lucanis becoming First Talon?

A: I have to admit,  Illario always made me suspicious,  but in the end I encouraged Luvanis to forgive him, the embarrassment was more than enough. But I will keep a close watch of him… If he tries to pull such a stunt again, I will end him myself. Even if it means Catarina will kill me. 

Of course I encouraged him and Spite to work together to save Catarina , everything else would end in innocent blood being spilled.

Catarina is scary, she wants furst talon for nothing. She's Deadly. I'm glad to never have met her at her Prime and I respect her so much. She raised Lucanis, maybe not fair or lovingly, but he came out right.

Lucanis becoming First Talon, was , wow he's now my boss's boss which is….. concerning feelings wise but also I respect him.  It makes me nervous to tell him what to do. ( laughs)

Did Rook support Bellara in her desire to save Cyrian or did they encourage her to be more forceful in stopping him immediately? Did they encourage her to keep the Nadas Dirthalen or to destroy it?

A: I helped her trying to talk to Cyrian and I cried with her as she held him in Her arms As he died. For the archive I told her to keep it, it holds a lot of knowledge about our people, and now we need something to cling to now after our gods and our beliefs were shattered.

Did Rook encourage the alliance with the Threads in Dock Town? Did they encourage Neve to bring Dock Town hope or to become a darker protector-figure?

A: the threads may be criminals but they certainly care for the city ,  for Neve she's a hope for Dock Town 

What was Rook’s reaction to the revelations about the Titans and the residual anger their downfall and exploitation at the hands of the Evanuris  left behind? Did it change how they felt about Harding’s new powers, and if so, how? Did they encourage Harding to embrace the Titan’s anger or to remember their compassionate side?

A: I felt …. guilt i felt Solas guilt, my ancestors killed hers, they eradicated every single one. I told her she was more than this Anger that her compassionate side was stronger. She may have the blood and memory of the Titans but she still is Harding

How did Rook encourage Davrin to train and interact with Assan? Did they suggest discipline or kindness or some mixture of both? What were Rook’s feelings on seeing the twisted recreation of Weisshaupt, The Profane City? How did the blighted First Warden react to seeing Rook again there? Did Rook decide the griffons should go to the Anderfels with the Wardens or stay in Arlathan as protectors of nature?

A: I will have nightmares about that twisted Weisshaupt. Maybe I should take Lucanis' approach and just not sleep. For the griffons I think it's time they lay down the weapon… they will flourish in Arlathan and Arlathan will flourish through them. For the First Warden, he didn't like me living, he dont like me as blighted.  Still he didn't deserve that ending. 

Davrin and Assan are a team now, kindness and discipline is a good mix for both of them , but let's be fair Assan is going to dance on Davrins nose. 

What did Rook think of Emmrich’s confession that he wanted to attain lichdom? Did their views on necromancy change as they got to know Emmrich and the Mourn Watch better? Did they encourage Emmrich to attain lichdom or to revive Manfred?

A: it's his choice but i would have been sad to see manfred go, which is weird to say as he's a Skeleton but still. Who would play rock, paper scissors with me. And I know that Emmerich would have shattered without his skeleton son, eternity can be lonely just look at Solas. 

How did Taash’s journey to finding themselves strike Rook? What did Rook think of Shathann once they got to know her better? Did that change after her death? Did Rook encourage Taash to embrace their Rivaini culture or to fall back on the strength of their mother’s teachings about the Qun?

A: Taash mother and me never really got along and that's okay, i don't need to be liked by everyone…. i don't even want that. But still i was sad to see her die that way, my heart broke for taash. still i told them to embrace who they are and where they grew up. find strength in happiness of your own.

(If Rook didn’t romance Harding or Taash:) Did Rook encourage Taash to get a gift to express interest in Harding? What was it and why? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

A: Taash bought Harding something for her arrows and hey I love that they get along THAT well ( laughs ) at least some of us are getting some u know what ( laughs even louder)

(If Rook didn’t romance Emmrich:) Did Rook encourage Emmrich to take Strife to the caves or the forest on a date? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

A: This really came out of nowhere to be honest but I like it, even though Strife can be a bit… mean sometimes ( laughs again) the comment about me being a city mage wasn't really necessary but still.  I love that for them they are like my uncles 

How did Rook deal with the friction between Taash and Emmrich? Did they encourage them to find common ground or to talk about other things? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

A: told them to just find a common ground … this little fight was unnecessary, but it also was kind of predictable now they always ramble on about plants

Did Rook romance any of their companions after all? What was that like for them, and how did it happen? Did the other companions have an opinion?

A: Well, ahem ( visibly blushes) me and lucanis are getting along very very well, even spite seems to like me ( laughs) it was actually nice talking to him in Lucanis mind… Even though the circumstances could have been better. For the companions Neve was happy for us both especially seemingly for Lucanis. Harding was also happy but still worried about spite. I think Emmerich is already planning a wedding bouquet and he's getting ready to fight Viago to be the one to bring me to the altar. The others are happy too though Davrin seems the most worried. Oh and the Inquisitor is more than thrilled ( laughs)

Who did Rook feel closest to by the time they were making plans with the Inquisitor to stop the gods’ ritual at the eclipse?

A: I mean the answer is obviously Lucanis, but after him maybe Emmerich he was my calming point of this whole thing 

Did Rook choose Davrin or Harding to lead a second team at Tearstone Island? Why? How did they feel in the aftermath of Tearstone Island about that choice? How did they honor their fallen teammate later?

S: It was Harding and I was devastated. I lost my sister that day.That what she was for me Family not just a friend. I joined her to keep going, no matter the price , for Lace 

Did Rook choose Neve or Bellara to take down the wards at Tearstone Island? Why? Did they regret their choice? How did they come to terms with it after?

A: my bell my little Bellara she was the one to take down the wards she knew them enough , I thought she would be safe…. I beat myself up over it and i still feel the guilt

How did Rook deal with learning they’d been magically gaslit into thinking Varric was alive all this time??????

A: I wanted to kick his bold wolf ass…. THE PURE AUDACITY LIKE WHAT?!?!?! 

Did Rook find the Mysterious Circles?

A: yes i actually did 

Did Rook find all of Solas’s regrets after the Inquisitor gave them the first? What were their reactions to the revelations about:

A: I found them all…. One worse than the other

The Golden City/The Black City and The Chantry’s doctrine being false

It did not hit me as hard as it should have 

Mythal convincing Solas to take a mortal form

The pain Of him… I understood him better after this. A spirit if wisdom becomes a Pride demon after being Used against their purpose and getting twisted

Solas being willing to sacrifice his followers for his end goals

he….. I hated him for that but it was necessary and I know it was not an easy decision for him. “ they died as who they were” this hitted  harder after knowing who and what he once was

Ancient elves originating as spirits who took mortal form

I jokingly talked with Emmerich about what kind of spirit I would be. He said Determination , Courage or Compassion …. Lucanis said Spite liked the idear of me being a Spirit of Determination 

 ●The elves -- particularly Solas and Mythal -- killing and exploiting the Titans to win the war against them

Guilt i felt the guilt of Solas, like i already, said….. and rage 

The blight being the Titan’s lost, angry dreams

It scares Me how powerful those beings could have been if the blight are there angers and dreams

Solas regaining his power pre-Inquisition by killing Mythal’s current host

-i didn't know her , the other host, and to be true after all i have seen of her i don't really know if i feel sympathy for her, i meant mythal.

Bonus Round: Were Solas and Mythal doing it?

Oh definitely

Mythal's essence. How did they get it from her? Was it a fight or a matter of discussion? How did they feel, meeting her?

It was a discussion,  one that felt like talking to an explosive ready to go off any minute….. it was strange meeting her. Her fragment seemed bitter and like she lost herself.

Act 3: The Wrath of Ages

Were all Rook’s allied factions at maximum strength when they launched their attack on Elgar’nan? Which ones weren’t, and why? Did Rook favor any of them? Their own? Someone else’s?

A: They were all my allies and all were the strongest they could be…. And of course I would favor my people the crows

Who did Rook choose to support the Veil Jumpers in the final battle dealing with magical wards or protecting others?

Neve knows Those wards better than anyone so i chose her

Who did Rook choose to support the Crows and the Lords of Fortune in the final battle fighting mages or attacking by surprise?

A: Of course lucanis… Whonwohlf be better at killing mages than my own Demon of Verantium

Who did Rook choose to support the Wardens and the Mourn Watch in the final battle fighting massive enemies and constructs?

A: Taash knows best how to fight giant enemies

Who did Rook choose to take with them for the final battle against Elgar’nan and why?

A: Emmerich and Davrin, Emmrich is a skilled mage with years of knowledge also he keeps a cool mind no matter what. Davrin is a Warden he qs trained to fight Darkspawn And he's a skilled soldier who has fought many battles.

Did Rook plan to trick Solas with the fake dagger or did they think they better not risk it?

A :Tricking the god of Trickery is suicide but it was put only option if he would have not let him  be talked down

Did Morrigan give you Felassen’s Rune? How did Rook use it?

A Fellassen helped me finish it all for good

Did Rook have a lover to talk with before the final battle? How did they feel in that moment?

A: Lucanis and I talked… His words embedded themself in my brain they guided me up that tower and echoed inside me as i slayed a god

After defeating Elgar’nan, how did Rook deal with Solas and the veil? Was it different than they had planned? If so, why and how?

A: I Talked with him… He had to overcome his regrets…. Mithal was there and seeing tbe mighty Dread wolf breakdown …..  cried as i saw the Inquisitor leave with him together into the fade i hope to some day to hear from then again 

What did Rook do on the day after saving the world?

I returned to the lighthouse…. and slept a long Dreamless sleep…. I think it was Dreamless….

Lightning Round - AFTERMATH VERSION

Favorite scent:Fresh grounded Coffee and the forest

Favorite food: Paella 

Favorite animal: Griffons and Dragons 

Favorite book or story: Varric's last book he never released

Favorite drink: Coffee

Favorite item of clothing: my Crow attire 

Favorite keepsake: An antivan crow mask, varrrics shawing mirror

Favorite place:the lighthouses dining table and the wolf's lair

Favorite person: Lucanis 

Favorite little treat: Hazelnut Torte

Who is Rook?

We have no Keep to keep our memories this time my friends, so I made a thing. Use it as you will, take pieces, use parts, do the whole damn thing, whatever. Thanks to @mageofquandrix for the backup on this!

Leaving the spoilery part beneath the cut.

Who is Rook?

Name:

Pronouns:

Race:

Faction:

Class:

Specialization:

Before The Veilguard

Where was Rook born? Who were their childhood family and friends? What did they spend their free time doing as a child? What did they want to be when they “grew up” if anything.

Where and how was Rook educated? What did they enjoy learning; what did they dislike learning? Who did they admire most? Who was an example of what not to do or be?

How did they experience gender as a young person? Did they grow up in an environment of strict gender roles and expectations or were they allowed to be themselves? 

What was their take on sexuality as a young person? Did they experiment with romance or find it entirely uninteresting?

What was their take on spirituality as a young person? Did they grow up around one particular religion and if so how did that affect their beliefs?

What childhood fear(s) did Rook carry with them into adulthood?

How did Rook become involved with their chosen faction? Who did they meet first, and how, and where, and why did they join up?

Was Rook interested in finding a life partner of some kind when they joined their faction? Why? Who were their best friends and how did they meet? Who were their rivals, who did they trust?

Did Rook have any scars or tattoos? What’s the story behind them?

Did Rook ever strongly identify with a particular nationality, city, race, creed, or religion? Is this something they explored on their own or a tradition that was passed down to them? Did this identity evolve as they grew into adulthood?

Lightning Round - PREGAME VERSION

Favorite scent:

Favorite food:

Favorite animal:

Favorite book or story:

Favorite drink:

Favorite item of clothing:

Favorite keepsake:

Favorite place:

Favorite person:

Favorite little treat:

During The Veilguard (HEAVY SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT)

Act 1: Signs and Portents

What was Rook’s status with their own faction at the beginning of the game? Why were they recruited by Varric?

What did Rook think of Varric when they first met? Did Rook support Varric’s choice to confront Solas alone?

Did Rook take Neve or Harding with them when they went to interrupt the ritual themselves? Why?

How did Rook engage with stories of the elven gods at the beginning of the Veilguard? Were the familiar or strange? Was it disorienting to have them rewritten or did it make no real difference to them?

What was Rook’s instinctive reaction to having Solas in their head and dreams? How did Rook respond when Solas asked them why they should be the one to lead the Veilguard?

Did Rook think Neve was right about needing more investigation before acting or that Harding was right that there was no time to spare? What made them think that?

What did Rook decide to do with Mayor Julius of D’Meta’s crossing? Why?

How did Rook react to Harding’s new magic? Were they supportive or wary or a mix of both? 

How did Rook feel among the ancient elven magic and ruins of Arlathan? Did they find Bellara’s work disturbing or fascinating or something else?

How did Rook feel about working with a bunch of assassins, the Antivan Crows? Were they familiar with the organization, a Crow themselves, or something else? How did they feel about Lucanis, specifically about Lucanis and Spite?

How did Rook feel about the Shadow Dragons? Had they ever been to Minrathous before or just heard stories? How did Neve strike them at first?

What did Rook think of the Wardens when they met them? The First Warden? Antoine and Evka? Davrin (and his tits)? And of course, the MVP, Assan?

Did Rook choose to help Minrathous or Treviso? Why?

How did Rook feel after seeing what happened to the city they couldn’t save? Who did they talk to about it, if anyone, and how did they feel toward Neve and Lucanis in the aftermath?

Had Rook ever been to Rivain before? What were their impressions? Did they have any experience with Antaam or Qunari outside the Qun? What did they think of Taash and Shanthann?

What was Rook’s first impression of the Nevarran Necropolis? Were they interested, disturbed, or something else? What did they think of Emmrich and, most importantly, Manfred?

What did Rook think of the Inquisitor? Did they become personal friends or did they keep it professional? Who was the Inquisitor’s lover, if any, and did Rook have an opinion of that?

At the Siege of Weisshaupt, how did Rook deal with the First Warden and why?

Act 2: The Price of the Past

How did Rook react to the aftermath of Weisshaupt? Were they sad, angry, scared, all of the above, or something else? Did they blame themselves? Lucanis? The First Warden? Ghilan'nain? Who did they talk to about it, and did they show their true feelings to their companions?

Had Rook developed a romantic interest in one of their companions--or someone else!--by the time Weisshaupt fell? If so, were they eager to explore it or afraid to? Why?

Who were Rook’s closest companions, and what did they like about them? Who irritated Rook, if anyone, and how?

How did Rook respond to Davrin and Lucanis’s animosity finally boiling over? Were they sympathetic to one or the other or to both?

When Elgar’nan took the Dalish prisoners to use as sacrifices, what was Rook’s first reaction? Were they resolved, raging, sad, or some combination? Did they talk to any of their companions about it?

What was Rook’s reaction to The Butcher’s proposition to them in Treviso? Did they respect it, think it was bonkers, or something else? Did they discuss it with any of their companions after the fact?

Did Rook express concerns about Illario’s behavior to Lucanis? Did Rook encourage him to punish or to forgive Illario? Did Rook encourage Lucanis to work with Spite to save Catarina or to punish Illario? What were Rook’s impressions of Catarina both before and after her kidnapping? How did Rook feel about Lucanis becoming First Talon?

Did Rook support Bellara in her desire to save Cyrian or did they encourage her to be more forceful in stopping him immediately? Did they encourage her to keep the Nadas Dirthalen or to destroy it?

Did Rook encourage the alliance with the Threads in Dock Town? Did they encourage Neve to bring Dock Town hope or to become a darker protector-figure?

What was Rook’s reaction to the revelations about the Titans and the residual anger their downfall and exploitation at the hands of the Evanuris  left behind? Did it change how they felt about Harding’s new powers, and if so, how? Did they encourage Harding to embrace the Titan’s anger or to remember their compassionate side?

How did Rook encourage Davrin to train and interact with Assan? Did they suggest discipline or kindness or some mixture of both? What were Rook’s feelings on seeing the twisted recreation of Weisshaupt, The Profane City? How did the blighted First Warden react to seeing Rook again there? Did Rook decide the griffons should go to the Anderfels with the Wardens or stay in Arlathan as protectors of nature?

What did Rook think of Emmrich’s confession that he wanted to attain lichdom? Did their views on necromancy change as they got to know Emmrich and the Mourn Watch better? Did they encourage Emmrich to attain lichdom or to revive Manfred?

How did Taash’s journey to finding themselves strike Rook? What did Rook think of Shathann once they got to know her better? Did that change after her death? Did Rook encourage Taash to embrace their Rivaini culture or to fall back on the strength of their mother’s teachings about the Qun?

(If Rook didn’t romance Harding or Taash:) Did Rook encourage Taash to get a gift to express interest in Harding? What was it and why? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

(If Rook didn’t romance Never or Lucanis:) How did Rook feel about Neve and Lucanis’s Romance? Did they encourage it?

(If Rook didn’t romance Emmrich:) Did Rook encourage Emmrich to take Strife to the caves or the forest on a date? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

How did Rook deal with the friction between Taash and Emmrich? Did they encourage them to find common ground or to talk about other things? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

Did Rook romance any of their companions after all? What was that like for them, and how did it happen? Did the other companions have an opinion?

Who did Rook feel closest to by the time they were making plans with the Inquisitor to stop the gods’ ritual at the eclipse?

Did Rook choose Davrin or Harding to lead a second team at Tearstone Island? Why? How did they feel in the aftermath of Tearstone Island about that choice? How did they honor their fallen teammate later?

Did Rook choose Neve or Bellara to take down the wards at Tearstone Island? Why? Did they regret their choice? How did they come to terms with it after?

How did Rook deal with learning they’d been magically gaslit into thinking Varric was alive all this time??????

Did Rook find the Mysterious Circles?

Did Rook find all of Solas’s regrets after the Inquisitor gave them the first? What were their reactions to the revelations about:

The Golden City/The Black City and The Chantry’s doctrine being false

Mythal convincing Solas to take a mortal form

Solas being willing to sacrifice his followers for his end goals

Ancient elves originating as spirits who took mortal form

The elves -- particularly Solas and Mythal -- killing and exploiting the Titans to win the war against them

The blight being the Titan’s lost, angry dreams

Solas regaining his power pre-Inquisition by killing Mythal’s current host

Bonus Round: Were Solas and Mythal doing it?

Mythal's essence. How did they get it from her? Was it a fight or a matter of discussion? How did they feel, meeting her?

Act 3: The Wrath of Ages

Were all Rook’s allied factions at maximum strength when they launched their attack on Elgar’nan? Which ones weren’t, and why? Did Rook favor any of them? Their own? Someone else’s?

Who did Rook choose to support the Veil Jumpers in the final battle dealing with magical wards or protecting others?

Who did Rook choose to support the Crows and the Lords of Fortune in the final battle fighting mages or attacking by surprise?

Who did Rook choose to support the Wardens and the Mourn Watch in the final battle fighting massive enemies and constructs?

Who did Rook choose to take with them for the final battle against Elgar’nan and why?

Did Rook plan to trick Solas with the fake dagger or did they think they better not risk it?

Did Morrigan give you Felassen’s Rune? How did Rook use it?

Did Rook have a lover to talk with before the final battle? How did they feel in that moment?

After defeating Elgar’nan, how did Rook deal with Solas and the veil? Was it different than they had planned? If so, why and how?

What did Rook do on the day after saving the world?

Lightning Round - AFTERMATH VERSION

Favorite scent:

Favorite food:

Favorite animal:

Favorite book or story:

Favorite drink:

Favorite item of clothing:

Favorite keepsake:

Favorite place:

Favorite person:

Favorite little treat:

[holyblonded]

dia de las madres | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: you sneak around for the ultimate mother’s day surprise for alexia

warnings: no clue but why does the graphic look like that 😭

notes: in honor of alexia’s birthday enjoy this fic before sunday

"The wooden or the black?"

"Mhm... let me see them both at the same time."

"What's going on here?" Alexia asked. She spent the last five minutes of her morning trying to listen into her girlfriend and teen's conversation. Their hushed whispers made Alexia feel concerned, the feeling was not settled by both of them jumping at the sound of her voice.

"Ale," Olga smiled as you turned your phone off and sent an innocent smile to Alexia. "Did you cut your run off early?"

Alexia shook her head, squinting her eyes at the way you squirmed under her gazed. "Sí. I had a bad feeling and it seems I am right. What are the two of you hiding?"

Before either could answer, Alexia's phone rang with a familiar ringtone. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as you recognized the ringtone as Eli's. Alexia sighed before answering, "Hola, mamí."

As soon as Alexia answered her phone, you and Olga shared a look before making your escape.

“Go, go, go,” she whispered, nudging you toward the hallway.

You darted around the corner, trying to keep your footsteps light, while Olga followed a second later, smoothly pulling the bedroom door shut behind her.

Back in the kitchen, Alexia narrowed her eyes as she listened to Eli talk. Something felt… off. The apartment had been way too quiet the last few seconds.

She glanced toward the now-empty living room, her lips pressing together.

“Mami, te llamo luego (i’ll call you later),” she murmured into the phone before hanging up.

Silence.

Alexia’s eyes flicked to the hallway. She knew better than to assume innocence. “Estrellita? Olga?” she called out.

No answer.

Narrowing her eyes, she slowly made her way toward the bedrooms.

Meanwhile, inside your room, you and Olga sat cross-legged on the floor, the glow of your phone the woodshop website.

“Okay, so, wooden or black?” you whispered, scrolling through the options.

Olga hummed, tilting her head. “Wood feels more like her.”

“That’s what I thought,” you muttered. You hesitated for a second before clicking on the customization tab. “And the engraving?”

Olga smirked. “You already know what you want, don’t you?”

You bit your lip but nodded, typing out the words carefully.

Just then, both of you froze at the sound of footsteps outside the door.

Olga’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

“Act natural,” you hissed, scrambling to turn your phone screen off.

The footsteps paused right outside.

“Estrelleta?”

You and Olga sat completely still, staring at the door like two deer caught in headlights.

Alexia lingered for a moment before sighing. “If you two are up to something, I’ll find out eventually,” she muttered before walking away.

You waited a few more seconds before exhaling. “That was close.”

Olga grinned, nudging you playfully. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

You smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

With the crisis averted, you turned back to your phone, your fingers hovering over the final confirmation button.

“Wood it is,” you whispered, clicking purchase.

Lucy, Mapi, and Alexia watched as you completed the extra laps as Vicky teased you from the sidelines.

"Capi, you do know Estrellita hasn't done anything today, sí?" Mapi asked for clarification. "She was actually on her best behavior."

"Sí... but her and Olga are keeping a secret." Alexia explained and if you looked closely, you could see the pout on her face.

"So you are mad that a teenager is keeping a secret from her guardian?" Lucy asked, following Mapi's lead. "Isn't that all they do?"

"Sí, again but-"

Mapi cut her friend off, "So what is the problem? She's just being a teen and isn't that the goal? Also, what happened to not letting her be punished for things she did at home here?"

Alexia closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, muttering profanities under her breath. Much to her annoyance, both Lucy and Mapi were right. "Nena!" She shouted, causing you to stop mid jog and look over. "Laps are over, go clean up we're going home."

Your face broke out into a gleam, you ran towards Mapi and Lucy to place a kiss on their cheeks in thanks before going to the locker room.

Alexia glared at the two defenders proud, accomplished expressions on their face. "I don't like you two."

"Love you too, Ale."

The secrecy didn't end there, no. In fact, it only became worse specifically at Sunday dinner with Eli and Alba. Unfortunately Olga was in Madrid for a work trip and couldn't join, therefore she couldn't distract Alexia.

"Go to the family room and the box near the fireplace-" You, Eli, and Alba stood in the kitchen plotting together. The sight would've brought a tear to her eye if she didn't know they were talking about her.

"Again! Seriously?" Alexia complained, a serious sense of deja vu washing over her. "What's up with everybody lately?"

Eli gently shoved you and Alba in the direction of the family room, you desperately trying to avoid Alexia's piercing gaze.

"Hija, it's nothing. Si us plau, aneu a la cuina i comproveu la paella per mi, d'acord (please go in the kitchen and check on the paella for me, okay)?" Eli question truly left no room for negotiation so Alexia sighed and went to check on dinner. Eli peaked into the family room to check on you and Alba before going into the kitchen to distract her eldest daughter.

As soon as Alexia disappeared into the kitchen, you and Alba sprung into action.

“Quick, before she comes back,” Alba whispered, leading the way into the family room.

You crouched in front of the fireplace, glancing over your shoulder like a criminal about to commit a heist. “Are you sure it’s in here?”

“Mami said it should be in the wooden box at the bottom,” Alba murmured, already sifting through the neatly stacked albums and trinkets.

Your fingers brushed against cool wood, and you carefully pulled out the small, slightly worn box. The two of you exchanged a glance before you slowly lifted the lid.

“Got it,” Alba whispered, her eyes scanning the contents. “It should be in here somewhere.”

Before you could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway.

“Shit!” you hissed, shoving the box into Alba’s hands and scrambling to look casual.

Alexia appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “What are you two doing?”

Alba, ever the quick thinker, didn’t miss a beat. “Looking for old photos! We thought it’d be nice to go through some memories while we wait for dinner.”

Alexia’s gaze flicked between the two of you, clearly unconvinced. “And you needed to whisper about it?”

“Nostalgia is a sacred thing,” you blurted out.

Alba coughed to cover her laugh, but Alexia just sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I swear, between you, Olga, and my own mother, I’m starting to feel like I’m the outsider in my own family.”

“Hija, stop being dramatic and come set the table!” Eli’s voice floated in from the kitchen, perfectly timed.

Alexia huffed, clearly still suspicious but too distracted to push further. “Fine, but I know you two are up to something.”

The second she was gone, you and Alba exhaled in unison.

“That was way too close,” you muttered, heart still racing.

Alba grinned, slipping the box behind her back. “But we got it. Now we just have to keep her from figuring it out.”

You groaned, already dreading the challenge. “That’s impossible.”

“Then it’ll be fun,” Alba teased before the two of you headed back toward the dining room, acting as if nothing had happened at all.

"Amor! Estrellita and I are going to the market. Breakfast is in the microwave don't wait up!" Olga called out before closing the front door.

Just like that her plan was in effect, Alexia came out of their bedroom dressed in all black with sunglasses on. She had to do this mission alone, she had no one to trust. Not even Alba.

She checked the AirTag she hide in Olga's car and saw she started driving prompting Alexia to run to her car and follow.

Alexia gripped the steering wheel tightly, her jaw set as she trailed a cautious distance behind Olga's car. The AirTag on her phone displayed the tiny moving dot that marked their location, and she couldn't help but feel her chest tighten with every turn Olga took.

"Market, huh?" Alexia muttered under her breath, the words bitter as they left her mouth. Dressed inconspicuously in black and sunglasses, she blended into the sea of traffic, her every move deliberate.

As the car in front turned down a quiet street, Alexia slowed, careful not to draw attention. Her pulse quickened when she saw the destination: a modern building with large glass windows and a sign that read "Martorell & Son Law."

"Why are they at our lawyers office?" Alexia murmured, parking her car just far enough away to remain hidden.

She adjusted her sunglasses and leaned forward, her eyes glued to you and Olga as the pair stepped out of the car. Olga seemed calm, her arm around your shoulder as the walk to the building got shorter.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as Alexia waited. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, her mind racing with possibilities.

Finally, the two emerged from the building. Alexia straightened in her seat, her heart thudding against her ribs. Olga held a stack of papers in her hand, her expression unreadable. Estelle walked beside her, her face serious but calm.

Then, to Alexia's surprise, Olga stopped, turned to you, and pulled you into a tight hug. The embrace was warm, heartfelt—Olga resting her chin on your shoulder as she held you close. You clung back, your taller frame wrapped in Olga's arms.

Alexia's stomach churned as she watched from the car. Something was happening—something important—and she was on the outside, left to piece it together from scraps.

"Bon día!"

"Feliz Día de la Madre (Happy Mother's Day)!"

The shouts from you and Olga woke Alexia out of her slumber.

"Huh, what?"

You stepped up, a tray in your hands filled with Alexia's favorite breakfast foods wearing a nervous smile. Alexia's silence only made the girl more nervous.

"Sorry," You set the tray down next to Alexia. "I knew I shouldn't hav-"

You were cut off by Alexia's arms wrapping around you and pulling you on to the bed. Your head fell into Alexia's neck as you returned the hug. "Estrelleta, it's perfect. Thank you."

"Estrelleta, it's perfect. Thank you," Alexia murmured into your hair, her arms wrapped tightly around you. Her words eased the nervous knot in your stomach as you relaxed into her embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your cheek.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her face. She's still groggy, her hair sticking up in a way that makes you want to laugh, but the soft smile on her face tells you everything you need to know. She's happy.

"There's, um... more," you say, reaching for the small wrapped gift sitting on the tray. Your fingers hesitate for a second before you thrust it toward her. "Here."

Alexia raises an eyebrow but takes the gift. Her fingers carefully undo the wrapping, and when she pulls out the picture frame, her expression shifts from curiosity to something much softer, almost fragile.

The first photo is of her and her dad, a much younger Alexia grinning from ear to ear with a peewee soccer trophy in her hands. Her dad's arm is around her, matching her smile with one of his own.

The second photo is newer—of you and Alexia in your Barça jerseys, confetti raining down around you both as you clutch the Champions League trophy together.

"You like it?" you ask, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

She doesn't answer immediately. Instead, her thumb brushes over the glass, lingering on the photo of her dad, and then she looks up at you. Her eyes glisten, but the smile on her face is brighter than you've ever seen it.

"M'agrada molt," she says softly. "I love it, Estrelleta. Thank you." (I like it a lot.)

Before you can respond, Olga clapped her hands together. "Estrellita, mi nena, don't you want the give her the other gift too?"

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. "Olga!"

"Estrellita..." Olga gave you an eyebrow raise that made you shrink into yourself.

Alexia looks between the two of you, her brows furrowing in confusion. "What's going on?"

With an exasperated sigh, you reach for the envelope you'd hidden under the tray. You hold it out to Alexia, your hands shaking slightly. "Okay, um... so I wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but Olga said it was, and I hope you think so too, and—"

"Estrelleta," Alexia interrupts, her voice gentle. "Breathe."

You nod, inhaling deeply, and Alexia takes the envelope from you. She opens it slowly, her eyes scanning the papers inside.

When she realizes what she's holding, she freezes. Her gaze snaps back to you, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest.

"Are these..." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"Adoption papers," you confirm, biting your lip nervously. "I mean, if you want to. You've already been, like... the best mom I could ever have, actually the best mom I've ever had, so I thought maybe..."

Your words trail off as Alexia pulls you into another hug, this one tighter than the first. She doesn't say anything, but you can feel her tears soaking into your shirt as she holds you close.

Olga, standing in the doorway, claps her hands together. "Okay, I'm crying. Someone needs to bring me tissues. This is too much."

But you don't care about Olga's commentary. All you care about is the way Alexia's arms feel around you, the way her voice shakes when she finally whispers, "Yes. A thousand times, yes."

[chlerc]

hidden recordings ; charles leclerc

— summary; you never realised how sentimental and adorable charles could be until you come across the black box tucked away in a corner of a drawer.

pairing — highschool-best-friend-charles leclerc x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 1172.

content — 5 short recordings he recorded just to remember you, and how he secretly wishes you’d stumble upon it one day. he loves you a lot, like a loooottttttt. you’re it for him.

NAVIGATION + author’s note: i love this vcr love confession concept so much, it’s so cute recording things and people that means the most to you. happy chinese new year :o

THE LATE AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT FILTERED softly through the window, casting a warm, amber glow across the apartment as she worked her way through the cluttered shelves. It was supposed to be a simple day of tidying up — a routine chore that had grown overdue — but as always, the small, nostalgic things had a way of slowing her down. Dust motes danced in the air as she opened an old, wooden box tucked away in the corner of a drawer, a box she had almost forgotten. Its contents were a time capsule of sorts, filled with small mementos and keepsakes that had survived the years — photographs, letters, concert tickets, and little trinkets that had woven themselves into the fabric of her relationship with Charles.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she sifted through the items, fingers brushing over the worn edges of a photograph of them as children, their innocent grins forever preserved in time. It was a testament to how far they’d come, from childhood friends to something far deeper, a bond that had grown over years of shared experiences and memories. As she dug further into the box, her hand paused as it closed around something unfamiliar — a small, black thumb drive, half-buried beneath a stack of old letters.

Her brow furrowed in curiosity as she pulled it out, turning it over in her fingers. It wasn’t labelled, and for a moment, she wondered what it could contain. Charles was never one to leave things lying around without a reason, and this had clearly been tucked away for some time. Her curiosity piqued, she reached for her laptop, a quiet hum of intrigue settling over her as she plugged the thumb drive into the port.

The screen flickered to life, revealing a folder containing five short video files. No titles, just numbered sequences — each one simple and unassuming, yet they called to her like fragments of a forgotten story. With a small click, she opened the first file, and her heart skipped a beat as the screen filled with the familiar face of Charles, much younger, his boyish charm evident even then.

He must have been in his early teens in this first video. His hair was a little unruly, the way it always used to be when he wasn’t bothered by appearances, and there was a hint of nervousness in the way he looked directly into the camera. He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before speaking. “Uh, hi,” he began, his voice cracking slightly with the uncertainty of youth. “So, I’m not really sure why I’m doing this… but I guess it’s just something I wanted to keep. A reminder, maybe. For her.” There was a pause, and he ran a hand through his hair, glancing off-camera as if gathering his thoughts. “She’s always been there, you know? My best friend… even though I’m older, I still think she’s way braver than I am.”

A soft chuckle escaped her as she watched him stumble through his words, that endearing awkwardness still as familiar as ever. The screen flickered as the video ended, and without hesitation, she opened the next one. This time, Charles appeared a little older, his features more defined, his smile a little more confident.

“It’s funny,” he said, the camera slightly shaky as if he were holding it himself, “I never realised how much she means to me until recently. We’ve always been together, and it’s like… it’s always been her. I don’t know how else to explain it.” His gaze softened, and there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made her heart ache in the sweetest way. “She’s the one person who can make everything feel right, even when things are a mess. I think, no — I know, I’m in love with her. I’ve been in love with her for longer than I knew.”

The words hung in the air, settling deep within her as she paused the video, feeling the weight of his confession even though it had been made years ago. It was a piece of him, captured in time, before they had ever taken that leap from friends to something more. She pressed play again, her heart caught in her throat.

The third video was taken during what looked like a school trip. The background was noisy, filled with the laughter of classmates and the hum of distant chatter. Charles was standing by a river, looking a little winded as if he had just finished some outdoor activity. “She’s going to laugh at this,” he grinned, breathless but radiant. “She always teases me about being uncoordinated, but she’s the one who nearly fell into the river earlier. I had to catch her — again.” His smile softened. “I wouldn’t change a thing, though. She’s… she’s my favourite person in the world.”

By the fourth video, she found herself holding back tears. In this one, he was visibly older, perhaps just before he left for university. His expression was more serious, the playful boyishness replaced with something more resolute. “I’m leaving soon,” he began, his voice quieter, as though he were speaking directly to her even though she wasn’t there. “And it terrifies me. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, being apart for the first time in… ever. But I know one thing for sure: no matter where I go, or how long we’re apart, I’ll always come back to her. I have to. She’s… she’s home.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she clicked on the final video, her breath catching in her chest. In this one, Charles was as she knew him now — his familiar face filling the screen with that smile that always seemed to disarm her. “If you’re watching this,” he said softly, “then you’ve found it. I wasn’t sure if you ever would, but I hoped you might.” His eyes glimmered with affection, his smile gentle. “You’ve always been the best part of my life. From the very beginning. I made these videos because I wanted to remember — wanted you to remember — how much you’ve always meant to me. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’m going to keep loving you for the rest of my life.”

Her vision blurred as the final video ended, the stillness of the room punctuated by the steady hum of the laptop. She sat there for a long moment, overwhelmed by the depth of what she had just witnessed — memories of Charles, preserved like fragments of a love story that spanned years. Each video was a testament to the quiet, unwavering devotion that had always existed between them, even before they had given it a name.

As she closed the laptop, her heart swelled with an indescribable warmth. This was their story — one that began in childhood and grew into something more, something profound. And as she held the thumb drive in her hand, she knew that whatever lay ahead, they would always have these memories to hold onto.

[natalievoncatte]

Alex rolled onto her side, and was a little surprised to see Kelly Olsen laying next to her, turned away and curled up the Egyptian cotton of her bed

(their bed)

snoozing softly in the morning light. Alex took the time, as one does, to admire the vulpine curves of Kelly’s back and the elegant sweep of her shoulders. She wanted nothing more but to lean in and plant a soft kiss on the back of her neck and wake her, which would hopefully lead into a glorious Saturday morning of sun-kissed, gentle lovemaking that would result in an forgotten breakfast and breathy declarations seared into hot skin with caressing fingers and tasting lips.

Unfortunately her fucking phone was going off.

Alex rolled out of bed and snatched it, relieved that she hadn’t disturbed her girlfriend. She threw on a button-down as a makeshift robe and plodded out into the kitchen.

She wasn’t expecting a call from…

“Lena?”

“Alex?”

“Yeah, what’s up? You don’t call me often.”

“I need help. It’s an emergency. Sort of.”

Alex glanced back at Kelly’s languid form and one long leg slipping out from under the sheets.

“Where’s Kara?”

“I can’t talk to Kara about this. It has to be you, Alex.”

“Okay, sure,” Alex said, warily. “We can grab a coffee later at-“

“Alex, it has to be now and at my place. This is serious.”

Alex bit her lip. There was a compelling urgency to Lena’s voice. Alex didn’t have Kara’s super senses but she could pick up the nervous energy and hint of feed behind the words.

“Okay,” said Alex. “I’m on my way.”

Alex pulled on her cleanest pants and most readily available tank top and scribbled a note for Kelly (encouraging her to either stay in or be back in bed by the time Alex returned, as their business was unfinished) and grabbed her car keys.

Rising her bike would have been… a sore subject, as it were.

Morning traffic was surprisingly light and she made good time. Lena buzzed her up and she walked into Lena’s weirdly cold penthouse, and found her sister’s best friend pacing rapidly back and forth, dressed in a hoodie and hugging herself.

“Okay,” said Alex. “I’m here, Lena. What’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant,” Lena blurted out, before Alex had finished speaking.

Alex stared at her.

“Funny, I always thought you were a virgin.”

Lena glared at her. Alex knew why Kara was so fascinated by her- she had those big pretty eyes that radiated sadness and set off Kara’s protective instincts. Alex had figured out a long time ago that these two dipshits should just bang it out, but it wasn’t really her place to tell them, especially if it meant outing Lena, or dealing with Kara’s baggage from her weirdly fascist home planet and its bizarre ideas about sex.

(One example of said baggage being her sister’s heart breaking over the alien fuckboi from the asshole planet. If only Kara had realized that her gorgeous kind billionaire best friend was in love with her… you know, before the whole world domination Kryptonite laser thing)

(People who aim orbital fusion cannons at their friends should not cast stones, Alex had decided)

“Alex?”

Oh. Lena was talking. Alex pretty much blue screened there.

“Right, you’re pregnant. Are you sure?”

“I’ve taken two tests, and I’m late.”

Alex rubbed at her chin. Lena looked like a drowned rat, more than a little terrified.

Alex swallowed hard.

“Okay, first question. Did someone hurt you?”

Lena looked up sharply. “What? No.”

Standing to pace the room again, Lena rubbed at her arms as if she were cold.

“So um,” said Alex. “Do you need my help with…”

“I just need someone I can talk to that isn’t Kara. I can’t tell her yet.”

Alex swallowed. Hard. “Okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

Lena sighed and stared out her balcony window.

“Do you remember that game night where we all got sloshed, last month?”

“Yeah,” said Alex. “You hosted. As I recall, Kara was the last to leave.

“She didn’t leave. I… I did something stupid. I tried to seduce her, clumsily. I was drunk off my ass.”

Alex tensed, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

“Oh,” said Alex. “She brushed you off and you went out for a hookup? I’ve done worse. Are things okay between you?”

Lena stared at Alex as if she’d just grown a second head.

“No, Alex. Kara spent the night. She insisted we not do anything intimate until we both sobered up, but I talked her into staying in bed with me.”

Alex sighed. “You got any of that expensive single malt? Your dad’s brand?”

“It’s eleven in the morning.”

“Well, it’s not like you can drink it. You can have juice.”

Lena glared at her. “Cabinet by the fridge.”

Alex ended up pouring two glasses of cranberry juice and sat down at the kitchen island, pushing one over to Lena.

Lena sighed. “I don’t want to get into the details but we were definitely sober when we woke up.”

“And?” said Alex.

“We, um, we had sex,” said Lena.

“And then she got weird and brushed you off and you went out for a hookup?”

“What? No! Just let me finish telling the story.”

Alex sipped her juice, enjoying the bite on her tongue. “Okay.”

“We’ve been sort of seeing each other ever since. Quietly, keeping it to ourselves. Kara is…” Lena sighed, “she’s very protective and she’s afraid that you’ll get upset if you find out we’re together.”

Alex’s fist closed tightly around her glass.

“Lena,” Alex explained, “I’ve forgiven and forgotten a lot from you, but I’m having a hard time understanding how this happened if you’re with my sister. Did you cheat on her?”

Lena looked up sharply from her glass. “What the fuck, Alex? How could you even ask me that? God, am I ever going to be good enough for your sister? I know I fucked up. I know what I did was wrong. Hurting her was the worst thing I have ever done and I would trade anything to take it back, but we are in…”

“Okay,” Alex cut her off. “Fine. Our lives are fucking weird, so I’ll give you the benefit of tbe doubt. But usually you being pregnant would imply that a man was involved somehow.”

Lena blinked. “What?”

“You’re pregnant. There has to be a father.”

Lena stared at her in abject confusion.

Then she said, “Alex, Kara is the father.”

Alex looked at her for too long a moment.

“I’m sorry but what the fuck, Lena? What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Lena demanded. “It’s not my fault! I mean it is as much my fault as it is hers, but we weren’t worrying about protection the first morning and after that neither of us brought it up. I know, I’ve been stupid, I just…”

Alex’s mouth fell open.

“Protection? You and her? What the fuck?”

Lena took a long pull of cranberry juice and winced at the tartness.

“You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Apparently, under a yellow sun, Kryptonians can, um, adapt to a sexual partner’s body.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Alex snapped, “okay fine my little sister… with you… and you’re pregnant. Fine, we’re on the same page. What now?”

Lena stared at her, biting her lip as she sought answers.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“Keep it?” said Lena. “It’s Kara’s. Of course I will. That’s not even a question. I’m just… I’m scared, Alex. What does this mean? How is she going to react? What if… Jesus, I’m carrying a half-Kryptonian baby. Is that even safe?”

“It worked out fine for Lois and Clark. Twice. You’ll be okay, if having the baby is what you want.”

“It is,” said Lena. “Kara makes me deliriously happy, Alex. She was like a knight in shining armor that night and she was so kind and gentle the next morning and it’s like… like this was natural. We both fell into it so easily that it was like it had always been this way. I love her. I love her so much.”

Lena was red faced, looking embarrassed as she cast her eyes down. Alex reached across the table and took her hands.

“Well, I’m glad you dipshits figured it out. Watching you two blush and stammer at each other for another five years would’ve killed me.”

“ALEX!”

“If you want my blessing, you have it. I’m sorry I doubted you, but in my defense, I didn’t know she could… do… that.”

“Uh, right,” said Lena. “I want to call her and ask her to come over now so I can tell her. I know this should be a private moment but… can you stay? It just feels like you belong here for this.”

“Yeah, Lena. I’ll stay.”

Lena smiled.

[growth-opportunities]

Even though we don't talk anymore, this is the picture I love to go back to when I think about my old friend group. It's just so thrilling to me, to think about what this picture used to show. We were all moderately busty when we met (I have my own theories about women of similar bust sizes becoming friends, but that's for another day.) Jenny, sitting next to me in the leopard print, was the biggest at an E cup and I was the smallest, though still sitting pretty with a pair of juicy C cup tits. We were all headed up to my parents' summer home for a few days to really break in the new swimming pool. It was meant to be a dream vacation with my best friends, girls who had been my best friend for a long, long time.

All it took was a few shots of Pink Whitney to turn it into a nightmare.

Okay, that's kind of an exaggeration. It was already a nightmare, I just didn't know. But alcohol helped loosen Allison (in the back, behind Jenny)'s lips. As soon as she mentioned Joe, my boyfriend, I knew something was up. A few more shots and a screaming match later, it all came tumbling out. Turns out Joe had been cheating on me with Jenny for a few months now. Allison and Shannon knew about it but they were all keeping it a secret from me. It broke my heart, of course, but it really twisted the knife when she started talking about how her boobs meant she could steal any guy she wanted and that Joe deserved someone better than someone 'small' like me. Needless to say, I kicked them out and made them find their own way home. I had never been more furious in my entire life. Just the betrayal of it all, from people that, just days before, I felt like I could trust with my life.

I still had a few days at the vacation home, so I continued to drink all by myself, threw myself a nice little pity party. And, in a moment of impulsiveness, I may have kind of turned to magic. The others had always teased me for my interest in the occult, so I thought what better way to get back at them. And if they were all fine with stealing my boyfriend, then I had no qualms stealing something back from them. And what better than the things that Jenny thought made her so fucking superior. I threw together the stuff that I needed (though admittedly, it was a little janky to use my mom's scented candles for the ritual) and called upon the Powers Beyond to help me. Turns out, the Powers Beyond respond really well to revenge. Not only did I steal almost all of their tits, but they rewrote reality so that I always had tits that big and they were always that small.

It was unbelievably arousing to look down and see my tits swelling, watching my bikini top shift as reality adapted to my new size. Feeling their growing weight, watching as they swelled larger and larger, spilling out of the top until reality gave me a new one... I can see why people keep going back to make deals with otherworldly powers. I thought the picture of us together and happy, just before my world shattered, would always be a painful reminder, but now it's proof of my revenge. I doubt Joe is with Jenny still, in this reality, but I couldn't give a shit about them anymore. Their tits have made me absolutely enormous and I can't wait to see what life is like at this enormous size.

[todosdream]

stress relief | ony

15k wrds. strangers to friends? to lovers. slow burn. plot with smut. fem black oc. see the moodboard.

warnings: MNDI! lots of profanity, usage of n word, pet names, mentions of weed; smut: unprotected sex (PLS BE SAFE), edging, a spank or two, naaasty talk, degradation? more like brat-taming, dacryphilia for two seconds, ony rightfully has a bbc, begging, ony’s a talker (duh), choking? really just a hand necklace, pussydrunk ony, lowkey d/s but not explicitly mentioned

additional #: oc needs to get laid fr. kt needs her headphones. becca needs a new job. author doesn’t box. shout out mrs. etta. ony is chalanting with a girl for the first time. (and he’s vibing with it.) oc really needs to get laid. oc is a bit bratty… sorry. ony needs to get off his ass. oc is actually very bratty, damn. oh hell, oc gets laid!

“girl, I’ma be real with you… you need some dick,” crystal’s best friend tells her through her screen. kt’s giving a look, an interesting mix of pity and annoyance. her knotless braids are framing her face, mocha skin radiant as always but lashes looking quite barren. “yeah, and you need a lash refill, ho,” crystal snorts. since she’s bringing up needs and shit. it’s unfortunately been a while since they’ve hung out, kt now visiting family in colorado for about a week.

being the type of friends they are, the both of them have no issue communicating through tiktoks and sending pictures of silly things. just yesterday kt sent a picture of herself holding up a peace sign with a joint between her lips. she stood next to a 'no smoking' sign, the ‘no’ smudged. she thought she was just so clever. crys in return sent a saved picture of an unimpressed squidward, a typical exchange between the two goofballs.

“yeah, okay, ho. I’m just saying. maybe you’d be a little nicer to me if you got some,” she rolls her eyes, giving yzma. her rescheduled lash appointment can’t come quick enough. “says the girl getting some every day and still being mean to me,” crys scoffs.

kt’s living with her boyfriend, expecting his title to change to fiance after feeling a certain anticipatory energy from the man. her time consists of working and chatting with friends, and being with and posting videos with her partner. crys, however, explores her free time in many ways. picking up hobbies that have about a 50% chance of sticking, trying different restaurants, teaching her dog funny tricks, and the occasional friend hangout. it’s friday night and she’s doing her own nails just for the hell of it. although the uninhibited girl’s words trigger an automatic negative response, crys knows why she’s speaking them. when the phone call ends, kt will turn over and cuddle up to her man, maybe ‘get her shit rocked’ as she likes to so delicately put it. crys, however, will be left with her dog, her empty home and bed, and whichever toy she vibes with for the night.

she likes being alone, it’s an accomplishment for her to feel confident and comfortable being single after wasting her time with people that don’t care, men that don’t even actually like her. but when it’s all said and done, people are meant for connection. of course platonic, family, community… but that pull? that yearning? it can’t be replicated, no matter how many times she rewatches bridgerton or insecure.

it’s been a while since she just let go with anyone other than those already close to her. the last time she let someone new in, he showed her exactly why ‘niggas ain’t shit’ is such a popular phrase. it was a situation that didn’t make any sense, and in retrospect, she cringes. the embarrassment, the useless attempts at communication, the settling… never again. however, that’s a part of her life that’s being fully neglected. no dates, no late night rendezvous, no flirting, no sex.

one word: cobwebs.

“why are you more worried about my coochie than I am, anyway?” crys jokes as she fixes her gel polish, deflecting the conversation. it’s not something she wants to discuss or harp on. that’s just life for her right now. she’s tired of people wasting her time, so she became unavailable. simple. plus, she knows kt’s nosy ass man is lying next to her and listening because that girl never wears her damn airpods. “you think that’s an insult? girl. that only makes you look bad, not me,” she sasses. crys hears a soft snicker in the background. “oh, fuck you,” the girl mumbles in response. “and will you please put headphones on the next time you decide to go talkin’ bout my coochie? cause I’ll happily tell all those stories about yours, pimp.”

“stories?” crys hears in the background of the call. “ain’t no way she just called you that. what the hell that mean, crystal?” the bestie purses her lips and squints at crys. she watches as the brown skinned girl tilts her head, making her curls flop to the side with a ‘gotcha’ look. “I know where you live, you know that, fo’head? have a good night with your vibrator, ho,” she speaks lowly. shuffles are heard as she drops the phone onto the duvet next to her. “she don’t mean that, pookie, she’s just all pent up.” kt’s middle finger is all that’s visible on the screen before the phone echos a tone a few times, indicating the end of the call. crys snorts in response and sits her phone to the side. she sighs, looking over her nails for any imperfections as her mind echoes her words.

she wouldn’t be opposed to a night in the sheets. it’d be nice to dust off the cobwebs. get some head, maybe get her shit rocked like she hasn’t had in a while. part of her wants the slow and sensual, romantic sex with someone special. the kind of sex that touches her soul, that you can feel on every level. the other part… well. that part stays right in the cage where it belongs. that part likes to drown in frisky pleasure even if the one giving it is a life source draining leech.

it’s normal to want pleasure, it’s human. but the thought of all the bullshit that comes with dealing with another human, let alone a man in this day and age is enough to make her reconsider taking that step. so like usual, she brushes the words off and refocuses on her spa day so that she can be at her best for the work week.

ᥫ᭡

despite her best efforts, the next week is particularly irritating. mercury must be doing her shit, maybe all the damn planets, because so many people have had wack ass attitudes and it’s rubbed crys wrong. terrible interactions with customers, coworkers called out and left her in a busy store with little help, and she broke a nail doing something very much so not in her job description. on top of that, the amount of random things outside of her control that have gone haywire is deeply irritating. her tv crapped out and decided to just stop working out of nowhere, her wifi is out for local renovations, and her trash can is missing.

again.

it’s a wonder she hasn’t either had some type of crash out or just cashed in her pto for a fucking break. instead, she decides to get dressed for the gym and puts on a purple workout set. if she wants to be cute and sweaty she damn well will be. she grabs her favorite gym shoes and her essentials. she leaves her curls alone for now, but takes a scrunchie to put it up later. when she gets to the gym at a completely different time than she’s used to, it’s practically empty, save for a young and obviously bored receptionist that’s glued to her phone and a middle aged woman power walking into her destiny.

seriously, crys will have some of what she’s having. the woman is on fire.

sighing to herself, the frazzled girl goes to scan her member qr code, only for the damn scanner to decide to stop working. the blonde receptionist behind the desk sighs as if doing her job is the last thing she wants to do. crys usually wouldn’t blame her for that, but the way she’s popping her gum has the curly headed girl imagining a modern re-enactment of that one scene from that madea movie. the receptionist seems to be in absolutely no rush to fix the scanner, completely oblivious to the metaphorical cloud over crys’ head that’s growing by the minute. she fights the urge to furrow her brows and take a week’s worth of irritation out on the worker, deciding to take a deep breath instead.

the brief look up that the girl gives in response has her immediately regretting her decision.

before she can even think of something to say, the door opens behind her. she’s in no mood to look at the person, figuring they’ll both be waiting in line. she doesn’t want to seem open to small talk because she’s just not. however, the receptionist— becca, her nametag reads— looks up like the sun just graced the sky for the first time in centuries. she stands up straighter, obviously trying to make herself look like she’s doing the job that she’s been failing at, and calls over crys’ shoulder. “hey, ony, technical difficulties. you’re free to go ahead you don’t have to wait, I can check you in once this is fixed,” she smiles. that lucky bastard. it’s the first smile on her face in the entire time the bristling girl has been there. crys swears if this was a cartoon scene, the blonde girl would be fluttering her lashes with hearts in her eyes.

there’s a deep chuckle from behind. “thanks, becca. they should give you a raise,” a low, raspy voice responds. crys’ eye twitches. the hell they should, she thinks. hand me the damn performance review form cause I got shit to say. becca, now looking as if she’s on cloud nine, waves him off dismissively. “just doing my job. leg day?” she questions, trying to sound as casual as possible and not like her drool is threatening to ruin the damn scanner beyond repair. “mhm,” the stranger hums. “nice kicks,” he mumbles.

crys is too busy zoning out and imagining herself tap dancing on the broken pieces of the scanner to realize that he’s talking to her. the way becca’s eyes shift gets her attention. “oh. uh, thanks,” she murmurs, looking up. all she sees is a muscular back walking towards the men’s locker room. she doesn’t have time to look him over because ms. becca decides she actually can do her job and calls out to her that the scanner is fixed.

it just needed to be plugged up again.

ain’t no fuckin’ way.

becca doesn’t even seem embarrassed. she’s holding the scanner lazily and looking around, probably for that ony guy. the blonde doesn’t realize that crys is holding her phone out, and she’s still popping that damn gum. instead of saying something to the girl like she really wants to, she grabs the scanner from the “worker” to check her damn self in and quickly heads to the locker room. the girl doesn’t deserve her week’s worth of anger.

after some time, she’s finally out on the floor to stretch out. soon after the warm up, she’s at the punching bag. it’s not her usual choice of workout, but she took classes when she was younger and knows it’s a great way to release all that irritation from the week in a more physical outlet.

crys quickly wraps her hands and soon she’s throwing punches and listening to rico nasty, an artist who has several tracks on her ‘temper tantrum’ playlist. she gets into her groove, trying to remember the important tips from the classes she attended years ago. it’s hard to recall all the basics, but she gives it her best shot. not too long after, she notices a shadow of someone’s frame behind her. it must be that lucky asshole from earlier, probably here to be a bother. or maybe becca decided to do her job and came to tell her to move her bag off the floor. she sighs, taking out her headphones and turning to look. it’s the stranger. the man’s arms are crossed as he watches, showing his sleeves of tattoos.

crys wishes she could say he was ugly, but he’s definitely not. he’s fine as fuck, actually. his skin is dark and healthy, making him look like he actually has a skincare routine and not just 100-in-one soap. he has an athletic build visible even through his clothes that makes her want to drool like dear old becca. he’s tall, maybe 6’4 or 6’5, so she has to look up at him, even being on the taller side herself. his black durag matches his all black workout fit and she wonders what exactly lies underneath considering the size of his arms.

his demeanor is calm and steady, confident in a way that’s quiet, as opposed to many other gym bros™. his face is calm and there’s barely any tension in his body. crys thinks she’d like to make him bothered, just to get a rise. see if he’ll hold ip or bite back. but no, that’s rude, and she doesn’t know this man at all. his eyes are looking at her intently, and she despises how beautiful they are. why do men get to have natural lashes that look like that? it’s not fair she has to get extensions when his are so long with an almost perfect curl. and the color of his eyes make it worse, the light brown contrasting his dark skin so prettily. and his lips? full, perfect for kissing, among other things.

lucky bastard.

“you gone bite my head off if I suggest how to fix your form?” he asks with a simple raise of his brow.

ᥫ᭡

ony’s a hardworking man. he likes to handle business but have some fun on the side too. he’s chill. everyone would describe him as that. he’s the levelheaded friend, usually the calm in a storm, and not one to be all over the place physically, mentally, or emotionally. he’s a steady beat and he likes it that way. life is peaceful and secure, challenging in certain ways, but calm in others. he has a good paying job as a personal trainer, proper work life balance, and a good head on his shoulders. he doesn’t do too much, honestly, but that doesn’t mean that his life doesn’t have some interesting twists and turns. his boys always seem to need rescuing in some form, sisters all a whirlwind of their own. his mom is always a source of entertainment, although his dad is much like himself. he likes his life, simple as that.

but things have been becoming monotonous lately. his clients aren’t having any interesting developments and his social life is steady but uninteresting overall. his family group chat is going through a quiet spell and his boys are actually not up to anything stupid like they somehow always are. he’s been particularly unfulfilled by the game and there’s no sport he wants to keep up with as of late. it’s all kind of… blah. he’s grateful that nothing’s going wrong. he could be having a bad week as opposed to a boring one, but he aches for a spark, something different to bring a bit more color to his life. maybe he should get a pet? maybe some little fish couldn’t hurt. he thinks over the new idea while he follows his usual routine to pack up and leave for the gym.

and then he sees crys.

he notices her form as she stands at the check in desk, interest piqued. he’s never seen her before, and he comes to this gym at least five nights a week. he knows names and faces, especially since there’s usually no more than five people when he comes. her figure catches and keeps his eye, his gaze taking in the woman’s long legs, thick thighs, and plump ass, seeing how her afro falls around her shoulders. his excuse for where his gaze is centered is that it’s all he can see from where he’s standing, but it’s not much of an excuse. she’s just fine as hell. her workout fit is cute and colorful, contrasting his dark and bland one. her hand is in on her hip that’s popped out, accentuating her form.

his interest is definitely piqued.

he gets to see more of her when he comes around to speak to becca. pretty almond eyes, soft looking lips, the bottom currently being chewed with vigor. she’s beautiful… but one look at her profile and the flames in her eyes tell him all he needs to know: look the other way. ony grew up surrounded by strong black women in his life, his mom, sisters, aunts, cousins… learning to read body language and— well, the room, was something he learned quickly and he’s applied that lesson everywhere in life. everything about her body language and that cute, barely contained frown screams bad day. so he greets becca— who’s really a sweet girl, just unbothered— compliments her shoes, and moves on about his routine.

it’s like clockwork. he puts his stuff away, makes sure his chain is safe and secure, fills his water bottle, waves at mrs. etta on the treadmill, stretches, locks in, and gets the workout started.

he’s getting into his mode and enveloping himself in the feel of the workout, but he can’t help the way his eyes are pulled back to crys. the way she stretches, the way she adorably bobs her head to the seemingly… aggressive? music. she’s gorgeous and new, which has him feeling like every routine move he makes is just a little different. her and her angry pout and her curves and her curls…

she approachs a punching bag, which ony can admit he didn’t expect. the outfit convinced him she’d be power walking with mrs. etta, or doing pilates in the corner. his mom always told him what assuming does to someone, though. he looks away as he tries to focus on anything other than her. he counts his reps like usual, trying to submerge himself in his music. it doesn’t work. as soon as she takes her first swing, his eyes are back on her, taking notice of how she punches.

hm.

he can see she knows a bit more than someone just randomly choosing to throw a few hits, but he isn’t fond of some of the habits she has that could actually hurt in the long run. he debates approaching, but he’s always been one to help others in the gym. attitude be damned, he’s a personal trainer. he knows the importance of doing things correctly. after watching for a while, he decides to walk over. he knows that if she doesn’t fix her punch, she’ll be angry all over again tomorrow because of sore wrists. she turns, obviously annoyed, but he’s not scared. she looks him up and down, her facial expression barely shifting. he wonders what she’s thinking, wants to hear her voice. when she finally looks up at him with those eyes, he almost tilts his head.

how can someone be so fuckin’ pretty?

she’s a vision with her bare face. eyes he could get lost in, features he wants to admire for moments on end. he would actually guess that she’s quite sweet behind the haze of her frustration. obviously a multifaceted person, and he’s interested in the idea of learning all those facets. who she is, maybe what she likes, what she doesn’t like. maybe even what makes her happy, what would put a smile on the adorably scrunched up face. for some reason, he wants to see that happy expression. actually, as a matter of fact, he wants to see all her expressions. smiling, confused, relaxed, aroused. she’s caught him with a simple gaze and he’s confused about it.

“you actually know what you’re doing?” she asks. it’s not meant to be a jab, truthfully. she’s been hit on by guys that try to “help” just to flirt, but ultimately make a fool of themselves— and her for giving them the opportunity. she doesn’t have the patience for it today, it in fact might be the straw that breaks her back. she can see amusement tickle at his expression, but no signs of him being offended.

because he’s not. he can tell she isn’t asking in a facetious way, she just seems… tired. like she doesn’t want her time wasted. he can respect that. “I promise you, I do,” he says with a slight smile. just a little one, unable to contain his utter enjoyment in her sass, and still having that almost sickening feeling of attraction.

crys hums, her gaze sweeping over him again briefly, taking in his calm but confident demeanor. the little smile on his face is lowkey pissing her off, but she has enough sense to know it’s because she has a lot of stress to work out. he’s fine as hell and now’s really not the time for all that. even still, he’s bold to come over with the metaphorical storm still rolling above her head. bold… or stupid. who walks towards a burning house? but she knows if he could tell her form was off from so far, she could really be messing herself up with how she’s going at the punching bag. she wants to just kick and punch it randomly, similar to what her ‘temper tantrum’ playlist suggests, but she knows that’s no good. and again, he’s fine as hell.

all the same, she’s still irritated and frustration-filled. “sure, yeah,” she mumbles as she turns back to the bag.

ony’s quite intrigued, interestingly enough. he knows a person close to the brink when he sees one. he can see the irritation in her eyes and in the way her shoulders are set. her movements are stiff and her brows are still pinched, gorgeous even with the possibly dangerous amount of upset toiling in her. despite her tense demeanor, he can tell she’s still at least trying to be respectful. and he appreciates it.

“what’s your name?” he asks, shifting to stand next to her. she’s staring at the bag, itching to just punch. “crys,” she answers, sparing him a glance as she fixes the wrapping on her hands. she’s pulling it tight, her movements swift. she can feel him watching her intently and she doesn’t know how she feels about it.

he nods. “ony. I’m no expert but I can share a few tips to keep you from gettin’ hurt. mind if I touch you?” he asks, the question second nature from dealing with his clients. he knows better than to start without given permission, and he definitely knows he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of her irritation. “s’fine,” she answers, ignoring the very inappropriate response that her brain comes up with. not now, brain. nasty ass. she really just wants him to hurry up so she can go back to punching, but she supposes she can hold back for a few more minutes if it’s him that’s going to touch her. plus it’s important to do it right, and even through her upset she knows that and is grateful for his help. if he could just be a little faster, though, that’d be wonderful.

he approaches, gently taking her hand in his as he unwraps her binding. “it’s a good wrap, but they shouldn’t be too tight. you gone hurt yourself that way,” he mumbles. his hands move slowly, demonstrating to her as he explains. it’s not in the show off-y way she expected, but direct and intentional instead. she’s glad he’s helping but a part of her is focused a bit too much on how his hands feel, how calming his voice is. “you should be able to spread your fingers. this’ll save your wrists and then some, yeah?” he murmurs, gently tapping her hand. still upset, she hates how soothing the contact is. she doesn’t need soothing, she needs violence.

that… might be dramatic. she knows it. but the week’s frustrations have all built to this moment and she plans to take full advantage of the punching bag in front of her. if he doesn’t pick up the pace, he might just take its place, handsome or not. “gotcha,” she mutters. “can I hit the bag now?” ony chuckles, and she’s mad that she really likes the sound. “sure. do a couple jabs.”

she takes a deep breath, her focus zoning on the bag. his presence fades slightly as she begins going at it, a bit overzealous. he lets her take a few punches, seeing how she obviously needs it. his gaze sweeps her form, watching her hips swivel slightly as she swings. her hits start with a decently healthy form, but the more she gets into it, ony can tell her focus is slipping. “okay, hold,” he murmurs. she doesn’t hear him and continues punching. her breathing is picking up and the cute scrunch between her brows is deepening. “hold,” he says louder, getting her attention. she huffs and raises out of her stance, blowing a stray out of her face. she steps forward and holds the bag to stop its movements, looking over at him.

ony could almost laugh at the way the curl flops right back into place. swears he could almost see her eyebrow twitch. damn, who pissed her off? “you got some good habits and some bad habits,” he mumbles, standing parallel to her now. “need to swing your hips more, not push through your arm. pop the bag, don’t push your punch.” he moves slowly as he speaks, demonstrating his words with his movements. it’s easy to follow, but his muscles are stealing the show, to crys’ dismay. “I was doing that,” she mumbles in response because she indeed was. “mhm, at the beginning. the more you put in, the less you focus on your form,” he says as he returns to his earlier position, arms crossed. “go again,” he nods. “bossy,” she mumbles. she likes it. he’s giving proper tips and doesn’t really care about her attitude, seeming unaffected.

ony chuckles, seemingly knowing there’s no actual anger in her tone, at least not completely directed at him. crys supposes he’s right. when she gets in the flow, her mind focuses less on her form and more on the happenings of the week. she definitely could’ve weakened her stance, and his words bring memories of her previous instructor. he might not be an expert, but he knows what he’s saying for sure. she gets back into her stance and takes a few more hits, more focused on her form this time around. she can’t quite lose herself to the exercise with the newfound focus, and she doesn’t like it. “better,” ony calls out. “keep goin’.” so she does. she follows his instructions to a t, feeling a bit more comfortable with the continued form as she practices.

“nice, real nice,” he murmurs, shifting to hold the bag from behind. he notices the hesitation in her movements as she focuses on her form. “come on,” his deep voice encourages. “where that fire go, huh? tellin’ me you can’t fight and focus?” crys, probably feeling goaded, looks up to him for a moment. ony could laugh again at the look in her eyes, but he doesn’t. “don’t look at me, look at the bag. you mad, I know it. let it out,” he nods his head to the bag in his hands. he doesn’t have to tell her twice. she starts to hit with more vigor, putting more into her punches. “mhm, yeah. control that shit, stay tight. swivel your— there you go, exactly,” he encourages. she’s picking it up, movements smoother and becoming more confident by the minute.

shit’s sexy as fuck.

crys is actually starting to fuck with him more, feeling herself in the workout. the way he’s talking is having an affect on her, and she knows she’ll be thinking back on this very moment tonight. his voice is deep, and slightly raspy as she keeps at it, and the encouraging makes her wonder if he’s like that in… different circumstances. she can feel her breath picking up for several reasons. “had you mad as fuck, huh? had you fucked up?” ony questions, pushing her a bit more. “let that shit out, ma. ain’t doin’ you no good to hold it in.” they both know that he’s telling the truth. she was just about bursting at the seams and his encouragement is helping her tap back into that. she punches harder, small grunts falling from her lips. the week’s frustrations are pouring out of her now and she’s pushing herself so that she can get him out of her head.

the way he’s talking to her in her amped up state just shouldn’t be legal. she’s pretty sure he’s the type to talk his girl through it, probably tease and taunt to get a reaction. damn, she needs to get laid. “form,” he reminds as her focus slips. she gives a quick nod, readjusting herself quickly before taking another shot. ony likes how quickly she responds to his guidance. “hell yeah, you got that shit. keep goin’, mama. ain’t nobody fuckin’ with you, that’s for damn sure.”

damn his fine ass with his deep voice and his face and his pet name.

she keeps going until every ounce of upset is drained, listening to his encouragement and occasional shit talking at a particularly weak punch or slip of focus. she’ll be honest, she feels good. great, actually. she feels as if she actually knows what she’s doing, confident in her moves. the upset has trickled away, but its absence is leaving too much space to think about the man in front of her. his fine ass is pushing her in the way she likes and needs, encouraging but taunting just the way she likes it.

after several more minutes, she steps back, panting. “killed that shit,’ ony mumbles, double tapping the bag. she really did, the difference between her earlier attempts and now is stark. and all because of just a few pointers. he watches as she catches her breath and unwraps her hands. “you done?” he questions. he wasn’t expecting her to finish so soon, she was just getting in her groove. he was honestly expecting a few more rounds.

“yeah,” crys answers as she nods. “thanks for your help, really. just needed to blow off some steam.” feeling better now, she decides that she should finish out with her regular workout. the less angry she is, the more she focuses on that damn smirk on his face, the way his muscles move with each shift of his body, the birthmark she’s spotted on his jaw. she’s trying hard to resist the pull she feels as she catches her breath. she gets another chuckle from ony. “could tell. I almost didn’t even come over. bad day?”

crys gives a sheepish smile, sliding her wrap in her bag. ony likes the smile a lot, but he wants more. “my bad. bad week, actually,” the woman responds. ony shakes his head, uncrossing his arms. “no harm, I get it,” he responds. and he really does, most of the time people’s attitudes really have nothing to do with you. “you should keep at it though, you got good form. at least when you’re focused. with some more practice, you could easily make it muscle memory.” and I��d like to see you more, he thinks. crys smiles and nods. “think I will. thanks again for your help, woulda been pissed if I hurt myself.”

ony’s eyes trail over her features. with the metaphorical cloud gone, she’s shining brighter. her smile is gorgeous, revealing a small gap in her teeth and a crinkle by her eyes. yeah. fuckin’ beautiful. “course. can’t have you gettin’ mad again, yeah?” he laughs, the sound deep as it rumbles from his chest. crys playfully rolls her eyes. “whatever, ony. actin’ like I’m godzilla or something. you can gone back to your workout.”

the two separate, continuing their sessions. but their eyes continuously meet as they sneak glances at each other and they exchange flirty quips. crys questions the amount of weight ony chooses for his sets, teasing that she’d thought he’d lift more. ony calls her out for a weak rep, telling her she should start over for half-assing. they just can’t seem to get enough of each other, teasing and poking at one another like crushing kids in school.

crys is definitely eating their interactions up. he’s fun in a way that isn’t childish, regardless of how he makes her almost giddy like a teenage girl. he’s not afraid to go along with a joke, but it’s obvious he’s not one to be messed with. no matter how many shots she takes, no matter how much she teases, he never breaks a sweat. it’s almost as if he’s welcoming the challenge and crys is more than willing to indulge.

ony likes her fire. it’s invigorating and it keeps him on his toes. he’s used to women being like becca— fawning, overly sweet, and obviously interested. the push and tug he gets from crys is different, and he’s enjoying every interaction, every tease, every glance at that ass. she just draws him in and he can’t get enough. where the hell has she been and why are they just now meeting? he could’ve shown her a lot more than boxing tips by now.

for her cool down, crys decides that since the gym is pretty much empty, she can take some extra time to do some yoga and meditation. she zones in and takes a plethora of deep breaths, regulating her nervous system and releasing tension. grounding herself in the present moment and releasing stress, anxiety, and frustration. it definitely helps as a follow up to the punching bag. she’s always appreciated how centered she feels after even just a few minutes of reconnecting with herself, tending to her mind, heart, and soul and not just her body. she should definitely do yoga often to stay balanced, but shoulda woulda coulda.

the second she starts to stretch, ony’s eyes are stuck on her like glue. she stretches for a long time, he notices. it seems like some type of meditation, the way she holds her hands together and closes her eyes, highly focused as she takes deep breaths almost audible where he stands. it’s interesting how he can notice the shift she makes from her earlier demeanor. she’s much calmer, locked in in a way unexpected to him. of course he knows how to calm himself, how to regulate. but those stretches… not only is he sure he could never replicate them due to lack of flexibility, but he can see the intention in each move, seemingly in each muscle and breath.

it’s weird to him how pulled he feels in her direction. he just wants to know her and is curious if she’d give him the chance. and of course he wants to know her body too… he could definitely help her relieve a lot of that stress. over and over again. probably until she couldn’t take anymore. something about her just keeps pulling him back in. maybe he’s just interested in her newness with his life currently feeling a bit more dull, but he knows he’d be just as interested if it wasn’t. she has spice, a good sense of humor, sweetness, she’s undoubtedly beautiful with all her little quirks, and that ass is the kind that a man would go to war for.

seriously.

especially with the way she’s sitting and stretching with her legs wide, chest flush against the floor. it’s making ony have thoughts, and a lot of them. after a while of being unable to stop looking, he decides to walk over. he stands above her with his arms crossed, head tilting as he looks down at her. “how the hell you even doin’ allat?” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. and what else can she do? he wonders.

crys laughs in response, still enjoying the feel of the stretch. “I do it often. years of youtube videos, I guess,” she responds. she raises, intentionally moving slow for the practice. it’s just a bonus that she can feel his eyes on her ass. “sit down,” she grins, looking up at him with mischief in her eyes. he had his turn helping her, and now she’s going to do the same. whether he likes it or not. plus, it’d be real nice to spend some more time with him. she likes his presence and his laugh and his little jokes. his looks, his demeanor, the way he’s not scared when she nips at him instead either remains unaffected or nips right back… kind of everything about him, so far at least. “huh?” he asks, eyebrows raising. “nigga, if you can ‘huh’ you can hear. sit down and stretch with me,” she laughs.

ony likes the sound. a lot, he realizes. and her sass really tickles him. so why not? he shrugs, plopping down on the floor next to her.

“yoga’s more than stretchin’,” she begins. “yeah, it feels good for the body, but it’s good for the mind too. it’s a lot deeper than I can explain. it’s one of those things that’s been taken from another culture and kinda wiped of its authenticity.” he watches her as she talks with her hands, her caring a lot more about it than he expected. but he’s interested and following along with her words. “I try to respect it, y’know? it has a lot of benefits. can I touch?” she asks with a tilt of her head. he appreciates how her curls bounce with the movement and gives a simple nod of his head. “sit up straight,” she adjusts his back. “and keep your focus on your breath, keeping an awareness of your body as well. stay mindful of the present moment.”

the moment her hand touches him, he sits up. not because of her words but because of the feel of her hands on him. she’s gentle with her guidance, her touch almost hesitant and her voice has softened in a way that sends a slight chill down his spine. “sorry, are my hands cold?” she asks apologetically. “as fuck,” he answers with a laugh. “keep goin’ though.” crys laughs and pinches him softly. “aht, aht, I’m the teacher now, I give the directions. straighten out your legs.” ony rolls his eyes in response but follows her instruction. he mumbles a soft “yeah, aight.”

she gently bumps her shoulder against his at his sass. “lean forward and reach for your feet, curving your back. take a moment to center yourself, focusing on your breath and how your body feels. don’t think about anything, not even me,” she teases slightly. ony can’t help but smile at that. “you make it difficult, sweetheart,” he mumbles. her stomach flutters in response. he takes a deep breath before closing his eyes, reaching for his feet. “don’t forget to breath, nice and deep. relax your mind and let your thoughts fade away,” she mutters softly. “relax. really feel the peace and the stretch.”

oh, ony feels something, alright. but he focuses his mind on the way his muscles feel. he’s used to stretching, but the mental part has never been the most important aspect. he likes how quiet his mind is, how the peace envelopes him like a warm hug.

she guides him through several more positions, helping him to stay centered mentally. her voice is so soothing, her touch as she adjusts him doing things to him. he feels good. really good. the combination of the practice with her presence is something he intends to make sure he gets more of. she’s so cute with her little chides. a “stretch deeper, ony” here, a “you’re not even trying” there. and her obvious favorite, “you know you can do better than that”. actually, no, her favorite thing to say in reprimand is his name. it’s a pleasant hint of flirting and teasing mixed with gentle guidance and words of calm.

by the end of the night, ony’s hooked. before she can walk to the locker room, he gently grabs her wrist to get her attention. “hey, wait, ma,” he murmurs softly. she looks up at him with those eyes again and he’s suddenly parched. “can I get your number? you know, I can send you some boxing tips.” crys tries to fight a smile but fails. “oh, really? boxing tips? sure, long as I can send some yoga tips.” he laughs a bit, smiling at her tone. “yeah, send ‘em. gotta be on my namaste more, shit was nice.” crys tilts her head back slightly as she laughs. “boy, whatever. here.”

ᥫ᭡

crys is folding. real bad.

at first, she thought she’d just do some light flirting, maybe just tease and taunt and go on about her merry way. she didn’t have any intentions on really following through with the man because he just seems like a threat to her safe, protected little bubble of diy nails and chilling alone at home. but as time goes on, she realizes that she’s in a quicksand situation. swapped informational videos of boxing and yoga are just the beginning. soon, they’re texting back and forth. funny videos sent at way too late at night, a range of questions exchanged as they get to know each other, random voice messages that make her stomach tingle… she looks forward to speaking with him, even changes his text tone so she knows when it’s him.

he’s just so funny in such a simple, straightforward way. sometimes she bites at him and he doesn’t budge a bit, not giving her the satisfaction of a reaction. sometimes they go back and forth like a tennis match. he’s not afraid of her sass and she loves when he actually bites back. he’s just… attractive. in a lot of ways, on so many different levels. she ends up going to the gym late more often because he’ll be there, spotting her while she lifts and helping her with her boxing. ms. becca at the front desk seems to really not like it, but her non-working ass can move on somewhere. crys and ony start a routine that whenever she comes to work out with him, they grab food and sit in one of their cars to goof around. they even decide to power walk with mrs. etta every now and then.

it’s insanity to kt, though. she doesn’t understand why they haven’t ‘fucked each other like bunnies’ already and she reminds crys every time they talk. they’d scrolled his instagram together several times and he’s a popular topic between the two of them, three including kt’s boyfriend. he, of course, has a front row seat to these conversations since ms. kt never wants to use her damn headphones.

one particular night, crys is just really not feeling the workout. she’s more tired than usual and ony can tell. she’s not her usual, witty self. not a single jab has any bite to it, and it’s the same with her words. he doesn’t like it. she’s not supposed to be quiet or sad. he doesn’t like the distant look in her eyes and how she gives a weak smile at his teasing. “hey,” he murmurs. “go get changed and get your stuff.” he watches as she looks up at him with a furrowed brow. “you’re obviously not feelin’ up to it. we’ve done enough, let’s grab sum to eat.”

crys was going to push through, get her workout regardless. “nah, I’m good,” she shrugs him off. “no, you ain’t. quit playin’, it’s not a suggestion,” he grumbles back. that surprises her, but she guesses it shouldn’t really. one thing that she’s noticed is how good he is at reading people, and he’s really good at reading her now. he knows when to push, and has learned how to in several different circumstances. she guesses this is one of them. his tone is different than usual though. it’s set, no room for negotiations, no joking around. his eyes are focused and sharp in a way that almost even she doesn’t want to argue with. “…right. yeah, okay. I can go by myself though, you can finish your workout,” she mutters softly.

“what I say?”

crys didn’t need to be told again. his whole demeanor is looking more immovable than ever, eyes and tone telling her to get her ass to the locker room, basically. if it were anyone else, she would’ve fired back and asked who the hell he thought he was. but at this point, she’s too tired and she really doesn’t want to poke the bear. so she sighs and nods, grabbing her bag as she shuffles back to the locker room to get her stuff. she’s grateful, honestly, because as soon as she sits in the passenger seat of his car, she feels like she’s been hit by a bus but it’s really just a wave of exhaustion.

“you pushin’ too hard, ma,” he murmurs, his eyes on the road as he drives. he’s seen her energy decreasing over time, the spark in her eyes dimming. he’d slide a comment in or two about taking a break only for her to brush it off like it was no problem. she’s stubborn and he knows that, but fully capable of taking care of herself, which is why he wasn’t expecting it to get this far. she’s drained and he’ll be damned if he just stands by and watches her continue down this path. especially with the way her head is leaning against his window. usually he’d say something about her hair products getting on it, but he couldn’t give a damn about that.

“you been slackin’ and you know it. wassup?” he questions as he spares her a glance. she sighs, her eyes closing as he makes the familiar trip to their usual spot. “stress. I’ve just been stressed,” she answers. that much he could tell. it’s not really the information he’s looking for though. “mhm. why?” he presses. his voice is a mix of tenderness and concern but also firmness. he’s not going to let her brush this under the rug. “just a lot of shit goin’ on, ony. work’s a mess, they can barely do anything without me there they’re always arguing and never getting anything done. I’ve been looking for another job for months with no luck and it’s really starting to become a problem because I want to leave soon. and I don’t know, I just want to be in a different situation than I am right now.”

ony hums, rolling her words over in his head. he knows she’s been trying to leave her job, even sent her resume out to a few people he knows just to help out. he can understand her frustration, he was in a similar boat before he started his own thing and became a personal trainer. he gets it, the stress from working in a place that drains you and how so many job rejections can affect a person. “it’s alright, ma. I know that don’t mean much to you right now, but it’s gone work out, aight? I’ll put some pressure on my folks, help see what’s out there. you still got some pto right?” he asks. she sighs, rubbing her forehead. “yeah, but I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.” he could almost chuckle.

“it don’t seem like it’s rainin’ to you?” he pushes slightly. “take some time off. rest and relax so you can come back better. do yo yoga and shit, smoke some, whatever. you need a break, babygirl. no positive change is gonna come from you stressin’ and burnin’ out. it’s a three day weekend coming up, take the couple days before that off too.” she looks out the window as they pull into the drive thru. he’s right and she knows it. it’s just so easy for her to get swept up into the stress and lose herself a little bit more and more until she realizes just how close she is to burning out. she can feel tears gathering in her eyes from the stress.

“oh, pretty girl,” he mumbles, seeing the emotion in her eyes. he pulls off to the side and parks in the back of the lot instead of getting in line. “c’mere, crystal,” he croons, reaching an arm around her to pull her close. she sniffles and her shoulders shake as she cries into his shoulder, letting out what she’s let build up for so long. “s’okay, ma. you really doin’ good shit, providin’ for yourself and workin’ hard. it’s gonna work out, you gotta believe that,” he presses, squeezing her tighter. “but you can’t do this, okay? you can’t wither away like this. your health is important and if you neglect it, it’ll affect everything. I don’t like seein’ you upset and tired and drained. wanna see that pretty smile, get a taste of that sass that irks me so much.” she laughs slightly in his arms, her own wrapping around him as he gives her the most comforting hug she’s had in a while. “you’re right or whatever. big headed ass,” she mumbles.

“there she is.”

ᥫ᭡

after that night, she did exactly what he suggested. she took those extra days off and just recovered. smoked, slept a whole bunch, had a self-care day, and even booked a massage just for an extra treat. of course she talked ony’s ear off, and texted him and her best friend a bunch too, but it was necessary in her eyes. she knows they love her presence, even if they call her annoying. by her last day off, she feels rejuvenated.

she feels less stressed. she has a revamped resume, a mini twist out that’s cute and lets her leave her hair alone, new nails, and a new attitude. but… crys is running out of excuses to give as far as her and ony. his support that night meant more to her than he probably even knew. the way he held her, calmed her down, and comforted her… it’s something that’s been plaguing dancing in her mind. he’s shown that he can handle her full range of emotions no problem and can support her regardless of how strongly she feels. at this point, even she’s started to wonder why they haven’t done anything. she hasn’t made a move, no, but neither has he. he seems perfectly content with the way things are and is starting to become bothersome.

she can’t get him out of her head. his voice, his laugh, his features. every time he encourages her while she’s going at the punching bag, she wants to push the damn thing out of the way and just tackle him. when she can feel his eyes on her while they stretch, she wants to show him exactly what she can do and how her flexibility can blow his fucking mind. she wants to kiss him, touch him, hear those encouraging words that he gives her in an entirely different setting.

but his lack of action is causing her to overthink. is he not as affected as she is? does his heart not pound in her presence like hers does in his? how the hell is she the only one gnawing her lip at the thought of more? maybe it’s because she hasn’t had sex in so long. maybe that’s it. she’s just like this because of her wack ass sex life.

contrary to crys’ perspective, though, ony is losing his shit.

he definitely would’ve made a move by now if these were usual circumstances. he’s just so thrown off by how much he likes her, how much she makes him feel. she’s so much more than that pretty face and that mouth watering body. she’s funny, witty, and she packs a nasty ass punch both with her words and her hands. he likes the full range of crys. mouthy and annoying, intentionally trying to get a raise out of him. flirty and teasing, sensual in the way she draws him in. sweet and serene, almost like an oasis of calm and tranquility. oh, and he can’t forget how expressive she is with every emotion. her anger when her order’s wrong at the late night burger place they frequent, her excitement and joy when mrs. etta tells her about another good scan at the doctor, her sadness when she sees a sad tiktok during rest periods.

he just doesn’t get it. how can one person be so damn enthralling? how can someone’s quirks and flaws be so beautiful? he’s never felt pulled like this, but you know what? he’s fucking with it. she’s done nothing but add color to his life, a great addition that he felt like he was waiting for without even knowing. he loves her presence. she makes him smile and belly laugh, she pisses him off, she lights him up. he can be goofy with her, serious, sensitive even. he just wants more and more of crys, and even when he thinks maybe there’s nothing left to surprise him about her, she whips something new out of her arsenal. it’s just crazy how she has him by the throat but he’s happy to be along for the ride.

but he’s really wanting that ride to go somewhere. he’s always thought that it was crazy that crys is single, he just doesn’t understand it. in his eyes, she’s everything great in a woman. confident, sensitive, hardworking, sweet… annoying but in the best ways, enthralling, sexy as all hell.

when he’s ranting to eren about her for the nth time, the brunette raises an eyebrow at him and asks what’s taking him so long to ask her out. ony blinks. he thought they were… well, something already. but the sense that’s been chasing him for quite a while now finally catches up to him and hits him like a truck. he has to say something. do something. the unspoken thing doesn’t work for adults, and definitely not if he actually wants to keep her. is he an idiot? he wants to say no to his own question so badly, but he knows he would be delusional if he did.

so he quickly decides to get his shit together. the next time he sees crys, he’s asking her on an actual date, and that’s it. this whole thing could’ve been at a different point if he’d taken his head out of his ass and asked her out that first night he saw her in the gym. but it’s too late to try to change the past, and he can fix his mistakes in the present.

ᥫ᭡

unfortunately for ony, crys has a nasty attitude the next time they meet. her answers are short and snippy, and not in the usual, fun way. they had plans to go shopping together to buy mrs. etta a congratulatory something for completing her treatment, both having become extremely fond of the lady and being supportive of her on her journey. ony picks her up, being the gentleman he is (he hates her driving) and it takes no time at all to notice the bitter air around her. he actually realizes it the second she closes the door to her townhouse too damn hard. she huffs and puffs as she gets settled in the passenger seat.

crys doesn’t really know exactly why she’s so mad. it’s another one of those days where the stress has built up so quickly without her noticing, something that happens when her head isn’t fully in the game. she doesn’t want to take it out on ony, never means to, but something about knowing that he can handle that shit keeps her from being as mindful as she should be. “hey,” he speaks, his eyebrow raising at her lack of greeting. “hey,” she greets blandly. “what’s wrong, ma?” he asks, looking from her to the road as he pulls off. she just shakes her head. “thanks for picking me up,” she murmurs. “of course,” he responds.

he’s eyeing her every once in a while, trying to pick up on whatever he can. she’s fiddling a lot, tapping her fingers as she looks out the window. antsy? irritated? what is it, he wonders. but he’s not super fond of playing the guessing game, by now she should know that she can talk to him about any and everything on her mind and in her heart. he’ll listen, he’ll care, and he’ll support. hasn’t he shown that? “you lyin’ to me, ma. don’t like it,” he mumbles. she doesn’t answer and he really doesn’t like that. “what’s the issue, crys? talk,” he presses, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. this isn’t anything he’s used to from her. mouthy sometimes? sure. that’s nothing he can’t handle. but the silent treatment mixed with the tense attitude is not how he was planning to spend this time with her.

“nothin’, just tired.” she murmurs. his eyebrows furrow. “we can reschedule if you want,” he responds, understanding. “nah,” she says simply. she can’t explain it, she doesn’t really want to act like this. she’s just not exactly happy at the moment and the two seem to have very different vibes. guess that’s the theme, huh? she thinks. “mama, you not bein’ fair. tryna talk to you,” he mumbles. she rolls her eyes, looking out the window. “yeah, talk. your favorite thing to do,” she mumbles.

ony pauses, but only for a moment. “and that’s supposed to mean?” crys sighs, as if she’s really just over him. “nothing, ony, m’sorry. are we goin’ to macy’s or ross first?” she’s trying to deflect, and although ony’s not stupid, he lets her. maybe she just needs time, she can be like that every now and then. carrying around irritation from an earlier incident until it eventually fades and she’s good to go. sometimes she just needs to process her emotions, and ony’s cool with that. he’s cool with anything with her, it seems.

they end up at ross first, mrs. etta’s favorite store that she talks about when they power walk with her. they get her random things, little trinkets that remind them of her, lotions and candles, and a few decorative pieces for her house. they move to macy’s to get her a perfume she likes, and a few other random things that draw their attention. last is dollar.25 tree and a couple other craft stores, the mission being to grab a big basket and additional stuffing to make her a custom gift basket with a congratulatory card from both of them. crys is quieter than usual the entire time, but not necessarily agitated. it seems like shopping for mrs. etta is cheering her up.

seems.

once they get to her house, ony can tell by the way she groans as she flops onto her couch that she’s not a hundred percent. at this point, he’s confused and maybe a bit worried. what is it that has her so upset? he doesn’t like when she’s quiet, much rather her be loud and expressive with whatever emotion she’s feeling. it’s eerie when she’s quiet and ony can’t tell what she’s thinking or feeling. he doesn’t like to be in the dark.

“c’mon, ma, let’s go ahead and get this assembled. we can talk and smoke after,” he mumbles, moving to set the stuff down on her dining room table. he wants to sit and smoke, get her to shake herself out of whatever fucking funk she’s in, but he figures it’s a good idea to finish up mrs. etta’s gift. he really wants it to be perfect. he’s known mrs. etta for a while, she was even one of the people that encouraged him the most when he first started training, and he’s extremely happy that her treatment is done. a bratty sigh is heard from the girl on the couch and ony has to close his eyes to center himself. “we can’t take a break? all that shopping. m’tired.”

ony licks his lips and lets out a breath. “sure, ma, take a break. imma get started on this, I’ll chill after,” he responds. crys doesn’t like the little breath he takes, his tone coming across patronizing to her. “you tired of me? cause I can really do that shit by myself,” she responds lowly. she swears she can see a vein appear on ony’s forehead, but only momentarily. “nah. just want this gift to be good,” he mumbles. crys sits up to look at him. “it’s good already, we put a lot of thought into everything. what, you think I can’t assemble it myself?” her head tilts. because she could make the prettiest damn basket all on her own, really. she’ll prove it if she has to.

ony’s on the brink. he’s been patient all day— he’s always patient with her. it’s usually no issue, but today she’s really pushing it. mrs. etta should be the focus right now. “you don’t hear me talkin’ to you?” she asks, her eyebrows beginning to furrow. “yes, love, I hear you,” he murmurs. “just focused.” he’s really trying to keep it together.

crys scoffs, “yeah, well, you can focus and talk. you wouldn’t have to focus as much if you waited on me.” ony wonders what he did to be in this position. he hasn’t done shit to her, hasn’t said anything disrespectful, and he knows that she isn’t usually one to take her shit out on him, so he’s just thinking. wondering what has her so mad. “there you go again, not fuckin’ responding,” she huffs, standing up and crossing her arms. “you can just get the hell out forreal, I can finish this mysel—“

“sit the fuck down.”

crys blinks. and then blinks again. “excuse me?” she asks. she couldn’t have heard that right. he wouldn’t talk to her like that, he’s not insane. but the look he gives when he turns to her gives her second thoughts on that theory. “you heard me. sit the fuck down. I’m not leavin’ and you’re about to act like you have some fucking respect instead of poppin’ off at the mouth. I’ve dealt with your shit ask damn day, trying to be patient and understanding— like I always am with yo lil ass. I’m not playin’ crys. sit down,” he demands. and he really means that shit too, she can tell.

crys’ jaw is damn near on the floor by the time he finishes talking. “who you talkin’ t—“ she starts, only to be interrupted by a slow approaching ony, having put the materials he was working with down. “crys, I swear, if you don’t get some act right—“ he starts, trying to keep his breath even and his body calm. tired of being interrupted, crys decides to give him a taste of his own medicine. “what? what you gone do? talk my ear off? stand there and look at me with your arms crossed? I ain’t scared of you, ony. you don’t do shit and won’t do shit to me.”

“nah. I’ma fuck you,” he answers as he steps into her personal space. if crys’ jaw was on the floor before, it’s in hell now. there’s no way he just said that. “fuck that nasty ass attitude right outta you. you playin’ in my face, ma. you know I don’t like that shit. I’ve been so fuckin’ understanding with yo ass, somethin’ not every nigga is willin’ to do, by the way. you push and you push and I let yo ass. is that the problem?” he tilts his head, chest almost touching hers as he looks down. his eyes are dark, his jaw tense. the vein she thought she saw earlier is bulging now, almost angrier than ony himself. “is the problem that I let yo lil ass keep pushin’ me? cause I swear it don’t mean that I’ll just let the shit slide. and I’ll prove that shit too.”

ᥫ᭡

“fuck,” crys pants, tugging on the sheets in front of her. “please,” her voice breaks. “just— just lemme come. I’m so close, ony, please!”

she’s been on all fours for a while now, face buried in the bed as ony works her with his tongue and fingers. she’s in a pool of her own arousal, thighs wet and pussy drenched from the several times she’s been close to the edge, only to be disappointed each time as she’s denied her orgasm. her bottom lip is bitten raw, toes almost permanently curled and eyes finding a home in the back of her head as she pushes her hips back again and again to coax ony to at least let her have one. if she knew this was going to be the result of her attitude today, she would’ve just asked him to fuck her before they even left to go shopping. she’s waited enough for this, and even now when she’s so close, she’s getting denied.

there’s a harsh but absolutely welcome smack to her ass and she whines so damn pathetically that ony almost laughs. pulls his full lips from her clit with a pop and massages the cheek. “you want me to stop?” he asks, his voice low and raspy in a way unfamiliar to crys. she quickly shakes her head and grips the sheets tighter. “no, please! keep going, wanna come on your face,” she begs, pushing her hips to meet his lips again. the sound and sight of her is addicting, ony thinks. he likes the way she seems so desperate for his touch and tongue, craving that release that he’s been building up for so long. “you wanna come?” he asks, his fingers sliding back into her soaked pussy. he can feel her clench around him almost instantly. fuck he’s going to enjoy tonight. “yes! yes, wanna come!” she pants, rocking her hips to meet the thrust of his long fingers.

“then shut the fuck up and let me have my fun,” he murmurs, diving his face back in as his tongue meets her clit once again. “ah, shit,” she whimpers, her eyes rolling back again at the pleasure that washes over her. “yes, yes, just like that. fuck, you eatin’ my pussy up,” she moans. she’s never been so mad but so pleased at the same time. he’s torturing her and she doesn’t know how much longer she can last before she releases all over him without his say so. she’s already been through so much, she doesn’t want to find out what else he’ll do , even if it’s his fault. “my fuckin’ pussy,” he pulls back to murmur, flicking his tongue quickly over her pearl as his fingers continue to pump. she’s so wet, his fingers move with ease, and the sound that’s made is delicious. “say that shit.”

“fuck, I’ll say whatever you want,” she whines, back arching and toes throwing up gang signs. “s’your pussy, baby! take it take it take it,” she moans, throwing her ass back over and over. she’s so damn close, so damn close. she can almost taste it. her tummy feels like it’s about to burst and her poor pussy is sobbing. he pulls back once again to her dismay, reading her body like a book. “you betta not fuckin’ come,” he murmurs, fingers moving faster as they stretch her. how the hell is she not supposed to come? is he insane? “you fuckin’ kidding meee?” she whines, her head falling down onto the sheets. ony likes how spent she looks already, and he hasn’t even fucked her yet. “you know damn well I ain’t,” he grumbles, smacking her ass again. “arch that shit. it’s gone be a long night if you don’t listen to me, baby.”

in a turn of events, ony’s pussy drunk. he’s enjoying himself way too much, taking in her moans and slurping up what’s now his to pleasure. he’s just drowning in her, hands exploring everywhere he can touch. caressing, appreciating, adoring this beautiful woman falling apart on his tongue. he could do this all day and be grateful every second of it. he’s absolutely aching in his shorts, but something about bringing such a normally mouthy girl to babbles is too hard to turn away from. he didn’t even mean to take it this far, he just doesn’t want to stop. he wants her to keep feeling good, and the way she begs and reaches back for him to bring him closer lets him know that he’s doing his job

“please, I can’t,” she begs, back arching but breath deepening. “ony, I caan’tt, m’gonna come,” she whines. she’s trying, really she promises she is, but it’s just become too hard to hold out. it’s too good, she wants it and needs it. if he doesn’t stop or give her the green light, she’s gonna make a mess of both of them, and she’s not going to regret it. ony groans at her whines, basking in the sound of her begging and pleading. he can feel how she’s clenching, hears the desperation in her voice. she’s gone, melting into a pile of goo at his touch, and he’s never felt more satisfied. not only are they both having the times of their lives, but that attitude is just about gone and she’s actually acting like she has some fucking manners.

he reluctantly pulls back and removes his hand from her, licking at his fingers like a man starved. “flip over,” he huffs, standing and palming his aching dick. she seems to be too out of it, raising her head full of messy curls to look up in his general direction. “w-what?” she questions. ony doesn’t have time for her shit, so he grabs her hips and flips her over his damn self. the way he looks down at her is downright sinful and crys flutters simply at the sight. “fuckin’ bratty ass. you did this to yourself, crys. was gonna take you on a nice ass date, make love with your pretty ass, do shit the right way. but that fuckin’ mouth of yours,” he grumbles as he grabs her by her ankles, pulling her to the end of the bed. “is too damn bold with me. gotta fix that, sweetheart. you gone be my good girl after tonight, I can promise you that.”

she whines and grinds against his hand as his thumb traces circles on her puffy clit. looking down at her, he realizes that this is one of his favorite sights now. her eyes are blurry with tears from the constant denial, her face scrunched in a cute and sexy pout of pleasure, her tits shifting with each movement. ony could watch her like this all day, bringing her to the edge over and over just to see those pretty tears fall and hear that voice of hers crack. that’d only be torture for himself as well because he feels like he’s about to burst. “you so damn beautiful. you want this dick, sweetheart? tell me, I’ll give it to you,” he murmurs, licking his lips as he lets his shorts fall. crys whines and nods, unruly curls all over the place. so damn breathtaking.

“gimme it, please. wanna come all over it, baby. paint it for you,” she begs. her arms reach to hook around the back of her knees, pulling her thighs back slightly to open up for him. her words only serve to rile him up more. “you a lil freak, huh? mmm, you can do better than that, baby. stretch them legs like I know yo lil freaky ass can,” he grumbles, pulling his underwear down and off, his cock hanging low between his legs. crys knew it— she just knew it was big, and she was right. it’s long and thick with a minimal curve, and if she wasn’t so deprived she’d get on her knees and pay him back for the teasing. she whimpers and bites her lip, sliding her hands to hook behind her knees instead. she pulls her thighs flush to her chest and keeps going, extending her legs.

“fuck, yeah, baby, show me that pretty pussy. fat pussy all mine,” he grumbles. he lessens their distance, letting himself rest on her as he takes her in. what a fucking vision of a woman. he takes his dick in his hand and lightly taps it against her before her rubs himself all in her wetness. “look at ‘chu, baby. so fuckin’ sloppy. this all for me?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks back to her face. she goes to speak, but ony considers her next words unimportant in the grand scheme of things. before she can speak, she feels him start to press into her. she lets out a breathy moan, her grip tightening on her legs. “f-fuck,” she moans at the same time ony lets a groaning “shiiit,” pass his lips.

the two pant, looking each other in the eyes as he continues to press forward. crys is seeing stars, feeling the stretch of him. her face scrunches and her eyes begin to close. “mm-mm, keep them pretty eyes on me,” ony‘s breathing heavy , his hand coming to lightly wrap around her throat. “sexy ass. you bet not deny me that shit.” crys can only lick her lips, forcing her eyes open to meet his, clenching at the way he speaks. his words add to the growing fire within her. “there you go, baby. love that shit,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press his lips against hers in a nasty, sloppy kiss. crys is upset at the fact that this man is really bringing her to her knees. “so damn fine. don’t know why I waited so long to be in yo shit. too fucking good,” he groans, pulling out just slightly before pushing back in. crys gasps, pulling her legs closer just to have something to grab, but it just makes him go deeper.

“feels so good, onyyy,” she moans, keeping the eye contact as much as she can. ony’s hovering over her now, watching her with his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyebrows together in concentration. he’s moving slowly, letting her adjust to him and just taking in the view in front of him. “onyyy,” she moans, clenching around him as her pussy flutters. he’s so damn fine and it’s been so long since she’s been touched. he’s deep in her shit and she’s on cloud nine. she wants more, so much more, and she wants it all from him. she hates it took so long to get to this point and hates that she the fact that she stopped herslef from persuing him. she wants this, needs all of him. “fuck me,” she chokes out. “c’mon, please.”

“relax,” he mutters, his free hand rubbing up her thigh. “just keep that pretty pussy open for me. I’ma always give you what you need, sweetheart. always.” and he means it. he’s never going to play with her, not her heart or her mind. but he’ll play with her pretty pussy until the sun comes up, until the cows come home. he’s never felt anything so good, seen someone so beautiful while they take his dick. she’s everything to him in this moment, her curls sprawled around her like the sun’s halo, face showing all the pleasure she’s feeling. her breathing is deep, her eyes staying on his just like he said.

he’s fucked. shit, he might just be in love.

“ooo, fuck, ony,” she keens, her nails slightly digging into the skin of her thigh. “so big. oh my God, baby.” she’s having the time of her life. he’s stretching her so well, and he feels so damn good digging into her like that. ”yeah, yeah. been waiting for thisss,” she pants, unable to keep her mouth shut. it’s just so good and it’s hitting that spot. would could blame her? “give it to me,” she moans. ony groans above her, his hips starting to meet hers sharper and sharper. she’s still so vocal, and he’s eating it the fuck up. “mhm,” he breathes, his hands moving to rest on hers, helping to hold her legs as she falters. “take that dick, babygirl. s’all for you. swear it is,” he groans. she doesn’t know it, but she could ask for just about anything right now and he’d give it to her.

her eyes scan over him, her hand reaching out to lightly scratch down his abdomen. “fuckin’ me so good, ony.”ony groans at the touch of her nails, his gut tightening at the way she’s looking up at him. he pulls out, reaching down to tap himself against her again. she’s too much, her voice, her eyes, her touch… the way she keeps clenching around him. “you fuckin’ dangerous, mama,” he pants. “can I beat this pussy up, baby? lemme take it.” crys bites her lip and nods, looking up at him in a way that makes him grip her thighs a little tighter. fucking minx. he’s beating himself up for not doing this sooner. he adjusts himself on the bed, leaning down to press his lips to hers as he slides back in, the two of them moaning into each other's mouths. he immediately picks up the pace as he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling slightly as he presses more of his weight onto her.

crys starts to gasp with each thrust, toes curling and a squeak escaping her when she feels his hands on her clit. “w-wait— fuck, wait, m’gonna come quick,” she moans, fingers gripping ony’s shoulders as he pins one of her thighs to her chest. she wants to come with him, but her earlier pleasure is coming back with a fucking vengeance. ony chuckles— actually chuckles, and rasps down to her, “that’s the point, sweetheart. give it to me.” if she wasn’t on the brink of a mind blowing orgasm, she’d be pissed and annoyed at that fucking smirk. but instead she pants and pants until her breath stops. her orgasm washes over her in delicious waves, and she’s just frozen in pleasure, unable to do anything but come and come, pulsing around ony.

“breathe, mama. come on, breath through that shit,” ony guides, pressing kisses up and down her neck. right, breathing. she forgot about that. crys lets out a long moan, her eyes rolling back as she tastes her sweet release. sweet isn’t even the word, though. the denial and delay just makes things ten times stronger, her orgasm wracking her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. she’s holding onto ony tightly as he talks her through it, breathing heavy as she just takes it. “yeaah, there you go. breathe, baby, I got you. gonna take real good care of you just like I said,” ony grumbles, nipping at her skin here and there and slowing his thrusts and his assault on her clit. he has to pant at the way she’s so tight around him, and he’s just so strained holding back good open release. “you deserve that shit, baby.” more kisses and nips than either of them can count are placed on crys’ neck as crys comes down and tries to calm down as well.

his hand reaches to gently caress her cheek as he presses soft, sweet kisses to the other. “you’re so beautiful, babygirl. you feel okay?” he asks softly. okay? she’s riding down a fucking rainbow of happiness and bliss. okay is an understatement. crys figures that would boost his who a bit too much, so she just tilts her head to rest on the side of his. “mhm,” she hums breathlessly. “so good,” she murmurs. ony’s glad, pressing more kisses to her sweet face. he’s happy he can make her feel good, especially considering how she was sarlier in the day. “good enough to gimme another one?” he asks. he just can’t get enough, so he has to ask. he wants this night to last as long as it can.

crys lets out a breath, wondering just what the hell is wrong with the man. she’s been through the wringer for a good while now. but it’s felt amazing every step of the way, so the answer is yes. of course it’s yes. she nods. “just one more, sweetheart,” he croons, looking down at her dazed face. he pulls out, turning her over onto her stomach, much gentler this time. he guides her on all fours and reaches to rest his hand on the headboard, his other hand positioning himself once again. once he begins to push inside, his arm wraps around her torso to hold her tight as they both moan. his hips start to move again, this time with a slower pace as he braces himself on the headboard.

ony can’t help but feel the shift on the room. it’s much more intimate than before, crys sensitive from one release already. he wants to be so many things for her. he can be a little aggressive, knowing she likes when he bites back. he can be goofy and unserious. and he can be soft. he can be serious with her and about her. that’s what he wants. “wanted this for so long, baby. wanted you,” he murmurs into her ear. the sound makes her pussy flutter, causing him to chuckle again. “sh-shut up,” she mumbles, her hands slowly tightening around the sheets below them. the combination of his intimate confession and his thrusting into her is a double whammy that she didn’t see coming.

“mmm, I’m serious babygirl. want you, been wantin’ you,” he presses, eyes falling shut as his hips continue to move. she feels so good, it’s ridiculous. he’s going to be in it every day if she lets him. “gotta make you mine, ma. I’m forreal.” and he is, because what kind of idiot would he be to let her slip through his fingers? crys let’s her head fall back in a moan as he starts to gently work her clit. everything about this is just insane. who knew what today was going to bring? “y-you never… ah,” she cuts herself off with a moan as he curves his hips, fucking her in just the right way in such an intimate moment. fuck, what was she saying? “I never said anything, I know. s’my fault, no excuse. I was just too busy enjoyin’ bein’ around you,” he murmurs, moaning as he holds her tighter. his hips are starting to move a bit faster and crys is starting to meet his every thrust.

“but you mine now, right? I’ma do— fuuuck, I’ma do right by you, mama. always,” he groans. he means every word. it’s like she has a spell on him and he doesn’t care. if she wants his heart, she can take it. he leans back from the headboard, sitting up on his knees as he keeps her back against his chest. gosh, crys’ heart just flutters. “yeah,” she moans. “yeah, ony, m’yours. f-finally.” that puts a tired smile on ony’s face, his already racing heart squeezing. with one hand massaging her clit and the other now on her hip, ony begins fucking into her faster. “that’s right, baby. and I’m yours. can’t get rid of me, can’t push me away, sure as fuck not scarin’ me away,” he groans. i’d important to him that she knows that, with her lil stubborn ass.

crys reaches back behind her, grabbing onto him. “yeah, j-just like that, ony. me and youuu,” she moans, feeling that familiar sensation again. her body’s almost tired of it after so much teasing and edging and repeating. “gonna come for you, baby,” she groans. she has no fight left, it’s going to rock her and she knows it. “you gonna come for me?” he asks, his voice coming out breathy as he continues to thrust into her. he doesn’t remember the last time he felt as good as he does in this moment. he doesn’t want it to end, but he can’t hold anymore. she’s tight around him, pulsing as her release approaches once again. “paint my dick, baby, just like you said. then I’ma give you this nut,” he huffs, working his hips more and more. crys is a moaning mess, her head dipping as she feels another strong orgasm approaching. “keep breathin’,” ony croons. “want you to feel all that shit, mama.”

she breathes as even as she can, breaths deepening as she quickly approaches that line. “ohhh, ony!” she cries out, her eyes squeezing shut. ” let it out, baby, give it to me. give me that shit,” he groans to her, working her clout faster and faster as he keeps pumping into her. it’s all too much and it brings her over the edge, her toes almost cramping and hips moving without her knowledge. “there it goes, keep breathing. fuck yeah, mama, take that shit.” it’s an intense feeling and she’s chasing it, breathing like ony directs and it makes the difference. she feels the shit down to her toes. her eyes are crossed and she can’t even fucking speak, just taking whatever comes as her eyes shut tight. “that’s it, baby, feel that shit. know you feel good, I know,” he pants.

ony’s fucking into her faster, the way she’s clenching around him making his head spin. his grip tightens on her hip as he chases his own high, watching her fucked out face. she looks so good like that, spent and satisfied and his. “fuuuck, you so gorgeous, crystal. gahdamn you feel good as fuck,” he rambles, praising her over and over just because he can and she deserves it. soon, he’s pulling out and pumping himself all over her ass, groaning as his body jerks. “yeah, ony,” crys coos with a raspy voice. she’s giving a tired wiggle of her hips, encouraging him to spill all over her. “fuckin’ perfect.”

the two pant, spent from such a lovely day together. it’s silent as they just back in the afterglow of their impromptu endeavors. eventually, ony starts to press sweet, calming kisses to her shoulder and back. he appreciates the small marks on her skin, random beauty marks and freckles. “perfect, mama. you were perfect,” he rasps. as far as he’s concerned, today couldn’t have been more successful. crys is… well, crys is out of commission at the moment. her mind is fuzzy in her post orgasm bliss, and she’s catching her breath as she basks in his kisses. “fuck…” she mumbles. that was very unexpected but completely welcome. the wait was more than worth it, and now she can have that again and again and again. “yeah,” ony chuckles tiredly. “yeah, that was crazy. damn.”

the two laugh together, gross and sticky, but so happy with the situation. that line was finally crossed, and there’s no going back. not that either of them would want to, anyway. ony glances down at crys as she rests for a moment, eyes closed and lashes tickling her skin. the earlier tensions are gone, nothing but fondness and connection in it’s wake. he reaches to caress her cheekbone, tucking a curl behind her ear and out of her face. “sorry for earlier,” crys mumbles into the quiet. she really is, she doesn’t like when she projects her upset like that. she nevers wants that for anyone she’s connecting with, especially not ony. he’s been understanding with her in a way that she’s learned to deeply appreciate. “but I’m glad we did this.”

ony hums, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. he can deal with a little push from her, especially since he gets to keep her. she’s a sweet girl, and she invigorates him. he appreciates her expressiveness and range of emotions, and understands that sometimes she’s just human. he’s okay with that. but now that they’re together, he has the ability to take a different approach. sometimes she needs him to snap back at her, and that’s what he’ll do with absolutely no hesitation from now on. there’s a mutual respect and understanding, and ony really fucks with that shit. “just needed some attention… and dick,” he murmurs. and he’ll give it to her whenever, wherever.

crys groans and starts to fuss, turning to weakly slap at his chest. “oh, shut up! go get me a damn towel!” here he goes saying some slick shit, right when the moment is good. he’s such an idiot sometimes, but it never fails to put a smile on her face. ony lets out a bellowing laugh, backing off of her and standing on his only slightly wobbling legs. he hopes she didn’t see that, but she’s already talking shit again. “yeah, pussy got you walkin’ crazy,” she sasses as he starts his trek to the bathroom, watching his sweaty but oh so fine figure walk away. ”better act right or you’ll never get it again,” she huffs. ony laughs again, shaking his head. “don’t make me start this shit all over, crystal,” he calls over his shoulder. she rolls her eyes but nuzzles her face into a pillow as she grumbles under her breath. she’s not scared, she’s just still recovering, is all. “yeah, that’s what I thought,” he laughs.

soon, they’re all cleaned up and on fresh sheets, crys refusing to sleep in the crusty bedspread after everything was said and done. they get into a spat about who gets to sleep on which side of the bed, and then over whether they should sleep with some time of light on. ony also demands to cuddle, but crystal fusses that she’ll get too hot and won’t be able to sleep. for that brief period, it’s war.

eventually, though, after bargains and begrudging compromises, crys is on her back on her usual side of the bed and ony is half-sprawled on top of her, head buried in her neck and hand softly rubbing her outer thigh. a random sitcom plays with no sound and the room is a nice, cool temperature with the fan blowing on the both of them. crys caresses ony’s back gently with her nails, eyes closed as she enjoys the weight of him on top of her. the pleasant feeling is like a weighted blanket, lulling her to sleep. ony is holding crys close, enjoying her warmth and presence. he’s taking full advantage of being able to cuddle with her. they fall asleep like this, wrapped up in each other, and wondering what the next day will bring.

hoooooly moooooly. this was not supposed to be this long. was hoping to post this sooner, but the words just kept coming omg. pls excuse any mistakes lmao. hope you like it! feedback welcome and wanted 🫶🏽

[yungistiny]

camgirl ═ chapter three

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter three: beautiful mess

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summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 5.2k

chapter one

chapter two

chapter four coming soon

masterlist

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Wooyoung let himself inside y/n house with the spare key she had given him. Rain poured outside as he kicked his shoes off, dragging his feet into the living room where his best friend sat on the couch, Gladiolus, the giant cat perched on the back of it.

Y/N glanced up at Wooyoung from where she sat with her favorite hot pink grinder in her hand. “Did you get any?” She arched a brow at him. Wooyoung grinned, pulling the neon green baggy from his hoodie pocket.

“Come on, you took all day!” Y/N had been waiting for Wooyoung for hours, it was Wednesday, his off day, and he always went to see her on his off days. Always bringing her some of Johnny’s best stuff.

“I had to wait for Johnny to get back forever.” Wooyoung pouted. It’s not his fault Johnny had to go pick up some new stuff from the main man. Kim Hongjoong was not the dealer to piss off so Johnny certainly wasn’t going to keep him waiting.

Y/N rolled the sleeves of her old oversized black Fall Out Boy shirt up, grabbing the black rolling tray off the glass coffee table. Wooyoung grabbed the tv remote as she started to roll a blunt, waiting for the tv to connect to the wifi before going to netflix.

Y/N grinded up a couple of buds, rolling them up into the blueberry wrap in her hands, tongue darting out to lick and seal it. “You sent Mingi to me on purpose, didn’t you?”

Wooyoung smirked, finding some horror movie to turn on. He knew y/n would realize the second she layed eyes on Mingi, that Wooyoung purposely chose him for a reason. That reason being, Mingi was exactly her type. “I didn’t see you complaining last night.”

Y/N lit and took a long hit from the blunt before passing it to Wooyoung. “You even named him.” He giggled. “Like a puppy.”

“Shut up!” Y/N shoved him, face flushed. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Mingi since she met him. It hasn’t even been a full 24 hours yet. 23 and 45 minutes to be exact.

She had texted him last night, asking him if he’s been tested recently, both of them sending each other a pic of proof. She even mentioned how she was on birth control.

Y/N only wanted to take Mingi one way and the thought alone had her needing Friday to hurry up and get there.

“My friends are having a party tonight,” Wooyoung hit the blunt, the smoke exhaling slowly out of his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick at his lip ring. “San’s gonna be there and I want a round two.” He grinned causing y/n to roll her eyes at him.

She hadn’t met this San guy yet but Wooyoung never shut up about him, especially after they had hooked up like a month ago at……

“Wait a minute…” She remembers now, she had thought Mingi’s name was familiar to her when Wooyoung had texted her about him helping her. “It was Mingi’s birthday where the two of you hooked up!”

“Yeah, I told you that.” Wooyoung shrugged hitting the blunt again as y/n was now distracted. “So…. San is his roommate?” She also remembers Wooyoung mentioning something about it when he had practically skipped into her house the day after all giddy.

“Best friend actually and also, yes.” Wooyoung cursed, hissing like a cat when he dropped a fiery ash on his pants, smacking at it. “Will Mingi be there?” Y/N hoped she didn’t sound that interested but clearly she did from the way Wooyoung smirked at her knowingly. “Mingi never misses a party.”

Y/N grabbed the blunt back from him, heart racing at the thought of seeing Mingi outside of… well, what he was helping her with. “We should go.”

Wooyoung giggled. “Of course we should!”

What he failed to mention however was that the friend throwing a party was Mingi.

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“Hoshi and Dk just got here and they’ve already almost caught the bathroom trash on fire.” San sounded exasperated after getting back from locking Byeol up in his bedroom.

Mingi snorted from where he was pouring himself and Jaehyun shots of soju. “It’s not funny.” San huffed as he shoved past an already drunk Boo Seungkwan who was busy singing loudly over the song blasting from the tv, the remote working as a microphone.

“Put that down!” San pointed a finger at Hoshi who had picked up a stool from the small kitchen island, holding it over his head as loud knocking banged at the front door of the apartment. He walked over, shaking his head at the chaos of their friends and opening the door, face flushing red at the sight of Wooyoung.

“Sannie!” Wooyoung beamed at him, throwing his arms around him dramatically. San caught him, gaze now catching sight of the girl behind Wooyoung. “Hi.” He greeted her politely, never having met her before. She was dressed in ripped skinny jeans, black converse, the black lacy bralette visible under the sheer black shirt and cropped dark red leather jacket.

“Y/N, this is San!” Wooyoung pulled away from him, reaching back and grabbing y/n hand, pulling her with him inside the apartment. “Here,” San helped her out of her jacket, hanging it up in the small closet beside the door.

Y/N thanked him, removing her shoes, eying the apartment, taking in the scent of strawberry coming from the pink candle lit on the coffee table in the open living room where Seungkwan was singing along with a girl she didn’t know.

“Y/N…” Seungkwan froze when he saw her, blushing and fidgeting. “I…. I didn’t know you would be here.” Last time he saw her he had dropped her camera, stuttering and hard in his pants before she could even get started on her stream.

“Hi,” the other girl waved at her, flaming red hair up in two pigtails. “I’m Yuqi, it’s nice to finally have another girl around these idiots.”

“Hey!” San pouted causing Yuqi to roll her eyes. “Except you San.” San beamed at her then, looking proud he wasn’t considered a complete and total idiot like the rest of his friends. “Trust me I’d much rather be down the hall in my room right now.”

“Wait..” y/n furrowed her brows. “this is your apartment?” San was Mingi’s roommate which meant this was where Mingi lived, not just some party he’d might be at.

San nodded at her as Wooyoung started trailing his hand up his arm. “You didn’t tell me that.” She gave a pointed look at Wooyoung who shrugged. “Must of slipped my mind.”

“Oh, hello,” Hoshi slid up in front of y/n seemingly out of nowhere. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he grinned at her, his platinum blonde hair standing out. “I’m Hoshi.”

“And I’m DK!” Seokmin appeared beside Hoshi, smirking. “We’re like a two for one special.”

Seungkwan snorted and Yuqi had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Hoshi glared at his best friend as y/n smirked at them, the same smirk she’d given her viewers. “Not in this lifetime.”

Wooyoung cackled and San had to bite his bottom lip to retain himself from laughing. “Y/N, you want a drink?” He motioned for her to follow him towards the kitchen, leaving a now annoyed Hoshi behind to smack his best friend in the back of the head. “Why the hell would you say that?”

Mingi had his head thrown back, downing a shot of everclear, Choi Jongho and Mark Lee’s idea. The alcohol burned, his eyes closing shut and a cough leaving him. “Fuck…” he blinked his eyes back open, shaking his head.

“San,” he smirked when he saw him appear. “Take a shot,” he grinned, his best friend was a light weight. “I want to see how red your face can get.”

San glared at him, pushing Mark out of the way a little to reach the fridge. “We have a little mix of everything..” San gestured for y/n to look in the fridge and choose herself something cold to drink.

Mingi froze. His eyes following her, taking in every inch of her. She certainly looked different without all the pink. His gaze lingered at the exposed skin under the sheer black long sleeved shirt. The lacy bralette so tempting, his fingers itching to grip the black silky choker around her neck. “What are you doing here?”

“You two know each other?” San looked between them, the tension suddenly thick, heavy and hot. “Holy shit!” Jaehyun sort of whispered, semi shouted. Jongho and Mark stared at her, gulping, mouths slightly open because they all knew, well except San apparently, who y/n was.

Y/N smirked at Mingi, arching a brow at him as Wooyoung interrupted them. “She’s my friend Mingi’s working with.”

Jaehyun choked beside Mingi on his own shot of everclear. Oh, Mingi was certainly working with her.

“Oh,” San looked from Wooyoung and around everyone else in the kitchen. He had a feeling there was something he was missing. Like an inside joke he wasn’t apart of. “Please don’t fire him.”

San was a nice guy, a genuinely nice guy and y/n gave him a genuine smile in return. “Hi, y/n!” Jaehyun, Mark and Jongho all greeted her in unison causing Mingi to glare at them.

Mingi had learned quickly after his friends had arrived that all three of them plus seungkwan were failed cameramen for y/n. There was a part of Mingi that didn’t like the thought of his friends being with her, even if they had only held a camera for a short while.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about y/n all day. It was starting to drive him crazy. It’s why he had called his friends to all come over, he needed a distraction.

Now, here she was, in his apartment invading all his walls he was trying to put up which is crazy considering he’d only met her just the day before.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Mingi never got attached. He didn’t do relationships and dating. Not that he was getting attached to y/n or anything.

He was avoiding her the rest of the night and he had no idea why. At one point he had to clench his jaw and grab another bottle of soju when both Hoshi and Seokmin kept flirting with her.

Mingi needed a blunt, and not the sharing kind either. He slipped off, disappearing into his room. He slid his glasses off, placing them on his bedside table, the only light in the room coming from the red shaded lamp that sat there too.

His door left open like usual as he grabbed his stash out from under his mattress. Long fingers rolling the blunt expertly, darting his tongue out to lick and seal it.

The first exhale mixed with the alcohol in his system was already relaxing him. The second hit exhaled through his nose as he got comfortable on his bed, sitting back against the black headboard, eyes closed.

The third hit had him choking when a voice interrupted his daze.

“Are you avoiding me?” Y/N stood in the doorway of his room after asking San and using the bathroom. Mingi’s room was right across the hall, door open and he looked very enticing, very tempting the way he relaxed in his bed, blunt in hand, the scent of the weed mixing with his own.

“I’m not…” Mingi had to catch his breath from the smoke catching in his lungs. “avoiding you.” He was such a fucking liar and the way y/n arched a brow at him, lips tugging into a slight amused smirk, he knew she knew he was lying.

Y/N should definitely just get back to where everyone else was, being alone with Mingi, no camera, no one watching, was dangerous for her. He was everything she was attracted to and everything she tried to avoid.

“You want a hit?” Mingi let the words leave him before he could think. And y/n responded just as quickly before she could stop herself. “Sure.”

Y/N stepped into his room, eying the shadowed corners and the dark gray painted walls. A black record player sat atop a dark mahogany dresser. A black three tier shelf was perched on the wall with records.

A light gray ipad in a clear case sat on a small wooden desk in the corner along with a stereo and an orange tinted glass bong. A small bookshelf made out of the same dark mahogany as his dresser held mangas, some weathered at the creases indicating that Mingi loved them most.

Mingi himself watched her as she observed his sanctuary as he liked to call it before she crawled onto his bed, the black comforter pulling and twisting with her movement. He swore she did it on purpose.

Y/N got herself comfortable next to him, sitting against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of herself as she took in the gray sweatpants he wore. They left little to the imagination as her gaze lingered farther down.

“You sure you want everyone to see how much of a mess I’ll make you?”

His words had been playing in her head since he said it to her.

She knew he had to be big, he was tall, his hands were huge, his shoulders broad under his baggy shirts. And y/n didn’t know if he just wasn’t wearing any underwear or if he really was just big enough to be noticeable in sweats. It was probably both.

Mingi offered her the blunt, his black painted nails already chipping again. His hand brushed hers and he realized the last time he touched her had been when his fingers were buried inside of her.

He watched her, eyes not able to look away from her as she brought the blunt to her lips. Fuck! Why was this turning him on? He tried to shift his focus on the music echoing from the living room where now it was Hoshi and Jongho singing.

“You look different.” Mingi didn’t mean to say that out loud, he had just been thinking about it a lot though since he first saw her in the kitchen earlier.

Y/N passed the blunt back to Mingi, noticing the way he didn’t look at her, head leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed as he hit the blunt.

“What?” She arched a brow at him, accepting the pass of the blunt back to her. “Did you think I dressed head to toe in pink everyday?”

Y/N hated how attractive he was, especially the way he opened his eyes, side eyeing her. Mingi’s voice had dropped an octave deeper due to the high he was now on and y/n really hated the way it made her slightly clench her thighs together.

“Your house has pink everywhere.” Mingi argued causing y/n to roll her eyes as she handed him the blunt back. “I like pink, it’s my favorite color. It also helps people not to recognize me easily when I look the exact opposite offscreen.”

Mingi faced her then, letting his eyes travel from her eyes that were outlined with the darkest black eyeliner to the valley of her breast he could see displayed in the bralette under the sheer shirt.

Y/N felt her breath hitch when his finger dipped between her skin and the black choker around her neck, curving his index finger to tug at the choker a little, it tightening with his intrusion. “You should wear this Friday.”

Mingi was losing himself, it felt like he was under some kind of spell around her. He took another hit of the blunt, holding it back out to her and smirking when she froze for a second, she really wanted him to pull at her choker again.

Y/N grabbed the blunt, it was pretty much gone, and took a long last hit, the smoke filling her lungs as Mingi pouted. “You finished it.” He always liked to get the last hit.

Mingi sat up abruptly when y/n crawled into his lap, straddling him, the blunt now burnt out and placed on his rolling tray on his bedside table. “What are you doing?” His hands instantly went to her hips, gripping them and stifling a moan when her ass practically grinded against him.

Now he really wished he would have worn some underwear under the sweatpants he had on because he was sure there was no way she wasn’t feeling his length, the hardness of him against her.

And she certainly did feel it, certainly big like she had suspected. Y/N gripped Mingi’s chin, moving her face closer, lips brushing his.

Mingi realized what she was doing, opening his mouth a little to allow her to blow the smoke she had kept locked in her own and fuck did he get harder.

“Mingi? Have you seen…” San gasped, avoiding his eyes from them. Why did Mingi never shut his damn door? “Y/N, Seungkwan and Yuqi are looking for you, wondering if they can catch a ride with you back to your side of the city.”

Mingi could slap the shit out of his best friend in that moment. “Sure.” Y/N voice sounded so much like it had the day before on the livestream, all breathy, full of lust and Mingi felt his dick twitch.

Y/N crawled out of his lap, sliding off his bed, smiling at San and turning to smirk back at Mingi. “I’ll see you Friday.”

San watched y/n walk back up the hall and into the living room, turning his amused and slightly exasperated gaze back onto his best friend. “I thought I told you not to sleep with her?”

Mingi groaned, his dick aching in his sweats. “I haven’t.” He sighed, a small lopsided smile pulling at his lips.

“Yet.”

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By the time Friday had arrived both Mingi and Y/N were so sexually frustrated that they both woke up in a bad mood.

First, Thursday, Mingi’s dad pissed him off. He had found out that Mingi’s mom sent him money, money he sent back mind you!

Then he had to do the one thing that really pissed Mingi off. Compare him to his older brother.

”You’re 25 years old Mingi. By the time your brother was your age he was already married and helping me run the restaurant.”

Mingi was not his older brother and never would be. And he hated when someone compared them. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his older brother but he had been compared to him his entire life.

Second, Thursday, Y/N step mother decided to visit her. Of course, like always, her step mother had to scold and berate her over every little thing.

“I swear, this is your father’s fault! He spoiled you too much, him and your grandmother. Every choice you make is in poor taste. Always dressed so dreary, not even trying to settle down! You’re 25 years old, don’t you think it’s time to grow up?”

By the time it was time for them to meet up, Mingi was running late, sleeping half the day away and then waking up to jump into the shower. He didn’t even have time to get high before leaving, no time to relax his irritation.

Y/N was growing irritated with Mingi now, huffing when he was becoming well of half an hour late. She started to think that maybe he had changed his mind, perhaps he wouldn’t show up at all?

But of course he showed up. Mingi needed to lose himself, cloud his mind and y/n was the perfect distraction. “You’re late.” Y/N had her arms folded across her chest that was covered by an oversized vintage Metallica shirt. Her voice having a bite to it that only turned Mingi on.

“Well let’s get started then.” He kicked his shoes off, pulling his oversized black Diesel hoodie off, tossing it onto her couch where her cat decided to curl up into it.

Y/N gaze lingered on his arms and the way the black tank top fit him, ascentiuating his waist. And y/n could have sworn he had the sluttiest waist she’s ever seen on a man.

Mingi followed her up to her room, smirking when he noticed she had worn the choker just like he had made sure to wear those gray sweatpants he noticed she liked.

Being in her room made Mingi realize what was going to happen and fuck did he need it. He could feel himself growing harder just thinking about being in her mouth.

“You can sit the camera up over there.” Y/N gestured towards a stand that was angled towards her bed.

Mingi waited for y/n to finishing getting ready, his eyes not leaving her once as she pulled her underwear down her legs, this time a black lacy pair.

His gaze was so dark, filled with so much need and lust it was suffocating as he watched her grab the same little pink vibrator she had used the last time. Mingi knew the second she had him in her mouth he was gonna lose it.

There’s no way he was gonna be able to just let her suck his dick and then go home. Mingi felt like he was on a high when he was around her. Getting that same euphoric haze he got after smoking weed or eating a handful of edibles.

He felt like he was on autopilot turning the camera on, getting the stream started, anxious to have her already and didn’t give a shit how many watched.

Y/N greeted the viewers, that sweet, innocent smile on her face. Fuck, Mingi wanted to ruin her. He wanted to mark her. He wanted to feel her so good she’d be drunk on him for days.

Mingi watched her, easing closer towards her with the camera, his gaze not leaving her breasts hidden behind the black lacy bra she had on.

“Spike?”

Mingi blinked, meeting her gaze and realizing she had been talking to him amidst his daze. “What?” His voice was deep, unrecognizable to his own ears.

Y/N had to keep from glaring at him. He had been distracted the entire time, like her words were going through one ear and out the other. “Are you joining me or not?” There was a bite to her voice again and Mingi seemed to snap out of his daze.

Y/N watched him take the camera over to the stand, moving it closer towards the bed and angling, zooming in slightly.

She felt some of her irritation leave her when Mingi pulled his black tank top off, tossing it in the computer chair. He was so toned, his abs perfectly outlined, a light happy trail from his belly button disappeared under the waistband of his sweats.

Mingi didn’t even try hiding his face, he didn’t care who saw him. He actually felt a bit of adrenaline at all those watching would see him have her.

Y/N felt her heart start racing when Mingi kneeled on the bed in front of her, still towering over her as he slipped two of his fingers under her choker, pulling her towards him.

“You know…” Mingi tugged at the choker and used his other hand to grip her chin, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “I don’t think you can fit me in there.”

Y/N clenched her thighs together, forgetting about the stream as soon he touched her. A moan escaped her when the little pink vibrator started, the viewers already sending in, ready for them to get started.

“First…” Mingi pulled both his hands back, fingers tracing the straps of her bra before sneaking around and unhooking it expertly. He wanted to dive in, take his time for both of her perfect fucking tits but right now he was needy.

He smirked at the dazed look in y/n eyes, her hand reaching for the waistband of his sweats. He wasn’t the only needy one. Her breathy words that came tumbling from her lips made Mingi lose it. “Please fuck my face.”

Mingi stepped off the bed, standing right at the foot of it and held y/n gaze as he pulled his sweats down, pooling at his feet. He was big, y/n felt herself clenching around nothing, aching suddenly, aching to know what it would feel for him to stretch her. To fill her.

Y/N slid across the bed to him, the vibrator suddenly pulsing faster as she laid down before him on her stomach and elbows, looking up at him, face level with his hard dick.

Mingi tangled a hand into her hair, pulling her head back further. “Open your mouth.” His voice was deep and dominant. She did as he told her to in an embarrassing quickness. Instantly doing as he commanded.

She blinked, gasping, when he spit down into her mouth. “Show me.” Mingi tugged at her hair and y/n moaned, holding her tongue out where his spit was.

“I’m gonna make sure you fit every single inch,” he gripped himself in his free hand. “and I’m not gonna stop until you feel me…” he let his grip in her hair go, trailing his fingers to the back of her neck inching up to where the back of her throat would be. “right here.”

Y/N wasted no more time with his slight teasing, tongue darting out to lick up the length of him, tracing the veins of his dick like she was trying to paint a masterpiece.

“Fuck.” Mingi once again gripped her hair, tugging it a little harsher then before, his dick twitching, precum leaking from the tip which y/n licked clean. “Stop teasing.”

Y/N reached out, gripping at his thighs to brace herself as she brought his tip into her mouth, sucking and lapping at it with her tongue. A guttural moan left Mingi as he now tangled both his hands into her hair, gripping tightly as he pulled her head back. “Remember what I told you when you asked for this?”

“You sure you want everyone to see how much of a mess I’ll make you?”

Of course y/n remembered! She couldn’t get his teasing words out of her head. “Then make a fucking mess out of me.” She snapped at him, bratty and impatient. Mingi groaned, his dick twitching and bobbing at her chin. Well, if that’s what she wants….

She gagged as soon as he thrusted himself into her mouth, his tip pushing past her gag reflex, tapping the back of her throat and y/n had to take a moment to breathe through her nose, his dick heavy on her tongue, filling her mouth and throat full.

Mingi swore right then and there he’d never again see anything better then y/n choking on him. “Look at you, Princess….” Y/n felt the vibrator hit the highest pulse, sending her into a moaning mess around him, tears pooling into her eyes by the stretch of him. “are you struggling?”

He was teasing her now, pulling his length almost all the way back out of her mouth only to thrust it back in.

Mingi was a fucking menace and y/n had never been more turned on.

He allowed her a little time, a few more thrusts and strokes to adjust to him before Mingi started a fast pace, dick buried as far in her throat as it could go, her nose meeting his pelvis every time, spit drooling out the creases of her mouth. The most sinful and lewd noises echoing from the constant gag and Mingi’s deep moans.

Y/N felt herself close, the vibrator and Mingi’s moans about to send her over the edge and her poor aching clit hadn’t even been touched yet.

Mingi bit his bottom lip, looking down at her as he continued to do what she wanted and fuck her face. He was also doing what he said and was making a complete mess out of her.

It was taking everything in him to not pull his dick out of her mouth, spread her out on her bed and sink himself all the way inside her, as far as he could go. As far as she could take him.

Y/N gasped, breathing deeply and panting when Mingi pulled her head back, his dick popping from her mouth. He untangled his hands from her hair, pulling her up to her knees by her choker.

And then he was kissing her, tasting himself on her, both of them moaning into each other.“Can I fuck you?” Mingi was practically begging, his forehead resting down against her own as he pulled back from her lips.

Y/N hadn’t planned on it, not yet, but fuck she needed him. She smirked, loving the way he gripped at her choker tighter. “Do you want to ruin me, Mingi?”

She spoke just loud enough that he could hear, so those watching wouldn’t hear. Mingi didn’t answer her, crashing his lips back to her own and wrapping his arms around her.

Hands gripped her thighs, Mingi spreading her legs open, breaking the kiss and stared down at her. She was the most beautiful mess he’d ever seen.

Y/N let out a whimper as he removed the vibrator from her, dropping it onto the bed. Mingi slid one hand up her body, wrapping it around her throat as he used his other to guide himself into her soaked and aching pussy.

She was tight, so tight Mingi was fucking whimpering. Y/N choked back a sob when he thrusted, filling her and bottoming out.

It was only painful for a split second, Mingi pausing, freezing his movements to let her adjust to him, his length and width stretching her but as soon as he started to move, the most intoxicating moan Mingi had ever heard left her.

His grip on her throat tightened only slightly as his other hand moved to grab her leg, gripping at her ankle as he brought it up to rest over his shoulder.

Y/N eyes, pupils blown, caught sight of his cross pendant chain dangling above her and Mingi literally growled when she arched up, pulling the cross pendant into her mouth with her teeth.

“You’re so fucking dirty.” Mingi grinned, his thrust fast, hard and making y/n a moaning, crying mess. “Pussy fucking perfect…” he pulled all the way out, a white ring of cream coating his length as his tip brushed her clit. “And all these people watching get to see me make it mine.”

“MINGI…” y/n couldn’t help the loud slip of his name, it escaping her in the loudest cry she’d ever heard come from herself.

Mingi was pounding into her now, letting his grip on her throat go to bring his hand down to pull her other leg up, both now draped over his shoulders.

Y/N was coming the second one of his hands reached down and his thumb started rubbing her clit. Her orgasm hit her with shaking legs, clenching Mingi’s dick tightly as she squirted with every last sloppy thrust of his own before he too came, filling her up and collapsing against her, panting.

Mingi knew he was fucked now. He was already addicted. On a high that was nothing but her and there was no way he was gonna be able to let it go.

He was so fucked.

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411 @dawn-iscozy @winxmia @milkfromacow @pearltinyy @wooyoungsbrat @seonghwasslytherin

[deadpcnned]

you're so vain (jj.m)

coming soon!

general masterlist | join the taglist

pairing: jj maybank x reader (au)

synopsis: for as long as anyone can remember, jj maybank has been a ladies’ man—willing to charm any girl with a pulse. you, on the other hand, have never been easily won over, shutting down unwanted advances without a second thought in the name of higher pursuits.

so when his friends bet he can’t get with you, he sees it as just another challenge. what he doesn’t know is that you have a bet of your own—act like the worst girlfriend possible, and prove that guys don't just stick around for looks.

at first, it’s just a game. your weird quirks and stubborn attitude are nothing he can’t handle, and his flirtations are nothing more than motivation for you. but with every passing day, it all seems less like a game and more... real. what happens when winning the bet means losing each other?

* this series is inspired by 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' *

content warning(s): au, drugs, alcohol, language

author's note: uh oh, another series... like most girls, i am such a big fan of this movie and i couldn't resist adding my own spin to the plot. this series won't be starting until probably the end of february, but i wanted to go ahead and post it!

“I seriously doubt a guy would stick around if he were fishing out spinach from my mouth every time we kissed,” You mumble, rolling your eyes at Ruthie as you return to tightly winding Sarah’s hair around the curling iron. Your grip tightens around the pink handle, more from exasperation than focus. Topper seriously needs to reconsider his recent taste in women.

Ruthie pushes herself up from the bed and saunters over to the two of you, a spark of mischief shining in her eyes that catches your attention in the mirror. Without warning, she scoops the ottoman from under your knee, ignoring your annoyed huff as she plops down. “You don’t get it, do you?” she says, shaking her head as if she’s explaining something painfully obvious. “Boys are simple. They’ll do anything for a good fuck.” 

“Ruthie!” 

“Sarah!” You exclaim, pulling away the curling wand hovering dangerously close to her turned cheek. “Stop moving! I almost burned you!” You cautiously rest your curling wand on the vanity, crossing your arms as you address Ruthie’s tireless campaign. “Ruthie, that’s just not true. Men suck, but they’re not that desperate.” 

“Care to test it?” The look she gives you, so full of unwarranted confidence, makes it tempting to agree blindly to whatever nonsense she’s about to spew. But in the short time you’ve known her, you’ve gathered jumping headfirst into whatever she plans is maybe not the smartest thing to do. 

“How would we do that?” You arch a brow, playing it cool, the picture of nonchalance. Girls like Ruthie want you to bark when you should be biting back. The best way to handle them is to beat them at their own game. It doesn’t matter how uneasy her grin makes you. You have to look like the picture of perfect insouciance. 

“Easy. You reel in some sucker and make him regret it. Clingy, loud, jealous – I’m talking full nightmare fuel.” 

“Me?” You scoff, reaching for the iron. “Sarah, I swear, if you move–”

 Sarah hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t angle her face towards the circular mirror like you need her to. She’s too busy watching Ruthie, waiting for her following words. 

“Yes, you.” 

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig?” You fuss, shifting your position to continue working on Sarah’s hair. You twist Sarah’s blond hair around the silver rod as you suggest, “You test it out with Topper. You’re the one with something to prove.”

“I’m actually serious about Topper,” Ruthie counters and you have to physically bite your tongue from making a snarky comment. “And you’re perfect for this. You’re objectively hot and leaving at the end of the summer. No strings with a hot chick? Guys eat that up.” 

“Ruthie, remind me again why you’re with Topper if you have such a low opinion of the entire male species,” Sarah asks. Sarah eyes Ruthie with a mix of genuine curiosity and plain judgment. Ruthie doesn’t dignify Sarah with a response, upholding the same catty attitude she’s maintained with her since the start of the evening. “Or not.” 

You and Sarah share a long look, not hiding your indignation, but you can’t deny that beneath you’re irritation, you’re a little interested. You would be in the Outer Banks for three months; you might as well find a way to kill time. 

“Done,” You announce, pulling back and smiling at your handiwork. As Sarah fluffs through her hair, you ask, “So, I just pick any guy and make him miserable?” 

Sarah spins around at a dizzying speed, her jaw dropping open. “You’re considering it? Like, actually?”  

You give her a sheepish shrug and look to Ruthie for confirmation. 

“No, I get to choose.”

“What, why?” You scoff. 

“Cause you’d choose someone you already know, and those guys have been harboring unrequited crushes on you since you were, like, twelve.” You try not to betray your surprise. Somehow, Ruthie knows more about your life than you want her to. You weren't sure how Ruthie knew this about you, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. 

“Fine,” You huff, flopping down onto your bed. “Who, then?”

Ruthie’s smile is one you could only describe as downright devilish as she leans in, lowering her voice to a lethal whisper. “Who else but Kildare’s biggest fuckboy? JJ Maybank.”

taglist: @rinaarii @kaisgirlie @loophole3 @flourelle @xobeautifulfaith @brooklyn789 @jjscoquette

*if you would like to be removed, pls lmk!

[reidsmanuscript]

Meet the Minds

Summary: 4 years after that one time in a bar, on how your character Criminal Minds was born, and maybe how something else was also borned. Pairing: mgg x actress!reader Genre: friends to lovers?, fluff, mutual pinning TW: Public Scrutiny/Fame, reader has severally parents issues, plus they are passive aggressive but it's short i swear, brief mention of cheating, mgg takes a minute to appear i know im sorry, long introduction wc: 3.7k! A/N: hopefully someone will understand what I'm aiming for with both of my dear !readers, this is with the solely purpose to treat myself i fear Masterlist!

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Since that one time in a bar it has been 4 years. Your show City Lights has gotten big. And when you say big, it was BIG, and so did you.

You were wrapping up the third season of the show, with a renewed contract for the next season in hand and a few promising movie proposals. In the past four years, you and your friends have become famous. Not A-list famous, but enough that if any of you went out, someone would recognize you, or a few paparazzi might follow your every move.

The four of you had lived in the same apartment in New York ever since filming started on location. HBO wanted your friendship to feel authentic for the cameras, and boy, were you grateful for that… because they had become your true best friends—not just on TV, but in real life.

It was Ashley, Jack and Nathan. Something that always happens when you start a show and it gets views it’s that the whole crew becomes a big family. In the middle of the second season, you finally mustered the courage to ask the showrunner, Jeff Davis, if you could join the writers' table to pitch some ideas for your character. He agreed, and since then, some of the best storylines on the show had come from your contributions.

The thing was, your name brought in big numbers, and it had caught the attention of producers and showrunners alike. Criminal Minds had premiered a year ago, gained some traction, but they wanted to take it to the next level. So Jeff, the same creator of your show, called you and your agent to see if you could join the cast.

There were two problems. First, your schedule was already packed. Moving to L.A. for the shoot wasn’t an option—City Lights had you locked in for the fourth season, and there was a possibility you'd land the lead in a promising film. On top of that, you were still taking college classes from a foreign university at your parents' insistence. So, being a recurring character was out of the question.

Second, when they handed you the script, you hated the character. They wanted you to be the fan favorite, Spencer Reid’s love interest, and while you had no problem with that, the character itself didn’t sit right with you. She was this sweet, innocent woman, one who was a victim from one unsub, and Spencer, an addict, would find redemption through her. He’d get sober and everything would be perfectly happy. You thought it was dull.

For starters, you knew how controversial it would be for her to become his personal recovery center, but you also saw the potential in the character. So, you asked if you could rewrite her into something more dynamic, something with more depth. Given the trust Jeff had in you, he gave you free rein to make the changes.

“How’s it going?” Jack, one of your best friends and a Criminal Minds fan, asked, entering the living room.

“A surprisingly moving amount of absolute nothing,” you said jokingly, staring at the blank space.

“Oh, come on, dude! We’ve watched some of the episodes together! You know the vibe,” he said, sitting down on the couch beside you.

“Well, I know the vibe, I just don’t know how to write it.” you said throwing your hands to the air in a comically exasperated way.

“Well, I know the vibe, I just don’t know how to write it,” you said, dramatically throwing your hands in the air, exasperated.

“Guess who’s gone viral again!” Nathan breezed into the room, flashing you a grin. He played your love interest on City Lights, and the fans went wild for your on-screen chemistry. But the truth was, you two were nothing more than really good friends. There was no romance, just a strong, platonic bond.

“Ugh... please tell me it’s for the right reasons.” You shut your eyes and let your head flop back against the couch.

Nathan tossed you his phone, then leaned casually on the backrest of the couch, Jack scooting closer to get a better look.

“What is it? Another red sauce scandal?” you asked, scrunching your nose at the thought.

Let me tell you something: becoming famous at 17 or 18 leaves you with a digital footprint that you'll wish you could erase by the time you’re 23.

He handed you his phone, showing a new release from Austin, your ex-boyfriend. The song title was painfully obvious—"Still Stuck on You." The lyrics left no room for interpretation, and the message hit you like a ton of bricks. Austin had written another song about you, and this time, he made it clear.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me! This is like the third one this year!” Your mouth hung open in disbelief as Jack, who had burst out laughing, took the phone from your hands and started scrolling through the Twitter comments.

He had been your “boyfriend” four years ago, but only for PR purposes. When you found out he’d cheated, you broke up with him. He begged and cried, and it was pathetic. Since then, Austin had turned your brief relationship into his whole persona. He released songs that were painfully obvious about you, dated women who looked eerily like you, and spent interviews throwing shade, spreading lies, all for attention. The problem? You were skyrocketing, gaining fame in ways he could never have predicted, and he—well, he was still stuck on you.

Your phone started ringing somewhere around the apartment, a FaceTime call vibrating through the cushions. You rummaged through the pillows on the couch, cursing under your breath as you came up empty.

“Seriously, how do you always lose it?” Nathan said, appearing behind you with a smirk. He found your phone wedged between the couch cushions and handed it to you just as you answered the call. As he did, you reached into your back pocket, pulling out a dollar bill and placing it in his open hand.

See, you had a special talent for losing your phone around the house, and your friends turned it into a game. Every time you misplaced it and one of them found it, you owed them a dollar.

“Bitch have you seen it?!” Ashley squealed from your phone, her voice laced with urgency. 

“It's like jumpscare! you know it’s coming but it’s always surprisingly disappointing!” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“Somebody said, ‘Are you writing a memoir or just trying to hit the ‘most dramatic ex’ award this year?’” You all chuckled at Jack’s reading.

“Gotta go, some stylist is calling me. Love ya, bye!” Ashley hung up quickly, going back to her photoshoot, leaving you to shake your head and wish her good luck.

Jack kept giggling at the comments, lost in the chaos of Austin’s latest stunt. Meanwhile, you stared blankly at your screen, the cursor blinking mockingly back at you.

Nathan gave you a playful shove. “You know what’s really offensive? The tempo on that track. It’s like he’s trying to be edgy but doesn’t understand how syncopation works.”

“Hmm, well, what else could you expect? Maybe you should make your own song about it, something with a real sense of rhythm,” You said absently, still staring at the screen, the cursor blinking in a never-ending challenge.

“And you should start writing that, maybe throw in a little revenge of your own,” he said, nudging his chin toward the computer screen with a grin. You frowned at him, your gaze drifting back to the cursor as you considered his words.

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You were studying—actually studying—sitting in the mini studio with notes scattered in front of you, calculator by your side, silently frustrated as you tried to make sense of the numbers. Ashley was on the other side of the desk in front of you, pacing and memorizing her lines, back and forth, her voice echoing in the room. Your grip tightened on your pencil, eyes flicking over the work in front of you, when your phone buzzed. Another message.

"We’ve heard about your 'plans,' but it’s hard to take them seriously when you can’t commit. It’s cute to 'explore options,' but at some point, you’ll have to stop playing around and think about your future. Don’t you want to be taken seriously?"

Maybe it was the sound of your phone tapping against the wood of the table, or the way your hand instinctively went to your eyes, trying to stop the threatening tears, that tipped Ashley off. She paused, looking up from her lines, eyes narrowing as she caught the shift in your mood, as she made it to your way, reading the message still open on your phone that had already sunk in, the familiar sting. 

Ashley didn’t hesitate. She pulled you into a hug, still standing while you were sat, one arm wrapping around your shoulders tightly as she murmured, "Fuck them. Seriously. You don’t need their crap." She squeezed you harder, as if to prove the point. "You're better than any of that. Don’t let their bullshit get to you." Her voice was fierce, a protective edge in every word.

The relationship with your parents was complicated, to say the least. You'd tried to make them proud, but it was never enough. Now, more than ever, you’d rebel when you chose to become an actress. It felt ridiculous—like you were still studying against your will, trying to prove something you didn’t even want to.

"I mean, what the fuck will it take for them to take me seriously? A fucking Oscar? Have some damn patience—I’m working on it," you spat, voice shaky, leaning into Ashley as tears threatened to spill.

She sighed, pulling you in a little tighter. “Fuck them,” she muttered, her voice low but firm. “They don’t get it, and honestly, they probably never will. But you’ve got this. You’re doing something they can’t even begin to understand. Don’t let their bullshit get to you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, at least it wasn’t a call. I swear it’s pathetic how every time I get mad, I just cry.”

Ashley pulled you into a tight hug, her voice soft but firm. “Forget about them for a second, okay? You don’t need to study right now. You’ve been working your ass off. Take a break. You’re allowed to feel pissed off without worrying about your grades for a few minutes.” She pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “You’re doing your best, and that’s all that matters.”

With a last shaky breath and wiping away the tears that had escaped, you nodded. Ashley sighed, her voice soft but firm. “Hey, enough with the studying for now. You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard. Wanna get cute and go out for some coffee?” She gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You deserve a break.”

You chuckled, truly this time, and shook your head. "Maybe later. You finish with your lines, and I’ll… go grab some snacks," she nodded, giving you a smile, picking up the forgotten script.

You were still shaken, even frustrated at how powerless you felt around your parents, and how you reacted to your feelings. You cried, and sometimes words became hard to find. You wished you could scream and destroy everything, just let it all out, like those female rage characters, but for now, you were left in silence.

Which gave you an idea.

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That’s how you ended up creating your character—in a fully cathartic, all-nighter frenzy, shaping her with layers of meaning. Like her nickname, “Woody,” a nod to Nathan’s favorite movie, Toy Story—a little inside joke, a quiet way of taking revenge in your own way.

She was everything you weren’t, and at the same time, everything you were.

And then there was her best friend, Austin—played by Jack, of course, since he was a huge fan of the show—who you took every opportunity to be mean to, just for the fun of it.

You’d never admit it, but the line “Austin is not my boyfriend”? Yeah, that had a little extra bite to it. A double meaning, if you will.

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The producers loved it. The depth of your character, how dark her storyline was. Because if you really want to keep the audience engaged? Give them two characters who are absolutely perfect for each other—but can’t be together.

And when the idea of adding Jack came up, they agreed immediately. What’s better than one City Lights star joining the show? Two City Lights stars.

But they had asked you to keep the secret from everyone, including the current cast. Who you'll be meeting and revealing your characters to in the table reading 

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Jack and you were currently at ABC’s costume department, standing in front of a mirror while the costume designer and a wardrobe assistant made final adjustments to your outfits.

“Man, I’m boiling in here,” you groaned, peeling off the red shirt as the wardrobe assistant jotted down notes about the fit. 

Jack, meanwhile, admired himself in the mirror, dramatically flipping back the leather jacket he was trying on. “Do I look tough? Like, would you trust me with your deepest, darkest secret?” He smirked, striking a pose straight out of an action movie.

The costume designer, pinning a hem on your sleeve, barely glanced up. “You look like an extra in a bad '90s biker film.”

“You look like you're about to challenge a middle schooler to a dance battle,” you added, crossing your arms.

Jack gasped, clutching his chest. “Wow. Zero faith in me.”

“More like zero intimidation factor” You said from the changing room, a few moments later, you stepped out  wearing a white shirt and black vest, and flashed Jack a playful grin. “So, do I finally look like the child my parents can brag about?” you joked, adjusting the vest slightly.

The wardrobe assistant shot you a thumbs up, clearly impressed with the fit.

“Are you maxing out someone's card again?” A voice asked behind you. 

You turned around to see Matthew grinning. You chuckled, scrambling for a response. “Well… I’m not legally allowed to talk about it,” you said, cringing internally.

Man, you were awkward without alcohol in your veins.

He chuckled, stepping closer to pull you into a brief hug in greeting. You’d already worked together on The Beauty Inside, so the familiarity was there—comfortable, easy, playful even.

“So what are you doing here?” He asked.

“Ummm well..” You turned to Jack with panic in your eyes. Jack, ever the performer, didn’t miss a beat. “We’re actually here to stage a heist. High-stakes, top secret.” He waggled his eyebrows.

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “We’re doing costume fittings.”

Matthew raised a brow, clearly amused. “Costume fittings, huh?” His gaze flickered to the wardrobe racks surrounding you. “For something unannounced?”

You hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line. “I plead the fifth.”

Jack threw an arm around your shoulders. “She’s under strict secrecy orders, but between us?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It 's big.”

“Jaaack,” you warned, dragging out the 'a' in a clear sign for him to be careful.

“Well, if you’re in it, I bet it is,” he said, smirking at you.

You chuckled, clearing your throat. “Soo, what are you doing here?”

“Well, this is kinda where I work,” he said with a shrug teasing. Right. This was where the cast of Criminal Minds did their fittings, although the producers had made sure you were not scheduled together to avoid leaks.

You raised an eyebrow, looking around the room. "Here? In the costume department?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying your confusion. "Yep, I mean, what else would I be doing here? Getting my wardrobe ready for my big role?" he added, his tone mock-serious. “What are you supposed to be, by the way? A real estate agent? I bet you’re just one property listing away from a deal of the century,” he said, eyeing your clothes.

You chuckled again. “No, um… I’m actually a very boring banker,” you said, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much. Like get a hold of yourself girlie, he’s just a tall, handsome man, with nice hair and curls and pretty eyes, and gentle. Somebody, hand me a glass of water, or wine, whichever is easier.

The costume designer called your name, already holding more clothes in her hands. "We need to finish these adjustments, sweetheart."

You nodded, trying to shake off the distraction. "Right, I’ll be right there."

Matthew smirked, taking it as his cue to leave. "I guess I'll let you continue. Good luck being a banker," he teased, giving you one last look.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks, Matthew," you said, turning toward the designer as he walked off.

Jack, who had been quietly observing from the corner, chimed in with a grin. "Yeah, because nothing says ‘big role’ like a banker in slacks."

You shot him a playful glare. "Oh shut up, Johnny Bravo," you joked, laughing as he dramatically posed in response.

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The producers stood at the front of the room, their eyes scanning the assembled cast. There was a buzz in the air—everyone was settling in, ready for the read-through to begin. After a quick round of hellos and some introductions, one of the producers, a tall woman with a clipboard, stood up to speak.

“Alright, everyone, before we dive in, we have a very exciting addition to the cast today. You’re about to meet someone who is going to bring a lot of depth and intensity to the world of Criminal Minds.” The showrunner smiled at you, saying your names and introducing the new character you’d be bringing to life.

Jack, sitting beside you, was doing his best to keep his cool, but the way he gripped his script gave him away. His knuckles were turning white from how tightly he held the pages, and you couldn’t help but smirk. Leaning toward him, you whispered, “That’s not bubble wrap.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and he whisper-shouted, “That’s Mandy Patinkin sitting right there. Do you have any idea how my mom would react if she were here?”

You chuckled under your breath, keeping your eyes on the table. Across from you, Matthew sat diagonally, flipping through the script with a furrowed brow. When he glanced up, he shot you a mock-offended look and mouthed, “Liar.”

You choked back a laugh, quickly mouthing “Sorry” with a small shrug just as the producers began reading.

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The reading session had concluded, and you were chatting with Paget about how much you had loved her in Friends. Meanwhile, Jack was across the room, subtly—well, not so subtly—trying to get an autograph from Mandy.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Matthew making his way toward you, but pretended not to notice, keeping your attention on Paget. You had a feeling he was about to make some kind of remark, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of expecting it.

“You should be careful with her, she lied to me and told me she was going to be some boring banker,” he finally said, warning Paget with a smirk, 

You turned to him with an unimpressed look. “I’ll take that as I’m good at my job”

Paget raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Oh, so she tricked you? That’s embarrassing, Gubler.”

Matthew placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I was misled! Deceived! Here I was, thinking I had met a perfectly normal, unassuming banker, only to find out she’s infiltrating our world.”

She laughed and patted his shoulder before the showrunner called her, leaving you alone with him.

“Nice shoes, by the way,” he said, looking down at your mismatched Converse—one deep red and the other black, matching your red top.

You chuckled. “Thanks. People keep making fun of me on the internet, saying I must've rushed out of the house.”

He laughed and pulled up his pants, revealing his mismatched socks—one purple with yellow dots and the other blue with bananas. “Well, that’s because they’re boring.”

“Oh God, they’re so cool,” you genuinely liked how bizarre they were.

“Hey, I saw your name on the last page of the credits... Did you write those episodes?” he asked, kind of amazed.

“Well, I um... added some minor stuff, really,” you said, lying a little. “Just to make her more sarcastic and fun… like, I can’t wait to get covered in blood for the shots.”

He laughed just as Jack reappeared, clutching his freshly signed Mandy Patinkin autograph like it was the Holy Grail. “I blacked out for half of that conversation, but I think I played it cool.”

“Yeah, sure, if you say so.” You were about to say something more when a producer called for both of you.

With an apologetic smile, you said goodbye to Matthew, but before you turned around, he called out, “Can I get your number this time, or do I have to wish we get cast together again?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you handed him your number. “I guess I’ll wait for your call.”

“You better pick up. There are some scenes I think will need some rehearsal.” His words made your stomach flip, and a flush crept up your face.

Pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling too much, you retorted, “You better be quick. My schedule is full.” That made him chuckle.

The producer called for you again, and you made your way toward him and Jack, still feeling the warmth of the moment lingering. You once promised yourself to not-date-coworkers. Maybe if those coworkers weren’t so funny and handsome you wouldn’t reconsider your own words.

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If you want to find out more about the CM character click here!

Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Would It Be Weird?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: After a night of drinking, you and your friends stumble across a fire station crawling with firemen. One of them catches your eye, and your friends try their damnest to get you two together. It’s been a long time for you but maybe Dean Winchester will change all of that.

Square Filled: stranger au (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

“Bartender! One more round!” your best friend, Shelly, calls out.

Despite being busy for the night, the bartender refills more shot glasses and hands them over one by one. After the week you just had, you deserve to have a night out for celebrations. Hard work pays off, and your boss promoted you to a manager with a significant pay raise, and Shelly just got engaged. That is enough to call for a celebratory night out with friends.

“So, have you decided on a maid of honor?” you ask Shelly when she returns to the table.

“You, of course. Better do a good job or else I’m asking my sister to do it.”

“Hey, don’t insult me. You know I love planning a good party,” you grin.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married! This is so surreal! Janice, when is Parker going to ask you to marry him? You’ve been together, what, six years?”

“We’re taking it slow. We don’t mind,” she shrugs. “Don’t come at me without coming after Tina. The other day, I caught her and Ben doing it on the kitchen counter.”

“Tina!” you gasp with a smile.

“I can’t help it. We’re in the honeymoon phase.”

“You got married three years ago.”

“No kids make the honeymoon phase last forever,” she laughs.

“So we’re all in relationships except for Y/N,” Shelly smirks. “When are you going to let a man ruffle those perfect feathers?”

“Shelly,” you grit out.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re the only one out of us who isn’t in a relationship. You’ve been single for half a decade now.”

It’s true. The last relationship you were in just didn’t do it for you. You stayed with him for three years because you thought that’s what you were supposed to be doing. He wasn’t anything special. He didn’t make your heart race. He didn't make your skin hot and clammy. He didn’t make you weak in the knees. But being with him was better than being alone.

You know better now. Being single doesn’t necessarily mean you’re alone. You have a wonderful job, loving parents, funny siblings, and wonderful friends. You like being single, but there are times when you wonder if there is more for you out there than meaningless sex and hookups.

“Despite what you might think, I’m happy where I am.”

“Nope, don’t accept it. We’re going to set you up tonight. Girls, do you see potential matches?”

“Come on, don’t do this,” you sigh.

Your friends chatter amongst themselves as they seek out potential matches for you while you sit there like a bum on a log. You can’t be too mad at them. They want to see you happy. Plus, they might actually find your next love. Despite their best efforts, they don’t find anyone worth your time, but you do get free drinks by flirting with men.

By two in the morning, you and your friends stumble out of the bar in laughter. Your home is a few blocks away so you’re okay with walking back to your place even though you drove there.

“We’ll come back for my car tomorrow. Right now, all I want is pizza. I have some in my freezer,” you say.

You’re not so drunk that you can’t walk straight or you’re slurring your words but you are drunk enough not to be able to drive. Your friends, on the other hand, are more far gone than you are. Shelly is a giggle drunk, Tina is a loud drunk, and Janice is a sexual drunk. You’re a mom drunk, always trying to take care of those around you. It’s why you’re less drunk than they are. Someone has to be the responsible one.

“Let’s stop there!” Tina gasps loudly.

She points to a firehouse that has the garage doors open to let in the cool night are. Inside are about half a dozen firemen, all with big muscles and tight clothing. Your friends are already walking over to the station with you trailing behind.

“Hey, ladies. What are you doing out here at two in the morning?” one of the men asks.

“The bar just closed and we’re not done with our party,” Shelly grins. “We go every Friday night.”

“Why aren’t the firefighters in my distract as hot as you guys are?” Janice giggles.

You step into the station and immediately become sober when you lock eyes with forest green eyes. All the air is knocked out of your lungs, your body becomes warm with tingles, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. Shelly notices the look in your eyes and nudges Janice with a smirk.

“I’m Dean,” Green Eyes says.

“Y/N,” you smile back.

“What’s the party for, ladies?”

“I just got engaged,” Shelly grins and shows off her ring to them. “Y/N just got a promotion.”

“What for?” Dean asks.

“To be a manager. It’s more money and I’m in charge of a lot of employees.”

“I hope you’re a good boss.”

“A very good one,” you smile.

“Do you have any alcohol?” Tina asks.

She stumbles forward and knocks into you. You fall forward and end up in Dean’s lap. He’s leaning against one of the trucks, and he easily catches you in his strong arms. There go the butterflies again.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be. It got you in my arms,” he flirts.

You turn in his arms but he doesn’t let go of you. In fact, he wraps his arm around your chest. Shelly sees the blush on your cheeks and is mentally doing backflips at the thought of you finding your one.

“No, alcohol. Sorry.”

“Y/N, you have some. Let’s go to your place,” Janice says.

“We were heading there when you guys wanted to stop here and talk to the nice men.”

You look past your friends and notice the firefighter pole in the corner, and you gasp happily.

“You have a pole! I’ve always wanted to go down one,” you grin. “Can I?”

“Maybe when you’re not drunk,” Dean chuckles. “How are you guys getting home?”

“Walking. I live a few blocks away. We drove here but my car is going to be parked at the bar all night.”

“Let me drive you girls just make sure you make it home okay.”

“That sounds amazing. We’d love a ride,” Shelly says before you can say anything. “Can we take the firetruck?”

“Do you want to take the firetruck?” Dean asks.

You pull away slightly and look into his eyes. How are they so green? Damn, his parents must have great genes.

“Sure,” you giggle.

“Don’t let the Captain catch you,” one of Dean’s friends smirks.

“Don’t tell him and he won’t know. We’re taking the truck, ladies. Hop in.”

Your friends whoop and cheer as they climb into the truck, and Dean helps you into the front. Instead of driving them all home, he just takes them to your house. It’s a short ride but you feel more sober now than you did when you first arrived at the bar. There's something about Dean that makes you want to remember the night. You want to wake up tomorrow and remember how green his eyes are.

Your friends pile out of the truck and stumble to your front door. You toss Shelly your keys so that they can go inside while you hang back with Dean for a few minutes alone with him.

“Thank you for the ride, Dean.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

You open the door and hop out, but Dean doesn’t drive away like you thought he was going to do. Instead, he rolls down the window so he can get a better view of you walking to your house. A man who waits for you to enter your house? That’s a man you want.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he calls out.

“Bye, Dean.”

Only when he sees you walk inside does he drive off. Dean hasn’t left your mind since that night, even after a week of grueling work in the office. As a new manager, you’re expected to do more work and manage more than half a dozen employees. It’s what you signed up for, but you didn’t realize just how much of your energy it was going to cost you.

By Friday night, you and your friends went to the same club to unwind. This time, you didn't drive to the club because you don’t ever want to leave your car here again. Reports of cars being broken into came from the bar. Luckily, yours was left alone but it was enough to scare you from keeping it here again.

“So, what happened with fireman Dean?” Shelly asks with a grin. “Did you kiss him?”

“Shelly! No,” you laugh. “He just gave us a ride. That’s it. I don’t even have his number.”

“Maybe we should go back and get it for you,” Tina smirks.

“Leave the poor man alone.”

This time, you don’t drink as much as your friends because you’re kind of hoping to run into Dean again. You want to remember every interaction with him as you can, and you figure you can always drink at your house. Time flies when you’re having fun and before you know it, it’s already two in the morning. You and your friends pile out of the bar but pause when you see the shiny red fire truck waiting outside.

“Hey, ladies. Want a ride?” Dean grins.

“Dean, hi,” you smile.

The girls giggle to themselves at the starstruck look in your eyes. Thankfully, they don’t comment on it.

“Thanks for the ride, Dean,” Shelly grins.

The girls take their seats in the back while you’re still standing on the sidewalk. You take two steps toward Dean and end up tripping over your own two feet. Dean is quick with his reflexes and catches you before you faceplant onto the concrete.

“Now, if I wasn’t here, who would have caught you?”

“No one,” you blush.

“Exactly. Now I have to be here every time to catch you.”

Once you’re in the passenger seat, Dean takes off toward Shelly’s house. You give him directions to each of their houses until you’re the only one left.

“Thank you for driving us all home.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

You spot a Sharpie in one of the cup holders so you grab it and grab Dean’s right hand. You write down your number in big numbers so he can’t miss it.

“Call me next time you want to pick me up.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

You lean over and kiss Dean’s cheek before leaving the fire truck. He watches you with a slight smirk, only driving away once he knows you’re safe inside your house. This becomes a routine for you and Dean. He’s always there outside the club with the fire truck, ready to drive you and your friends home. One time, you had an Uber all set up but Dean refused to let you take it. Your friends are having a field day with this. They tease you about your new fireman boyfriend even though you and Dean aren’t dating.

Could you two be? Sure. He hasn’t asked you out nor have you asked him out, and you two have never kissed. You’re flirting, dancing around the edges of what could be. It’s enough for you right now even though it wouldn’t be so terrible to date him. It’s fun to have a sexy stranger waiting for you.

One Friday night, you’re the designated DD since you have to help your brother move tomorrow. Being the only one sober is hilarious knowing how raunchy your friends can get.

“So, when are you going to fuck him?” Shelly asks.

“It’s not like that. He’s just giving us rides.”

“I bet you’d like to ride him,” Janice giggles. Your entire face goes hot, and she laughs at the look on your face. “Look how red she is! You like him!”

“Drink your drink, okay?”

Throughout the night, all you can think about is Dean and how good he’d look on top of you or beneath you. Curse your friends and their no-filter mouths. By the time two rolls around, you’re leaving the club with your friends. Dean is standing outside near his truck like he’s always done the past few months.

“I’m the DD tonight.” You hold up your key. “No drinking for me.”

“When are you going to fuck her?” Tina asks loudly. “Because it’s been a long time for her.”

“Tina!” you hiss and look at Dean. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” he smiles, “but I am driving you all home. You can call me tomorrow and I’ll drive you back here.”

“Why would you do that? It seems like a hassle.”

“It’s no problem.”

The girls hop into the back while you take the front, as per usual, and Dean starts the drive to Shelly’s house. While he’s driving, you can’t help but stare at him. He has such a great side profile. His jaw is strong and sharp, and he has a delicious amount of facial hair. Not too long but enough to feel the burn on your skin. Dean side-eyes you and smirks knowing you’re watching him.

“Want to turn the sirens on?”

“Yeah! Turn them on!”

“Can I?” you ask with a grin.

Dean shows you the button to press, and you flip the switch. The sirens go off and the lights flash rapidly, and your friends cheer and shout. Dean turns them off before someone thinks there is a real emergency. Dean stops at your house once all your friends are gone, but you don’t rush to get out.

“Thank you for driving them home. You didn't have to.”

“I wanted to. I like driving you home.”

Now that you’re sober, you can feel the tension between you two. This is going to be something you deal with another time, so you lean over and kiss his cheek like you’ve been doing.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

You get out of the truck and feel his eyes on you the whole time. Instead of going inside, you stop by your front door just staring at it. What the hell are you doing? There is obvious chemistry between you two. Are you really just going to ignore it and wait for someone else to snatch him up?

“Y/N?” Dean calls from the truck. When you don’t turn around, he gets out and lightly jogs over to you. “Hey, you okay?”

“Why did you drive me home?” You turn to face him. “Now I have to go back to the club to get my car.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and drive you over there. Not in the truck, unfortunately.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“You were drinking tonight.”

“I was the DD. Why did you drive me and all my friends home?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Would it be weird if I told you I look forward to Friday nights knowing I get to see your smile?”

“No,” you mumble with a blush. “Would it be weird if I told you I only go to the club on Friday nights knowing you’re out there waiting for me?”

Dean steps closer to you with a smile. “No. Would it be weird if I wanted to kiss you?”

“It’d be weird if you didn’t.”

Dean pulls you into him and kisses you. It’s like how every romance author describes a first kiss. Sparks fly, euphoria flows through the veins, and you can’t ever see yourself kissing anyone else.

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