#is this just a think my friends and i do or no | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deakyjoe · 2 days ago

Text

I Dream Of You Even When Awake

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x Reader (fem)

Category: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, smut

Summary: Your gift makes sleep difficult. Luckily, Bob is there to guide you through it.

Warnings: 18+, smut, Thunderbolts* spoilers, kissing, handjob, hurt/comfort, nightmares, reader has power of feeling other's emotions, friends to lovers, sexual innuendos, talk of sex, Bob is kind of a sub but not entirely, pet name (pretty boy)

Word count: 6.8k

A/N: Lewis Pullman, my love, you have charmed me with another character of yours named Bob. We knew this was coming.

One thing that the New Avengers had in common was nightmares. You all had them. It was worse for some than others. But it was terrible for you most of all. Being able to feel other people's emotions meant that the feelings everybody experienced during their nightmares would rocket through you as well.

This caused a lot of sleepless nights for you. Laying awake in bed, sweating from the shared anxiety that would travel through the other members of your team and land in you as their final destination. At least when you were awake you could find something to distract yourself from the emotion. It pained you to know that your friends went through it every night but when you managed to sleep through it, all it would do is influence your own nightmares. You'd find yourself dreaming up your own worst fears with the horrors of your friends' lives mixed in.

It was a particularly bad night, all of them having bad dreams which only filled your body with sadness and anxiety. You stuck headphones over your ears, music turned up loud to blast through your head in an attempt to block out some of the feelings. It only helped a little. You stared at the wall opposite your bed, trying to think of better things and trying to latch onto any sort of feeling. You were getting nothing. Either everybody was having a bad night or no positive emotions were strong enough to reach you in the moment. It sucked.

A few hours went by, your eyes blurring with exhaustion as you continued to stare. The emotions weren't dying down, only going through fluctuations where everybody's sleep cycles would circle around. There was a tugging at the side of your head, like something else was trying to get in but you couldn't quite manage to get a latch on it. You sighed and squeezed your eyes shut, only opening them when the tugging got stronger.

You squinted at your door, trying to figure out whether it was your tired brain making you see things or whether there actually was a shadow moving underneath your door. Taking a deep breath in a bid to relax, you used your gift to reach out. Then you felt it. A different type of anxiety, it was more like a quiet concern rather than fear and nerves.

You ripped the headphones from your head and sat up straighter, surprised when there was a tentative knock on your door. "Hello?"

"Hi." The voice was timid. "It's- it's Bob."

You let out a soft sigh of relief. It was only Bob. You clambered out of bed and padded towards your door, opening it with a tired smile. "Hey, Bob. What can I help you with?"

He blinked back at you, his hair mussed up and clothes crinkled from sleep. "Your light was on."

You frowned. "Uh, yes."

"It's the middle of the night." He added on, hands twisting together into the hem of his shirt.

You realised he was worried about you and wondering why you were awake in the middle of the night. "Yeah, uh, the team dream rather restlessly. And- and I can feel it."

"Oh." He nodded, suddenly remembering what your gift entailed. "That's horrible."

You shrugged. "I'm used to it. But thank you for checking on me. That's sweet of you."

The apples of his cheeks bloomed pink, blood rushing to his face. "No- no problem. Just wanted to see if you were okay."

It was then that you realised you suddenly felt better. Bob's concern was a nicer feeling than the nightmares everyone else was going through. And when he'd blushed you felt another emotion, a warmer emotion.

"I appreciate that, Bob. Thank you." You smiled at him, pleased when he offered a small smile back. That also improved your mood. "You're making me feel a lot better actually."

"I am?" He seemed surprised, hands dropping to his sides.

"Yes, you're a lot calmer than everyone else right now and it feels good." You paused, looking him up and down. "Can you- could you maybe stay with me for a little while?"

"Oh! Yes. Yes, of course." He shifted from foot to foot, glancing over your shoulder at your room. "Um, why?"

"Because I'm tired of feeling anxious from everyone else. We can just sit for a few minutes and then you can go back to your room. If that's okay?"

He nodded and took a step towards you. "Sure, for as long as you want."

Bob really was sweet, his awkward demeanour only the surface of how lovely he really was. It was difficult to believe that he was technically the same guy who had killed half of New York only a couple of months ago. He really wasn't that person, and never had been. Since then, he'd quickly become one of your favourite people and you didn't see that changing any time soon. He was just the kind of person you wanted to keep around, so worthy of love and protection.

You tilted your head backwards and opened your door slightly wider. "Come on in then. We can sit on my bed."

His blue eyes widened for a moment before shuffling towards you, bare feet sliding against the floor. You shut the door behind him, gesturing towards your bed to offer him a seat when he hesitated in the middle of your room.

"It won't bite." You snorted, stopping next to him. "You can just sit on the edge if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that. I just don't want to intrude into your space." He glanced at you from from the corner of his eye.

"I wouldn't have invited you in if you could do that." You replied, walking around the side of your bed to sit back down in the spot you had been before. You pointed at the space next to you. "I don't bite either."

A small smile graced his face as he went to the other side of the bed to sit next to you. Bob rested against the headboard, staring at the same wall you had been before he'd arrived.

"So... do we chat? Or something?" He asked, head flopping to look at you.

You resisted the urge to push his hair out of his face so you could see his sweet face in all of its glory. He really did make you feel better with his mere presence. You'd never experienced that with someone before.

"We can, if you want. Or we can just sit quietly."

He pushed his own hair out of his eyes, revealing the baby blues to you again. "What were you doing before I knocked?"

"I was listening to music. To try- to try and block it out."

"Was it working?"

"No." You shook your head. "But you're working."

He looked away from you and you panicked, scared that that had been too much. It often freaked people out when you reminded them you could feel all of their emotions. But then you felt it. Bob was happy.

You inched slightly closer to him. "Feels nice when you're happy. It's warm."

He looked back at you. "Warm?"

"And soft. Most people feel harsher when they're happy, in an excitable way. But not you. It's difficult to explain." You closed your eyes, a pleased smile on your lips. "I like the way it feels."

Bob's breathing grew heavier, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I'm glad."

You hummed lowly, your heart rate slowing the more you relaxed. You hadn't realised it had been thundering against your rib cage for the majority of the night. As you calmed down, you grew more and more fatigued. Bob's effect on you was quick and he could only watch as you started to fall asleep. He didn't want to disturb you, it was clear how exhausted you were. He'd seen the way you would move sluggishly on the days when you hadn't slept very well. It hadn't quite clicked in his head why you'd been like that but it was all adding up now. You had always been so kind to him that he hated to see you struggle. You didn't deserve that. So if all he could do to help was sit by your side so you could sleep peacefully, then he was all too happy to do that.

When you awoke the next morning, you were startled by what greeted you when you opened your eyes. Bob was laying down beside you, mouth slightly agape and quiet snores leaving him. He really was rather lovely to look at. He had a delicate face, his features rather soft. And that was only increased by the peace that radiated off of him during his slumber.

The feeling that was trickling through you was new, and difficult to comprehend. You'd always been surrounded by people with big characters, their lives usually motivated by some sort of misery. You couldn't complain, you were the same. But it meant that the emotions that you received in response would be equally as agonising. They had their high moments, of course. Evenings the team spent together in the tower when you ate dinner, played games and watched movies were usually far more pleasant. But those were only fleeting moments.

Bob was a breath of fresh air. He certainly wasn't the happiest person you'd ever known, especially when you first met. But because he was rather easy to please, the simplest of compliments making him practically glow, it meant that you often found yourself also feeling good around him. You tried not to take advantage of that but because he was also just kind of wonderful you found yourself enchanted by him.

You watched him sleep, trying not to move so as not to disturb him. But he probably sensed your gaze in his slumber as it didn't take long before he stirred. He murmured something lowly as he opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight streaming in through your windows, and stretched. When his eyes landed on you he offered a timid smile.

"Good morning." You whispered, propping your chin on your hand as you looked down at him.

"G'morning." His voice was gruff, even lower than it usually was.

"Did you stay all night?" You asked, suddenly realising that he was underneath the blankets.

"Yeah, I hope that's okay." He turned on his side. "You fell asleep and I didn't want to disturb you if I left. Especially since everyone's emotions were getting to you."

You grinned at him. "You really are rather sweet, Bob."

He rolled away from you, groaning into the pillow beneath him. "Thank you."

You laughed and sat up as he did. "No, thank you. I appreciate this. It was nice of you."

"You don't need to thank me." He stood up and turned to look at you. "Do you want to go have breakfast? I hide the good cereal behind the pots and pans."

Affection spiralled through you, he was a great friend and you were so thankful to have him.

"Is that why I can never find it? You keep it hidden?" You started following him out of your room, grabbing your robe as you walked.

"Yeah..." He let out a short giggle. "Alexei keeps finding it though so I have to keep changing the hiding spot."

You smiled at the back of his head as you followed him to the kitchen, ready to start your day feeling more well rested than you had in years.

After a busy day spent with Bob doing chores around the tower and just hanging out, you were ready to go to bed. You were tired from the day's activities and needed some rest. But Bob could tell something was off. As each member of the team headed off to bed one by one, he watched as you slowly curled in on yourself where you were sat on the couch. It didn't take him long to realise what was wrong.

"Is it bad again?" He asked you, voice hushed to keep it between the two of you. He wasn't entirely sure how the super soldier serum worked on the three members of the team who had it, but if it was anything like what he'd experienced then he didn't want to risk their enhanced senses hearing him.

"Mhmm." You nodded weakly, your head collapsing against the back of the couch.

Bob moved to sit next to you, debating whether his next offer would be too forward. But the pain on your face was unbearable for him to witness. You'd been so happy all day, the change around was horrible to see. "Would you like me to come to your room again?"

You looked up at him through your lashes, using the little energy you had to cling on to his emotions. "Yes, please."

"Okay." Bob nodded and stood up, angling his head in the direction of your room. "Let's go then."

It didn't take long for that to become the routine between you and Bob. Free days spent in the tower you'd stay by each other's sides and nights would consist of the two of you sharing your bed in order to sleep peacefully. Practically every second you spent in the tower would be with Bob. As well as being a soothing presence, he was also very funny and considerate. It took you about two days of hanging out one on one for you to decide that he was perfect in basically every way. You only hoped he enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his. If the emotions that radiated off of him were any indication, then he did like you. A lot.

A new feeling had started pouring out of him, you'd noticed. One that made the back of your neck tingle and your brain feel fuzzy behind the eyes. You just couldn't quite figure out exactly what it was yet.

The rest of the team didn't fail to notice how you and Bob seemed closer. Stolen glances became a regular thing, the two of you acting as if you shared a secret. They could only watch on in somewhat confused amusement as Bob would look at you first whenever someone told a joke, to see if you were laughing, and how you had started singling out Bob by name whenever you offered to make anyone else a snack or a drink, like he was suddenly your priority. The two of you would also sit next to each other during every evening the team spent together.

They all assumed something had happened between the two of you. Just what, they didn't know. You weren't exactly acting like a couple, neither of you being flirty or touching the other anymore than usual. But the dynamic had certainly changed and was clearly developing more everyday. Whatever it was, it was clearly having a positive effect on you both. Bob seemed happier, smiling more often when you were around, and his emotions directly influenced yours, you were now a lot calmer and seemed less tense. So they just continued to observe in silence, curious to see where it would lead.

When Yelena had attempted to question Bob on it he had stuttered out that it was nothing, a clear give away that it was something. And when she'd asked you, all you had done was give her a coy smile accompanied by a shrug. She just decided to be happy for the two of you.

The thing between you and Bob was going steady for a few weeks, he'd started to open up to you more and more and you clung on to every word he decided to tell you. It was nice. But things quickly changed one night.

You'd been sleeping peacefully next to each other when you'd suddenly woken up. No clear negative emotion was travelling through you and Bob was still asleep so you assumed something else had woken you up. You listened out and heard nothing so sighed and closed your eyes in an attempt to go back to sleep. But you couldn't.

There was a tug at your lower stomach, a sudden ache further down. You shifted yourself, wondering if your position had you pressing on your organs strangely. But it didn't let up, and started getting more intense instead. And then you realised what it was. It was arousal. You were turned on. Puzzled, you flattened yourself on your back with a huff. What could possibly have you feeling like this? It was a normal night, sharing a bed with Bob with no disturbances other than the soft soundtrack of his breathing. Ever since you had started sharing a bed with him at night, you hadn't found yourself disrupted by the anxious feelings of the rest of your team. Bob's presence had been enough to soothe away the nerves and the fear and replaced it all with comfort and relaxation.

You glanced at Bob through the darkness, nothing seemed different with him. And then he made a noise. It was halfway between a content hum and a needy whimper. Your eyes widened in the dark as the pull in your tummy increased. It hit you all at once. Bob was having a sex dream and it was having an effect on you.

You scrunched your eyes shut, willing it to go away. Not entirely sure why you were even bothering, it had never been possible to just push the feelings away, you took a shaky breath as Bob let out another sound. This one was louder, more of a whine than anything else. Your brain felt misty, you weren't convinced whether what you were feeling was all of Bob or if it was also a combination of your own arousal at the noises he was making.

Bob was cute, you'd always thought it, but due to the circumstances through which you'd met you hadn't thought it appropriate to ever try to pursue anything. So the idea had died down and you hadn't even considered it in months. As the two of you had steadily gotten closer, you started to treasure him as a friend and nothing else. Bob was sweet, that was undeniable, and you had grown rather fond of him. And now here he was in your bed having a sex dream that was making you wet between your thighs.

The final straw was the desperate moan that rumbled from Bob's chest and out of his mouth. You shot up in bed, switching the bedside lamp on and tapped him on the shoulder.

He didn't stir. You envied how deeply he slept.

You poked his arm, surprised when you hit solid bicep. "Bob."

He grumbled and turned his face into the pillow.

"Bob." You sighed, shaking him gently.

"Mm?" The sound was questioning but had an undertone to it that reminded you of the sounds he'd previously been making.

"Bob, wake up." You said, louder than before. You were hoping that the feeling of being turned on would fade away as he came to but you were wrong.

As Bob's eyes slowly blinked open and landed on your face, the feeling in your core pulsed for a moment as his face turned a rosy shade of pink.

He shuffled around until he managed to sit up next to you, looking around the room to see if there was some sort of problem. "Is something wrong?"

The sincerity in his eyes was infuriating. But only because it made your breathing go ragged as you took in his messy hair and sleepy eyes. His flushed complexion wasn't helping and you didn't fail to notice how he cautiously tugged the blanket over his lap.

You decided to be blunt with it, not being able to concentrate on anything else other than the ocean between your legs. You hadn't even known it was possible to experience the physical things the people around you were going through. You had only ever felt the emotions of others. The closest you had ever gotten to this was being able to tell when people were injured or sick - people had very distinct emotions when they were in pain. But this was a whole new thing.

"You were having a sex dream."

Bob looked away from you. "H-how... how do you know that? Did I- did I say something?"

He looked nervous, more nervous than you'd seen him in weeks, and you could feel it burning underneath the state of arousal he was still in.

"No." You rasped, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. "I can feel it."

His head snapped in your direction, eyes going wide. "You what?"

Your chest was heaving. "I can feel it."

"What do you mean?"

You laughed lowly, unsure of how you could explain it. "I'm turned on right now because you are."

"Oh." The flush spread to his ears, his voice barely a squeak. "Sorry?"

There was a momentary ache in your chest at his apology, it was phrased like a question but his body language gave away how genuine it was. He was timid, that was for certain, and always feared he was going to do the wrong thing. Bob was scared of rejection and being abandoned. It was why he so often would tell people when he'd completed a chore or done something helpful like the laundry or the dishes. He felt the need to prove why you should all keep him around. He seemed unaware that you kept him around because you all loved him, and it wasn't conditional based on how useful he was.

You shifted towards him, hands reaching out for a second before awkwardly hovering in front of him. Maybe it wasn't the best time to be touching him. "No, no. You don't need to be sorry. At all. I just..."

Bob stared at you, waiting for you to finish your sentence.

"It's just an unusual situation. I've never felt this before."

He swallowed thickly. "You haven't? But I thought you felt everything other people felt."

You nodded. "I do. But emotions. Not physical things."

His eyes flickered up and down your body quickly. "So you're- you're more than feeling it?"

"I assume I'm experiencing the equivalent of whatever you are." You glanced at the tent in the blanket covering his lap. "Which is a physical reaction in the body."

"What you're saying is..." He didn't seem to know how to word it, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying." You clenched your thighs together, being careful with your words since you didn't want to freak him out. "I woke you up so it wouldn't be awkward."

He seemed to deflate slightly, nodding in acceptance. "Awkward."

You smiled softly at him, dipping your head down to meet his eyes. "Not because of you. But because me being awake and horny next to you when you're asleep is... odd."

"No more odd than me having a sex dream in your bed." He mumbled, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up.

A gentle giggle escaped you, glad he was easing up enough to joke. "It's not like you can choose when you have a sex dream. It's okay."

"I know. But I'm still sorry." He leaned towards you. "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

"Bob, you could never." You mirrored him, leaning in. "I'm just wondering how we're going to solve this."

He blinked and sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath. "Well, considering I seem to be feeling whatever you are then there's a possibility that if you decide to go and... sort yourself out-" You sent a meaningful look towards his lap. "-then I will also feel it."

His eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." You repeated. "But I also don't want to leave either of us sexually frustrated. That's never fun. So..."

"So..." He seemed to think for a moment. "Are you suggesting that...?"

You shrugged. "Some variation."

"Variation?" Bob was full of questions, finding himself doing nothing but being confused.

"If you don't want to actually do anything then mutual masturbation is always good."

Bob spluttered, taken aback by that answer.

"Or not." You added in, trying to determine what his real reaction was. His outward appearance seemed reluctant but your body throbbed at the prospect, which you knew reflected his feelings. That meant nothing though. If he said no then that was all that mattered.

"No, it's-" He cut himself off, a quiet whine leaving his mouth.

You shifted, thighs clenching. "Bob, I beg of you not to make that noise."

"Sorry." He mumbled.

"If you're unsure then we can start with something slower." You suggested, easing into it.

"Like what?"

You shrugged. "Kissing."

He turned bright pink again. Affection blossomed through your chest, he was so sweet. As shy as he was, you could see the sudden sparkle in his eyes at the idea of kissing you. It made you curious about something, something you'd been suspecting since he had first woken up.

"Bob? Who were you dreaming about?" You asked and watched him grapple for an answer that seemed to evade him. "Was it about me?"

He paused his search for reasoning, turning to look at you slowly before nodding. "Yeah."

You smiled. "I'm flattered."

He rolled his eyes, almost self deprecatingly. "Yeah, okay."

You frowned. "If I wasn't flattered then I'd kick you out of this room for being a creep. But I'm not doing that, am I? No. I'm waiting for you to make a decision. Either you stay and we make out. Or you leave and I hump a pillow."

His jaw dropped open, drawing your eyes to his lips.

"Up to you, Bob." You scooted closer to him, dropping your voice down low. "I'm waiting."

Before he could respond, you flinched. Your body recoiled from the door and towards the headboard.

"What's wrong?" Bob sounded panicked.

"Someone's having a nightmare. A bad one." You groaned. "It's a weird sensation feeling their anxiety whilst also being turned on."

Bob only looked at you for a second. "Will I make it better?"

You smiled at him, thankful he'd finally seemed to have caught on to the fact that he was the only thing that managed to soothe you. "You always make me better."

He softened, whole body relaxing as his face turned red with a different emotion. That's when he seemed to make up his mind, shuffling down so he was laying down again next to you and patting the spot directly in front of him. "Turn the light off."

"You sure?" You asked, already reaching for the lamp.

He nodded, sucking in a sharp breath as you settled down in front of him. You were suddenly face to face, but only for a moment as the next second the light was off and you were plunged into darkness again.

"Bob?"

"Yeah?"

"You're cute when you blush." You eased out a hand, gently cupping his cheek.

His own hand inched towards you under the blankets, fingertips grazing the fabric of your shirt. "I think you're the only person who thinks that."

"I find that unlikely. But if so then I'm happy to keep telling you."

"You're only saying that because you're turned on." He chuckled breathlessly. "Trying to get into my pants."

"Do I have to try?"

"No." His nose nudged against yours, steadily get closer and closer but not quite closing the gap.

You realised you were going to have to take that step. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

Bob was breathless before your lips met his, so when the collision finally happened it felt as if all oxygen had left him. But that didn't matter. He didn't need oxygen. All he needed was you.

You were gentle at first, testing the waters. But it only took about two seconds before Bob whined, the sound pulsing through you, so your mouth opened up like you'd lost control and your tongue swiped across his lips, teasing him. Bob's hands knotted into the front of your shirt, pulling you closer to him. His tongue curled against yours, a whimper leaving him.

You smiled into the kiss, thumb swiping over his cheek to keep it soft. You were overcome with lust but wanted the same mood that had floated between you and Bob up until this point. It didn't need to turn aggressive in any way now that you were taking it a step further.

The hem of your shirt cut into your back as Bob's grip on it tightened, his feet pressing into yours so the two of you started playing footsie as you kissed. Bob tasted sweet, you noted, probably about as sweet as he was in general. You suckled his bottom lip into your mouth, revelling in the moan he let out. You pushed yourself closer to him, nose cramming against his cheek as his hair tickled your forehead.

You pulled away from him to catch your breath, planting a quick kiss on his lips as he chased you. "Hm, slow down. We have time."

"Wanted this for so long." He admitted in the haze of passion that was swimming around the two of you.

The confession surprised you. "Oh, yeah?"

He backed up a little to look at you in the darkness as he gave an affirmative hum. That's when you felt it. The tingle on the back of your neck and the fuzziness behind your eyes.

"What is that?" You asked, moving your face closer to him to get a better feel for it.

"What's what?" He sounded genuinely confused, voice kind as he asked.

"This new thing you keep feeling? Like a tingle on the back of the neck and a fuzz behind the eyes. What is it? I've never felt it before."

The intensity you were looking at him with was amusing to Bob, how you seemed so unaware when usually it would be the other way around with the two of you. He knew exactly what you were referring to.

So he only smiled as he told you. "It's the feeling I get when I'm close to you."

Your breath got caught in your throat, eyes searching his in the dark to see how genuine he was being. When you detected nothing but honesty in his face, you dove forward and kissed him again. Despite your initial desire to keep it as relaxed as possible, you couldn't help the sudden craving you had for him. It was raw and primal, a yearning feeling.

Bob's pelvis rutted into yours, a reminder of the thing that got you into this position to begin with. He was still painfully hard and, based on the way you were feeling, that wasn't going to change any time soon. Your teeth and tongues clashed over and over, Bob making happy little noises at every press of your lips. He was insatiable, chasing you every time you decided the two of you needed to breathe. But he didn't seem to have the confidence to touch you anymore, not going any further than the vise like grip he still had on your shirt.

So you decided to make the move again. "Can I touch you?"

He nodded rapidly, his voice desperate. "Please."

The mewl of his voice was intoxicating, giving you permission to let your hand drift down the front of his torso. His abdomen was solid underneath his shirt but, as tempting as it was, you had another destination in mind. When you hit the waistband of his pants you paused, fingers toying with the strings that kept them fastened.

"Are you sure?" You asked, double checking that he was positive he wanted to take it this far.

He barely pulled away from your lips to answer. "Yes, I'm sure."

That was all you needed. You pulled on the string, undoing it, and let your hand slide into the front of his pants. You didn't have the patience to start with any over the clothes touching. Bob's size was somewhat surprising, he was big, which meant that your hand met the velvety skin of his cock pretty much as soon as you'd breached the waistline of his pants. He whimpered into your mouth at the feeling of the silky skin of your palm.

He was keen, his body reacting immediately with a buck of his hips into your fist. You started with a slow pace, moving your hand up and down carefully to get a rhythm going. His precum worked well as a natural lubricant, making both your skin and his slick. It was only a reminder of the wetness between your own legs. But that thought escaped you pretty quickly when Bob continued to make pretty little sounds into your mouth. He throbbed in your hand, pace of his thrusts increasing when you tightened your grip.

You kept kissing him, shivering as the feeling of his arousal travelled through you as well. An overwhelming curiosity was plaguing you as you wondered whether you'd feel it when he eventually came. That became less important when Bob's hands finally untangled from your shirt and one of them crept up the plains of your torso to start groping your chest through your shirt. You moaned into his mouth, hand momentarily stilling in place. That didn't last long when he whined into your mouth, a mumble begging for more leaving him.

Your fist pumped his cock harder and faster, drawing him closer and closer to orgasm.

"Come on, pretty boy. I know you're close."

He whimpered at the name you'd given him, the fact that he liked praise was something you quickly noted in your head. Bob kissed you harder, the desperation for closeness evident.

It didn't take much longer before he started twitching in your hand, hot ropes of cum spurting out of him and landing on the sheets between you. You pumped him a few more times, milking him for everything he was worth. A train of whimpers and moans tumbled out of mouth, filling the space between you, as his eyes scrunched shut with pleasure. You kissed him through it, wanting to keep him close as you were feeling his orgasm yourself. The feeling rocketed through you, a sense of ecstasy as it poured out of Bob and into you. Your prediction was right, you did indeed feel it when he did. This was a new development to your gift that had you curious.

Once he'd calmed down from the high, Bob's eyes blinked open again as he looked at you. "I'm- I'm sorry."

You frowned. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I- and you didn't-" He cut himself off, distressed. "I thought we were going to-"

You eyed the mess on the sheets between you. "Believe me, what just happened is not an issue."

"Are you still... feeling it?"

"Kind of. Less so now that you've come. But I'm still horny. Especially after that." You sighed. "Can we keep kissing?"

Bob wasn't sure why you'd even asked. It wasn't like there was any scenario where he'd say no to that. So he nodded at you, assuming that your eyes had adjusted enough to the dark to see him. He was right. You manoeuvred yourself over the mess on the sheets and hovered yourself over him.

He looked up at you, the sparkle from before twinkling in his eyes. He finally allowed himself to touch you, not realising that he'd groped you in the heat of the moment before, and placed his hands on your hips before letting them skate up your waist, then your rib cage, before going over your shoulders and letting them land on either side of your face. Then he pulled you down to kiss him.

You weren't sure how long that went on for exactly, only really aware of anything other than Bob existing when he'd asked whether you wanted to change your bed sheets. You'd only told him it could wait until the morning and that the two of you would just have to stick to his side of the bed. At some point his hands had drifted below your waistline, drawing your own orgasm from you. It surprised you how adept he was at it, but you figured he had a past long before you'd even met him.

What surprised you both was Bob had moaned as you did, blinking in shock as you came.

"I felt that." He stated, mouth hanging open.

"What do you mean?" You asked, still breathless from the orgasm.

"I felt that." He repeated.

A frown wrinkled your brows. "You mean... like how I feel things?"

"I think so."

That was another thing that had never happened until Bob.

"I didn't know that was possible." You thought about it for a second before shrugging. "Another thing for tomorrow."

And then you kept kissing him. That went on for a while until the two of you grew sleepy, eventually drifting off in each other's arms.

When you woke up the next morning you found yourself intertwined with Bob, limbs tangled together. You hummed happily and snuggled closer to him.

"G'morning." He grumbled into your ear.

You smiled at the sound of his voice and turned your head to look at him. "Good morning. You're awake before me."

"Shocking, I know." He huffed, hand stroking up and down the length of your arm.

"What's the time?"

"A little after nine."

Your eyes widened and you shot out of bed, scrambling to find your robe. "Shit, it's late."

Bob followed you out of bed, feeling bad that he'd let you sleep in. But you had just looked so peaceful. "Sorry, I should've woken you."

"No, don't apologise." You beamed at him. "Shouldn't apologise for the way I slept."

He watched you slide a pair of socks on. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good." You grinned. "The best. You?"

"Good too."

You huffed. "You always sleep good."

There was a moment of silence before Bob seemed to decide what he was going to say.

"Do you want to know why I sleep so easily?"

You nodded, always just figuring the amnesia that came with what happened to him meant that he just didn't have bad dreams.

"Because I dream about you." He confessed quietly. "Even when I'm not having sex dreams."

Your shoulders hunched as your skin prickled with the burn of self-consciousness. There was no way he was telling the truth. "Really?"

"I spend my days thinking about you and my nights dreaming about you." He chuckled shakily. "Even though we spend every second of every day together, I can think of nothing but you. It consumes me. You consume me."

Tears welled in your eyes. "For how long?"

"For as long as I've known you pretty much." He shrugged. "It's been very difficult sleeping next to you for these past few weeks and not telling you."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you needed me to sleep. And I was scared that you didn't feel the same way so you'd- you'd push me away and go back to restless nights." His hands started wringing together, a telltale sign of his nerves.

You choked out a teary laugh. "How could you ever think I didn't feel the same? Why do you think I spend so much time with you? Why I can't sleep unless I'm next to you?"

"My emotions calm you."

You shook your head. "You make me calm. There's something about you. There always has been. You make me feel things that nobody else ever has. I've experienced new emotions with you. As well as more feelings."

He smiled at the reference to what the two of you had done the night before. "So, what now?"

"What now?" You chortled as you repeated his words back to him. "Now you kiss me and we never stop."

Bob didn't need to be told twice.

The team noticed the moment the switch in yours and Bob's relationship flipped. All it took was one simple gesture. The group of you had been in the kitchen together, chatting about nothing in particular and Bob had been looking at you with a gooey look in his eyes as usual. But then you'd reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.

They all knew then that you'd finally taken the step towards being officially more than friends. None of them pointed it out, exchanging nothing but pleased looks with each other and enjoying the fact that neither you nor Bob seemed to be aware that the rest of them now all knew about the two of you. They weren't entirely sure that either of you cared if they knew.

And when later that evening you rested your head on Bob's shoulder during movie night, and he not very subtly grabbed your hand, they realised that the two of you definitely didn't care if they knew. You only seemed to care about each other in that moment.

1K notes · View notes

rafesangelita · 2 days ago

Text

♡ bsf!rafe reads something he wasn’t supposed to..

warnings: use of the name ‘daddy’ (kinda a lot, so if you don’t like this nickname, don’t read pls), male masturbation, handjob (but not really??), suggestive ending

ding—!

rafe’s ears perked up at the sound of your phone going off, a series of notifications ringing out as you sat in front of your vanity. applying the lipgloss rafe loved so much, you eyed his reflection in the mirror as he laid sprawled out on your bed, patiently waiting for you to be done with your makeup so you two could go out for dinner. “can you check my phone, please ray? it’s probably one of my girlfriends.” he grabbed the device from where it sat on your nightstand, your playlist playing softly in the background as he unlocked your phone, opening your recent text threads.

scanning down the list, his eyes zeroed in on the name ‘josh ♡’, his jaw clenching as he clicked on the contact. you were too busy singing along to your favorite song and spritzing your face with setting spray to notice rafe scrolling through your private messages with another guy, his eyes scanning down the flirtatious advances and even a few selfies here and there. you looked amazing in them, of course, and he couldn’t stand that you had granted another person to see you looking that good. scrolling down to the most recent messages, he read the texts you two exchanged just last night.

[8:21 PM] josh ♡ : why won’t you just call me daddy? like how do you expect this to go any further if you don’t call me what i want you to?

[8:27 PM] do you hear yourself? if me not calling you daddy is what’s going to be a factor in us not speaking to each other anymore, then that’s perfectly fine. you aren’t even ‘daddy’ material.. my best friend has more grit than you do.

“what was it?” your voice made rafe jump, his eyes widening slightly as he shook his head, trying his best not to show that you had completely flipped his world upside down with a single name. “oh, just some text alerts from sephora.” he cleared his throat awkwardly before excusing himself to go to the bathroom. once he was away from you, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his mind racing at what exactly you were insinuating in your text. he didn’t know what to think. were you alluding to the fact that he was indeed ‘daddy material’ or were you just trying to piss off that loser?

putting his own kinks aside, rafe cursed under his breath as he imagined you referring to him as that god forsaken word, the dirty thoughts in his head only being fueled by him not even having to ask you to call him something as depraved as daddy. he envisioned you so many times crying out for him, his fantasy of fucking his best friend haunting him every single night. groaning at the reminder that you were basically forbidden fruit, rafe sighed out in frustration when his jeans suddenly felt two sizes too tight. “rafe, i’m ready!” you sung out, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor in the hallway.

rafe panicked, shouting out a “o-okay, i’ll be right out!” as you snapped pictures of yourself for your instagram story. while you were scrolling aimlessly on your phone to pass time, rafe was splashing cold water on himself in a poor attempt to get his cock to stop straining against his pants, a groan leaving his lips as he palmed himself through the denim material. you froze when you heard the sound, your eyes lifting up from your phone as you fixated your gaze on the door knob. “rafe? are you okay?” as soon as he heard your voice, he shut the water off to the sink. “fuck— yes! yes, i’m fine!”

you continued waiting, now sitting at the top of the stairs while rafe struggled to tug one out. “come on, what the fuck?!” he whispered to himself, his cock aching mean and rock hard in his fist. “i’m starving!” you whined, resting your forehead against the staircase. “okay, that’s just unfair. i waited nearly two hours for you to get ready and now you can’t wait for me when i have an actual problem going on?!” rafe grumbled, his jaw ticking as he only made himself feel more embarrassed than he already was. problem? you turned around, walking over to the door.

you could hear him breathing heavy, a slick sound making your eyebrows knit in confusion. biting your cheek, you whispered a ‘fuck it..’ before opening the door, your jaw dropping to the floor at the sight. “oh, shit—!” rafe cupped himself, hiding everything from your view as you stood there dumbfounded. “why would you come in here?!” he shouted, your eyes raking down his form until they settled on his hands. “that’s why you’re taking so long? because you’re too busy jerking off?” rafe watched as you stepped closer, his eyes screwing shut as you leaned against the counter.

“i’ve been trying to make it go away,” he shifted uncomfortably, “it’s not like i can control this.” you were standing just a few feet away from the very thing that’s made you lose sleep just thinking about. you two had it so bad for each other and neither of you had a single clue about it. rafe stared at you as you blinked up at him, a playful glint sparkling in your eyes. “sooo.. what happened?” he shook his head, feeling slightly guilty that you caught him doing this in your bathroom. “look, we don’t need to go over anything—”

“you saw my texts with that guy, didn’t you?”

rafe swallowed thickly, a sigh leaving his lips before he nodded. “how did you know?” rafe asked, embarrassed. “i looked at my phone when you ran off over here and saw that the messages had been opened.” he narrowed his gaze at you, a shock of realization hitting him. “you knew i was going to see them. that’s why you asked me to check who was texting you.” rafe watched as your lips curved into a smile, his eyes turning dark as you put your hand over his. “i would’ve called you daddy a long time ago if it meant finding you like this.” you pulled his hand away so he wasn’t concealing himself from your view anymore, his jaw clenching as you took him in your palm.

he felt hot and heavy as you stroked him, his forehead falling against your shoulder. “oh, fuck,” he moaned, pulling you closer to him so that you could feel his bulge poking your tummy, “say it again.” rafe lifted his head, both of you sharing a knowing look before you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. he immediately tasted the sweet vanilla of your lipgloss, both of you pausing to take in the fact that you were actually kissing each other after all this time of just being friends. bringing your mouth close to his ear, you pecked the sensitive spot on his neck before whispering.

“daddy, will you please take me back to my room?”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

998 notes · View notes

yeahxsurexokay13 · 3 days ago

Text

anything but the truth, lando norris

summary: the lead up to the british gp was already chaotic, then y/n's best friend has to interview her f1 driver ex (and yn asks her to tell him a white lie) [influencer!reader]

warnings: like three typos, two swear words, a mason mount mention if you squint and no happy ending ):

inspired by sophia scott's song 'anything but the truth'!

y/n.y/l ✓

Liked by romeobeckham, lilymhe and 770.932 others

y/n.y/l definitely not fucking hot where i’m posting this from 👍🏼

👤 friend1, friend2

view all 548 comments

friend1 YOU'RE fucking hot 🪭🪭🪭 ♥︎ by author

y/n.y/l 💋

user6 here before lando

user8 babe........ lando hasn't been here in WEEKS and i don't think he's coming back 🤡

user4 I know y’all love drama but assuming they broke up because of no interactions in two weeks is actually wild 😭 let them breathe

user8 it’s been dead silent from both sides. no likes, no tags, nothing since barcelona... something’s definitely up lol

user11 guess lando can finally focus on winning the wdc without distractions 👏

friend2 we should've brought that sunshine back home 🌞 ♥︎ by author

user14 she’s finally free from the mcdrama!!!! 😩

user1 So she’s not in Portugal anymore??? 👀

user5 she wouldn’t be back for silverstone would she?? 👀

user1 I’m holding on to delulu

user7 not to be dramatic but if she’s not at silverstone i will throw myself into the paddock gates

user15 the 'oh so perfect' couple didn’t even last. shocking.

jasmineharper ✓ this is what fomo looks like 😮‍💨

y/n.y/l ✓ 🥺 we missed you, reporter barbie!!!

user10 she's vibing and staying hydrated!

user12 maybe she just wants a break from the grid and from being "lando’s gf" every time she posts?? radical idea

user13 absolutely stunning!! hope you had a good holiday 💖

user2 how are u cold in july what’s going on girl 😭

user3 it's like 18°C in the uk right now lol

user9 girlhood healing summer arc unlocked. he fumbled and we move.

user16 why are people still hating on her even after the alleged break up?? omg seriously. you lot got what u wanted leave! the! girl! alone!

4 July 2024

Friday, July 5

Satuday, July 5

lando's phone:

Sunday, July 7

landonorris ✓

Liked by lnfour, maxfewtrell and 1.103.098 others

landonorris Silverstone I love you, so many incredible fans out there ❤️ Congrats on the win @.lewishamilton, we’ll review, do better and come get you next time 😜

view all 3.350 comments

user1 and Silverstone love YOU❤️

user2 OH MY 444 HEART

user3 Love u love u love u!!!

maxfewtrell ✓ Proper job this weekend brother 🔥

user4 Aww❤️

user5 how about reviewing the lack of a certain someone in the paddock today?

user6 your time will come soon Lando🧡🧡🧡

pietra.pilao 🙌

user9 silverstone would have been SO much more perfect if y/n was there with you 😭😭😭

user8 another podium in the bag 🧡

7 July 2024

#social media au #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 x reader #lando norris smau #formula 1 smau #lando norris x y/n #influencer!reader

740 notes · View notes

norrisainz33 · 2 days ago

Text

simp || cs55

summary: carlos has a massive crush on one of hollywoods it girls, y/n and he desperately wants her to notice him

pairing: carlos sainz x famous!reader

fc & warnings: madelyn cline and suggestive. you are responsible for the content you consume

requested: yes! thank you for your patience!! i know this took forever

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post

liked by carlossainz55, yourbff, tatemcrae, adrianalima, lhughes_06, joeburrow, and 2,508,388 others

ynuser: can’t even tell i’m jet lagged to all heck right now thanks to my incredible team!! thanks for having me dior

view all comments

carlossainz55: jet lag has never looked better princessa

user1: how does this man always beat me here im

user2: when u show up to a who loves y/n most competition and this mf there

user55: its getting hard to make excuses for you carlos

user1: your hair omgggg you look so good

yourbff: no you're glowing

ynuser: thank you 🤍

user4: god i’m obsessed with you

joeburrow: 😍 [liked by ynuser]

yourcostar: ok i see you gorgeous girl

ynuser: i miss you

williamsracing has posted a video

liked by carlossainz55, lando, alex_albon, user55, robertomerhi, charlesleclerc, yourcostar, yourbff, and 658,234 others

williamsracing: they had a lot of fun with this quiz! check out the latest grid games with lia, carlos and alex!

view all comments

user2: carbonooooooooo

user4: i love that lia is here too omg

carlossainz55: ynuser shooting my shot 😌

user55: carlos go 1 minute without mentioning y/n challenge failed

user5: since my goat said to tag her ynuser hello did u see this

user55: god he’s down so bad ynuser please im begging

user43: ynuser carlos saved my cat from a burning building

user77: carlos built me a house ynuser

lando: ynuser hey

carlossainz55: my guy 😉

yourbff: lmaoooooooo ynuser you gotta put this man out of his misery

user55: EVERYONE STAY CALM CARLOS STAY CALM MY MAN DONT EMBARRASS US THIS IS HER BEST FRIEND

carlossainz55: yourbff ynsuer please

user4: god hes such a simp this is painful

user8: i love this trio sm

ynuser has made a post

liked by carlossainz55, williamsracing, lando, charlesleclerc, yourbff, yourcostar, tatemcrae, jackhughes, zendaya, doechii, and 3,294,228 others

yunser: fun in the sun ☀️🤍

view all comments

user1: you are the definition of beauty

carlossainz55: you should try the spanish sun. i think you’d have a lot of fun under it 😉

lando: not your best work mate

charlesleclerc: mon ami what was this line

lewishamilton: next time be less obvious

user55: not even the drivers can defend him anymore

user22: body is tea

zendaya: the prettiest lady 🤍

ynuser: daya 😭😭😭😭🤍🤍🤍🤍

user33: so you can paint now too?! what can’t you do

user44 the literal love of my life

ynuser has posted a private story

view all story replies

yourbff: Y E S! he is so fine it’s sickening

ynuser: he is really attractive……

yourbff: anyone with eyes can see that bb

ynuser: alright…… i’m gonna dm him

yourbff: YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS

yourcostar: i laughed out loud at this and then checked your posts and man is trying his hardest

ynuser: stoppppp 😭😭😭 he is committed and honestly i’m into it

zendaya: tom knows him!!! he’s a super nice guy. i say go for it

ynuser: if you and tom approve i’ll do it

zendaya: double date!!!!!

yourfriend1: DO IT FOR THE PLOT

ynuser: on it

yourfriend2: i have been begging you to get into f1 for years now

ynuser: you’re right…. my bad girl

ynuser has posted to their story

view all story replies

user2: you’re doing just about anything but filming that new season huh

user55: no way. no way you’re in spain. oh my god this better be about carlos. i’m gonna crash all the way out

yourbff: OMG YOIRE WITH HIM!!! AGAIN?!?!?!

ynuser: i am!! having the best time with him 🥹 after our first date in monaco he convinced me to go to spain with him over his break from driving and it has been like a dream

yourbff: you have to facetime me later and spill the beans

ynuser: if i get any alone time i will 🤭

yourbff: are you….. staying in the same hotel room?! OMG DID THEY DO THE THING WHERE THEY GIVE YOU A HOTEL ROOM THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 2 BEDS BUT WAS ONLY 1?!

ynuser: AHAHHAH no i am NOT in a romance book tho it feels like it. we chose to get a hotel room with only one bed 😏

yourbff: i’m giggling, goofing , freaking out. how dare you not tell me this !!

ynuser: i promiseeee ill call tomorrow!!

yourbff: fineee enjoy your night of f*cking. you gotta tell me how he is 😉

ynuser: STOPSJDK

carlossainz55: i’m glad you love it mi amor 🥰

ynuser: might just be because i have the best tour guide ever

carlossainz55: that definitely helps i’m sure

user4: aesthetic af

charlesleclerc: thank GOD!

ynuser: it’s been a long time coming

charlesleclerc: you can say that again

user12: on god this better be about carlos sainz

carlossainz55 has posted a story

view all replies

ynupdates: is that blondie in the corner who i think it is you ain’t slick

user2: you’re my love

lando: you in amorrrrrrrrr?!

carlossainz55: yes 😍 she’s just as amazing as i imagined

lando: awooga that’s the best news ever

user4: i can’t wait for you to get back on track

alex_albon: are you having fun????

carlossainz55: so much fun…. some would say the most fun especially because she agreed to be my girlfriend 😉

alex_albon: thank GOD. george owes me £400

carlossainz55: que?

alex_albon: we took bets on if she’d fall for you or not. i said she would 😌

carlossainz55: i’m going to have to give george a call it seems. who else bet on this????

alex_albon: the whole group chat 😅

carlossainz55: give me a list of everyone who bet against me

carlossainz55: DONT LEAVE ME ON READ

carlossainz55: ALEXANDER ALBON

user55: you’re in barcelona. y/n is in barcelona…. she’s blonde… there’s a blonde in this photo that looks a lot like her….. did you do the unthinkable and get y/n to notice you?

user13: when you getting back in the car king

carlossainz55 has made a post

liked by lando, williamsracing, charlesleclerc, yourbff, ynuser, georgerussell63, yourcostar, lewishamilton and 456,233 others

carlossainz55: you know what they say - pics or it didn’t happen

view all comments

user3: oh my god he’s done it

user55: THATS MY GOAT!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU

lando: i can’t believe my eyes

carlossainz55: me neither

williamsracing: so this is why you were in the best mood i’ve ever seen and asked for a paddock pass for every race for the foreseeable future

carlossainz55: 😌🤍

alex_albon: incredible work mate

user23: wondering what insane level of simp he’s gonna reach now that he’s bagged the baddie

charlesleclerc: you are welcome!

ynupdates: claiming credit i see charles

charlesleclerc: well i helped

ynuser: my friends did send me your tweets so really you both did this

carlossainz55: and i thank you both charlesleclerc ynupdates

user34: i just stood up and applauded

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!!! likes and reblogs appreciated. been very busy recently, hopefully will have some more time to writing soon!!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

729 notes · View notes

cheftsunoda · 2 days ago

Text

heal your heart—cl16

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

—

deuxmoi posted an update!

liked by 2,593,583 people.

deuxmoi : sources report that this blind item is about catalina sainz..yikes..let us know what you think!

—

username : NOOOO MY SHAYLAAAAAA....my poor baby

username1 : she has been so happy since becoming a mother...you can tell that baby is her whole world. he NEEDS to return that baby NEOWWW. i do not play about miss catalina.

username4 : he took the kid too? that is not just a breakup, that’s a custody crisis. hope she has a good lawyer.

username7 : Y’all love gossip until it’s your fave going through it. This is heartbreaking if true.

username14 : This is why you don’t rush into engagements with people who love the spotlight more than you do. He was just using her.

username20 : hey could you like not be a dick rn...this is her family and real life

username20 : hope and pray this isn’t true. she always seemed like such a devoted mom. taking the child? next level cruel.

username15 : okkkk but who is this fiancé? if u r bold enough to cross the Sainz family and take a child, you better lawyer up and hide...

username : the funny thing is... he is not even famous so he would be using her money to hire a lawyer

username15 : mans is TOAST

username24 : carlos' jet just left for japan...and the drivers are not even supposed to be at the track for another 4 days or so..

liked by author

username10 : ohhh shittt

username17 : i know lando is somewhere fuming... that man do not play about the sainz'

—

twitter thread!

f1gossipgirls : THREAD: The Catalina Sainz Situation – What We Know, What We Think We Know, and What Might Happen Next.

Buckle up. This one’s messy. (1/10)

So here’s the deal...rumors broke this week that Catalina Sainz—is dealing with a secret breakup and a custody issue involving her fiancé. Allegedly, he left her and took their son without warning. (2/10)

Who is the fiancé? Not confirmed, but fan detectives say he’s a lowkey entrepreneur Catalina’s been quietly seeing for a couple of years. Private IG. Almost no photos together. Suspiciously absent since March. (3/10)

Sources close to the situation say Catalina came home from a trip to LA for work and found them gone. Just a piece of paper that said he was done...Just—gone. (4/10)

Here’s where it gets interesting... Carlos has reportedly stopped following the fiancé on social media (they used to interact), and fans noticed he looked especially tense during a recent press moment and a fan interaction at the airport. (5/10)

Speaking of the aiport...Fan detectives found that Carlos' jet took off for Japan this morning when the drivers are not due at Suzuka for another 4 days...Catalina is rumored to be hiding out in Japan.

(6/10)

Some speculate Carlos has already hired lawyers to get Catalina’s son back. One tweet claims he’s “mobilizing legal resources across two countries.” If that’s true… this isn’t just messy, it’s international. (7/10)

Another theory? This was brewing for months. Catalina’s last public event appearance was in April—she looked off. No ring. No family. No fiancé. Just a carefully curated smile. Fans clocked it then. (8/10)

And let’s not forget... Carlos and Catalina are both famously private. If this went public, it’s not by his or her choice. Which might mean Catalina needs help—and someone close leaked it to apply pressure. (9/10)

Catalina Sainz may have been blindsided by her fiancé, who allegedly took their son and vanished. Carlos is probably involved behind the scenes. And this story? Just getting started. (10/10)

Stay tuned. We’re watching.

view comments

username : if a man took my kid and disappeared...i would def call my big brother too...esp if it was carlos. imagine trying to hide the kid from the whole f1 community #goodluckbro

username2 :the way Carlos is probably trying to keep this under wraps but has already called every lawyer in Spain, Italy, and the UAE...

username5 : netflix pls scrap dts and make a docuseries on finding baby sainz...

netflix : not a bad idea

username7 : IF Carlos shows up to Japan GP with a baby on his hip and no explanation, I’m gonna lose it. FULL TELENOVELA ENERGY.

username14 : me drafting an international missing persons report and i don’t even know them. i am rather emotionally involved now...CAT IS SO MOTHER SHE NEEDS HER BABY

username20 : need cat to come back with a breakup anthem that shames tf outta this man like...'you took my son i took the house'

usernameee : i cannot with you - bye

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : F1 announced this morning via Twitter that Carlos Sainz will not be present for Media Day at Suzuka. Williams states that it is due to 'personal issues'.

view comments

usernamee : this man’s sister is in hiding and his nephew is missing and y’all thought he was gonna sit down and chit chat w press??

username1 : 'personal reasons' in this particular situation from carlos means 'i am currently in my liam neeson taken arc...srry yall'

username3 : its giving 'media day is canceled because i am currently tracking someone across international borders.'

username4 : williams better be ready to lie, deflect, and deny all weekend because if a single journalist asks about this, it’s over.

username14 : williams : “It’s personal reasons.” us: kk but does “personal” mean international child recovery operation or revenge-fueled manhunt? just so we’re clear...

username17 : media day being cancelled is fine but if he shows up to FP1 wearing all black and dead silent I will SCREAM.

username21 : cat is hiding in the mountains. carlos is skipping press. williams abs giving us nothing...no longer a paddock—it’s a crime scene

usernameee : IF Carlos speaks at all this weekend, i hope it’s just “he’s been found.” then pure silence.

—

transcript of james vowles speaking to the press.

press : “James, can you comment on Carlos Sainz’s withdrawal from media duties today? There’s been a lot of speculation.”

jv : “Carlos is an incredibly dedicated driver. When he misses something, there’s always a good reason. Out of respect for him, I think it’s best we let him speak on it directly.”

press :

"Will he be completely pulling out of the race this weekend?"

jv :

"I am not sure the answer to that at this time. I will communicate who will be driving as soon as Carlos reaches out again."

press : “Is it true he's left the circuit entirely?”

jv : “Well, I can’t confirm anyone’s location—I’m not in charge of tracking my drivers,” “but I can tell you that williams supports him, whatever the circumstances may be.”

press : “So… is he okay?”

jv : “I think he’s doing what needs to be done. And I’ll leave it at that.”

—

flashback - catalina's home - madrid spain - 7:18 am

I slid gently out of the back seat of the blacked out SUV. I had just returned home to Madrid after being in LA for some work related issues. I gripped at my suitcases as I began to walk towards the front door. I was so excited to be at home. I was beyond tired and just wanted to crawl into bed and hold my son—my pride and joy.

The front door creaked open slower than usual. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe it was just the jet lag getting to me. My suitcase thunked softly against the tile as I dragged it inside. The house was still. Much too still.

No tiny socks by the couch. No squeals of welcome. No welcome home kisses pressed to my cheeks. No low hum of the TV playing in the background.

I tell myself over and over again that this silence is normal. Maybe they are napping- its early. Maybe he took him for a walk- maybe the park. I held onto that maybe with a death grip.

The air felt off...almost stiff...as if the house was even holding its breath.

"Hello?" I called out softly, hoping and praying for response. No answer not even an echo to be heard.

I stepped into the kitchen. The windows were open- he would never leave with the windows open. There was a folded piece of paper left under a mug...the mug he would always pour my tea in. I swallowed- hard.

My chest knew before my brain caught up. I reached for it slowly, my fingers like ice.

One line. Scrawled in that slanted, indifferent handwriting I used to trace on love notes.

“I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you.”

No signature. No “I’m sorry.” No mention of the child we made together.

The edges of the paper blur. Not from tears. I haven't cried yet. I can’t. I am much too cold all of a sudden.

I fall back allowing the counter to help catch my footing. I suddenly feel my whole body go numb. I reach out and push myself up, not allowing those nine words to make me fall to my feet.

I walk the hallway in a trance and crack open the nursery door. The crib is gone. The rocking chair is gone. Even his little bear nightlight—gone. Like I had never once rocked my baby to sleep in there. Like he never existed.

I don't scream. I don't break. I just stand there, arms limp at my sides, until the silence becomes deafening.

I checked the drawers. Half empty. The wardrobe. Empty. The toy chest absolutely bare. A cold, calculated theft of love. Quiet, surgical.

I drop the note to the floor and wrap my arms around myself as I if I could protect myself from what I just experienced...protect myself from this deafening silence. I knew right then...I had to run. I couldn't live here without my baby— my joy, my reason to keep going. I didn't know where I would go but it didn't matter.

—

I booked the flight under my middle name. No return date, no checked baggage. Just my tote bag with a sweater, a passport and prescription for pills I haven't touched since I got pregnant with my son.

No one stopped me, no one even notices me. Not in the airport, not in the first class lounge, not even the flight attendant who handed me my tea and mistook my silence for sleep. If anyone looks twice, they look away just as fast. That’s the trick—move like you belong, and people won’t ask why your eyes are swollen or your hands won’t stop shaking.

Tokyo is loud, crowded, too alive. I took the first train out of the city.

A stranger on the platform told me about a village outside of Nikko- he called it peaceful and quiet. Said it was the kind of place where 'time forgets about you'. Sounds like that is exactly what I want- to be forgotten.

The train winds through mountains so green they almost look fake. Trees blur past like static. I had earbuds shoved in my ears, a hood covering my head and sunglasses so strangers won't ask why I am crying.

When I finally step off, the station is barely more than a bench and a vending machine. I breathe in silence like medicine.

The lodge is old, wood-framed, smells like steam and pine. The owner is a woman named Yui who speaks no English but offers tea and the softest futon I have ever touched. She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t press.

I pay for everything in cash. Leave my phone on airplane mode. No Instagram or twitter. For all I know the public still believes I am in LA living my best life.

Out here, there are no mirrors. No headlines. Just mist and mountains.

Some nights I dream of my son’s laugh—those bubbling giggles when he tried to grab my hair. Other nights, I dream of nothing at all, which hurts more.

It sits in my chest like ice.

—

present time- catalina's lodge - nikko, tochigi - 8:56 am

Did I want to tell Carlos? No. Did I realize he would come looking for me sooner or later anyways? Yes. I needed him more than I realized. The more I cry, the louder the silence gets, the more that knife in my stomach twists even more. I knew that it wasn't long before the press took note of my absence and I wanted to get ahold of Carlos before those rumors did. That's what happens when you have shitty friends who will sell you out for a single dime.

I wasted seven years of my life for a man who just wanted to see me fail, wanted to see me suffer so badly. I made him. I gave him his career. I gave him our child. Any request was instantly granted. And this is what I get? Taking my only piece of joy away from me. I bet you are wondering...Cat...did you see this coming? And the simple answer is no...he never gave any clues to being miserable in this relationship...if anything I was the one who was miserable. However, that is a story for another time.

I haven't done much since arriving here. I sit outside, I cry, I occasionally scroll through my camera roll and listen to my son's laugh. Admire the way he smiles or how his eyes would light up when he looked at me. Every repeat of the video I feel myself become more pained. I haven't eaten, I vomit if I try. Yui brings me tea and snacks every morning attempting to get me to eat. She doesn't understand but she does at the same time.

I snap out of my thoughts as I hear a car pull up. A low rumble, uneven on the gravel road. It cuts through the silence like a thread being pulled taut. I feel my breath catch in my throat. It’s early. Still dark enough for the fog to cling to the edges of the pine trees outside her window. The room creaks around me, old and wooden, smelling of cedar and steam. I stand, but slowly—like my bones don’t trust it’s real. I move to the door barefoot, heart pounding loud enough to shake my core. Almost like I forget the amount of tears I have cried. That my mouth still tastes like tea I didn’t drink. That I have not slept in nearly 36 hours.

The door cracks open and my older brother is stood in front of me- eyes locked on me like I am the only thing left tethering him to the world. I expect him to say something—ask where the baby is, what happened, why I ran—but he just looks at me. And for the first time since it all broke open, I let someone see the full ruin of me.

"You came." I choked out, my voice barely audible.

Carlos doesn't speak. He steps inside and closes the door gently. He pulls me into him with no hesitation, holding me so tight and placing a kiss on the top of my head. I let myself be held. I gripped onto him like I never wanted to let go. I buried my face in his chest and began to sob.

"My baby...my boy." I yelped mid sob as I feel my feet begin to give out. Carlos catches me and helps me over to the futon- still holding me. Never letting me go.

“I know, Cat.” He murmured as he placed a kiss on the top of my head, holding me tighter.

—

I don’t know how long we sat like this— him holding me tight against his chest as if his life depended on it and me silently sobbing into his chest. I feel myself breaking more and more slowly by the minute — the kind of break that is silent and doesn’t make a sound.

When I finally pull away and sit up, my body aches. Like letting go of my safety raft in a body of deep, deep water. I don’t look at him right away— just wrap my arms around myself staring down at the floor.

He doesn’t say anything— he just waits. Then I hear him take a deep exhale.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” I say, and the words come out like an apology. I don’t know why—I didn’t do anything wrong. Except maybe I did.

“You should’ve called me sooner.” He states, not angry, just more of a disappointed tone.

I flinch. “I was ashamed, Carlos.”

There’s a pause.

“Why?”

I let out this stupid, dry laugh. “Because I let him do it. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t even know we were in a fight.”

I glance up at him, then down again, voice thinner now. “I was in LA for four days, Carlos. Just four. Meetings. A shoot. When I got back… everything was gone. The toys. The crib. His clothes. Mine. The drawers were empty. The house was clean. Too clean. Like he planned it.”

Carlos stays silent, but his jaw is tight. I see a muscle twitch in his cheek.

“He left a note,” I whisper. “Just one line. ‘I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you.’ No word about my son. No ‘I am sorry.’ Nothing. Just left.”

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stop the sting that creeps up again. “I didn’t know someone could hate you that quietly.”

Carlos’s voice is low and dangerous. “Where is he?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve called. Messaged. Emailed. Nothing. I even tried his parents. They won’t answer. They’re pretending I don’t exist. Like I lost custody or something, except—we were never married. There was never custody to lose.”

He mumbles various swear words in Spanish under his breath. Quiet and sharp.

Then, with a frightening amount of calm, “Alright, then I’ll find him.”

I blink up at him. “Carlos, you can’t.”

“I will.” His tone leaves no room for debate.

“You have a race in literally 3 days.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do care, Carlos.” I stated and rubbed my temples. “Your whole career—“

“This is more important.”

“You sound like Papá.” I muttered with half a smile.

He doesn’t smile back. His eyes are too full of something heavier. He looks…lethal.

“Good.”

And then, softer and almost gentle.

“You’re not alone, Cat. You never were. You didn’t lose him. We’re going to get him back. I swear to you.”

Something in my chest splinters. Not in a painful way—just in that awful, aching way that comes when someone offers you hope after you’ve already convinced yourself you don’t deserve it.

“I don’t know where to start,” I whisper. “I’ve looked everywhere. Checked his bank. Nothing. No charges. No flight. It’s like he vanished.”

Carlos leans forward, takes my hand. His grip is solid. Warm. “He didn’t vanish. People don’t vanish. They hide. And hiding leaves a trail.”

He says it like someone who’s spent a lifetime studying the details no one else sees. Racing lines. Different curves in every single track he’d ever raced. Tire degradation. Now— my ex.

I close my eyes. Let the silence settle around us again. The wind brushes the paper screens, and somewhere outside, a crow calls once, sharply.

“I was afraid if I told you, it would make it real,” I admit.

He doesn’t let go of my hand. “Mi Cariño, It’s already real. But now it’s not yours to carry alone.”

For the first time in days, I believe that might be true.

I let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, we just sit there. Two siblings in a borrowed room, far from everything we know, quietly starting to piece together a way back.

—

this will be a little mini series - probably 3 or 4 parts. i genuinely cried while writing this... i feel like it is some of my strongest writing. let me know what you all think so far!

tag : @klauslovemepls @omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics , @angelluv16 @dilflover44

641 notes · View notes

jungwnies · 1 day ago

Text

cat cafe | max verstappen

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🦈) : going on a date to a cat cafe 🐈‍⬛

୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 680

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : plsss this is so cute omfg 😭

you don’t even get a full step inside the café before max practically melts.

there’s a sleepy ginger curled up on the window ledge. a black and white tuxedo cat sprawled out across the checkout counter. somewhere in the back, a small gray blur streaks by, chasing a toy mouse like its life depends on it.

max’s eyes light up like a kid in a candy store. he doesn’t even hide it.

“okay,” he whispers under his breath, turning to you with a grin so boyish it makes your heart skip. “best idea you’ve ever had.”

you raise a brow. “even better than letting you teach me how to drive manual?”

“way better,” he says instantly. “no offense.”

the girl at the front desk gives you each a lint roller and a pair of house slippers, then waves you in with a soft “feel free to sit anywhere.” max is already crouched by the nearest scratching post before she finishes the sentence, fingers outstretched to a chunky tabby who immediately rolls over and exposes its belly like they’re old friends.

“look at you,” you laugh, toeing off your shoes and sinking into one of the floor cushions nearby. “absolute cat whisperer.”

“they know i’m one of them,” max says without looking up.

you snort. “so humble, too.”

the café is warm and soft, with low lighting and the smell of brewed tea and vanilla cookies in the air. there’s lo-fi music playing, a few couples scattered around with drinks and cat treats, but it all feels peaceful. safe.

max eventually joins you on the floor, two cats in his lap and one trying to climb his shoulder. his cap is tilted back just enough to show a few messy strands of hair, and his smile hasn’t left since you walked in.

he leans over and whispers, “i want, like, four.”

you blink. “cats?”

he nods. “for now.”

you roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable. “you’re ridiculous.”

he grins. “you’re the one who brought me here.”

you nudge his leg with your foot. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he raises a brow. “i’m lucky?”

a small gray kitten pads over and curls up in your lap, purring immediately. max watches you with the softest look — the kind he only gets when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

“i could stay here forever,” he says quietly.

you hum, brushing your fingers through the kitten’s fur. “i’d get jealous.”

“of the cats?”

“yeah.”

he smiles. “they’re great, but they don’t hold my hand during takeoff. or tell me they love me when i’m three time zones away.”

you glance up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his voice.

he shrugs. “don’t look at me like that. i’m allowed to be soft.”

you smile. “you are. you just usually do it with more sarcasm.”

“yeah, well,” he looks down at the orange tabby now nestled against his chest. “you bring it out of me.”

by the time your drinks arrive — hot chocolate for you, iced coffee for max — there are six cats between you, and neither of you has moved in over twenty minutes. you sip carefully, balancing the sleeping kitten on your thigh, while max snaps a photo of the black cat now curled inside his hoodie.

“i’m naming him turbo,” he says. “because he’s fast.”

you squint. “you named the sleepiest cat in here turbo?”

he shrugs. “it’s aspirational.”

before you leave, you both buy a sticker from the donation box and promise the staff you’ll be back. max practically has to be dragged away, gently prying turbo off his sweater and giving him one last scratch behind the ears.

as you step out into the cool evening air, he grabs your hand, fingers lacing through yours like instinct.

“that was the best date ever,” he says, swinging your hands between you. “i didn’t even know i needed that.”

you smile. “we can go back.”

“no,” he says, grinning at you like you just gave him a podium. “next time we’re bringing one home.”

638 notes · View notes

salem-s · 2 days ago

Text

11 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, angst, fluff if you squint. 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 4.4k. i think this is my shortest one yet? ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. one more chapter left after this one EEEEK!! ── SERIES MASTERLIST ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER japanese denim by daniel caesar

The long run doesn’t feel so nice.

It’s finals week, and its implications do nothing to aide the dull ache that’s weighing in your gut. The grueling hours spent studying and hunched over desks only pile onto your list of problems, and that’s only the physicality of your issues. Besides the permanent kink in your shoulder from your poor posture, your body is depleting due to the emotional stress that strains your heart.

Even though he’s right next door, you don't see or hear Rafe since his cold departure.

You want to believe it’s a good thing, it’s what you wanted, it’s quite literally what you asked for. But you can’t help but long for him, knowing he’s just on the other side of the wall, wondering if he’s feeling just as awful as you.

But there’s nothing.

You only heard him once while you were studying, and the second you heard another girl’s voice with him, you bolted out of the dorm and beelined to the library.

So you don't study in your room anymore.

Not that it changes much, because you don’t even spot him on campus or lounging on the quad with friends. There are no late night texts, no loud music blasting through the thin walls, no presence at Elliot’s house. Nothing. For such a tall person, you’re shocked at his ability to lay low.

Because you’re certain that he purposefully avoids you.

You know he knows your schedule since he used to coincidentally be walking home from class at the same time, even though he never had classes in the same building as you. He used to just happen to open his door at the same time as you with a backpack slung over his shoulder, simply stating he’s going to the library but the company on his walk would be nice. Once he even loitered outside your academic building after you had had a tough exam, claiming the grassy patch adjacent to the building is the best place to lay.

Now Rafe does none of that. He’s a ghost.

The only time you caught a glimpse of him was at a nearby coffee shop. Seeing him nearly kills you.

You'd been stopping in to refuel to cram study for a final later that day, nearly spilling your espresso infused drink on his nice white shirt on your way out. Bumping into him sent a shiver down your spine, the physical contact a pure shock to both of you as you stood motionless in the crowded cafe, eyes only trained on each other.

It was hard to even find words at the sight of his pretty eyes, ones that looked tired despite the surprise look on his face.

But the shock came and went as Rafe had been cordial, offering a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and side-stepping out of your way without his usual Rafe-like banter. He was walking away from you before you could really say anything to him, the only word in the entire exchange being a meek, “Sorry,” on your end that was said too late, as he was already out of earshot by the time you found the words.

You weren’t sure what you were sorry for this time.

Almost spilling your drink on him. Accidentally elbowing him in the ribs. Shutting him out. Putting him through an emotional wringer. Pushing him away at every opportunity you can.

Needless to say, you've been spiraling.

Especially when Lorenza gives you a call a few hours before your coding exam, mainly to check in and make sure your cut is healing alright (it's practically gone, but the reminder still stays). You converse as normal, lamenting about all the projects and finals you have going on and that you're seeing your friends later.

Lorenza asks if that includes Rafe.

And hearing his name makes you go quiet. And she takes that as the hint to continue talking about him, asking if you've talked to him since the day you got back. When you tell her that, no, you haven't had time to talk to him about anything, she hums over the phone, almost scolding you wordlessly for letting it get this far.

"Probabilmente anche sta soffrendo," Lorenza tells you, stating it like a fact.

You respond that, no, he's not hurting. That he's probably fine, and that you're fine too. You're both just busy with schoolwork and personal lives and everything on top of that.

"Hai parlato con lui?"

No, you tell her, you haven't talked to him.

"Allora come lo sapresti?"

You offer no response. Because you don't know how he is. You wouldn't know if he's hurt or not because you haven't talk to him, nor can you find the gall to do so.

Her incessant pestering makes your face flush and your heart slump to your gut, settling some uneasy feeling there for the remainder of the day. Because she's right: you know you need to talk to him, even if it's just to check in and see how he is, because he deserves, at the least, an apology for how you've treated him.

It's all you can think about during your exam.

Yet finally, after day and night of burying your head in textbooks and nearly crawling through your computer screen to figure out your codes, it's your last final, and it comes and goes regardless of how much you think about Rafe during it.

It's the last Thursday before everyone’s forced to leave for winter break, one of the last few days you'll get to see your friends before the New Year, so despite your aching shoulders and pounding headache, you accept the invitation to drink and party at Elliot’s off campus house.

Lorenza's words echo in your head all afternoon. He's probably hurting, too. You hope that isn't true, you hope he's just been burying himself in schoolwork and being distracted in a good way to keep himself busy. You hope he doesn't have any sleepless nights. You hope he's seeing other people to get back to a sense of normalcy.

You think about the possibility of seeing him at Elliot's, since they're best friends and all. You think about all the things you could say to him, how many I'm sorrys you can utter before he'll believe it. But you know yourself, and you'd probably never get the words out at the sight of him. Part of you really doesn't want to do it tonight.

But the other part of you also hopes Rafe's there. Maybe force him into a room so you can apologize to him (that is, if you can find the words).

When you arrive, your friends embrace you endearingly. First come the congratulations for finishing all of your finals, then the drinks are immediately second.

Marianne doesn’t waste time pushing a cocktail in your hand and throwing an arm over your shoulder, guiding you deeper into the party where your closest friends (amongst a lot of others you don't care for) mingle and laugh and sing.

Although your mind drifts for the better part of it. You can’t help but continuously scan the crowd in search of him, feeling that stupid nagging pull in your chest the longer the party goes by without him. The nagging eventually morphs into guilt.

Did he know you were coming and that’s why he’s not here? Are you driving a wedge between your friend group because of your blatant insecurities?

"Hey," Marianne whispers to you after an hour. “You’re goat-staring.”

“Hm?” You snaps out of your trance, unaware you've been staring at that same speck on the wall for ages. “Oh.”

Your friend doesn’t let the act go unnoticed, darting her gaze around you cautiously before leaning in close. “Are you sure you’re alright? I mean you’ve barely spoken about the–”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, giving it your all to fake a smile. “Honest. I don’t want to think about it tonight.”

I can't not think about it, you want to say. Especially because he's not here.

Marianne simply raises her eyebrows, wordlessly prompting you for more.

But you don't give into her instigation. “I’ll tell you about it soon, I promise. Just…not tonight.”

That’s all it takes for now.

Because no shit the whole Rafe situation has been a damper to your conscience ever since your last morning together, no debates there, but the thought of rehashing it from the start makes your head spin. You try and blink away flashes of him: his pained expression on the dance floor, the image of him and Yara in the closet, his pretty face inches from yours coaxed in sunlight. He’s a plague in your mind, infesting your every waking thought. It’s draining. It’s emotionally exhausting. You forget how to not let your mind drift back to him, him, him.

To make your head spin further, you attempt to rise from your zombie-like state and join the party. You take a shot, open another drink, dance with Marianne and catch up with your friends.

For the most part, it serves as a nice distraction, even if you can't really get drunk.

But there’s a big gaping hole in your heart: the guilt that he, Rafe, is nowhere to be seen.

It’s odd without him, the room feeling incomplete without his presence, his laughter, his jabby one liners. It’s rare for him to miss a party, let alone one this big and festive, and there’s a harsh pull in your chest, because you feel responsible for his absence. Maybe you being here made him uncomfortable, so he opted to stay back.

“Hey, Bear.”

Elliot is suddenly at your side, beaming and using your inside-joke nickname (you debate the semantics of why Paddington's marmalade sandwiches don't seem to mold once), after finding yourself staring at another indent on the wall. Your eyes glance at your watch, frowning at the time passed.

Have you really been sitting and sulking and thinking about Rafe for that long?

“How’d your coding sesh go?”

You shake the sulking demeanor away and take a large sip of your drink. “I’m just happy it’s over.”

“Couldn’t have been that bad?”

You wince. It could’ve, and it was. Throughout the entirety of it, your thoughts kept lingering back to a certain someone.

“Ah,” Elliot says, waving it off nonchalantly after you don't respond. “T’s all bullshit, anyway. Besides, it couldn’t have been worse than my statistics final. I think I left three questions blank.”

You quirk a brow. “Didn’t you say it was open note?”

Elliot simply shrugs, and you laugh, rolling your eyes at your friend.

“I stand corrected, then.”

The two of you fall into easy conversation, Elliot being the friend you clicked with the best out of all of Rafe’s friends. He’s like the mayor, knowing everyone and being friends with everyone, making sure to chat with every single person who comes to his house even if he doesn’t know them. He’s a great guy to have in your corner, because despite being beloved by everyone, he’s especially protective and appreciative of his favorites.

He makes time for you and Marianne despite the line of people out the door waiting to say hello to him. Elliot has his priorities set. For now.

“So, what gives?”

The two of you sit on the stairs twenty minutes later, tucked away from the crowds but still immersed in the pounding bass and echoed laughter. Your backs rest on opposite walls, you sitting one step above him.

Partially, you came here in the first place to stand guard so randoms don’t walk upstairs (as that has happened once, where a guy in a frat down the street mistook this for his house and slept in Elliot's bed without anyone noticing him walk in). But the estrangement from the chaos is nice, and you rarely get to be with Elliot one on one without someone needing him for something, so you stay.

Yet your conversation was going so well, lighthearted about something your other friend Sydney said to him the other day. But not anymore, as now he's looking to you expectantly for answers, answers you're not ready to give.

You frown. “What?”

Elliot gives you a pointed look. “Bear,” he deadpans as if it’s obvious, scoffing at your deflection.

All you can do is shrug, prompting him to say more.

“You go to Italy with my best friend for a week and neither of you are saying anything about it?” He throws his hand up. “What the hell happened?”

How much time does he have? Because there is a lot of ground to cover on the simplicity of what happened. What happened was you underestimated his best friend to the point where your real feelings clashed with your fake feelings and the concept of instigating something more made you experience symptoms of a heart attack.

Right. As if it’s easy.

So you settle for the safe response.

“Nothing…happened.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Try and convince me next time.”

You rolls your eyes and dismiss his comment by taking a sip of your drink. The tequila feels stronger than before, now that you have the partial liquid courage to spill the truth.

To your knowledge, your friends don’t know about your arrangement, or at least you don't think they know. Sometimes you and Rafe wouldn’t be subtle with your lingering touches and glances at parties, sometimes disappearing together for about ten minutes and coming back as if nothing happened, sometimes your bickering banter would turn flirty with toothy grins and prolonged eye contact.

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if they figured it out. But it’s not like it’s happening anymore.

“Clearly something happened,” he sing-songs, taking a sip of his drink, almost instigating you. "You're sulking."

You're not falling for it. "Well, it already seems like you know."

He narrows his eyes. "I may know...some things." Then he adds quickly, "Why? What do you know?"

"Elliot."

"Bear. We can play this game all night."

You let out a sigh so gutturally deep that it elongates the silence between you.

Based on the faux quizzical brow and the slightly knowing gleam in his eye, Rafe must've told Elliot the bare minimum of the story, probably eager to hear your side of the coin and play his favorite role: therapist. This wouldn't be the first time you've lamented to him about your problems, and vice versa.

But this is different. This is his best friend. Rafe and Elliot. Elliot and Rafe. Conjoined at the hip since freshmen year when they were randomly assigned roommates. Under any circumstance, it feels wrong to essentially shit-talk that person's best friend, regardless if you need to get it off your chest or not.

You can't. Not right now.

So instead, you opt for a simple shake of your head, wordlessly pleading for him to drop it.

For a moment, Elliot secedes begrudgingly, but also with understanding. The two of you sit in your manual silence, quietly sipping your drinks and letting the attempt to story-tell sit idly in the air. Frankly, you'd love to get his input, but you already know what he'll say to you, what he'll suggest you do.

And right now, you're not sure you can stomach the thought of running back into Rafe's arms, not when you're absolutely sure he wants nothing to do with you anymore.

After a moment of silence, he bites. “He told me about you two.”

Your heart skips.

Well, that confirms your earlier suspicions.

He continues quietly, more direct. “Before you went on the trip. How you’d see each other sometimes.”

Sometimes doesn’t even cut it. There’d be times you'd see each other everyday, other times you'd go a week or two with nothing. It felt like everything and nothing all at once.

You look down at your friend, unable to find words.

But Elliot’s always been chatty, always knows how to fill a silence. “I don’t want to know…everything,” he grimaces at the insinuation. “But I just want you two to be alright. You’re both stubborn as fuck and your miscommunication tendencies drive me insane, but you guys will figure it out. Whatever it is.”

Your mouth reacts before your mind. “Doesn’t matter what it was. I fucked it up.”

“I doubt that.”

“I do,” you say softly, dejected. “All I do is push people away.”

Elliot shrugs. “Well, that might be true. But some people need a shove.”

You snort unattractively. “What? Like you and Sydney?”

The blush that rises to his face makes him nudge you with his knee, turning away as a sheepish grin rises on his lips.

“Stop trying to change the subject. I’m charging by the hour, so get it all out now.”

You find it in yourself to chuckle, “Shut up.”

But it quickly simmers into silence, a raw ache settling in your throat at the verity of it all. There's nothing to fix, nothing to heal, minimal things to mend. Well, if anyone's good at a pep talk, it would be Elliot, and frankly the tequila feels hot in your chest, hot enough for you to talk about it only for a little bit.

Playing with the loose hem on your shirt, you avoid his awaiting eyes, heart heavy with the burden of the last few weeks. It feels like it hasn't been light in forever, hasn't been full or bright. Whenever it gets soft enough, flashes of events that happened under the Sicilian sun come to your mind at the simplest reminders: the color lilac, any mentions of red wine, whiffs of cologne that smell like his.

Sometimes when you see the same shade of blue as his eyes, it makes your heart skip.

You blink away the image of Rafe in your mind.

“It wouldn’t have worked between us anyway. He’s already seeing new people and I can’t–”

“Woah,” Elliot sits up and looks up at you in disbelief. “Where’d you hear that?”

You frown at his sudden seriousness. “Uh, I heard him Monday night with a girl in his room. Not to mention he was letting this girl at the wedding cop a feel–”

“You mean Yara?”

The name makes your heart sink.

Last week’s mishap flashes in your mind, and the thought of Elliot knowing makes your skin crawl.

Rafe really told Elliot about her? About it all? The image of them together in the closet burns fresh in your memory, and you hate the way your skin feels like it's on fire at the reminder.

Not trusting your words, you nod, both confused and hurt.

But instead of confirming your worst fears and indulging the horrors of your conscience, Elliot simply scoffs with a chuckle and slaps a hand to his forehead, almost in disbelief and frustration at the same time, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling.

“My god, Bear,” he all but laughs in your face. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Your face runs hot. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me."

Normally, you'd tell someone off if they blatantly called you an idiot, especially right to your face. But this is Elliot— who rarely ever bullshits anything and always speaks from the truth of his heart, no matter how brutal it may be. You know that he knows something you don't.

When you don't respond, he snorts again. "You’re an idiot. You really think he’s bumming around with other girls?”

The question makes your jaw slack.

“Uh, yeah?”

Elliot’s mocking laugh only pisses you off further.

You slap his leg. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

It takes him a moment to come down, for his voice to return back to normal, and he even has the audacity to wipe a tear away from the corner of his eye, taking a long, calculated sip from his beer to prolong your impatience.

A hand raises to slap him again and he quickly stops messing around. “Elliot.”

Elliot shakes his head again in disbelief and lets out a long breath. “Alright, alright, easy.”

“Tell me.”

“You’re awfully bossy for someone who was literally sulking two minutes ago.”

You raise a hand to slap his leg again, and Elliot wheezes a laugh.

“I yield,” he jests. “I can confirm the Monday girl was Adriana, she’s a good friend of mine. She’s in his photography class and was dropping off his prints he left in lecture by accident. I know because we talked about it literally yesterday. Apparently, she’s in the same dorm as you guys.”

You reel. Photography class? Prints?

“A lesbian, by the way,” Elliot adds pointedly.

You hate how considerably lighter your shoulders feel, but mask the relief with a scowl. “Whatever. He still was shacking up with Yara.”

Elliot rolls his eyes so hard you can see the whites of his eyes as his lashes flutter from the intensity of it. “He was looking for you.”

You freeze, but shake it off.

Her hand on his tie, eyes peering up to him. His hand ghosting over her bicep as if about to touch her. The mere centimeters between their bodies.

Swallowing the image, you frown with a flicker of irritation. “They were in a closet together, so he wasn’t doing a very good job.”

“No, he wasn’t,” he admits gently. “But in his defense, she told him she knew where you were. Apparently he was desperate to follow.”

Your heart skips at the thought of Rafe running around trying to find you after rejecting his proposition. Perhaps if things went differently - as in, you didn't go into that bathroom and instead went somewhere where he could find you - you can't help but wonder what he would've said to you. If he would've apologized for alarming you, or telling you it was a prank, or whatever else he might've done.

But that's a fairytale. It isn't what happened.

"You didn't see them," you say quietly before you can take it back, hating how jealous it makes you seem. "They were-

“He pulled away the moment he could think straight. Said it felt wrong.”

That makes your chest pull.

“What felt wrong?” You whisper brokenly.

Elliot shrugs, as if he’s not saying the most heartwrenching antidote. “She wasn’t you.”

I want you.

The words echo in your head, the same words that have been playing on repeat on the back burner of your mind, words that have plagued you because you thought them to be deceitful. They only make your chest ache at the reminder of what happened right after, hearing the words while seeing the image of the two of them together in that closet. The two separate images contradicted each other so heavily, only made the sting of it all worse.

Only you.

But now it’s different, hearing the side of his story from his closest friend makes all of the pain fade away.

Why would Rafe lie to his best friend?

“For Rafe, it’s different with you,” Elliot says, quieter but firm. “Before he told me you were fucking, he found ways to talk about you, like, all the time. Obviously it didn’t take long for me to put two and two together, but I figured I’d wait for him to tell me.” Then he grins up at you. “Believe me when I say all the time. It was actually infuriating. He even found a way to bring you up during Fortnite, once.”

You manage a ragged laugh.

Because the anecdote nearly kills you.

You think back to all that time spent silently pining over him, waiting to express your blatant admiration for him until you were both under cotton sheets and able to indulge in vulnerability without any alarm bells ringing. You remember all of the parties you went to and spent a considerable amount of time stealing glances of him across the room, hoping your selfish looks weren’t too obvious. You think about all that time you spent thinking he’d never feel the same about you, about anyone, ever.

“But,” Elliot adds cautiously, more seriously, “we both know how he feels about you. So all that’s left is how you feel.”

Oh, how you want to punch him.

Leave it to Elliot to worm his way into the conversation to gradually get to the real juicy details. He does this: loosens you up, gets you laughing, then hits the million dollar question that, really, is unavoidable. He’s good.

“I can’t,” is all you say.

Obviously, Elliot doesn’t allow that. “You can’t what?”

There’s a million answers to that question. “I can’t be who he wants.”

“And what does he want?”

I want you.

You groan.

Only you.

There’s no way you can put that into words. “I’m not the kind of person people date, Elliot. I don’t turn heads or make jaws drop. I’m the person you fuck when you’re a little drunk and bored, that’s all. I can’t do more than that. That's all I know.”

“Well, I would argue not,” Elliot responds. “Dating doesn’t exist on this cookie-cutter template, which is what you’re making it out to seem like. Sure, chemistry in bed obviously helps, which you have, yuck–”

You roll your eyes.

“—but it coexists in everything else.” He takes a sip of his drink, calculating his next words. “Rafe told me you guys went on a date.”

Your cheeks flush at the memory, how nice it was, how easy the conversation felt despite dipping into personal territory, how handsome he looked in the moon and candle light, how perfect he was later in bed. It makes you flush.

You cover it with a cough.

“It was for show. It was my birthday and he wanted to impress my nonna.”

“Was your nonna there too?”

Words die in your throat.

“Well, no–”

“So?” Elliot looks like he’s seconds away from crashing out. “What gives? You’ve been on dates, you hang out all the time–”

“—With other people—”

“Sure, but you’re still in the same room. You bicker like an old married couple and always have to play together in pong. You guys are friends... who like to fuck. Dating is all of that.” Elliot then smacks his lips. “Well, plus the exclusiveness. But everyone basically knows, anyway.”

You hate how easy he makes it sound, as if the days and weeks of doubt meant nothing.

Although as much as you want to keep arguing, keep defending your case, you're getting tired. Your heart fucking aches.

All you can think about when you go to bed nowadays is how much you miss being in his arms, miss his sweet praises and how his hands roam all over your body, practically owning it at this point. The singularity, the possessiveness, it makes you both ache and quiver, the feelings pushing and pulling like a phantom ache in your heart.

“No one has ever wanted me like this.” Your voice wavers. “It scares the shit out of me.”

Elliot frowns. “If you felt nothing for him, it wouldn’t scare you.”

You straighten your posture.

The urge to detach yourself from the situation is strong, but the compulsion to run to him is stronger now that you know the truth, the real truth, and can only hope that his offer still stands, can only hope that a meek apology will be enough for him to come out of his radio silent hole.

Elliot senses your brain clicking its gears into place, a suppressed smile failing to be subtle. "You getting it now?"

You look to him, brows furrowed and eyes glossed with worry. "How can he even forgive me? I-I- He was nothing but nice to me and I..."

Trailing off, your heart pounds as your mind races. The whole trip, Rafe was more than accommodating to fit the role you needed him to fill, even going above and beyond to make sure you had what you needed in times where you were rendered speechless. He bought you a plethora of beautiful things that he absolutely didn't need to do. He checked in on you when you shut down and tried to shield you from the horror that is your family.

I want you.

And you pushed him away. You told him that you didn't feel the same, that you could never feel the same, hoping that would be enough to deter him. But, no, he came back time and time again, and helped you when you needed it the most. He didn't need to. He didn't have to. But he did.

Only you.

"I'm sure if you just talk to him," he says slowly, as if he's on the verge of crashing out, "everything will make sense."

“Is he coming tonight?” You try really hard not to sound desperate, heart pounding.

But Elliot sees right through you, grinning and shaking his head. “He’s in his room. I think he’s the only one on campus with an exam tomorrow morning.”

It doesn’t matter. He could be in another state and frankly you think you'd still find a way to see him.

“Go.”

Panic rises like bile in your throat. “But what if he doesn’t–”

“He does,” Elliot reassures gently. Then, he nods towards the door. “Go.”

That green light is more than convincing, rising to your feet on wobbly legs as you clumsily step over his body, barely hearing Elliot’s whoops behind you over the sound of your bass-thumping heart beat.

You have no plan. No onset motion of what you’re going to say to him besides an apology. No guarantee that he still feels the same way or would even want you anymore. No idea how the interaction will go.

But, for once, the excitement outweighs the fear. And for you, that’s more than enough reason to listen to your gut, to go get him.

Without hesitation, a glance to your friends, or your jacket, you race out of his house and into the cold.

Ready to make it right.

notes next chapter is the last one LMFAO sorry for the blue balls.

457 notes · View notes

buntanteen · 2 days ago

Text

svt fic recs list <3 - svt 10 year anniversary: wonwoo - sfw & nsfw

summary: 10 sfw & 10 nsfw wonwoo x reader insert fics :)

contains: 18+ nsfw (mdni!!) majority is afab reader

✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

✩ sfw section ✩

1. ❥ You’re mad at BF!Wonwoo, but he decided to make it a SEVENTEEN problem - @vernonverse

this was TOOOOOOO funny. he was reallllyy going out of his way making everyone suffer kjfgbdkj

2. ❥ bf!wonwoo thoughts - @boorines

quality time!! (my lil extrovert self LOVESSS doing everything with everyone omgjnfv) the i don't think i could survive flirty wonwoo omfggg

3. ❥ a shot in the dark - @xinganhao

perfect for when you're in your "wonwoo is enlisted" feels :,)

4. ❥ wonwoo random twitter au series: one | two | three | four - @wonuism

reader is me and i am reader. we are one in these

5. ❥ idol!wonwoo bf texts - @cheoliedollie

loving??? caring?!?!? silly?!?!? YESSSSSSSSSS MUHAHA

6. ❥ dating wonwoo feels like.., - @ssentimentals

dating wonwoo would feel like everything i'm looking for (WHY DOES HE SOUND SO DAMN GOOD HERE AHHH)

7. ❥ wonwoo headcanons pt. 1 | pt. 2 - @wonuism

he's such a gentle sweet lover :,) what if i just- *faints*

8. ❥ wonwoo bf habits - @odxrilove

THE SHOULDER MOVE EEEEEEEEEEE KJSGBFDK NOMS??! WARMING UP A TOWEL FOR MEEEEEEEEEEEE? HEHE

9. ❥ love languages: jeon wonwoo - @cxffecoupx

i loveeeeeeee the idea of someone being this thoughtful and wanting to be spending quality time with me :,)

10. ❥ you vs the universe - @cheolism-archive

“get it together, mother.” HAHA PLSSSSSSSSS (the way nonu reacted in the reader getting hit by a ball story made me sooo soft :,) the way he takes care of reader?? that's my guyyy)

✩ nsfw section ✩

1. ❥ Stripper Joke - @hoshifighting

the CONFIDENCE from reader versus wonwoo's shyness?!?!?! AHHHHHHHH

2. ❥ blindsided | expansion blindsided!wonwoo - @studioeisa & @xinganhao

there's just something so hot and attractive about glasses wearers and wonwoo wears them sooooooooooo well and he's sooooooo dumbly hot in this

3. ❥ perv wonwoo x roommate reader pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 - @rubyreduji

he's so disgusting in this...(why am i into it!!?)

4. ❥ 21:34 - @eomayas

heheheh HEHEHEHHEEHHE (i thoroughly enjoyed this)

5. ❥ “warm-up” - @pochaccoups

getting fucked and getting snacks afterwards?!?!?!? FUCK YES

6. ❥ we can’t be friends (wait for your love) - @eomayas

AHHHHHHHHHHH THE SEX THE CONFESSION THE AHHHH

7. ❥ gamer bf! wonwoo - @svtswhorehouse

...THIS IS ALL I'VE EVER WANTED HEHEH

8. ❥ desperate - @toruro

fucking the horny out of reader?!?! OOOOOOOOOOOOHHH

9. ❥ the peephole - @rubyreduji

this concept goes CRAZYYYYYYYYY

10. ❥ watching him masturbate - @hoshifighting

*sigh* it'd be so pretty watching this

509 notes · View notes

uniquexusposts · 3 days ago

Text

But I am Lando Norris | L. Norris

Summary: Lando Norris went to a random concert and ended up seeing his childhood neighbour on stage. What would he do to see her again after all those years? Words: 2.619 A/n: I got the inspiration after seeing Tom Odell and Billie Eilish at their concert :)

The venue was filled with many people. A lot of people. Something Lando hadn’t really expected, for some reason, but it was very real. 20.000 people in this stadium. All for Your artist name (Y/a/n). Everything in the stadium was louder than expected.

It wasn’t chaotic, not yet, but there was a humming with that kind of pre-show tension that made everyone talk louder than usual, laugh sharper, sing along with the background music, scroll their phones more nervously, as if trying to pass the time before something important dropped. And to many, something important would happen. The opening act had just finished.

Lando tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and scanned the crowd beneath and next to him, from where he stood near the VIP lounge entrance. His friends had disappeared a few minutes ago, getting drinks or merch or whatever else people would do before a show like this. He had said he would wait here. He didn’t mind it.

He wasn’t even really sure why he had said yes to coming. His friend had offered the spare ticket with zero pressure, and he had said ‘why not’ like it meant nothing. He hadn’t expected anything, they said it was just a show of an artist, just music, good music, and maybe some songs he would vaguely recognise.

And then he had seen the name on the poster when arriving.

Y/a/n. Just that. Stylised. Sharp. Backlit in white.

He remembered seeing it and pausing, only for a second. Enough to think, Huh. That’s wild. Because even if she went by something different now, even if her look had changed, he knew who she was.

They had grown up on the same street. Played in the same games with the same kids outside. Played football, hide and seek, ring and run. Things kids would do when playing outside. They had never been close, just part of the blut of childhood. And then one day, after going to high school, the entire group stopped meeting up.

Lando exhaled slowly and glanced over the crowd. Y/a/n had a massive fanbase, she had so many hits, the tickets to her tour were sold out quickly. People would camp a week before her show to get the best seats. People were standing outside without a ticket, hoping someone would give up a ticket to still give them a chance to see Y/a/n.

He ran a hand through his hair, then followed the others inside. They took a seat on their designated seats.

Max nudged him. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

“I’m not,” Lando said, almost absently. “She just… grew up in my neighbourhood.”

Max blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. We used to play outside with the same group of kids.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “That’s it.”

And then the lights went out.

A breathless silence fell like a wave, followed by a sudden scream from the crowd. Somewhere beneath it all, a low, pulsing synth began to rise, slow, haunting, magnetic. Lando sat up straighter. He hadn’t expected much. But the moment the music hit, the first note, the sudden bloom of lights, something shifted.

The screen behind the stage flickered to life, abstract visuals in grayscale, like static breaking into water, and the bass deepened, vibrating in Lando’s chest. Then, through the smoke and fractured light, she appeared.

Y/a/n.

Y/n L/n from house number 47.

It wasn’t just the way she stood there, still, centred, not saying a word, but the way the entire arena reacted on her presence. She wore something simple, red, almost careless, yet very stylish, but held herself like gravity had shifted in her favour. The crowd roared. She didn’t flinch.

Lando forgot to blink.

It was her. Of course it was her, her voice was on every radio, her face was on every screen. But this was different. This was now. And the shy girl, who used to kick gravel down their street had turned into a phenomenon.

And when she began to sing, the crowd was screaming the lyrics along. They knew every single word. She moved energetically along the stage, waved every now and then to the crowd. It was like a bomb with energy exploded in the stadium.

Lando didn’t hear the lyrics.

He only watched her. The way she moved with purpose but without effort. The way the crowd swayed like she was pulling every string.

His friends were cheering. Someone bumped into his arm. But Lando didn’t move. He wasn’t starstruck, it wasn’t that. He just suddenly couldn’t believe that someone like her had been standing five feet away from him all those summers ago, barefoot and shy and loud and ordinary.

And now?

Now she looked like a storm that had learned how to sing.

The crowd screamed, clapped, their cheers nearly drowning out the music when Y/a/n walked around the stage to wave at her crowd for the last time. Lando stood, clapping along, but it was automatic. He didn’t feel the rush of excitement everyone else was experiencing. He was still lost in the haze of that last moment.

His mind was still back at the moment she had stepped on stage, her presence a magnet. His heart wasn’t pounding, it wasn’t nerves, but something deeper, quieter. A magnetic pull he couldn’t explain.

Max slapped him on the back. “She was incredible, huh?”

Lando nodded, eyes still on the stage as the lights began to fade, her presence fading away as she got off the stage. “Yeah. Incredible.” His words felt empty compared to what he was actually feeling, but he couldn’t find the right ones. Incredible didn’t even begin to cover it.

The crowd slowly began to spill out of the stands, but Lando wasn’t moving. His friends were already heading toward the exit, chatting about the encore and how they could grab drinks after. But Lando’s feet stayed planted.

How could she be that powerful?

He scanned the stage one last time, searching for any sign of her, his heart still racing despite the calm exterior. There was a stir in the air, a buzz of people rushing behind the scenes, a mix of crew, security, and the last few fans who were hoping for a glimpse.

He didn’t think, he just acted.

Lando got up and he walked towards one of the doors that said ‘backstage, staff only’. He could hear the excitement of all the fans, many were screaming, crying and almost hyperventilating. Some recognised him, but they were still processing the moments they had with their favourite artist. His pulse was fast, not from adrenaline but something else entirely, something raw and uncertain. He couldn’t explain it, but the need to see her, just for a second, had overtaken him.

By the time he reached the backstage entrance, a security guard stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Can I help you?” the guard asked, arms crossed, his gaze unimpressed.

Lando swallowed, trying to push away the uncertainty that suddenly hit him. “I… I just need to talk to her. Y/n. Is she still here?”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “You a friend?”

Lando hesitated for a beat too long, the weight of his own words feeling heavier now. “Yeah. I grew up with her. We-”

The guard didn’t even let him finish. “And I grew up with the King. You can turn around and go home.”

Lando bit back a frustrated sigh. He glanced at the exit, hoping for a glimpse. But he knew that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going to leave this night like that. Not after what he had just seen. “Do you have any idea when she’ll be available?” he asked, his voice steady but urgent now. “I don’t want to take up much time. Just a quick conversation.”

The guard looked him over again, as if debating whether or not he should let him through. He squinted his eyes. “You know, mate, we can do it the friendly way or the difficult way. There’s a reason why I am here. And you should know all about it. We can’t give everybody access to their favourite person. You would not like it too.”

“No, I fully understand,” Lando sighed. He couldn’t leave, not yet. He had to see her again. “But how can I see her? This is personal. And as you said, I know all about it. So why would I disturb her for no reason?”

The guard didn’t budge, still eyeing him with skepticism. The silence between them stretched for a moment, the background noise of the crowd's excitement humming in the distance. Lando could feel his patience wearing thin, but he knew he had to stay calm. He couldn't risk losing his chance.

Finally, the guard spoke again, his voice softer, though still guarded. “Alright, mate. Here’s the deal. She’s not going to have time for some random fan to chat her up after the show, even if you used to play football with her as a kid-“

“But I am Lando Norris,” Lando said, throwing out a card he hated.

“And I am Leo Samson, nice to meet you. I can’t make exceptions. Stop the debate, it’s not going to happen-“

“But I’m not a random fan,” Lando cut in, sharply but not unkind. “I’m not trying to take a picture or get an autograph. I’m not even here for her music, well, I am now, I guess. But I didn’t come here because she’s famous.”

The guard’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I came here because I recognised the name on the poster,” Lando continued. “Because I remember her before all of this. Before the crowds and the lights and the sold-out stadiums. I just... I saw her tonight and I remembered who she was. And she probably doesn’t even remember me, but I would hate myself if I didn’t try to say hi. That’s it.” He let the silence settle again. “I’m not trying to cross any lines,” he added quietly. “But if I walked away right now, I think I would regret it. For a long time.”

The guard studied him. Really studied him. Then finally, he huffed a breath through his nose and reached for his microphone that was connected to his transceiver. “I’ve got Lando Norris coming through for Y/n L/n. It’s alright.” He stepped aside and opened the door. “Don’t do weird things, mate. I will find you.”

A relieved smile came on Lando’s face. “I will, thanks.”

“Someone will bring you to her.”

Lando gave the guard a quick, grateful nod, then stepped through the doorway, the heavy sound of the door closing behind him like a shift in atmosphere. The hallway he entered was quieter than the rest of the venue, cooler, dimmer, like the pulse of the show had finally exhaled back here.

Someone, one of the backstage crew, was already waiting. She didn’t ask questions, just gave him a glance, then motioned with her head for him to follow. They walked down a corridor lined with industrial pipes and faded posters from past shows. He could still hear the crowd outside, but it was muted now, distant. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say when he saw her. He wasn’t even sure she would want to see him. But the idea of not trying had been worse.

He turned the corner, and there she was.

Y/n was walking down the hall toward him, alone, her hair damp from the show, her outfit stuck to her skin due to the sweat. Her head was down, scrolling her phone. She looked so normal like this. So real. The stadium version of her was still echoing in his mind, but this, this was the part he had been desperate to see.

She looked up.

Stopped.

He froze too.

“…Lando?”

Her voice was cautious, halfway between recognition and disbelief.

He exhaled a laugh, barely a breath. “Hey.”

Y/n blinked like she was trying to make sense of him standing there. “What are you… how did you..?”

“I saw your name on the poster,” he said. “Didn’t believe it at first. Then I saw you tonight and I-” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure of everything he had rehearsed in his head. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him. Really looked.

He stepped closer, slowly, not wanting to spook her, not wanting to mess it up. “You probably don’t remember me.”

Her brows rose. “Of course I remember you. You’re the reason I almost broke my arm falling out of the neighbour’s tree. And the reason I never touched Capri-Sun again.”

He laughed, a little dazed. “You threw it at my head. Deserved, for the record.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and for a second, the years between them shrank. “I didn’t know you were into concerts,” she said.

“I’m not, really.” He shrugged. “But apparently I’m into you.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, a quiet spark lighting behind them.

Lando cleared his throat, suddenly nervous again. “I just… I didn’t want this to be one of those things where I remembered someone forever and never told them they meant something to me. Even if you didn’t remember me.”

Y/n looked at him, soft now. “Well… I do.”

They stood in the hallway, just looking at each other, while the world outside buzzed and pulsed with the afterglow of her performance.

Lando let out a breath, eyes still on her like she might disappear if he blinked. “I don’t even know where to start,” he said, a little breathless. “You were… insane tonight. In the best way. Like… I don’t think I’ve ever been in a crowd that loud before. And I’ve stood on podiums, but this? You had everyone wrapped around your finger.”

Y/n flushed slightly, the way an older neighbour made a comment about them playing on the road. “I mean, F1 podiums are something different, huh?” She smiled. “And I mean, it’s kind of surreal, still. Even after all this time.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Lando said. “You’re meant for this. I don’t know how I didn’t see it back then. You were always singing, always messing around with lyrics or humming something under your breath. I guess I just thought everyone had something like that.”

She smiled again, the kind of smile that carried a hundred memories. “Most people grow out of it.”

“But you didn’t.” His voice was quiet now, sincere. “You built a world out of it.”

Y/n looked down at her hands for a second. “It wasn’t easy. Still isn’t.”

“I can imagine,” Lando said. “But tonight… God, Y/n, you were like this force. You had everyone screaming one minute, dead silent the next. It was electric.”

Y/n’s smile turned shy, like she didn’t know what to do with the praise. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Lando shook his head. “I’m not saying this as the Lando Norris, if you mean it like that. I’m saying it as some kid who used to race you down the street for ice cream and lost every time. I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

The silence between them filled with warmth, a fragile but growing sense of something shifting.

“You always were terrible at running,” she murmured.

“And apparently, really good at recognising stars before they go supernova.”

That made her laugh. Really laugh. And Lando swore it sounded just like it used to.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

453 notes · View notes

3liza · 1 day ago

Text

after meaning to get around to it for years i finally listened to almost the entirety of Sold a Story and it is as groundbreaking as everyone says it is. it's also the most confusing, to me, single event in American culture in my lifetime and my reasons for thinking that are pretty complex so im not sure theyre fully formed yet. there's a list of shit in this podcast that made me feel like i was going insane

i KNEW something was going on at a population level, i've been noticing it for years, people kept telling me i was imagining things, but i was RIGHT, two generations of kids have been reduced to barely-literate levels of language function because of this shit and you CAN see it and hear it while talking to people in the world!

the entire adoption of the Calkins programs in the first place were based on the majority of people responsible for American child education deciding basically overnight that "children don't need to learn phonics in order to become strong readers" which is literally and not figuratively equivalent to saying "children can learn algebra without learning what numbers are". it is so self-evidently false i dont even know how to respond to such an assertion. you have to be fundamentally devoid of common sense to think this is true. language is comprised of sounds (phonemes), sounds are represented by letters, letters make up the alphabet, the alphabet makes up words, and words make up sentences. you cant just skip over the parts of this you dont like, it's the basis of our entire civilization. "i dont need to learn individual notes i just want to play to saxophone" okay well. too bad? you cant

american primary education apparently has no communication whatsoever with the scientific fields of human behaviorism, pediatrics, neurology, linguistics, the science of learning generally, and there is next to zero communication between teachers who are actively responsible for educating children and the entire research field of educating children. they just dont talk to each other, at least in huge swaths of the country. in retrospect this is obvious, i just have been assuming incorrectly this entire time that maybe, surely, some aspect of how our public schools are administered is in some way being guided by scientific evidence and research. this has apparently not been the case for 20+ years. Lucy Calkins herself claims she "didn't know" that the research on how children acquire language had been essentially settled by the 1990s, she just wrote her stupid book based on her own self-assurance that what she THOUGHT children were doing when they learned language was correct. she ddin't check, she didnt ask about research or studies, she didn't test her hypothesis, she just told everyone she had figured out how to teach kids to read based on nothing but her own untested assumptions. and everyone was like "okay sounds good". every single person involved in this process is or was in a position of responsibility for educating american children. and almost none of them thought to ask "okay, but have you tested it? does it work?" because they didn't test it, and it doesnt work, and for some reason that was never even brought up

teachers kept being interviewed on this podcast who kept saying things like: "they never taught us how to teach children to read" and "they didn't teach us how children learn so i had no idea how it worked" and then explaining this was why they were so easily hoodwinked by the Calkins program. i don't understand this. what is actually taught during the two year degree programs at teaching colleges? if it's not child psychology, pedagogy, neurology, and actual techniques for teaching children, what are they teaching you to do there? one of my friends who went to a teaching college told me they mostly provided classes on lesson planning.

individual teachers apparently are not reading books or articles or papers on any of these subjects either. so having graduated from a teaching college knowing nothing about children, teaching, or even basic english literacy ("i didn't know how to teach phonics and no one told me" is another thing actual teachers kept saying on the podcast. girl, SESAME STREET can teach basic english phonics, and it does), almost none of them actually do any investigation on their own. they just show up to their workplace (the school) and "teach" whatever admin hands them. ?????????????? how is this possible?

i realized last night in a fugue of post-exertional malaise that the three-cueing method of teaching reading is training children to approach language very similarly to how a large language model does it. they laboriously instruct the children to guess what the next word in a sentence will be, often by actually covering the word with a post-it note and then cajoling and badgering the child until he guesses the word under the post-it, based on the vibes on the sentence he's reading. this doesnt teach you to read, it teaches you to act like youre reading

this isnt directly addressed in the podcast but we used to just teach everyone english like it was an actual system that has parts and rules and structures, because that's what a language is. everyone would start with phonics and the alphabet, then later do stuff like sentence diagramming and grammar, neither of which have been taught in primary schools in decades. i think i was probably the very last generation of kids to get ANY of that stuff unless they went to an exceptional school, and it was only because my 8th grade teacher knew it was important and went against school admin's instructions in order to teach it. the couple days of sentence diagramming and grammar he gave us, out of SPITE, have been more useful to me in reading and writing than the entire rest of primary english education i received in public school, and i didn't even go to a school that had adopted three-cueing stuff yet.

411 notes · View notes

harunayuuka2060 · 2 days ago

Text

Solomon: You were gone for so long. I’m glad to see you’re okay.

Solomon: Hmm… But are you eating well? You look like you've lost weight. I should come over ASAP and cook you some of my special recipes. *chuckles*

Luke: Is that a threat?

Solomon: No?

MC: *laughs awkwardly* By the way, Solomon, how are things going?

Solomon: Not so good, haha. Ever since you disappeared, we've all been on edge. We tried not to dwell on negative thoughts, but somehow, we ended up becoming suspicious of each other, thinking we'd finally lost it.

MC: Solomon...

Solomon: Surprisingly, Luke going missing actually gave us a lead!

Luke: And you're so happy about it, huh? *pouts*

Solomon: *chuckles* Of course not. Anyway, I’ll have to end the conversation for now. I’ll study the coordinates to that world, and hopefully, I’ll be there by the next morning with Simeon.

MC: Wait, Solomon! Will that be a good idea? *obviously worried*

Solomon: *smiles* You know I’m an expert at infiltrating worlds. This is nothing to me.

MC: ...

MC: *feeling reassured* Okay. I'll wait for your arrival.

Grim: *is sulking in the corner*

MC: ...

MC: *turns to Ace* Did something happen?

Ace: He cried, lol. I think he's having some abandonment issues.

MC: Eh?

Deuce: Anyway, Ace said you had an emergency.

MC: Ah, yes. *smiles* Two of my friends—

Luke: *clears his throat*

MC: ...

Luke: "Spouses".

Ace and Deuce: ...

Ace: YOU'RE MARRIED?!

MC: I wouldn't really say that, but yes. I'm in a relationship.

Ace: Dang, bruh! I didn't expect that from you!

Luke: *frowns* What do you mean?

Ace: I mean, sure, they're cute. But that's just it.

Deuce: That's a boldfaced lie.

Ace: Dude, what?

Malleus: Is there an occasion I’m not aware of?

Lilia: Hm? Oh. Is it because the Prefect is busy decorating the Ramshackle Dorm?

Malleus: Yes. I wonder if they'll invite me.

Lilia: I can ask them.

Malleus: *smiles* Please do. I want to prepare something, just in case.

Lilia: Deuce told me that two of their husbands will arrive tomorrow.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: The child of man is married?

Lilia: Yes. Shocking, isn't it?

Malleus: ...

Malleus: I always assumed they were innocent to the world.

Lilia: *chuckles* But Malleus, haven’t they proven to you time and time again that they know things you don’t?

#twisted wonderland #obey me mc #obey me luke #obey me solomon #twst grim #twst ace #twst deuce #twst malleus #twst lilia #twst x obey me

431 notes · View notes

everythingspokenfor · 2 days ago

Text

All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

Bakugou sometimes get overwhelmed with the love he has for you, his feelings seem borderline obsessive occasionally, especially considering you weren't even dating, just best friends with benefits, he knows you, thoroughly, but every once in a while he finds new thinks to go crazy over.

It's one of those days, when you opt for a hotel room instead of travelling back to your shared apartment, sometimes too exhausted to drive, other times too pent up to wait.

Today, however was slightly different, the mission in Tokyo ended earlier than expected, allowing you both to rest in your hotel room.

Bags of essentials scattered in the hotel room floor, Bakugou was still in bed, tried from all the activities, waiting for you to finish skin care before sliding in next to him.

The room still smelled like sex, a little bit of you and slightly more of him, the sheets too, but alas you both showered and intended to head to bed soon. Hopefully. But with the way Bakugou's gaze lingered on your back made it seem otherwise.

"We have early flight back tomorrow, and it's past 1 in the morning." You chastise, eyeing him through the mirror, watching as a cheeky grin spread on his face.

"And you have tons of freckles on you back." He moved closer slowly, dragging the thin blanket along with him. His touch is light, it tickles your skin, the tips of his fingers dragging from one birthmark to another. "I haven't really gotten to admire these."

"Didn't know Dynamight did admiring, I thought you were a fucked and tucked kinda guy." You teased, tongue jutting into your cheek as you watched his eyebrows raise in amusement.

His hand sneaks around your side, calloused fingers coming to pinch at your nipples, before tugging it, "Ask your pussy if I do admiring, at least those lips won't lie."

"Eh, cringe alert." You quip out, hand clasping around his to pull him away from your bud, he doesn't relent though, fingers pinching harder at your teasing, you let out a hiss, thighs rubbing together as he rubs away the pain, "asshole."

He ignores your curse, instead presses kisses against your back, lips tracing the constellation he just discovered. "You have a mole down there too," He recounts.

"Really? I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I see it everytime I spread her open, little embellishment decorating your skin." He sounds lost, like the vision of your spread pussy is playing behind his eyes.

"You know," You murmur, leaning back slightly, pressing against his chest, "it's a theory that birthmarks are where you soulmate kissed you in your past life."

"Good to know, she was taken care of in your last life too." He jokes, hand leaving your breast to cup your bare pussy.

You let out a snort, head lolling back to rest on his shoulder, "Aren't you jealous?" You chimed, tilting your head slightly to look at him.

"Jealous of what?"

"The guy that left all these kisses."

"Why would I be jealous of myself, petal?"

"So confident for someone that didn't even know about the ones on my back."

He smiles, leaning back again, "I have moles too, you know." He mumbles, voice as soft as the sheets around you both.

"And I know every one of them." You gleam, squeezing a decent amount of hand cream, before turning around to face him.

"I didn't know, it was a competition."

"Everything was supposed to be a competition to you, Dynamight."

He snorts, pulling you closer, "You are getting too full of yourself." He presses his lips, against the corner of your mouth, delight filling his chest as he feels your lips stretch into a smile. He pulls you in further, wrapping his limbs around you, snuggling in tight.

"I thought you were going to flip me over and prove me wrong."

"I have all the lifetimes left for that." He grumbles, breathing in your smell, before humming peaceful as he nudges his face into the crook of your neck.

Dividers by: @/thecutestgrotto

419 notes · View notes

marvelstoriesepic · 3 days ago

Text

A Home for Now

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky and you are hosting a dinner party for undercover purposes.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: intimacy under false pretense; tension; mild alcohol use; fake relationships

Author’s Note: This is a continuation of Five days, Five bouquets. Thank you so much for the request, my lovely!! I hope you’ll enjoy! ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

You tell yourself this is just another mission.

That the dress you’re wearing is just fabric. That the home is just a set. That James Buchanan Barnes is just playing a part.

But the soft clink of glasses, the glow of candlelight dancing across Bucky’s cheekbones, the heat of his palm resting gently against the small of your back - it all feels too much like something you’ve dreamed of, too often, with no permission.

This was supposed to be easy. A brunch-turned-dinner party, timed perfectly with the arrival of your targets - Camille and Julian Coyle, a picture-perfect couple with dark secrets. You were meant to observe. Collect. Charm.

But now people are seated in the house you’re supposed to call home for a dinner you prepared in a kitchen that doesn’t belong to you, pouring wine into glasses you didn’t pick. Shoes scrape against the still unworn wooden floor, napkins are folded in laps. The kitchen still smells of rosemary and warm butter. And you are someone else’s wife.

You are Bucky’s wife.

And it’s alarmingly easy to believe.

He came home earlier than expected today. Claimed he wanted to help you prepare for the evening. He tossed aside his boots and extended the next bouquet of roses, small daisies, and greenery intertwined within them toward you with a charming smile.

It’s been over a week now, and he doesn’t stop.

And then he watched you set them down, the house slowly becoming a greenhouse in bloom.

And you have to watch yourself not to start counting petals instead of seconds now.

You have to watch yourself not to slowly build a fantasy with every stem he brings home, though that might already be too late.

Because this house - your temporary home - is soaked in fragrance and color. Glass vases placed behind books, ceramic pitchers filled with fresh-cut peonies, lilies, and so on. It doesn’t matter where a guest turns - beauty meets them.

Bucky then leaned against the kitchen doorframe before the guests arrived, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie loosened as if he didn’t care much but still wanted to look nice for you. He held a dish towel and pretended it mattered, but he was really just watching you.

And it was that kind of gaze that made the air bend. The kind of gaze that could pin the moon in place. The kind of gaze you currently get too much of because it makes reality blur with fiction.

He helped you set the table. Brushed past you and let his fingers graze your back and you felt it sing through your skin.

And that was just the beginning.

Bucky’s arm was at your waist in an instant when the people filed into your living room. They are friends of the target couple, acquaintances, coworkers, your neighborhood. Some are innocent. Others, less so. Julian Coyle is an arrogant man, with oozing confidence, who seems to think everyone in the room is there for him. Camille is impeccably dressed, observant, dangerous. You’ve been watching her for days.

But tonight, she gets to watch you.

And she does. Like them all. They watch the two of you move like a couple who knows each other’s footsteps before you take them. He refills the drinks before you even notice the glasses are low. You nudge him with your hip when he forgets the dessert forks. He kisses your temple in front of them all, and for a second, it doesn’t feel like acting.

“Oh my god, these are everywhere,” a woman gasps, reaching for a floral arrangement on the sideboard, the fourth one in this room alone. “Did you do these yourself?”

Before you can answer, Bucky shrugs, a hand in his pocket, eyes low. “Nah. Just… pick a few up every day. She deserves nice things”

You feel yourself flush.

There’s a ripple of admiration in the room. One of the men raises his glass in mock salute. “Setting the bar real high for the rest of us.”

But Bucky only smiles that small, private smile. He rubs the back of his neck and gives a low chuckle. It shakes through your bones. “She’s everything,” he says, eyes never leaving you. “I just want her to be happy. If she is, then I am. That’s all.”

You almost drop your glass.

Someone in the corner says you two are disgustingly cute. Another swears you belong on a postcard. And you wonder if it’s possible to blush yourself into unconsciousness.

It doesn’t help that Bucky keeps brushing crumbs from your shoulder, keeps leaning in too close to whisper if you’ve eaten enough and presses his lips to your cheek, keeps his arm around you when you sit too long beside a suspect who might very well be plotting something that could get both of you killed.

You’re hyper aware of Camille and Julian - arms looped through one another, but their smiles always just an inch too tight, their words too rehearsed. Julian jokes a little too loudly. Camille’s eyes linger a little too long on your wedding ring.

And Bucky senses it.

You feel the way he stiffens beside you when Julian rakes his eyes over you and how he snaps the man’s attention away from you with casual questions. But you know he’s forcing them out through gritted teeth.

You feel the way his hand inches to yours underneath the table, and how he closes his fingers around yours, squeezing softly.

You don’t mean to lose yourself in him. But it happens, over and over, in the quietest moments. In the curve of his mouth when he smiles at someone else but glances at you first. In the way his fingers don’t leave you.

In the way he tenses when Camille leans over - sleek, sharp, and watching. “So tell us - what is it really like being married to someone like James? He seems-” She pauses, smiles a smile that makes you uncomfortable. “Intense.”

You freeze for half a second. You don’t like the way she says his name.

You turn to her with a laugh. “I like to say he’s just passionate. About everything. About cooking. About justice. About making me tea exactly the way I like it.”

Bucky’s thumb strokes across your knuckle. Absentminded. Devastating.

“And the flowers,” someone else adds, a woman whose name you’ve already forgotten. “I counted nine vases around the house. You’re not secretly a florist, are you?”

You’re secretly something else entirely, but you don’t say that, of course.

Instead, you smile that polite smile again and turn to Bucky the way you’ve done it a hundred times before. As if this whole thing is more than carefully arranged coincidence.

The hand that is not laced with his, is sliding gently along his forearm as you lean in. You let your voice soften. “He brings them home for me every day. No matter how tired he is. No matter how late. He says I should never forget I’m loved.”

Your hand lifts to cradle his jaw, thumb grazing the stubble there. He stiffens slightly, going completely, utterly still. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you linger enough to feel the moment catch fire between you.

His breath stutters. Enough for you to feel it. The pause in his chest. The sharp inhale as if he’s caught by something he wasn’t ready for. His eyes find yours, ocean-dark and painfully wide.

There’s an entire confession in the way he looks at you.

And then he smiles, slow and adoring - but for show - and turns to the group.

“She deserves it,” he says, voice roughened slightly. “Everything good in this world - I’d give it to her as many times as I can.”

Around the table, there are soft sighs, one or two awws. Someone claps gently. The couple you’re surveilling exchanges a glance, but even they can’t quite fake the same glow.

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t leave you, not even when you lean back into your chair, pretending the moment was nothing more than part of the act.

But you can feel him looking. Like gravity. Like tether.

His fingers squeeze your hand beneath the table.

The conversation meanders through business and hobbies and travels. And you and Bucky don’t stop trading glances.

It’s seamless. It’s convincing.

It’s almost real.

At some point, you’re standing beside Bucky while he carves the roast, your hands brushing when you pass him a plate. The woman seated closest to the kitchen, a silver-haired guest named Lorraine who works with the local history society, tilts her head and smiles at you both.

“You two,” she says warmly, eyes crinkling, “you’ve got that thing. That soft sort of love. I see it. I see it in the way you move around each other.”

You feel yourself go still. You glance at Bucky. He’s already looking at you.

He smiles, slow and quiet. “Well,” he starts, wiping his hands on a towel, “some things don’t need saying, do they?”

Camille raises an eyebrow, her smile just a fraction too interested. “How long have you two been married, again?”

“Almost two years,” Bucky answers smoothly. Immediately. Taking your hand. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “She’s stuck with me now.”

There’s laughter. Cheers. A few light-hearted groans about how hard it is to find a man who brings flowers every day.

But there is something in his touch, in the way he moves. You don’t know what to make of it, but you notice it.

You notice the way he pulls your chair closer to him when you sit down. The way he leans in just enough when someone else tries to speak too familiarly to you. The way his smile fades just slightly the moment your focus shifts to anyone other than him, just for a heartbeat.

And when the evening winds down and guests begin to leave, you’re still holding hands. Still playing the part. Still unsure if you’re acting anymore.

Camille offers to help you clean up while her husband talks to yours and you catch a glimpse of her rifling through your drawers when she thinks you aren’t looking.

By the time she returns to the kitchen, Bucky is already there.

He leans against the counter with the ease of a man used to watching every entrance, every twitch, every glance. His smile is polite. His eyes are ice.

You see her shiver.

“My wife’s got it handled. Thanks, though,” he says evenly.

She leaves with an arrogant huff and it’s only Bucky and you for a moment.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing your hair behind your ear with the gentleness of a secret. When you nod, he continues. “Did she touch anything?”

“Went through our drawers, but there’s nothing she could have seen,” you ease gently.

But Bucky still watches you. “You sure?”

You nod. “Just keep looking at me like that,” you tease. “Then we’ll make it.”

He huffs a laugh. And then he’s kissing your temple - light, fleeting, but with intention. Your breath is somewhere you can’t follow.

Maybe you forget where the act ends and reality begins. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because when the last guests tickle out and you close the door behind them, you both just stand there, in the silence, surrounded by petals.

It still smells of rosemary and clove. Half-melted candles bleed wax down antique brass. Empty wine glasses stand smudged with fingerprints and lipstick. The illusion lingers, soft and honey-thick. The echo of polite applause. Compliments about your cooking. About your dress. About how lucky you both are.

You start gathering stray plates, not because they need cleaning yet, but because your hands feel too empty otherwise. Too aware. The ring on your finger glints in the low light, a perfect fiction.

Bucky’s shadow flickers into the frame of the doorway. The top buttons of his shirt are undone. His sleeves are rolled up again - he always does that when he’s grounding himself, pulling himself into the present with the simplest, most human movements.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you for a second too long. As if he’s still playing the role of the doting husband and doesn’t yet know how to stop.

“You holdin’ up?” His voice is quiet. A little coarse. Rough. As if he tried to soften it but it wouldn’t work.

You nod, setting a glass down a little too carefully. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he asks, not as a challenge, just gently. As though he learned to ask without pushing too hard. His presence brushes behind you.

“This just isn’t something I thought I’d ever do. Host a dinner party. Invite guests. I don’t know, it feels weird,” you murmur, not looking up.

Bucky hums. “I get that,” he says after a pause. Quiet, still. “But you were amazing, doll.” He says it low. Even. As if he’s cataloging something unspoken and locking it away.

And you feel the heat burn and bubble along your spine.

“Thanks, Buck. As were you.” You only glance up briefly, before putting away a dish towel that didn’t need to be put anywhere at the moment.

Seconds pass. Bucky clears his throat. “Did Camille say anything to you?”

You nod again, slow. “She asked for a tour of the house.”

He swears under his breath. Just a whisper. “Anything off?”

“She acknowledged the flowers.” You look up at the vases scattered around the space. “Said she thought they were romantic.”

Bucky lets out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “You think she bought it?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, fingers brushing over the counter. “But at least she thinks that we’re in love.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Just lets the silence curl for a beat longer. “Julian clocked me from across the room. Could feel it. That kind of stare - it’s not professional. He’s suspicious, but not sure why.”

“He’s watching your movements?”

“Every second he wasn’t pretending not to.”

You press your palms flat to the marble.

“Didn’t like you talkin’ to him so long,” Bucky mutters suddenly, and there is something else underneath the words. A tension. Not anger - but concern. “Didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You look at him now.

He’s facing you head-on, and there is something in his eyes that glimmers just shy of vulnerable. Protective. Fiercely so. The kind of protectiveness that isn’t written in the mission brief. That wasn’t asked of him. That wasn’t rehearsed.

“I had to,” you say softly, “to keep her distracted. If he’s on edge, then she’s not far behind him.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Just…”

His jaw tightens. Then softens.

“You did good.”

And the air is thick again, charged with too much closeness and not enough language for it. You brush past him to grab another dish, and his hand hovers - for a second - as if he might reach for your waist. As if the shape of you in motion is something he has to resist tracing.

He doesn’t touch. But the ghost of the thought stays between you.

“I’ll get these,” he insists, nodding toward the glasses. “You go sit.”

“I’m fine, Buck.”

He gives you a look.

You relent after a moment, settling at the edge of the sofa, legs curled beneath you. From here, you can still see him - sleeves rumpled, brow furrowed, his mouth tugged slightly at the corner as if he’s still thinking about the way you laughed earlier. Or the way someone complimented how gently he looked at you.

He is quiet for a while, hands moving with the ease of someone used to messes, used to cleanup. Used to taking care of what’s left after the damage is done.

Then, without looking up, he asks again. “You sure you’re okay?”

And this time, the question feels heavier. Not because he doubts your strength, but because he knows the toll this takes - the pretending. The almosts. The press of a thousand small moments that make you forget where the story ends and the truth begins.

You don’t answer right away.

You look at the flowers instead. The ones he brought you. Every day. Quiet declarations of bloom.

“Yeah. I am,” you finally respond.

And it’s not exactly a lie.

Because in this moment - under this roof, with the mission pressing in on all sides and the feel of his gaze always somewhere just behind you - you are. You are okay.

Even if you’re not sure for how much longer.

418 notes · View notes