#shes the only one that matters. shes the only one i went there and i looked at them all. only on e who matters

[inkandapex]

stream madness pt. 2

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris embraced his now-public relationship as a chance to openly and unapologetically adore his girlfriend. Fans saw it as a win—though it came at the cost of Max F constantly getting roped into their antics.

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, suggestive dialogue

Protect Max

Fans were absolutely loving how Y/N had become a bigger part of Max’s streams. They got to see a side of her they’d never caught on social media and beyond the glimpses from the paddock with Lando.

It was just another day of chatting and gaming for the two during a break between races, the pair sat in an ever familiar room in Lando's place in Monaco, but with him absent as Max had mentioned he went out for training.

"We just agreed on not using grenades you cheat! Lando's rubbing off on you way too much. I don't like it" Max exclaims as his character on Counterstrike once again, gets killed by Y/N less than a minute into the round.

"Oh go cry about it Max, just admit I'm better than you" Y/N smirks as she grabs her water bottle to take a sip

"You cheated! I got absolutely knocked by that"

"Fine! You big baby, no grenades this time, promise" Y/N groans as they start another round

"they're so sibling coded" "not bob getting dethroned from being Max's gaming partner" "she's so gonna beat Max again this round"

“Okay, chat, no need to rub salt in the wound—by the way, I was the one who taught you how to play, you should be grateful—shit!”

Max was mid-sentence when Y/N sniped him, knocking him out of the game and securing yet another win—this time, fair and square.

“The student becomes the master,” she smirked, leaning back in her chair, clearly enjoying the moment.

"What's going on here?" the mic picks up Lando's voice before he even enters the frame.

"I'm absolutely dominating on counterstrike—did you just get back?" A playful smile spreads across Y/N's face as Lando walks into the room, standing behind her chair and gently massaging her shoulders.

"I've already showered and everything. Been here the past 30 minutes, you two were too busy bickering—I could hear you all the way down the hall," Lando chuckles, looking down at her with a cheeky grin.

He leans in, but Y/N quickly shifts away, avoiding the kiss.

"You're avoiding my kisses now?" Lando teases, his mouth hanging open in mock surprise.

"The stream, Lan..." Y/N mutters, a little pout on her lips, making Lando laugh softly.

"Alright baby, for our eyes only, yeah?" Lando smirks, leaning back down while reaching for the camera, his hand covering it just in time to hide their kiss.

"Hello?! My eyes! My eyes! What about Max’s eyes?!" Max's shout makes the two burst into laughter as Lando pulls his hand away, revealing Max’s face, twisted in utter disgust.

"lol poor max" "bet he misses P a lil extra today" "i think im going to cardiac arrest they're so cute"

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Snitches get stiches

The night before testing in Bahrain, Lando hopped onto Max’s stream for a few rounds, confident as ever. After absolutely schooling Max, he decided it was time to call it a night, shutting down his setup and stepping away.

What he didn’t step away from, however, was the chat.

Curled up in bed, phone in hand, Lando lurked—dropping smug messages every few minutes. No matter how much Max tried to ignore him, chat was loving it, egging Lando on as he tormented his friend from the shadows.

" 'Just take the L—' Mate, I did take the L. You’re the one still lurking in chat," Max laughed, shaking his head as yet another message from Lando popped up. "You have testing tomorrow, by the way."

Then, a new message appeared.

"Ed said he let you win this morning."

Max smirked, grabbing his phone. Without a word, he held up a finger to the camera and pressed dial. The stream went quiet as he waited. After a few rings, a familiar voice came through the speaker.

"Hey, Y/N, you alright? Sorry if I woke you. You’re in Bahrain with Lando, yeah?" Max finally said, his grin growing wider at the thought of absolutely snitching on his best friend.

"Hey, Maxie. No you're good, just in the other room catching up on work. Lando went to bed about an hour ago. Everything okay? Do I need to wake him up?" Y/N sounded concerned.

"Yeah, 'bout that... he’s wide awake, actually—just finished streaming golf with me. Wouldn’t leave my chat."

The pause on the other end was almost too satisfying. Max leaned back, waiting patiently, his smirk never fading. The sound of rustling and soft footsteps had him turning up the volume, bringing his phone closer to the mic. He even covered his mouth, stifling his laughter, determined to catch this golden moment in all its glory.

"bro is cooked" "oh no she's mad" "not max snitching on lando AGAIN"

"You’ve got testing tomorrow, Lan." "Fucking snitch, Max! Grow up!" Lando’s voice barely made it through, muffled. "You said you were going to bed an hour ago," Y/N said, clearly not amused. "Baby, I am in bed," Lando mumbled, his tone defensive. "You were just playing with Max—" "—For one round, my love. I’m in bed now, aren’t I?" "Don’t play me, Norris. Go to sleep, or I’m taking your phone away." “How am I supposed to sleep without you next to me, huh?” Lando’s voice was full of fake desperation, stretching the words out like he was pleading for a lifeline.

“Right, well, now I’m about to throw up,” Max interrupted, cutting through the conversation with his dry humour.

"Fewtrell, you knew better. shouldn't have entertained him when he asked you to play." "yeah that's right! you get him baby" "Didn't I say go to sleep? I'm telling Jon about this tomorrow" "This isn't over Max!" Lando manages to shout before the line cuts.

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Taking her back

Lando, Max, and Y/N had been best friends long before Lando and Y/N started dating, and though Lando loved how well his girlfriend and best mate got along, there were times when his jealousy got the best of him.

"Baby, come on. You've been playing with Max forever!" Lando whined, his voice dripping with playful frustration. Both Y/N and Max paused their game, turning to see Lando dramatically sprawled out in the chair behind them, looking all sorts of pouty.

"Lan, you’ve been glued to your phone for the past two hours," Y/N teased with a laugh. "We’ve asked you to join us, like, a million times"

"That’s different!" Lando huffed. "I need you. Did you not miss me? It’s the first time we’ve seen each other in a week!" He gave them a puppy-dog look, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his adorable pout.

"A week’s not that long, mate," Max teased, unable to resist poking fun.

"Shut up, you dickhead. I wasn’t talking to you," Lando snapped back, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're only saying that because P’s been with you the whole time."

"Y/N is literally 6 feet away from you—" Max shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"—Yeah? And you’re about 6 feet away from getting punched," Lando retorted, his playful threat making everyone laugh.

"You’re so easy to wind up," Max said, shaking his head in amusement, clearly enjoying Lando's reaction.

"Very mature, you two," Y/N spoke up, watching the back-and-forth between Lando and Max with an amused smile.

"Baby, please, can we kick Max out? I need some me and you time," Lando groaned, rolling his chair closer to Y/N, his eyes full of exaggerated desperation.

"Lando, chat asked her to join my stream today," Max protested, raising an eyebrow. "You’re really gonna steal her away from them?"

"They’re stealing her away from me right now," Lando shot back, narrowing his eyes playfully at the camera.

"Alright, you big baby, one more round, then we'll leave Max alone," Y/N chuckled, turning to face Lando and gently running her hand through his hair.

"No. Now," Lando pouted, shamelessly showing just how needy he was, making Y/N laugh as she gave him a soft, teasing look.

"I'm about this close to bleaching my eyes and ears, mate," Max teased, smirking at the chaos unfolding.

"I'm about this close to kicking you out of my flat—" Lando leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at Max.

"—OKAY. Chat, my kids are throwing tantrums now, I think it’s time for me to go," Y/N sighed in defeat, sitting up straight with a playful roll of her eyes. "You two are impossible." She gave both of them an exasperated but affectionate look, knowing she’d have to be the voice of reason.

"boooo! not bob stealing y/n from us" "NOOO don't leave Y/N" "LN being selfish lol" "hes neeeedy"

Max let out a laugh as he read through the chat, clearly enjoying the chaos. "They're booing you, mate—yeah, chat! That's right! He’s stealing Y/N from us!" Max egged them on, his voice full of mischief.

Just as Y/N stood up from her seat, ready to leave, Lando grabbed her arm, pulling her back down onto his lap. He held her firmly by the waist, giving her a quick kiss.

Y/N gently shoved him, standing up again with a soft laugh, trying to hide the flustered look that had crept onto her face from his sudden move. Lando, now sporting a proud smirk, looked straight at the camera. "Gotta take my girl back now, chat," he said with a playful wink. "We’ll see you guys next time."

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Look at my girl

"Did you get the code? I sent it to you on WhatsApp," Lando said, setting his phone down and turning his attention back to his screen as he finished setting up the game.

"Yep, got it. We're using in-game mics, yeah?" Max replied, joining the lobby.

Before Lando could answer, a soft knock echoed through the room. He instinctively pulled off one side of his headphones, swiveling his chair to find Y/N standing by the door.

"I'm heading out now, bub" her voice carried through the mic, chat flooded with messages about how soft Lando’s gaze had just turned.

"Look at you all dressed up—where are you headed, my pretty girl?" Lando smirked, leaning back in his chair, eyes shamelessly trailing over his girlfriend.

A blush crept up Y/N’s cheeks as she shifted on her feet, slightly embarrassed by her boyfriend’s proud declaration. "I’m having lunch with Alex today, remember?"

"You look beautiful, my love," Lando murmured, his grin widening before turning back to his stream. "Chat, doesn’t Y/N look absolutely stunning?"

"Maate, start the bloody game!" Max groaned, dragging out the words in frustration.

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Alright, Lan, I gotta go—they're arriving soon."

"Alex is picking you up?" Lando asked, tilting his head as he kept his eyes on her.

Y/N nodded. "Charles offered to drop us off at the restaurant. I'll bring you home food, and I’ll send you the menu when I get there."

Lando’s expression softened. "Have fun, my love. Text me if you need anything."

"Got it. Bye, chat—" Y/N smiled, giving a small wave as she stepped out the door.

"—What?! Hey, hey, no! Come back—baby, my kiss!" Lando whined, nearly pushing himself out of his seat, watching her leave with a dramatic pout.

She let out a playful groan but stepped back into the room, making her way toward Lando.

"Look at her, everyone—stunning," Lando grinned, taking her hand in his. "Alright, bye, gorgeous. Have a great time."

Y/N smirked, holding her hand up to the camera—mimicking the way Lando had covered it on a previous stream—before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Thanks for that, Y/N, really appreciate the modesty," Max's voice rang through Lando's headphones, dripping with sarcasm. "Hope you do that to my eyes next time, yeah?"

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Don't look at my girl

Lando had been on Twitch for a good hour now, casually playing UNO with Max and a few other friends on who were on Discord. It was all easygoing banter, a way to kill time before diving into a more intense Tarkov session.

Y/N walked in not too long after, carefully balancing plates of food in her hands. Without looking up from his screen, Lando muttered a quick, “Thanks, love,” too focused on his cards to even glance her way.

It wasn’t until the chat suddenly exploded with rapid messages that his attention flickered toward the comments. His brows furrowed, eyes scanning the screen.

"hi Y/N" "okay hot mama!" "Y/N you look stunning babe" "can Lando fight?"

“‘Can Lando fight’—chat, what the fuck?” he scoffed, finally turning his head toward his girlfriend.

And then he saw it.

The slightly cropped, low-necklined tank top hugging her in all the right places, a sight he was very much happy to see, just not so happy to share with the rest of the world.

His reaction was instant. “Baby… where’s the rest of your shirt?” Lando whined, reaching out to tug at the hem of her top as if he could magically make it longer.

Y/N only laughed, swatting his hands away. “It’s literally just a tank top, Lando.”

“Yeah, and apparently, it’s starting fights in my chat.” He shot a glare at the screen before narrowing his eyes at her playfully.

As Y/N stood up, completely unaware of the way the camera was angled, she leaned forward slightly to grab something from behind the monitor.

Lando, ever vigilant with his quick reflexes, moved faster than ever, one hand darting out to cover her chest while the other reached for the mouse, ready to slam the stream off if necessary.

“Woah, woah—baby! Careful, please,” he blurted out, eyes wide as he practically shielded her from the world.

Connor’s laughter echoed through the call. “LN’s about to have a heart attack, mate.”

Y/N, finally realizing what had just happened, let out a soft laugh as she sat back down, napkins now in hand. “I was just grabbing these, bub. Calm down.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, clutching his chest like he’d just lived through a near-death experience. “Baby, please, I’m begging—could you put on a hoodie or something?” His voice was almost desperate, eyes flicking between her and the chat that was going absolutely feral.

Y/N raised a brow, arms crossing over her chest. “You’re overreacting.”

“Yeah, well, they’re not getting a free show,” Lando huffed, shooting a glare at the screen before rolling his eyes. With one last grumble, he finally turned his attention back to his game, picking up his fork to dig into dinner—all while side-eyeing the chat every few seconds.

Meanwhile, Max was wheezing through his mic. “I swear you just aged five years.”

Connor chuckled. “Bro’s fighting battles no one else can see.”

"still cant believe he was able to pull her" "Y/N leave him be with me" "she looks unreal" "lando better know how to fight"

Lando didn’t say a word, just stood up abruptly and rushed out of the room, leaving his friends confused as his turn in UNO was about to run out.

“Where’s he gone now?” Max muttered, clicking onto Lando’s stream, only to see Y/N sitting there, casually eating and playing in his place.

She simply shrugged, unfazed, taking Lando’s turn for him as she popped another bite of food into her mouth. A few seconds later, Lando reappeared, arms full, determination set on his face.

“Pick.”

“Huh?” Y/N blinked up at him, mid-chew.

“Pick one. Shirt, hoodie, or blanket?” He stood in front of her, dead serious, holding up the options like this was a life-or-death decision.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Baby, pick.” Lando repeated, unwavering.

“Lan, it’s really not that—”

Before she could even finish, he had already tossed the clothes onto the floor and made the executive decision himself, unfolding the blanket and draping it over her shoulders. “Right, blanket it is.”

Y/N sat there, wrapped up like a burrito, staring at him in amused disbelief.

Max was howling through the mic. “Mate, she’s looks like she's about to go to bed”

Lando glanced over at her, a proud grin spreading across his face as he admired his work. “There. Better,” he said, his tone smug but warm, clearly pleased with himself for making sure she was all cozy and covered up.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was about it, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she teased, tugging the blanket a little lower, enough to free her hands.

“I’m just making sure you’re comfy,” he replied, his grin only widening. “Don’t want you catching a chill, do I?”

She shook her head, playfully rolling her eyes, but the smile she gave him was all warmth. “You’re something else, Lan.”

Lando only winked, clearly pleased with his efforts. “I try.”

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Rumour has it

It had only been a couple of weeks since Lando and Y/N had last been seen together in public, but the internet had exploded. Breakup rumors, theories about a fallout, and even claims of a “divorce era” started circulating among fans. Of course, Lando and Y/N found it all utterly ridiculous. But why not have a bit of fun with it?

Tonight, Max was streaming, and Lando was, as usual, by his side. The chat was absolutely flooded with questions and speculations, with fans wondering where Y/N had gone, why they hadn’t seen them together lately, and if they were still a couple. Usually, they wouldn't entertain it, but Lando couldn’t help but grin at the chaos as Max glanced at him, his face filled with mischief.

“Mate, you’ve been dodging questions for weeks now. People are asking if you and Y/N are okay. What's going on? Is it true? Are you in the ‘divorce era’ now?” Max teased, his voice full of drama.

Lando leaned back in his chair, groaning. “Oh don't even say her name around me. We're happily separated,” he said with exaggerated seriousness. He watched as the chat went wild, fans speculating whether he was joking or not.

"this is NOT funny im fighting for my life over here" "i honestly cant tell if hes serious pls" "stop asking ab their personal lives guys" "theyre clearly fine, look at him" "oh theyre fine lol"

Max laughed, clearly enjoying it. “Heard it here first chat, there you go”

Lando shrugged dramatically. “Sometimes, I still hear her voice"

Before Max could respond, the door behind Lando opened. Y/N walked in casually, wearing one of Lando’s hoodies, hair up in a messy bun. She stopped when she saw the camera, raising an eyebrow at Lando’s ridiculous grin.

“Hey, guys,” she said, giving the camera a casual wave.

"See! it's like she's still here” Lando pretends to wipe a tear

Max burst into laughter, while Y/N, confused as ever, attempts to read the chat. "Why are you guys talking about me like I've died?"

Lando looked at her with all seriousness. “Baby please. We're broken up remember, gosh keep up will 'ya"

Y/N nods, the expression on her face immediately switching from confused to locked in. "Oh— guys, being in this room right now pains me. I can't even look at him"

Max, lounging back in his chair with a smirk, couldn't help but shake his head. "You two were definitely eating up this breakup rumour stuff, huh?"

Lando and Y/N couldn't help but break, letting out small laughs at the comment. “Oh fuck yeah, we’ve been lying in bed, giggling like idiots, reading threads and watching tiktoks about it,” Lando said, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“We purposely stopped liking each other’s posts and hid from the public" Y/N grinned, “And had so much fun doing it,” she added, sticking her tongue out at the camera.

Max threw his hands up. “You lot deserve an Oscar for this shit”

Lando, still grinning, nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, mate, you’re telling me— I had Carlos knocking at my hotel room at three in the fucking morning after reading some random breakup article online.”

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Not so subtle

It was well past 1 AM, but Lando was still wide awake, glued to his Twitch stream, deep into another round of Tarkov with his friends. The chat was slowly saying their goodnights, viewers logging off one by one—but Lando? He and the guys were more awake than ever, already planning a few more rounds like the night had just begun.

Y/N was not one to stop Lando from enjoying his alone time, but it was getting late. She had just finished yet another episode of her go-to comfort show—but sleep still hadn’t come. With a glance at the clock and a sigh, she finally got up, padding toward the other room. Maybe she could convince Lando to get some rest… or at least come fill the cold, empty space beside her.

“Baby… it’s late, come to bed.”

Y/N’s soft voice barely stood a chance against Lando’s, drowned out by his rapid-fire strategy talk and the sharp bursts of gunfire from his game. He didn’t even flinch, too locked in, too focused.

It wasn’t until she stepped closer, bathed in the soft glow of his monitors, that the chat began to stir, messages flooding in at the sight of her. Only then did Lando pull off one side of his headset, glancing up at her with a lazy smile.

“Hi, gorgeous. Thought you were asleep already,” he murmured, seamlessly giving out directions to his teammates in the same breath.

“Couldn’t sleep… You should come to bed now. It’s late.”

“I know, baby. Just give me ten minutes, alright?”

“Bedtime for little Lando?” Connor teased, earning a chuckle from Max and an eye roll from Lando.

“Shut up, Connor."

Instead of leaving, Y/N plopped down in the free chair beside him, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. She barely noticed how time slipped by—until she glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed since Lando promised he’d be done.

“Lan, it’s been 15.”

“10 more minutes, baby. Just a little longer,” he mumbled, eyes still glued to the screen.

"he's so stubborn lol" "poor y/n" "listen to ur gf pls lando, im sleepy but i have fomo"

Another 15 minutes passed, and Y/N, now visibly annoyed, let out a sigh. “Lando.” No pet name. Just his name. Max chuckled on the other end.

“Mate, I’d log off now if I were you. Y/N is scary when she’s tired and cranky.”

Lando glanced over, taking in her tired expression. “Baby, go to bed, you look exhausted… I’ll be there soon, okay? C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

Smooth. A clear attempt to buy himself a little more time.

Y/N gave him a blank stare, then simply nodded before standing up. No protest, no further attempts to drag him to bed. Instead, she turned to the stream with a small smile.

“Okay… goodnight, guys. Have fun playing with Lan. Goodnight, baby.”

Lando blinked, a little surprised that his plan actually worked. He grinned up at her, feeling triumphant, until she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, her lips barely brushing his ear as she whispered.

“I was gonna let you have me any way you wanted tonight… your loss.”

His smirk vanished instantly, his head following Y/N's trail, now exiting the room.

"WHAT DID SHE SAY OMG" "look at his face she definitely said something" "bro is cooked lmao" "lando fumbled baaad"

Beyond distracted by what his girlfriend just whispered in his ear, he misses an opponent causing Max to get killed in game earning a battering of complaints

"Gotta log off now guys, goodnight" Lando, without saying a proper goodbye, had managed turn everything off, leaving both the game and his stream in record breaking time.

Max, watching Lando vanish without a word, quickly put the pieces together as the chat exploded with teasing. Realizing he could save his friend from some serious trouble, Max cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone.

“Bet she’s got him in trouble now. He’s probably getting an earful for keeping her waiting.” Max grinned, adding, “Man’s gonna need a serious apology when he gets off. You know how it is—no escaping when she’s upset.”

Even the chat could pick-up how he's working extra hard to save the his best friends from a PR nightmare.

"Max working extra hard tonight" "LN and Y/N got Max sweating bullets lol his face" "Max being the bigger man, respect" "Theyre bout to hear an earful from max too after this"

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Shameless

Chat was going wild. It was a random Friday night, no announcements, yet, somehow, Lando had appeared with his own stream. Even Max, mid-game, was caught off guard when the messages started rolling in, asking him to play with Lando.

Lando, sitting in his chair, still looked like he had just stepped out of the shower, his hair damp, he wore a matching grey sweatsuit and hoodie.

“What’s going on, mate? You’re back early. Thought you two were out for dinner?” Max’s unmistakable voice crackled through the speakers as he joined the group Discord, clearly catching onto the sudden shift in the vibe.

“Aye chat, Max is here! Yeah, mate, we were, but got back home and decided to hop on,” Lando cheered, clearly stoked to hear his friend's voice.

“Loving the enthusiasm, man. You seem happy tonight. You up for some golf?” Max chuckled, amused by the energy radiating off Lando.

“We can play whatever you want, Max. Feeling really lucky tonight,” Lando replied, a grin spreading across his face.

Max raised an eyebrow, eyeing him with a teasing smirk. “You’re worrying me a bit, mate. You sick or somethin’? Bit too happy for my liking.”

Lando just kept dancing and singing along to his music, looking even more upbeat, and Max couldn't help but laugh. “Alright, what’s going on with you, seriously?”

It was as if the universe had perfectly timed it—Y/N walked into the room, completely unaware that her boyfriend had already started his stream. She was wearing nothing but the white long-sleeved button-up shirt he had worn during their date earlier that night, the one fans had captured in photos. Her hair was slightly messy, giving her a carefree, just-rolled-out-of-bed look as she casually walked in.

"Lan, did you see my cleanser by any chance? It’s not in the bathroom." Y/N stood just by the door, just enough to be in frame of Lando’s camera.

As soon as she appeared, the chat went wild, and Max couldn’t help but laugh, not even attempting to rescue them this time. “Hey Y/N, my chat's saying Lando’s shirt looks better on you than it did on him.”

Y/N froze for a few seconds, her face turning bright red before she quickly dashed out of the room, her voice still audible through the mic as she shouted, “Lando Norris, you little shit!”

Lando, in too good of a mood to keep it together, couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, chat, calm down—we’re all adults here.” He leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face as he wiped away a few tears of laughter.

After a beat, he stood up, still chuckling to himself. “I’ll be back in a minute, guys.”

He left the room, probably heading off to help Y/N find her cleanser, maybe even consoling her after the little reveal. The chat was buzzing with teasing comments, but it was clear Lando wasn’t too worried—he’d be back soon, and the situation was already too funny to be mad about.

"post sex stream is insaaane" "man was glowing, no wonder" "PR team fighting for their life after this" "Landos phone bout to blow up" "meeting being set up as we speak"

Lando returned, a smirk still tugging at his lips as he casually sat back down, as if nothing had happened. “Right, Max, what are we playing tonight?”

Max raised an eyebrow, eyeing his friend with a grin. “Look at him, so smug. Had a great night, didn’t you?”

Lando let out a laugh, shrugging nonchalantly. “Told you, mate, we went and had dinner.” He paused for a second, then winked at the camera, his smirk widening. “Just had to head home early to have some dessert.”

[bi-writes]

dark matter | ghost x f!reader

INSTALLMENT TWO — TIME ROT COLLECTION

type: one-shot, part of anthology series, can be read standalone (6.5k)

cw: dark!ghost, mature language and content, mature sexual language and content, mw3 spoilers, death, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, dubcon, size kink, manhandling, breeding kink, cumplay, unprotected piv (18+)

You don't know how long it's been. Maybe days, or maybe it's been weeks, you aren't sure, but it's hard to move when there is nothing that waits for you.

All that's left is a box that sits on your kitchen table. It has his name scribbled across the top, and when you opened it up, just seeing the photos of him tucked into the sides was enough to nearly make you sick. You haven't opened it again since. You haven't touched it. When you touch the cardboard, it burns, it stings.

You don't know what you're supposed to do when the love of your life doesn't come home. You don't know what you're supposed to do when there's bills on the table, when half of the bed is empty, when everything that was supposed to happen died along with him.

You used to sit on this very couch and talk about everything you would do and everything you wanted. You used to lay there, your head in his lap, looking up into those baby blues and tell him about what a good husband he would make, how it was going to be so hot watching him fixing the leaky sink and hanging up the new shelves you bought, being the house husband he was always meant to be.

Someone that pretty deserved to be at home all day, baking bread and fixing a vintage car.

He promised you so much. He promised you love. He promised you laughter. He promised you a lifetime of something more.

But there never really was anything more. He never married you. He never proposed. He just fucked you full before every deployment, whispering into your hair as you drooled about how, "I'll see ye when I get back, bonnie, 'n I'll tell ye how much I luv ye."

But he didn't come back. So you really aren't sure now how much he loved you.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fluffing a brush over your cheeks. The makeup helps, but you look dead, and your eyes are dull.

You don't want to go to work, but you can't pay your bills, and Johnny wasn't your husband, so the box in your kitchen stands as a loving gesture from his mother, and that is all he left behind. And when you went to the service and asked for something, for anything, they said it was out of their hands.

You are entitled to no compensation—because on paper, you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one. And though his mother kissed you shakily, with tears in her eyes, you couldn't bear to ask her for anything, because she hurts, too, and you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one.

So you work; you work, and you don't stop, and you sleep only a few hours before you get up and do it all over again, and even after a long day, you count the pennies in your purse, and it isn't enough. You let yourself get comfortable, you allowed yourself to succumb to a man, a man you loved, and what did it get you?

Fuck all. You have fuck all, and you let a man do it to you.

Fate and destiny are a cruel reality. Unforgiving—they don't care about the choices you make because they happen anyways, and it's hard to be angry when this is how it was always going to be. It doesn't make you hate any less, and it doesn't make the dust collecting on the box any less thick.

When you do gain the courage to touch it again, you have a week left to find a new flat. You don't know where you will go, but you're packing, and you rip the top of the box off as harshly as a band-aid. Your eyes focus on the knick-knacks that Johnny must've kept. A few different sized sketchbooks, the nubs of worn and used graphite and charcoal pencils, a crystal and beaded rosary that his mother gifted him when he first enlisted. You pick up the crinkled and well-loved papers that are stacked at the bottom, and your eyes blur with fresh tears at the ripped out sketches that sit in your hands.

It's you, in different angles. Asleep, staring out at something, smiling at him. He captures your face beautifully, and you can see where he's smudged the shading with a thick finger to cast shadows and light over you. He sketches in exquisite detail—he always has, but he has always had a certain style, a certain eye, that made lead look like real life. 

It’s odd to see what you looked like through his eyes. Bright. Lovely. Soft. He draws with a breath of fresh air, and you can see where his finger has rubbed away all the harsh lines. When you see a few places where the graphite on his thumb has stamped his fingerprint onto the paper, you feel your throat close up. You want to feel those fingers on your face. You want him to brush the hair out of your eyes and look down at you. You want to feel that hand tracing your jawline, your nose, the lid of your eye—you want to feel the warmth that he always radiated, and you want to breathe in the scent of him until you forget the smell of anything else.

You pick up a loved and bound book, with thinner pages that you know can't be a sketchbook. You unwind the leather string on the front, flipping it open, and you swallow thickly when you realize what this is.

A journal. You never knew he kept one.

The first few pages are dated from when he first enlisted, a few years before he met you. He writes just as eloquently as he draws, and you settle into the couch behind you as you read about his enthusiasm joining, the purpose he finally has, the weight of the world lifting off of his shoulders as he thinks about all the things he will be able to do as he rises through the ranks. You let your fingers skim over the words, feeling how his pen has pierced the paper, and you try to imagine him—fresh shaven with less muscle, life in his eyes as he thought about serving his country. You smile a little, but it hurts after a few moments.

You flip a little further, your eyes skimming over times he cursed out his commanding officer, punched a private for sneaking into the women's barracks, the love he has for a detonator that began when he soldered his first pins. His personality shines, and it's like you can hear him talking to you all over again, and when he begins to talk about a love he doesn't know how to handle, you smile to yourself, because you think he's talking about you.

But when you look again, the dates are wrong. You hadn't met him yet, not at this point, and your smile fades when you realize he's talking about someone else.

He never says their name. He writes at length about them, someone who has captured his eye, someone he says he can't have. Someone unattainable, unavailable, and then there is his own reservations. You don't realize until his entries from a few months later that he's talking about a man.

never felt this way before. not about anyone. rosary i always look at is fucking mocking me, i think. i can hear mum, somewhere, telling me to find a good catholic bonnie, but this is real. i know it is, but i don't know what to do about it. not like anyone i've ever met. can't explain the bond. but i look at him, and i think he looks at me, and i just know. i know. it can't be just in my head, can it? i'm not mad. i'm not. but what am i supposed to do?

You flip the pages frantically. There's sketches of hands on one page, hands that hold a handgun, that squeeze a trigger. They're tame sketches, but you feel a little sick because you feel like you're looking at a part of his life that you're not supposed to be looking at. The intimacy of these sketches—just hands, and you feel like they should be censored to your eyes.

The sketches and the words, they morph as time goes on. Sketches of closed eyes. Of blonde lashes. A harsh brow, a scar cutting across a thin lip. There is no softness in these sketches. Johnny draws with an abrasive pencil. It cuts the shapes, jagged edges akin to glass.

i can't tell anyone. i want to tell the whole world. won't let me. want to scream it from the fucking roof that i love you, but you're such a stubborn bastard. so fucking stubborn.

The sketches suddenly become warped. Angry, spiked, and you can see the emotion from how hard he presses the pencil into the page. More hands, and you can’t help but notice how he draws them simply functioning. Hand over wrist. Holding a utensil. Picking nails. These hands tell a story, and you can see the bumps and bruises and the wounds that litter the surface of them—these hands are anything but delicate. They have wrought. They have dug until their fingernails bled. They have been stuck through barbwire, maimed to the point of texture and roughness and the blurring of scar tissue.

don't fucking believe you. it isn't just me.

You're blind for a few moments from the intensity of your tears. You wipe them furiously, you need to know more, you need to know. The dates skip, and you pause on the day that you met.

so bonnie. so beautiful.

Softer sketches. The delicate lashes that are your own, the gentle curve of your pouty lips. You recognize yourself, but only barely, because he draws you like you are out of focus. He draws you as if you are too far away, just out of reach.

she's everything i've ever wanted. so why can't i let it go?

Your bottom lip trembles when sketches of a butterfly overlap skulls. The motifs never disappear, not completely, and it's only obvious what his true feelings are when you smooth a finger down the sketch of a butterfly escaping its cocoon that hangs from the mouth of a discarded skull head.

haunt my fucking dreams. go away. go away. go away. the ring is right there, so why can't i give it to her?

You close it abruptly. It falls to the floor, the cover of it thudding as you cover your face with your hands. Was he thinking of someone else all this time? Every morning, every kiss, every time he looked into your eyes and told you that he loved you—was all of this meant for someone else? Someone he wanted but couldn't have? Someone that just didn't love him back?

You scream. You toss the coffee table. You shatter the flowers that have died, you pick up the box of his things, and you throw it. You watch the papers fly, the books fall, you hear the rattle of his dead memories meet the floor of the home he left behind, and you scream at all of it just to stop, please, stop, stop, stop—

You're not even sure if it's really Johnny you're angry at. Maybe yourself, because you've never really been good enough to be loved by anyone. No one has ever loved you and you only—you've only ever been additional, on the condition of loving another, never enough to be the one and only, and maybe that's your real problem. Maybe the real problem is that you want to die because you always give everything you have, and no one has ever wanted it enough to give you the same.

Maybe you just want too much. Maybe your dreams are too big, maybe it's just that no one wants what you are handing over. Packaged pretty, all shiny and new, but if no one wants it, you shelve that kind of love, and that's where it rots.

Maybe this kind of love died with Johnny. Not the beginning of something, but the reality of it, and now all you can do is accept the things you cannot change and tame the heart inside of you that isn't good enough to be for anyone else.

When you pick up his things off the floor the next morning, you find a scribbled address on the back of a torn sketch. So, you do the kind thing, and you gather his things back into the box, close the lid on what never really was, and you carry it with you out the door.

The door is unmarked. The paint on it is peeling, but you know this must be the place because there's a pair of dark boots caked with mud sitting out by the bottom step. You raise your hand to knock, and you tap it with your knuckles timidly, adjusting your hold on the box in your arms.

A few minutes pass by, but no one answers. You knock again, louder and firmer this time, and it finally swings open. From the dark flat emerges a large man, sticking his head out from behind the chain latched and glaring down at you. You think he's about to close it on you, but then his eyes flicker down, and you know he must read the name scribbled in big letters on the box that you hold.

It’s enough to make him pause. It’s enough to make him stay, rooted to that spot, even if you can tell all he wants to do is sink back into whatever void he came out of.

"Hi," you whisper, and you have no control over how broken the word comes out. "I...I just thought you should have this."

Because he never really loved me. Not really. Not the way he loved you.

The door shuts, and you hear the chain unlatch, and then he opens it wider. He emerges in the doorway, taking up the entirety of the width of it, and he snarls down at you from behind the mask he wears.

He opens his mouth to spit something at you, but then you hold it out to him with shaky hands, and he can see the tears that are coming down your face. You can't control them, he can tell that much, and he reaches out to take the box from you. You look at his hands, and you recognize them immediately. Uncanny, the resemblance, and you recognize the scar that cuts across the knuckles on his left hand. You know if you push his mask down, you could trace with closed eyes the scar he must wear that starts at his nose and ends at his chin.

He doesn’t know it, but you know what he looks like. You know what he is. If he took off that mask, you would see a face you know, even if Johnny never drew the entirety of it at once. Always bits and pieces of him, but you’d know them if you saw them put altogether. You have the puzzle pieces of him in the back of your mind, and you know you could put them back together if you really tried.

He would not be able to do the same for you. The pieces of you are scattered, and you know they are lost, and that there is no getting them back. Johnny took them to grave; you would never ask for them back, anyways.

You don't ask who he is. He doesn't ask you who you are; but when your eyes meet, there is some kind of understanding. Some kind of knowing. You almost don't want to leave—you know he mustn't be kind, not from what you’ve read of him and the way he looks, but Johnny loved him, and you want to cling onto anything that still breathes that might connect you to him. You hate him, but you love him, and Johnny loved this thing, so maybe...maybe—

The door slams shut in your face, and you catch yourself with the step railing as you crumple to sit there, on his dirty step, crying into your hands. You don't know how long you sit there, but it is dark when you drag yourself home.

It is much too dark outside for you to see the shadow that you pick up along the way—and you’re too in your head to realize it never leaves.

When you come home from work, your knees are weak when you see the letter that’s taped to the front of your door.

EVICTION NOTICE.

They give you until the weekend, a courtesy they tell you they don’t normally give to anyone. You aren’t allowed to stay, even if you come up with the money, and you’re in tears as you pack up your flat. The last place you shared with Johnny, and it’ll be gone soon. You don’t know what you’ll do with your things. You don’t know where you will go.

Johnny never married you. You don’t have any family. You’ll have to stuff your car full of as much as it can hold, and you’ll need to toss the rest. You’ll have to—

The knock at your door startles you. You get up off the floor, where you were trying to stuff all your dishes into a small bag. You pull the curtain back on the window beside the door, and your eyes widen when you see a giant man standing at your door. He feels your eyes on him, and he turns his head towards the window, tilting his head to the side menacingly when he looks at you.

You wipe your face, trying to dry the tears on your cheeks. You open the door shakily, poking your head out.

“Hi,” you say. You wish your voice was steady, but it cracks. “Can…C-Can I help you?”

The mask he’s wearing today is different. There’s a skull mouth painted on it, and his hood is flipped up over his head. He seems taller with his boots on, and he takes up nearly the entire width of your doorway. He’s got so much bulk on him—if you reached across and touched him, you know your hand would hit nothing but a solid wall. No give, just pure muscle and fat. His eyes are still dark, and he still looks like the most unapproachable man in the entire world. He clicks his tongue under the mask, and you swallow when he snarls a bit.

He fishes something out of his jacket. You recognize it—Johnny’s journal. He holds it out to you, expectant, and you open the door wider to take it from him. You feel tears come all over again at the sight of it, and you hold the leather to your chest, hugging it. Johnny never married you, but he would’ve taken care of you right now. If he would’ve known you were here, about to live in your car, he would not have hesitated moving you in with him. Getting you into his bed. Shielding you from the world that was much too scary, much too unforgiving. Johnny would know what to do.

Johnny’s dead.

Just as you are about to close the door, a thick boot stops it. You flinch a bit, looking up, and then a big hand presses against your door and pushes it open until it hits the wall. The man cranes his neck to look around you, and he narrows his eyes at the heap of your belongings huddled in the living room of your flat.

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“I’m just…moving.”

You step aside when he moves. He ducks his head just slightly to get through, and you watch as he walks around, taking stock of what’s in front of him. He seems to find what he’s looking for when he sees the notice on your kitchen counter. He snatches it up and and turns it around to face you, and you just stand there, frozen.

“I told you. Moving.”

His house is soulless. White walls. Beige carpet. Grey tiles. There’s one couch, one coffee table, and one TV mounted to the wall. There’s only dishes in the kitchen enough for one person, and he only has one bedroom. It’s the same lifeless place in there, too. His mattress is on the floor, but he has the decency to put a mattress cover and sheet over it. There’s one nightstand, with just a few cables where he must charge his phone, and one lamp. There are no decorations. There is no other furniture. His house is functional, not valuable.

He puts your bag in the bedroom. That settles that.

You cry that first night. You sleep early, curling up under his one measly sheet, and you cry. You cry because you’re sad. You cry because you’re lonely. You cry because you feel like you owe this man now, this stranger who hasn’t told you his name, and you have no idea how you will pay him back. You cry because you miss Johnny, and he never even loved you.

You jump when the bedroom door opens. He walks in, kicking the door shut, and you watch as he strips himself of his jeans and hoodie, tossing them onto the floor. You sit up on your elbows, meeting his eyes, but he doesn’t take off his mask. Instead, he comes towards the bed, plopping down on the mattress next to you, and you pull the sheet up to your chin. You hadn’t anticipated sharing a bed with him, but you’re also too afraid to complain.

“I can sleep…on the floor if—”

A big hand covers your mouth. You’re silenced, startled that he would touch you this way, and you start to cry again when he presses until you are laying on your back again, moving his hand back until it rests behind his head.

“Please—” You hiccup. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He hums at that. Satisfied. Pleased at your reaction. He could pluck your strings right now, and you’d play music. He falls asleep with that thought.

You try to give him money. He never takes it. You try to buy groceries. You find the notes you spent stuffed back into your wallet later. You try to pick up a broom to clean up, and he locks the supply closet after that. The only way you find out his name is when you find his dog tags in the bathroom drawer, because he still hasn’t spoken a single word to you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley. That’s who Johnny really loved.

You don’t know why the sex started—you don’t know why you let him in, not exactly. Simon had been gone, one of his usual spurts of absence that he occasionally had, but he came home earlier than you expected. Simon likes to shower as soon as he comes home, but you are already in there, under the hot water, leaning against the tile as you empty your head of any thoughts. Simon doesn’t knock, and he pulls back the shower curtain even though he sees your silhouette. There are no words exchanged as he comes in, getting under the hot water, and there are no words exchanged when he takes off his mask for the very first time, and he hoists you up against the wall and fucks you into it.

You know this, too. Your hands trace his back, and you can feel every scar you know will be there, and you can taste the same things Johnny said you would taste when you lick over his jaw. Tobacco. Citrus. Animal.

It almost feels like cheating, but you’re too empty inside to be sad about it. It really feels like lying, even though Johnny’s too gone to hear your excuses. At the same time, it feels like getting something back. Not in its entirety, but something close, something that doesn’t feel the same, but feels so good anyways.

You cry again when you realize you like it better. You cry more when you realize that you’re starting to lose your dreams of Johnny in favor of Simon. You see in the dark instead of in blue. At first, you used to mumble Johnny’s name into the pillow. You used to bury your face into it, muffle the sounds as Simon fucked you from behind, two big hands pushing your ass apart as he pulled you back over and over onto his cock. Now your head is turned to the side, and you’re crying Simon’s name, and he’s fucking you harder, getting down onto his elbows, pressing you into the mattress and using your throat as leverage so he can arch your back and get your ass shaking with how firm he pushes his hips against you.

You’re so delicate, but he can’t be nice. He can’t be gentle. He needs to see teeth marks on your thighs and on your back. He needs to taste your blood and your cum and your spit. At first, he thinks he was doing it because he was lonely, too, but now he just wants to eat and eat and eat.

Eat Johnny’s pretty girl. Fuck Johnny’s pretty girl. Keep Johnny’s pretty girl, because how dare he keep this one a secret, and how dare he try and hide her from him? Johnny wrote a lot of things in that journal, but he didn’t talk about Simon’s insatiable appetite, and he didn’t talk about Simon’s rules. He blamed the entire world for his seemingly unrequited love, but the reality was that Johnny was selfish.

Johnny didn’t want to share. He wanted it all for himself, so it’s no wonder he died for it. When your world isn’t in balance, it compensates. Johnny ended up on the wrong side of the scale.

That’s the fucking truth.

Simon’s got you on your knees again. He likes you this way, ass up, face down, on display. On your back, he stacks enough under your back that you’re nearly upside down, pussy in his mouth as he bends you in half and eats it like that. Now, he’s squeezing your hips, pressing down between your shoulder blades, thick tongue inside of you as he teases your ass with his thumb. Johnny used to love that, but you’re such a jumpy girl.

He’s going to fix that.

Johnny is so predictable. Letting you run around, spoiled, never telling you the way it should be. Johnny made you think you were a pretty princess. He probably intertwined your fingers and fucked you in missionary like a good Catholic boy, but soft, delicate things like you don’t need to be reminded of what they are. They need to be so cockdrunk and dizzy that they don’t know anything else but this place right here, in his bed. Simon knows that’s what you really need—to not know the world outside of this bedroom.

Love is useless. Love can be lost. Love comes and goes, it’s subject to change. Time bends it, rusts it like iron, and Simon doesn’t need something else that will slip through his fingers, no. He needs something that is latched onto him forever. He needs to take one of your ribs and absorb it. He needs to taste you on his tongue and between his teeth always. He needs your blood to be his blood, and he needs your eyes to be his eyes.

Marriage is not finality. Love is not permanent. No—it isn’t enough. He couldn’t keep Johnny, and maybe he can’t keep you, but there is something he can give you that will keep you with him. Even if you left, you would stay somehow, some part of you, and he can see it in some distant place.

Once Simon sees something, it’s as good as true. It might as well be real. Simon is something himself of a manifestation, and he realizes now that maybe he never really saw Johnny because it was you hiding in what he couldn’t see.

Everything is in focus now. He knows what he has to do. Johnny was too stupid to see it—to preoccupied with how beautiful you are between the legs, too mindless when he was cock-deep inside of you to understand what he had in his hands. They don’t make things like you. One of a kind. Once in a lifetime. Something that will never be again if you let go, if you look away.

Simon knows all too much about what it means to leave a scar. He understands permanence. It’s why he’s still alive. It’s why he’s got you here, right here, underneath him, wet-faced and sobbing and clenching so tight around him. Your nails are fixtures in his back, holding him here, and he knows that you understand, too. If he asked you, you would think about the answer, but your body knows. It knows who Simon is and what he wants. He’s certain it does because even if he wanted to, your cunt has him tight, barely enough give for him to pull out and push right back in. It doesn’t want him to leave, and he’s glad for it.

You cry so sweet. Blubbers and gentle tears. You want this; it’s evident in the way you claw at him and pull him back in every time he pulls out just enough. When you pull just that hard, he drops onto his elbows, caging you in, and you sob into his mouth as he grinds his pelvis into yours. The wet smack of his thighs has stopped, but the pressure against your clit has you whining so nice. Fuck, you are beautiful, and you look so sad. From the first moment you showed up at his door, you were all big eyes and sadness. You drag around an air of heaviness that hasn’t left, and Simon is so sick of it—Johnny wasn’t man enough to eat you whole, won’t you just fucking let it go?

Maybe Simon did love him, too. Maybe he did love him back. No, he must’ve—that feeling in his chest still hasn’t left. Simon made a thousand excuses. A man like him, simply unloveable. A soldier like him, just too busy and too dedicated to have anything for himself outside of duty. A victim, what a rotten word, but that is what he is; no one can want him, not really. He saw it, in the back of his mind, peeling back layers of himself just for someone to make a face. After everything, after breaking his nails crawling out of an early grave, rejection just might be the thing that finally killed him. Not a bullet, but the sheer pain from the cut of giving a nasty piece of himself over and not even getting everything back.

Johnny was careless. Loving two things at once, pulled in opposite directions. Too distracted by what he couldn’t have that he forgot about how good he really had it—what a fucking dog. Greedy. Naïve. Fucking delusional. Johnny gave up this to chase something that could never be real. It was pathetic. It was stupid.

It was mine.

“Look at me.”

You do. Your eyes, hazy and wet, meet his, and your hands are shaking as you cup his face and sob because yes, yes, yes, please—I need it, it hurts s-so good.

It does hurt. It burns. It steals. It takes. It swallows, like a brush fire against dry land, licking and eating and tearing apart whatever it can reach. Your moans enrage it, and your cunt feeds it, whatever the thing is inside of his chest that is begging to come out.

This isn’t love. This isn’t romance. This is necessity—survival. Without him, you will come apart, and without you, Simon will starve. He used to take bites out of Johnny. Just enough to make the screaming inside of him quiet a little, just enough to be distracted; but he hasn’t eaten in months, and whatever you’re made of is too good to let go of.

This time, he’ll make it permanent. He’ll make it forever. Where you end, where he begins, where his hands have sunk into you, where his teeth are stuck; he’s going to fix himself to this place, and then he’s going to make himself forget how to leave.

You’re buzzing. You’re somewhere else. You feel like you’re floating above yourself, but at the same time, you’re right here. Simon’s so big; he told you he would be, but it’s another thing entirely to have this man inside of you and hitting your squishy cervix. He’s nasty about it, too—he likes putting a big hand on your stomach and pressing; he likes to feel himself inside of you and laugh at how you cry, and he likes the sound it makes when you’ve come, and your thighs are wet, and his skin smacks against yours with a toe-curling squelch.

“‘s mine,” he says, and you whine, and you nod. You don’t know if he’s asking you a question, but you figure he isn’t. Simon isn’t the kind to ask. He just takes what he wants. He always has. When you come back from the dead, consequences don’t apply to you any longer. You’ve cheated reality, and now you get to reap your rewards.

“Yeah.”

Yeah. Yes. Of course. Yes. Yes, Simon, whatever you want, Simon, anything for you, Simon, yes, yes, yes, yes—!

It will take time. As Simon puts his thumb to your clit to hear you sing, he thinks about how it won’t take much of it. You’re already so docile. You’re already in his bed, eating his food, crying with his cock inside of you and your thoughts filled with nothing but white noise and his name.

Simon won’t be like the man before him. Johnny drew you as a butterfly—something in need, but something that would eventually fly away. Fuck that. If there is a light in you, Simon will snuff it out. If he has to keep you from discovering your wings, he will just cut them off. If it’s the blood inside of you that keeps you warm, he will let it drain from the wounds left behind by his teeth because I will keep you warm, I will make it better, no one else, just me—

His index and middle finger in your mouth silence you. You choke on whatever you are saying in favor of sucking on his wet fingers, your eyes crossing a little as he bites down on your ear and pants there. It’s rare to hear him; Simon tends to swallow any noises he makes in favor of concentrating on hitting that same spot inside of you, but you can hear him now. It’s low and rumbly, so much so that you can feel his chest vibrating against yours. A groan—fuck, he sounds so good. To know your pussy feels so good, it’s making him falter is enough to have you just at the cusp of something white-hot and blinding.

You come when he comes. Simon’s other hand has an iron-grip on the side of your thigh, hiking it up around his hips as he comes hot and heavy inside of you. You shake underneath him, sucking hard on his fingers as he presses his pelvis to yours. You can feel it dripping between your thighs, and the heat of it makes you come, too, a sob coming out of you as you spit his fingers out in favor of closing your mouth over his.

He tastes like you. You suck on his tongue softly, lapping it up, and he uses his wet hand to hold your jaw at an angle so he can spit into your mouth and kiss you again. You grip his dog tags hard, tugging him back to you when he tries to look down at where he’s inside of you. He suffocates you when he lays over you, but you don’t care. You need him skin-to-skin. You need his mouth on yours, his cock still this deep, sharing breath and spit and heat. If you lose it, you’ll lose something else, something more, and you can’t lose it again.

His weight crushes you, and you don’t register the significance of one of his hands underneath you and between your shoulder blades. He feels for something that you can’t see, and he kisses you again when he’s satisfied with what he finds. The lack of something. The killing of it. The knowing that you’ve gotten what it is you’ve been searching for all this time.

He holds you like that always. He keeps your eyes on his when he comes inside of you—always wants to look at you when that first spurt of cum fills you entirely. He likes the way your lashes flutter when he brands you. He likes the way you lose the ability to speak. He likes the way your entire body goes rigid and pliant all at once, seizing up and then melting underneath him until it takes no effort to turn you over onto your stomach and do it all over again.

He notices the change before you do. The tender breasts, the warmth of your lower belly. You are wet always now, eager to be bent over wherever you are because the ache between your thighs is tenfold now.

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long while, and you’re smiling, hips hiked up on the couch, your dress crumpled around your middle as his cum drips down the back of your thighs. Simon licks his lips as he sits back on his heels, thumbing over your puckering hole.

You lay underneath him in your cocoon. Death at your doorstep, and you let him right in. You draw it around you tight, tucked into this blanket of security and warmth and factitious love that you think will hold this time. Simon’s hand draws around your throat, but you easily fall into him. When he squeezes, crushing what you’ve built back up, you sigh with relief, letting yourself fall into his chest and stay there.

When you close your eyes, it feels like something familiar. Like a place you’ve been before. When you open them, it’s gone. Simon is there, staring at your curiously. Your shadow that never leaves. The thing that remains. Time passes, but you know this will stay, you know it won’t go away. When he bends you over again, his hand slides low, cupping your belly, and your mouth twitches—the ghost of another smile. You put your hand over his there and press, feeling the scars you know by memory alone.

You will give him new scars; and these ones will be only for you.

[woso-story]

Alexia's Wisdom Teeth Removal

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The morning sun filtered through the curtains as you stretched, feeling the warmth of your shared bed. Today was an unusual day off from training, but you had taken it for a good reason—to take care of Alexia.

Your girlfriend had been dreading this day for a while, even if she tried not to show it. She needed to have her wisdom teeth removed, and while she had initially said her sister could go with her, you had insisted. You wanted to be there for her, no matter how small the procedure. You knew Alexia—always independent, always tough—but you could sense her nervousness in the way she had been fidgeting since the night before, checking and rechecking the appointment details as if she had forgotten them.

The drive to the doctor's office was quiet. Alexia sat beside you, her leg bouncing up and down, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. She barely spoke, just stared out the window, lost in thought. You glanced over at her, noticing her tension, and reached out to place a reassuring hand on her thigh, giving it a small squeeze. She looked at you, her eyes softening, and gave you a grateful smile.

"You'll be okay," you murmured, keeping your eyes on the road. She exhaled a shaky breath, nodding slightly, but her hands still gripped the hem of her hoodie tightly.

Once at the doctor's office, you checked her in at the front desk while she sat down, her fingers drumming anxiously on her knee. It wasn’t long before they called her name. She stood, and you gave her a quick peck on the temple. "Good luck, carino. I'll be right here when you're done."

---

An hour later, a nurse came out to let you know the procedure was over. Alexia was ready to go home, though she was still quite groggy from the sedative. Stepping inside the recovery room, you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Alexia looked absolutely lost, holding two ice packs to her cheeks, her expression dazed and confused. The moment she spotted you, her face lit up into a wide, goofy smile—only for her to wince at the pain that followed. Her eyelids drooped heavily, and she blinked slowly, as if trying to process where she was.

You chuckled, walking over to her. "Ready to go home?"

She gave an exaggerated nod, her eyes barely staying open. Carefully, you helped her out of the chair and guided her to the car. The entire ride home, she mumbled incoherently, a mix of complaints about her numb face and declarations of love for you.

"You’re the best," she slurred. "Like, the best best. My favorite person ever."

You tried not to laugh as you drove. "Yeah? You’re pretty great too, Lex."

Once you arrived home, you led her inside and settled her onto the couch. She pouted dramatically when you took the ice packs from her but sighed in relief when you replaced them with fresh ones.

"You comfy?" you asked, brushing some hair from her forehead.

She nodded lazily. "Mhm. But I want cuddles."

You smirked. "Later, okay? Let me get you some medication first."

---

The rest of the day was quiet. Alexia, who was usually always up and moving, had no choice but to rest. She dozed on and off, her head occasionally lolling onto your shoulder whenever you sat beside her. It was strange to see her like this—so soft, so needy—but you took the chance to pamper her as much as possible. You brought her water, kept her comfortable, and ensured she didn’t try to sneak in a workout, much to her displeasure.

That evening, she went to bed earlier than usual. You stayed behind in the kitchen, preparing some soup for her for the next day when you’d be at training.

Just as you were putting things away, you heard a faint whining coming from the bedroom. You walked in to find Alexia pouting, arms open toward you. "Cuddles."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I'll join you soon, I just need to do the laundry—"

"No." Her voice was muffled by the ice pack, but her tone was firm. She whined again, looking at you with pleading eyes, her usual composed demeanor completely gone.

Sighing dramatically, you climbed into bed beside her, chuckling. "You’re so needy right now," you teased.

"Shhh." She huffed, burying her face in your shoulder.

You gently took the ice pack from her and placed a soft kiss on each of her swollen cheeks. She pouted but then looked up at you expectantly.

"More."

Laughing, you pressed a delicate kiss to her lips, mindful of her soreness. She hummed happily, snuggling closer.

---

Over the next few days, Alexia had no choice but to take it easy, though it drove her crazy. After two days, she was already sneaking into the home gym, doing light workouts.

"Lex, you’re supposed to be resting," you scolded, crossing your arms.

"I am," she defended, stretching lightly. "Just… moving a little."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You’re impossible."

She grinned cheekily, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

You did your best to take care of her while she recovered, knowing that normally, she wouldn’t let you dote on her like this. Soon enough, she was back to training, back to her usual self. But part of you missed the clingy, snuggly Alexia from those few days—though you knew better than to tell her that.

[starsinthesky5]

in you are in love

can we get a reader meets joes parents for the first time

that's my whole world || joe burrow x reader

description: ask sums it up! a flashback blurb to meeting joe's parents for the first time

a/n: she met his parents in febuary (7 months since the day they started dating). they knew there was a girl in the picture, and he had told them about her on numerous occasions. but they didn't meet until the time was right :)

word count: 3.4k

series: you are in love

warnings: none

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

she was a complete mess. like she genuinely had never been so nervous for something in her life.

joe had been trying to reassure her all week that everything would be okay, but she couldn't help the nerves from twisting in her stomach at the mention of...the dinner. she wanted to believe him, but the voice inside her head told her a different story.

it was a constant tug of war in her mind between the side of her that thought this would be a complete disaster, whispering things like "i'm too much for them," or even, "they're going to hate me and everything i bring with me...all the attention, prying eyes, the drama. they seem so nice and normal, so calm. i can't do this...why did i think i could do this?".

and the side that was bringing ice to the searing anxiety in her chest, whispering, "joe loves you. he chooses you. they will too,".

but god, it was just so hard to believe that when she knew exactly how not normal her life was. she wasn't just any girl meeting her boyfriend's parents for the first time. she was her. the woman whose entire existence and being was scrutinized by the world, whose biggest fails and fatal flaws were aired out like dirty laundry. she brought even more flashing cameras, headlines, rumors, and attention to joe's life, even more than he was already dealing with. that couldn't be appealing to the parents of any child, especially since they knew how much joe had already struggled to balance privacy since he came into the league.

and the burrows? they were so normal. warm, kind, small-town folks who lived a quiet life outside of the football world that engrossed every single one of their weekends since joe could walk. they were the embodiment of home, at least from everything joe had told her--from his mom’s famous snicker salads to his dad’s lengthy football spiels, always delivered from his signature reclining rocking chair whenever joe visited. it was an established routine that joe valued, because it was one of the few constants in his life. no matter how much his world changed--draft nights, contract extensions, playoff games, becoming the designated heartthrob of the NFL--the burrow household remained the same. his parents still sat on the porch in the evenings, still had their favorite local diner they went to every sunday morning for brunch, still called him joey like he was six years old running around in the backyard.

this was one aspect of his life that never changed...that couldn't change.

athens.

his family.

his home.

until she came into the picture.

he made space for her, not only in his heart, not only in his closet, but in his home. physically and metaphorically. he had never done that for a girl before, but he did for her. and that meant something.

even though she knew all that, she still had never felt this much self-doubt in months, but don't get it twisted, this wasn't caused by a person this time (previously, her self-doubt was often implanted within her from those around her). this time, she was just getting in her head, going over every possible scenario where she could embarrass herself or rub them the wrong way.

and joe did everything he could to calm her nerves, to ease her into his family by first introducing her to his brothers and wives (who absolutely adored her). but she was the biggest overthinker he knew, so he knew that it wouldn't be that easy to bring her back from the ledge.

"baby, my parents are going to love you. like immediately. just like i did," he laughed, rubbing his hand along her thigh in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves.

she stayed silent as she watched them pull up to his childhood home. the anxiety boiling under her skin, threatened to explode once she saw the first glimpse of their picture-perfect porch, the porch where joe said his mom and dad would spend hours watching him practice his little peewee throws with his older brothers when he was a kid.

his mom and dad.

his mom...and dad.

his mom.

oh right, this wasn't just meeting his parents. it was meeting robin burrow. joe's mom, his biggest supporter, the woman he adored more than anything in the world. the woman who moved mountains to make sure joe could get to where he needed to be. she had heard firsthand how much respect and love he had for her, how he spoke about her with so much admiration. she knew how close they were, how much her opinion mattered to him.

and that is precisely why this dinner felt like the most important test of her life.

it was honestly funny how nervous she was. i mean, she had met some of the most famous individuals on the planet, sold out stadiums and arenas, but somehow, this felt bigger than all of that. more intimate.

--

the second they stepped inside, everything shifted. the warm scent of home-cooked food lingered in the air, a mix of sweet and savory, and the cozy lighting cast a golden hue over the living room. numerous framed photos decorated the walls--baby joe photos, football related snapshots, family moments frozen in time. you know, the usual.

she had seen a glimpse of his childhood through his stories, but standing here, in the house that built him, made it all so real.

robin was the first to greet them, moving right past her baby boy to first hug the woman who had stolen his precious heart. "finally! we've heard so much about you, sweetheart," she squealed.

her breath hitched while she almost broke a sweat, her smile however, remaining as steady as her feet. (thank years and years of practice for the paparazzi for that). "all good things, i hope," she beamed.

robin chuckled, "oh, only the best," while giving her a warm squeeze. "it's about time we got to meet the woman that got joey to learn the difference between dark and light wash denim,".

jimmy snorted, shaking his head. "and got him to wear something other than sweats in public,".

she laughed at the silly jabs at joe, glancing up at him, whose face was already contorted in playful annoyance. "okay, we’re already starting with this?" he muttered, rolling his eyes.

robin gently let go of her before turning to face her son, "you know we love you joe, but she got you to give up the gray jeans and the sweats? screw being the best thing that happened to you," she smiled, then faced her again, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "she's the best thing to happen to us,".

she couldn't even process what was happening because it felt so...easy. easier than she had thought. off the bat, the banter and vibe that had been established for years in the burrow household was engraved into her system. and it literally had only been 5 minutes.

his mom was so...comforting? she just had this vibe about her that immediately calmed her nerves, no matter how loud the voice inside her head was. and you know what's funny? only one person could do that for her.

joe.

now she knows where he got that from ;)

jimmy, joe’s dad, was just as comforting, shaking her hand with a firm grip and an easy grin. "you must have some real patience if you’re dating my son,".

joe groaned, rolling his eyes. "thanks, dad,".

she laughed, already feeling the warmth of their family dynamic, the way they teased but loved fiercely. it was easy. effortless.

and then, suddenly, she wasn’t her. she wasn’t the woman who graced magazine covers, wasn’t the person whose lyrics echoed through sold-out stadiums, wasn’t the figure people screamed for in arenas. she was just joe’s girl, standing in the warmth of his childhood home, being welcomed into his family like she had always been there.

she couldn't even remember why she was so worried in the first place? it's not like they would come out with pitchforks and a lighter incase she said the wrong thing. this was joe's family. the ones who made the person she was so madly in love with, who he was.

--

his parents could see how infatuated he was with her right off the bat. they could tell she was special to him from the way he spoke about her, but actually seeing it was a different story.

joe barely let go of her the entire night too. at dinner, his arm rested along the back of her chair, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against her shoulder. every so often, he leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, murmuring something soft in her ear that made her heart flutter and a giggle to come to her lips. he knew she was nervous, so he made sure to do anything and everything he could to remind her it was okay...and he was right here.

the conversation flowed easily--stories from joe’s childhood, football talk, the occasional embarrassing story from robin that made joe groan.

"mom, seriously?" he complained after she detailed an elaborate story about him dressing up as batman for nearly three years straight as a kid.

jimmy chuckled, shaking his head. "he’d even wear the cape to bed. wouldn’t go anywhere without it,".

she turned to joe, wide-eyed with happiness. "oh, this is gold,".

robin smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "oh, honey, i have plenty more where that came from,".

joe sighed dramatically, slumping against his chair. "i walked right into this,".

she reached under the table, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze. "it’s okay, babe. i still think you’re cool,".

his eyes narrowed playfully as his hand joined hers, fingers entwining under the table. then he have her three squeezes. "i don’t believe you. i just lost so much cred with that,".

joe was even clingier after dinner, practically attached to her as they settled onto the couch. his fingers still laced with hers, thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. every so often, he’d press a lingering kiss to her hair, like he couldn’t help himself.

oh, and then there was that moment--one she’d remember forever--when his parents started playing home videos of joe’s childhood. everyone was huddled around the TV, the warm glow flickering across their faces while joe, ever the gentleman, was finishing up the dishes.

her eyes were glued to the screen, completely transfixed, as if she were watching the most important film of her life. baby joe babbled at the camera, a toy football clutched in his tiny hands, making incoherent little sounds through a drool-covered grin. his dinosaur shirt was stained with whatever snack he’d been munching on, and his chubby cheeks were impossibly round. she felt something deep in her chest tighten at the sight--it was him, the boy who would grow up to become the man she loved.

she was so caught up in the moment, she didn’t even notice when joe snuck up behind her, his arms wrapping securely around her waist. he rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin, watching the screen from her perspective. for him, it was surreal--seeing these memories through her eyes, seeing her watch him at his most innocent, his most unguarded.

soft kisses pressed along her jaw, slow and affectionate, but she didn’t take her eyes off the screen. instead, she shifted one hand up, her fingers trailing over his jaw, nails scratching lightly in that way she knew he loved--a silent i feel you, i love you, i know you’re here.

his parents, however, fully noticed.

they turned to face joe and her, completely in awe of how touchy-feely he was being with her.

jimmy chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "well, would you look at that," he mused, nudging robin with his elbow. "our boy's turned into a big ol’ sap,".

robin grinned, her eyes twinkling as she took in the sight of her son clinging to his girlfriend like she was the only thing grounding him to earth. "i don’t think i’ve ever seen him like this," she said, her voice laced with warmth.

joe groaned against her shoulder but didn’t make a move to pull away. instead, he tightened his hold on her waist, pressing another soft kiss beneath her ear. "you guys act like i don’t have ears," he muttered, lips brushing against her skin.

she giggled, finally tearing her gaze away from the screen to look at him. "they’re just observing, baby,".

jimmy laughed. "oh, so baby is what we’re calling him now?".

joe shot his dad a deadpan look, but it was hard to look intimidating when he was literally nuzzling into her neck like some love-sick puppy. "you’re both insufferable,".

she laughed, turning her head just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. "you’re kinda proving their point, joey,".

robin sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "oh, it’s just so nice to see him like this. all affectionate and soft. i mean, he’s always been sweet, but this? this is new,".

she wasn't wrong. everyone knew how joe was opposed to PDA and being so soft in front of other people. but with her, he didn't give two fucks. and that was beautiful.

"this is disgusting," joe grumbled, though it was completely contradicted by the way he was practically melting into her touch.

"oh, hush," robin scolded, waving a hand at him. "you love it,".

he didn’t argue. he just held her a little closer, completely unbothered by his parents' teasing, because deep down, he knew they were right.

and his parents shot each other knowing glances all throughout the night, their hearts overflowing with happiness and gratitude.

later in the evening, while joe was off showing jimmy something on his phone, robin gently touched her arm, "come help me with refills?".

she followed her into the kitchen, her nerves creeping back in like the first time she stepped on stage, the weight of the spotlight reaching down on her and the unsure hint of adrenaline in her chest. it was also like trying out a new song live for the first time, unsure how the crowd would react, only this time, the crowd was one very important person--joe's mom. but robin didn’t jump into anything serious right away. instead, she moved around the space like she had a hundred times before, topping off drinks, grabbing extra napkins. then, finally, she turned, leaning against the counter with an easy smile.

"i just want to tell you how happy i am that joe has you,".

she blinked, caught off guard. "oh."

robin’s smile softened. "he’s always been focused, always had big dreams that revolved around football. but there’s something different about him with you. i see it in the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you," she reached out, squeezing her hand. "you make him so happy, sweetheart. you make him dream of a future beyond football, and for that, we're forever grateful,".

her chest tightened--not with nerves, but something warmer, something deeper. she swallowed hard. "i love him a lot," she admitted, voice softer than before.

robin nodded, as if she already knew. "and he loves you. that’s all a mom could ever hope for. we were so worried he'd get so caught up in football, miss out on the other aspects of his life like love, a family," she said, reaching out to grab the 'j' initial necklace which sat around her neck. "but then you came around,".

she exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head. "i was really nervous to meet you,".

robin raised an eyebrow. "why? because of who i am? honey, you’re the famous one,".

she shrugged, chewing on her bottom lip. "because of how much joe loves you. how much he looks up to you. i didn’t want to mess this up, you know?".

robin’s expression melted into something even softer, her thumb running over the surface of the pendant. "the only way you could ever mess this up is by not being yourself. but from what i can tell, and mother's intuition is never wrong, you’re perfect for him,".

before she could stop herself, she wrapped robin in a hug, this one even more meaningful than the one at the door. and then, the damn of emotion flew open. "thank you. thank so much you for making him who he is. i don't know what i would do without joe,".

robin's arms tightened around her in response, holding her as if she was already family. "oh, sweetheart, you don't have to thank me for that. joe’s always had a big heart, and he’s always known what he wants--he just needed someone like you to bring out the best in him," her voice cracked slightly, emotion clear in her tone. "he's been so much more himself since you came into his life,". she pulled away slightly, but her hands stayed on her shoulders, a steady presence. "you complete him, and we all see it. no matter who you are, what your life is like, screw the cameras and the attention. you're you. and we all know that. he knows that." robin added, her voice dense with emotion.

one thing echoed deep within her throughout the night--her career was never brought up. her fame, her music, the whirlwind of headlines that followed her everywhere she went. not a single mention. not even a passing comment.

because here, she wasn’t a superstar.

she was just a girl in love, spending time with the people who loved him first.

robin’s lips curled into a smirk, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "but just so you know, if you ever need to gang up on him, i’m always available,".

she blinked, surprised at first, but then a laugh bubbled up from her chest, light and effortless. she wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, warmth spreading through her like the glow of the kitchen light above them. "i might take you up on that," she admitted, voice laced with something softer--something that felt like relief.

robin squeezed her hand one last time, a silent reassurance, before stepping back to grab their drinks. and just like that, the last bit of nerves melted away, dissolving into the love that filled the room.

joe found her a few minutes later, his presence known before he even touched her. the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering warmth from the oven, and then, suddenly, his arms were around her, strong and steady. he pulled her into his chest, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her cheek. "what were you two talking about?{ he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with curiosity.

robin grinned, her gaze flicking between them, and then she smirked. "just how much we love you, joey,".

joe hummed, nuzzling into the crook of her neck like he belonged there. "you better not have been scaring her off, mom,".

robin gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. "me? never!".

she giggled, leaning further into joe’s embrace, feeling the way his hands instinctively tightened around her waist, as if he needed to anchor himself to her. he had been like this all night--touching her in soft, subtle ways, like he couldn’t quite believe she was here, with him, in the house he grew up in, surrounded by the people who had shaped him.

and then she realized that there was absolutely nothing to be so nervous about, now that she thought about it.

you know why?

because joe chose her. and they saw that. he chose her for a reason. and they knew that. he loved her, and that was everything they had ever wanted for him.

she felt it in the way robin had hugged her like she was already family, in the way jimmy had teased joe about being whipped, in the way they had welcomed her into their home without hesitation, without expectation--just love.

because at the end of the day, it wasn’t about who she was to the world. it wasn’t about the bright lights or the sold-out shows, the cameras flashing or the headlines screaming her name.

it was just about this.

the warmth of joe’s arms around her. robin’s knowing smile. jimmy’s easy laughter. the quiet hum of the house that had built the man she loved.

"it's you and me, that's my whole world,".

joe’s whole world was under this roof.

and somehow, she had become a part of it.

--the end--

[cvt2dvm]

There are very very few instances where the sex of an animal matters and in cats it doesn't matter unless you're breeding and occasionally if you're managing samesex or intersex aggression between cats, and if you invest in the relationship with your pets you're going to find that they're going to express affection and love in fairly obvious ways. Too many people aren't approaching their pets as individuals and don't pay attention to the cues of their animals. The breeding/temperament genetics and the individual relationship work you've done with an animal are what determine how, how much, and how often they're affectionate.

My adolescent male cat is very clingy but playful. He prefers offering and asking for play, sucking on fingers while not being pet, and following you around and playing hide and seek over settling in for a cuddle. My older adult female used to be the same way, now she prefers lounging on the porch bird watching while I read or a dry groom or curling up under the covers on cold nights. My male prefers to be at the other end of the bed on one of my sheepskins or his shark plushie. My male is a nibbler and barber my female gives kisses.

The reason I went for a male malinois as a working dog was because of him and his 2 sisters, he was the most handler sensitive and he was the best fit personality wise. His one sister was too laid back for what I wanted, shes thriving now as a diabetic alert dog, his other sister had more aggression than he did, and if I had been looking for a straight PPD or bite Sports dog, I honestly would have chosen her, but since I was looking for a dual purpose dog, I took him, and the more aggressive sister is now a suspect apprehension K9 in florida because of the 3 in his litter that just weren't quite right for bomb work (2 of the 5 that they imported were) one was better suited for strict service work with her soft mouth, one could have gone either way and been okay, or both and be truly fulfilled as long as he had his person, and the other was destined to either be destroyed or have a job where her desire to sink her teeth into something was an asset rather than a liability. His 2 sisters were also significantly more dominant with other dogs than he was, and since I was living with my ex at the time, I needed to think about how he would integrate into our existing 1 cat, 2 dog household.

This recent obsession with boys vs girls in dogs is such fucking BS, like... the only things that determine sex choice for me is how my current pet pack exists.

My female cat doesn't tolerate other female cats in her space, my male mal likes male dogs that are 10-15 lbs but feels pressured by males that are his size or larger, and gets along with females all around. So, realistically, I'll probably be adding a female dog next to the pack since, again, realistically, my older terrier male is in the worst health of my pets. I also may not be adding another dog to my pack for a while too, so that I have more travel flexibility.

The whole "boy cat" thing is so annoyingggggg your cats gender has nothing to do with how they feel about you i literally cannot imagine being so brain rotted by patriarchy that you somehow think your neutered male cat has special male love for you that female cats don't have the capacity for. Is there something wrong with you

[russo-woso]

First match || Alessia Russo x reader

Request | Masterlist

Summary Bubba has her first match

-> Part of the A New Adventure universe

When the date came through for the beginning of the season, you and Alessia went a bit… crazy.

And no it’s not the beginning of the season for the two of you, instead it was the beginning of the season for Florence.

Wren and her teammates were old enough now to start playing in a youth league.

It was something you and Alessia had been dreaming of since you found out you were having a baby.

With the two of you being footballers, your baby was bound to have some kind of sporting gene, and like you suspected, Florence ended up being a football lover.

She jumped up and down with excitement when you told her she’d be playing her first match in only a matter of weeks.

It was big deal, your bubba’s first match, and you’d prepared for it for a long time but nothing could have prepared you for Alessia’s reaction.

“We’ve got to go.” Alessia had said once you’d told her.

“Where?”

“To sports direct. She needs new boots, new gloves, shin pads, everything bubba could need.” Alessia rambled, running to put her shoes and coat on.

“Lessi, baby, calm down. She’s got all that stuff.”

“I got boots, mummy, look.” Florence pointed out, pointing the predators next to her kit bag that was lying around due to Florence having training later that day.

“I know, bubba, but you’ve got to have the best gear.”

“Less…”

“Nope, come on, let’s go.”

Despite you and Alessia being strikers, Florence had an undoubtedly incredible talent in goal.

Which lead you to standing in front of the glove section at sports direct.

“I want the ones auntie Mary wears.” Florence said, holding the pair of puma gloves in her hands.

“Wren, me and mama have sponsors with adidas, you can’t wear puma.” Alessia explained, handing a pair of adidas gloves to Florence.

“No, I want auntie Mary’s gloves.” Florence wailed, stomping her foot in anger.

“Hey! Wren you don’t stomp your foot.” You told her

“Sorry, mama.” The four year old apologised, her bottom lip trembling as her eyes welled with tears.

“Let her have them. She’s a four year old girl and the gloves are pink, they’re clearly the ones she’s gonna pick.” You whispered to Alessia

“Wren, bubba, do you really want auntie Mary’s gloves?”

“Yes!” Florence exclaimed, her face brightening up as the following words left Alessia’s mouth.

“You can have them.”

“Thank you, mummy.” Florence said, jumping onto Alessia.

“You’re so welcome, bubba.” Alessia whispered, holding Florence close. “Now which boots do you want?”

“The ones auntie LeLe wears.”

“The Nike ones?”

“Yes!”

“That’s even worse…”

After a very expensive shopping trip, and lots of preparation, the day of the match was finally here.

You and Alessia were bundled in layers as you braved the cold around you.

Florence had woken the two of you up at six o’clock, jumping on your bed full of excitement.

You couldn’t stay mad at her for long. One look at her blue eyes and the anger was gone.

You had gotten her ready in her kit, getting emotional as you looked at her.

Her shirt was far too big for her and although she was still small, she had a confident look on her face.

Alessia quietly entered the room, wrapping her arm around your waist as you both looked at your daughter.

Alessia also had tears in her eyes, clearly just as emotional as you were.

“Mummy, mama, why you cry?” Florence asked

“You’re growing up so quickly, bubba. Can you not just stay this small?” You told her, kissing her head as you enveloped her in a hug.

“Mama, I’m a growing girl. I got to grow. I always be your bubba though.”

That just made you burst out into tears.

Florence wrapped her arms around your’s and Alessia’s legs whilst Alessia hugged you.

The three of you had stayed hugging for a moment or two before the realisation that you’d be late hit.

When you got to the pitch, Florence started sprinting to her teammates, not even saying goodbye to the two of you.

Alessia took your hand in hers as you walked towards the other parents.

Greeting them with a smile, you soon started a conversation about how nervous you were for the team’s first game.

The conversation soon stopped when about thirty voices were heard behind you.

Turning around, you were met with all the Arsenal girls plus a few other friends from the England squad or passed teams.

“What’re they all doing here?” You whispered to Alessia

“I mentioned Wrens first game to Kyra and it spread throughout the team.” Alessia explained

You’d mentioned it to a few close teammates and friends, just a few - Tooney, Lotte, and Mary - and promised to film clips for them but what you didn’t expect was for the whole team to come.

“What’re all you lot doing here?” You asked with a smile, hugging everyone as they focused on the pitch - attempting to spot the future lioness.

“We’ve come to watch our favourite keeper, no offence Daph.” Leah said, looking towards Daphne who just smiled at the comment.

“What about me though? I thought I was your favourite keeper.” A voice exclaimed

“Mary? Why are you here?” Alessia questioned, hugging Mary tightly before Mary hugged you.

“I couldn’t not see my mini me play her first game.” Mary told you, waving at Florence who had spotted her auntie Mary straight away.

“Auntie Mary!” Florence screamed, running and jumping into Mary’s arms.

“Hi, mini keeper. Oh my, look at your gloves!”

“Your gloves, auntie Mary.”

Alessia rolled her eyes as the topic arose again - it being a sensitive topic in your household.

“Mummy doesn’t like them, but I love them!” Wren exclaimed

“Wren, bubba, you need to go warm up. It will be kick off soon.” You reminded her as Mary put her back on the floor.

Both you and alessia crouched down to be in line with your daughter.

“Me and mummy are so proud of you, Wren.” You whispered as you hugged her.

“You’re going to do so well, bubba.” Alessia told her, kissing her head.

As Florence ran back into the field, cheers were heard from the sideline that was entirely made up of the Arsenal squad.

You and alessia smiled, looking at all your daughter’s aunties who had turned up to watch her first game.

Florence was so loved and If it wasn’t obvious before, it was definitely obvious now.

Both teams were ready now, everyone in their correct positions.

Just before the whistle blew, you watched Florence take seven jumps.

“Lessi, look.” You pointed to Florence

“I’m gonna cry.” Alessia said, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes - the moment already being overwhelming but seeing that was the cherry on top.

The whistle blew and the game soon kicked off.

“Am I late? Did I miss it?” A Manchester accent shouted

“Tooney! You came from Manchester?”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world? Where is she?” Ella asked as the two of you pointed to Florence stood in goal, her little face full of concentration.

“Go on, Wren!” Ella cheered, her voice echoing around the field.

“Auntie Tooney, too loud!” Wren scowled

“That told you.”

“You were incredible out there, bubba!” You said, picking wren up as she walked over after the game.

“A clean sheet and player of the match? I must be a good coach.” Mary said, fist bumping Florence as alessia swooped her up into her arms.

“My bubba played her first game!”

“Mummy, I’m not a baby!”

“You’ll always be mine and mamas baby. Even when you’re thirty.”

“Even when I’m a lioness?” Wren asked

“Even when you’re a gunner and lioness. Me and mama will always be your biggest fan, cheering you on in the crowd.”

“You’re going to be England future star, bubba.”

Florence smiled, a glint in her eyes as she imagined herself in goal at Wembley.

“If you can dream it, you can do it, baby.” You told her, kissing her cheek.

“I’m going to play at Tottenham.” Florence revealed - the Tottenham Hotspur stadium being one of the only stadiums she can remember.

“I’m sorry, what did you say, Missy?” Leah asked, her eyes wide.

“Tottenham!”

“We need to sit and have a chat.”

[elliesanqel]

pt2 to stay quiet pleassseeee 🙏

need to ruin ellie when we get home

keep screaming

part 1 — stay quiet

sypnosis; after teasing your girlfriend and teaching her half a lesson, you take her home and decide to teach her the other half. warnings; sub!ellie/dom!fem reader, strap use (referred to as a cock), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstim, praising, not proofread, mdni. a/n; sorry for not posting…i’ve been getting through the first week back at college😔. tysm for your req anon! i don’t normally do more than one part to my oneshots (so if this is bad im so sorry😭), but i realllllyyyyy wanted to make another part for stay quiet, so im glad you asked! i did decide to keep this one short ‘n sweet. also, after posting this i’ll be releasing my masterlist early!! anyways hope u enjoy!

your hand curled around ellies wrist, dragging her up the small pathway leading to her cabin. you had plenty of ideas in your head and although ellie was already riled up due to your denial back at the event, you could promise you were more riled up than her. images of that girl who was all over her flashed in your mind which only fuels your anger which you knew you couldn’t help but take it out on her. oh you were gonna ruin her. and she didn’t even know.

her expressions faltered every so often as you dragged her, as if she couldnt figure out if your grip on her was hurting her or turning her on further. you gripped the door handle as you reached the door, throwing it open as you took ellie in quickly. you shut the door behidn you, locking it as you did. she stood there, a bit dumbfounded, if she was honest. she had to admit, she was angry with you for not letting her cum when you’d got her so riled, but she knew better than to dominate you when you were like this. and no matter how embarrassed she felt when she was submissive, she loved being a loser like that for you.

however, you knew deep down that her loser facade was not just an act, it was genuinely who she was.

you left no time, you quickly back her up onto the bed, pushing her down forcefully as her back meets the soft matress. her eyes blink, looking your pretty figure up and down. “baby…” she began, looking up at you through her lashes as she tried to prop herself up on her shoulders, her voice low as she went to continue, but you didnt let her.

“dont wanna hear it. i swear, im gonna fucking ruin you, williams.” you command, your voice very serious, and she knew how serious due to her face faltering. you’d been here before, but not many times. where ellie was submissive—she didnt like to admit she loved being that for you. but normally when you’d fuck her, her face would be down and squished into the pillows while her ass would be up. but not this time. oh no. you wanted her back to stay against the bed so you could actually see her raw reactions instead of them being muffled into the sheets, her tits boucing, your cock hitting her stomach, the way you slip in and out of her slick pussy. you wanted to see all of that.

you force her further onto the bed, standing inbetween her legs that were now apart and her knees were up. well well well, isnt she a good girl for doing that without being told? she bit down into her bottom lip as so looked at your hands that pulled her skinny jeans down her thighs and off, along with her boxers that had a wet patch—likely the precum from earlier at the event.

you grin at her gleaming pussy, and you swore you could see it pulsing. fucking hell she was so hot, what a dork. her strap was already sitting on the edge of the bed, but you decided to wait for that. you slipped your own shorts off, along with your panties. her head fell back at the sight of you, a small whine of desperation coming from her parted lips. you slowly got down of your knees, positive you could feel the heat coming from her cunt. it gleamed with precum before your eyes and you raised two fingers, dabbing at her enterance before slipping them in and immediately curling them.

“uhhh! fuckkk, baby. oh my god—” she chokes out, her moans coming out desperate and needy. her hips raised further, trying to cause more friction. you grinned at her reaction, seeing the way your fingers pump in and out of her slick heat, it was such a pretty sight.

you curled them more, hitting all the right spots. “shit, shit, mmm!” she whimpered, sounding like some needy whore. she was already riled up enough before this, so she could feel her body shaking, her stomach clenching as she felt herself about to cum.

“oh baby—ohhh! g’nna cum, fuck, yeah…g’nna cum.” she moaned out desperately as if it took all her willpower to say that. you decide to be nice, pumping your fingers further. her face contorts, but you couldnt see her reactions yet as you were still on your knees. you give one last curl before her whole body shudders, her hot, sticky cum squirting out and coating you hand. as she did, a slutty moan dragged out her throat, her eyes still shut so she couldnt see you licking up her release off your hand.

you stand up slowly, nowhere near done with her yet. before she could even open her eyes you’d already grabbed her strap, sliding it on and your hands rested against her knees, spreading her legs apart which did cause her eyes to open.

she looked at you in confusion, her brows furrowing as you aligned your cock at her entrance. “what…what are you doi—” she starts, but before she could finish her face completely falters as you slip your cock inside of her pussy, wasting no time in completely bottoming out inside of her.

“ahhh…mmm! jesus fucking christ.” she desperately whined out. your eyes stayed on her face, wanting to see all the pretty faces she makes. her eyes rolled back, her lips parted as moans fell from them. you werent gentle, though. no way were you going to be gentle. you thrusted inside of her, seeing the way you slip in and out of her so smoothly, the way your cock hits her stomach and loving the way it bulges through, the pain almost proving too much for her as your pace never faltered.

due to how worked up she already was, she was very fragile by now, and the pain mixed with pleasure of your thrusts only edged her further. “got one more for me, baby? gonna tell me who you belong to now?” you tease, your words coming out at the same time as every thrust.

her face contorts, her eyes squeezing shut. “ohhh! fucking hell, you! ohhh, you, baby…” she screams, her voice scratchy. you thrust harder at her words, determined to get her there.

“s’ too much…cant, cant…” she cries out in pleasure. oh she definitely sounded ruined now. “yes you can, come on, baby. one more for me.” you urge her on. you knew there was slight pain to your thrusts now, but the pleasure overpowered it more.

she felt her stomach tighten once more, and you swore you could feel her tightening around your cock too. “go on baby, cum for me. you’re doing so well—mmm…you’re all fucking mine.” you sigh out, pushing her as far as you could.

the overstimulation seemed alot for her, so her body shook alot more vigorously this time, her pussy walls clamping on your cock as her sticky cum shoots out, coating it completely as her body jolts.

“fuckkkk!” she cries out in pleasure, her eyes rolling back. you took a deep breath, taking in her state. you pull out slowly, a whine coming from her at the loss of contact. her stomach heaved up and down as her legs flopped down, and you moved beside her, taking her shivering body in your arms. “you did so well, baby. i love you.” you whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead covered in shiny sweat as you let her arms fall around you now, finding your back as her nails dug in slightly.

she moved her lips to the crook of your neck, resting her head there as she still tried catching her breath, her eyes fluttering shut.

“its always been you, but fuck, you own me.” she whispers breathlessly against you, her breath warm and ragged as it meets with your neck.

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men React To Thinking You're Moving Out

AN: Thank you for requesting and yes I did just use an unrelated gif of absolutely stunning Aragorn.

Request: Hello, I absolutely loved your last post!! It was so fun to read, lol. I went through your master list right after and I also read the one about you moving in with the lads men (gold.) Which make me think of a scenario... If you take requests now, what do you think the lads men would do if: You just moved in with them. Everything is fine, but unpacking is kinda slow because both of you need to work. One day you are off from work and decide that day is the day everything will be put in place because it's already suffocating to have that many boxes. He is at work from morning till evening and so happy to come back home to *you*. Just that when he entered the apartament he saw a box next to the door with your clothes in and you packing yet another box with your clothes. But shouldn't you be unpacking? Are you packing your things back?? (Mc just got a better look at everything she owns since she needs to unpack everything and decided to donate some stuff. She had no intention of moving out)

Pairing: Lads boys x fem reader

Genre: fluff

Xavier:

He walks in, probably tripping over the box. Somehow, completely oblivious.

"Xavier!" You rush to him, helping him sit up. "Are you alright?! Oh my god, did you hit your face?"

You both are trouble magnets.

"It’s bruising!" You gasp, already hurrying to grab an ice pack while he sits on the couch, face buried in a cushion.

Please, just sit with him and coddle him until he recharges enough to help you unpack.

Rafayel:

"Where are you going?" Instant tantrum mode. Hands on hips, standing like someone’s disapproving dad.

"I told you, moving in was an irreversible deal. We share the lease. You’re not going anywhere."

Picking up your box of clothes, he strides into your shared bedroom, where you’re busy unpacking his boxes, blissfully unaware, your back to him.

He sighs, pauses, and keeps talking to your back. "Alright, I won’t let the seagulls eat all our salmon. And… there won’t be any more running nude painting jokes..."

"What?" You pull out an earbud, blinking in confusion. "When did you come in?"

Rafayel stares.

"Aw, thanks for bringing in my box! I was just about to get to my closet," you grin, pecking his lips. "When did you get back?"

Let’s just say, Rafayel does not recount the great monologue you just happened to miss.

Zayne:

Conceal, don’t feel kind of guy.

He stands and stares at the box.

Then, without a word, he steps forward and pulls you into a tight hug. He’ll stay there for as long as you allow him to.

"You’re back early," you murmur, leaning into him as he buries his face in your shoulder.

This is normal, him being extra clingy after a long shift.

"What’s the matter?" You turn, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Did something upset you?"

"No," he replies, looking up at you. "I missed you. Let’s go out for dinner tonight."

He’ll go out of his way to make these last few hours with you memorable.

The next day, when he returns home from work, expecting an empty house, the sight of you curled up on the couch is nothing short of pure joy.

He heads to your room, only to find all your clothes neatly hung next to his.

Sylus:

"Have you finally decided to accept the vacation?" he all but purrs, conveniently ignoring the lack of a suitcase.

"Those are for donation, Sylus. And no, I am not taking time off for another vacation." You reply, tossing some of his clothes into the donation pile.

"Um. No, you’re not." He plucks a dress from the pile, inspecting it like it’s a priceless artifact. "I like this one on you. And this too," he mutters, rummaging through your does-not-spark-joy pile.

"No, we are not keeping it!" You snatch the clothes back. "You are banned from the pile. Hands off."

Somehow, he is more offended about giving away clothes than he is concerned about the idea of you leaving.

He considers everything you own part of his hoard.

Caleb:

Hides the box.

Immediately rushes to the kitchen to cook a feast.

Pulls you to a fully loaded dining table, all smiles.

"So, what are your plans tomorrow?" he asks, piling food onto your plate.

"Mmm, I think I’ll be joining the hunters’ food and clothing drive in the morning. Let me know if you want to give away—"

And he's gone.

Sweating, watching you devour the food.

Oh. Oh, no.

He did not just accidentally drug you.

You’re going to be so mad at him. Especially for making you miss the drive.

Excusing himself immediately, he goes to cancel the flight to his private island.

Caleb is now on damage control duty.

[euphoria-looney]

Astro!

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader Squid Games!AU

m. list|next

"And goodness knows, The Wicked's Lives are lonely. Goodness knows, The Wicked die alone. It just shows, when you're wicked, You're left only, on your own." 'No One Mourns The Wicked' by Wicked the Musical

Divider creds: (?) and @dollywons

As a kid, all I longed for was someone to play a game with me that didn’t require some form of technology to keep both of us entertained.

Well, be careful what you wish for, because I have reached an all-time low, willing to kill people with children's games to earn money.

How much longer will I spend in this twisted game before getting killed? Maybe this is better whether I win or lose, I still gain freedom.

One choice is just the better option. 

That’d be losing winning.

Sure I would feel immense guilt, but I’d be free from debt… and then what? No longer needing to slave anyway from the amount of money I receive.

What then?

Could therapy even help? They’d probably send me off to a mental ward. 

Who's going to believe I won millions from playing some children’s games?

I looked around and saw the old man again from earlier, sitting alone in a space, I approached him, and he accepted to play with me.

“When I was little, this was one of my favorite games as a child.” The old man told us while we were walking into an open area.

“Really? I’ll be honest, I’ve never played this game before.”

As we finally found a point to play the game, we conversed.

—

“Did we do this to make a pact?”

He held out his hand, his pinkie and thumb sticking out, I laughed, wrapping my pinkie around his, pressing our thumbs together.

“Sir, no my gganbu- I think that’s what they called a really close friend right?”

—

Eventually we went all for nothing, this was the funniest game I ever played… I almost forgot the fact that I was going to die at the end.

“Ah, guess you won, betting all my marbles for your single one. Didn’t see that one coming.” I chuckled sadly.

He held my hand and placed the last marble in my palm.

“Take it, it’s yours anyway.” I looked up at him in shock, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“We are gganbu aren’t we? Remember we swore on it. And Gganbu always shares everything no matter what. You made this all possible.” My shoulder shook, as I could only stare at my shoes, my eyes felt like facets at the point. 

And then I felt these same hands embrace me, and I felt like a child all over again.

“What a great way to go.”

He pulled away, making me face him.

“Thank you. I had a good time.”

I hugged him once again, my tears overflowing on his shoulders.

He let go and I walked out of the gates.

Sniffles were all I could do before I heard the voice behind me.

“I remember my name now. My name is Il-nam. Oh Il-nam.”

I kept walking then flinched when I heard a ‘bang’ go off.

Surrounded by all these dead bodies, and these empty emotions, I pushed forward.

[Player 1, Eliminated]

—

Despite everything, I’m still having these selfish thoughts of staying alive.

We had just played ‘glass bridge’ leaving three of us here, dressed in suits, and eventually I was talking with Penelope, she’s the one that helped me out of the restraint we were in after we left for the first time.

“Hey, [name], just in case either of us can actually make it out of this hellhole, promise that we will take care of each other's loved ones, okay?” 

“Don’t say that, we’ll be okay.”

But she took more damage than any of us once the glass had shattered and was losing blood fast.

“Stay where you are, I’ll go get someone.”

I left and went to the guard or whatever they were, to beg, plead, for a doctor, maybe one that could’ve been on standby, but instead they walked past me with a coffin.

I could only stare at my once best friend standing over her bed.

I ran over there and held her body up, shaking her for some sign of hope.

“No, Penelope, please, no…”

—

Approaching the end game, we ate a feast, so fresh and nicely made, I felt the need to puke.

We place in the field shapes surrounding us, to resemble a squid, this was, Squid Game.

The rain soaking both of us, gray skies, and a single guard on the side.

Astro’s shirt still soaked in blood, his suit back on. He spoke before the game began, a knife in hand.

“I ended her suffering. You know she would have died anyway.”

The tears that once stained my face had been washed off by the rain, and now I could only feel disdain for the man I once knew in front of me.

“That’s bullshit, stop lying. She could’ve survived, they could have treated her.”

He retorted.

“I know what you’re like, you’re the reason I had to kill her. I knew you two would stop all this, so she didn’t die there. Even though we’ve gone so far, just to quit?” 

It seemed so similar to the time back at the manor.

—

“Damian had a lot happen to him as a child, are you going to blame him for this?” Dick sighed Damian behind him with no remorse for the fact I had slashes on my arm, not deep but painful. And though they wouldn’t leave scars, would that really matter?

He held a weapon against me while all I had was a stack of books now discarded and torn on the ground.

“[name]. You’re older than him, he’s still a child. You are the reason for this, it could’ve been avoided if you didn’t egg things on. Don’t blame Damian for your faults.” Egg him on? All I did was try and avoid him.

It wasn’t fair.

—

Now, if it wasn’t high before, my blood pressure had to be spiking. For that petty reason? Simply because he didn’t want all of this going to waste?

“Was that it? You killed someone because this might end?” My voice trembled.

“Yeah! You and that girl would have been the majority you needed to get out! Going home without anything! I couldn’t live with that!”

“And you think that means anything?! What?! one more life on top of the others you’ve stolen isn’t enough, and won’t be enough until you receive something?! You’d rather have one more dead than for all three of us to leave and somehow find another way to bring something, anything home?!” I shouted back at him.

I took my knife out of my pocket.

“It's over…”

“I won’t let you leave here with the money.”

3RD POV

While the VIP’s finally stood up to watch this entertaining last game.

Two people who have developed over time physically and mentally, once friends, were squabbling, fighting with very small amounts of energy, but a passion to win.

Both stabbed the other when eventually, player 456 was able to get the other on the ground and punched him over and over again.

The Waynes couldn’t help but be relieved this was it, they’d never let her go again, they would make up for everything starting with making sure she would be okay.

“Found the location heading there soon!” They heard Cassandra on the other line.

Late, but they would make it.

—

[name]’s POV

I held my knife, before stabbing it into the field, next to his face, before limping over to the goal point, it felt miles anyway, the guard had his gun loaded and aimed at Astro.

There before me was the practical finish line.

I can’t… No, I refuse to if anything, playing this game has fucked me other the head, but I refuse for one second to let this game be the last thing I ever see Astro at.

“I wanna end here.” I face the guard walking back to them.

“Clause Three of the agreement. The players are able to end the game when the majority agrees, so if we both give up,  you have to end it right?” I stumbled over.

The guard spoke on the walkie-talkie while I gazed back at Astro.

“Astro.”

“Back when we went to the same school, we’d hang out together and study before leaving chasing after our purpose that called out for us. Nothing's calling anymore.” After all this time, he still is.

I smiled at him, that once gummy smile I adorned, one that I hated so much.

“Let’s go”

I extended my hand to him. 

“Let’s go together.”

He slowly lifted his hand.

“[name], I’m sorry.” 

And before I could react, he took that hand and grabbed the knife that I put right next to him, and impaled himself in the neck with it. 

Blood gushed out and he choked out blood.

I quickly went to his side, stabilizing his head.

“Astro! Astro!”

“[name]..”

“No, no, don’t speak! Hang on!” I was panicking, this can’t be the end of us.

“M-my mother, please take care of my mom. And…”

“I love you.” That made me freeze my erratic movements, I was sure he could’ve seen my eyes widen.

“Loved you since meeting you.” With that, he closed his eyes and I could only call out his name, and held onto his body, it was getting colder fast.

[Player 218, Eliminated. Congratulations, Player456]

—

3rd POV

“Believe in Jesus or go to Hell!” A guy holding two signs chanted outside in the rain, strangers walking past each other, a white limo rolled up on the side of the street, dumping a bruised and exhausted body on the sidewalk, the same guy chanting untied the girl.

“Believe in Jesus.”

The girl was in the bank depositing 4.56 billion dollars before withdrawing some out. Her hair a mess, eyes sullen and eye bags that dragged down her face, she seemed exhausted. Walking back to the store she once worked at, a sign stated ‘SOLD’ and next to it a reef, “Rest in Peace, Conny Claire, Died too soon, old shop owner that meant so much to many people.” Flowers that surround the message.

The girl that came there for a snack could only sink to the ground in shock, hands rising to cover her face, body shaking and quivering.

Walking down a store alleyway, Astro’s mom approached the girl.

“How have you been, here take some food for the road after losing…” She sighed, and patted the girl's back, walking back to her shop.

“Have you heard from… Nevermind.” 

The girl opened her run down apartment where she once lived and went to see all the old photos in the yearbook of classes she had with Astro and in all of the group ones featuring her, her classmates, and Astro she noticed how in each one he was looking at her, with those fond eyes.

She could only fall onto her bed, her tired state crept on her before she fell asleep.

Some time later, the girl kept her promise to Penelope and helped out her family, then left them with Astro’s mom, leaving a wealthy sum of money, they became a family… somewhat of a replacement for the other's loved one, and the girl left paying off whatever debt any of them had.

The girl was sitting alone at the pond, drinking some alcohol. Before an old woman approached her, a flower basket in hand, it seemed she needed to sell them immediately before they wilted away. The girl reached into her pocket, handing her some money before the old woman went off. 

Picking up the nicely wrapped flower, a card appeared, making the girl stumble at picking up the card before reading it.

Approaching a hospital, card in hand.

It was the old man.

“What is this… Who are you?”

“Pour some water for me. Please, [name].”

And there she sat, anger rising in her, but she couldn’t do anything against the man who made the games.

She sat listening to the man talk, about the homeless guy below them, about how everything he said about himself was true, how he missed the old days, him and his friend used to have the time of their lives, and how no matter if you're homeless or rich both lives are no fun. Then a clock struck.

She looked at the machine to see that his heart was no longer beating, instead a flat line appeared. Getting up, she closed his eyes.

That’s when she finally started her life again. She got it together.

So, at the first place, her life changed at the same bus stop, well across from it, the skies were clear and the sun was glaring into the area. It had been a regular day for her, working at her own company and all.

Maybe that’s why when she unlocked her car and stared right in front of her at that same place, she was shocked to see her father, Bruce Wayne, and his family.

That’s it for this part of Astro! Did you like it?

Also, unlike Squid Game, soon after [name] left, everyone that participated in Squid Games got arrested, which made it on the news, but was looked past after a few months, [name] made gravestones for Penelope and Astro.

Ofc the Batfam got the credit and got even more famous for uncovering this incident, which is also why they hadn’t ‘visited’ [name] and now are just getting to it.

Not the update you expected, but I hope you like it.

Any comments, advice and corrections are appreciated!!!

-ILoveeeMoney

Taglist time! ❤

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek and a new addition that I'm super happy I bumped into @alilobsessive.

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento @randomlyappearingartist @beyondblissxoxo @sirairi @yhin-gg @frankie-moon3 @welpthisisboring @yokesmam @bat1212 @enchantingarcadecreation @twismare @delias-stuff @ladylupuscrow @ferchu0406 @c4xcocoa @cruzerforce4256 @anonymoushehehehe @godoreo22 @blerp-22 @facelessisnthere @sirenetheblogger @themightybee4067 @boredselkie @tiffyisme3760 @random4137 @midnightgrimoire @mybones537 @chaoticmoontimetravel @jsprien213 @crazycaoticsimp @elfollaburras3000 @czarinera @tiffyisme3760 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @gwyneveire @k-anaru @a-lurking-fae @nxdxsworld @ryuushou

I think that's everyone who wanted to be tagged, I hope I didn't spell anyone's name wrong and tag the wrong person.

[nightplvmes]

it'll be quick

sylus x fem!reader | nsfw, +18, MDNI!—explicit content, penetration, sex in public place | an : i don't know if I like this, any opinion is welcome... likes and reblogs are appreciated :)

"Sy..." She gasped feeling her breasts press against the wall in front of her. Her breathing was already heavy and it hadn't been more than a couple of minutes.

"It'll be quick," he murmured, kissing her cheek. She didn't stop there, too many things were going through her head at once. The place where they were. The bathroom door. Sylus' hands sliding under her dress to push aside her underwear.

"Someone can see us," she gasped again but she didn't even make an attempt to get away or stop from him, she didn't want to stop, she needed him as much as he did. Sylus placed a kiss on her bare shoulder and smiled. It was an auction or a fundraiser... or a fundraising auction, she wasn't sure yet. Sylus had been teasing her all night and she had barely paid attention to her surroundings. She didn't even want to be there, neither did he, he had mentioned how those events were nothing more than a farce but he needed people to see him.

And now there they were, in an empty bathroom (maybe), her boyfriend's hands on her and she was sure what would happen next. "Spread your legs." She complied and felt another kiss on her cheek. Someone could come in at any moment and see them like that, what would they do if that happened? Just die of embarrassment. "So pretty... embarrassed and needy." One of his arms went around her waist, pulling her close to him, and his other hand slid down to hold one of her thighs.

"We shouldn't do this," she repeated letting her head fall back, allowing Sylus access to her neck—sucking with the intention of leaving a visible mark.

"No, we shouldn't," he replied holding her tightly before sliding inside her. "So tight around me." He left a peak on her lips and began to thrust into her, trying to be fast without hurting her.

She moaned, holding on tightly to the wall in front of her. She had discovered two things about Sylus: He could be slow and gentle, careful as he whispered sweet things in her ear. But he could also be fast, he could be slightly rough without hurting her or making her uncomfortable. "Sy–ah..." She wanted to say something, the words were in her throat but she just wanted to moan and writhe in his arms. "Fuck, that's... so good."

"Shh" He gently cupped her jaw, causing her to turn her face towards him. "Someone can come in, remember?" She nodded, feeling dizzy from the pleasure. Her mind couldn't focus on anything else but her boyfriend's arms around her and the way he was thrusting into her.

Fast.

Slow.

Hard.

Then fast again.

"Oh god... Sylus-" She placed her hand against the wall and he took it to intertwine their fingers.

"I know." He nodded without letting her finish. He could feel it, the way she tightened around him. His hand dropped from her thigh but holding her waist tightly, his free hand sliding between her folds to her sensitive clit. She whimpered harder, bucking her hips against him. "So beautiful..." Sylus let out a growl and took her jaw again this time to kiss her in an attempt to silence her moans.

"Mmph!" She writhed in his arms, heat building in her body and it was only a matter of seconds before she finally came and felt her legs shake. Sylus stopped kissing her, held her hips tightly and thrust one last time inside her. His deep moans echoed in her ears as she felt her insides being filled. She held onto the wall again to avoid falling to the ground, it took her several moments to realize what they had just done... and where. "I couldn't believe we did this," she muttered after a few seconds, her breathing still heavy.

"I know." He smiled kissing her lips once more but this time it was a slower and softer kiss. He helped her adjust her clothes while leaving kisses on her cheek or forehead. She wasn't sure if anyone had seen or heard them, she hoped she hadn't been too loud.

Sylus held her in his arms to prevent her legs from collapsing. He helped her clean herself up, though not completely, as a reminder of what they had done. The rest of the night he didn't leave her side for a second, but that was normal. What was not usual was feeling the remains of his seed still inside her every time she had to move.

[moonyswolfie]

The Golden Snitch

A/N: This is the first time I write for Regulus so I'm still experimenting with his character, but I hope you enjoy this fic!

TW: heights, falling off the broom (if the second can be considered a trigger)

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gryffindor!reader

“AND JAMES POTTER SCORED YET ANOTHER GOAL FOR GRYFFINDOR! TAKE THAT, YOU-”

“MR. LUPIN! ONE MORE WORD –“

“Sorry, Professor!”

Remus Lupin filled in for the usual commentator on today’s match and to say that you were beyond entertained would be a gross understatement. The guy was clearly rooting for your House and kept making snide remarks regarding the Slytherin team, thus receiving constant glares and threats from Professor McGonagall that she would never let him out of detention again if he wasn’t going to take his role seriously.

But you knew that it was all bark, no bite. She was enjoying her House’s advantage just as much.

You shook your head and turned your attention back towards the Pitch, looking for the golden specks amongst your flying team mates and opponents. It was a tight match and everyone was on edge, constantly flying around, therefore making your job all the more complicated. And now that the cheeky ball flew lower, amongst the rest of the students…

There! Wait, how did it get…nevermind. The second you noticed the flickering, you went hot on its trail…

…but the Slytherin Seeker saw it as well and now you were flying shoulder to shoulder between the house stands and under the wooden structures, nearly avoiding getting impaled once or twice. The stubborn Snitch didn’t care to make your mission any easier. You stretched your hand, nearly touching its wings, but had to retract it a moment later due to a poorly aimed bludger.

“Oi! What the hell?! I’m on your side!”

You cursed Sirius under your breath, and he gave you a sheepish look and an apologetic smile. Of course you knew it wasn’t intentional, but the force of the ball could have cost you an arm and as you remembered from last time, mending bones takes a bit of time.

You shook your head and put your game face back on, but sadly, the Snitch was gone. You groaned in frustration and flew a few feet higher in order to get a better view of the Pitch. The score was tight, a 10 point advantage for the Gryffindors, but instead of comforting you, it only intensified the pressure you were already feeling all the way to your bones. 10 points meant that catching the Snitch was crucial and would determine not only the winner of today’s match, but also who would take home the Quidditch Cup.

Easy as pie, huh.

On the bright side though, Regulus Black, the Slytherin Seeker, was also distracted by his older brother’s terrible aim, thus losing sight of the golden ball. You took comfort in knowing you would not be on the receiving end of James’ anger tonight. Not yet, at least.

James Potter was a great captain, very determined and passionate, but he also had a very short fuse. And Quidditch has been a very sensitive topic over the past few weeks. The Cup meant a lot to him and you all knew that, hence why the entire team gave their very best today. No one wanted to disappoint him…or be yelled at for the foreseeable future.

“Careful, Y/L/N, or you might spend the night in the Hospital Wing.”

Regulus’ lazy drawl made your jaw clench and your heart beat faster, but your attention remained on the game. You knew what he was attempting to do and you were not going to fall for it, no matter how much your body was betraying you.

“Why, do you need company after Malfoy’s done with you for losing the game?”

He rolled his eyes and flew past you, heading in the direction of the Hufflepuff stands. You were just about to follow after him when a small glimmer caught the corner of your eye. It wasn’t very obvious and it wasn’t in a place you’d ever spotted the Snitch before, but you had nothing to lose by chasing it. Besides, you could not be sure whether he saw anything real or if he was simply trying to mess with your head.

It was not uncommon for the Seekers to play mind games with each other during the games. Distracting attention and sometimes directing it towards a false target was a technique each one of you learned on your first day of training. Of course, it was all within the limits and rules of the game and neither of you crossed any lines in order for it to be considered cheating or foul play. But you had to have your little fun every now and then.

It didn’t help that over the past three years since you’ve been playing against each other, you developed a little bit of a crush on the boy. You never told anyone, but James and Sirius caught on one day after practice when the Slytherin team entered the Pitch to practice right after you vacated it and your eyes lingered on their Seeker for a little too long. The teasing that followed since was enough to have you sit at the other end of the Gryffindor table at meal times just so you would avoid the two boys’ jokes and kissy noises.

Careful not to catch Regulus’ attention, you headed towards the Gryffindor stands, rushing past the Professors’ box and up the length of the gallery until the tip of the flag tickled your midsection. It was high, a lot higher than you were used to, especially when it involved strategy, however you were sure you could pull it off. You had to. Your whole team depended on you. Hell, your whole House was counting on you. Looking up, you caught the same glimmer from earlier, this time a lot closer, yet not as easy to reach without the other Seeker noticing you.

It was now or never.

You darted for the top of the Slytherin stands, but you weren’t as lucky as you hoped. Regulus was hot on your trail, zooming past startled students seated in the margins. He caught up to you easily, but you knew you could lose him. You took a very sharp corner to avoid accidentally kissing the flagpole, before turning the handle of your broom up. Looking back over your shoulder you watched the younger Black very narrowly avoiding the previously mentioned flagpole, yet stopping right next to it. He saw the Snitch, you had no doubt, but confusion took over your face when he didn’t follow further up. Did he not want to win the game? Did the Snitch move in the meantime?

And was that on his face..concern?

A glance up told you that the ball remained in the same spot as when you last saw it. Then why did he stop?

 You decided not to dwell on it for too long. You had a game to win after all.

Ten feet and you’d have it. Just a little bit higher…

“Where is she going?”

You faintly heard Remus’ voice over the wind and your now plugged ears from the extreme altitude.

Five feet…three…

There!

Your hand wrapped around the Golden Snitch as you came to an abrupt stop, panting but smiling wide. You did it, you actually did it. You stood there for a moment, frozen, taking in the little ball wrapped tightly between your fingers, the cold enveloping your body and making your teeth clatter violently. You were alone up here. It was quieter than below, on the Pitch, but that didn’t erase the sinking feeling in your stomach.

You knew you shouldn’t, everyone told you this on your first day of training. Hell, James made you repeat this one particular rule every single day before practice and twice before each match.

Do not go over the limit. And if you do, for the love of Merlin, do not look down!

But you did.

And you immediately regretted your action.

Judging by the clouds blocking your view of the Quidditch Pitch and the screams that turned to faint murmurs before they reached you, the limit was a distant memory. You had to be at least twenty feet over.

You gulped, briefly registering the bile rising in your throat. What were you supposed to do in these situations?

Right. Slowly make your way back, no speed, holding onto the broom tightly, and no looking down.

Unfortunately, you were terrible at following the rules.

Gripping the handle of your broom tightly, you slowly commanded it to descend. You made it past the clouds after what felt like an eternity, trembling, yet you could not tell whether it was from the cold or the dread enveloping you. You never had issues flying with only one hand on the broom, but then again, you didn’t usually fly high enough to see the stars from your Astronomy charts up close and personal.

The Pitch came back into view and your heart started beating again at an almost normal pace. Almost. There was still quite a distance between you and the top of the stands. If you could just…

The Snitch started flapping its wings inside your fist, trying to escape your iron grip and your focus evaporated. It managed to free itself, before you caught it again, but it was too late. The sudden movement jolted the broom and you lost your balance.

And now you were free falling.

Your could not tell whether your breathing turned erratic or stopped altogether. The wind was whipping at your face, people were screaming from below you, your broom remained airborne for some reason you could not think of right now and all you could do was close your eyes and hope against hope that you will survive this very likely fatal fall. You left your wand back in the changing rooms, a decision that you now regretted dearly as you could have at least attempted to cushion your landing if not slow or stop it from crushing you like a tomato.

You were starting to lose consciousness when you felt two strong arms catching and holding on to you tight, crushing you to a strong chest. Upon opening your eyes, you looked up only to be met with a pair of beautiful grey eyes.

“You didn’t let me die.”

Regulus laughed out loud at your sudden words, the rich sound wrapping around you and calming a portion of your already exhausted nerves.

“If you died, who would I gloat to about winning with my excellent Quidditch skills?”

Your body finally caught up with your mind, processing the fact that you were still alive, and not only that, but also safe and not at all hurt. Your heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm and your trembling subsided a little bit.

You raised a brow, a bemused smile stretching over your face at Regulus’ words.

“Oh?” you raised the hand that was still clutching the Snitch “sorry to break it to you, Black, but you lost. I caught the Snitch, so I won.”

It was his turn to cock a brow, the rest of his expression neutral save for a small, almost imperceptible twitch of his mouth.

“And I caught you. So I think I won.”

He leaned in and placed the gentlest of kisses on your forehead, before flying down towards the entrance to the Pitch where Madame Pomfrey awaited to check on you and make sure the altitude or the fall did not affect your brain or your body.

This was going to be an interesting rest of the year.

[transmcytshowdown]

Joel Smallishbeans^16:

Hermitcraft, Third Life, Last Life, Double Life, Limited Life, Secret Life, Wild Life, Empires SMP Season 1, Empires SMP Season 2

Transmasc, he/they; Trans man, he/him; Genderfluid, any pronouns; Trans masc, it/he/she; Transmasc Genderfluid, he/any; Identity not specified, they/he

“He’s just a silly little terracotta man with only a vague understanding of human gender he tries to impersonate but fails at.”

“Lizzie and Joel are a t4t bi4bi couple in [the submitter’s] heart. Lizzie transfem (she/her) Joel transmasc+gender fluid (he/any).”

“Basically anywhere you see him. Just like, the constant ‘Ooh i'm so manly, the manliest, I’m so tall and strong and handsome,’ and always insisting that he’s really tall despite being super short and the way his voice will sometimes get all high and squeaky these are all very transmasc coded things. He’s one of us, okay, he’s got the vibes, trust, he’s got our humor. Every time he goes mining on Hermitcraft there is always a caption that’s like ‘straight white male mining content’ which is more of his constant need to assert how macho and manly he is and in double life he says he’s not going to get in the pool cause he’s ‘ashamed of his Minecraft body’ which is very trans behavior. He’s got that confidence he can wear a dress for mcc and still know he’s a man which is very transmasc cause other men just got handed it, but we afab men have to look at masculinity and go ‘yeah that’s me’ and then make sure everyone knows it like that’s how you know being trans isn’t a choice because men kinda suck and I still went out and actively was like um guys I’m actually a man sorry. Some days he’s cool with just throwing gender norms out the window and some days he feels the need to yell for the whole world and the next couple galaxies as well to hear that he’s DeFiNiTeLy NoT WeArInG a CoRsEt GeM. Can you tell [the submitter’s] projecting? Cause [they’re] projecting. You can pry this headcanon out of [their] cold dead hands lol.”

“He has fluctuating chest dysphoria so sometimes he doesn't bind and sometimes he does. His bad dysphoria days are rare enough that he's not gonna bother with top surgery.”

“Transmasc Joel Smallishbeans is everything to [the submitter] and [the submitter] like[s] to think that forming the bad boys is what made him plug the tv back on and turn the brightness to the max, like he went ‘Oh we’re bad boys?? Guess I’m finally a boy now!”

“Nonbinary bad boy Joel except he is not a boy.”

“First, [the submitter] think[s] she was raised as a gender that just. doesn't exist here. She was raised in Mezalea where how gender works is just. different and, because she has a beard, everyone assumed she was a man but she's NOT and in recent years has been figuring out her own identity and pronouns in a way she hasn't ever thought about before and also she and Lizzie are butch4femme, amen. Or bi4bi. Both? She’s a masculine person and she likes stuff like the bad boys because it's more of a title separate from her gender. She’s just a masculine woman, amen.”

“He's a sopping wet tanooki (cat /j) and [jizzie] are t4t bi4bi coded.”

“Joel hasn't been called girlfriend/wife/girl by his friends for NOTHING. Bro’s the definition of gender and he slays in a dress no matter what (in Minecraft and in irl).”

Oli OrionSound^16:

Empires SMP Season 2, Pirates SMP, New Life SMP, Afterlife SMP

Trans man, he/they

“That freak is transfem, trust [the submitter]. [Their] source is divine knowledge and [their] ownership of the transfemoliorionsound url.”

“HIS PRONOUNS ARE SHE/HER.”

“[The submitter has] successfully cracked at least three eggs with the power of transfem Oli TheOrionSound, if she loses [they] will CRY.”

“Look at this cubito and then tell [the submitter] he doesn't participate in every type of gender shenanigans and tomfoolery. His pronouns are hee/hee.”

[milkychaa]

Mydei x fem reader , divider by @sweetmelodygraphics

"well well it seems to be my lucky day~" his heavy steps stopped as they reached her. She hummed softly at the call of her name, though sounding irritated she knew he meant none of it. "To what do I owe the honour of being deigned with your glorious presence, oh crowned prince of kremnos?" She purred as she watched him strip off his armor and step into the bath. "Your never ending teasing never fails to repulse me" she giggled softly and opened her arms as he ungracefully fell into her arms, causing ripples throughout the bath. Mydei let out a soft sigh, as her arms traced circles into his back, nuzzling deep into her neck. "Welcome home my love". Mydei hummed and pressed a soft kiss to her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "What troubles you my love?" she questioned as she trailed feather light kisses down his face. "I spoke to Krateros....to say it went badly is an understatement" her chest vibrated from the giggle that emerged "oh and so you seek counsel from me?" "You seem to be the only one who might give me an unbiased answer at this time" Mydei raised his head as she sighed "you do know your people do not exactly like me" "they do not have a say in the matters of my personal life" "well they kind of do" she huffed "but I understand them in a way, I too would love to go home...if there was a choice.." she ran her fingers through his hair tugging slightly at the braid "but that isn't an option for me no more..so tell me this Mydeimos..are you willing to give up everything you have earned here at the sake of your people or are you willing to be the king they wish you to be" mydei stared at her "I-I do not know" "yes you do Mydei you always have" "I cant-" "you can" she smiled as she cupped his face "you are a king Mydei....and know that I will follow anywhere you go, protect you as much as I can, because for me you are my home" he kissed her palm, gently pressing his forehead to hers "and you are mine"

BONUS

"so....about my previous proposal..." "No" "but!-" "no wife" she pouted and pushed at his hulking shoulders "why must you deny your wife so, you know that's a bad thing right?" Mydei scoffed as he tugged her closer "I am denying you because it is preposterous" "it is not!" She gasped "i simply ask for a minor thing-" "no wife we are not adopting tribios" "but why?" She whined "they are not children!" "So?!? They love you and they treat me like their mother-" "NO" "OH COME ON"

[mommyslittlebird]

Prelude

Stepmama!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Things with your mother had never been good, but when you truly couldn’t take it anymore, you turned to the only place you had left.

Word Count: ~2k ish

CW: MOMMY ISSUES, leaving home, references to past/current abuse.

A/N: Please leave your comments and thoughts on this! I’m not really sure where I want to take this series yet, and I would love to hear what you all want to see!

Prelude to Mama

———————————————————

You weren’t exactly sure what would be the final straw in the relationship between you and your mother, but you had always imagined it’d be something big. You always thought there would be one final moment, when she did something crazy, like maybe she would make some threat on your life or chase you out of the house with a knife or set all of your things on fire.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

There were no threats, no shouting, no one even raised their voice. It was just like any other Thursday afternoon, really. You were going through the cupboard, looking for something to eat for dinner. As usual, they were largely empty aside from some dry pasta, some stale potato chips, some cereal that would require milk you didn’t have, and some various unlabelled cans. You grabbed the cereal. You could make something work. You always did.

Your mother came into the kitchen snacking on a bag of Blue Diamond almonds. She shook the bag and held it out to you. “Do you want some almonds?”

You froze briefly. You were allergic to nuts. “No thanks. I'm allergic, remember?”

She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “No you’re not. Since when are you allergic to almonds?”

Since second grade. You had eaten some at a birthday party and went into anaphylactic shock in a bouncy castle. You had to be taken to the hospital. You ruined the whole party. You cried everyday for the rest of the school year because no one wanted to talk to the weird kid who had to get a shot in her butt cheek at a birthday party. You never got invited to another one. How could she not remember?

You looked at her silently for a long while. This wasn’t worth fighting over. You couldn’t expect her to remember everything about you. But the longer you looked at her, the more it seemed like she might not know anything about you at all. She knew you as her daughter, of course. She knew you as a good student: quiet, reserved, always well-behaved. She knew you as someone smart enough to do taxes, handy enough to fix the broken things around the house, resourceful enough to make dinner even with an empty cupboard. But none of those things were really you, they were all things you did for her.

Did she even know that there was you outside of her?

You had given her the opportunity to. You’d given her many opportunities to. In a lot of ways, that made it worse. You had opened your heart to her only to be told she didn’t want to see it. And here she was, looking at you like she didn’t even know you had a heart to open.

You started to feel dizzy, nauseated by the woman standing in front of you. At first, you couldn’t possibly comprehend that you had come out of her. You seemed so separated that it was impossible that the two of you had ever been connected in any way. Then, it seemed the opposite, that you were never really separated at all. It was now as it had been before you even came into the world: you were a part of her on every level.

And the worst part was, you couldn’t even bring yourself to be angry with her.

Just as you were an extension of her, she was an extension of everything that had happened to her. You could see it swirling inside of her: a maelstrom of trauma, pain, and mental illness. She was just as much a victim as she was a perpetrator. She wasn’t a monster, she was just a sick woman who never got the help she needed.

“It doesn’t matter,” you finally answered.

She shrugged and walked away. You calmly set the cereal back in the cabinet, swallowing your hurt and trying to make it dinner. You leaned forward to rest your head on the cupboard. What were you doing here?

Clearly she didn’t care that you were here. So what was holding you in this house? Why were you choosing this life where nothing was ever clean, there was never any food, and only other person around was a woman who couldn’t even remember your nut allergy.

The room felt like it was shrinking in on you making it hard to breathe. You felt incredibly tiny, yet like you were still taking up too much space. You had to get out of here.

You didn’t even put shoes on before running out of the house, grabbing your keys and throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. You could hardly see the road through your tears. You were in no state to be driving at all, really, but, miraculously, you made it safely across town to the home your dad lived in with your stepmother, Wanda.

Your father, as usual, was away on a business trip. You didn’t know your stepmother that well, but she was a kind woman that you figured would be welcoming. It was your house as much as it was hers, after all. Anything was better than what you were running from.

Going to your father’s house on a week he wasn’t home wouldn’t have been your first choice. Then again, you weren’t exactly in a place to be picky. It was nearly midnight by this point and it was pouring rain. Your father’s guest room would at least have a warm, dry bed for you to sleep in, which was more than you would get anywhere else. You doubted you could even find a vacant hotel room at this hour, not that you had the money for that anyway.

Wanda opened the thin curtain in the dining room when she saw the bright headlights. The driveway was long and far from the road, so headlights were rare, especially this late at night. Her heart jumped to her throat when she saw it was your car. The front door was open before you were even on the porch. You stumbled inside, soaked in cold rain and tears.

“Honey, what happened?” she gasped, running to grab a towel to dry you off. She grabbed a nice fluffy towel, scrubbing your hair dry. She wrapped it around your shoulders, trying to get your frail body to stop shaking. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing but a small squeak came out. You were crying so hard you had to hold onto the banister to stay upright. She wrapped an arm around your waist, bracing you against her own body.

She slung your arm around her shoulder, trying to help you up the stairs. “Shshsh, baby,” she cooed, cradling your head and kissing your temple. “Let’s get you wrapped up and warm. You're gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” She eventually got you up to the guest room, the room she had long considered to be yours anyway. She sat you down on the edge of the bed before turning to grab some spare clothes from the wardrobe. She placed them in a folded pile next to you and knelt down in front of you, placing herself on your level.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe here. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you,” she soothed, rubbing your knee gently. “Just take a few deep breaths for me. Do you think you can tell me what happened?”

“M-mom…” was the only word you could choke out.

She nodded in understanding. “Something happened with your mom?”

You nodded and blabbered, but she could see you were just getting frustrated with your inability to speak.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Take your time, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Wanda reassured, trying to quell your rising frustration. “Did she hurt you?”

You shook your head. “N-no. It was… well it was stupid, really. She… well, I was hungry… and she gave me… al-almonds.”

“Almonds?” Wanda’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. She rolled up your sleeve and pushed two fingers into the skin of your wrist, as if she was checking whether or not you were alive in front of her. Her other hand went up to cradle the side of your head, pressing her thumb to your cheekbone. “You didn’t eat any, did you? Do you have your EpiPen with you? I have an extra in the closet. I can…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I didn’t eat any. I’m okay. I just… I can’t believe she forgot. I mean I guess I can’t expect her to remember everything about me, but… I don’t know… this felt important.”

“Honey,” she started, tone growing a bit harsher. She wasn’t upset with you, but you could feel the anger radiating off of her. “She could’ve killed you. That isn’t just something that slips your mind. That’s carelessness. A carelessness that could have cost you dearly. God she shouldn’t even be eating almonds in the same room as you! Agh!”

You jumped a little bit. She felt a twinge of guilt. The last thing you needed right now was someone to scare you even more. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”

“I know,” you sniffled. “I just… I know she didn’t mean to hurt me. She just forgot…”

“My love,” she started, cradling your face again, “do you know what these sheets are made of?”

You shook your head.

“Cotton. And it’s washed with hypoallergenic laundry detergent. Because I know my baby has sensitive skin, and polyester and scented detergents make you itchy. And you don’t stay here very often, but when you do, you deserve a nice soft bed that doesn’t break you out,” she explained. “I know you may not think of me as your mama, and that’s okay. You don’t have to. But know that I’d sooner forget my own name than forget you take your coffee with two creams and a sugar. It comes to me as natural as breathing. Because that’s what mama’s do. They love. They care. And they never forget.”

“But… she’s… she’s sick,” you stammered. “Her head… she’s… she’s in so much pain Wanda.”

She squeezed your hand. “Her pain is not a crucifix, sweetheart. You don’t not need to martyr yourself on it. She’s hurting you.” She lifted your head, forcing you to look at her. Her voice was quiet, regretful, even. As if it pained her to admit she’d let you live with her for so long. The more you spoke the clearer it became that this problem ran much deeper than almonds. Bile rose in her throat as she imagined what you had been through, even just in the year she’d known you. She should’ve seen it sooner, but she would not let you suffer any longer. “Baby. Please.”

You wanted to argue back: tell her that it wasn’t that your mother was bad, she just had a harder time being gentle and loving. Her head didn’t always work right. That’s why she treated you the way she did: not because she didn’t love or care about you, but because she was sick and broken.

You wanted to tell her that you weren’t weary or afraid of your mother, just that sick part of her. It wasn’t her; it was different. But then you took a long look into Wanda’s eyes. You felt her hand, soft and warm against your face. And you weren’t weary. And you weren’t afraid. There was no monster rippling under the surface, no eggshells under your feet. There was just Wanda. Your mama.

You fell forward, off the bed and into her arms. She caught you, pulling you against her chest and cradling your head into her shoulder while you cried. She gently pet your wet hair, soothing you and rocking you in her arms. “I know, baby. I know,” she whispered, kissing right next to your ear. “You deserve so much better, my love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything she ever did and didn’t do. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I would’ve come, if I had known. I will always come for you, I swear. But you don’t have to live like that anymore. I’m gonna take care of you, angel. Mama’s got you.”

You grabbed her shirt, balling it up in your fists like you were afraid she’d fly away. She rocked you, adjusting to sit on the floor with you in her lap. She cried too, remorseful and guilty for every second she let you rot in that house. She cried for the evenings you had gone hungry, the nights she hadn’t cradled you in her arms, and every biting action that had made you believe you were anything less than a miracle. It would never happen again. She would never let it happen.

You felt so small and frail in her arms. What kind of person could hurt a little angel like you? She wanted to burn down the other half of the city just thinking about it. She would drain every ounce of blood from your mother’s miserable veins if I could replace even a drop she took from you.

She rubbed your back and kissed your head, cooing words of reassurance and praise until your sobs turned to sniffles.

“Mama…” you cried softly into her neck. Her heart nearly lept from her chest. That was her. She was your mama.

She smiled, looking down at you. She lifted your head to rub your nose against her’s. “That’s right, baby. I’m your mama, and I’m never gonna let you go.”

[edenesth]

5 Steps to Losing to You

Pairing: student council president!Yunho x vice president!fem!reader

AU: high school au (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: The student council president of KQ High had five simple steps to surviving his vice president: outshine you, outsmart you, outlast you, annoy you, and — definitely — never fall for you. Too bad every step brought him closer to late-night arguments, unexpected truths, and one unforgettable confession under the fireworks. Somewhere between enemies and uneasy allies, Yunho took five steps too far — and ended up losing (his heart) to you.

Genre: romance (duh), comedy

A/N: Thank you, @itstheghostofmypast, for giving me the urge to write another high school AU. This one's heavily inspired by one of my favourite animes of all time, Kaguya-sama: Love Is War.

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Do you ever meet someone for the very first time, and somehow, without a single word exchanged, you just know — from the very core of your being — that you can't stand them? No logical reason. No past history. Just pure, gut-level irritation.

That was exactly how Jung Yunho felt the second you stepped into the student council room, your posture straight, your expression unreadable, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that set his teeth on edge.

You were the new transfer student — the one the teachers haven't been able to stop raving about, the one who somehow landed the coveted vice president title before even learning the school layout. And now, here you were, standing beside him, the council's golden boy, as if you belonged there.

"Dude, that's her? Oh, they weren't lying when they said she'd be eye candy," Wooyoung, the council treasurer, whispered with a smirk, elbowing Yunho's side. Yunho didn't even glance at you. He just scoffed, nudging Wooyoung back hard enough to make him stumble. "Yeah? Well, too bad a pretty face isn't enough to survive my council. I give her two weeks before she runs back to wherever she came from."

He said it loud enough for you to hear — on purpose — just to see if you'd flinch. But you didn't. You only lifted your chin slightly, eyes flicking toward him for a single, scathing second. And in that moment, you hated him just as much as he hated you.

Because from the moment you locked eyes, you knew exactly who he was — the adored, untouchable president who had everyone wrapped around his finger. The boy who carried himself like the school was his kingdom, and every student his subject. And now you were supposed to serve under him?

Absolutely not.

You hadn't transferred here to play second to anyone — least of all some arrogant, overhyped, self-proclaimed king. Back at your old school, you were always at the top: top grades, top leadership positions, top of every ranking that mattered. You weren't just a vice president — you were a future president in the making.

If Yunho thought you were here to play a supporting role in his perfect little reign, he was dead wrong.

You weren't here to make friends.

You were here to take his crown.

────

Yunho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched you skim through the thick binder of council documents that Seulgi, the council secretary, had just handed over. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you like you were some kind of unwelcome intruder trespassing on his territory.

"Hope you're not too overwhelmed," Yunho said, voice dripping with fake concern. "Student council here isn't exactly… beginner-friendly."

You didn't bother looking up, flipping another page instead. "Don't worry, President," you replied, tone sweet but sharp. "I've dealt with more organised councils before. This is nothing I can't fix."

The room went still for half a second — just enough for Seulgi to glance between you both like she was watching a fuse being lit.

Yunho's smile sharpened. "Fix? That's a bold word for someone who hasn't even seen our term plan yet."

You finally met his gaze, leaning forward just slightly over the table. "Oh, I've seen it. Last year's records were so charming, especially the part where half the events went over budget and the spring festival had a typo on the banner. Spring Festivel, was it?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched, but his grin didn't falter. "Funny. You talk big for someone who just transferred here. But I get it — new girl syndrome. All ambition, no clue how things actually work."

You rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the table. "And you talk big for someone who's clearly too comfortable sitting on his throne. Guess we'll see who adjusts faster — me to this school, or you to having actual competition."

The president's smile froze in place. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being challenged — especially not by someone who hadn't even been here a full week.

Seulgi cleared her throat awkwardly. "So! Uh, why don't we go over this semester's goals together? You know… as a team?"

You and Yunho didn't break eye contact. Neither of you smiled.

"Can't wait," you said.

"Neither can I," he replied.

And like that, the war had officially begun.

────

To the outside world — to teachers, students, and anyone not trapped in this cursed room — Yunho and you were the dream team, the picture-perfect president and vice president duo. Smiling side by side during assemblies, coordinating in perfect sync during meetings, and even exchanging polite nods in the hallway.

But inside these four walls, away from the prying eyes of your adoring audience, it was an entirely different story.

It started small. The first time Yunho reached for the meeting agenda, it was mysteriously missing from his file. "Alright, let's get started with today's agenda—" he paused, flipping through his folder, only to find the neatly printed schedule gone. His eyes snapped up, narrowing instantly at you.

You sat across from him, filing your nails with deliberate slowness, not even trying to hide your smug smile when he had to wing the entire meeting from memory. "Looking for something, President?" you asked sweetly.

Wooyoung watched the exchange from the corner, whispering to Seulgi, "That's the second time this week. If this keeps up, he's gonna staple the agenda to his forehead."

The secretary sighed, already immune to the madness. "At least they're creative."

Then there was the presentation. Monthly council update in front of all the teachers, a perfect opportunity for the president to shine — until Yunho confidently clicked to the next slide… and instead of student council statistics, the screen flashed an embarrassingly tragic childhood photo of him mid-sneeze, teeth crooked, hair tragic.

Gasps filled the room. His eye twitched. From beside him, you covered your mouth, the picture of shocked concern, while under the table, your finger rested innocently on the laptop's trackpad.

"Oops," you whispered sweetly.

"You're dead," Yunho mouthed back.

The teachers would later praise your teamwork for handling the "technical difficulty" so gracefully.

The coffee war escalated next. Yunho, ever the gentleman, brought you coffee before morning meetings — extra bitter because he knew you hated it with a passion. You retaliated the next day, handing him a cup that smelled amazing but was actually salted beyond salvation.

Wooyoung took a cautious sip from his own drink, eyeing both of you. "This is why I only drink from the vending machine now."

"Smart," Seulgi muttered.

When it came time to make festival posters, the battle turned artistic. The school festival posters were a joint project — one half handled by you, the other by the president. What should have been a cohesive design turned into visual warfare.

Yunho's side was classic and professional, clean fonts and crisp colours. Your side? Bold, flashy, practically neon — and just slightly crooked, making his side look off-balance.

"It's like watching a couple divorce through graphic design," Wooyoung whispered.

"Except they were never married," Seulgi muttered. "Thank god."

The final straw — at least for that week — came during the morning announcements, when the president confidently read out the list of upcoming events — only to realise someone had swapped his script. Instead of the council's official calendar, he was now announcing a fake bake sale where Yunho himself would supposedly be dressing as a bunny mascot to promote sales.

His death glare found you through the broadcast window. You waved back cheerfully.

The students roared with excitement. "Bunnyho!" they chanted.

Seulgi buried her face in her hands. Wooyoung filmed everything.

And yet, the moment those council doors swung open, you both snapped back into your roles like pros. Smiling in sync at the cameras, cutting ribbons together with practised grace, even finishing each other's sentences when teachers asked about the upcoming festival. It was a performance so convincing that even Wooyoung — who knew the truth — found himself applauding.

"It's terrifying," the treasurer started, watching the two of you gracefully cut the ribbon at a new club opening ceremony. "They look like they actually… get along," he whispered, equal parts horrified and impressed.

"Tell me about it. They're scarily good at this," Seulgi agreed, clapping along with the crowd. "It's like they're starring in a romcom where only they missed the memo."

If only they knew.

If only the rest of the school knew.

If only anyone knew that beneath all the staged smiles and synchronised speeches, it would only take five steps for the mighty president and his infuriating vice president to lose — not to each other, but to something neither of them ever saw coming.

────

Step One: seeing each other.

It started like any other day in the student council room — a battleground polished to perfection.

You arrived first, flipping open your notebook, already plotting your next move. Yunho followed shortly after, shooting you a glare so subtle no one else would notice, but you caught it. You always did. The latest round in your ongoing war had been yours — you'd managed to replace his entire project folder with a stack of fake documents detailing a made-up proposal for a "Student Council Talent Show," featuring him as both host and performer. He'd spent an hour in front of the principal before realising the whole thing was a setup. You were winning.

So when Yunho swept into the room, you were already bracing for his retaliation. And sure enough, it came — a stack of freshly printed minutes from the last meeting placed squarely in front of you. Except every instance of your name had been replaced with "Her Royal Highness, The Vice President of Perfection".

You stared at it. He smiled, all teeth and zero remorse.

"Thanks for the edit," you said coolly.

"Anything for my vice president," he shot back.

But that wasn't the real blow. The real sabotage came during the club funding review later that afternoon. It was your turn to present the approved budgets for each club, a dry, boring task — until Yunho, in a voice far too innocent, asked, "By the way, Your Highness — didn't your old school have a fencing club? You were captain, right?"

You froze for half a second. It was microscopic — no one noticed. Except for Yunho. Of course, he noticed.

"Yeah," you said, flicking through the papers like the question meant nothing. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering why you transferred out so suddenly. From what I hear, you were practically royalty back there, too."

You knew what he was doing. Fishing. Trying to unearth whatever dirt might be hiding under your perfect exterior. You forced a smile. "It was boring," you lied. "Needed a challenge."

He hummed, unconvinced.

Later that evening, you found your chance to return the favour. You'd overheard a conversation between Wooyoung and Seulgi, something about Yunho always leaving in a rush after school, barely staying long enough to clean up. So you set a trap — a simple one. You "accidentally" scheduled a last-minute meeting that ran late, forcing him to stay behind.

You expected him to blow up at you afterwards. You were ready for it. What you didn't expect was to follow the tall and lanky boy out — purely out of curiosity — only to watch him walk straight to the convenience store down the street, throw on a part-time apron, and start restocking shelves.

You stood outside, stunned, watching the golden boy student council president clock into a job like any regular kid. Except he wasn't just any regular kid, was he?

For the first time, you saw him without the shine — no polished uniform, no cocky smirk, no sharp words ready to fire at you. Just a boy with his sleeves pushed up, quietly stacking instant noodles, stopping every so often to check his phone like he was waiting for a message.

And when his phone finally buzzed, you saw him smile — small, tired, real.

You didn't mean to see the text, but you did.

Mum: Yunho-yah, don't forget to bring home eggs if they're on sale.

You stepped back before he could notice you watching, heart thudding with something you couldn't quite name.

That was the first crack.

The next day, Yunho found a neatly folded discount coupon for eggs tucked into his student council folder. No signature. No note. Just a coupon.

He stared at it for a long time.

For once, neither of you said anything.

But it didn't end there.

Later that week, Yunho caught sight of you outside the school gates, long after the council room had emptied. He hadn't meant to linger — in fact, he had every intention of ignoring you like usual — but something about the way you stood there caught his attention.

You weren't scrolling through your phone or chatting with anyone. You just stood there, posture straight, hands clutching your bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. A sleek black car pulled up, polished until the surface gleamed, and a middle-aged man in a pressed suit stepped out to open the door for you.

He scoffed quietly to himself. Of course.

Princess treatment. Figures.

But as you slid into the back seat, something about the way you moved made him pause. Stiff. Formal. Like you were stepping into a stranger's car, not your own. He caught a glimpse of your face through the tinted window before it rolled up — your gaze fixed straight ahead, unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. You looked... distant. Detached.

Not proud. Not smug.

Not like someone who had it all.

Just... tired.

Yunho frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, muttering under his breath, "Must be nice to have everything handed to you... so why do you look like you've got nothing?"

He didn't have an answer. And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the memory of your empty eyes lingering longer than they should.

Neither of you knew it yet — but the game was already changing.

────

Step Two: the unexpected rescue.

The rain came down hard — the kind of storm that soaked you to the bone in seconds, drumming against the pavement with no mercy. You stood just outside the school gates, shoulders hunched slightly under the awning, arms crossed tight as your phone buzzed non-stop in your hand.

Driver (5 missed calls)

Driver: Stuck in traffic. 15 minutes.

Driver: 20 minutes.

Driver: Sorry, Miss. It's a mess out here.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, locking your screen before shoving the phone into your pocket. This was typical — your family's staff was always prompt when it came to your father, but for you? Delays. Excuses. You were used to it. Didn't make it any less irritating.

The rain intensified, and you took a careful step back, just barely avoiding a splash from a passing car. That's when you saw him — Yunho, already halfway down the sidewalk, hood pulled up, backpack slung over one shoulder.

He could have kept walking. You expected him to. Hell, you would've preferred it.

But he stopped.

He stood there for a second, back still facing you, before you saw his shoulders rise and fall in what looked suspiciously like deep, begrudging contemplation. Then, without a word, he turned back, marched toward you, and thrust his umbrella out with one hand.

"Don't make it weird," he muttered, hood shadowing half his face. "I'm not leaving my vice president to drown. People would talk."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, before slowly stepping under the umbrella's cover. Your shoulder brushed his — just barely — but it was enough to make the air between you heavier than the rain itself.

"You're still an arrogant ass," you said, mostly out of habit.

"And you're still annoying," he shot back.

But neither of you moved away.

The walk to the nearby bus stop was silent, save for the rain pattering against the umbrella's canopy and your synchronised footsteps on the wet pavement. The silence should have been awkward — it always was between the two of you — but this time, it felt... almost easy.

At the stop, he held the umbrella steady over both your heads until the bus pulled up, wiping rainwater off his forehead with his sleeve.

"Don't think this means I like you," he said, voice quieter than usual.

You snorted, climbing up the bus steps. "Please. I'd be more worried if you did."

But when you found your seat by the window, you caught a glimpse of him outside — standing there in the rain, umbrella still in hand, watching the bus pull away. Neither of you knew why this moment stuck so firmly in your minds. You just knew something had shifted.

The next morning, you were absent.

Yunho should've been pleased. A day without your sharp tongue, your constant presence, your infuriating need to challenge his every decision — it should've felt like a vacation. But instead, an uncomfortable unease gnawed at him from the moment he entered the council room and saw your usual seat empty.

He shouldn't care. He knew that. But for some reason, his mind kept circling back to the night before — the rain, the bus, the fleeting glimpse of your tired face in the window.

Did you even get home safely?

He scowled at the thought. Not my problem. I already did more than enough. But no matter how much he tried to shake it off, that knot of regret just sat there in his chest, stubborn and unrelenting.

By mid-morning, his irritation boiled over. Slamming his pen down, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Where's Vice President Pain-in-the-Ass today?" he asked, tone far too casual to be casual.

Wooyoung's eyebrows shot up — before a slow smirk stretched across his face. "Why? Miss her already? You two were so cute sharing that umbrella last night."

Yunho's chair scraped violently against the floor as he sat up straighter. "What?! Who said— That's not— I'm only asking because I was expecting her to submit the student committee reports today!"

"Suuure," Wooyoung drawled, dragging out the word until Yunho was ready to fling a stapler at his head.

Seulgi, ever the peacekeeper, stepped in with a sigh. "She called in sick. Probably caught a cold from getting drenched yesterday."

The president's stomach did an uncomfortable flip, though he masked it with a disinterested shrug. "Serves her right for not bringing her own umbrella," he muttered.

But later that night, during his shift at the convenience store, he nearly rang up a customer's items twice — his mind completely elsewhere. Each time the door chimed, he half-expected to see you storm in with some ridiculous complaint about student council policies. He hated the way that thought made his chest tighten.

He hated it even more when, the next morning, he found himself at his kitchen counter — brewing herbal tea.

When you returned to school the next day, you dropped your bag onto your desk, only to pause, brow furrowing. Sitting there, completely unassuming, was a flask of warm herbal tea. No note. No explanation.

You glanced around the empty room — only one other person was there this early, and of course, it was him. Yunho, head down, pretending to be engrossed in a report he had already read twice.

You nudged the flask aside and pulled out your notebook instead, determined not to play into whatever weird game this was.

Across the room, his pen froze mid-sentence. After a few beats of silence, he huffed, loud enough for you to hear.

"For heaven's sake, it's not poisoned," he said, still not looking up. "Drink it if you want to actually recover."

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious — but curiosity (and the faint scratch in your throat) won out. You unscrewed the lid, steam rising in a gentle curl. It smelled... comforting. Soothing. Like something homemade.

Reluctantly, you took a sip.

"...It's good," you admitted quietly.

He didn't respond, but when you looked up, you caught him — just for a second — sneaking a glance at you over the top of his file.

Again, neither of you said another word.

────

Step Three: forced vulnerability.

For a while, it seemed like the umbrella incident and the flask of tea never happened. Whatever fleeting kindness had passed between you both was quickly swallowed by your usual dynamic — sharp words, constant one-upping, and a relentless need to prove the other wrong.

That fragile truce didn't stand a chance.

It all came to a head after yet another brutal fight — the kind that had papers flying across the table, voices raised loud enough to make the underclassmen passing by the council room door wince. Seulgi had to physically step between you, arms stretched out like a human barricade.

"You always have to hog the spotlight, don't you?" you seethed, finger jabbing toward Yunho. "President this, President that — it's like you can't function unless the whole school is watching you."

"And you're any better?" His voice came sharp and fast, eyes blazing. "You waltz in here acting like you're saving us all, like this council should be grateful to breathe the same air as you. Spoiled little princess who can't handle not being number one."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Wooyoung, who usually lived for drama like this, suddenly found his folder of expense reports incredibly fascinating.

You stormed out before anyone could see the flicker of hurt flash across your face. No way were you going to let Jung Yunho of all people make you feel small.

You walked blindly down the hall, fury pulsing in your veins, until you froze at the sound of his voice — quieter, softer, so unlike the boy who had just ripped into you moments ago.

"…No, Mum, I can't cover that shift. I already stayed late for council." A pause. "It's fine, really. I'll figure it out."

The reminder hit you hard. Yunho, the golden boy, the president everyone envied — was working part-time jobs after school. The same boy who seemed to have it all was just another kid juggling too much, carrying more weight than he let on. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you couldn't move either. Something about the edge of exhaustion in his voice made you stay.

Suddenly, the arrogant bastard didn't seem so untouchable after all.

A few days later, the roles reversed.

Yunho had gone to the library to grab an old council binder when he spotted you tucked away at a corner table. You weren't working — just sitting there, blankly staring at an open textbook like the words weren't even registering.

Next to you, a small pile of letters lay scattered — some still sealed, others torn open, the papers inside slightly crumpled like you'd held them too tightly. He didn't need to read them to know what they were. Letters from parents who cared more about achievements than feelings, words dressed up as 'encouragement' but laced with disappointment underneath.

He hadn't meant to stop, but something about the way your shoulders curled inward — that tiny, defeated slump — made him pull out a chair across from you without a word. He opened his own notebook, flipping through pages like he had a reason to be there.

The silence stretched, but for once, it didn't feel awkward.

Eventually, Yunho broke it.

"Not everyone's parents show up for them either, huh?" he said quietly, still pretending to read.

Your head snapped up, startled by the unexpected understanding in his voice. But he didn't look at you. He just kept twirling his pen between his fingers, as if the words had been said casually — like it wasn't the first time either of you had ever acknowledged this shared emptiness.

You didn't answer, but you didn't push the letters away either.

And just like that, things further shifted.

For the first time, you both saw each other — not as rivals or enemies, but just two kids quietly drowning under the weight of expectations neither of you had asked for.

────

Step Four: defending each other.

It happened so fast, you didn't even have time to think.

You were passing by the courtyard on your way back to the council room when you heard them — two students sitting on the low wall, voices pitched just loud enough to be overheard.

"I heard she only got vice president because her family donated a new wing to the school."

"Yeah, everyone knows Yunho's the real deal. She's just there to smile and look pretty. Riding his coattails the whole way."

Your hands curled into fists, steps already veering toward them — but someone else got there first.

The sharp thud of a bag hitting the ground made the gossipers jolt upright. Yunho stood there, shoulders squared, eyes dark with something dangerously close to fury.

"Say that again," he said quietly — and somehow, the softness of his voice was far more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

The students stammered, scrambling for excuses, and he didn't even spare you a glance as he slung his bag back over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there — stunned silent.

Because for all the times you had accused him of being full of himself, Jung Yunho had defended you like it was second nature. Like the idea of anyone else insulting you was unthinkable.

You didn't know what to do with that.

The universe, however, was nothing if not fair. Because just a few days later, the rumours shifted — this time, about Yunho.

"Did you hear? Student council president's working at some convenience store. Imagine seeing him behind the counter after school, bagging snacks for pocket change."

"Golden boy's not so golden after all."

The words grated against your ears so sharply, you were standing in front of them before you even realised you'd moved.

Arms crossed, chin lifted, you gave them a smile so sweet it made your words all the sharper. "Funny. I didn't realise students who can't even pass basic math had opinions anyone cared about."

The stunned silence that followed was delicious. You didn't wait for their response — just turned on your heel and walked off like they weren't even worth your time.

That should've been the end of it — except Yunho was waiting for you by the lockers later that afternoon, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

"I didn't ask you to defend me," he said, tone somewhere between exasperation and confusion.

"Yeah, well." You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Couldn't let my rival's reputation get dragged through the mud before I beat you fair and square."

He stared at you for a long moment — long enough that you felt heat creep up your neck. And then, to your utter disbelief, he smiled. Just a little.

"You're insane."

"You're welcome."

Neither of you admitted what was really happening here.

Neither of you wanted to.

Because rivals didn't protect each other like this — right?

…Right?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

That's what you both told yourselves. Yunho stepping in when people ran their mouths about you? Just defending the council's reputation. You shutting down rumours about his part-time job? Basic professional courtesy. Nothing more.

Except it kept happening.

You noticed when he looked more tired than usual, dark circles smudged under his eyes like he hadn't slept a wink — and then you caught yourself caring. Which was ridiculous. You didn't care. You were just making sure the president didn't screw up his responsibilities because he couldn't handle his personal life. Right?

And Yunho? He wasn't watching out for you. No way. He just… happened to notice when you didn't eat lunch (because of course a spoiled princess would be picky), and maybe that's why he tossed a protein bar onto your desk without looking at you. Totally normal. Not thoughtful. Just practical.

The mental gymnastics you both performed to justify each and every concern were Olympic-level.

When you caught the president absently saving you the better seat during meetings, you told yourself he was just being tactical — easier for you to see the projector, of course. And when Yunho overheard you grumbling about forgetting your calculator before a math quiz, and then somehow one appeared on your desk five minutes later, you were definitely not touched. It was probably a spare he didn't need. Nothing more.

Wooyoung and Seulgi, meanwhile, were losing their minds — because the two of you were so deep in denial it was physically painful to watch.

"She just snapped at him for using the wrong pen colour for the event banners, then turned around and gave him the last slice of cake at the meeting," Seulgi whispered, wide-eyed.

"And he's been pretending to hate her handwriting, but I caught him saving one of her post-it notes in his folder," Wooyoung whispered back.

"Should we help?"

"Nah. Let them suffer."

Because to everyone else, it was painfully obvious: the two of you cared, far too much, and it was eating you both alive.

Neither of you could sleep without replaying your arguments, wondering if you'd crossed a line. Neither of you could look at the other without searching for signs — were they okay? Were they pushing too hard? Were they... thinking about you too?

Of course not.

You hated each other.

That's what you told yourselves.

That's what you needed to believe.

────

Step Five: the breaking point.

The final planning meeting for the year-end festival — the crown jewel of student council events — was supposed to be smooth sailing.

Supposed to be.

Instead, it turned into a sudden crisis and full-blown disaster. Miscommunications piled up like wreckage, schedules clashed, vendors were double-booked, and somehow, two essential permits vanished into thin air — all thanks to the endless assumptions of he'll handle it or she'll settle it.

In truth, the entire student council had been stretched too thin. With final year exams looming and everyone juggling revision sessions alongside festival planning, it was inevitable that details would slip through the cracks. Messages were missed, notes went unshared, and somewhere along the way, every member — even you and Yunho — had trusted that someone else would catch the mistakes.

No one did.

And now, with barely a week left until the biggest event of the year, it was all on the verge of collapse.

The council room was a war zone by the end of the day, with papers scattered across every surface, and half-eaten snacks abandoned next to rapidly-drained cups of instant coffee. The rest of the council had long since been sent home after nearly combusting from secondhand stress.

That left just the two of you — sworn enemies, or at least that's what you both kept telling yourselves — sitting across from each other in the wreckage, sleeves rolled up, hair undone, exhaustion written into every breath.

Somewhere between fixing the vendor placements and rewriting the schedule for the third time, you both cracked.

Laughter. Actual, delirious laughter. It started small — you snorted at something he mumbled under his breath, and he stared at you like you'd grown a second head before dissolving into laughter himself. The kind that made your stomach ache and your shoulders shake, the kind fueled by stress and sleep deprivation until it was impossible to stop.

"This is actual hell," you groaned, collapsing onto the table, cheek smushed against a poorly drawn map of the festival grounds.

"Yeah," he leaned back, arms hanging off the back of his chair, head tilted to stare at the ceiling. "But at least it's not boring."

You turned your head to look at him — hair sticking up in every direction, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, sleeves unevenly rolled, and yet somehow still the same Yunho who drove you insane. Except, right now, he wasn't the 'golden boy president.' He was just… a boy. One who was just as tired, just as human.

"Yunho," you said softly, surprising even yourself. "Why do you hate me?"

His laughter faded. He didn't look at you right away — just exhaled long and slow, fingers tapping against the table.

"Because you make me feel like I'm not enough," he admitted, voice low, like a confession dragged straight from his chest. "And I hate feeling that way."

The honesty knocked the air from your lungs. Because it was exactly how you felt too — and you'd never meant for him to see you like that, just like you never thought you'd see him like this.

"I never wanted to hate you," you whispered, voice small. "I just wanted to beat you."

He finally turned his head, gaze meeting yours — and for the first time, there was no sharpness, no competition, no battle lines drawn between you. Just understanding.

And maybe, just maybe, something softer underneath. Something neither of you were ready to name.

"It's late. We should go," he murmured.

The air was cool, the sky stretched inky black above you, and the silence between you wasn't exactly uncomfortable — just unfamiliar. After months of snapping and snarling at each other, the absence of sharp words felt almost too quiet. Too fragile.

The two of you walked side by side down the empty street, your steps slower than usual, like neither of you wanted to be the first to break the strange peace that had settled over you.

But eventually, you couldn't hold back.

"…Are you okay not making your shift tonight?" you asked softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

He took a moment before answering, the faint scrape of his shoes against the pavement filling the gap. "I'll just work a double another time," he said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

It made something pinch in your chest — this casual acceptance of overworking himself like it was second nature. You hesitated, then asked the question you realised you'd never actually known the answer to.

"Why do you work so hard?"

He didn't answer right away. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of the question. But eventually, his voice emerged, quieter than you expected.

"For as long as I can remember, it's just been me and my mum," he said. "She works really hard, but money's always been tight. When I was old enough, I took as many jobs as I could — bagging groceries, tutoring, working at that convenience store. And I kept my grades up because… I just wanted to make her proud. Wanted to give her a life where she didn't have to worry anymore."

You slowed your steps, turning your head to look at him properly. And once again, you saw him — not as your rival, not as the frustrating golden boy — but as a son. Someone's son, trying his best.

"You're a good son, Yunho," you said softly, with a smile that felt more genuine than any you'd given him before.

He smiled back — just a little — until you added, just as softly, "Can't say the same for myself though."

Yunho's footsteps halted. You stopped too, eyes falling to the sidewalk beneath you.

"You wanted to know why I transferred here, right?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Without waiting for an answer, you bent down and pulled up the edge of your right sock, revealing a thin line of surgical scars tracing across your ankle. The streetlight caught on the pale skin, glinting faintly.

"One bad match," you said, almost to yourself. "One opponent who played dirty during championships. That's all it took."

His brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"Like you said, I used to be fencing captain. Top-ranked in my old school." You let out a soft, bitter laugh. "And after the injury, I couldn't compete. I fell from first place — took months off to recover, missed exams, missed everything. To my parents, that was all it took for me to become… a disappointment."

You let your sock fall back into place, hands brushing down your skirt, voice tight with forced cheer. "So, they sent me here to start over. To rebuild whatever glory I lost. To make me their perfect trophy again."

The president didn't say anything right away. And for once, you didn't try to fill the silence either. You just stood there together, in the middle of a quiet street, under a flickering streetlamp — two students who had spent so long trying to outshine each other, only to realise they were both just chasing shadows.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.

"They were wrong."

You glanced up at him, blinking.

"They were wrong to make you think you're only worth something if you're perfect."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away — because if you didn't, you might actually cry, and you weren't ready for that. Not in front of him.

"Come on," he said gently, nudging your arm. "We still have to survive this festival. One tragedy at a time."

You laughed — watery, but real. And without thinking, you bumped your shoulder into his.

For once, he didn't bump back harder.

────

Five steps later, you were finally here.

The festival had somehow, miraculously, come together — the chaos you and Yunho had wrestled into order was now a blur of glowing lanterns, flashing booth lights, and bursts of laughter floating up into the night air. From the rooftop, you could see it all — your shared battlefield turned into something beautiful.

You should have felt victorious. But instead, your chest ached with something you couldn't name.

Footsteps behind you.

You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Shouldn't you be down there soaking up the praise, President?" you asked, arms folded across your chest, voice deliberately casual.

He stepped up beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze flicking down over the festival before settling on you. "Shouldn't you be down there taking credit, Vice President?"

You side-eyed him, lips twitching up despite yourself. "I thought you hated sharing your spotlight."

"I do," he said — quieter this time, almost too honest. "But… maybe I don't mind sharing with you."

You froze.

This wasn't the usual banter. There was no smirk, no teasing edge to his voice. Just Yunho, standing there under the open sky, the glow of the festival washing a soft colour over his face.

"I spent this whole year trying to beat you," you admitted softly, your fingers curling around the cool metal railing. "Trying to prove I was better."

"Same," he said — too quickly, like he'd been holding it in. Then he shook his head, a breathless laugh slipping out. "But every time I thought I was close to finally taking you down, I just… ended up liking you more."

Your heart stuttered. "Liking me?"

"Yeah." He exhaled hard, like saying it out loud physically knocked the air from his lungs. "I hated you so much I couldn't think straight, and then somewhere along the way, I just wanted to know you. All of you."

The first fireworks burst overhead, painting the sky in red and gold. The light caught in his hair, in his eyes — and you realised you'd been staring at him this whole time.

"You're such an idiot," you whispered, even though your throat was suddenly tight.

"Why?" He turned toward you fully now, his shoulder brushing yours. "Because I confessed first?"

"No." You took a step closer — close enough that the heat of him bled into your skin. "Because I've liked you too. For longer than I wanted to admit."

Another firework cracked, sending sparks raining down like stars.

Neither of you looked at it.

Yunho's hand found yours on the railing — the touch hesitant at first, until your fingers curled back around his. His thumb traced along your knuckles like he couldn't believe this was real.

"I still want to beat you," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good." He leaned down, forehead almost brushing yours. "I wouldn't like you if you didn't."

And then — under a sky exploding with light — he kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or shy. It was a clash of everything you'd ever felt for each other — every argument that left you breathless, every late-night meeting where silence spoke louder than words, every sharp-tongued insult meant to cut but only carved deeper into longing.

His lips were warm and urgent, tasting faintly of festival cotton candy and the mint gum he always chewed when stressed. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair before settling at your jaw, his thumb tracing a line along your cheekbone so softly it left your skin tingling.

He pulled you in like you were something fragile and precious and dangerous all at once — something he couldn't risk breaking, but couldn't stand losing.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in the fabric of his blazer, tugging him closer until there was nothing between you but heat and heartbeats. You could feel the tremble in his breath, the subtle shudder that ran through him when your fingers brushed the back of his neck. His heart hammered so loudly against your chest that you could swear it was echoing your own.

The fireworks painted streaks of gold and crimson across your closed eyelids, but none of it compared to the colour blooming beneath your skin — the dizzying warmth curling low in your stomach, the ache of every unsaid word bleeding into every touch.

When you finally broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads pressed together, you both laughed — breathless and dazed — like you couldn't believe it took you this long to get here.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But they were nothing compared to this.

────

The following Monday after the festival, the entire school knew.

Some claimed they'd caught glimpses of you and Yunho sneaking off together just before the fireworks, while others swore they saw his arm casually draped around your shoulders during the late-night cleanup. And, of course, the boldest rumours came from those who witnessed you both at the council table, sipping from the same straw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But none of that was the real giveaway.

The real giveaway was how you two fought — exactly the same as before, except now he called you baby in the middle of arguments, and you shot back with a saccharine sweetheart, both said with enough venom to curdle milk. The council meetings were still battlegrounds, but now they were laced with something sharper — affection disguised as irritation, fondness hidden under barbed words.

"We should focus on next month's fundraiser," Yunho declared, tapping his pen against the table.

"We should focus on midterm review sessions first," you countered, not even looking up from your notes.

"You just want to show off how perfect your study guides are," he accused, eyes narrowing.

"And you just want to procrastinate so you can rewrite your precious 'president's welcome speech,'" you fired back.

"It's called leadership."

"It's called an ego trip."

The room went silent — council members exchanging wide-eyed glances, already bracing for the explosion.

But instead of storming off like you used to, Yunho just leaned back in his chair, tilting his head with that infuriating smirk. "I'm still your boss, Vice President."

Your smile was too sweet, too dangerous. "And I'm still the one who covers your ass when you forget deadlines, President."

Somewhere in the back of the room, Wooyoung silently started a betting pool: kiss or kill — which would happen first?

Together, the two of you became the undeniable, unstoppable force of the student council — a perfect storm of brains, charisma, and sheer chaos. When Yunho's charm and golden-boy smile couldn't win over the principal, your cold logic and flawless presentations sealed the deal. When your sharp tongue and brutal honesty made freshmen tremble, his easy grin softened the blow. Together, you raised more funds, pulled off bigger events, and terrified more slackers than any council duo in school history.

And yes — you still argued like your lives depended on it.

But now, the fights ended with lazy kisses behind closed doors, fingers brushing under the table during meetings, and softly muttered threats of "I'm still going to beat you at this" whispered like a love language.

Some days, he walked you to your chauffeured car, fingers laced with yours despite the stunned looks from every passing student. Other days, you waited at the convenience store until his shift ended, pretending to browse the snack aisle while secretly watching him work — admiring the boy who once drove you insane, and now, somehow, made your heart ache in the best way possible.

And every night you walked home together, sharing an umbrella or splitting a can of soda, your shoulders bumping softly in the dark.

"We're still enemies, right?" you asked once, voice quiet under the stars.

He grinned, tugging you closer by the waist. "Always."

Then he kissed you again — and just like that, the fight for power had never tasted so sweet. Because somewhere between rivalry and romance, between every clash and compromise, you both realised: there was no winning without each other.

If you've watched Kaguya-sama: Love Is War and are also a fan of it, just know that I love you. The way Wooyoung was initially going to take Miyuki's role, but on second thought, Yunho seemed more well-suited for it. Wouldn't you agree?

Also, I hope y'all liked the rooftop kiss🙈

And if you haven't watched the anime, I love you too! For taking the time to read this, I genuinely hope it was enjoyable hehe I know I had a lot of fun writing this.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[trippinsorrows]

10 things + part three

authors note: after 87 years of waiting, here is the third and final part to this mini series. def struggled with writing it, as i haven't been in the headspace for it, hence why it hasn't been updated in so long. hope it was worth the wait and not a disappointment. ❤️

words: 5k

warnings: angst

part one + part two

***gif belongs to @dejameflorecer ***

It’s been a week.

A week since an already tumultuous relationship went from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

Nova isn’t sure if she’s ever cried as much as she has in the past week. Maybe not since the death of her childhood dog, Sadie, when she was twenty-one. But, this kind of grief is something different. Something heavier and devastating.

Something heartbreaking.

A part of her saw it coming. Nova knew it was only a matter of time before things with RJ and Roman reached a boiling point. The tension and animosity seemed like it grew by the day though something that’s actually existed for years.

The same amount of time she’s worked so hard to fix it. To repair what’s clearly broken. But, it’s always come at a cost. The latest expense, however, is unacceptable. On several fronts.

Roman put his hands on RJ.

He put his hands on their son. Their child. An act that resulted in RJ unintentionally hurting his little sister.

Two of her three children were hurt, in different ways, by their own father.

Nova knows Roman would never ever do anything to intentionally hurt any of their kids, but that doesn’t matter in the face of what’s happened. 

What’s done is done, and she doesn’t know how to move past it.

If that’s even a possibility. 

He’s tried to reach out. Both have. Roman and RJ, but she’s left them both on read for different reasons, only responding with, 'she's fine' with their questions about Bella. Roman hasn’t tried to come home in the past week, and she’s partially grateful, though it breaks her heart just a little when the girls ask about their dad.

When they ask where daddy is.

She has an idea.

Probably staying in the penthouse. 

Or, maybe not.

She struggles between caring and not giving a fuck.

And, her son, via Live 360 shows that he’s been staying with Jey. Unsurprising, to say the least. 

RJ has always been close with the twins, Jey especially. And given how Jey and Roman are on the outs, it only makes sense his estranged son would find escape with an estranged cousin.

Nova has to have an emergency session with her therapist. It’s not life-threatening, and she reiterates there are no safety concerns. She just knows she needs to talk with someone. But, even that conversation is only slightly as helpful as she would like it to be, because Nova omits a lot. Primarily the part where Roman shoved RJ, and Bella got hurt in the process. Things are already bad enough. The last thing Nova needs is DCFS opening an investigation.

She has enough going on in her life.

But, what does come out of that session is a realization. A few, but Nova is taking them one at a time. 

The doorbell ringing pulls her from her thoughts. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that she can and needs to do this. 

Walking from out the kitchen of her spacious home, she makes her way to the front door, not bothering to look out the peephole.

Opening it, she’s met with the most sheepish expression one could muster.

RJ stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey, mama….”

Instantly, her eyes are watering. As upset she might have been, and still is with her son, that’s her baby boy.

Stepping aside, she motions for him to come in. He does so, keeping an almost careful distance between them. Like, he’s being cautious. 

Looking around, he asks, “where—where are the girls?”

An understandable question. RJ is a good big brother, and the girls adore him. Have missed him the same way they miss their dad. But, they don’t need to be around for this.

“With grandma and grandpa,” she answers. Nova leads them over to the living room where she takes a seat on the big sofa. Junior remains standing, nervous almost. She pats the space next to her. “Take a seat.”

He hesitates, but only for a second. Slowly, he lowers his body onto the sofa, legs semi spread, big foot tapping. A nervous thing, clearly. 

Nova doesn't say anything at first, taking time to gather her words. 

“I’m sorry, mama,” RJ blurts, like holding it any long would be too painful. “I didn't—” He closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I would never hurt Bella or you or Cami or—”

“I know, honey,” she answers in a low voice. “It–it was a mistake.” Because, it was. For all her son’s faults and vices, that is most definitely not one of them.

Same for Roman.

But, that’s another conversation.

“Does she—does she hate me?” A quiet, almost fearful question. 

Nova smiles softly, reaching a hand over. “No, Junior. She doesn’t hate you. She could never hate you.” Because while Bella was understandably upset that night, the following morning, she was asking about her big brother and daddy.

Her little girl could never be mad at the men in her life for too long.

Something she clearly gets from her mother.

Another question. “Do you hate me?”

At that, Nova’s eyes widen. She leans over, taking RJ’s hand in her own. “RJ, I could never hate you, baby. I love you. I was….I was upset with you, yes, but I could never hate you.” The truth. The God’s honest truth. “But, I do—I do need to talk to you.” She swallows, jumping straight to it. “Honey, how do you know about your dad cheating on me?”

Because, in all of the things to come out of that terrible night, that has to be the one thing that’s kept her up the most. 

She’d prepared to go to her grave keeping that secret from her children.

Nova sees the way RJ’s expression shifts. Something cold and solemn. “I heard you crying about it that night.” Her stomach drops. “I was coming to ask you for help with my homework, and I saw you. I saw you crying onto Aunt Naomi’s shoulder.” 

RJ may not realize it, but he’s just taken her back. Taken Nova back to one of the hardest periods of her life. All of the emotions rushing and slamming into her with newfound intensity. She had no idea her son overheard and saw that. No idea he���s been sitting silently on such a thing for years.

It’s been years since that rough patch with her husband. 

“He broke your heart, mama.” She looks away, wiping at her tears. She didn’t realize she still felt so many things from that day. “He cheated on you, broke your heart, and you still took him back.” Her eyes shut, his voice desperate as he asks, “why?”

Nova takes a deep breath. This is the single most difficult conversation she’d both dreaded and never imagined having to have, but here she is. 

There is no escaping it now. 

“RJ…” Eyes closing, heart racing, she forces it out. “I cheated on your dad first.” 

His eyes widen, his jaw partially dropped. He’s stunned. “What?”

Nova forces herself to look over at him, momentarily taken back. It’s like she’s looking at her heartbroken husband all over again. 

She sniffles, wiping her eyes, moving into a well deserved explanation. “I was 23. Your dad was on the road wrestling. And, I was here, working a full time job, taking care of you. We were struggling financially, so he had to be gone. He was trying to help provide for us, and I knew that. But….but, I got lonely, and I—I started to resent that he was gone all the time.” A summarized explanation leaving out a lot of details that, even with RJ knowing about the affairs, Nova knows he doesn’t need to know. “He—” This is the part that she’ll forever regret and never be able to forget for as long as she lives. “He walked in on me and the man in bed, flowers and chocolate in hand. He—he’d come home to surprise you and I.” Her voice cracks, the emotion tipping over. “I’ll never forget how devastated he looked.”

Gutted. He was gutted. Furious but more hurt than anything.

“Sweetie.” Nova presses her lips together, shaking her head. “I broke your dad’s heart first.”

It was the reason she first started going to therapy all those years ago. Because Nova struggled deeply with how she betrayed Roman. How she’d allowed temporary emotions to lead her into making what remains one of the biggest regrets of her life.

RJ is stunned into silence, looking down, bewildered and floored. “I—I can’t—”

“You were right, honey. Your father did cheat on me, and he did break my heart.” Nova can’t and won’t deny that. Two truths can be right in the same universe. Roman was wrong, and so was she. But, they worked hard to move past those two major trust and boundary violations. So hard. “But, I chose to forgive him, because I love him, because he found it in his heart to forgive me, because he loves me.” She reaches over, gently stroking the back of his head. “The same way he loves you.”

He says nothing, clearly still struggling between maintaining his wall, and maybe, just maybe, letting it down just enough. 

“Do you….do you remember how I used to record all your games, and—” A small, silly smile breaks on her face as she recalls her scowling little boy blushing almost from embarrassment. “And, you used to always ask me why I did it? Used to tell me it wasn’t that big a deal?”

He nods, still saying nothing, a frown present on his face.

“Baby…” Her head tilts, that smile growing just a smidge. “I did it, because your dad asked me to.” Junior’s eyes widen once more at yet another bombshell being dropped on him. “And the first thing he did when he got home and had time, he’d watch them. Every single game. From start to finish. Take notes, too.”

RJ looks as breathless as he sounds. “What?” 

“I know….” She sniffles, tears cascading down her face. “I know he wasn’t there a lot when you were younger, and I realize now how that impacted you more than I realized, but sweetheart, he would come home as often as he could. Even if it meant us losing out on money, he would come home, RJ. And, he came because he wanted to see you.”

Another whispered confession from the depths of long buried trauma. “He did?”

Nova tilts her head, a small scoff leaving her mouth. “Roman is….he can be difficult at times.” Difficult feels too much of a simplification, prompting her to explain. “He’s stubborn and hardheaded, and he thinks he knows everything sometimes. If not all of the time, and he was wrong to put his hands on you. You can bet I’ll be talking to him about that.”

Because, she will. Because, Nova cannot see how there’s a way to move past that and act like nothing happened. 

Roman took it too far this time.

Way too far.

“But baby, you can also be stubborn and hardheaded. I know….I know you may not want to hear this, but you’re a lot like your dad, and I think that’s also why you two clash the way you do.” Two titans fighting for dominance. Neither willing to break or back down. 

At least, until now.

“I—” He finally speaks, ending his minutes long silence. “I didn’t know….I always felt….he never acted like….” Roman Jr. struggles to verbalize what is clearly years worth of pain and hurt. And, Nova won’t make him.

She knows exactly what he’s trying to say.

“RJ, in all the years I’ve known and been with your dad, I’ve only seen him cry once, and that was the day you were born.” Nova will never forget the silent tears that ran down Roman's face as he held his son for the first time. He was so happy. “Honey…..” She takes a second to find the right words. “Your dad….he’s always struggled with feelings and emotions and showing them, but I need you to believe me when I tell you that he loves you. He always has, and he always will.” RJ looks away, shutting his eyes. A lone tear escaping. “I know things between you two have been rough, and I’m so sorry if you knowing about the affair has played any role in the deterioration of your relationship, but please don’t let that get in the way of things. You need your dad in your life, and believe me or not, he needs you, too.”

They all need each other, but it starts with them.

Father and son.

It started with them, and it needs to end with them.

—--------

Roman was just readying to head out. He was doing his best to respect the space Nova clearly wanted, but being away from his girls was becoming too much. She graciously replied to only one of his many texts, simply sharing that Bella was okay.

Nothing else. 

And, it wasn’t that Roman didn’t understand the distance she was placing between them. He fully did, but it didn’t negate the fact that he missed his family. He misses his family. 

He needs to see them.

He needs to see all his kids and speak to them, but one step at a time.

Keys in hand, Roman opens the door at the same time his entire body stills.

“Junior….”

Sure enough, his oldest stands before him, expression clearly torn. A similar experience to what Roman himself has felt the past week.

RJ swallows, gesturing inside the penthouse. “Are—are you busy?”

Roman takes a second to respond, surprised as all hell by the last person he expected to see. The last person he expected to want to see him.

“No….no….come…come in.”

Roman steps aside, and his son does just as such. Closing and locking the door, Roman watches RJ walk over and sit on the sofa, legs spread, hands clasped together as he stares at the expensive rug. 

For a moment, Roman stands unsure of what to do. Lord knows he has no idea what to fucking say. He was prepared to plead to and with his wife. Not his oldest son.

Not yet, at least.

Nevertheless, he finds himself sitting on the sofa, opposite of RJ, that tension previously felt between them at any given point suddenly melted into something almost unidentifiable. He doesn’t know what exactly it is. Just that it feels different.

Finally, Roman realizes he’s the one that needs to break this. In more ways than one. “Junior—”

“Mama told me what happened.”

Roman frowns, confused and lost. “About?”

He watches RJ swallow. “The affairs.” Roman’s back straightens. He’s most definitely wondered about that part of RJ’s angry outburst all week. Just how he knew. But, that’s suddenly less concerning in the face of what was just said. “How…how she cheated on you first, and you forgave her.”

The older man nods. “I did.”

RJ looks up. “How you cheated on her, and she forgave you.”

Roman swallows. “She did.” An act of grace and mercy Roman will forever be grateful for. Always. “Son….” Roman pauses, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t prepared for this, hadn’t gone over what he wanted to say if and when this moment came. But, sitting across from his firstborn, he’s realizing it’s less about preparation and more about honesty.

He needs to speak from the heart.

It’s time for all this to stop.

“I’m not a perfect man, and I never will be.” Roman does his best to keep his words clear, concise, and to the point. “I’ve hurt you, hurt your mom, hurt my family over the years, and I can’t….I can’t change that. I can’t take back what I’ve done, even though I’d give anything to. You…you have no idea.” He pauses, his own emotions taking a front seat. “I—I always said I would never be anything like my father. He’s a coldhearted bastard who only cares about power, success, and performance. Always told me I needed to be the best and anything less was unacceptable.” Roman runs his hand over his face, revisiting a long ago memory. “The day you were born was both the happiest and scariest fucking day of my life. I—I swore to you that day that I’d always be there for you, that I’d be a good dad to you, and that hasn’t happened.” His eyes shut, glazed over with vulnerability and accountability. “And, I’m sorry, son. I am so fucking sorry.”

RJ looks away, clearly overwhelmed by all of the emotions and unexpected confessions the day has brought. But, it’s time, and he knows it. Time to let go of the hurt, of the pain. It’s time to be honest.

“Mama told me….she told me you were the one who wanted her to record my games. That you…that you watched them.” He shakes his head, finally looking over at his father, also with unshed tears in his eyes. “All these years, I’ve been so upset with you, so angry with you. Because I thought you hurt mom, and I thought you didn’t care. Because….because you weren’t there, and I wanted you to be…to be proud of me.” He swallows, jaw clenching from the heaviness of it all. “I wanted….” His voice breaks. “I wanted my dad to love me.”

Roman’s exterior completely shatters. “Junior….”

Without thinking or even overthinking it, Roman stands and moves to sit next to his son, not wasting a single second to pull him into a hug.

A hug that RJ, for the first time in years, reciprocates.

Roman cradles the back of his head, offering the sort of comfort that his son has wanted for years. The love he’s craved. “Son, I’ve loved you since the day you were born. I’ve always loved you, and I always will.” A vow. A promise. Something that can and will never be broken. Not from this day forward. “And, I am so proud of you.” 

RJ’s eyes clench shut. 

Years.

For years, he’s wanted and craved for so long.

Something he’s had the entire time.

“You’re a fine young man, RJ.” Roman compliments, pulling back, hand gently on the back of his son’s neck. “A better man than I could ever be, and I’m sorry for the role I’ve played in your hurt. I’m gonna do better. By you. By your mom. By your sisters. All of you. I promise.”

Roman has a lot of work to do. He knows this. This one conversation, as heartfelt and vulnerable as it is, can’t undo years of damage and trauma. There’s a long road ahead, but it’s a road he’s willing to travel on.

A journey to healing he’s more than ready to make. 

—-----

Despite the unexpected appearance of his son at his doorstep, and the vulnerable conversation that followed, Roman still found his way back to the house.

He has to.

For a week, he’s suffered, as deserved, reliving the incident in his head like a bad song on repeat. He fucked up. A line was crossed that had never been crossed, and while he can’t blame Nova for icing him out, the truth remains that that’s still his wife. Those are his daughters. His son. 

His family.

He has to make things right. 

Or, at least, try. 

He’s certain Nova looked through the peephole before answering, because her usual greeting of “who is it?” is bypassed and traded with the door being swung open. And, there she stands, looking just as beautiful as she always has. 

But, there’s a sadness about her eyes that makes him frown. A sadness because of him.

Nova eyes him up and down. “You talked to RJ?” It’s not a question, not with the almost declaratory nature of her tone. Still, he feels obligated to at least reply.

“Yeah,” he answers.

She continues to look at him before closing the door behind her and walking over to the wooden bench on their porch. He’s prepared to remain standing when she pats the space next to her. 

He obliges.

She’s quiet, Roman able to tell she’s deep in thought, hence him not saying anything. Just giving her the space to think and speak, when ready.

“Roman, what happened….what happened was not okay.” She starts off, hands planted on her thighs. Nova looks at him. “You lost your temper, but not even that, you lost your temper with our son, and Bella got hurt in the process.”

He closes his eyes. She’s not saying anything he doesn’t already know. Nothing he hasn’t mentally berated himself over for the past week. As he deserves. But, there’s something about hearing her say it aloud, the devastation in her voice, that makes it that much worse. It twists the knife.

“I know,” is all he can say. He won’t make excuses. There are none to make.

“You’ve had an anger problem since we were kids, Roman. But, it’s never….” She trails off, looking away and taking a deep breath. “You need help.”

“You’re right,” he swallows. She’s always been right. He’s just been too stubborn and headstrong to see and/or acknowledge it. “I should have never put my hands on him. It should have never reached that point, but it did, and I’m so sorry, Nova. What happened was fucked up and not okay.” She glances over at him, Roman having to fight back the urge to wipe away her tears. “I haven’t been the husband you deserve or the father I need to be for our kids, and I’ve realized the only way that can change is if I get the help I need.”

All truthful, painful, almost embarrassing confession from a man who’s gradually come to realize the extent and depth of damage he’s done. Somewhere along the way, Roman lost himself. Lost sight of what was most important, and it’s caused him to land exactly where he is.

Practically begging for another chance.

“RJ….RJ told me….told me that you two talked,” she finally speaks after a good minute. “He—he said that you’re going to try to work on your relationship. That….that you asked him to think about doing family therapy with you.”

Roman nods. “I did.”

She casts him a leveled look. “Did you mean it though?”

An easy answer, probably the easiest he’s given all day. “Yes.”

Roman doesn’t necessarily like the idea of therapy. He’s done it before, but still. Feelings and emotions, and talking about them, have never been the easiest for him. But, what he wants more than anything is to repair his relationship with the people he loves the most, and if this is the way to do that, then he’ll do it ten times over.

“And what about individual therapy?” She’s probing, prying to see where his headspace is and how far he’s willing to go to right all his many wrongs.

“That too,” he agrees. “Whatever….whatever I have to do, Nova. I’ll do. I love you. I love our kids, and I love our family. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this, and I know it starts with me. Nova….” He reaches for her hand, her emotional gaze on him. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness, baby. I know I have to earn that. I have a lot to earn back….” He trails off but never breaks their eye contact. “I’m just asking for another chance.”

Nova doesn’t answer right away, and he doesn’t expect her to. He knows that sometimes she has to sit and think on things. That the gravity of the situation may require additional time. And, he’ll give her that. He’ll give her all the space she needs, because he owes her that much and so much more.

“The girls have missed you.”

But, have you?

Roman has to stop himself from actually asking her. 

“I’ve missed them, too.” 

I’ve missed you.

Nova takes a deep breath. “I think we should go to marriage counseling again.”

Yet another thing they’re on the same page with. They attended two times prior, both times to process and work through the affairs. Roman found it helpful then. He’s sure he’ll find it helpful now.

“I agree.”

She nods, looking at their conjoined hands, the sun peaking past and under the gable roof reflecting off her wedding ring and his wedding band. “I—I want your focus to primarily be on RJ. That has to be worked on, Roman, if this is going to work.”

“I know.” More agreement of a truth he can’t deny anymore. “I’m gonna make it right, Nova.”

She stares at him, looks at him in a way no one else but she can. Like, she can read him better than he can read himself. “You can come back home.” Roman closes his eyes, a massive wave of relief and joy coming over him. “But, I swear to God, Roman, if you ever put your hands on my son again, this marriage is over. I will divorce your ass so fast, and not only will I get sole custody of the girls, any visits you have with them will be supervised only.” She finishes her firm, assertive declaration with a pointed look. “Do you understand me?”

The thought of such a situation guts Roman. He would never hurt his daughters. Ever. Will forever regret shoving his son. And, he knows good and well as much as Nova might love him, she’s a mother first. Their kids will always be her first priority, as they should be. He respects that. Immensely.

“I understand,” he acknowledges. Roman runs his thumb over her knuckles. “Thank you.”

Nova doesn’t say anything. She just motions to the door. “The girls are in there with Junior.”

Her answer surprises him. He wondered who was watching their daughters while they spoke, but he assumed her parents were over. “Yeah?”

She nods, standing up. She offers her hand, prompting him to stand as well. “Come on.” 

Roman wordlessly follows her inside of their home, gently squeezing her hand as she calls out, “girls! Daddy’s home!”

The sound of his girls giggling and making sounds of excitement is accompanied by her squeezing his hand back.

A start.

It’s a start.

—---------

The Raw premiere on Netflix is major.

A groundbreaking, memorable occasion worthy of all the lights, glamour, and action. It’s a make or break night for Roman, the night where it’s decided, once and for all, who the real Tribal Chief is.

Nova and her girls are in attendance. A night so big that she can’t afford to miss it, won’t allow it to pass without her showing up to support her husband. 

In the months since the blowup, a lot has occurred. Nova’s ultimatum of sorts with her husband proved effective. He found a therapist and has been attending weekly consistently. They’re also in couples counseling. Not to mention, he and RJ have also been attending weekly therapy together, though virtual, what with Junior away at school and Roman’s schedule being hectic.

There have been some really great times and some tense times, but overall, Nova can see it. Can feel it. Can feel the healing that’s occurring. There are still a ways to go, especially between her son and husband, but they’re not where they were, and that’s all that matters. 

They’re moving in the right direction. 

Finally.

It’s a tense, violent match. 

Nova is on the edge of her seat the entire time, a bit unsurprised and grateful that her daughters are tuned in mostly to their tablets instead of their daddy fighting. Too many times where Solo is close to pinning Roman for her liking, but the whole thing has just been too close for her liking. Matches always make her nervous, and the absence of her son doesn’t help.

Roman invited RJ, as did Nova, but he never gave a solid answer.

It definitely hurt, both herself and her husband, but she could understand why.

There’s still a lot of grounds for those two to cover, and RJ’s speed at which he progresses on this new path is something that can’t be rushed.

She won’t pressure him.

He has to do this at his own pace.

Though, she can’t deny the bittersweet sensation that fills her when Roman makes the pin, when that 3 is finally achieved, signifying that her husband is the one and only Tribal Chief. The true Head of the Table. The OTC.

As proud as she is of him, of the long, hard battles he’s faced to get this point, not being able to share the moment with their firstborn is rough.

But, she braves a smile and blows a kiss to him, holding Cami, pointing to Roman who continues to take in the thunderous applause. Bella stands on the chair next to her, holding onto her dress while also pointing a finger in the air, matching the other attendees.

It dims her sadness just a bit.

However, it’s when the sounds of the crowd shift, and she turns her focus to the ramp that her stomach drops.

She sees Dwayne, Roman's cousin, but she also sees someone else.

She sees RJ.

“The Rock is heading down the ramp, and he’s accompanied by Roman Reigns’ son, RJ Reigns!” She can briefly overhear the commentary, sees the gasp and shock of the crowd. But, it’s the two of them moving into the ring as well as Roman’s unsure expression that has her focus. 

Dwayne is the first to hug and embrace Roman, mouthing something in his ear. Nova watches with continued confusion as the hug breaks, and he moves to take the sacred ula fala from Paul. Roman’s shoulders move up and down, as he pants, still trying to fully catch his breath, lingering exhaustion from the match. But both herself and Roman still watching Dwayne's next move.

He hands the ula fala to RJ.

Nova gasps. “Oh my God...”

Tears spill over as RJ walks over to his dad, offering a warm, proud smile. He nods, and Roman’s head dips just enough so RJ can place it on him. Right before her son pulls his father into a hug. 

Her heart just about combusts in that moment.

It swells and nears explosion, watching the two men in her life embrace, both their eyes shut from the emotionality of it all. The crowd around them applauds, completely unaware just what this moment means to them. 

To her family.

And, Nova sees it. Sees the way RJ’s mouth moves, saying something to Roman.

“I love you, dad.”

She doesn’t need to see Roman to know and hear exactly what he says in response.

“I love you, too, son.”

RJ claps his dad on the back, breaking the hug to stand beside him, raising Roman’s arm. Ones in the sky amongst the thousands in attendance that chant OTC. A proud, emotional expression on Nova’s face as she cries, overwhelmed with happiness and relief.

For the crowd, the OTC is back on top. 

For her, for her family, the healing is just beginning.