#ive a score to settle

[kaisumisucreations]

combatmeta.jpeg

[lucabyte]

Different standards

[livefromsummerview]

YALL IM BACK IN QTO

[arielluva]

i replayed turnabout trump again for like. the 5th time i think??? god its such a good case

[pikslasrce]

googling autism in women checklists and being like. oh no which of these sites can i trust 💀

[inuyashaluver]

I love that your requests are open for the angst train. Can I please get the loveliest angst trope where Alexia and Y/N are secretly dating and haven’t told the girls yet. Barca girls go out for Mapi’s birthday and come across a toxic drunk group of men. They start bothering the girls and Y/N doesn’t let it slide, Alexia tries to keep her gf calm but once they physically come for Mapi/Ingrid (whoever you want) she loses it. Y/N get’s into a terrible fight and all Alexia and the girls can do is watch their favorite person get beat up as the others hold them back. When one of the guy’s scream they need to leave and run it’s clearly because Y/N’s unconscious. Alexia and the girls do everything they can until ambulance comes, Alexia already in hysterics telling the girls that Y/N’s her girlfriend. I’m so sorry for the details but I can only imagine how perfectly you will write this. From the bottom of my heart thank you so so much in advance, I have loved your works for weeks now 💗

fight club - alexia putellas

alexia putellas x reader

description: in which alexia exposes your secret relationship in a moment of panic

warnings: mentions of fighting, injuries, tears, hospitals and ambulances, men being icky , spanish in bold italics!

a/n: IM BACK?! WITH ANGST?! IVE MISSED YOU ALLLLL, thank you so much for the request and the love 🥺🥺 enjoy lovelies!!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

alexia knew the moment she met you, there was no hope for her; she knew she would be head over heels in love with you. she was sure of it. and she was right, over 18 years later and the girl was infatuated with you.

you’d known each other all your lives, a friendship blossoming from the spanish youth teams. you’d always been so sure of yourself, exuding confidence because you were one of the best in the league.

alexia admired you, from afar most of the time as she hadn’t come to grasp with her feelings.

originally, she believed her admiration and fascination relating to you to be friendly. until she realised she didn’t think of her teammates like that at all.

you were the only one that occupied her thoughts. day in, day out.

—

of course you had a huge crush on alexia, who doesn’t? but this crush was insane. your eyes were glued to her each and every move with utmost diligence.

you were a defender so you had the absolute pleasure of seeing alexia move the way that she did. scoring incredible goals that you always had the privilege to witness.

it was nice being able to admire from afar, until you caught onto the way catalan returned your glances, her heart eyes hard to deny.

and so, in the barcelona teams, when you were 21 and alexia was 24, she made the move. well, at least she tried.

“your hair looks nice” a clear of a throat from behind startling you as you took off your hoodie to change into training gear.

“my hair always looks like this?” you smirk, you and alexia always had a teasing relationship in your friendship, teasing borderline flirting but neither of you were complaining.

“it still looks nice” alexia chuckles with a small roll of her eyes, you smile up at her cheekily, “your hair looks nice” you quip, eyes glistening mischievously while alexia offers you an amused grin.

“my hair always looks like this?” she mocks your voice, causing you to laugh brightly and give her a gentle shove.

her smile was bright, being able to pull out a genuine laugh from you was probably one of her biggest achievements.

“okay, putellas” you chuckle, “what else looks nice today?” you grin at her, doing a quick little spin. her cheeks dust a little pink as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“your face..looks nice” she trails off, you raise your eyebrows amusingly, seems like alexia finally caught your drift of flirting with the way the girl was melting in front of you.

“my face..looks nice?” you repeat, the older girl nodding softly, though internally cursing herself. “you’re pretty” she blurts out, cheeks filling with more pink the longer your gaze settled on her, especially since you were standing in your sports bra just conversing.

you nod with a little giggle, gesturing her to come closer which she agreed to almost too quickly. “you look pretty too, i bet you’d look prettier on a date with me” you whisper.

alexia swore her heart stopped right there. your soft voice sending shivers up her spine, your words definitely going to be on replay for the rest of her life.

she pauses for a second before agreeing with her own whisper of “i’d like that”, you both share a shy but knowing smile, all that pining put to an end. you both knew this was the start of something good.

—

fast forward to present day, you and alexia now dating for over 6 years, and funnily enough, it had been a secret all this time.

see, you and alexia didn’t necessarily mean to keep it a secret, it just played out that way. alexia was an extremely private person, and well, you’re an alexia person so that also made you private.

if people suspected the two of you would never deny, you both weren’t overly big on PDA, though that didn’t mean you didn’t do it. and when you did, you thought people would catch on but they never did.

quick forehead kisses, hands on the smalls of backs or on the curves of the waist, quick hand holding should have said everything but no one knew.

you were both always so affectionate, not only with each other but the people around you. but your teammates honestly thought the two of you grew closer as best friends, not girlfriends.

“chica (girl), you’re coming tonight, right?” mapi begs, shaking your arm for dramatic effect, you let out a laugh, nodding amusingly before you receive an exaggerated kiss to your cheek in celebration.

“now, convince la reina (the queen) for me?” you nod with a groan, knowing this would be a hard one. alexia loved her friends, especially mapi but she was extremely tired today, barely getting any sleep due to a large amount of meetings.

but something about you, you could get alexia to do anything, and that was obvious to anyone. hence why now you were in the crossfire of your girlfriend.

“what do you want?” alexia says flatly as you come to stand beside her drinking water, you offer her a charming smile and her eyebrows immediately furrow.

“why do you always think i want something?” you scoff, alexia gives you a look that just says ‘really?’ and you roll your eyes again.

“we need to go to maría’s party” you smile again, watching as alexia’s expression slightly soften at the sweet smile gracing your lips.

“bebé (baby) i’m tired” she groans, you place an arm on her bicep and give her your best puppy dog eyes, feeling her melt underneath your touch.

“we can leave early?” you try, alexia thinks for a moment before lifting up her free hand, squeezing your cheeks together to form a pout.

she stares down at you affectionately, though her face still stern. “we leave early, you’re on your best behaviour” she starts, lowkey reprimanding you but you didn’t mind. (she’s hot when she’s mad)

“and, i want a massage when we get home” she grins, you nod, letting her squeeze your cheeks gently before she lets go, pushing away a stray hair from your face.

she pulls you into an embrace (how people so clueless was beyond the both of you), you look over alexia’s shoulder to see mapi standing alongside ingrid watching the two of you.

you throw her a thumbs up and giggle softly when the girl starts celebrating with (alone) her girlfriend.

alexia pulls away with a kiss to the side of your head, giving your behind a subtle slap that you were quick to look at her for, only receiving a cheeky shrug and a wink in return.

—

when you both got home and began to get ready for the bar, alexia’s complaints weren’t hard to miss.

“bebé, no” she begs, declining your fifth outfit choice for the night. “ugh, ale, i never do this to you” you point a finger at her, adjusting yourself in the mirror in your shared house.

alexia meant well, she knew you could defend yourself and was never one to complain about what you wore. but tonight, you looked more irresistible than usual.

“someone is going to steal you away like that” she groans, taking in your appearance, honestly considering chucking you on the bed and having her way with you.

“i’ll be with you the whole night” you promise and she knows it’s true. she comes up to stand behind you, her arms wrapping around your middle while tender kisses are spread along your right cheek up to your jaw.

it took a lot to get the girl out of the house, with much more convincing and kisses as bribery, you both made it to the bar, alexia had a weird feeling bubbling in her stomach that was unexplainable.

—

“finally!” mapi yells, rushing around the crowded bar and pulling you both into a drunken hug, you both get dragged to the table the barca girls were occupying.

both of you going around and saying hello to everyone before alexia went with mapi to get you both drinks. the table now occupied with you and ingrid, as various girls had gone to dance instead.

“wow, aren’t you two sexy?” a male voice sounds from behind you, you let out a sigh, choosing to ignore it for now and insisting ingrid to come closer to you.

“come on, don’t play hard to get” the man tries again, pulling up a chair to sit down. and of course, when there’s one, there’s most likely a group waiting. and there was, annoyingly, 4 men making their way over and seriously barking up the wrong tree.

you and ingrid continue to converse, ignoring them and seriously hoping they would just leave and let you have a good time with your friends.

“we’re not interested” you stay sternly, your irritation clear as ever. “well we are” they bark in a laugh.

the disgust on your face caused a couple of your teammates to come back, only making everything worse.

“wow, boys, we can get two girls each!” you scoff, standing off your chair about to swing until two strong hands landed on your biceps and pulled you to their front.

“stop, they’ll leave if you ignore them” alexia says sternly in your ear, even though your anger was radiating from you, and from her too.

“ale, they’re harassing us” you grit, watching as your teammates try and push them away. “i know, and you need to relax, bebita (baby girl), they’re not worth it” she says lowly, usually this would work, but one of the men put a hand on ingrid, and you fucking lost it.

you rip yourself from alexia’s arm and give a strong punch to the nose of the culprit, causing him to stumble back and clench his nose.

“you bitch!” he groans, alexia’s eyes widen comically, she froze for a split second in that moment as a small riot broke out before she attempted to push everyone away from you.

you fought about two guys at once before one of them from behind hit the temple of your head and you blacked out.

the last thing you heard was alexia screeching your name before you hit the cold, sticky ground. one of the men screamed as your body laid there, ushering the friends out like cowards and running away immediately.

alexia rushed over to you, pushing everyone away as she cradled your face in between her hands. security are quick to come over and phone the ambulance, your bloody face and unconscious body setting off alarm bells for everyone.

“bebé (baby), look at me, open your eyes, amor (love) please?” alexia sobs, feeling hands on her shoulders to try and pull her away but you’d have to kill her before the two of you separated.

“ale, stand back for a minute” mapi tries, alexia whips her head back, each and every teammate there as she screamed. “she’s my girlfriend, i’m not leaving!”

alexia’s body shakes with sobs, looking at your face utterly heartbroken. beating herself up.

why didn’t she help you?

why did she let you come here?

why did she take so long to get to you?

her thoughts were overwhelming as she begged for you to wake up, though soon she was separated from you when the paramedics came.

by that time, they’d managed to get you up, and they weren’t suspecting any serious head injuries. though they wanted you to go to hospital and get cleaned up and scanned.

alexia let out a cry of relief as mapi and patri held her back, rushing to stand next to you and hold your hand.

the whole ride to the hospital, alexia held your hand tightly, apologetic words spilling from her lips so fast that you couldn’t get a word in.

“i’m an awful girlfriend, i can’t believe i left you” she spills out, you shake your head and squeeze her hand, “mi amor (my love), it’s okay, please don’t blame yourself” you plead, her tearful expression breaking your heart.

“it’s my fault” she declares, you decline immediately, “i made the choice, not you, you helped in the best way you could” you assure, eyes meeting hers directly so she knew you were telling the truth.

she presses kisses to your hand the rest of the way, comforting you the best ways she could.

—

you got cleaned up at the hospital, slight cuts on your face with a battered wrist and a small concussion as your reward you joked, alexia did not find this funny and scolded you for an hour before she babied you at home.

“where are you going?” she stops you, the house dimmed with no screens on as you both sat on the couch, “to the bathroom” you laugh, alexia glares at you, standing behind and walking basically on top of you to make sure you got there safely.

she waited outside the door the entire time, jolting when you opened it and gave her a cheeky smile, “stop smiling, you said you’d be on your best behaviour” alexia tutts, slowly dragging you to the bedroom so you could get some sleep.

she helped you get changed and tucked you into bed before she slipped in herself, she sighed as she looked at you, you could tell she was still upset.

you press a gentle kiss to her lips, one she returned softly. “i’m fine, hermosa (beautiful)” you pronounced, “you have been amazing taking care of me, i feel better already” you assure,

kissing her again quickly, alexia reluctantly nodded before smiling softly. “i’ll kiss you better” she says determinedly.

the girl begins to slowly and extremely gently press kisses on each inch of your face, making sure to avoid your injury spots. her hands snake under your shirt, gently grazing your skin as she held you close, promptly making you fall asleep.

“i love you” she whispers softly, “i love you” you mumble against her collarbone, basically on autopilot as you slipped into a deep sleep.

you took a week off to recover and when you went back to training, you were both in for it.

—

“ah, the girlfriends are here” patri said cheekily, making claudia and mapi laugh brightly. alexia rolls her eyes before you look at her with wide eyes, she gives you a knowing look,

“they know” she sighs, you chuckle softly, leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek and grabbing your bag from her shoulder on the way to your cubby.

the cheers and screeches were funny as alexia fended everyone off, turning into a lecture when they tried to pry into all the details of your relationship.

ingrid hugged you tightly out of relief and thanked you sincerely, struggling to let you go until her girlfriend called her over.

“(y/n/n), i think you should become a boxer, that punch broke his nose!” mapi says in awe, quickly getting scolded by her girlfriend while an apology spilled from ingrid’s lips your way.

you laugh, waving her off, “don’t encourage her!” alexia yells, sending you a warning glare when you pout at her, “let her, the punch was crazy” lucy teases, pinching your cheek with a chuckle.

“no” alexia grits, coming over and sitting down in your cubby with her arms crossed, you giggle amusingly, kissing her quickly and gaining more teasing cheers and remarks that made you smile.

it felt good knowing everyone knew for sure, feeling like a weight was lifted off both yours and alexia’s shoulders.

alexia smiles up at you after you kissed her, making you sit sidewards on her lap as the girls asked about your condition.

alexia’s hands rubbed up and down your waist as you spoke, chiming in every now and then to threaten the girls to be gentle with you.

you two got teased like no tomorrow, but it was all worth it.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill- pretend it’s you! ily mapiiii

liked by lucybronze and 44,232 others

alexiaputellas: my biggest source of stress

view all comments

yourname: um, thank you?

↳ alexiaputellas: i love you so much

↳ yourname: i love youuuu

marialeonn16: pro boxer and la reina

↳ yourname: literally sign me up

↳ lucybronze: i second that

↳ ingrid_engen: my savior

↳ alexiaputellas: STOP ENCOURAGING HER

↳ marialeonn16: NO

[mazikeenhyde]

Less than a minute...

(Ive decided to be brave, I always wanted to try my hand at writing fan fiction so here we go! If i got anything wrong, like warnings for example please let me know so i can fix it! )

WARNING – 

A Poly!Judgment-Day fanfiction containing themes and mentions of DEPRESSION, LONLINESS, SOME SMUT, ANGST, SADNESS, ALCOHOL etc 

Overall, I’m just trying to make you all cry… 

READER X JUDGMENT DAY/POLY! – Rhea, Damien, Finn, Dominik x READER- Written in first person with Y/N (Reader Female)  

Italic font – flashback, speech or memories

Less than a minute 

The hotel room was quiet, the cheap TV fixed to the wall showing Monday night Raw on a low volume mixed in with the sounds of footsteps in the corridor, each sound filling the hot humid air. Outside the rain lashed down, heavy rainclouds hung low in the night sky blocking out the starlight, yet the full moon powered through, illuminating the streets, reflecting in the puddles that ran along the gutter line. 

 It was late, most of these anonymous guests rushing around just outside our door would be returning from busy work days to catch up on sleep or be heading out for a fun night on the town.  A blissful life for most, a chance to escape their homes and stay in a bed with room service, maids to clean up after you and a reception for any assistance required! I hated it though; it wasn’t my choice but when you are on the road traveling for what felt like 300 days of the year with your partners there isn’t much of an option. A different country every month, a different state every week, Christ a different town every night. I longed for those one-off days where we were all free to do nothing. Something many people take for granted is the ability to do nothing, and I missed it. 

Life felt far too chaotic, and despite being in a 5-way Polyamory relationship, I’d never felt so alone. I longed to go home, back to our own little house, we had been away for so long now. I could picture it, the front room shelves filled up high with my collection of books. My own little library I had spent a lifetime building now just collecting dust. The cabinets filled with Dominik’s board games that had bought about so many nights of endless laughter and equally some rather extreme arguments over winners, losers, cheaters and a half empty liquor cabinet that had been drained dry after a game of Scrabble. I still laugh now thinking back to when Rhea would demand the Alexa to define a word, we were sure Dominik had made up. Still, you could always rely on Finn to settle the score with a round of tequila shots and an accidental knock of the board. 

“Oh no!” Finn would laugh as he ‘accidently’ kicked the board off and onto the floor. 

“The board fell… guess we will have to play something else aye lass” he stated sarcastically, winking at me as he passed over one of the shot glasses. 

“I wouldn’t say No to a game of Twister” Damien suggested, raising his eyebrows as he took his shot and ran his fingers down my back. I swear that man would give me goosebumps from the top of my head to the center of my core with just a passing look and that fiendish glint in his eye! 

Rhea was quick to move herself over towards us resting her head in my lap, turning her view point to a more favored position. “I’ll second that” she smiled gently kissing the inner of my thigh, my breath was hitched, excited and on edge all at once. 

“Well I’m calling it!  I won..” Dominik stated with a huff as he began to pick the letter tiles up off the floor. Smirking over at him we each adorned a loveable gleam towards the boy. A little brat at the best and worst of times, but we wouldn’t have changed him for the world. 

Moving Rheas head onto Damien’s lap where the two of them began their own little make out session I crawled my way round to Dom, helping collect the remaining tiles off the floor and boxing his board game up. 

Smiling into his eye line I whispered ‘Never change who you are Dom Dom, We will always be here and we will always love you”

“What about when they break us up though?” he asked, I could hear the anxiety in his voice, his eyes. “I have to turn on Rhea and…and..” 

I held him close, his hands holding tightly to my back and I could hear his gentle muffled cries. 

“You’ll never be alone Dom, I love you so much. Even if I’m not always there to hold your hand, ill never be far away” I whispered in his ear. 

“Less than a minuite?” he smiled. 

-----

I couldn’t deny how much love I felt for each of them, work life had been tough for the four of them after the WWE had stated they would be splitting the group up to start a new storyline involving the likes of Liv Morgan, JD & Carlito. It didn’t stop the love we had for each other, but it certainly made traveling together difficult! I often reminded them that unlike myself none of them exactly blended into a crowd. 

Sitting in the middle of this king size bed I pulled my knees up to my chest, I had stolen Damien’s hoodie and a pair of rhea’s gym shorts in the hopes of being comfortable enough to focus while I studied my textbooks, but alas tonight my mind was elsewhere. I had been studying Law for some time, it had always been such a passion of mine and thankfully no matter where we slept I could bring my books and get my head down while my partners entertained the world. It also came in quite handy when certain members of the group had one too many drinks on a night out and needed some help in escaping the police without legal prosecution. Dominik can tell the world he did hard time in jail all he likes, but it was me that got the little brat released early after a dramatic night with Rhea at his parents’ house on thanksgiving. 

The WWE had offered me a position on their legal team once I had passed all my exams, yet that was over a year ago. I had deferred my exam date twice already, I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me but I didn’t feel the love, the passion or the joy I had done surrounding myself in plans for my future dream career, I was starting to worry I had wasted all these years for nothing.

Finn was always the voice of reason; he would often sit and help me revise while Rhea and Dom would shower together after the gym and Damien would take a nap. He was the voice of reason in the group, the glue that held us all together when things got tough. It was Finn that supported us all the most when our relationship went public, none of us had wanted to hide how we felt and the WWE were supportive, but that didn’t stop the online hate. The four of them were use to random strangers throwing insults due to the nature of their job, and thankfully I wasn’t of much interest to the fans. We had done our best to keep me away from the public eye, almost everyone just assumed I was part of the WWE teams supporting the group. There were a few fan speculation pages online who loved to play the guessing game but the majority saw me as nothing, as no one. 

Finn always knew when something was wrong, he hadn’t wanted to leave me this evening but I had persuaded them all to go on the promise when they returned we could order in and cuddle up to watch a new release on tv if we connected Damien’s laptop. 

“Chicken tenders! Ooh and nuggies?” Dom said, looking around the room in minor disbelief as we all looked at him with smiles. “What?” he asked. 

“Really Dom? Chicken tenders, I’d never have guessed that bro. There’s me thinking you’d want Sushi!” Damien stated sarcastically with a smirk as he zipped up his duffel bag. 

“Ew, raw fish? Bleugh! That’s gross!” Dom was genuinely disgusted at the idea. 

“Hey! Don’t knock Sushi you little squinnie! Just because the rest of us have some foodie culture, your mother should have had you expand your pallet better!” I replied as I walked over and flicked Dom on the head. He was quick to wrestle me up and onto his shoulder, spinning me round onto the bed where he climbed on to pin me down. 

“Uh Excuse me! I think you’ll find…Mami! has expanded my pallet just fine hermosa!” He stated, daring his lips closer to mine. 

“Oh I bet..” I whispered to him closing the gap between us, our lips aching to touch. “Your pallet has had its fair share of tasting sessions aye Dom Dom” 

Before he could respond Damien wrapped his arms around Dominik’s waste pulling him off me and planting him back down to earth, ruffling his hair upon release. 

“Alright you two, break it off!” Damien patted Dom on the chest as he tossed over his rucksack from the chair. I bought my chest up leaning back on my hands winking at Dom as he scowled at me with a mix of frustration and cheek. 

Rhea walked out from the bathroom with Finn following in tow, slapping Dom on the ass and wrapping her arm around his neck. 

“Behave yourself Dom Dom” Rhea said before looking over at me on the bed, “You too Bunny, Brats be warned there will always be consequences.” She laughed and pulled Dom towards the hotel door blowing me a kiss as the two of them headed out to work. Damien followed suit leaning down on the bed to kiss my forehead. 

“Te amo, Hermosa” he held the back of my neck touching foreheads before following Rhea and Dom. 

“Ill catch up with you three downstairs” Finn said and Damien gave him a thumbs up as he headed out the hotel room door and closed it behind them. 

Finn took a seat next to me on the bed as I sat up properly and moved to the edge, adorning one of those fake convincing smiles that had worked so many times before. 

“A night of studying then? We won’t be back too late I promise, you can pick the film tonight. I dread another of Rheas slasher films aye. We will be up all night watching the door” Finn said with a gentle nudge to my shoulder. I just nodded, unsure of how to respond. It was strange, I could hide myself in the love and laughter I felt for them all, the never ending flirting and sexual frustration that would build when we were in a room. But a reminder of the real world, of the real life we were living was enough to shatter my dreams back to reality. Every day was blending into one, the repetitive endeavors were tearing my soul apart. Tears began to fill the corners of my eyes as I was quick to stand and rub them away taking a sharp breath. I knew inside I was breaking, I was like a ticking time bomb and I needed to protect them all. Finn leapt up to his feet spin me around and face him.

“Y/N, listen to me lass, you know we all love you. No matter what, no matter how hard it all gets, whether you sit the exams and pass or fail.” Finn held his hands to my face cupping my cheeks. 

Finn had suspected something was wrong for a while, he and Rhea had sat down with me before to talk. They knew about my past, the scars I had whilst silver and faded now were a window into a past life I had battled for so long to break free from, always terrified it would find me again. I was like a rabbit in headlights when it all got to much, I would freeze in fear of my mind running away with my sanity. Hence the nickname Bunny. 

“I don’t know what is wrong with me..” My voice was fragile, broken. 

Finn held me in a close hug, his warm embrace relighting the fire inside my chest, a willing to keep going forward. The serenity was quickly broken by a car horn beeping outside followed by a text alert on Finns phone. 

BRAT NO.2  -

“Oi! Save some of her for the rest of us Finn >_< get your ass down here! We’re gonna be late!”  

Finn shook his head, “That boy tests my patience to its limit at the best of times, ive a good mind to put him over my knee’ 

I laughed wiping my eyes with my sleeves “Only if you let me watch” 

He smiled and held me close, “I can stay, if that’s what you need?” 

I shook my head and released him from the hug, “No. its okay, you go kick ass! I’m gonna jump in the shower and try to get in a quick nap before I crack on with those books, can’t defer the exam forever!” 

“We will be back before you know it” Finn said softly 

“Less than a minute?” I half smiled

“Less than a minute” He returned the all too familiar phrase. Finn kissed my forehead before getting his bag of the chair and reaching into his pocket to get his phone that had started to ring. He answered the call whilst slumping his bag over his shoulder and nodding his head goodbye to me before heading out the door. 

“Dominik, I am telling you now! I swear to god if you don’t…” Finns voice faded out as he continued down the hotel hallway, the door closing behind him. 

Taking a deep breath I shook off the heavy emotional cloak weighing me down and headed for the shower. 

4 HOURS LATER   - 

Looking around the rather large hotel room we had booked for the night I came to wonder; anyone would have thought we would have been used to this horrendous decor by now. No matter where we stayed every room felt much the same, whether it was the dismal wall art, low pressure shower heads or dull painted walls that felt like they were closing in. Though I knew the others were not fazed by it, they very rarely spent a lot of time in these rooms, aside from catching up on missed sleep or dancing the devils tango with any sparing energy the four of them would be in the gym or at the WWE training centers for live shows or TV. 

Sitting here I couldn’t steady my mind, I felt lost, lonely, empty even. It wasn’t their fault, they showered me in affection, I could want for nothing but more time with them. Yet it wasn’t that either, no amount of time in the arms of Rhea could fix the damage, she was the only woman I could love with the entirety of my heart, but as incredible as she was, even Rhea Bloody Ripley couldn’t fight off the demons inside me. 

The deeper I looked the more the world felt wrong. It all felt alien, uneasy, I wondered if it was just me, was I the problem? I checked the time, just after 10pm, they would be back soon enough, why did that bring about such panic, an anxiety drowning my heart, my breathe hitched and I felt it. You just know don’t you, it could have been years, weeks, days, hours or minutes that you had been fighting the voices in your head, the devil on your shoulder, but I was so lost in it all I just wanted to be alone. 

Slipping  off the bed I pulled on my socks and trainers and headed for the door. Pausing in the doorway I felt my heart sink a little, maybe this was it, maybe I wasn’t what I had promised I would be. 

A single tear fell down my cheek as I closed the hotel room door behind me, leaving my phone and keys on the nightstand. I needed to break free, only time would tell how long for, but I needed to feel. I needed to escape the War inside my head and the only way I knew how to do that, was to run. 

1 HOUR LATER   - 

Rhea and Dom walked through the carpark with his arm wrapped around her waist as they headed towards the rental car. It had been a hard night for them and all they wanted was to climb into bed with their girl and sleep. Damien followed just behind the both of them carrying the groups bags. Finn bringing up the rear of the group was locked into his phone, his face filled with concern for their girl who hadn’t responded to a single text all evening. They had received a message from the WWE management team that they could leave early to limit fan interaction ahead of SummerSlam. 

Climbing into the rental car Dom, Rhea and Damien waited for Finn. 

“Maybe she fell asleep studying?” Dom asked as Finn sat in the back passenger seat. 

Rhea had her phone up to her ear listening to a never ending ringing on the other end, Voicemail again. “Bunny? please call me back.” She ended the call and looked up to Damien in the drives seat. 

“Priest, Floor it!” 

--------

Reaching the hotel all four of them raced from the car inside, adrenaline fed through them as they reached the hotel room. 

Hands shaking Rhea swiped the card multiple times before holding it still long enough to enter. The realization. The Silence. It was deafening.

Damien rushed in to check the bathroom as Finn scrambled around the room with Dom, looking for something, for someone they knew wasn’t there. Rhea stood frozen in the doorway, in silence, her eyes locked in. 

“Rhea?” Dom hastily rushed over, hand on her shoulder as he turned to her eye line. There it was, on the bedside table. 

Finn edged his way over to the bedside as Damien came back into the room. Hands shaking nervously Finn reached down and picked up Y/N phone and hotel keycard. 

They all shared a look between each other, a look of fear and confusion. What were they meant to do now? Where did Y/N go? 

“I shouldn’t of left her…” Finn held the phone tightly pacing the same two steps over. “I could see it, I saw it, I shouldn’t of left her…” Finn repeated again. 

“Finn?” Dom hesitantly questioned his actions. 

Rheas demeanor quickly turned and she slammed her hand against the doorframe and rushed out followed by Finn and Damien desperate to find their girl. 

“Dom stay here! In case she comes back!” Damien yelled, he paused in the hall before rushing back to the room and holding Dominick’s face in his hands. “We will find her, I promise, we will all be back before you know it” Damien kissed his forehead before turning and running back out the door. 

Dom was frozen on the spot, he couldn’t move, he looked around the room at abandoned study books, half unpacked suitcases and clothing discarded on the floor. He felt smaller than ever before, his heartbeat felt cold, his chest filled with butterflies and his hands cold to touch. 

Walking over to the window that stood from floor to ceiling he held his hand to his chest tearing up at the rain lashing down outside . “Less than a minute?” 

[wileys-russo]

Writing challenge idea 🙂

Georgia Stanway “fake dating” like a holidate idea for a wedding - like the anyone but you movie trope if that makes sense! 🙂🙂🙂

georgia stanway

“and you looked over everything i sent you?” you stressed, clutching tightly onto the girls hand who rolled her eyes. “yes! i do know how to be a girlfriend ya know? ive done it once or twice.” georgia teased which did nothing to ease your nerves.

“i know, but have you ever been a fake girlfriend?” you challenged as she pulled a face unable to argue with you. “why is this so important to ya anyway?” she asked as the uber neared the venue and you sighed.

“its not, its just been years of the teasing and the questions and the jokes about everyone else having a partner but me. really makes these events quite insufferable!” you admitted as georgia smiled sympathetically.

"i'm sorry." the english girl squeezed your knee with her free hand as a beat of silence passed.

“so you remember how we met?” you quizzed her, snapping back out of it as georgia recounted the story like clockwork and you nodded, the uber pulling up outside the venue where your cousins engagement party was being held.

you thanked the driver and jumped out of the car as georgia followed, taking your hand again as the two of you made your way toward the entrance. "if you don't know how to answer a question just pretend you don't speak any german." you paused and warned her.

"i don't speak very much german." georgia reminded with an amused smile, trying to calm your obvious nerves. "oh right. perfect! keep it that way." you squeezed her hand and took a deep breath, entering the venue as within seconds there was family members swarming you.

georgia sent you a pleading look as you smiled apologetically, the poor girl whisked away by a few of your cousins for interrogation no doubt as your grandmother tugged you aside for a talk.

you were on edge and getting more nervous by the second as it seemed you and georgia were destined to be apart, the english girl paraded around meeting all your extended family and friends by your sister who was the only family member you'd keyed into your plan, trusting her with your life.

"well well well, that would not be stanway over there pretending to be your girlfriend now would it?" your blood ran cold at the familiar voice, hands settling on your shoulders as you sighed in defeat. "what are you doing here? i thought you couldn't make it." you groaned as laura took a seat beside you with a smirk.

"hey! is that anyway to greet your favourite cousin now schnecke?" the blonde teased, the childhood nickname falling off her tongue as you shot her a glare. "please don't tell anyone." you pleaded, hating how you needed to stoop to her level.

"what do i get out of this?" the footballer grinned as you shook your head, you should have known better than to assume this would happen without bribery. "what do you want lau?" you asked with an annoyed frown.

"mmm you let me score next time you play us." the girl grinned as you scoffed, not even going to entertain her request as a loyal bayern player. "no you are right. that will happen anyway because i have always been a better striker than you are a defender!" laura waved it off as you rolled your eyes.

"i want three packets of balla stix and you room with me next national camp." laura demanded as you eagerly agreed, shaking her hand as she stood. "pleasure doing business kid." she smacked your cheek three times with her hand doing a terrible mobster accent and sauntered off.

"was that laura?" you jumped as georgia dropped down into the seat she'd previously occupied, eyes wide with nerves you'd both been caught out. "its sorted, don't worry. are you okay? my family can be...a lot." you bit your lip guiltily.

"i'm a bit worried your aunties going to try and steal my identity. was just waitin for her to ask for me bank details!" georgia shook her head clicking her tongue as you smiled, nerves easing.

finally left alone the two of you fell into conversation, georgias hand resting on your knee as she scooted her chair closer to be able to hear you over the music, the two of you laughing and messing about like normal.

"we've got an audience." the girl whispered in your ear as you turned your head and jumped seeing your grandmother stood right there. she made a comment in german causing your cheeks to heat up as georgia watched on dumbfounded as the older woman pinched your cheek and walked off again.

"what did she say?" georgia asked with a frown. "she said she hopes you are a better footballer than you are a liar." you sighed with a small smile, you should have known that of all people the hardest to fool would have been her.

"hey i thought i was doin well!" georgia protested with a huff as you laughed, catching the watching eyes of a few more of your cousins from another table. "you are, trust me. best fake girlfriend i've ever had!" you teased, kissing her cheek with a grin.

"well in that case. how about you let me take ya on a real date?" you were taken aback by her question, the midfielders cheeks blushed bright red as she bounced her knee nervously.

"really?" "really."

"yeah, i'd like that." you both exchanged a shy smile, laura appearing again and pulling you both up to dance.

[greedyhoneyz]

I Can’t Lose When I’m With You

.ೃ࿔*:･pairing: kylian mbappé x reader

.ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: there’s something joyous about the sounds of laughter.

.ೃ࿔*:･cw: none. fluff

.ೃ࿔*:･authors notes: this took me awhile to write. this isn’t my best works but ive been stuck with writers block. used google translate for the french. didn't proofread.

“Ćherie!” Kylian’s deep, resonant voice echoed through the dimly lit hallway of his Parisian home as the front door creaked open, and the scent of popcorn and a vanilla line candle filled his nose.

“Ćherie!” He yelled again, a hand pushed up against the hallway wall as he dug his feet out of his shoes. He kicked them aside and jeered his head to stare at the soft glare of light at the end of the hallway.

Dropping his bag at his feet, Kylian followed the light till he stood at the end of the hallway.

On the couch, bundled between a row of pillows and a throw blanket, (name) lay idly, her gaze glued to the blue light emitting from her phone whilst music boomed from her airpods. The tv played on the side of her face, Gossip Girl, a comfort show she watched countless times before.

Slowly, Kylian crept towards (name). He pressed his lips into a line and watched her eyes flutter close, her eyelashes meshing together and springing open with orbs filled with alert.

She stirred, her feet wriggling beneath the throw blanket, and turned her head to Kylian, beaming.

“Kylian,” She mouthed gently, her eyes glancing over his figure. She pulled her airpods from her ears and pressed herself against the couch, her phone tumbling aside. “You’re back.”

“Kiss.” She tilted her head back and puckered her lips as Kylian towered above her. He hung his head, a shadow casting over both their faces, and clasped her face between his hands. He leaned into her, his nose gently bristling against her cheek, and moulded his mouth around her lips.

Kylian savoured the taste of (name’s) strawberry gloss, uttering a strangled moan as he pulled away, leaving a lingering touch on her ample cheek.

He waddled around the couch, his movements slow and sluggish, and eased himself beside (name). Sinking into the cushioned seat, she placed her legs over his lap.

“How was the game?” (name) spared a peep at the television, a flash of black covered the screen indicating the episode had ended. She fixed her gaze on Kylian and smiled warmly at the touch of his hands gently scoring across her legs.

“Good,” He muttered calmly. His digits smoothed down her legs, coddling her ankles, and brushed upwards towards her thighs. He stared at her body with eyes filled with focus and fatigue, his fingers an emblem of his tenderness and care, and batted a gentle look at (name). “...I missed you.”

(name) felt her heart swell and heat flush across her face. She offered a shy grin and threw back words brimmed with solace.

“I missed you too.”

By 9 pm, nightfall had replaced the brisk, autumn evening. The house had fallen into a quiet lull, the tv had shut and faint snores filled the open air. Propped on either side of their sofa, Kylian and (name) slept blissfully– the throw blanket Kylian had once rustled aside draped across their figures and swaddled them like newborns despite the discomforting positions. The couple slept on, stirring at the occasional ding from a phone or beep from the alarm at the front door.

And when morning came, hunger had struck and Kylian had found himself awake. He blinked, baffled and dazed, and slowly slung his head upwards from his shoulder. He wiped a hand across his face, rubbed his tired eyes and shifted, drawing his eyes to the legs dangled across his lap.

He flashed a glance at (name), still content in slumber, and sluggishly dragged his legs inwards. He blinked, knocking his jaw open with a strained yawn and settled back into the couch cushions.

Kylian waded between feelings of fatigue and hunger and peeked a glance at the kitchen just metres away. Imagining a hot plate of eggs, a bagel smothered with cream cheese and a couple of slices of bacon on the side — his belly rumbled at the thought.

He wiped his mouth and carefully lifted himself from the couch, only to be weighed down by (name).

Kylian let out a breath and stared down at his girlfriend, her head hidden beneath her arm and a pillow. He watched her chest rise and deflate in a continuous motion as minute snores whistled from her nostrils.

He smiled, enamoured by the sight and carefully raised his hand. His palm curved around her leg, whisking across her skin delicately, upwards and downwards. He dragged his hand towards her ankle, smoothed the nub and trickled his digits down to her feet.

He curved his hand to the back of her feet and began to wriggle his fingers across her feet.

Kylian was tender at first, his digits barely fluttered against (name’s) feet, which induced the occasional twitch and curl of her toes. His next move was stronger, a rutted attack, as his fingers wormed across her feet in ragged lines, inducing an agitated mewl.

Kylian’s final move was subtle, yet effective. He moved his fingers diligently against her feet and applied pressure on points he had accustomed himself to, sending electric nodes which signified as jolts

across (name’s) body.

She flinched, a groan escaping her tired lips and began to stir, growing more agitated the more Kylian continued his assault before her mewls began to grow higher in pitch.

(name) sprung her eyes open, letting out the loudest giggle and threw back her head. She kicked her feet in an attempt to ward off Kylian’s attack but fell struck in a fit of laughter.

“What are you doing?” She managed a few words between her laughter as teardrops began pooling down her cheeks.

“It tickles!”

“Tes pieds sont si sensibles,” [Your feet are so sensitive,] Kylian mused softly, racing his digits up across her feet once again, tickling her. “I like it.”

“Kylian, wait-”

“Je n'arrête pas.” [I’m not stopping.] He cooed assertively, sending (name) an amused look.

“Kylian!” (name) whined, she wriggled beneath her boyfriend and laughed gleefully with a grin that reached from ear to ear.

“Don’t stop!”

No longer dazed by slumber, (name) found herself engulfed with joy and never-ending laughter as Kylian tickled her feet and laughed alongside her. She was delighted, he was amused. Her delicate laughter soothed him and his mischievous antics felt her panting for breath in their Parisian home that stood cloudless beneath the frisk, bitter early autumn air.

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 3727

this is loosely based off of sympathy is a knife by charlie xcx, it’s a lot of world building please bear with me i have a vision (-﹏-。) also expect cursing. this is quite a long one (im working on multiple parts), i'll try to post as much as can.

part ii part iii part iv

All children are encouraged to do their best, dream big, and reach for the stars. But let's be honest: how many kids actually achieve that goal? How many adults can say they have been fighting for their place for far longer than they can remember?

Not a lot.

That kind of passion was rare. But perhaps it was more than passion; maybe it was the sick sense of wanting something bigger than yourself. Maybe she was just a workhorse that never learned when to stop. 

Growing up karting was where Yn found a love for motorsports, it was her dad that introduced her to it. A part of her felt for the older man; this had been his dream as much as it was hers. Back then, it had always been just a hobby, even though she had already achieved multiple wins. She never thought it would come this far.

At 16, she was picked up by the Red Bull junior team to race in various junior categories, eventually making it into Formula 3 and then Formula 2. Even then scoring points and race wins came easy. Years of hard work and dedication had done her well, with many saying that a Formula 1 career was surely in the cards for her.

And if she was being honest, Yn was hungry for that Formula 1 seat.

Yn’s laptop lit up with an email, enclosed was her contract with VCARB. She was going into Formula 1.  Was it arrogant to say she had been expecting this? Could you blame her for asserting it wasn’t a matter of if, but when? 

But signing the contract should have felt like a victory, a promise fulfilled, a chance for everything she’d worked toward to pay off. But as the seconds flew by, Yn could already feel the weight settling over her, heavy as a storm cloud. The stakes had never been this high, and the whispers were already there, quietly accusing, scrutinizing. Her entrance into F1 wasn’t just a testament to her skill and ambition; it was a flashpoint, a reason for some to undermine her achievements and question her right to be here.

F1 wasn’t just a men’s world—it was a battleground where “passion” for her felt dangerously close to “obsession,” and her relentless pursuit of victory was both her strength and her vulnerability. Yn knew that she couldn’t just be good; she had to be perfect, ruthless in her pursuit for wins and podiums, and undeterred by every sly remark and skeptic. Sympathy, after all, was nothing but a knife in disguise, and she’d long since learned not to expect it from anyone, even her team.

Her first day at VCARB was a whirlwind of meetings, briefings, and countless faces both excited and skeptical. The engineers studied her, sizing up the girl who was stepping into a seat she’d earned, but one they seemed to question if she could keep. Her jaw tightened with determination—she would prove every one of them wrong, and not out of spite but out of an unyielding hunger to carve her name in F1 history.

Yuki arrived in the afternoon, a familiar face in a sea of unknowns. With an easy grin, he crossed the garage, his demeanor effortlessly lighthearted as he joked with the engineers before catching her eye. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here so soon,” he teased, a glimmer of pride in his eyes that he knew she’d earned.

She let a small smile slip, and for a moment, the walls she’d erected came down. “Surprised? I thought you’d know better,” she quipped back, crossing her arms.

“Not surprised,” he replied. “Just excited. Maybe I’ll finally have someone here to keep me on my toes.”

But behind their friendly exchange was an edge, a reminder that this was a competition and that teammates or not, they were both vying for survival in the world’s most ruthless racing series. They had both clawed their way here, and no amount of camaraderie could change the fact that every second on the track was a chance to prove they deserved to stay.

Underneath Yuki’s easygoing nature, she knew there was a fierce competitor. She’d seen him race, seen the raw talent that made him as unpredictable as he was quick. Yn knew they’d push each other to the limits, that their friendship would inevitably become a duel of ambition. And she wanted that—it made her hungrier, sharper.

But there was something different about her fight. Being the first female F1 driver in years meant her wins were never just hers; every success and failure became ammunition for those who doubted women in motorsport. There was no room for mistakes, and any slip-up would be amplified, dissected in the press, on social media, even in private conversations she was never meant to hear.

One night, as she stared out at the empty track after hours, she felt Yuki’s presence beside her. “They’re going to be watching everything I do,” she said, voice low, a rare admission of vulnerability.

“They watch all of us,” he replied softly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I know how hard you’ve worked to get here. And… well, if they think they can beat you down, you’re gonna prove them wrong. Just… stay hungry, yeah?” He nudged her shoulder gently.

“Hungry?” she scoffed, steeling herself. “I’m starving.” 

Yuki chuckled, but it was laced with respect. “Good. Because that’s what it takes.”

The season had started on fire for Yn. Her first four races saw her consistently in the points, an impressive feat for any rookie, let alone one under as much pressure and scrutiny as she was. Headlines praised her talent, with journalists and fans alike marveling at her ability to keep up with more seasoned drivers. Her team, too, seemed to start letting their guard down, seeing her not as a gamble, but as an asset. But as is often the case in Formula 1, the success didn't last forever.

Her fifth race began with promise, but Yn knew almost from the start that something was off. The car felt different, twitchy around the corners, each lap feeling more and more like she was on a knife’s edge. Halfway through, she could feel her grip on the track slipping, but she pushed harder, unwilling to lose ground.

With just a few laps remaining, the inevitable happened.

The crash was swift and brutal. The car spun out in the third sector, her back tires skidding as she lost control. She hit the barriers hard, the sound of carbon fiber breaking echoing through her helmet. Her vision blurred as the world spun, then finally stopped, leaving her breathless in the cockpit, staring at the wreckage around her.

Her engineer’s voice came through her headset immediately. “Yn, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, trying to steady herself, adrenaline still pumping as she felt the sting of defeat sink in. “I… I’m sorry. I lost it. The car just—slipped.”

There was a pause on the other end, a moment that felt like judgment even through the crackling radio. “We’re glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back to the garage. We’ll review the data,” her engineer replied, his voice careful.

Yuki’s voice came through on her personal channel moments later, after seeing her crash on his onboard. “Yn? You alright?” His tone was laced with concern, stripped of the usual playfulness.

She swallowed, fighting the frustration building in her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… pissed off.”

“You’ll be back next race,” he assured her, but she could only respond with silence. The shame of letting her team, her fans, and herself down weighed heavily on her.

In the post-race interview, Yn struggled to find the right words. The cameras focused on her, the flash of lights overwhelming as journalists fired questions, each one cutting a little deeper.

“Yn, it was a tough day. Do you think the pressure got to you out there?”

She clenched her fists, forcing a composed smile. “I don’t think it’s about pressure. Today just… wasn’t my day. The car was giving me some issues, and I did my best to control it. Sometimes, that’s just racing.”

“But after four races in the points, are you worried this is a sign of things to come?”

The question sliced through her like a knife, and she could feel the weight of the implication: that she was fragile, a fluke who’d just been lucky.

“No, I’m not worried,” she replied, her voice steady but tense. “One race doesn’t define my season. I’m here to compete, and I’ll be back even stronger next race.”

When the interviews ended, she caught Yuki’s eye across the paddock. He gave her a nod, a silent show of support that reminded her she wasn’t alone, even if it felt like she was carrying the world’s judgment on her shoulders.

The news coverage the next day was ruthless. Headlines screamed with exaggerated disappointment: “Yn Cracks Under Pressure?” and “First Female F1 Driver in Years Falters After Promising Start.” A few outlets were kinder, chalking up the crash to typical rookie mistakes and downplaying any concerns over her ability to handle the car. But most took the crash as an invitation to dissect her every move, doubting whether she could handle the demands of the sport.

Social media was ablaze, fans and critics alike chiming in, and Yn could barely stand to look. She knew this was part of the game, that everyone in F1 was under scrutiny, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for her, the stakes were higher. Every failure she faced felt amplified, a reason for the world to question her right to be here.

Yuki called her that night, his voice calm and soothing against the chaos swirling around her.

“I’m just so pissed,” she admitted finally, her frustration cracking through her voice. “I wanted to prove that I belong here, and now… it feels like all anyone sees is this one mistake.”

“You know that’s not true,” he replied, a hint of warmth in his tone. “Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats. They’ve all crashed at some point. Don’t let them take that fire from you. Because once the season’s over, they’ll see what you’re made of.”

She took a shaky breath, comforted by his words. It was strange—she’d started this journey expecting every teammate to be a rival, another barrier to overcome. But in Yuki, she’d found someone who understood the relentless, hungry drive that fueled her, and who respected it.

The next morning, her team’s engineers ran a debrief, analyzing the telemetry and tire data from the crash. They assured her that she’d made the right call in pushing the car, that the twitchiness wasn’t imagined. Yn felt a flicker of relief; maybe she hadn’t just cracked under pressure, maybe it had been an unfortunate mix of circumstances. But no matter the reason, she knew she had to rise from this stronger than before.

It had been a long race, Jeddah was grueling and relentless, yet Yn had been on the verge of a breakthrough. She was fighting tooth and nail for P8, going wheel-to-wheel with Fernando Alonso in the final laps. She’d been holding her own, each move calculated, each corner taken with the precision she’d been honing for years. This was her shot, her chance to show everyone she wasn’t a fluke or a face in the crowd. She was ready to prove herself.

Then it happened.

They clashed in the final sector, both fighting for space. Fernando took the inside line, edging her out, and she, desperate to hold her position, stayed close, too close. Their wheels touched, and in a flash, her car lost stability, skidding and spinning before colliding with the barrier. The jolt left her breathless, her hands gripping the wheel as the rage took over.

Her engineer’s voice cracked through the radio. “Yn, are you okay? What happened?”

She clenched her jaw, trying to control the fury building up inside her. “That fucking guy, Alonso! He squeezed me—left me no room!” Her voice was shaking, frustration and adrenaline spilling over. “I had that position!”

There was a silence on the radio as they processed her words. “Copy, Yn. We saw the incident. Just stay calm.”

Stay calm? She’d given everything, and now, twice in a row, her race had ended in ruin.

After the race, Yn felt the press of cameras and microphones on her as she trudged toward the media pen. She could barely contain the frustration bubbling inside her, a storm barely held back as reporters closed in, questions already on their tongues.

“Yn, this is the second crash in a row. Are you feeling the pressure of Formula 1?”

“What’s your take on the incident with Alonso? Do you blame him?”

Yn took a steadying breath, but the calm she'd usually conjure wasn't there. “Look,” she said, voice tight, trying to keep her tone steady, “I know what happened out there, and Alonso gave me no space. I was holding my line, fighting for position like we all do. I’ll review the footage with the team, but if people think I can’t handle the pressure—they’re wrong.”

The next question felt even more loaded. “Is it challenging to maintain focus, given the scrutiny you’re under as the first female driver in years?”

She forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not here to be a spectacle; I’m here to race. Everyone’s under pressure in this sport. It’s what makes us competitors. The scrutiny just makes me hungrier.”

Her words were pointed, but she could already feel the twisting of her words forming in the reporters’ minds, their pens scratching away, headlines already buzzing to life in their notebooks.

The news the next morning was merciless. Some articles analyzed her crash with Alonso, calling it a “rookie miscalculation,” while others openly questioned whether Yn’s composure was “cracking” under the scrutiny. The worst were the opinion pieces, suggesting she might be better suited to junior categories if she couldn’t handle the rigors of F1.

Yuki found her in the paddock later that evening, her expression set as she packed up her things, clearly wanting to avoid any more eyes on her. He walked over, hands in his pockets, a gentle smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Rough race out there. I saw the footage—Alonso really gave you no room.”

She shot him a look, her expression unreadable. “Thanks, Yuki, but I don’t need anyone to say it wasn’t my fault. I should’ve handled it better.”

“It wasn’t about fault,” he countered softly, unfazed by her edge. “It was a close fight. You held your ground. Besides, you’re doing something none of these people could even dream of.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shoving her race gloves into her bag. “Spare me the pep talk. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy. Especially not yours.”

He took a step closer, not backing down. “This isn’t sympathy, Yn. You’re one of the best rookies on the grid. Every one of us has crashed. I know what you’re going through, and I know how much you want this. But maybe don’t let their voices drown out what you already know—you deserve to be here.”

She wanted to tell him to stop, to remind him that it was different for her, that every mistake was fuel for those doubting her existence in this sport. But instead, she looked away, unable to bring herself to speak. She didn’t want to be seen as weak, as someone who needed reassurance.

Yuki sighed, catching the conflicted look in her eyes. “Alright,” he said quietly, his gaze softening. “Just… don’t forget that you’ve got people here who believe in you. No matter what the headlines say.”

She gave him a brief, reluctant nod, her voice a whisper. “Thanks, Yuki. But belief isn’t going to get me P8.” She turned and headed for the exit, leaving him behind as the words hung in the air, heavy with the reminder of just how high the stakes were.

Yuki knew things had changed since those days in the Red Bull junior program. Back then, it was just him and Yn, two kids pushing limits, sharing laughs and late nights studying data, feeling like the world wasn’t so big, like maybe they’d take it on together someday. She’d always been determined, sometimes stubbornly so, but she’d had that spark, that glint in her eye when she talked about F1 like it was the only thing that mattered. But now, standing at the pinnacle they’d dreamed of, Yuki could feel the distance growing between them, a wall she was building with every race, every misstep, every setback. 

He tried to remind her of those lighter times, even when the racing got intense. On weekends, he’d linger in the garage with her, cracking jokes, trying to coax a laugh out of her, like they used to do after tough sessions back in Formula 2. But it felt different now. She had this look, as if there was a weight pressing on her that no amount of lightheartedness could lift. 

The night after her crash with Alonso, Yuki tried again, catching up to her outside the paddock as she was leaving. “Hey!” he called, jogging to catch up. “Thought maybe we could grab a bite together. There’s this place nearby that serves ridiculous ramen—reminds me of the spot we’d hit after races.”

She hesitated, her gaze distant, before letting out a sigh. “Yuki, I’m tired. I just want to go back to the hotel and review the data. It was a messy race, and I don’t think I have much appetite.”

Yuki’s shoulders dropped, but he shrugged, forcing a smile. “We could just hang out, then. No data. Just us. I mean… it’s been a while since we’ve really relaxed, you know?”

She gave him a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I appreciate it, really. But I need to focus. I can’t afford to mess up again, not with everything they’re saying.”

He could hear the bitterness in her voice, the resentment barely hidden beneath. It killed him to see her like this—so hardened, so guarded. She was always the toughest of the rookies, fearless, but now it seemed like her own passion had turned against her, trapping her in a never-ending battle against herself. 

He tried again the next day, lingering by her side during their briefing, sending her a grin every chance he got, trying to bring back that easy dynamic they used to have. But it was like she was somewhere else, somewhere far away where his words couldn’t reach her. She’d nod along, respond, but always with that distracted air, her eyes flicking back to the screen, the telemetry, the data, anything but him.

By the time they were heading out after debrief, Yuki couldn’t hold back anymore. “Yn,” he said, his voice softer, catching her arm as she went to turn away. “I know you’re frustrated, I know it feels like everything’s on the line, but… this isn’t like you. You’re carrying everything on your shoulders alone. Let me be there, like we used to.”

For a moment, her expression softened, a glimpse of the Yn he remembered, the one who used to nudge him in the ribs and joke about who could get pole on the practice track. But it faded just as quickly, replaced by that same stony determination.

“I appreciate it, Yuki. But you don’t understand. It’s different for me.” She pulled her arm back gently, looking away. “Every mistake I make gives people more reasons to think I shouldn’t be here. Every crash, every missed point. Sympathy’s a knife in this sport, and I can’t afford to need anyone’s help. I just… I have to handle it.”

He let her words sink in, feeling the sting behind them, realizing that every race, every session was turning her into someone he barely recognized. But he understood, maybe better than she thought. Yuki knew that in F1, there were those who supported you, but there were also those who’d gladly let you fall, especially if you didn’t fit their mold.

“Maybe it’s different for you,” he said quietly, keeping his voice steady. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re teammates. We’re supposed to be here for each other. I’m… I’m supposed to be here for you.”

She looked up at him, and for a second, he thought he’d broken through. But she just shook her head, a faint, sad smile on her lips. “Thanks, Yuki. Really. But I need to be strong enough on my own. If I rely on anyone too much, they’ll use it against me. I have to prove myself, no matter what.”

Yuki watched as she turned away again, shoulders squared, that unyielding resolve back in her posture. He knew there was no convincing her, no getting her to see that it was okay to lean on someone every now and then, that it didn’t make her weak. But as she walked away, he felt the weight of her words settle on him, a sadness mingling with frustration. This wasn’t the Yn he knew—this was someone who felt like she had the world against her, like every race was a fight to justify her existence in F1.

Later that night, Yuki found himself with Pierre, staring at his untouched bowl of ramen, his mind churning. He’d always known Yn was strong, maybe even stronger than him in ways he didn’t fully understand. But it was painful to watch her shoulder that strength like a burden, pushing everyone else away, including him. 

He thought about what he could say next time, some way to convince her that she didn’t have to do this alone, that he wasn’t there out of sympathy, but out of respect and genuine friendship. But deep down, he knew that as long as she felt the world’s expectations pressing down on her, she’d keep her guard up. For now, all he could do was be there, waiting, hoping that one day she’d let him in, let him remind her that even in the ruthless world of F1, there was room for someone who’d stand by her side, win or lose.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Six

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3,2k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, blood, unusual and dangerous use of a knife, revenge, violence, explicit and dirty language, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! In this chapter there will be a slight change for MC, I hope you will enjoy the chapter, let me know what you think! 💜

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

"How is she?"

The dark-haired boy lifted his eyes to Seokjin, who was staring at him with his hands in his pockets, still dressed smartly and wearing perfectly polished-toed shoes.

"They stitched her up and now they're giving her an IV, she's lost too much blood," was Jimin's laconic reply, who was leaning against the wall of the waiting room pondering what to do.

They were in a private clinic, there was no danger of awkward questions; it belonged to a cousin of Seokjin's. That was where they went when they urgently needed a doctor.

"And what are you going to do with Ester?"

"I was just about to talk about her," he broke off from the wall, "She's one of your girls, but she disrespected me, Jin."

"You don't want to kill her," Seokjin said, although it was clear from his tone that he wasn't all that interested, but Jimin shook his head and the man relaxed his shoulders; every woman present at the Dark Moon was a big, juicy source of income.

"I want to teach her what respect is for me and my orders, I won't allow just any whore to challenge a decision of mine," he said harshly.

"You're right, besides it might stir up the others to do the same in case there are further jealousies" he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, irritated, "All right, instruct her" he gave his consent and made to turn on his heels and leave, but Jimin blocked him.

"I'll take her."

"How?" he had heard perfectly well, but he wanted to push him to be more detailed.

"You made me a proposition and this is my last answer, I'll take her."

Because the Dark Moon was a den of snakes and she would only be safe in his arms.

"I'll prepare the bow, then," smiled Jin, Jimin snorted, smiling faintly.

Then she saw him leave and his smile faded, he had a score to settle with Ester and it didn't take him long to return to the Dark Moon, Namjoon greeted him with a look of understanding.

"Hanon locked her in her room, all she did was scream and throw objects everywhere."

Just the thought of such a scene irritated the man.

"I'll give her a good reason to scream if she cares that much," he hissed, Namjoon nodded, knowing his friend, he would not go lightly.

When he entered the room that had seen better days, Jimin found a mad woman inside, messy locks fell across her red, furious face, and broken and bruised objects were scattered everywhere, victims of Ester's rage.

The woman stopped only at the sight of the man stuck on the threshold watching her; Jimin's expression was indecipherable, but his eyes were harder than ice, a detail that made the young woman's lips tighten.

Jimin took two steps inside the bedroom, closing the door behind him, turned the key already in the lock slowly, and a boulder dropped on her stomach.

"Jimin..." the nasal voice because of the hysterical crying and the punch she had received sounded whiny, which did not faze him.

"Ester" dropped the key into one of his pockets and gave it his undivided attention, "Tell me, Ester.... That stupid scene, what do you think it would have led to?"

The girl swallowed, suddenly frozen.

"I asked you nicely to take care of her, to explain things to her," continued Jimin calmly, "And instead you send her to the hospital," he chuckled without amusement.

Ester did not know what to say, she felt only cruel satisfaction in knowing that Y/N's condition was so critical as to require qualified medical attention.

The bitch had to be punished, she thought.

"How do you explain this?"

"I'm yours," asserted the woman simply, "You shouldn't have let her take my place, who is she? You don't even know her, she doesn't know what you like in bed, and even if she did she wouldn't be able to satisfy you, you've been looking for me all along," she growled through tears, Jimin raised an amused eyebrow.

Perhaps Y/N did not know what he liked in bed, but for what little he had had her, she had managed to give him an unforgettable blowjob; Ester's jealousy amused and irritated him at the same time.

Ester could claim to be his, but he certainly did not belong to her.

"I don't know how true that can be," the man crossed his legs, "You say you're mine, but I've seen you satisfy many other men before and after me...besides, who says I've only ever sought you out?" he asked with a smile, remembering vividly that he had had sex with countless other women. The fact that at the Dark Moon he had chosen Ester as his favorite had been totally random; everyone had chosen a girl and he had done the same, choosing one of the prettiest and best. He didn't think that this would make her head swell.

"You've come back to me now," remarked the woman, giving no sign of having listened to a single word Jimin said, blatantly pretending.

The boy remained impassive a few moments before opening his legs slightly.

"Come here," he patted his own powerful thigh wrapped in tight dark pants, Ester remained interdicted and guarded, making the boy snort, "Don't make me repeat myself," he hissed.

The woman took a few steps in his direction, when she saw that Jimin had no strange intentions she became braver, even going so far as to sit on the man who waited patiently for her.

"Lively little girl," he smiled sweetly, arranging a few strands behind her ear, Ester's heart beat inexorably, enchanted by the heavenly vision that was Jimin, "Repeat to me what you told me at first."

As if bewitched by the boy's charm, Ester repeated his words once more, "I am yours..." Jimin nodded, leaving a kiss on the woman's neck.

"Again, Ester," the woman threw her head back under the tender strokes of Jimin's tongue along her skin, inside she exulted in lust.

"I'm yours...!" she moaned when her intimacy came in contact with Jimin's cock, she felt the tip press against her core through the tight fabric, Ester shuddered at the idea of being able to enjoy that rapturous hardness once more and vibrated excitedly when Jimin pushed her against the bed, straddling her body.

"Say it again and again..." he whispered hoarsely, touching the intimacy of the young woman, who arched her back at the contact, thrusting her hips against his hand, which crossed the barrier of her dress to tickle her clit directly.

Long moans dispersed through the room, Ester not holding back from letting everyone know what was going on in there, as if to prove that Jimin never intended to punish her, that she would always remain his favorite.

That is, until Jimin's fingers were replaced by something icy, smooth, and hard that penetrated her slit.

She had not even noticed that the boy had retrieved the object, nor did she know where he got it from or what it was.

Maybe it was-

"Stop moving like a bitch in heat," Jimin ordered her, Ester frowned, she was about to cum, why would she stop-, "Stop if you don't want me to slice you, Ester" was his final warning.

"Jimin, what-"

"Go ahead, say again that you're mine-until you yourself realize the bullshit you keep babbling," he hissed, scrutinizing her cruelly with a derisive smile, his hand made the object penetrate deeper, which caused Ester to squint.

Jimin's words confused her-what game was he playing? And most importantly...

"What do you have in your hand, Jimin?"

"Are you referring to the thing you're sucking up so easily? Hmm... in my opinion you can get there," he said vaguely getting no answer, he huffed, "Come on... you always asked me to give it to you, which is impossible given the rules here at the Dark Moon," he chuckled, holding the base tightly.

At those words Ester blanched.

The switchblade that Jimin always carried with him.

"Jimin... this is a joke, isn't it?" she asked tensely, the boy replied by pressing the knife handle harder against her walls, just a simple gesture and the blade would snap like a spring.

"A whore without a pussy would be worthless," reasoned Jimin, there Ester had confirmation that the man was serious, she began to tremble and break into a cold sweat.

If before pleasure was the only thing she felt, now terror had encompassed every fiber of her body.

"Jimin, please..." she cried tremblingly, but the boy shushed her.

"Your arrogance has always disgusted me, Ester.... but your disobedience is the worst thing about you, I've always let it go because it was pleasurable to fuck you, but now I can't see what attracted me to you anymore," he spat, "Do you want it fast or slow?" he asked mellifluously, smiling fearfully.

Ester quickly denied with her head, she was a lake of tears and unrestrained sobs, "Don't! I-I won't give you any more trouble, I swear, I swear!" she screamed breathlessly, unable to move her body because of the terror she was feeling.

The man after a few moments moved away, withdrawing his weapon accordingly, Ester relaxed slightly before she felt a hissing sound cleave the air and something liquid dripping from one of her cheeks.

Wide-eyed she brought a trembling hand to her face and with a horrible foreboding saw blood, she was breathless when she realized what had happened.

Jimin watched uninterestedly as the woman's despair, her face scarred, ran to the mirror to ascertain her condition, he saw her collapse on her own knees amid sobs and cries, the only thing he felt was annoyance at that scene which he said was ridiculous. She had touched Y/N's face, he had done the same to hers. Permanently.

"You'll be able to satisfy clients with perversions like that, too, aren't you happy?"

He walked out of the room as he entered it, meeting Namjoon's gaze.

"I hope you haven’t damaged it too much."

Jimin shrugged, "Clients care about what's between her legs, she was unsightly even before," Namjoon rolled his eyes.

"I'll go get someone to treat her, she's screaming more than before," he hissed holding the bridge of his nose tightly between two fingers.

Jimin patted him twice before heading out of the brothel, ready to finish the job he had started.

The man cast a glance at the woman sitting in the back seat, she was still dazed from the medication that prevented her from feeling pain, she stood staring out of the tinted windows.

A large medical patch covered her entire cheek, just as a bandage wrapped her head tightly and securely.

At her side Taehyung made sure she did not attempt any strange moves; the boy was dressed in casual clothes unlike the young woman who was wearing only pajamas and slippers.

It was nighttime, Jimin had made sure to pick her up in a safe time frame for everyone so as not to raise even the slightest doubt.

"Where do you think I'm taking you?" broke the silence Jimin, Y/N barely lifted her head.

"To the Dark Moon, that's where I belong, isn't it?" she replied apathetically, a slow smile lapped the young male's face.

"You got it wrong this time, honey," he said, leaving her interjected.

"What do you mean?"

"I found a better use for you," he chuckled, almost breathing in the fear of the poor girl, who upset cast a glance at Taehyung.

She hadn't known him long, but in the clinic when she was surrounded by doctors, he had given her the impression that he was a calm and lucid man, or so she thought, although she remembered perfectly well that if Jimin wasn't there, then Taehyung himself would be there to give her that "checkup."

"Calm down, kitten, if he wanted to hurt you, he would have already done so, right?" he affirmed, instantly procuring a glare of lightning from Y/N.

"He did hurt me," she huffed inviperately, squeezing herself into her seat.

Jimin looked at her from the mirror, studying the woman's emaciated contours, her lips tightened into a line were a sign of her strange inner turmoil.

He did not want to get to the point of hurting her again, yet the way he had been raised left no room for pity, if she tried any bullshit he would pay for every single consequence.

After a few kilometers the car stopped in front of a seemingly very luxurious apartment establishment, a garage opened up for them and Jimin wasted no time in getting in, Taehyung on the other hand did not lose sight of every corner of the street, although from the angelic faces they remained gentlemen of the underworld. Seokjin as already specified had his hands full just about everywhere, dealing not only in his brothel - a source of more than excellent income - but also in dealing and often murder for hire.

There were not exactly a few of their enemies.

Y/N squared off with a bad feeling the other cars present-where had they taken her?

"Get her out," ordered Jimin, Taehyung opened his door first and going around he allowed the woman to get out as well, holding her firmly by the arm, not only to prevent her from escaping - she had nowhere to go given the enclosed space they were in - but also because he was unsure of her strength, the young woman in fact was unsteady on her own legs.

Out of the corner of his eye Jimin noticed that Taehyung was about to take her in his arms, which inexplicably irritated him. He knew that his friend had no interest in the girl, but that did not stop him from harshly jerking the other away from her to take her personally in his arms stunning not only Taehyung, but Y/N herself, who tried to shrink as much as possible under his dark gaze. The man's grip was firm, but she felt herself falling into the arms of her tormentor.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked with a knot in her throat; Jimin did not answer immediately.

First he climbed stairs that led them to a larger door, from that opened a long, dimly lit hallway and then more stairs to climb until they reached a landing with an elevator.

When they entered and the doors closed he finally spoke.

"You are in your new home."

A thousand questions poured into Y/N's head, confused and agitated. Had she been sold? So, is this how it was going to end?

She had basically ended up like her sister, she thought sorrowfully, regretting several times the absurd idea of looking for a similar job to support herself.

"More to the point, you are in your new home, yours and Jimin's," Taehyung chuckled, as the elevator doors opened to show a series of numbered, digitally locking doors.

"What?"

Taehyung typed a code on the keypad on the door with the number 7, which opened with a soft, almost imperceptible click.

The first thing the woman saw was a spacious, modern living room with an L-shaped sofa of soft dark leather that drew all the attention to itself.

"What does that mean?"

Jimin made a sign to his friend, who understood instantly. He wanted to be alone with Y/N.

"I'm off, see you soon kitten," he greeted her before disappearing, carefully closing the door behind him, the resulting sound no longer sounding so soft to Y/N's ears.

She felt she was being teased.

"What does that mean?" she repeated more somberly, Jimin took a seat on the sofa, crossing his legs in a pose that screamed elegance and power.

"I bought you, that's what it means."

It was a lie, Seokjin had made a gift of her to Jimin, but the latter with that statement tried to give himself an intimidating aura, buying a person after all was not something everyday, one had to be a powerful and influential person to do so, the man wanted her to feel fear in his presence.

She was stunned, "Why would you do that? You hate me, you find me useless! Is this another way to torture me?" she hissed with tears in her eyes, "You made me lose everything, what more do you want from me?"

She was broken.

She had run away from a monster to save her sister, but she had lost her and had been humiliated in more ways than one by Jimin and his former lover, if she could have ended it to avoid more suffering she would have taken the chance.

"I don't hate you, silly," sighed Jimin as he took off his jacket, "You irritate me with your stubborn attitude, but I don't hate you...it's other people I reserve my poison for, it's precious, it's the fuel that gets me going, my beautiful girl" he got up from his seat to go pour himself a few shots of vanilla rum, the crystal mini bar displayed his small but expensive collection of drinks, they were mostly classic brands, Jimin must have been an experienced drinker.

He sipped slowly from his glass, the plump, glossy lips matched perfectly with the transparent rim, soaking up the amber liquid, the piercing tapped lightly against the crystalline surface. Y/N imagined the sinful taste they had, wondered why she had not met him in his angel form, why she was given the devil, after the hell she had already been accustomed to.

"And then..." he continued, "I wouldn't let you stay at the Dark Moon a minute longer, I've already told you that but maybe it's better to refresh your memory," he murmured as he approached, the girl took small steps back, nothing compared to the male's two strides, "I won't let any other man get his hands on you, I want you and consequently you belong to me," he said casting a languid glance at the woman's lips.

"And what will you do in case you get tired of me?" she provoked him.

Jimin's eyes darkened, "What should I do with a stupid little girl like you?" he asked, not answering her question.

Neither of them would have liked the answer.

He took a lock of her soft hair in his fingers, bringing it to his nose he inhaled its light fragrance, the hospital had turned the girl off. He decided to leave her alone for the time being, she needed to recover, and from her thin, depressed appearance he guessed it would take quite some time.

"Here is a room with a bathroom for you, you will also find clean clothes, you may go," he turned away from her, who resumed breathing normally. Jimin was lethal and she feared it was not for one simple reason.

It may have sounded absurd, but no matter how much her instincts screamed at her to escape from the clutches of that monster, a much darker part of her could not stop pointing out its bewitching and sinful aspect.

Hers was a desire that had to be kept silent and hidden inside the closet because it was shameful and sick.

[sunnymusingsao3]

How to Play Twenty Questions

Words: 7,444 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Lonnie Machin Summary: I give an anarchist a sexuality crisis Tags: Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Missing Scene, Pre-New 52, New Earth, Coma, There's one scene done in the style of a chatfic at the end, This is rather slice of life for superheroes, There's a lot of talking and not much mission

Preview:

Adjusting to life the way it’s turned lately has been… labyrinthine, to put it mildly. That is, Lonnie’s been doing as he always does– surviving at all costs– but it’s not as if that’s been made easy for him to do.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the worst parts of it; the aches that score bone-deep and radiate through his muscle tissue and nervous system, the numbed and prickly pieces of his body that he can’t feel at all, or the arrant humiliation of knowing that someone much, much less intelligent than him had been allowed to cause this much harm– to name a few.

Steve Neumann. Sean Jacobs. Dave McEvoy. Their families will never see them again, and Lonnie has helped make that happen.

There is something gut-wrenchingly devastating in how completely, how irreparably, a fascist child playing soldier dress up has razed Anarky to the ground. The people will never trust the moniker again. Brought on by a gunshot– incomprehensibly quick and calamitously loud, perpetually drumming in repetition in the depths of his skull, always where it hurts the most– Lonnie Machin has lost at once his sword and shield, and Gotham’s voice has been choked off–

To name a few more.

These are the things he believes he will never tell anyone. See, there is nothing so torturous as being so totally and finitely unable to do anything to reverse the slaughter of one’s singular, self-made purpose in the century of life gifted at birth. There is one thing that Anarky wants, one penultimate goal for the people he’s vowed to protect– but as it’s turned out, he can’t even protect three people from someone who should never have presented as big a threat as he did.

There are no how-to manuals about recovering from that.

So, he doesn’t tell anyone about it.

Instead, he moves his knight on Chess.com and waits for Tim’s answering play.

“Interesting.” Tim hums, and he looks like he wants to talk smack, but for whatever reason, something stays his hand. Rather, tongue.

Lonnie dreams of telling him off for it, but he settles instead for, “No commentary for the spectators?”

“Not when my spectator is working as my opponent.” The on-break vigilante responds, a grin cracking across his lips. Tim is half-undressed from his gear, his belts and cape discarded in a chair by the wall, and his gloves are dangling off the arm of the one he’s pulled up next to Lonnie’s bed. His hair is disheveled, and at its current length, it flops to either side of his temples, curling a tad around his ears. It’s a strange contrast to the cropped cuts he’d gelled to the nines back in the day, and Lonnie suspects that if he were to reach out and touch it, it would be softer than he’s ever seen it before. If not somewhat sweaty, that is.

“Your turn.” Tim mentions, which draws Lonnie’s attention back to the game–

Where it becomes evident that he’s losing. Badly.

“I hope this hasn’t been too easy for you.” The computer pipes up, as Lonnie simultaneously stalls for time, and watches Tim’s reaction.

Alas, it reveals everything that Lonnie was afraid of.

“What? Of course not.” Tim laughs, too hastily, too stridently.

Fancying a sigh, the anarchist resigns the game, the sting of disappointment washing frigidly through his veins, not unlike the feeling of the IV drip when it releases medicine into his bloodstream.

“Hey– you could have come back from that.” Tim is trying to placate Lonnie, and the spider knows this. But it tastes bitter against Lonnie’s tonsils, so in spite of Tim’s most well-meaning intentions, he rejects them.

“I’m not going to insult you by banking on you losing to gross negligence or sheer accident. It’s fine. Let’s start again.”

Lonnie invites Tim to a new game, and in silence, the pair begin.

It takes less than ten moves for Lonnie to get wise to what Tim is doing.

He resigns again, which makes Tim blanch, his head shooting up to peer at his friend in unwarranted surprise. “You were winning!”

Lonnie can’t clench his jaw, nor hit the keys on a virtual keyboard with any force, but he hopes that the voice of the screen reader makes his disdain apparent. “Do you have any idea how belittling it is to let me win?”

Tim Drake is known to be a fantastic liar. But Lonnie Machin is known to be truthful to a fault. He identifies Tim’s tells as they happen. “I wasn’t–”

“Save it.” The robotic voice cuts him off, and Tim’s jaw shutters. “If you’re not going to play a fair game, I don’t want to participate. I won’t enable cheating, and I certainly won’t be complicit in it. I can’t believe you’d try something like that.”

Red Robin passes like a cloud over Tim’s icy eyes. “I didn’t want you to get discouraged.”

Lonnie itches to laugh. “Whatever. Let’s get back to business; we have a lot to do, don’t we?”

“I mean, we could take a few more minutes–”

“Let's get back to business.” Lonnie pushes harder.

And Tim doesn’t need to don the cowl for Lonnie to be able to pinpoint the changes in his posture, in the way he distributes his own weight, for him to know that he’s speaking with the recently-graduated former protege of the Batman, now, rather than his new best pal, Tim Drake-without-the-Wayne.

“Fine.” Tim stands, as he prefers to do when discussing matters like this. Lonnie wonders if he’s aware he does it. “What’d you find on the new Lynx?”

[Read the rest on AO3]

[bearyzdiary]

Valentine’s Day with Simon

Simon x reader

This diary entry contains…short hc’s for what Simon and you do for Valentine’s Day!|Kissing|Established relationship|simon being a cutie| mentions of alcohol| written in my new head-cannon form!|short and sugary sweet!

A/N:IM SO SO SORRY IVE BEEN SLOW ON UPDATES👎🏾👎🏾life has been a bit rough but i managed to whip up this entry for you guys!im working on requests so i should have one out later today or tomorrow!

Simon is the kind of person to not really know what to get this partner for the special day.He would settle on a box of chocolates and a teddy bear…Maybe a bottle of wine if he felt like it was important.

He knew that he wanted your first Valentine’s Day together to be special or something.He never really spent it with someone as most people avoided him.

So when it came to you he wanted to make a great first impression on himself.He took time out of his day to shave and shower and even followed a skincare routine he saw online just to look him best.

When he came over the next day he nearly melted into the floor at the compliments you showered him in.

He knew that you meant every single word also!He then presented you with a basket full of the chocolate,the teddy bear and the wine that he decided was good.He also put in some flowers and a CD of your favorite album.

You nearly knocked him over with the hug you gave him before admiring the basket as you smiled.”it’s so pretty!Thank you baby”You said to him as you walked to go put it on your coffee table,Simon following after you.

You surprisingly made him a basket also.It pretty much had the same stuff he gave you but instead of a teddy bear you got him new headphones + a new hoodie.

You both spent the rest of the day cuddling and feeding each other chocolates while enjoying quality time together,Something Simon cherished the most when he was with you.

Simon let out a hum as his eyes fell onto as you stared at the tv playing some cheesy romance movie.He smiled to himself as he turned his focus back to the movie.

How was he so lucky to score you…

[enapills]

Plz akito kiss hcs ..

⠀⠀ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏⠀⠀ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏⠀⠀ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏are you wearing lipstick on purpose ? ?

LIP MARKS - prod. honakito

posted as : request

chars : s. akito , y. kanade

type: x g/n ! reader

scenario : kisses with them ( headcanons )

notes : that is so cute im gonna give u a smooch. now this MIGHT be similar to others posts but everything in this context is unintentional,,, so no i am not a copycat ,, tho, enjoy!!

notes 2 : i wrote kanade too even tho she wasnt in the request because i also want to write other characters ,,,, because as much as i want this to be an akito blog i genuienly CANT </3 id get bored and theres no SPICE in that what the fuck,,, also i flunged my math comp today (even tho i have the highest grades and like general grade in class with a 9,94) i got a like 55 this is not my first time the 55 has cursed me i cant escape ,, so now ive been ghosting everyone that has asked me for my score im genuinely so embarrassed ( this is also NOT the first time ive did this )

date : 19 / 01 / 24 - 20 / 01 / 24

s. akito 

akitos lips are soft. like genuinely so soft.

hes probably had them chapped for a little while , due to practicing in the sun a lot. before you started helping him on it. i guess it payed off , so , so well.

so now , after helping him treat them, his kisses got somehow better.

its like theyre more tender and passionate now. maybe its his way of getting back at you for giving him tips and buying the necessary things he needed? pretty much. yeah definitely. 

small fact : he still kept the things you bought him for his lips , neat and clean on his desk. ‘ im keeping those for when they get dry again, not for kissing you better. they heavily influence my singing, y’know? ‘ - thats his excuse anyway.

usually, they arent that long. in hurries, he usually just leaves a small peck. a kiss on the forehead, even. tho he only does this when no ones watching , not too fond of pda because of three certain someones. the most he can do in public is a quick kiss on the hand, on one of the rings you wear, if you do actually use jewelry.

but in private , its like a switch flipping. hes initiating it a lot more, each kiss lasting two times more than usual with one break slipped in there somewhere. mostly on the lips, but doesnt limit there. hed kiss you all over your face occasionally , if hes feeling mischievous. or in comfort. depends on the context.

and about hand placement — definitely on your waist. he likes it alot. in an innocent way, ofcourse. in general, he just likes it. wrapping his arms around it from behind you , hugging you and resting his face on your shoulder. akito himself doesnt know why.

so basically — his kissers are tender , passionate , and depend on his mood. hes a pretty simple guy.

y. kanade

if akitos lips were soft, then kanades are heavenly, if taken care of properly.

her lack of self care is there, ofcourse, even worse if it wasnt for honami. but with a little bit of your help, i feel like shed eventually get better — and that includes skincare and just beauty in general.

she has dry lips, due to working a lot during both mornings and nights , so she doesnt really have time to take care of them — or she oftenly licks them to the extent of it. it doesnt take a lot of chapstick to get them nice and soft, tho.

theyd DEFINITELY taste like soy cup noodles, argue with the entirety of usa. or collectively agree. i dont care i know im right.

her kisses arent special, but they hold a lot of sentimental expression to both you and kanade. for her , leaving you quick pecks anywhere on your face is a way to express what shes feeling. is she proud? is she happy? did something happen? does she need attention? you’ll only know through her quick kiss on your cheek.

she cant last through really long kisses tho — poor girl runs out of breath so fast. thats why you both settled in quick pecks.

and hand placement during those? your cheeks or the back of your head , running her hands through your hair. doesnt matter if youre taller (which is likely) , she’d initiate it (rarely long) by gently cupping your cheeks and bringing your face closer to her.

summed up — shes a decent kisser. just dont suffocate her during your time. 

does anybody wanna be on my taglist…. ive been considering doing one ,,

dividers arent mine ; credits to the rightful owners on TUMBLR

[erytt]

Assistant noah+ the dynamite duncan thing in all stars = yes

———

There he was. His hair was wet, the stick of dynamite held aloft in his hand. His tormenter. His enemy. His friend. Duncan was a lot to Noah, but more than anything-

He was a good person.

A good person with a horrible attitude, and so many issues. Everyone but him had seen it. Noah felt stupid, which wasn’t something he was accustomed to. How had he not seen this coming? It was almost too obvious. The insistence on being the bad guy, always finding ways to be hated… he was scared.

And they all ignored it. No, they invalidated it. Gwen forgave him and Courtney settled her score and now everyone assumed he would move on. But if Duncan is a good person, then bad things aren’t going to just go away.

That was his theory anyways. Noah couldn’t say what was going through Duncans brain right now. He was staring, unseeing to the mansion before him. His eyes tilted, and met Noah gaze.

“Duncan-“

“Don’t. Try to stop me,” Duncan said. There was no question about what he planned. He smiled, and Noahs heart sank. “I’m gonna show them all who the real villain is.”

“Duncan don’t, this is more than a game, this is your future we’re talking about!”

“Shut up! I never had a future, not after this hellhole of a fucking show!”

Noah paused. He was right. All of them had been robbed of their teenage years, their reputations, everything. But he couldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t watch another person self destruct and ruin themselves.

An explosion of that size could leave Duncan in a hospital. But he also knew what happened to major injuries on this show.

“Duncan.”

“What.”

“Please. Please don’t.”

“…what?”

Noah was experienced at holding his tears. He knew when to keep his emotions inside. But somewhere along the line it seemed more practical to keep them down all the time.

It was harder to let go now. To let his voice crack and tears fall.

But he didn’t know what else to do.

Something hit the floor. And suddenly he was being embraced. He thought to pull away but found himself melting into the embrace. As Duncan shuddered, and heaving sobs escaping his throat, Noah held him.

And they stayed like that for a long time.

———

so my fic currently has a uncertain future as i move into more work intensive parts of school, so i might start writing snippets that ive planned and really wanna make but might not get to.

No context we die like i am with schoolwork rn

[prolix-yuy]

The Booth (and All its Misuses)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader Editor "Murch"

Summary: Dieter is pushing boundaries with the roles he takes. And with you.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, heavy fantasizing including oral sex (m and f receiving) and allusions to PiV sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk like whoa, male masturbation, allusions to female masturbation, Dieter's voice is a weapon.

Notes: That fucking cat show waltzed on in here and made me imagine Dieter recording those ridiculous lines and here we are. It's such a role for him I couldn't resist. This Dieter and Murch are from my series Best Laid Plans, and this story takes place before the events of The Plan. I also have to thank @boliv-jenta for being part of the inspiration for this fic with her hilarious Claude story that I've been giggling over for a couple days now.

Cross-posted on AO3

Best Laid Plans Series Masterlist

“What stupid thing did you sign me up for?”

Dieter’s agent blows a sigh into the phone that makes him wince. He’s still a little hungover despite the IV service he ordered this morning, the grease-laden breakfast sandwich, and the lazy handjob he gave himself in the shower. He thought today was a light day, maybe a press junket in the afternoon he could roll into once the edges of his vision cleared. But instead he’s ushered into a Mercedes and finds himself on the way to a studio to record…

“The voice of a bald horny street cat?” he asks, flipping through the short script. 

“It sounded up your alley…cat,” she quips back, and despite the low ache in the base of his skull he has to admit he enjoys the over-the-top dialogue. A little slutty, artistic, dramatic? Yeah, his agent’s got him pegged well.

His thoughts drift for a moment at the suggestive wording. He should really call Mitsy for another night in.

By the time he exits the car his head has cleared a little, aided by the coffee he whined to pick up and a few more minutes of shuteye. It looks like it’ll be a quick read, only a few pages of dialogue. He sweeps in, heavy brown cardigan flapping behind as he greets the audio tech and director. Their handshakes are straightforward, professional. The tech settles him in the sound booth, testing levels and microphones as the director walks Dieter through the scenes. It’s exactly how it sounds; a lascivious street cat wooing a plump pink hairless counterpart. He’s scrungly but smooth, devilish but dashing. Dieter raises an eyebrow at some of this - are people supposed to be horny for the cats? - but makes no comment.

The read is pretty fun for a one-off job. He leans into the ridiculousness to the director’s delight, and ad libs a few responses. The “follicle divergent” line was a favorite addition. He even turns on the bedroom voice for a few takes. If some classic Dieter filth gets him on their good side, maybe he’ll score something less ridiculous next time. Connections, connections, connections as his agent always says. 

As he finishes up the final page, a door opens on the other side of the glass. His eyes flick up briefly before the words slog to a stop in his mouth.

What are you doing here?

“Problem, Dieter?” the tech asks through Dieter’s headset. It sounds further away than before, like a string between two tin cans instead of Sennheisers. You lean over to address the director, his quick nod dismissing you to sit on a chair in a darkened corner. Dieter swallows hard, shaking off the stumble.

“How do you want me to pronounce ‘gordita’? Throw more accent on it?” he asks, directing their attention away enough to sneak a look at you. Your phone screen illuminates your face, harsh blue light carving your pretty features into something sharp and focused. 

He wants you to look up so he can give you a little nonchalant wave, like it’s no big deal the cute girl who keeps showing up on his movie set and making him laugh is here when he’s reading for a syphilitic cartoon cat. He tries to think up a good line to shoot you when he exits the booth - so this is where you hang out when you’re not on my set, Murch? - but even that falls flat in his head. Plus there’s something about calling you Murch in front of people who don’t know you that makes him cringe. You’ve got enough working against you in Hollywood, you don’t need him tossing out pet names that could lessen their respect for you. He respects the hell out of you in the first place; how hard you work, how everyone likes interacting with you, the trust people have in you to do your job well. Murch is just between the two of you, its own sign of respect. 

He can admit to himself it’s also a sign of a little more than that. Only for him.

He throws himself into the last fifteen minutes of the recording, flourishing his vocals for peak laughs. He wishes you had some headphones on so he could make you roll your eyes or snicker with him, but you’re tapping on your phone up until the tech ends the recording. Dieter gathers himself and feigns casual energy as he exits the booth.

“Need any more takes? We’re running early on my schedule,” he says breezily, letting his gaze fall to you almost by mistake. “Oh, hey, didn’t see you come in. Elias doesn’t have you working today?” He offers a friendly smile, the most professional he’s even been with you. 

“Running drives today,” you say simply, hovering next to the tech while he transfers the audio to a slim hard drive. “The DIT has my footage until 6, so I’m sneaking some extra hours in.” 

Right, you’re still “working your way” in the business, putting in hard days for not enough pay and expected to be happy about it. He’s seen you with lunch orders on set, filling in for a PA or making calls in the home office when shoots are delayed. You’re happiest behind your computer, hands fast on the keyboard and eyes darting over a timeline as you help massage a masterpiece out of the mess. But you’re still working towards that being all you have to do to survive in Hollywood. Maybe after this film you’ll be able to breathe easier. Maybe he could win an Oscar for it and you could be an award-winning editor. It would be nice to win an Oscar for you.

Not for you. For himself. That would just be some icing on the cake, to give you a leg up in the industry where he can. That’s all. 

“That’s all Dieter, you’re wrapped. Sean, take off, you can still make your kid’s game,” the director says, the tech smiling gratefully as he snatches up his bag. A little flash of an idea, born out of wandering thoughts and attraction and foolhardiness, crosses Dieter’s lips.

“Hey, could I use the booth for a little while longer? I’ve got some pickups I need to record for an audiobook and I forgot to book a space,” he asks, silently hoping this moment of assholery might work out. The tech sighs loudly, rubbing a hand over his face, before you chime in.

“I can wait around, I’ve seen Sean do this enough I can figure it out. And I’ll lock up as we leave,” you say, sunny expression lightening the dour mood. It only takes a moment of shuffling for the others to leave, Sean waving a thanks to you as the door swings shut. 

Shit, he only planned this far, now what?

“Well you better hop back in, you’ve only got…17 minutes,” you say, settling into the swivel chair and pulling the huge headphones over your ears. 

“Not even a, ‘hey Di, nice to see you, thank you for brightening up my day with your dramatic cat-acting’? …Cacting? Ooh, I like that,” he says, leaning in the door frame. You smirk and roll your eyes.

“Hi Di, it’s always a pleasure to see your shining face, and whatever you rolled out of bed into. That’s a comfy looking sweater,” you smirk back, redirecting your attention to the soundboard. “Now can you get in there and do your lines so I’m not late getting back?” you say.

“Yes ma’am, thanks again,” he says, shutting the door behind him. A little smile settles on his face that she liked his cardigan, actively dashing it off before he pulls over a chair to the microphone stand. He’s got a reputation to uphold, and getting gooey over a compliment isn’t part of his brand. Settling back into the seat, he pantomimes opening his phone and placing it on the stand in front of him. 

There’s no script, it’s just a ploy, something to get you to stick around and talk to him more. He always enjoys the handful of minutes he gets with you on sets as you wait for dailies or a script revision to bring back to post-production. He wishes you were one of the actors sometimes, stranded on set while the crew reset or shuffled you around, leaving time to chat and open up. He wants to ask you what your favorite memories were, discuss a new art exhibit at length, pop a few edibles and get high enough that your minds could melt into each other, followed by your bodies. But you’re always moving, a skip in your gait like you’re worried about being a step behind. He dreads the day Hollywood tries to beat that drive out of you, make you step on something precious to get ahead. He wants to put his hands on your shoulders and tell you it’s okay to slow down, to walk instead of run, that you don’t deserve to fall into bed exhausted every day just to get up and do it all over again. 

“Do you need me to keep an ear on your recording?” you say, hand hovering over the button as you look at Dieter through the glass. He twists a crooked smile onto his face, his improvisation skills helping him navigate the conversation.

“It’s an erotic audiobook, so I’ll leave that up to you Murch,” he says, winking. You roll your eyes again, hitting record before reaching to mute yourself. “Wait, before you do that, how’s your day been?” he asks, slouching into his chair with spread thighs. He likes to see if you’ll look, give him any hint that you may be as interested in him as he finds you.

“Not too bad, Di, living the dream,” you say, leaning forward on your elbows with a smile. “Post’s coming along good, you’re getting better at not spitting every time you shout at Alé.”

“They keep asking me to drink during that scene, it gets me all drooly!” he retorts, the tinny laugh coming through his headset warming his chest. He really likes the way your eyes scrunch up when he gets a good giggle out of you, that you’ll laugh with your whole body if he gets it right. 

“Besides that, nothing special. You looking forward to the scenes you get to shoot in Rome?”

“Looking forward to being told I can’t have any pasta. What else are you supposed to eat in the city of love?” You laugh again, goosebumps tingling along Dieter’s neck at how intimate the sound is coming through his headphones.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Paris.”

“Tell me you’ve never fallen in love with a pasta alla vodka.”

“You eat all the things you love, Bravo?”

“Some of them,” he purrs, dropping his voice down an octave and tilting his head. You shake yours with an exasperated sigh, but he thinks he sees your eyelashes flutter. He’s about to elaborate - I do love pussy, and not just the weird cat I’ve been reading for - when the glow of your phone directs your eyes down.

“Shit, I’m blowing up,” you curse, scrolling quickly. “Are you good to go?”

Dieter nods his head, squaring up his chair and adjusting the microphone stand down to his level.

“I’ve got it Murch, you take care of business. Thanks for doing me a favor,” he says, trying not to let the disappointment bleed into his voice. You shoot him a tight smile before muting yourself, red light blinking in his view. You watch the screen for a moment before taking off your headphones and diving back into your phone, alternating typing and scrolling.

The silence of the room lays heavy on his shoulders, the warmth of your voice slowly fading. He feigns opening up something on his phone, a blank webpage all that actually stares back at him. Wetting his lips, he wonders what the hell to say to make it look like he’s not just dicking around in here.

“Hey Murch,” he finally settles on, keeping his eyes glued to his phone, now dark enough to reflect his face back at him, your blurry silhouette in the corner of his eye.

“It’s nice to see you today. You haven’t been on set in a bit. Things must be ramping up in your edit bay. They’re keeping you busy, that’s for sure. Or you’re keeping yourself busy. Because you know, you work really hard. I see it. Everyone does.” He clears his throat briefly, eyes snapping up to you. You flick your own up, a question on your face, but he just thumbs-ups you. 

“What would you do if you got a break? What does the lovely Murch do on a day off?” he says, his throat catching a little on lovely. “I think you like a big breakfast, something with fruit in it. You like…mangos, right? I’m pretty sure you said that once. Or peaches.” The phantom flavors drift along his tongue. “And then I’d bet you’d want to do something outside, especially if it’s nice out. Get out of that dark basement. Wear something light and breezy.”

It occurs to Dieter he’s never seen you in anything more than jeans and a t-shirt. What would you look like with your shoulders bare, legs on display, breasts scooped into a flattering neckline and ass swishing along? Did you even like pretty summer dresses? God he hoped you did. You would look fucking delicious.

A tightening in his groin alerts Dieter to a path his brain probably shouldn’t go down, but it’s the Wizard of Oz in there and his libido is following the yellow brick road. He licks his lips at the thought of you turning to wait for him, a flirty hemline skimming along your thighs. If a little breeze kicked up the skirt would flutter just a little too high for your liking, making you smooth it back down. And he’d be helpless to stop from falling to his knees and ducking his head under it.

His cock is at full attention now, straining against his slacks. He tries to shake off this train of thought, redirect to something that will refocus him, but every time he glances up to take in your features, your attention elsewhere, only hardens him more. 

“Fuck, you’d look good in something like that. You look good all the time.” Dieter’s hand clenches on his thigh, dangerously close to crossing a line. An irrelevant notification lights up his screen - ten more minutes of studio time. He squeezes his eyes shut, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

He shouldn’t. You’d be grossed out if he did, violated. Probably scream at him, call him a filthy little slut. 

Fuck, his pesky degradation kink’s not helping.

“Shit, Murch, you got me hard in a fucking sound booth. I can’t even get this hard this fast watching porn. What the fuck have you done to me?” he husks out, running a hand over his face. His cock bobs in his pants, the mistake of even alluding to porn in the same breath as your name furthering his thoughts. Because now that he’s said it, all the little scenarios he lies to himself about jacking off to come to the forefront unbidden.

The way the slip of your tongue over your lower lip makes him want to follow it with the head of his cock, fat and weeping at your hot breath. 

How your hands moving along a keyboard make him wonder how they’d look wrapped around his shaft, pulling him to the brink expertly before easing him back.

The fact that there’s a couch in that dark little room you work in that calls for him to fuck you on it over and over again.

You put down your phone right as he’s spiraling, imagining how you’d look spread on your back on that beat-up monstrosity as he hovers over you, and slip your headphones back on. He coughs once, hoping his face isn’t too red.

“You doing okay Di?” you ask, a note of concern coming through.

Busted. 

He shifts in his chair, his erection thankfully hidden by his low seat and the little stand his phone rests on. 

“Hah, yeah, just…getting through some of this dialogue.”

You smirk, chin in your hand.

“What, a little too spicy for THE Dieter Bravo?” you say, and have the audacity to pull the corner of your lip between your teeth. 

Well never mind then. He was going to be the gentleman and suffer in silence. But if you were going to insist on egging him on when he was just imagining how sweet your cunt would taste, then he’s going to play a little dirty.

“You can be the judge of that,” he says airily, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I’ve read my fair share of romance novels. I don’t think you’ll surprise me.”

Oh, it’s really on now.

“Then listen in. Maybe you’ll learn something new.”

You settle back into your chair, motioning for Dieter to begin. He rolls his shoulders, putting both hands on the stand and pulling focus to his phone. His grayscale reflection is remarkably confident for how rippling his insides feel. Pulling from memories of early gigs that were a hair shy of softcore pornos and his own racing thoughts, he writes you a story.

“I fucking want you. Keep telling myself no but I fucking want you,” he growls, puffing hard out his nose. Your reaction is immediate; your eyes snap wide, mouth parting. He wants to look you in the eyes as he improvises a scene but doing that and trying to keep his composure above the waist is proving too much. His lips brush hard against the microphone, his whiskers scraping along the sensitive instrument.

“I’d make it so good for you, make you mine so many times you’d have to spend the night. Would you like that? For me to take care of you so fully, so completely, you wouldn’t be able to walk out after? Because I want you like that every. Single. Day. Let me make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

You’re trying to keep a neutral face but he can see it. The tremble of your lower lip. The rigidness of your posture. He would bet his summer house you were squeezing your thighs under the control table. God, he wants to be on the other side of the glass and saying these things in your ear, lips brushing against your skin. Filthier things too, like how he wants you to cum so hard it drips down your legs for him to lick up. That he’ll stretch you so good on his cock, make you drunk with pleasure every moment you let him. 

“Because you deserve to feel like a goddess. You do so much for me, baby, let me give you even an ounce of that back to you. I’ll be so good for you, sweetheart, treat you better than that goddamn shithead of an ex that was never worth your time.”

Dieter’s running his mouth as close to the truth as he thinks he can get away with, sneaking glances up to see how you react. Your arms are folded in a picture of ease, but he can see how your fingers dig into your bicep. He drops his voice into a lower register, rumbling deep but with a gentle quality he enjoys utilizing for narration.

“He lets her ride his buttery slick thighs, buried so deep he can’t tell where her pleasure ends and his begins. He doesn’t care as long as she keeps throwing her head back like that and crying his name. If his heart gave out now he’d die happy with the musk of her on his lips and her velvet walls clenched around him. Even though she’s already cum twice he urges her into a third with his clever thumb and a grin when she shatters.” Dieter’s half impressed at himself for thinking on his feet, the words quickening the rise and fall of your chest. Your cunt must be on fire from this, he hopes he’s not the only one aching. You can’t be unaffected, not with the way you can’t look away, gaze tight on his face when he looks up. He’s got one more tiny idea that could get him in trouble, or make the tension thread between you finally snap. Leaning forward, he looks through his lashes at you. You’re holding your breath.

“Be a good girl for me, baby.”

Your reaction is instant. Blinking hard and flaring your nostrils, your grip gets even tighter. Your skin must be blazing hot, the heat between your thighs unbearable. He wants to soothe it with his tongue, quench it with his fingers as you fist his hair and tell him how good he’s making you feel. His cock is hard to the point of exploding in his pants, the telltale tingle in his hips warning him that it’s all too possible. 

A question hangs on the tip of his tongue, one he’s so prepared to ask:

Want some help with that Murch?

You jump suddenly, the faint clanging of an alarm on the other side of the glass a shock to his own system.

MotherFUCKER.

“Sorry Di, time’s up. I gotta get moving,” you stammer, shakily pressing buttons to stop the recording and transfer the data. He tosses the headphones off quickly, taking the briefest of moments to wrap his cardigan around his middle to hide the prominence of his erection. He saunters back into the room with a smug smile.

“Now who’s gotten all flustered?” he teases, hopeful you won’t bolt from his sight. The balance is precarious now, a tiny nudge in the direction he desires setting everything off balance. Thankfully you chuckle and shake your head.

“That’s really paying your bills? I swear I’ve read better online for free,” you say, sticking in a loose USB stick and transferring the “audiobook” over for him. Dieter hovers in case you open the file, but you only hand him the drive with an overly bright smile. He takes it from you, searching your face for any hint of the titillation he caught earlier.

“You’ll have to send me your favorites, I’ll record them for a good price,” he drawls, leaning on one hand in your space. It’s a dance he’s done with you in the past, but never with so much charge in the air. He can almost taste the electricity between you, and when you meet his eyes there’s a flash of something deeper, something you won’t let come to the surface so you tamp it down with a dramatic sigh.

“Why would I want my scorching hot erotica in your voice?” you joke, his hands coming up in mock hurt before he winks at you. You shake your head and put the hard drive you came here for in your bag. 

“See you on set?” he asks, and god he sounds pitiful to his own ears but you tilt your head and smile, hand on the knob to leave.

“I’ll be around,” you say before leaving him in the booth in silence and his own tangle of thoughts.

A bolt of arousal claws down his spine, a filthy moan falling from his lips.

“Sweetheart, I’m so goddamn hard for you. I need you to look at me. Look at me and I’ll cum so hard. Just fucking look at me. See me. See what you do to me?” His hand moves faster, fingers catching along the thick ridge of his head, the need almost painful as his mind conjures the image. Your lips pursed, eyes still cast down as he whimpers into a microphone.

“Want you to put those talented fingers inside your panties and rub your clit on the other side of this window. Let me whisper all the fucking depraved shit I want to do to you, how I want to lick and finger and fuck every hole until you beg me to stop. I’ll be…such a…good boy for you.” He’s on the knife’s edge, looking down into the chasm, heavy breaths making it harder to hide. “Let me…be your good boy, sweetheart. Please, look at me.” 

And in the moment before he cums, you look up and catch his eye. 

It’s a livewire to his cock, and he empties onto his stomach with ragged cries. He’s begging it to hurry up, be as fleeting of an orgasm as when he pumps it into some starlet wanting a night with his publicity, but it keeps rolling and rolling over him, shuddering breaths and clamping legs. Tears come to his eyes because even with how fucking good it feels, he knows it could be so much better. He knows a night with you would be a million fucking times better than his hand and his phone next to his ear playing the soft laughs he coaxed out of you. That you’d make him cum, but you’d also make him smile, and preen, and maybe even glow.

Shame burns along his chest at how fucking sad this must look, legendary playboy Dieter Bravo, who could open his hotel room door and have anyone on his cock that he pleases, covered in his own cum while your voice tells him Paris is the city of love. 

Stopping the recording, he flops an arm over his face. He’s gotta get you out of his system, invite you to one of his parties for one really good fuck then send you on your happy little way. You could brag about bedding him, about how many orgasms he gave you and how much he’s ruined you for other men. And he could scratch the itch buried between his shoulders that flares when you trade good-natured barbs. Clear his head of this weird little infatuation he hasn’t experienced since he was 25 and drunk off his first love. 

That’s it, he’ll do what he always does. Make you feel like the center of his world for a night and part happy and satiated. It might finally ease the giddiness you bring with the swing of your hips. Maybe it will finally feed the emptiness inside him when the drugs peter off and his skin feels too tight and all he wants to do is find the next high or low to distract him.

But first, he’s gotta get you to accept his invitation.

END