#how did I make this in one day? great question I’d like to know too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

Text

Family Man 4

No warnings except that this is NOT a dark fic. Non-dark fics will be tagged as lightficsyouneveraskedfor but will be posted on this blog.

Character: Jake Jensen (The Losers)

Trope: Single-dad

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who reads this unusual posting from me. I typically swing in the other direction on fics but something lighter was calling.

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you read. You are appreciated and adored 🩷. Please have a wonderful day, week, year, etc.

“Dadddyyyyy.” Elita jumps into Jake’s arms.

“El,” he says. “Good game.”

“We won! I told you!” She boasts as he picks her up.

“You did,” he beams at her. “But you still have to clean your room.”

She scowls and sticks out her tongue. “You’re such a bum.”

“You need to come up with something new, kid,” he puts her down.

“Good job,” you say. “You kicked some butt out there. How about I buy ice cream to celebrate?”

“Ice cream!!!”

“You--” Jake begins as his daughter screeches. He tilts his head away and touches his ear. “El, you could talk to whales, I swear.”

“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!” She stomps and claps. “I want the rainbow one.”

“See what you’ve done? You unlocked the monster,” Jake shakes his head. “El,” he touches her shoulder. “Manners, right?”

She stops, her mouth hanging open. She puts her hands on her cheeks and sways. “I’m sorry. Please and thank you, I’d like some ice cream.”

You laugh. “No worries. It’s my weakness too. They have a great lemon twist flavour down at this place on the west end.”

“Lemon twist?” Jake makes a face.

“You’re judging me?”

“It’s ice cream. Of all the flavours, you choose lemon? I didn’t even know they made lemon ice cream.” He scrunches up his face.

“Let me guess... Rocky road.” You yawn dramatically. “So daring.”

“Hey,” he grins. “I like rocky road... but no it’s not my favourite.”

“Right, then what’s the super special flavour that makes you the expert?” You challenge.

“Simple, classic. Cookie dough,” he declares. “Can’t go wrong.”

“Cookie dough? That’s for kids.” You accuse.

“Hey,” Elita chirps. “I don’t like cookie dough.”

“Oh, and it makes me question your genetics every day,” Jake scoffs and takes her hand. “Thanks, we can find somewhere closer. There’s a walk-up place about a block down.”

“Sure, that’s easier.” You agree as you turn to walk parallel with him.

He shoulders Elita’s bag and hands her a water bottle. “Drink something before you overload on sugar.”

She takes the purple bottle with a puff. You smile and keep on.

“I don’t know this side of town very well.” You admit.

“Did you have to come far?” He wonders.

“Not too far,” you assure him. “Worth it. I had lots of fun.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” He chuckles.

“No, it’s winning,” Elita chirps.

You laugh. Jake tuts, “don’t encourage her.”

She hands her bottle back to Jake and he slides it into the side pocket of her bag. She flits around him and takes his other hand, and yours. She clings to both of you as you walk down the pavement. It’s nice. Peaceful.

“Okay, why don’t you save a table?” You say as you come in sight of the busy ice cream shop. “I’ll get the rainbow one, the cookie dough, and... something for me. Not lemon.”

Jake grumbles, “I was kidding.”

“No, no, I get it. I gotta up my game,” you try to let go of Elita and she holds on, just enough for you to notice. “I’ll be right back.”

“Come on, El, let’s sit. Daddy’s knee is acting up,” he guides her away gently.

You join the line and squint to read the menu. Maple Praline. Interesting.

Your turn comes and you order. As the sun beats down, you opt for the waffle bowls over the cones. It will be too messy otherwise. You get the scoops and search the patio. Elita stands on the bench of the picnic table as her dad tugs at her jersey, trying to make her sit.

“Here she comes!” She points at you and he finally gets her down beside him.

You approach and unload before it can all fall out of your clutch. You step over the bench and sit. You hand out the bowls.

“Cookie dough,” you plop one before Jake, “unicorn dreams... interesting name,” you put one in front of Elita, “and maple praline.” You claim your own proudly.

“Maple praline?” Jake snickers. “You look young for your age.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s popular in nursing homes. What time’s the cribbage tournament?” He taunts.

“You’re saying I’m old?”

“Your taste certainly is.”

“Maybe compared to you.” You retort. “Mr. DC Couture.”

He reels back, appalled. “Don’t you insult my tee collection. They are limited edition.”

Elita laughs and distracts you from your battle. She covers her mouth and wiggle. You furrow your brow.

“What’s so funny?” Jake asks.

She shakes her head, “nothing.”

“She knows I’m right,” Jake grabs his spoon. “See?”

“No, daddy,” she drops her hands. “Dawson has the same Superman shirt as you.”

“Huh?” He sucks on the spoon as he sends her a scowl. “Dawson? Down the street?”

“Mmhmm,” she nods smugly. “You look better in the shirts she picked.”

His complexion pinkens and his cheeks dimple. He plays with his glasses and clears his throat. “They’re for work,” he mutters.

You smile. “I agree,” you say to Elita then peek at Jake, “for what it’s worth.”

His lashes flick and he shifts, “uh,” he looks down at his bowl, “thanks.”

“Listen to her, daddy,” Elita pushes on his arm. “She’s so pretty and her clothes are all flowery.”

You look down at your blouse. Nothing special, really; a sleeveless tier of sheer fabric paired with some pale denim shorts.

“Alright, El,” he murmurs.

“She’s pretty! Tell her!” Elita demands.

Jake coughs and drops his spoon. You giggle.

“El,” you say softly, “how’s the ice cream?”

She pouts as Jake thumps his chest. You glance at him as he sends you a cryptic look. He’s embarrassed and so are you. He doesn’t have to say it if he doesn’t think it.

“I... haven’t tried it.”

“Exactly, it’s going to melt,” you chide.

Jake wipes his mouth and you peek at him again. “Thank you,” he traces the words with his lips. You shrug.

You jam your spoon into the soft scoops. You hum as you taste it. You suck the spoon loudly as you pull it out.

“Delicious old lady ice cream,” you taunt.

Jake’s eyes narrow at you and his cheek twitches. You can’t tell if he’s amused.

“Did you see me score? Twice?” Elita asks with a smear of ice cream on her lips.

Jake tugs the napkin from around her bowl and hands it to her. She snatches it but doesn’t wipe away the mess. She bounces as she beams at you.

“I saw it. You’re very fast.” You praise.

“Faster than daddy,” she brags.

“Heyyy,” he nudges her gently. “I’d say you have unfair advantage. Only about thirty years and new knees.”

“Don’t worry, I couldn’t keep up either,” you assure him.

“No one can keep up with El,” he scoffs.

“Daddy, can she come over and play in the sprinkler?”

“Not so fast. I didn’t forget about the mess in your room,” he says.

“I know but after...”

“Maybe another day,” he sends you a look. “She has her own stuff to do, I’m sure.”

“Another day,” you promise. You don’t want to overstep your welcome.

“But... oh, fine,” she frowns. You mimic her empathetically.

“Oh, don’t let her fool you. Yesterday she had cotton candy for breakfast,” Jake shakes his head. “And now she’s eating ice cream.” He touches his spoon to her nose, leaving cream there. “Thanks again.”

“It’s no problem. Hot day like this, you kinda have to.” You dip your spoon in your bowl, contenting yourself with the maply goodness.

As you crunch on a praline, your eyes are drawn up by a new heat. Jake's lashes flutter and he flinches. His lips slant and he exhales as he bobbles the bowl between his hands.

"You got some," he gulps and points to the corner of his lips. "Old lady."

#jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #the losers #au #series #drabble #daddies and dreamboats #family man #lightficsyouneveraskedfor

64 notes · View notes

scariffs · 11 hours ago

Text

(dilf) poltician!art (challengers) with gender neutral, pr manager!reader. mix of nsfw and sfw hcs. art’s so pookie he gets to cheat on his wife with u LOL.

. . . politician!art who never in a million years thought of cheating on his wife, the woman who birthed his baby girl. well, until he met you. you’re young but not naive and certainly not stupid, judging by your work thus far. you’re all small, knowing smiles and subtle touches in the office, moving him out of the way without blinking (quite a feat, considering his stature; maybe he just allows himself to be moved, though). the blonde quickly finds himself weak to your persistent advances.

politician!art who cries as you make him cum for the first time. it had taken a bit to get his dick hard (embarrassing), but that’s not what brings him to tears. no, it’s you. you’re just so… good. you feel good, you feel right, and he’s been missing that for longer than he cares to admit. there’s some guilt that he feels, but more than that he just feels free. lighter, almost, now that’s started an affair. how shitty is that?

politician!art who follows the rules you set out for him each day, even if he’s spending the day with his wife and kids. it verges on a twenty four hour dom/sub sort of thing, but you’ve assured him it’s only for the sake of curating a great public image. art trusts you, he really does, so he follows the rules: in public, he eats what you tell him he should, he sticks to your guidelines for interviews, and he smiles at every single baby he sees (and then he smiles at the mother. always after the baby, just like you said). art even puts on whatever clothes you tell him to — or he did. lately you’ve been sharing a room with him on his campaign tour, so you just dress him yourself each morning. he likes it a little too much, he thinks.

politician!art who shifts a little as you cockwarm him from underneath a booth with his face plastered across it. he’d been good this week, or at least that’s what you said before dropping to your knees to reward him during this campaign event. art can barely remember what he’s doing, really, too focused on how your lips feel when you get down to the base of his cock. he shivers whenever you slide back, exposing his dick to the air… then grunts softly as you slide forward again, tongue dragging along his full length. you’re teasing him, which isn’t fair because you promised you’d be still.

politician!art who prays sincerely that your relationship with him doesn’t reach the media (or his wife). he’d be ruined if word got out. he worries for nothing, however, because you’ve got everything figured out. you’re careful and you’ve crafted his image so that no one questions him. he’s a beautiful blonde angel, a girl dad, a strong man and yet a sensitive heart — he’s america’s sweetheart, for fuck’s sake, he’s fine. whenever he grows overly anxious, though, you just hold him and coo in his ear, tracing shapes on the muscles of his chest.

politician!art who murmurs ‘i love you’ before bed, holding you close to his chest. his wife’s out of town for one reason or another, so you’re in their bedroom. he doesn’t even feel guilty for fucking you on their bed earlier that day. after a nap, you picked up his daughter from school and… when he saw you holding her, both of you smiling wide, his heart stuttered in his chest. it should’ve been this. you, him, and his daughter — he only feels guilty that it isn’t so.

i vaguely hinted at erectile dysfunction… idc i’d suck him flaccid. anyways maybe send ideas for more politician dilf art... i like this fella... i kept it gender neutral but i do think he’d eat pussy just to calm down so. smth to chew on.

#my writing ✦✧͏#challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #dilf art donaldson #dilf!art #challengers fic

48 notes · View notes

sirwow · 1 year ago

Text

The whole main Connections Converged gang ‼️all so I can’t stop dying trying to reference them all at once

+ some close ups

49 notes · View notes

mehtallee · 4 months ago

Text

Pumping Dumb

Troy wasn’t exactly the sharpest guy when we first met, but back then, at least he could form full sentences. He was my college roommate—a six-foot-four, gym-obsessed wall of muscle who somehow balanced his protein-shake-fueled lifestyle with being a student. Well, tried to, anyway. It didn’t take long before he started asking me for “help.”

“Bro, I need to get bigger,” he had groaned one night, staring at himself in our dorm mirror, flexing his arms. “But, like, I dunno, bro… I feel like I ain’t doing enough, y’know?”

I adjusted my glasses and leaned back in my chair, hiding my smirk. Oh, I know. I had been waiting for this moment.

“You need a system, Troy,” I said. “Someone to guide you. Someone… smart.”

His eyes lit up. “Like you, bro?”

I nodded. “Exactly like me.”

And just like that, I had him.

The plan was subtle at first. I started with supplements—my own special mix, designed to boost his energy, accelerate his gains, and, well… gently suppress his higher thinking. The changes crept in slowly, so Troy never noticed. But I did.

He stopped questioning things. If I told him to do something, he’d do it—no hesitation.

“Drink this.”

“Okay, bro.”

“Do one more set.”

“Hell yeah, bro.”

“Skip that lecture. You don’t need it.”

“Yeah, bro, waste of time.”

Each day, he lifted heavier weights while his thoughts got lighter. His sentences got shorter. His vocabulary shrank. But he felt great, and that’s all that mattered to him.

----------------------------------------------

At first, I had to be careful. There were still traces of thought left in that thick skull of his. I learned that the hard way when I got too bold too soon.

One day, while he was sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone, I took the opportunity to get a little… hands-on.

“Damn, Troy,” I murmured, moving closer. “You’ve really packed on some size.”

He smirked, flexing his arm. “Hell yeah, bro. Feels tight.”

I reached out, letting my fingers graze over his biceps, testing their firmness. Perfect.

But then—

“Uh, dude?” His expression shifted, uncomfortable. He pulled his arm away. “Kinda weird, man. Like, chill.”

I forced a laugh, raising my hands. “Hey, just admiring the work, dude.”

He gave me a wary look, then shrugged it off, going back to his phone. But I made a mental note. Too soon. There was still something in him that resisted. I’d have to fix that.

---------------------------------------

By the time we hit week three, Troy was skipping every single class. His idea, of course—or so he thought.

“Dude,” I said one morning, watching him struggle to put on a tank top that barely fit his swelling torso. “College isn’t really for guys like you, y’know?”

He frowned, his thick brows scrunching. “Huh?”

“I mean, look at you, Troy. You were born to lift, to grow. You really think wasting time in lectures is gonna help you get swole?”

His lips moved slightly, like he was trying to process what I’d said, but I could see the gears in his head turning slower than before.

“Uh… yeah, bro,” he finally said, nodding. “Yeah! You right! I gotta, like… focus, bro. Just—just LIFT. Get BIG.”

I grinned. “Exactly.”

And just like that, Troy stopped attending College entirely.

-----------------------------------------------------

By week five, he had completely surrendered his decision-making to me without realizing it. He thought he was in control.

“Bro, should I eat this?”

“What do you think, Troy?”

His blank stare lasted a second too long. Then: “Uh… I think… I dunno, bro. You think for me.”

“I do, don’t I?”

He nodded, beaming, completely unaware of how empty his own head had become. I had done it. Troy wasn’t just dumb anymore. He was mine.

------------------------------------------------

6 months has passed since then, and now? Now I could touch him as much as I wanted.

“Hey, Troy,” I murmured, running my fingers along his thick arm. “You cool with this?”

Troy blinked, his dopey grin unwavering. “Huh? Uh… yeah, bro. I don’t mind.”

I squeezed his bicep, watching the way his muscle flexed under my grip. Perfection. “Why’s that?”

He tilted his head, slow to process. “’Cause… uh… I’m just… muscle, bro.”

I smirked. “That’s right. You’re just muscle. Just a big, strong body. No need to think, right?”

Troy’s lips parted slightly. “Yeah, bro. Just… body.”

I ran a hand down his chest, pressing into his pecs, feeling their firm weight. No resistance. Nothing but dumb compliance. My fingers brushed under his arm, grazing the warm, musky skin of his armpit. The scent hit me instantly—strong, masculine, overpowering.

“Man, you really are just a muscle,” I murmured, inhaling deeply. “Crazy, right? You used to think this was weird.”

Troy’s slack expression didn’t change. “Huh? Uh… nah, bro. Ain’t weird.”

I chuckled. “Oh, but you did think it was weird before. Remember?”

His forehead scrunched slightly, trying to think. “Uh… nah, bro. I don’t… remember.”

I grinned, giving his pec a playful squeeze. “Of course you don’t. Because a muscle doesn’t need memories.”

Troy nodded slowly. “Yeah, bro… just muscle.”

“Just a muscle that belongs to me, huh?”

There was a pause. Then, with a slow, stupid nod: “Yeah, bro. Yours.”

I smirked and grabbed the hem of his shirt. “You don’t need this, do you?”

Troy blinked, watching as I pulled it up over his head and tossed it aside. His bare torso gleamed under the light, thick with sweat, pulsing with heat.

“Just a big, dumb toy for me to play with,” I murmured, trailing my hands across his chest, his stomach, his arms. “And you’re fine with that, aren’t you?”

Troy’s lips curled into a mindless smile. “Yeah, bro… fine with it.”

“Good boy.”

I dug my fingers into his flexed bicep, relishing the way he didn’t even flinch as I placed my fingers dip into the crevices of his bicep to his armpits...

This dumb muscle hunk is really far gone. all his work, all his excursion, all his efforts to build this majestic body, all of it is all mine.

#male puppet #male hypnosis #gay hypnosis

956 notes · View notes

rafesteddy · 9 months ago

Text

"𝐘𝐨𝐮" - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

+18 -> 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘 | College Professor Rafe Cameron has been dating you for months. You just don’t know it yet.💋

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐩 | 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 | 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 | 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬

*Rafe is in his 40s

𝖈𝖔-𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍: @nadvs

𝓇𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓎𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒷𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 - 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓉𝓌𝑜

⚠️warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

Stalker!Rafe, Perv!Rafe, reader is Rafe’s friend’s sister, swearing, Rafe is a perv, age gap, public masterbation, fantasies about the reader, blood, mentions of murder, mentions of gun violence, mentions of general violence, suicide attempt, Rafe goes through her phone, peeping Tom, steals nude pictures, watches the reader masterbate, praise, Rafe’s POV

6.8 K

Rafe’s POV:

“Oh, shit.” I look out on the lecture hall, crammed wall to wall—mostly old birds and a few young professors sprinkled amongst the AARP members. Jesus Christ. I match the eyes of one of my old lecturers from my time here. She gives me a little smile, and I nod, making a blush creep across her wrinkled cheeks before the lights fall low.

Do I deserve my name on a plaque on an office door at this fine university? Absolutely fucking not. But I paid for the building after all… American History; all first-years. You can’t mess that shit up.

I relax into the wall a bit, accepting my fate, lifting my coffee to my lips, taking a sip. “R.” I hear a familiar voice. A couple of heads turn toward me, leading me to a familiar face. I smile and chuckle as I shuffle toward the aisle, scooching through the crowd.

“Hey, man,” I greet him, shaking his hand before slipping my leather bag off my shoulders, taking a seat.

“R.C.,” he breathes, surprised to see me here, happy nonetheless.

“Zachary.”

“Guess they're hiring anyone these days,” he taunts, jabbing me in the side playfully, making me snort out a lazy laugh. I can’t lie; I’m happy to see him here. One friend is plenty. The guy is a fuckin’ nerd, but he’s a good person. “Pretty sure we both had class in this lecture hall,” he sighs blissfully, recalling a simpler time.

“Yeah, man. I think we did… How long have you been workin’ here for?” I ask between sips of coffee.

“Ten years.”

“Jesus, man,” I huff. We've been outta school for that long, huh?

“Nah, buddy,” he groans. “Longer. Started working here right after graduation. Been workin’ my way up the ladder ever since.”

“That’s great,” I nod, watching our Dean of Students strut across the hall's main floor. “You like it here?”

“Love it,” he smiles. “Why are you here?” Zach furrows his brows, asking the question he wanted to ask from the beginning. It’s no secret I got money to spare. There’s gotta be some reason I’m here. I’m sure he’s curious.

“I got bored. Thought I’d go back to school; just did it casually. N’here I am.”

“Here you are,” he echos through a weak laugh. “I mean, you own the place at this point. Huh?” Zach wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

“Almost,” I chuckle, fully aware that the Cameron Library and The Cameron School of Business makes this current faculty position a little absurd.

“Glad to have you here. Truly,” he adds earnestly.

“Good to be here, man,” I smile as I relax into my seat a little more, getting ready for a day of gettin’ talked at, I’m sure. Zach adjusts in his seat, pulling his phone out of his slacks, thumbing over his messages.

Sis: Did you want anything to eat?

Zach: Nah. I’m fine.

Sis: Sounds good. Black coffee, two creams, two sugars?

Zach: Please and thank you.

“So…” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “Do you have any family here? You married or what-” I question, trying to be as calm as possible.

“Nah… Not really the marriage type. Family, yeah, my sister goes here now.”

”No shit?” I ask, trying not to be too interested, but I can’t help but catch his lock screen. Him and an absolutely stunning woman posed next to each other in front of the Golden Pavilion in Kyoto. They weren’t cuddled up with each other, just smiling… That smile. I run my hands down my shirt, smoothing out any wrinkles, raking my fingers through my hair, pushing it back slightly. Please be her.

“She’s a Kappa Girl.”

“Not a Kappa Girl,” I taunt through an exaggerated groan. He scoffs and rolls his eyes away. If it was anything like it was back in the day that house in nothin’ short of a brothel.

“She isn’t like that, Cameron,” he drones. “She doesn’t even live at the house. She’s got good grades. Like good good. Fuckin’ great actually—above a 4.0. They recruited her. The Kappas took some heat after gettin’ in trouble a few too many times. They were gonna lose their charter, so they switched from a social sorority to one based in education. Fuckin’ nerds,” he adds, making me chuckle, dissing her just like I had dissed him just a few short minutes before.

“Runs in the family. Huh?”

“Fuck off,” he snickers. Zach hangs his head low, pitching the bridge of his nose as he lets out an exhausted sigh.

“You good?”

He nods and yawns, eyes set on the speaker up front. “These old bitches can go fuckin’ hard. We went to Lord Fletcher’s last night. Janice over there can drink you under the table… Six advils today already. Y/n is comin’ over with a coffee for me. Thank god. I’m hurtin’ over here,” he groans, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Zach’s eyes brighten as he looks toward the lecture steps. I feel my heart racing in my chest, my palms sweating, almost too nervous to look. I mean, that could have been his ex-girlfriend. But what if it’s the best-case scenario? What if it’s her? What if she’s you, princess? I turn my attention to the end of the aisle, watching that same girl shuffle along the line of people, clutching coffees, doing her best not to spill.

Fuck me.

My eyes travel up your body, your bare legs on full display, making my stomach fill with butterflies. You lean in, your sweet perfume amplified by the warmth of your flawless body from the late August heat. The second the coffee leaves your hand, I’m trying to get your attention on me. “I’m Rafe,” I smile, extending my hand toward you.

You juggle your books and your own coffee in your hands clumsily, extending a hand as well, making me instantly feel bad for putting you through the hassle, but the contact is worth it— soft and smooth, a firm grip on mine. You bat your long lashes at me. I can’t tell if you’re just trying to get a better look in the dim light or if you like what you see, but my heart is racing regardless.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rafe,” you reply, talking directly to me… “See you at home,” you whisper to Zach, who gives you a little wave as he swipes through his phone again. I smile when you look over your shoulder, the light pouring in from outside the lecture shining on you like a beacon. A fuckin’ angel on earth. My girl.

Hello, you.

It’s been sixty-seven days since we met—sixty-seven beautiful days of studying my favorite subject. You’re lovely, princess. Everything about you is. Even the little things you do out of habit. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re stressed, lips pursed, eyes wide. I know every look, every smile, taking each beautiful change of your face into memory. I can read you like a book.

I wanted it to be natural. How blatantly obvious would it be if I rushed into rekindling a friendship with your brother just to rush into a relationship with you? I had to ease in. Infiltrate the family; make myself a staple in your home so I could learn more about you.

There’s no one else better suited for you than me, baby. There is no one that will anticipate your needs like I can. Take care of you like I will. I’m going to make my move… I just need a little more time. I don’t want to lose the part of you that I get to see when you don’t know I’m watching.

I tilt back, relaxing into the doorframe of Zach’s office as I wait for you to stop by with his lunch. You’re so sweet. I know you’re cuttin’ it close with you’re next class. Fuck, my girl’s thoughtful. I smile to myself, lowering my head to not bring too much attention to myself.

“Who’s got you smilin’ like that, buddy?”

Shit. I look down at the phone, thumbing out of your Instagram, moving to Tinder. “Uh, I just matched with that bartender at Lord Fletchers. I think,” I mumble, giving him a slight smile.

“Juliette?” He asks surprisedly. “Isn’t she datin’ the head football coach?”

My stomach sinks, caught in a simple, stupid lie. “Nah, not her. A different one. I don’t know,” I brush him off, furthering my disinterest by pretending to swipe through some more.

Oh, shit. Here you come. I lift my eyes, matching yours. Your smile doubles as I catch your attention. “Hi, Rafe,” you sing. My name rolling off your lips so sweetly. Oh my god.

“Hi, y/n,” I respond warmly. Your hand snakes around my waist, squeezing me. “You ready for that test tomorrow?”

You sucks your teeth and shake your head. “Not ready enough to go on a date tonight, I don’t think. But I haven’t gone out in so long… I think it would be good for me to give my brain a rest the night before, don’t you?” You ask as your stunning eyes soften on mine, looking up at me for approval as I try my best not to fall apart in front of you or, at the very least, lose my shit. How did I miss this?

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I press the words past my lips. You smile and nod before setting the food down on the desk. “Well, I gotta run-”

”See you tonight?” I add hastily, trying to get more info about your plans just in case.

“We got that intramural basketball game tonight,” Zach reminds me, making my palms sweat just knowing that if the date is early enough, I won’t be able to tag along or intervene.

“Chett said 9 PM at Little Angie’s.”

“Chett? As in Chett Ryan?” I ask in disbelief as you mention the star quarterback. A good-looking dude, but he’s a fucking idiot and a Grade-A asshole. You’re way too good for him. He doesn’t deserve you. Doesn’t even deserve to breathe your air-

“Yeah,” you answer through a smile, yanking me out of my thoughts.

“Well, I’m goin’ to Lexi’s house, so you and Chett will have the place to yourselves if you wanna come back after the bar,” Zach chimes in. My body trembles with rage, holding back every urge to crawl over the top of his desk and choke him out for even suggesting it.

“It’s our first date, so I don’t know if that’ll happen but thank you,” you smiles giddily, making me physically ill. ”Shit,” you hiss, your attention pulled to your watch, clocking the time. “I’m gonna be late. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rafe, for the test,” you add breathlessly as you race away, fleeing for class.

“You proctoring tests now?” Zach laughs lightly, furrowing his brows.

“Ah, yeah,” I whirr, scratching at my 5 o’clock shadow, trying to find an excuse while also trying to gather my emotions as my whole world crumbles around me. “I-I owed Steve a favor for covering my class last week,” I stutter, confessing half the truth. Sure, Steve subbed for me, but only so I could follow y/n on her trip to Georgia Tech for the football game to ensure she was safe… Zach should be thanking me, honestly. Fuck off. The football game… I bite at the skin on my lip, putting together the pieces of why you had even gone in the first place. For him. For Chett… No, baby. Why?

“Cameron?” Zach chimes in. “You’re a little more dazed than usual, friend. You good?” He asks through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, man. I’m good,” I nod. “It’s only a few hours.”

“What?” Zach asks confusedly.

“Proctoring…”

”Yeah…” He nods, his face laced with concern for me; I don’t even know how long I was drowning in my thoughts of her. I’m sure he’s wondering what’s going through my mind— why I’m acting weird. “You sure you're good? You seem upset.”

”Nah, man. I’m good. Just have some shit goin’ on I need to take care of,” I smile softly. “See you tonight?”

“Yeah… See you tonight, brother.”

“These are nice,” I breathe as I run my fingers along the pink petals with a smile, the spray of roses sitting pretty amongst the rest. “These, thanks.” I pull them out, handing them to the attendant, finishing into my back pocket for my wallet.

I head out the door, walking out onto the street; the busy college town teaming with students, pouring in and out of the bars. Cigarette smoke wafts all around, competing with the aroma of the late-night food trucks. I look ahead, catching the Little Angie’s neon boot sign kicking ahead. My excitement builds as I get closer and closer. You’re here. I look down at my phone, catching your location in the heart of the bar—my girl.

Shit. I look down at my other hand, tossing the wildflowers Chett had gotten you. He doesn’t know you at all… He doesn't know what you like. He doesn't deserve you. No one does. No one but me.

I push through the front door, heading back toward the bar as I match your pin to my surroundings. My eyes pull taunt as I try to spot you through the thick crowd. I take a seat, ordering a beer before turning my attention back to the search. My eyes work across the low-lit room, scouring for you. I can’t believe you’re still here after he stood you up. It’s almost like you knew I’d come and save you, princess.

There you are. Fuck, are you even real?

When I’m around you I swear I forget how to breathe. I find myself having to tear myself away—telling myself that staring too hard will do nothing but bring attention to the obvious, but I am so in love. How do I even look away? You’re perfect.

You looks sad. I know that’s my fault, pretty girl, but I promise I’ll make it all better. You rest your cheek in your hand, slumped over in your seat, swirling your vodka cranberry defeatedly. Your beautiful eyes glisten. I can’t tell if it’s just sheer beauty or if they might be glossed with tears. Your eyes shut heavily, shoulders relaxing a little more as you submit to your drunken state.

Oh, sweetheart. You need me.

“Can I close out my tab?” I ask the bartender, who gives me a little nod and a smile. I turn my attention back to you, watching as you sway ever so slightly with the music pouring from the speakers.

“Here you are, sir,” the bartender calls. I turn fast, scribbling a tip and a total. My stomach falls as I pull my hand away, leaving behind a red thumbprint, remnants of my run-in with Chett lingering. Fuck. I grab the slip of paper off the bar top, brushing my hand along my dark-wash jeans, thumbing through my wallet to grab some cash instead, tossing a tip on the counter in exchange. I push off the bar, walking toward my girl, checking myself as best as I can in the darkness to make sure that I don’t miss anything else, catching a few specks of blood on my white shirt. Shit. I grab the zipper of my quilted jacket, hiding the mess.

What was I thinking? I was so excited about gettin’ to you that I didn’t even think about cleanin’ up. I look down at my right hand: split knuckles, bloodied and bruised. I tug down my sleeve, just praying there isn’t any more I can’t see. “Y/n?”

Your eyes lift to mine, softening and welling with tears. “Rafey,” you slur out a whimper, eyes pinching shut. Your tears tumble down your cheeks as you try to get out your next few words to no avail.

”What’s goin’ on, princess?” I ask gently as I sit beside you, rubbing soft circles on your back.

“Ugh…” You humpfs. “I got stood up.” You hiccup before rolling your eyes in annoyance with Chett and your own emotions. “I can’t believe I’m even cryin’ over him, Rafey. I know he’s an asshole.” You cry, making my heart melt as you use that little nickname not once but twice.

“He is,” I laugh lightly, making you nod and sigh.

“Are you… M’shit. I’m sorry,” you mumble. “M’kinda drunk.”

“Hey. Hey. It’s alright,” I coo.

“Are you meeting a date?” You ask, and I swear I can see a new sort of sadness in your eyes at the idea of it. I follow your gaze, eyeing the arrangement of roses in my hand.

“Oh, me?” I stall. “Uh… No. I-uh… I came in here after our game. I saw you hangin’ out here for a while. Kinda put two-and-two together. N’when I went outside to have a cig, I bought them off some guy on the street.” I look back to you, my whole story all for not as you practically fall asleep at the table, your beautiful face propped up and smushed in your hand. “Bought them for you, honey,” I sigh blissfully as I use a pet name I've always wanted to use knowing tomorrow it wouldn't matter.

“Thank you, Rafey,” you whisper. Three times… “So - So… So good to me.”

“Let’s get you outta here. Huh?” I ask as I reach into my wallet, pulling out a hundred, tossing it on the table. You close your eyes and nod your heavy head.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” I breathe as I scoop my hand around your waist, lifting you to your feet. You melt into me, resting your head on my chest, snuggling in. I can’t help but lean down, pressing a kiss on your hair. I breathe you in, relishing this simple moment with you. “I love you, princess…” You look up at me, smiling sweetly. I hold my breath, even if you heard me say that there’s no way you’ll remember tomorrow. But still…

“Can we get pizza?” You ask, making me laugh.

“Anything you want you get, sweetheart.”

I know there’s nothing more to worry about, but I can’t help but get a little jealous knowing you dressed this way for Chett. You sway to the music on your record player, drunkenly singing along to the track between bites of pizza. You’re happier than when you were at the bar; your sadness before I came is long gone. You flash me a smile, setting my heart ablaze, pointing at me playfully as you circle your hips to the beat, dropping it to the floor, showing me the perfect glimpse of your plump ass. Fuck me. I bare with the pain, not wanting to make it blatantly obvious that my cock is strained in my pants.

“Help me?” You pout as you walk to me, lifting your hands in the air.

”With what…” My voice trails away as you step even closer. Your tits line up with my eyes from my seated position on the foot of your bed. My hands instinctively reach up, resting on your hips, testing the waters.

“Pajamas.”

“Oh - Oh. Of course,” I stammer as I lift your shift dress over your head. I hold back a moan, my head and mind racing out of control as I stand this close to you, the girl of my dreams in nothing but your bra and panties. And not just any panties, the panties I had taken from you last week. The panties I had wrapped around my cock that I had cum all over more times than I could count. Of course, I washed them and put them back, but what luck. It’s fate. Just stay calm.

You lets out a sleepy little yawn, stretching slightly, your back arching. Your cleavage pops a little more against the dainty lace; my eyes strain as I refuse to blink. I run my hand down your side, watching as goosebumps spread across your bare skin at my touch. Your nipples peak, teasing me under the barely-there fabric.

Help her, Rafe. I swallow hard, focusing on the task at hand, fighting back everything that I want to do. You move a little closer, slotting yourself between my thighs. I know it will be over if I look up and match your eyes. You’ll be too embarrassed in the morning if I do anything more—if I do what I need. I can feel your eyes on me. Your hand moves higher and higher, your soft touch cupping my chin, guiding my eyes to yours.

Holy shit. You smile down at me, your eyes hazed with lust and liquor. You run your thumb along my bottom lip, biting your own. I’m dreaming. I have to be. “Thank you,” you smile, your voice coming out so crisp and clear. This is no dream… This is just heaven on earth. Deep breath. Help her get into her pajamas and let her sleep it off. Tomorrow. If she genuinely wants me now, she’ll want me tomorrow. She needs me. Her trust is in me. I can’t mess this up. I need her too badly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” I whisper, allowing myself to drink you in a little more. I mean, I don’t want you to think I am not thoroughly enjoying this… This is the best moment of my life. Of course, after meeting her, that is.

I reach over on the bed, grabbing your satin pajama top. You take a little breath, going to say something, holding back, settling on a smile instead. I bet you were gonna ask for something from me. Probably wanting me to take off that pretty little bra of yours instead of giving her clothes to put on. I want to be your knight in shining armor tonight. I want to protect you; I want to keep you safe.

Tomorrow night, princess. I promise.

I’m addicted. I’m down bad. I’m in way, way too deep, but I can’t stop. I’ll never stop. You have no clue what you do to me. You have no idea how much time I have invested in you— in us. I have never been more fulfilled, princess. This is my destiny. You are mine; you just don’t know it yet…

You smile at me sheepishly, tucking some hair behind your ear before putting pen to paper and checking in for your test. You're hungover. I can tell—dark circles painted under your beautiful eyes, and the usual soft glow of your skin dimmed. You’re smart… You’ll have no problem taking this test, and if you do, it’s nothing I can’t fix for you.

You walk over to a locker, stripping off your purse and jacket, checking your phone before stuffing it inside as well. Holy shit… You shut the door, forgoing the lock altogether. Fuck, you’re too good to me, sweetheart. I’m sure you want me to take a peek. Don’t you? A smirk tugs on my lips, arms crossing over my chest as I stare you down.

You stride toward me, shoulders slumped. I’m sure you’re gonna apologize. I smile at you, wordlessly telling you I know what you’ll will say. You laugh weakly, letting out a deep, self-deprecating sigh. “Sorry about last night, Rafe. Thank you,” you smile sweetly, your voice just above a hush, not wanting anyone else to hear.

“You’re alright, Y/n. Glad I could get you home. Are you feelin’ alright?” I ask as I step a little closer.

“M’a little hungover,” you sigh. “I—I never get like that, I swear-”

“I know you don’t,” I stop you. Your brows rumple, my tone a little more knowing than you expected. ”Your brother mentioned you don’t really drink like that,” I correct myself, and you smile.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Rafe. Thank you.” You reach out, giving my bicep a squeeze that has my eyes darting to your hand on me. Oh fuck. You're walking toward the testing room before I can look up at you again. The door fans shut behind you, leaving me alone with the equivalent of your fuckin’ teenage diary. Everything I could want to know about you that I don’t know yet is on here. Please be unlocked.

“Shit,” I hiss, slamming my fist against the locker, eyes darting around fast as the sharp sting of regret pierces through me at my outburst. Pull it together, Cameron. I close my eyes, doing my best to compose myself as I tuck your phone at my side, walking back toward the desk. I look at you through the privacy glass. My girl is none the wiser—I smile as you answer the next question. Her birthday. Keep it simple. That's gotta be it. It’s not like she's got shit to hide.

I type in the six-digit code, my tension melting away; shoulders relaxing as I crack the code without any effort at all. Gotta hit the big four: messages, search history, pictures, Instagram. Don't get too greedy. I feel my cock twitch at the thought of this being in your hand. My mind instantly sails away to the shit you looks at that you’d probably delete your search history for. Hopefully, I caught you on an off day. Focus. Focus. Focus. I look over my shoulder as you breeze past the next question.

Messages, first.

Nothing crazy. A few to her friends, her brother, and a lab partner. My blood turns cold as I see Chett’s name. I click into your messages, teeth grinding, fist clenching as I read through the exchange.

Chett: you free tonight?

Y/n: I have a huge test tomorrow I'm sorry! Friday?

Chett: yeah we can do something on Friday too

Chett: cmon pretty. I owe you a beer

Y/n: just a beer? 😉

Chett: fuck… that's a yes?? Lets go to dinner then I owe you so so much

Y/n: I can't be out late tho

Chett: I know. I got you. I'm lucky ok. I know how you are.

Y/n: what does that mean?? 😂

Chett: your a good girl

Chett: i’ll meet you a little angies at 8. I've got workouts late ok??

Y/n: okay 💕

Chett: you better not stand me up

Y/n: never ☺️

Chett: on my way

Y/n: I'm at the bar

Y/n: found a table. We still on for 8?

Y/n: ???

Y/n: are you okay?

Y/n: just ran into your buddies. They said you ran into Kenzie on the street. Just fuck off alright? Why would you ask me out if you two were still a thing?

Y/n: I knew you were an asshole

Okay. Okay. Shit. My hands tremble as I read and reread your words. Just a clusterfuck of feelings seeing you this excited, this angry; this upset over that asshole. He ran into Kenzie? I'm sure they caught up. I'm sure he had second thoughts about your date. About you? How could someone have second thoughts about you? I knew I did you a favor.

I click into the search history. Cleared. God damnit. That leaves two more pieces to the puzzle. Instagram and pictures. I pull up your socials, thumbing to the shit only I get to see. The DMs are the same as your texts; it's nothing crazy. Search bar… I click into it, seeing your recent searches. Chett… You motherfucker. Haunting me, you goddamn dick- Oh…

Rafe Cameron

I blink a few times, pinching my eyes closed before fluttering them open as I see MY name on YOUR screen. “No fucking way,” my voice comes out needy and hoarse, cracking with all the want I feel for you. I gasp for a breath, filling my lungs with needed air. How is this happening? I rub my hand across my mouth, snuffing out my smile. Jesus Christ. Best day of my fuckin’ life.

I look over my shoulder, praying I have enough time to browse your hidden folder in your camera roll. Five questions left. I open the folder, my hand instantly reaching for the edge of the desk, my rock-hard cock finally giving way as I cum in my slacks at the sight of you in lingerie. My heart pounds in my ears and chest as I thumb through the rest, watching in horror as a wet, warm spot forms on my khakis. Fuck. There’s five more pictures… My goddess. My fuckin’ princess… Look at you, baby. Two more questions left. Put the fuckin’ phone back, Rafe. The phone trembles as I unhide all five, moving quickly to your messages before typing in my number, sending them to myself, deleting everything fast. I swear I could’ve cum again just feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, knowing what I have saved for myself.

I swipe everything closed as I walk back to the locker bay, stuffing the phone inside your purse, slamming the door shut before the testing door swings open. I turn my body away, walking toward the exit, checking on a knock that never happened; turning my body in the opposite direction before matching your eyes. “So, how did it go?” I smile, positioning myself so you can’t see the absolute mess you caused.

“Good, actually,” you sighs, relief laced in your tone and demeanor as you pop open your locker. I step behind the desk, leaning into the counter just enough to ensure that my little secret is safe.

Good girl.

I swear I can’t go to bed without my nightly ritual; I stand outside your window, hidden just out of view, cloaked in the darkness of the hedges gathered around the perimeter of your apartment. Some nights I have the pleasure of being in your space; other nights, I settle for the next best thing, but honestly, even here is paradise.

Some nights, you stay up late, the apples of your cheeks glowing in the dim of your room as you browse your phone; other nights, you moves through your apartment chatting on the phone with your friends, smiling and laughing, every fiber of my being just wishing it was me on the other line. But on special nights, nights like this, your hand slips into your night stand pulling out your favorite vibrator, playing with your pussy like I could only dream of doing.

I never get to see what goes on underneath the covers or hear the sweet noises you make, but I get to see the pleasure painted all over your face. I can’t help but pull my cock out of my pants, stroke my dick while you work on yourself. Are you thinking about me? I always dreamed you were, but after seeing your search history, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. What if you're saying my name? My beautiful girl.

“Fuck, baby,” I pant as you grab the covers, throwing them off your body, my precum mixing with my sweaty palm as I take in the sight before me. I watch as the silicon cock glistens with your slick, making me spit on my dick to mirror the sight. My fist works over my dick, whimpering and moaning your name as I keep your pace. My thigh muscles tremble as I fixate on your every movement.

I know I should walk away, but there’s no force on this earth strong enough to pull me away from this. I bite my lip as you throw your head back into your pillow, back arching off the mattress.

And just like that, I fall deeper and deeper into my mind. “Where are we fuckin’ tonight, princess?” I mumble, envisioning us in the same room. “My office? Fuck, you’re bad, sweetheart? You sure? Sure you can’t wait until we get home? God damn, angel. You need it that bad? Need daddy’s dick right here, right now?” I moan as my muscles clench tight.

I swear I draw blood, pinching my bottom lip between my teeth as you drag your hand up, pulling your shirt with it, exposing your perfect breasts. You squeeze and twist your nipple, circling softly just like I would. “My lips will be on you, I swear to Christ,” I moan, picturing my parted lips sucking down on your tits; catching your breasts in my mouth as they bounce.

“Stop hidin’, honey,” I grunt as your legs draw closer, and I swear you heard me because your thighs widen on the mattress, splaying out for me and only me. What I wouldn't pay to bury myself in your cunt, princess. I’ve sucked on your panties more times than I can count; memorized your taste. I need the real thing. I wanna feel the warmth of your body against me, tongue pumping in and out of that tight little hole of yours.

Your mouth falls open, chest heaving, muffled cries heard through the glass. Just a whisper, but my ears have never been more blessed. I look down at my cock for a split second, just enough time to run some spit down on my throbbing head, making me hiss out a breath. I make a tight fist, imagining myself sinking into your slick pussy as you lay on a pile of my class papers, a little pleated skirt riding up around your waist, your wet cunt just begging for me to fill it, sucking me in.

“Such a sloppy cunt. Fuck… Perfect for me,” I mutter, returning my eyes to you, watching as your arousal leaks out of your pussy as you continue to stroke, dirtying the sheets below. I run my hand across my sweaty forehead, slicking back my bangs in the process, switching my hold to my balls to play with them, trying desperately to cum with you for your second time. “Slow down, Y/n… Shittt. Pussy’s too good. You wanna come with daddy. Don't you? Yeah you do. Atta baby.”

Another muffled moan bleeds through the glass. I need to hear you. Fuck, I need to know what you sound like. I release my cock with a panting gasp, fumbling for the glass, resting my clammy palms against it as I hold my breath, cracking it ever so slightly. There we go. I move even closer, resting a hand on the brick wall, eyes rolling back in my skull as I wrap my fingers around my girthy dick again.

“Rafe…” She pants, and my eyes double, stomach falling, breath fleeing my chest, drowning in my own pleasure as my name leaves your lips. Say it again. Fucking say it, baby. Tears of joy fill my eyes as warmth spreads from my head to my toes.

I listen closely, catching the sounds of your sopping core squelching through your room, cries and sighs of pleasure coming back to back as I bite my shirt, holding back my own. “Just like that, Rafey. Fuckkk, daddy. I’m cumming,” you cry in a throaty, fucked-out voice that has me cumming harder than I ever have in my life, ropes, and ropes of cum painting the brick wall of your apartment building as I watch your finish.

I look down in exhaustion as my cum rolls down the wall, before closing my eyes in utter bliss, just imagining it leaking out of your cunt. My goddamn pussy. “Tomorrow-” I pant as I lift my trembling hand, pointing my cum-coated finger against the glass with a smug smile that I wish you could see. “M’taking you out and then we’re comin’ back here and I’m going to make every one of your fantasies come true, honey. M’gonna be all you need. I swear,” I coo.

I watch you as you lay there, hands trailing your beautiful body, calming yourself down with touch. You're lonely, baby. You don't need to be… Let me take care of you. You let out a sleepy yawn, stretching out on the mattress.

“Fuck,” I grumble, post-nut clarity setting in as I realize what the fuck I just did, regretting none of it, just hoping that someone didn’t see me. The street is empty. Just perfect. I grab my boxers, pulling them up as you tuck your toy into your nightstand, fastening my pants as you snuggle into your sheets.

No.

Your eyes lock with mine, and with that, time stands still. My heart hammers in my chest as your expression changes from confusion to terror. You let out a blood-curdling scream as I try to pull myself away, but I’m frozen with fear. Run. Fuck! You fumble for your phone as I walk away from the window, my eyes never leaving you until I’m falling back on the curb, struggling to my feet, sprinting as fast as my feet will take me.

“I’ve ruined everything. What the hell have I done?” My heart shatters into a million pieces as I run down the block, charging toward my car as I fight my keys out of my pocket. Tears and snot wet my face, my whole body sheened with sweat, shivering with adrenaline. ”Not only am I going to lose her, but I’m gonna lose everything else. My job. My reputation. Everything. Fucking everything.” I slam my finger against the keyless start; engine roaring as I peel out onto the street, trying to put distance between me and you.

What the hell can I say to make this better? No one will understand. I can’t fucking help it. I can’t help who I am. I can’t help that I love you. That I want to keep you safe. Is that a crime? I’m obsessed with you. It’s like— I think about you all the time. Every second of my fucking life. But isn’t that what love should be like?

I let out a shaky breath, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, my cheeks soaked with tears, eyes glassy with emotion. If I can’t have you, I don’t want to live. I don’t… I-I can’t. My foot slams on the gas, barreling down the freeway toward the bridge, watching as the needle on the speedometer climbs higher and higher as cars swerve and dart out of my path.

What is the point if I can’t have you?

I’m nothing without you.

My knuckles ghost white, as I blink the tears out of my eyes, sobbing like a child as the speedometer blasts past 100. I feel the dismare in my heaving chest plaguing me like a virus, the only warmth in my heart gone now that I’ve lost you. Just fucking empty—goddamn hollow. The only thing I’ve ever truly wanted is gone. You were the best thing that has ever been mine and I didn’t even get to tell you… I lift my hand to wipe away the tears as the road blurs before me.

Days of watching you, not one moment forgotten. I was almost a part of your world. Why did I wait so long? Why did I wait until it was too late? You were saying my name? You wanted me just as bad as I wanted you…

The world around me gets a little brighter as I pull onto the bridge, illuminated with streetlamps, before the world dives off into the dark waters below.

What if she feels guilt? What if she blames herself? What if this ruins hers too?

I thread through the gap of cars, vehicles slamming on their breaks around me, unable to swerve on the bridge like they were on the road before making every move sharper; more erratic—the line thinning, between life and death.

Maybe she’ll forgive me after I’m dead…

RING. RING. RING.

I look down at my phone, seeing your brother's name light up the screen. “Hello?” I choke the word out, biting my lips to hold back my sniffles and sobs as I speed closer and closer to the edge, waiting for him to blow out my speakers. ‘ASSHOLE. PERV. STALKER. PSYCHOPATH-’

“Hey, Rafe. You good, man?” He asks worriedly, his gentle voice pulling me out of the pit. My foot pulls off the glass as I’m hit with a sliver of hope, before slamming on the breaks. My tires screech as my car skids across the bridge, stomach falling as I get so close to the edge that the grille of my Cadillac kisses the guardrail, nothing but blackness and open water before me.

“M’Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.”

You dive into my arms, hands wrapped tightly around my waist as you bury your head in my chest. Your warm, wet tears soak through my shirt, blessing my skin as I hold you close. “Thank you so much for coming, Rafe,” you sniffle.

“Of course, Y/n,” I whisper as you tremble in my arms like a leaf. “Did you get a good look at him?”

You shake your head, letting out a frail little sigh. “No…”

“Go inside. Aight? You’ve been through enough. Let me check it out. I’ll be in in a second. Okay?” You nod, looking up at me with doe-eyes and a trembling lip. I cup your tear stained cheek in my hand, brushing your skin nice and soft. You tilt into me, needing me closer. “I’m sorry you went through this… But, it’s just some creep. I’m not gonna leave you tonight. I swear.”

“Thank you,” you whimper.

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

“Now, you, get inside and try to relax. Huh? It’ll only take me a second.” You nod and step inside, holding my hand until the last moment.

I walk down the stairs, strolling through the landscaping to your window. I suck my teeth, looking down at the stained brick before lifting my hand, running my thumb along my tongue, scrubbing the little cum mark I left with my finger. “All clear,” I whisper, smiling to myself as my night takes a turn for the better.

I walk up your steps, stepping into the apartment as you pour a glass of wine for you and I. “Thank you, Rafe. I’m so glad you’re here,” you smile, your voice weak as you walk toward me in your satin pajamas, passing me a glass.

“Call me anytime you need me. Okay?” I smile as I reach my hand out for you. You tangle your fingers in mine, moving a little closer, rising on your tippy toes, pressing a soft kiss on my cheek.

The two of us walk over to the couch, taking a seat. You snuggle into my chest just like you did at the bar. Your body relaxes in mine. The adrenaline and excitement of the night wears off fast, and it’s not long before your eyes start to beat closed. I don’t think I can sleep. I don’t want to. Truthfully, I could stay this way forever with you. Your soft sounds fill my ears as I focus on your breathing and the shape of your body in mine. I couldn’t dream of a more perfect moment with you, sweetheart. My girl. Mine. A satisfied smile plays on my lips as I reach over, flicking on the evening news.

“Hello, my name is Belle Lee, reporting live from the downtown district. An investigation is underway after a University student was found dead with multiple gunshot wounds. College officials have identified the victim as 22-year-old Chett Lee from Tampa Bay, Florida. This is an active investigation. Any tips or other information can be directed to the local authorities. Currently, there are no known suspects in this gruesome murder.”

A smirk pulls on my lips as I flick off the TV, darkness falling all around us. I lift you into my arms, holding you close, walking you to your room before setting you down on the mattress. I rub my thumb across you pillowy lips, not wanting to push it too far by kissing you goodnight. My belly stirs as I think about the cum I had just cleaned off the glass, any reminents now hanging on your perfect lips.

I’ll just have to settle for that tonight.

I stroke your hair gently, brushing it off your beautiful face. Just leave, Rafe… Just—I succumb to my urges, kissing your forehead instead, lingering as long as I possibly can before pulling away. Your eyes match mine, staring up at me.

“Stay.”

2K notes · View notes

kingkaisen · 2 years ago

Text

TELL ME || Levi A.

even during the battle to end the rumbling, levi can’t help but think about you.

“Tell me, Y/N . . . Are you proud of me? Or are you disappointed? Did I fight hard enough? Could I have done more?”

Unanswered questions continued to appear in Levi’s mind as he glanced down at the blood splattering onto his fingertips, dripping from his mouth.

“Will I see you again someday? How long do I have to wait until I can know the answer to that?”

The pain in his leg was horrific. Awful. Indescribable — there weren’t any words in existence that could accurately detail the burning, aching sensation that made him wish he could chop off his own leg to escape the misery.

Even so, as one or two of his comrades held onto his limp body — he couldn’t tell who or how many, thanks to his blind eye — he did nothing but cough up blood.

“If I died today, I wouldn’t mind. Not if I get to see you again. I promised you that I’d always keep fighting — that’s what I said, right? I wish I didn’t make that promise, because I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired . . .”

As Levi rode on the back of Falco’s winged titan form, he realized something.

The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the agonizing heartache he felt every second of every day since he watched you die.

He hated himself for falling in love.

He hated himself for not being strong enough to save you.

Being known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier felt like an utter joke. Like he was being mocked.

It was all he could think about as he looked down at the kids — no, they were adults now — fighting titans on Eren’s skeleton-like form, desperately attempting to stop the rumbling.

It was like he raised them. You both did.

But you didn’t get a chance to see them grow.

If you were still around, you would have known that Connie did indeed get taller. You won that bet. Levi owed you a new tea set, as he thought that the hilarious kid would stay the same height forever.

You didn’t witness Armin start to come out of his shell a bit, either. He was the commander now, could you believe that?

The shy kid who you thought of as a son — who followed you around like a lost puppy during his early days as a scout — was now Levi’s boss. And the colossal titan. How silly.

Jean had turned out to be a great leader as well, fighting for humanity instead of for himself. You would have been proud.

He only grew out his hair because you weren’t around to help him trim it. He could do it on his own, but he didn’t want to. Not without you.

Mikasa was exceptional then, and she was exceptional now. You were the only person she trusted to wash her scarf whenever she was too busy to get around to it.

Reiner and Annie were fighting too.

Everyone was fighting. All to stop the rumbling.

Even if it meant killing Eren.

“Could you do it, Y/N? Could you have helped us take Eren’s life?” Levi wondered.

You wouldn’t have supported the rumbling. That was a fact. Even so, you adored that kid, almost as if you were possessed by Carla’s ghost.

And he adored you too.

Your death was one of the horrific events that pushed Eren to this unspeakable point.

Both Eren and Levi witnessed it.

A titan snacking on your body as if you weren’t a person, but grapes at a picnic. Both of them were too weak to stop it.

They could only watch. Watch as you were eaten alive.

—

When the fight ended, your face was among the many ghosts staring at Levi. His old comrades were all satisfied. He didn’t have to fight anymore. He could just live.

But he couldn’t rest.

That came later. It came when Levi was an old man, sitting alone in his wheelchair at his favorite place in Marley to stare out at the glistening water with his one decent eye.

Old age claimed his life as the sun started to set, its beautiful orange rays shining over the water.

And you were waiting for him. You and all of his old comrades.

He pushed himself right out of his wheelchair. He could walk again. He could see again. He was young again.

His wrinkly skin melted away. His gray hair was once again black. His scars no longer existed.

Slowly, he walked towards you, the love of his life. The person he never got a chance to grow old with. Start a family with. Experience peace with.

When he wrapped his arms around you, holding you after so many years of trying and failing to remember what it felt like to touch you, he knew that he could finally rest.

7K notes · View notes

cosmiclily · 2 months ago

Note

hey, sorry if you're tired of seeing me, but what do you think about reader rejecting Vi multiple times cause Vi is like a fuckgirl and reader doesn't know if Vi is only playing or mocking her, and don't wanna get hurt, but Vi it's totally serious and wants to get reader so bad?

btw, hope you're okay, have a great day, love ya! 🫶🏼

all of the girls you loved before

♡ vi x f!reader

wc: 4k

notes: i love seeing your asks 😭😭 don’t worry !! (sorry for taking so long to make this lol i haven’t been writing this much lately) i love this idea and i LOVED how this turned out, i want a girlfriend so bad now 😔

If you asked any gay girl (or bi, or questioning—basically anyone even remotely attracted to women) about Vi Vanderson, you’d get one of three very specific responses:

1. “She’s the love of my life, but I can’t get her to look my way.”

2. “I hate her and I hope she dies a slow, dramatic, painful death.”

3. “She said she’d call me back and I’ve been waiting for a week. Can you tell her to text me?”

Which, honestly, tells you everything you need to know about her.

Violet Vanderson had that reputation—the kind where she’d either broken your heart, your roommate’s heart, or was currently in the process of doing both. She had an effortless charm, a smirk that could melt steel, and a walk that made heads turn in slow motion. Basically, she was a walking red flag... and yet, somehow, irresistible.

So when she’d throw a wink my way, flash that annoyingly perfect grin, and drop the cheesiest pick-up lines known to mankind—“Your eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, princess”—I didn’t exactly swoon. I simply rolled my eyes.

Because we were friends. And if Vi flirted with strangers for fun, she flirted with me for sport.

“You know, princess,” she said on a typical morning, stealing one of my fries with no shame, “you’re the most gorgeous girl in here. When are you finally going to let me take you on a date?”

I didn’t even look up. “Piss off, Violet. Go flirt with Sarah or something—she’s been staring since you walked in.”

Vi glanced over her shoulder, spotted Sarah practically drooling, then turned back to me with a smug little smirk. “She doesn’t have your charm.”

I snorted. “I’m not on the menu.”

“Maybe,” she said, plucking another fry. “But I’m patient.”

And that was the problem with Vi—she knew exactly how to walk the razor-thin line between teasing and tempting, and she was dangerously good at pretending it didn’t mean anything.

The real question was: when did I start wishing she meant it?

I mean, I wasn’t that stupid... right?

No. There was absolutely no way I was falling for my walking-red-flag-of-a-friend. The same friend who flirted with any girl who so much as breathed in her direction. The one who collected hearts like seashells on a beach and didn’t even pretend to keep track of whose they were.

Of course I wouldn’t be that girl.

I wouldn’t be stupid enough to feel a little flutter in my chest every time she called me princess. Or get all flustered when she teased me just to see me blush. Or mad—irrationally mad—when she smirked like she knew exactly what she was doing.

And she did know.

“You’re gonna wait forever, then,” I said flatly, standing up and grabbing my tray, done with being caught in Sarah’s piercing glare. “I’m not interested. At all.”

I didn’t wait for her response, didn’t risk looking back at her face, because if I did, I knew I’d see that stupid half-smile of hers—the one that said, I know you’re lying.

But as I walked away, I heard her voice ring out across the cafeteria, louder than necessary and way too dramatic.

“Don’t do this to my heart! You know you love me!”──────────────────────

The next time Vi tried to convince me we should go out, I was sitting under my favorite tree on campus during lunch, headphones in, enjoying the rare peace, when her shadow suddenly blocked out the sun like a bad omen.

I didn’t even have to look up. “If you’re here to confess your undying love again, I’m gonna need it in writing. Preferably notarized.”

Vi laughed and dropped down beside me like she belonged there. “Can I at least offer a bribe before the proposal?”

I sighed and took one earbud out. “Depends. Is it food?”

She grinned like she’d just scored a goal. “Better. It’s me. I come with jokes, tattoos and limited emotional availability. Total package.”

I blinked at her. “Wow. I can’t imagine why you’re still single.”

“Me neither,” she said, leaning back on her hands, stretching like she was trying to give the sun a show. “Maybe it’s because the girl I actually like keeps rejecting me in increasingly creative ways.”

I scoffed at that, like she actually liked me. I ignored the way my heart did an actual somersault in my chest.

“Maybe,” I muttered, biting into my sandwich like it could distract me from her eyes on me.

She leaned in just a bit, lowering her voice like we were sharing secrets. “Come on. Just one date. If you don’t have the best time of your life, I swear I’ll never flirt with you again.”

I turned to her slowly, looking her dead in the eyes. “You say that like it’s supposed to scare me.”

Her smirk only deepened. “Because you’d miss me.”

“Oh, yes, I’d really miss being aggressively hit on while I try to eat a sandwich with too much mustard. Huge loss.”

“You pretend to hate it,” she said, nudging her knee against mine. “But you haven’t told me to stop.”

I narrowed my eyes, cheeks warming despite my best efforts. “Maybe I like watching you embarrass yourself.”

Vi raised a brow, eyes glinting with something that made my stomach twist. “Then you must love me by now.”

I scoffed. “Love you? Please. I tolerate you the same way I tolerate cramps and coffee withdrawals.”

She clutched her chest like I’d stabbed her. “Brutal.”

“Good,” I said, wrapping my sandwich back up. “Maybe then you’ll finally take the hint and let me rot in peace.”

“Not a chance, princess,” she said, all confidence and charm, her infuriatingly pretty eyes locked on mine. “I’m in this for the long game.”

And to be honest? I was almost—almost—ready to give in. To say yes, just to see what she thought she’d get out of this.

Maybe she liked the challenge. Maybe it thrilled her to know I was the only girl who hadn’t fallen headfirst into her lap. Maybe the chase was more exciting than the prize.

And that’s what scared me the most.

Because if I said yes—if I let her take me out, let her treat me like I was the only girl in the world for a night—what then?

What if she kissed me, touched me like I was something soft and fragile instead of her sarcastic best friend, and took me back to her room? The same room where she’s taken all the others before me. The same room I’ve heard stories about, or walked past, knowing some random girl was probably still tangled in her sheets.

Would I just be another name on that list?

Would she lose interest the second I stopped being a challenge?

Because once I crossed that line, there was no going back. Our friendship wouldn’t survive it—not intact. And neither would I.

Somewhere along the line, Vi stopped being just my flirty, reckless friend with too many one-night stands and a wink that could burn straight through steel. She became someone I couldn’t afford to lose.

And that made everything so much more complicated.

──────────────────────

After that day by the tree, it felt like something shifted. Like Vi sensed that I was slipping. That maybe—just maybe—I was close to giving in. And if she did notice? Oh, she absolutely took it as a challenge.

Maybe she was doing the same thing she always had, or maybe this time it was different. Maybe I was just different—too tired to keep pretending her attention didn’t affect me.

“Good morning, princess. Looking beautiful as always,” she said with that casual confidence, her grin tugging slightly at the little scar on her upper lip.

And of course, my traitor eyes immediately darted to her mouth. Like clockwork.

It was too early for this. Too early to fight the urge to smile back or roll my eyes or reach out and touch her—God, why did she always look so good first thing in the morning?

I tried to muster a response, something snarky, something that would remind her (and myself) that I wasn’t buying it.

“Do you ever wake up and decide not to flirt with someone?” I muttered, brushing past her with my coffee in hand. “Or is this just a full-time job for you?”

“Only when you’re around,” she shot back, grinning like she’d already won something.

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. Because if I did, my voice might crack under the weight of how badly I wanted to believe she meant it this time.

And she didn’t stop. Not that day, not the next, and definitely not the one after that. If anything, she doubled down.

Every morning came with a new compliment, a pet name, a reason for her to stand too close or brush her hand against mine like it was an accident.

“Nice shirt,” she said one afternoon, leaning over the back of the couch where I was writing one of my essays. “Brings out your eyes. Not that I need a shirt to notice those.”

I didn’t even look up. “You say that like you haven’t recycled that line a hundred times.”

“Maybe I have,” she murmured, her breath warm against the shell of my ear. “But it still makes you blush.”

Damn her.

I slammed my laptop shut and stood, brushing past her. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”

She followed, undeterred. “What can I say? I have a soft spot for beautiful girls who act like they hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I snapped, stopping short. “I just don’t believe you.”

That made her pause. For the first time in a while, Vi didn’t have a quip ready. She just stood there, lips slightly parted, like she hadn’t expected honesty to sting so much.

“I’m not trying to mess with you, Y/N,” she said after a beat, softer this time. “I know I’ve been… stupid with other people. But you’re not them.”

And that was the most dangerous thing she could’ve said.

Because some part of me wanted to believe her. So badly. But that little voice in the back of my head—the one that remembered every time I saw her kiss someone else at a party, every wink she threw at another girl—it wouldn’t let me forget.

So I laughed. Cold. Dismissive. Defensive.

“Try that line on someone who hasn’t heard your greatest hits, Violet.”

──────────────────────

I tried avoiding Vi for a while. Maybe if I didn’t see her, I’d build up some kind of immunity to her constant flirting. Maybe the distance would help me put my walls back up, stronger than before. Maybe I’d stop slipping.

Desperate times, right? I even went to a party. But of course, the moment I stepped into the frat house, there she was, like fate had planned it just to mess with me.

Drink in hand, hair styled exactly the way I liked it—messy but deliberate—and that stupid black jacket hanging off her shoulders like she owned the night. She was leaning in close to some girl I didn’t recognize, and it took everything in me not to turn around and leave.

She had that look again. The “I’m going to ruin your life, and you’re going to thank me for it” look. Eyes half-lidded, head tilted just enough to seem effortless. I watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind that girl’s ear, smiled like she meant it, and brushed her fingers along her shoulder. Textbook Violet.

And it made my blood boil.

I tried to play it cool. Pretend it didn’t bother me. Pretend I wasn’t two seconds away from marching over there and dragging her out by her smug smirk.

But then she looked at me.

Just one glance—one second—and suddenly it was like her flirty dial cranked up to a thousand. She leaned in even closer to the girl, whispered something, and then—of course—she made her way over to me.

Drink still in hand. Grin still plastered across her face.

I didn’t even wait for her to speak.

“Oh, don’t stop now,” I snapped, arms crossed tight. “She looked like she was really enjoying herself.”

Vi blinked, taken aback. “What?”

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Don’t play dumb, Vi. She was practically on top of you.”

The smirk twitched back onto her lips, but this time it looked more like a shield than confidence. “Is someone jealous?”

And that did it.

“See?” I snapped, louder than I meant to. “That’s exactly what I mean. You say you want me, that I’m the only girl you’re actually serious about—but the second I’m not around, you’re back to being the stupid version of you. Flirting with anything that breathes. How am I supposed to take you seriously when you act like that?”

Her smile dropped. Just like that. Her jaw clenched, and she stepped closer, something softer flickering behind those impossible blue eyes. “You really think I don’t mean it?”

“I think you don’t know what you mean,” I said, my voice trembling now, though I tried to hold it steady. “And I’m not going to be just another girl you use to pass the time.”

Silence settled between us. The music around us kept playing, but it sounded so far away. For the first time, she didn’t throw back a comeback. She just stood there, those goddamn puppy-dog eyes searching mine, her throat working like she was trying to find the right words.

“I’m not trying to pass the time,” she said quietly, voice low and rough. “I’m trying to get you to believe that I’m in this for you. And yeah, I flirt. That’s how I cope. That’s how I hide. But nothing I’ve ever said to them meant even half as much as what I say to you.”

I wanted to believe her. I really wanted to.

“I want to believe you,” I whispered, looking away. “But your words don’t match your actions, Vi. And I… I don’t want to be just another girl on your bed.”

She took a breath, and for a second, I thought she might say something reckless and heartbreaking. But instead, she just said, “Then tell me what to do to prove it.”

──────────────────────

Then tell me what to do to prove it.

Her voice echoed in my head long after the conversation ended.

And true to her word, Vi didn’t just let it go.

The next day, there was coffee waiting for me at my desk. We had the same 8 a.m. lecture, and as I stepped into the room and made my way to my usual table, I saw it—my exact order, the one I never told anyone because it was way too specific, was waiting for me, my name written in her messy scrawl on the side.

“I’m not flirting,” she said as I eyed the cup suspiciously. “I’m just… paying attention.”

Day two: A sticky note on my computer that said “You looked beautiful yesterday. Just thought someone should tell you”

Day three: the Jane Austen book I’d been dying to read—the one I kept complaining was always checked out from the library—sitting on my living room table. Another sticky note on the cover: “Someone finally returned it! :)”

Every day after that, there was something new. Something soft. Something small. A gesture that felt intentional. Deliberate. Real.

And she wasn’t flirting the way she used to. No more over-the-top pickup lines. No more exaggerated winks. No more “princess” with a grin that dared me to fight her off. Now, when she looked at me, it felt… different. Like she wasn’t trying to seduce me—just see me.

And it was terrifying.

Because on one hand she was being true to her word, she was showing me that she actually—actually!!—wanted me, not just because I was a challenge, but because it was me.

But on the other hand, I couldn’t shake the fear. What if she slipped? What if the next party rolled around and I turned to see her back to whispering in someone else’s ear, smirk in full force, drink in hand?

What if this version of her—soft, steady, real—was only temporary?

Still, with every action, every quiet gesture, it was like she was telling me, “Yes, I’m serious about you.” And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore the growing feeling that giving her a chance was the right thing to do.

Maybe I was going to be the stupid girl who fell for her walking-red-flag-of-a-friend.

──────────────────────

I don’t know what finally broke through my defenses.

Maybe it was the book.

Maybe it was the way she stopped trying to win me over with smirks and pickup lines and started showing up with nothing but sincerity.

Or maybe it was how quiet she’d gone about it all—how she never pointed out the things she did, never asked for credit, never even looked to see if I noticed.

But I did.

God, I noticed.

Every sticky note. Every small gesture. Every look that lingered longer than it should have.

So the next time she handed me a coffee, I didn’t roll my eyes. I didn’t raise a brow or accuse her of flirting.

I just took it.

“Thanks,” I said, soft and a little unsure, brushing my fingers against hers for maybe a second too long. “You remembered the oat milk this time.”

“You’re welcome,” she said slowly, carefully, like she didn’t want to scare me off by saying too much.

I held her gaze a moment longer than I usually would. Then I glanced down at the cup, smiling faintly when I saw our names written side by side in her handwriting, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I swallowed, heart in my throat. “I was thinking…” I said, trying to keep my tone light even though my palms were sweating, “if you’re not busy Friday night, maybe we could… grab dinner or something?”

Vi blinked. Once. Twice.

Then her whole face lit up like I’d just handed her the moon.

“You’re asking me out?” she said, grinning so wide it was nearly blinding. “Is this a trap? Are cameras gonna pop out?”

I laughed, embarrassed, but I didn’t take it back. I couldn’t. “Don’t push it, Violet.”

She leaned in, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “I won’t. I swear. Just tell me where to be… and I’ll be there.”

──────────────────────

Friday night came faster than I expected, and the moment I saw her standing outside the restaurant, every ounce of my carefully built composure cracked.

She wasn’t in her usual leather jacket and cocky smile. Instead, she wore a crisp white shirt, tucked into her loose black jeans. Her hair was still slightly messy, and she kept spinning the rings on her fingers like she was nervous. Vi. Nervous. That alone nearly made me trip over my own feet.

“You showed,” she said, looking me up and down slowly.

I walked up to her, trying not to look like I’d been holding my breath the entire ride there.

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “You look… incredible.”

“And you’re still a flirt,” I replied, brushing past her with a smirk, my cheeks flushing. “But thanks.”

She chuckled and held the door open for me, just a little shy this time—like she was still half-expecting me to change my mind.

Dinner started awkwardly. We both fumbled over the menu, over small talk, over who was going to order the wine. It felt like trying on new clothes—familiar pieces in an unfamiliar context.

But somewhere between the second glass of wine and a story she told about her and Jinx sneaking onto a rooftop to watch fireworks, things started to ease. I was laughing—really laughing. And Vi… she just looked at me like I’d hung the stars.

“You know,” I said, taking another sip of wine, “I thought I had you all figured out.”

“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow. “What did you think?”

“That you were just in it for the challenge. Trying to get into my pants because I didn’t immediately fall at your feet. And that once you got what you wanted, you wouldn’t even look my way again.”

She huffed a short laugh. “And now?”

“Now… I feel like you’re being genuine. I don’t know. You keep surprising me.” I paused. “And I like it.”

She reached across the table, slow and careful, her fingers brushing mine.

“And I hope I keep surprising you,” she whispered. “As long as you let me.”

I let my hand turn, let our fingers tangle—just a little.

Maybe I was still scared. Maybe I still didn’t have all the answers.

But in that moment—with her looking at me like I was something rare—I wasn’t turning away.

We ended up walking after dinner, neither of us ready to call it a night. The city buzzed softly around us—the way it always did after 10 p.m.—still alive, but quieter. Calmer. Like it was winding down, holding its breath along with us. We wandered toward the park, the air cool and just a little crisp, carrying that quiet kind of magic only late nights could.

“Okay,” Vi said, nudging me gently with her elbow. “Be honest. Dinner wasn’t a complete disaster, right?”

I smirked. “I mean, you didn’t make me mad, and you didn’t flirt with the waitress—huge progress.”

She laughed, the sound echoing lightly in the open air. “So I get points for not being a menace?”

“You get points for trying,” I replied, casting a glance at her from the corner of my eye. “And maybe for making me laugh.”

Her smile softened at that. We walked in silence for a bit, but it wasn’t awkward—just… easy. Comfortable. Somewhere along the path, we passed a little ice cream stand still open, and Vi tugged me gently to a stop.

“Ice cream?” she asked, her eyes practically sparkling. “My treat.”

I raised an eyebrow. “If this is your secret strategy to win me over, it’s dangerously effective.”

“Not a strategy,” she said with a grin, already pulling out her wallet. “Just craving something sweet.”

The old woman behind the counter gave Vi a knowing smile after handing us our cones. As Vi turned back toward me, I caught the faint pink on her cheeks.

We found a bench near the edge of the lake and sat, ice cream in hand—mine was mint chocolate chip, hers something absurdly fruity. The streetlights cast everything in a soft golden glow, and a breeze rustled the trees overhead. In the distance, someone strummed a guitar lazily. It felt like a scene from a movie I hadn’t realized I was starring in.

“You’ve got a little…” Vi gestured vaguely toward my face.

I blinked. “What?”

“Here,” she said, and before I could react, she leaned in. Her fingers brushed my cheek, her thumb warm as it wiped a smudge of green ice cream from the corner of my mouth.

It was such a small touch. But it stopped everything.

She didn’t pull away right away. Her eyes flicked to my lips—slowly, carefully—and then met mine. The air between us shifted, suddenly charged. My breath caught in my throat. Everything about her—her nearness, the way her hand lingered just a second too long, the way she looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered—made the world go still.

I could’ve pulled back.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I leaned in, just slightly, testing the waters. Vi mirrored the movement instantly—like we’d both been waiting for this and didn’t want to move too fast and break it.

Her lips brushed against mine—soft, unsure, hesitant. When I didn’t move away, she kissed me deeper. Gentler. Like she wanted to memorize it, savor every second.

And I kissed her back.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and careful, like she was trying to say everything she hadn’t been able to in words.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, her forehead rested lightly against mine. Her hand still hovered near my cheek.

“Still not flirting,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut.

I laughed quietly. “Liar.”

But I didn’t let go.

And neither did she.

──────────────────────

masterlist

#vi x reader #vi arcane #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lily writes #request ♡#mootie ✰

464 notes · View notes

asxgard · 4 months ago

Text

Companionship | pt. 2

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael have some late night phone calls. He struggles to open up.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: wow! Y’all are really so nice omg, I really appreciate all of you who took the time to like, comment or reblog. I also appreciate all you silent readers too! I’m genuinely surprised with how much traffic part 1 got, so thank you all so much! Contemplating adding this to my AO3 account from the perspective of a f!oc, but still undecided (I prefer to keep my reader works strictly for tumblr, idk why). This is definitely going to be multiple parts (my rough outline currently has ten chapters whoops).

I don’t know much about sugar babies aside from what I’ve read, so I took some liberties with my guesstimates.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap, slowburn, foul language, allusion to a panic attack, work stress, Robby trying to avoid his feelings/anxiety, my basic understanding of accounting, angst

not beta read

“You’re lucky. Someone only looking for companionship is a small pool of men. Not as lucrative as a traditional sugar baby, but if that’s more your speed, maybe reach out to some more.”

Your smile twisted, “I’m already uncomfortable with just one. Thinking about adding more makes me feel icky.”

Erin rolled her eyes, “Why? They know what they signed up for. If they wanted fidelity, then they should get a girlfriend.”

“I’m telling you, I could hook you up with a shift or two a week at the bar. I make great tips.” Marsi said, her eyes not flickering from her laptop.

You frowned. “I already gave him my number. My Google Voice number, but yeah.”

“That’s my girl!” Erin praised with a laugh.

You wondered if it was a mistake. He had not reached out since you had sent the number on the app, nearly four days prior. Perhaps he was having second thoughts. Anxiety filled your chest at the thought of having to go through the whole process again.

Or just drop it and take Marsi up on her offer.

—

Your night passed slowly, studying with your friends until dinner time, when they left. You kept your focus on the Excel spreadsheet in front of you, checking over your homework with careful eyes. Numbers were easy, they did not hold the complexities of human beings—

Your phone buzzed on the table, immediately pulling you away from your work.

You have any time to talk?

It was an unknown number. You watched as the three dots appeared immediately after, though it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

This is Michael by the way.

So formal, you found yourself thinking with a small smile, quickly adding him to your contacts.

I have time.

It only took a few more moments before your phone started ringing. Anxiety thrummed through your system, heart beating like a drum against your ribcage. You took a long breath through your nose before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” He answered awkwardly.

“How are you?” You asked out of habit.

There were several moments of silence. “I want to say I’m okay.”

“But you’re not?”

“But I’m not.” Came his quiet reply.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Another measured silence. “No. Yes? I don’t know.”

You hummed. “I understand your hesitation, we don’t know each other. But isn’t that the whole point? I’m unconnected to your life and you basically have anonymity. I won’t pry, so we can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

He was silent for a long time. You checked the call to make sure it hadn’t dropped. The seconds ticked away on the call, so he was still there. You waited.

“Just a…rough day.” He said, his tone sounding stressed. “I think I’d rather talk about your day right now.”

“My day?” You questioned, surprised.

He only hummed in response.

“Do you want the play-by-play or the cliff-notes?”

Michael exhaled a ghost of a laugh, “Give me all of it.”

You cleared your throat, “So my alarm went off at 5:20, no! 5:25, and then I got out of bed—”

He laughed, bringing a smile to your lips.

“I have early classes on Thursdays, so I was up earlier than I usually like to be…”

“Night owl?”

“Guilty.” You smiled. “But it was my forensic accounting class, which I’ve been enjoying, so I wasn’t too upset getting out of bed. Add in my morning coffee, and I was a pretty happy camper.” You paused, but he was quiet on the other end. “I had taxation today too, and despite the fact I love the numbers, learning tax law just isn’t my favorite thing.”

“Why do you like it? Accounting?”

“Oh, um,” you paused, deliberating. “I like turning unreadable stuff into a well-crafted report, turn a mess into an easy to read story of a company’s financial history. Plus, numbers are a lot less complicated than human beings.”

There was his quiet laugh again. “Yeah, I can see how that can be true.”

“As a doctor, I can imagine you would.” You were smiling.

“I’ve seen…a lot of complicated people.”

You waited a few moments, but he didn’t elaborate. People were the primary reason you had left the medical field early on in your college career — while you enjoyed being helpful, people could be too overwhelming.

“And my shift today was good, busy and boring, but easy enough.”

As you went on about your day as a payroll clerk (though vague about the company details), Michael was quiet. It was clear he needed the distraction from whatever his day had been. You explained your studying routine with your friends and your love of baking. You got the occasional hum of acknowledgment, but it was clear he just wanted to listen to you talk. You moved from topic-to-topic without complaint, pausing occasionally to make sure he did not want to comment, or change the subject.

It was late when you realized the time: 11:08.

“Michael? I’m sure I could keep going, but I’m not sure you want to hear my opinions on office politics.” Your tone was jesting.

Still no response. Furrowing your brows, you listened silently to the other end.

Small puffs of air, slow and steady, in and out. In. Out. He had fallen asleep.

Your first instinct was to be offended — no telling how long since he had drifted off or how long you had rambled to no one. But then you relaxed. He had clearly needed the distraction from what was going through his head when he first called, enough to quiet his brain. Or perhaps he was just that exhausted. Either way, you did not take it personally, you would have likely been up this late anyways.

You ended the call at two hours and seventeen minutes.

—

Are you available at 9?

You checked your phone when you moved into the living room, dinner cooking in the oven, finding a text from Michael. Per your agreement, you usually talked about once a week. He usually gave late notice, though it usually reflected how bad his day had gotten. Your last talk, however, had only been three days prior.

In addition to the one only days ago, you had talked two additional times since your first, typically at night, where you did most of the talking. You almost found your talks therapeutic; plus you were getting paid to just talk. Though, you wished he talked more — part of you felt like you were taking advantage of the situation and he was barely getting anything out of it.

He had already put money on the prepaid Visa card you had picked up after your first phone conversation. Michael thought the card would be more discreet and confidential than Venmo. The $400 dollars you had agreed on for the month had done wonders with relieving the pressure on making your rent payment.

Erin had encouraged you to set up an online wishlist as well, adding things periodically in case he wanted to buy something extra for you. “As a tip,” Erin had told you, a wide smirk on her face. That same day, Erin had coincidentally brought her new Valentino canvas bag that you were sure cost more than your rent payment. You held off on the wishlist, but you kept a few things in your notes app. Just in case.

You sent him a confirmation that you were fine with nine. He must work late hours. He had said he was a doctor, but you wondered in what specialty or where, but you had never broached the topic. You both valued your privacy when it came to your arrangement, not wanting to muddy the waters.

Surprisingly, he did not call at nine. He was usually pretty punctual when it came to a time he asked for. You waited patiently for several minutes before moving to start some hot water for tea, looking out the window at the rain. You figured to give him a bit of extra time before turning in.

At 9:24, your phone rang. Part of you nearly picked it up on the first ring, but you gave it a few moments before picking up. When you answered, he spoke first.

“Please just talk. About anything.” He sounded out of breath, talking quickly. His tone sounded more stressed than you had heard before.

“Are you alright?” Was your first instinct instead of doing as he asked, standing from your chair at the dining table, mug of tea forgotten.

“Fuck. No, I’m not. Please just talk to me. Your day. Your job. The fucking traffic this morning. Anything,” Your name was so quiet on his tongue, you nearly missed it.

It sounded like a plea.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, before running with it, “This asshole actually cut me off this morning, which considering his bumper stickers, wasn’t all that surprising. No blinker, nothing. I swear, sometimes the subway is less stressful, though I hate the morning crowds.”

Suddenly realizing talking about stressful things might not be the best way to calm him down, you pivoted, pacing across your apartment. Deciding quickly on something boring to most, you began to explain your most recent accounting assignment. How you came up with the financial analysis from the numbers your professor had given, to the tax implications of several of the (fake) business’s decisions. You explained it as best you could in layman's terms, trying not to make the math too complicated, before walking him through your report and your thoughts about how to help the business improve.

You paused long enough to hear his breathing, not quite as ragged but still loud and quick. “I don’t need you to respond, but think of five things you can see.”

Oh this was cliche, but you did not dwell on it.

After a few moments, “Okay, four things you can touch.” You paused, finding four things of your own to ensure he had time. “Now three things you can hear.”

“You.” He croaked, much quieter than he had been. “I can hear you.”

“That’s good. Now two more things.”

“…the rain. The cars outside.”

“Good,” you breathed out. “Two things you can smell?”

He didn’t answer, though his breathing had slowed tremendously from when you had first answered his call. It felt relieving, and you finally made your way to sit on the couch.

“Last is one thing you can taste.”

He let out a long deep breath, but kept whatever it had been to himself.

“Are you okay?” You asked again after a few moments.

“No.” He said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

You nearly huffed, but the annoyance was fleeting. You smiled, “I can tell you more about accounting, but most people find it incredibly boring.”

“You seem to really enjoy accounting. Though, I can’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day.”

“Well I wasn’t quite cut out for psychiatry, and I’ve always enjoyed a good spreadsheet.”

“Psychiatry?” He sounded surprised. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“You would’ve been good at it.”

Oh?

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Um, can I interest you in what my professor assigned today or how my manager nearly fucked up payroll this week?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll take ‘how my manager nearly fucked up today’ for $200, Alex.”

Your lips quirked back up at the Jeopardy reference, trying to shake off the feeling his praise had given you. With a long sigh, you rubbed your fingers along your hairline.

“He messed up the new employee’s tax deductions by misclassifying his title. When he backtracked to fix it, he cleared out the entire category — thankfully I caught it when I was putting my own numbers in for the small team I oversee.” You told him, looking at your nails. “Led to quite a frustrating day.”

Despite the fact that it had led to quite a hectic start to your workday, adding several tasks that interrupted you workflow, you felt mildly pathetic knowing his day had clearly been so much worse. You tried not to compare, your days had just as much value as his, but it was still a creeping feeling in your gut.

You continued on after a beat of silence on his end. Fixing the problem hadn’t necessarily been the issue — it was redoing every employee's numbers that led to your annoyance. That, and the lack of accountability from your manager.

Time ticked on, Michael only adding in his thoughts here and there, mostly staying quiet.

He coughed awkwardly during a lull in your conversation, “Uh, thank you for tonight.”

Beginning to feel your exhaustion, you smiled tiredly. “No thanks necessary.”

“Goodnight,” there was your name again.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

[ Next ]

want to join the taglist? shoot me a message!

#michael robinavitch/you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #companionship series #asxgard writes #the pitt

492 notes · View notes

james-bucky-barnackle · 1 year ago

Text

I mean?

Synopsis: On a press tour with your co-star Sebastian Stan, the interviewer asks you a question about another film he did and the answer surprises him.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Actress!Y/N

Word Count: IDK I'm too sleep deprived to count.

A/N: Bro I am on a resurgence. Might just fuck around and continue writing more fanfics or whatever.

It’s another busy day promoting your new movie with Sebastian, The Road Trip. It's a funny romcom about two best friends going on a long trip to see another friend who your character is dating. Interestingly enough, the guy who plays him is Chris Evans. The interviews are currently being done in pairs, and you're with Sebastian.

You've always been candid, speaking your mind without feeling shy. Deep down, you're a bit of a pessimist, accepting things as they are. When you first heard from your agent that you were cast in The Road Trip alongside Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans, you laughed hysterically. The idea that you, an unconventional beauty, were chosen to be on screen with those two seemed surreal. You never really think about dating co-stars, which helps with acting in general. The media is impressed with how chill you are around A-list actors, and even though it hasn’t fully sunk in yet, the industry has started promoting you to that list.

The interview has been going on for about 15 minutes when another journalist joins, mostly asking about the experience of working with the cast.

“It’s my first romcom, can you believe it?” you say.

“First?!” Sebastian stares in mock disbelief.

“I know, right?!” You feign surprise.

The interviewer continues, “How does it feel to do something lighter and a bit comedic for once?”

“You mean, a movie where no one dies?” Sebastian covers his mouth at your response.

“I mean essentially,” the interviewer laughs. “Wait, no one dies?!” They nudge you playfully.

“I mean, I’m not sure, no spoilers,” you say, breaking the fourth wall and looking into the camera. Sebastian cackles. “It’s definitely refreshing. It feels like going to school for some reason. Like I don’t want to miss a class just because I might miss something wild happening.”

“What?” Sebastian glares. “What school did you go to?”

“I mean, aside from the learning stuff…” You grimace. “It’s fun, honestly. I’d love to do more romcoms. It’s very down-to-earth and just resonates with you so much. I don’t wanna get too cheesy, but I’m such a hopeless romantic—this is my jam.”

“Sebastian, how’s your experience working with Chris again, this time outside of the Marvel universe?”

“Wait, this isn’t in the Marvel Universe?!” you butt in. Sebastian again, fakes a loud gasp. You two laugh. This interview feels like it’s going nowhere.

“It’s totally fun, as Y/N mentioned—it really is like going to class. But most of my scenes are with Y/N, so she’s like the lab partner I’ve never had. Chris was always texting us, checking which location we’re going to be at, making sure we’re scheduled on the same day. It’s fun when we’re both on set.”

You nod in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve got a good rhythm going. It’s like having a little family on set. Plus, Chris is always the one who brings snacks, so that’s a bonus.”

Sebastian laughs. “Oh, absolutely. Chris and his endless supply of trail mix.”

The interviewer chuckles. “Sounds like you all have a great dynamic. Was there a favorite scene you both enjoyed filming together?”

You think for a moment. “I really loved the scene where we’re stuck in the car during that rainstorm. It was so chaotic, but we had a blast improvising and just playing off each other.”

Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that was a good one. The rain machine was going full blast, and we were just trying not to crack up the entire time.”

The interviewer smiles. “It sounds like it was a lot of fun. And the chemistry definitely shows on screen. Speaking of different roles, Y/N, Sebastian’s been in the movie Fresh where he plays a sociopathic killer who preys on lonely women pretending to be a genuine guy.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you say, laughing, as Sebastian shakes his head.

“Would you, like Noa, fall prey to Steve’s antics?” This question gets a louder laugh from Sebastian as your face shows pure shock. You hold him back with your hand and say,

“I’ve thought about this, to be honest,” you start, looking at Sebastian as he raises his eyebrows, impressed.

“Oh, you have?”

You laugh and continue, patting his thigh and looking back at the interviewer. “Me and my friend talked about it a while back. And it’s frightening because I would’ve probably ended up on a chopping block.”

“Noooo!” Sebastian shouts, “I was rooting for you.”

“No! But, like, you are incredibly good-looking and charismatic. It would be hard not to give my number at the grocery aisle.”

He tilts his head at your response. “Surely not good enough to get yourself killed?!”

“You’d be surprised how far I’d even go,” you say, as the interviewer laughs with you both. “Oh god, I need to call my therapist,” you add, ending the topic with the three of you gagging.

“Might just have to talk to mine too, after hearing that.”

You can already feel TikTok saving this clip and turning it into a meme.

You notice, after you call Sebastian good-looking, he’s been eyeing you sideways and biting his lip. As if he’s suddenly gone bashful. You can’t help but feel a boost in your ego. Could it be that Stan is shy? You make it a point to tease him for the remainder of the interview.

“What’s something funny or unexpected that happened on set?”

“Oh, there were so many moments,” you start. “One time, we were filming this really serious scene, and out of nowhere, a bird flew into the set and landed right on Sebastian’s shoulder.”

Sebastian laughs. “Yeah, I had no idea what to do. I just froze, and then Y/N started making bird noises to try and get it to fly away.”

You laugh, nodding. “It took a good ten minutes to get back into character after that. Everyone was cracking up.”

The interviewer grins. “That sounds hilarious. It’s great to hear that you all had such a good time. Speaking of moments on set, were there any funny or awkward moments while filming the more romantic or intimate scenes?”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, plenty. Like the time we were shooting that kiss scene in the rain, and Y/N kept slipping on the wet pavement.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Hey, it was slippery! You were the one who can’t stop laughing during takes.”

Sebastian laughs. “True, true. But come on, we both know it was because you were so nervous about kissing me.” You notice him biting back.

You gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me, I was not nervous! I was just...distracted by how ridiculously good-looking you are. It’s hard to concentrate when you have that face right in front of you.” He smiles uncontrollably again, feeling defeated by your nonchalance. He wonders, how are you so good at this?

The interviewer laughs, clearly enjoying the banter. “So, who do you think had the hardest time keeping a straight face during those scenes?”

You both point at each other simultaneously, then laugh.

Sebastian leans back, shaking his head. “Definitely Y/N. There was this one scene where we were supposed to be having this deep, romantic conversation, and she just couldn’t stop giggling.”

You nudge him playfully. “Well, you weren’t helping with all your ad-libs! You kept whispering things like, ‘Is that your stomach growling or are you just happy to see me?’”

Sebastian laughs. “Hey, I was trying to lighten the mood! And let’s not forget the scene where we had to stare into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. I swear, Y/N, you blink more than anyone I know.”

You smirk. “Only because I was trying to avoid getting lost in those baby blues of yours.” At this point, Sebastian was laughing hard, but feeling nervous at your jokes. He secretly wished it were all real, his ears were red and hot. He’s already thinking of how to approach you after the interview and get himself out of the friend zone which he didn’t even thought he’d be in, having found a new interest in you.

The interviewer looks between the two of you, amused. “It sounds like you both had a lot of fun with it. Do you think all that chemistry will translate to the screen?”

Sebastian nods. “Oh, definitely. I think our off-screen dynamic really helped make the on-screen relationship feel more genuine. Plus, Y/N here is an amazing actress. She made it easy.”

You smile, feeling a bit bashful. “Well, Sebastian’s not too bad himself. It’s hard not to enjoy working with someone who’s so talented and, let’s be honest, ridiculously attractive.”

Here she goes again .Sebastian grins. “Right back at you. But let’s be real, we’re both just incredibly good-looking people trying to make a movie here.” The internet is gonna have a field day.

The interviewer laughs. “Sounds like a tough job! Any last funny or romantic moments you’d like to share?”

You think for a moment. “There was this one scene where we had to dance together. Neither of us are professional dancers, so there were a lot of missteps and toe-stepping. But it ended up being one of the sweetest scenes because it felt so real and unpolished.”

Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that was a great scene. It was supposed to be this perfectly choreographed dance, but it turned into us just goofing around and having fun. I think it really captured the essence of our characters' relationship.”

The interviewer smiles, clearly delighted by your stories. “Well, thank you both for sharing these wonderful moments. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

As you and Sebastian leave the interview room, you head towards the lobby where a few other cast members are mingling. The energy is still high from the fun and laughter of the interview. Sebastian nudges you playfully as you walk.

“Hey, remember in the interview when you called me incredibly good-looking and charismatic?” he teases, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes, grinning. “Oh, come on. Don’t let it go to your head, Stan.”

He chuckles. “Too late. I’m pretty sure I’m going to bring that up every chance I get now.”

“You would,” you laugh, shaking your head. “ It’s not like I was lying.”

Sebastian stops walking, turning to face you. “Well, thank you. And for the record, you’re pretty incredible yourself. Both on screen and off.”

You feel a warm blush creeping up your cheeks, putting a palm to your chest as if to continue the gag. “Thanks, Seb. That means a lot.”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “No, really, it’s been really great working with you. I think we make a pretty good team.”

“I think so too,” you agree, feeling a flutter in your stomach, you realize he’s actually serious now. There’s a moment of silence as you both just look at each other, the playful teasing from earlier now replaced with something more tender.

Sebastian breaks the silence first. “So, what do you say we celebrate wrapping up the promotion tour? Maybe dinner tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, teasingly. “Is this your way of asking me out, Stan?”

He grins, a little sheepishly. “Maybe it is. What do you think?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment, then nod. “I think it sounds like a great idea.”

“Perfect,” he says, looking genuinely pleased. “I’ll pick you up at eight?”

“Eight it is."

Check my other stuff out too? | M A S T E R L I S T

Feedback, likes and reblogs are appreciated!!!

HMU WITH AN ASK IF U WANNA GET TAGGED

Permanent taglist!!! @gracielou0518 / @memory-of-a-goldfish / @thatbitchsaidhi / @xxashy999xx / @queenlouisa2001 / @shliic / @speggehi / @blackdaisybitch / @tuliptx / @m-a-t-91 / @milkshakeslou-blog / @fireboltrose7559 / @justmesadgirl / @makloveswritingofficial-blog / @cocacola-cocaine / @impalatobakerstreet / @laochbaineann / @justakpopfan4 / @kiramotherofsnails / @yknott81 / @heartssick / @thisismysecrethappyplace / @oldwhalien / @padackles2010 / @lolabean1998 / @ayee-style

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #sebastian stan fanfic #actress!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader

1K notes · View notes

letsnowtalk · 12 days ago

Text

Steady Hands

Nika mühl x fem reader

A/N: i love vetxrookie😜

When Nika got drafted to Seattle she was the happiest girl in the world.

Why?

Because of you.

It started with the clinginess.

You’d been in the league long enough to recognize when a rookie was latching onto a vet out of nerves, admiration, or the sheer need to survive the W. It happened every season—usually faded out by the All-Star break.

But Nika Mühl?

She stuck.

Like gum under your shoe.

Every day of training camp, she was there. Right next to you in drills, mimicking your movements during film, leaning in during water breaks to ask questions with her thick Croatian accent wrapping around your name like a dare.

“Y/N… can I sit here?”

“Y/N, what do you think I should’ve done in that last possession?”

“Y/N, you always tie your shoes like that?”

It was cute, and it was constant.

You hadn’t expected to like it.

But the truth was, there was something magnetic about her. Not just her hustle or her chaotic defensive energy—but her grin, the way she looked at you like you were already everything. Like you had nothing to prove, and she wanted to be the one to know every part of you anyway.

By the end of preseason, she was calling you her vet with a smirk.

“Hey, you gonna teach me that spin move or keep gatekeeping greatness?”

You just rolled your eyes. “Earn it.”

And she did.

Damn if she didn’t.

⸻

Nika didn’t get many minutes to start the season. Rookie dues, rotation depth, coach’s caution. She still fought every damn second she was on the floor. But it killed you seeing her on the bench too long, chewing her mouthguard with that storm in her eyes.

You pulled her aside after a road loss in Chicago, both of you still sweaty, hearts beating loud from a fourth-quarter push that came too late.

“You’re doing everything right,” you told her, pressing a towel into her hands. “They’re just slow to trust. Keep barking on defense. Be loud. Be you.”

Her eyes searched yours. “They listen to you.”

“They do,” you said evenly. “So I’ll talk. But you keep showing them you belong.”

You didn’t expect her to grab your wrist gently.

Didn’t expect her to say, “I’d follow you anywhere.”

Didn’t expect it to make your chest ache like that.

⸻

Things changed after that.

She started getting more minutes. You talked to the coaching staff—not in a “she’s my favorite” kind of way, but in a “this girl reads the floor better than half the second unit” kind of way. And they listened.

Because you’d been here. You’d won. You knew what made the team better.

And Nika made them better.

She got bolder on the court. More decisive. She chased steals like her life depended on it, dove for loose balls that no rookie should sacrifice their ribs for, and still…still ended up in your locker chair after practices like it was hers.

“Nice pass today,” she murmured one afternoon, flicking your knee with her towel. “You looked for me.”

“I always look for you.”

The look in her eyes when you said it? Dangerous.

You didn’t move. Neither did she.

But that line between you—rookie and vet, court and off—it pulsed electric.

⸻

By the Olympic break, she kissed you.

It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t even dramatic. Just a quiet moment after a late practice, the gym dark except for the glow of the overhead exit sign.

You’d lingered. So had she.

She was icing her shoulder, hair messy from a hard scrimmage, her legs stretched over the bench across from you. You were talking low, laughing about how your coach still called her “firecracker.”

Then silence.

Then her soft, “Can I?”

Then the kiss—tentative at first, then hungry. A little clumsy. A lot honest.

You didn’t stop her.

You didn’t want to.

⸻

It stayed private.

Not secret, exactly. Just… yours.

In locker rooms, you kept your distance. On planes, you didn’t sit together too often. But when it was just the two of you—hotel rooms, late walks, 3AM texts when one of you couldn’t sleep—it was real.

She never hid how much she liked you, though. Even in public.

“Why do you cling to Y/N like that?” Tina, one of your teammates, had laughed during a post-game dinner.

“Because she’s my favorite,” Nika said without hesitation, looping her arm through yours under the table. “And she’s soft. On the inside. You don’t know.”

You’d kicked her ankle.

But you’d smiled, too.

⸻

It happened in Phoenix.

Hot gym. Chippy game. One of those nights where everyone was irritated by the refs, the fans, and each other. You were up by six in the third quarter, tension high, when it happened.

Nika went to the rim, got bodied hard mid-air by a vet guard who’d been jawing all night. She hit the floor shoulder-first, skidding with a painful grunt.

You were already off the bench before the whistle.

By the time you reached her, she was sitting up, flexing her wrist, pissed as hell.

You crouched beside her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “That was dirty.”

Then, as the refs reviewed it, that same guard—too smug, too casual—walked past you both and said something low in Croatian.

You didn’t understand it.

But Nika did.

Her face snapped toward the woman like she’d been slapped.

“What’d she say?” you asked quietly.

Nika’s jaw clenched. “Don’t worry.”

You turned.

“Hey,” you called to the player. “You want to throw shade, do it in a language we all speak.”

The woman smirked. “Just saying hi.”

“Then say it nice,” you snapped.

Whistles blew. Double technicals. Coach yelled. But it wasn’t until the final minute—when Nika stripped the ball from that same player, ran it down the court, and fed you for the dagger three—that it really exploded.

As you turned, your finger already rising in celebration, Nika was there.

Grinning, sweating, bright-eyed—and she pulled you in.

Not for a high five.

Not for a chest bump.

For a kiss.

Right there.

On your mouth.

On the court.

In front of the whole damn world.

⸻

You pulled back too late. The damage was done.

The crowd roared. Cameras caught it. Your teammates froze, then whooped. The bench exploded. And you—

You were staring at her like she’d set you on fire.

“I—” she started.

“You just—” you blinked.

She smiled. “I told you I’d follow you anywhere.”

⸻

It was chaos after the game.

Media storm. Phones blowing up. Headlines in real time: “Storm Chemistry? Mühl and Y/L/N Spark More Than Plays on the Court.”

Coach just raised her eyebrows in the locker room.

“Anything I should know?” she asked.

You and Nika exchanged glances.

“She kissed me,” you said dryly.

“I saw that,” Coach deadpanned.

Then a smile broke out across her face.

“As long as it doesn’t mess with your play, I don’t care who’s kissing who. Just win.”

Nika bumped your shoulder, smug.

“She wants to kiss a winner,” she whispered.

You rolled your eyes.

But you smiled, too.

⸻

The playoffs hit like a second season.

Everything was louder. Sharper. Faster.

You’d warned Nika before it started—told her the physicality doubled, the talking tripled, and that opponents would look for any crack to slip through.

You didn’t tell her to be careful with you.

You should have.

You were deep into Game Two of the second round, playing on the road against a gritty team that didn’t know how to lose quietly(wanna say who but im gonna get cancelled 🤫). You’d taken a hard screen early in the third that left your shoulder burning. The trainers cleared you to stay in, but you could feel Nika watching you from across the floor like a fuse lit too close to the flame.

Then the incident happened.

Fourth quarter. One-point game. You went up for a floater, landed hard, and one of the opposing guards—you’d played against her before, you knew she liked to push—“accidentally” stumbled into your body. Elbow right to your ribs. Followed by a not-so-innocent hand on your hip.

“You okay, baby?” the guard said with a fake little smile, just loud enough to be heard.

You flinched, brushing her off.

But Nika heard it.

And Nika snapped.

Before the ref could even whistle the contact, Nika was there.

“Back the fuck up,” she barked, stepping chest-to-chest with the girl who dared touch you. “You think I didn’t see that weak-ass flop?”

The ref blew the whistle too late. Technical. Maybe on both. You weren’t sure. Because all you could see was Nika’s eyes—wild, storming, locked on the girl like she might swing.

“She’s good,” the girl muttered, smirking. “You scared she’s gonna like someone else?”

Nika didn’t hesitate.

“She already does,” she snarled. “And it’s me. So touch her like that again, and I swear—playoffs or not—I’ll end you.”

Your hand found hers instinctively, grounding her.

“Nika,” you whispered. “Not worth it.”

She looked at you, chest heaving. Eyes still dangerous. But then her fingers curled tightly around yours.

And she backed off.

The ref issued double techs. Coach didn’t even chew her out—just muttered something like “Next time, let her flop. Don’t give the refs ammo.”

But Nika wasn’t listening.

When the huddle broke, she pulled you aside, her jaw clenched.

“She touched you,” she said. “She called you baby.”

You exhaled. “That’s her thing. She does it to everyone.”

“She doesn’t do it to me.”

You smiled softly. “That’s because she knows better.”

Nika’s eyes finally softened. But her hand slid around your waist, slow, possessive, in front of the whole arena.

“No one gets to touch you like that,” she said low. “Only me. Got it?”

You kissed her cheek—quick, hidden behind your hand—but enough for her to grin.

“Got it, firecracker.”

⸻

You blew them out by twelve.

Nika had five steals, three of which came after that moment. She was everywhere—ripping through passing lanes, barking switches, grinning like a menace. The commentators called it emotional fuel. The fans called it chaos. You just called it hers.

Post-game interviews were wild.

“Looked like things got heated out there,” one reporter said, smirking at you both.

“Just protecting my teammate,” Nika said coolly, her arm draped casually over your chair.

You raised an eyebrow. “Just a teammate?”

Nika turned to you with a wolfish grin.

“My teammate. My girl. Same thing.”

The room buzzed.

Your face burned.

But you didn’t correct her.

Because truthfully?

You liked when the whole damn world knew.

———

And the world knowing change much.

You still moved like the heartbeat of the team. Still ran plays. Still mentored rookies. Still had Nika’s back every second she was on the floor.

Only difference?

Now when she stole a pass and pointed to the bench, everyone knew who she was pointing at.

Now when you got subbed out, she always came over first, tossing you her towel like it was a love letter.

Now when opposing guards tried flirting—or fouling—too hard, Nika didn’t hold back.

“You hit her like that again,” she told one during a late-season game, voice cold, “and I hit you back. You understand?”

You had to pull her away, hand on her chest, laughing.

“Nika,” you warned.

She just looked at you. “What? I’m invested.”

⸻

You never expected to fall for a rookie.

But Nika Mühl wasn’t just any rookie.

She was loud and loyal and maddening.

She wore her heart like armor and handed it to you before you even realized you were bleeding.

And you—steady, quiet, the vet who’d seen it all—had somehow found the one person who made you feel brand new again.

So when she looked at you after clinching a playoff spot, hair sticking to her face, eyes dancing, and said, “Come home with me,” you just laughed.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Because the truth was?

She’d been home all along.

—————

Me when nika just exists

#wbb x reader #wnba x reader #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl #nika mühl x reader #nika mühl #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #uconn huskies

251 notes · View notes

pankowcrumbs · 3 months ago

Text

Stylist X Lando Norris (Requested)

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Request: Lando Norris x Reader: Reader is the Stylist for the them and it is love at first sight.

There’s a kind of chaos that exists in the world of Formula 1 that most people never really see. The roaring engines, the flashing cameras, the pit lane buzz all of that’s just surface noise. The real frenzy happens backstage fittings, last-minute wardrobe emergencies, PR shoots that turn into full-blown campaigns overnight.

And somewhere in the middle of it all: me.

I’ve been working as a personal stylist for about four years now. When McLaren offered me the chance to style both of their drivers Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri I said yes before the email had even finished loading. I'd worked with athletes before, but this? This was something else. These two weren’t just racers they were brands. And I was about to dress them like they owned every room they walked into.

The first time I met Lando was in a hotel suite in Monaco, three days before the Grand Prix. I was sorting through suits, hanging a few casual pieces near the wardrobe when I heard the door open behind me.

I turned and there he was.

Messy curls, warm hazel eyes, tan skin that made my breath catch. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at me. Like he’d forgotten what he came in for.

"Hi," he said, blinking like he was pulling himself back to earth. "You're… not what I expected."

I raised a brow. “What did you expect?”

“I dunno some guy named Trevor with measuring tape around his neck, I guess.”

I laughed, shaking his hand. “Y/N. I’m here to make sure you don’t end up wearing shoes two sizes too big in front of a billion people.”

He grinned. “Then thank God for you.”

That was it the spark. Instant. Unmistakable. It danced in the air between us, subtle but alive.

Oscar arrived minutes later and, thankfully, didn't seem to notice the way I kept stealing glances at Lando while adjusting their jackets. Or how he kept glancing at me through the mirror while I worked.

“You have a favourite?” Lando asked later, as I fussed with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Driver or suit?”

He smirked. “Both.”

I hummed like I was thinking hard. “Oscar’s very cooperative. Doesn’t argue about colour theory. And this navy double-breasted on him? Magic.”

Lando placed a hand on his chest, mock-offended. “Harsh.”

I tilted my head, pretending to assess him. “But you? You wear the hell out of anything I put you in. Even when you whinge about skinny trousers.”

He laughed, full and boyish. “Fair enough.”

We were flirting. Obviously. But nothing about it felt forced. It was… effortless. The kind of connection you don’t question because it just fits.

By the end of the weekend, I was gone for him.

And judging by the way he pulled me aside after the race, still flushed from adrenaline, I wasn’t alone.

“I know this is probably unprofessional,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “but I’d regret it forever if I didn’t ask”

“Yes,” I cut in.

He blinked. “I haven’t even said what I was asking.”

“You were going to ask me out, right?”

He smiled, slow and crooked. “Yeah. I was.”

“Then yes.”

He looked stunned for half a second, then laughed again. “Okay, wow. Great. I didn’t expect this to work.”

I grinned. “Neither did Trevor.”

We kept things quiet at first. The paddock is a rumour mill, and the last thing I wanted was to look like I’d slept my way into the job. But behind closed doors, it was magic.

Lando was everything I didn’t expect. Thoughtful, self-aware, hilarious. He’d text me photos of ridiculous fashion items

“This bucket hat. Yes or hell no?”

I’d show up to fittings with inside jokes written on the garment tags just to make him laugh.

We stole moments after media days, during travel days, in hotel corridors when no one was looking. And each one made it harder not to fall completely.

Then came Silverstone.

It was a massive weekend. His home race. Pressure everywhere.

I was backstage helping Oscar with his last-minute tie adjustment when Lando appeared in the doorway, already dressed, looking far too good in a sharp charcoal suit I’d custom selected just for him.

“Y/N,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “Quick word?”

Oscar raised his brows but didn’t say anything.

Out in the hallway, Lando ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, voice low.

“Dangerous,” I teased.

He smirked, but the nerves were there. Real ones.

“I want to stop hiding it,” he said. “Us. I don’t want to act like you’re just my stylist anymore. You mean more than that.”

I swallowed hard. “Lando…”

“I know the timing’s crap and the world’s always watching, but I’m tired of pretending you’re not the first person I look for when I walk into a room.”

I blinked, heart thudding.

“I’m not asking you to post a picture or walk the grid holding my hand,” he added. “Just… let’s stop being afraid of it.”

I took a breath. The risk was real. The headlines would be brutal. But standing there, looking into those honest, earnest eyes I knew I couldn’t say no.

“Okay,” I whispered.

His smile could’ve powered the whole circuit.

We didn’t make a big announcement. Just started being a little more… obvious. Sitting closer during briefings. Sharing the odd touch. And yes, a few photos did slip through the cracks one of me laughing in the background while he beamed at me, one of us walking out of a restaurant late at night, hand in hand.

The media storm came fast, as expected.

“Lando Norris Dating McLaren Stylist?” “Love on the Grid: Fans Divided Over Norris’ Romance” “Should Teams Allow Relationships This Close to Home?”

We read them all, shared a bottle of wine, and decided to go on a proper date anyway.

Because for all the noise, the truth was this: we’d found something rare. And it was worth protecting, not hiding.

Eventually, the fuss died down. People got bored. And in its place came something warmer support, even. Fans commenting on how happy he looked. Journalists noting his improved focus. Some even calling me a “lucky charm.”

And maybe I was.

Because a year later, Lando stood at the Monaco GP in a tailored white linen shirt I’d helped pick out, sunglasses perched on his nose, and pulled me into a kiss in full view of half the paddock.

He smiled against my lips. “Still think Oscar’s your favourite?”

“Close second,” I teased, resting my forehead against his.

And just like that, the world faded again.

Because in a life full of chaos and engines and cameras, somehow I’d found peace in the one person who could never sit still.

Lando Norris.

Tailored perfectly to me.

321 notes · View notes

nathaslosthershit · 1 year ago

Text

A Much Needed Interview (OP81)

(Part 2 of Teen Dad) Summary: After the shock of Oscar revealing himself to be a former teen dad, he joins an interview in the hopes of clearing everything up and limiting the overwhelming amount of questions he has been getting.

“Oscar, it is nice of you to sit down with us. I know it has been an interesting few weeks for you and your family. How are you guys all doing?” The interviewer asks.

‘Yeah, y’know, I had expected to one day have to open up about it all, but I never thought I’d have to do it the way I did. It has been fine, obviously my kids are young enough to not be impacted because they aren’t on social media, but it has been strange for my fiancée who is now getting hundreds of requests on her private account. I have sort of decided to take a break from social media because the response has been overwhelming and like none before. Mostly positive but I think a few people have gotten the wrong idea so I was hoping to clear everything up.” Oscar rambled. He was more nervous about this interview than any he had done before.

“Of course. Why don’t we start at the beginning, how did you and your fiancée meet?”

“We actually met at one of my races. She went to support one of her close friend’s brothers. After the race that I sadly didn’t do too well in, I saw her with her friend and I was kinda frozen in my spot, immediately head over heels. Sadly, it seems like everyone but her noticed. I was too scared to do anything so I just watched her leave. I think I sulked for days, totally regretting my decision to do nothing. A totally heartbroken 16 year old. I looked for her every single race until she finally came back a few months later.”

“Oh please tell me you finally got the confidence to shoot your shot.”

“Nope! I just stared at her and stuttered when she caught me looking then ran off. I then had an amazing race, I think part of me was just trying to make up for the embarrassment and luckily it seems my car got the memo. After the race she came up to me and asked for my number.” God, he was blushing profusely at the memory. He knew he would be getting slack for this for a very long time.

“Such a story! The young Oscar Piastri was no ladies’ man.”

“He was absolutely not. Soon after we started dating.” Oscar awkwardly laughed, sensing what was about to come up.

“And then kids came shortly after?” The interviewer asked with care in his voice, certainly able to sense Oscar’s change in attitude.

“Yeah. Uh, obviously not planned. I don’t think many people plan to become parent’s at 18. It was a shock… I didn’t handle it the best at first, something I think I will always regret. She was scared and while so was I, I should have been more supportive. I was embarrassed for a while. Felt like a total idiot. I didn’t tell anyone outside of my family and made them swear to secrecy. I also began to isolate myself from friends because I couldn’t bring myself to tell them but also felt terrible lying. A few months in I finally snapped myself out of it and began to focus on all the wonderfulness that was to come. I loved her more than anything and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t already imagined a life together in great detail. By the time we found out it was twins, a boy and a girl, I was ecstatic.”

“Well mate, I don’t blame you for your feelings. I definitely would have been a terrible father at 18 so I salute you.” The interviewer joked.

“Honestly, I had the same thought for a while, even when I was excited to have kids. I had so many doubts about it, I mean how could I not? But when it came down to it, I couldn’t afford to be anything less than a great father. Of course I had my moments, and still do years later, but I wouldn’t be able to let myself be anything less than I am. If you love your kids enough, you find a way.”

“How did having kids so young impact your career? Obviously it didn’t hurt it too much considering you are in your second year driving in Formula 1.”

“Well, I decided I wouldn’t advertise my situation unless a team was very serious about me. Prema knew, Alpine did too and of course McLaren does. All were welcoming and accommodating, as much as they could be. I don’t think I would have gone with any of them if they weren’t cool with it though. I realized the minute my kids were born I would give it all up for them, which scared the hell out of me.”

“That is admirable. All these years later you are still with their mother, correct?”

“Yes! I asked her to marry me over break. Everyone close to us had been confused as to why it took so long but we had discussed marriage together many times and made the decision that because our relationship moved so fast with having kids so young, we would wait a bit. I mean, we are still young but I honestly couldn’t wait any longer. She is everything to me and the most wonderful mother my kids could have.”

“Have your kids been around the paddock yet? I assume they are old enough to understand what you do.”

“They have been to the factory and come with me to meetings when we haven’t had a sitter for them. Luckily, they are both very well behaved in public, they also really like watching the races on tv and have somewhat of an understanding of what I do. They don’t believe I actually drive the car though.” Oscar rumbled. Trying to convince his twins that yes, their father actually does drive the cars they see going super fast, has been an ongoing issue. They seem to believe he is tricking them but have no problem believing Uncle Logan and Uncle Lando drive the cars. It has definitely humbled him immensely.

“Well you will have to fix that soon huh? Will they be attending races in the future?”

“I am trying to work that out with my fiancée actually. They are almost four so we don’t want them traveling too far, I also don’t believe they will be able to be entertained solely by the race the entire time so we have a lot to deal with. But I think seeing them on the paddock supporting me will be one of the best moments of my life. I selfishly can’t wait for them to come.”

The interview wrapped up shortly after that. Getting to reminisce on the start of his relationship and how far they have come and how many wonderful things are in the future put Oscar in a deliriously happy mood. He couldn’t wait to get home to his family.

Walking through the door, he was immediately welcomed to the sound of toddler meltdowns. Fully entering the house, he saw his very tired fiancée rubbing her face as she tried to calm her babies down. Clearly this had been going on for a while.

Despite how upset she looked, she immediately perked up at seeing Oscar had returned. But that immediately went away as she remembered the screaming kids and how messy the house and herself were.

“Sorry honey, I know you are probably so tired after the interview and meetings earlier and these two missed their nap so they are so cranky and I just-” He cut her off with a kiss. Once he pulled away she looked at him, perplexed. A kiss from Oscar was never unwelcome but it was the last thing she expected at that moment.

“Hey, look at me.” He said as he put a hand on her cheek. “I love you and our little family so much and you never, ever have to apologize for something as trivial as this. Why don’t you go get in the bath and relax a little and I will try to wrangle these two, okay?”

In her eyes, Oscar had never been hotter than he was now. Now it was her turn to surprise him with a kiss, even more passionate than the first. They would have continued if it hadn’t been for more screaming from their two kids.

Still, Oscar wouldn’t change a thing.

#formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #op81 fluff #op81 imagine #op81 x reader

2K notes · View notes

batsandbirdbrains · 2 months ago

Text

The one with Mister Commissioner Gordon

I like the idea of Dick as Robin thinking he’s really friendly with Commissioner Gordon, but Jim thinks this little demon bird is the bane of his existence, second only to Batman himself.

Dick starts out as Robin when he’s eight years old, and he’s very used to the adults around him liking him and his presence. All the other grown ups in the circus were always so nice to him, they taught him anything he wanted to know, they never complained about him being around.

“Hey Mr. Commissioner Gordon,” Jim nearly jumps out of his chair when the squeaky voice sounds from the window behind his desk, “I had a question for you.”

“Robin,” Jim greets. He’s known the bird for two years now, and he still is always startled by him. “Remind me what you and the bat have against knocking?”

“It scared you last time I knocked on the window, and you told me if I was gonna scare you out of your skin that you’d rather I sneak up on you like normal.”

“Yes, thank you for the reminder, Robin,” Jim says, his voice flat.

“You’re welcome!”

Jim just sighs, putting his forehead in his hand. The kid always sounds so sincere, he can’t help but feel a little bad about how annoyed he gets with him. Even if the way he’s perched on the windowsill like an actual bird is freaking Jim out.

“You had a question?”

“Oh, right!” When Jim looks up, Robin is grinning at him, before his face turns serious. Jim is almost afraid he’s gonna say Batman is away and he needs Jim to babysit until further notice. It’s happened once before. It was a horrible 36 hours. For Jim. “I wanted to ask you, if someone wants to be a detective like forreal, how do they do it?”

Jim blinks a couple times, then wonders if this is actually worse than babysitting.

“Are you saying you want to be a detective, Robin?”

“Well, you’ve said before I’m one of the best detectives you have!” Robin is beaming at him again, bouncing on the windowsill a bit. “And I saw you talking at career day - you go to lots of career days for lots of schools, don’t try to find out which one I go to - and I just, well, I dunno what other kinda job I’d be good at anyway.”

The way Robin chews at his lip and suddenly looks unsure does make Jim kinda feel like a jerk. He fully turns his chair towards the window where Robin is perched, and he smiles at the kid.

“I think you’d make an excellent detective, kid,” he tells him. “But I’m sure there’s plenty of other jobs you’d be great at, too.”

“Well, there’s a few,” Robin says, nodding his head. “But I don’t think B would let me. Secret identities and all that.”

Jim isn’t touching that with a ten foot pole. If Batman wants to dictate what kind of job Robin can have when he’s an adult, that’s really none of Jim’s business.

“He’s okay with you being a detective?”

“Well, he’s one.”

“Of mine?”

Robin tilts his head.

“Well, not like, on taxes or anything,” Robin says, and Jim nearly sighs in relief. The thought of Batman working for him filled him with dread for all of thirty seconds.

Jim sighs, rubbing at his temples. He can see from the corner of his eye how Robin tilts his head again, and he swears the kid makes a trilling noise. Sometimes, Jim is afraid the kid is actually part bird.

“Well, if you want to be a detective, you have to start with the police academy like everyone else.”

“Would I have to be one of those cops who gives tickets for expired parking meters?”

“Most likely.”

“I can’t just go straight to being a detective? I’ll have like, a million years of experience by then!”

“Will you disclose that on your application?”

Robin actually pouts at him. Jim laughs.

“Maybe we should discuss this more when you’re closer in age to actually apply to the academy?”

“I guess so,” Robin mutters, still pouting.

“Did you have anything else to talk about tonight, Robin?”

“Not really,” Robin says with a sigh. Then he bounces on the windowsill again. “Can I have one of your lollipops, please?”

Jim keeps a jar of candies on his desk. Robin is the only one who ever seems to actually take ones aside from when Barbara visits his office. He grabs the bowl and holds it out to Robin, who takes a blue lollipop with flourish.

“Thanks!” Robin stick the lollipop in his mouth, and he’s gone back to smiling. “I’ll talk to you later, Mr. Commissioner Gordon!”

“Talk to you later, Robin.”

Jim likes to think he’s used to Robin back flipping out of windows and off the edge of buildings even when they’re on the sixth floor. The way his heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he sees it tells him otherwise. Robin’s cackle is echoing in the air, and Jim slumps in his chair and runs a hand through his hair.

Jim isn’t sure what the kid is like in his normal life, but he has no desire to find out. If he ever becomes a detective, Jim is hoping he’ll at least have the decency to go to Blüdhaven or something, far away from Jim. He can dream.

#dick grayson #jim gordon #robin #batman #fic ideas

392 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Fashionably Challenged

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: you and Max may not exactly be the paddock’s most stylish couple, but you wouldn’t want it any other way

You wake up to the sound of Max rummaging through the closet of your shared hotel suite. Rolling over, you see him laying out two matching outfits — the Red Bull Racing team polos, skinny jeans, and sneakers you’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

One set for him, one set for you.

“Morning, liefje,” he says, catching your gaze. “I have our outfits for the day ready to go.”

You smile sleepily. “Thanks, babe. You know me too well.”

Max grins as he walks over and climbs back into bed, throwing an arm around you. “Of course I do. Can’t have my girlfriend showing up to races looking anything less than perfect.”

You laugh and playfully shove him. “Oh shut up. You know I’d show up in a potato sack if I could.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says with mock seriousness. “I would never let you embarrass me like that.”

“Embarrass you?” You scoff. “Please, like you even notice what I’m wearing half the time. You’re just as bad as me when it comes to fashion.”

Max opens his mouth to protest but then shuts it, shrugging in admission. “Okay, fair point. But that’s why I always get you the same thing I’m wearing. So there’s no way we can mess it up.”

You consider this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We make a pretty fashionably challenged couple.”

“The most fashionably challenged,” he agrees with a laugh. He pauses, gaze growing serious. “But I like it that way. I like that we match.”

Warmth blooms in your chest. “Me too.”

The morning passes quickly as you get ready for the race. True to form, you both pull on the matching outfits without a second thought. As you’re walking out to the car, Max stops you.

“Wait,” he says, taking your hand and turning you to face him. He looks you up and down appraisingly. “You look perfect, just like always.”

You can’t help but beam at the compliment. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

He grins. “Not nearly enough.”

“Well I do,” you say, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, schatje,” Max murmurs against your lips. “Now let’s go kick some ass today.”

The race goes well, Max taking the checkered flag to the roar of the crowds. As you’re waiting to congratulate him, a podcaster approaches you with a microphone.

“Hi there,” she says brightly. “I’m Lottie from The Racing Line. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple quick questions?”

“Oh, um, sure,” you’re a bit caught off guard.

“Great! So first off, you and Max always seem to be wearing matching outfits to the races. Is that something you two purposely coordinate as a cute couple thing?”

You feel your cheeks flush slightly. “Oh no, not at all actually. The truth is neither of us have much fashion sense at all. So Max just gets me the female version of whatever he’s wearing to make it easy.”

The podcaster looks disappointed. “Oh, I see. So it’s not some adorable couple tradition then?”

“Well, I mean, I guess in a way it kind of is?” You say quickly, feeling guilty. “Neither of us are really into fashion, so we end up matching by default anyway. I think it’s sweet that we always end up coordinating without even trying because we’re just so in sync.”

She perks up at that. “Aww, okay, I can see that! So even though it’s not on purpose, you’ve made your own cute little tradition out of it just by being so aligned. That’s really romantic.”

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Well thank you so much for your time,” she shakes your hand. “And congratulations to Max on another win!”

“Thank you,” you reply as she walks away.

A few minutes later Max emerges, helmet under his arm and face lit up in that way you love. You throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Congratulations baby, you were amazing out there as always.”

“Thank you, schatje,” he says, squeezing you close. He pauses, smile turning teasing. “Did you enjoy chatting with that podcaster earlier?”

You pull back, eyes narrowing. “You saw that, did you?”

He chuckles. “Of course I did. I always notice you.”

“Well then you also saw me have to completely backtrack and come up with some sappy story for why we match when she thought it was a cutesy couple thing,” you say dryly.

Max shrugs. “It kind of is though, isn’t it? Maybe not on purpose, but it’s become our thing.”

“I guess you’re right,” you admit. “I told her it was romantic how in sync we are, always coordinating outfits without even trying.”

“Hmm, I like that,” he says, grinning. “We really are pretty in sync, aren’t we? Two fashionably hopeless peas in a pod.”

You laugh. “That we are.” You look at him fondly. “But I love our way better than being one of those obnoxiously coordinated couples.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “Though I will admit ...” His gaze grows more serious. “Part of the reason I like matching is because it makes me happy to walk around wearing the same thing as you. Like we’re a unit, you know?”

Your heart skips a beat at the soft vulnerability in his voice. “Max Verstappen, you big old romantic,” you tease gently.

He shrugs but you can see the pleased look in his eyes. Sudden understanding washes over you.

“Wait a minute … is that why you got me the same outfit the first time? Not just because you thought it would be easier, but because you wanted us to match?”

Max stays silent for a moment before breaking into a sheepish grin. “You caught me.”

“Oh my god!” You shove his shoulder playfully. “You big sap!”

“What can I say? I like having my girl on my arm looking like the power couple we are,” Max says, pulling you close again. “Fashionably challenged or not.”

“If only everyone out there making you out to be the villain could see the cuddly teddy bear you really are. I absolutely love it,” you murmur, stretching up to kiss him. You can feel him smile against your lips.

As you break apart, Max squeezes your hand. “Come on, let’s go celebrate. In new matching outfits, of course.”

You pretend to roll your eyes exaggeratingly but allow him to lead you towards the exit, your hands intertwined. You truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

You and Max are curled up on the couch in your hotel room, his arm draped around you as you lean into his side. It’s a rare quiet moment between races and you’re savoring the feeling of Max’s fingers gently carding through your hair.

“Hey Max?” You say after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” He hums in response, not looking away from the football match on the TV.

“I got an interesting offer today.”

That piques his interest and he turns his head to look at you. “Oh yeah? What kind of offer?”

You take a deep breath before answering. “A sponsorship deal, actually. From Oscar de la Renta.”

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, that’s … really great, liefje. I’m so happy for you.”

But something in his tone makes you frown slightly. “Are you though? You don’t sound that excited.”

He gives you a half smile. “No, no, I am! That’s a huge opportunity for your career and image. Having that kind of sponsorship deal is amazing.”

“But?” You prod knowingly.

Max lets out a breath, smile fading. “But I guess part of me is a little disappointed and maybe … worried?”

“About what?”

“Well,” he shifts uncomfortably. “I like being the one who picks out your outfits for the races. Our little unintentional matching tradition has kind of become my thing, you know? I’m worried if you get sponsored by some big designer brand you won’t wear the outfits I pick out anymore. That we won’t match.”

His tone is carefully casual but you can hear the undercurrent of vulnerability. Your heart clenches in your chest.

“Oh Max ...” you murmur, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You really like our matching outfits that much?”

He averts his eyes but nods. “Yeah. I know it sounds silly, but I just … I like how in sync we are. How happy it makes me feel when we show up to the races looking like a real team. Like we’re truly partners in everything. I don’t want to lose that.”

The softness in his voice breaks your heart a little. You take his hand and give it a squeeze.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” you tell him gently. “Because I never would have accepted that offer anyway.”

Max blinks in surprise. “You wouldn’t?”

You shake your head. “Not a chance. First of all, they were pressuring me to only wear very high-end stuff, none of which really feels like my personal style. But more importantly ...” You lean in closer, maintaining eye contact. “They don’t have a men’s collection. So they couldn’t sponsor you too.”

Realization lights up his gaze. “Oh ...” he says softly.

You nod. “Exactly. I told them thanks but no thanks. Because no designer wardrobe is worth giving up what we have.”

Max looks stunned. “You … you turned them down? Just to keep matching with me?”

“Of course I did,” you say affectionately, poking his chest. “I would never give that up. How could I say yes to some fancy sponsorship that meant not having my fashionably challenged other half by my side, both looking like total goofballs in the one outfit the world thinks makes up the entirety of our closet?”

A slow smile spreads across his face and he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “God, I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “So much.”

You relax into his embrace, overwhelmed by the rush of affection. “I love you too,” you whisper. You pull back slightly to look at him. “Did you really think I’d give up matching with you over that?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, looking a little sheepish. “I guess a small part of me was worried maybe you’d be tempted by the glamor and exposure of being a designer brand ambassador.”

“You know me better than that,” you affirm. “Our matching looks are too special to me. I adore everything about our little tradition — the fact that it started because neither of us cares about fashion, to you always picking out my outfits, and how happy it makes both of us to show up to races coordinating with each other.”

You take Max’s hand, intertwining your fingers. “Don’t you see, my love? It’s not really about the clothes at all, it’s about us. About how perfectly aligned we are in this little part of our lives. And I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Max’s eyes have gone suspiciously bright, his free hand reaching up to cradle your face. “But liefje … you could have had any designer clothing you wanted.” His voice is thick with emotion. “You turned that down … for me?”

Unable to find the words, you just nod, blinking back your own tears.

“I can’t believe it,” Max breathes out shakily. “You never cease to amaze me.”

You offer him a watery smile. “Well believe it, my love. Because there’s nothing in the world more precious to me than you and our bond. I wouldn’t sacrifice that for anything.”

A single tear escapes to trail down Max’s cheek and you quickly brush it away with your thumb. Seeming at a loss for words, he pulls you into a fierce hug, tucking your head under his chin as you settle into his embrace.

“I love you,” he finally whispers into your hair. “So damn much.”

“I love you too.” You pepper kisses along his neck and jaw until you reach his lips, capturing them in a deep, slow kiss that tries to convey every unspoken word of devotion and adoration.

When you finally break apart, Max gazes at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“God, you really are perfect,” he murmurs, running a hand reverently through your hair. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“No,” you shake your head with a soft smile. “I’m the lucky one. To have someone who loves me so fiercely, someone I love just as much in return.”

Max lets out a watery chuckle. “I think we’re both the lucky ones then.”

You settle back against his chest as he wraps his arms securely around you. For a while neither of you speaks, lost in your own thoughts as you simply bask in each other’s presence. You let your eyes drift shut as Max’s fingers resume their gentle motions through your hair.

Eventually you break the silence.

“You know we’re going to have to get even cuter matching outfits now to make up for it,” you murmur teasingly.

Max’s chest rumbles with laughter against your cheek. “Deal. Anything you want, schatje. I’ll make sure we’re the most adorable fashionably challenged couple at every single race from now on.”

You smile at the warmth and conviction in his voice. “No one could ever call us uncoordinated.”

“Never,” Max affirms, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We’re perfectly matched in every way that matters.”

You sigh contentedly as you snuggle further into his embrace. In that moment, you know he’s absolutely right. You couldn’t imagine a better match than your Max.

2K notes · View notes