#they don't always say the right things or do the right things but they are always TRYING

[prael]

An Oral Agreement

QWER Magenta x male reader

Masterlist word count: 3,008 Kofi(donations/commissions)

She's equal parts infuriating and fascinating.

Magenta.

No last name. Or maybe that is her last name. Either way, that's all it said on the rental agreement and her bedroom door when you first moved in: Magenta. The letters were all lowercase like she was too cool for proper grammar. You know Magenta, in the Biblical sense (and it didn’t take long).

She's always in her room streaming or recording or...doing whatever it is social media influencers do when they aren't online. But she likes candles, fried rice and catcore aesthetics. She thinks pumpkin spice season starts September 1st and she loves reality TV. Not exactly the makings of a deep and spiritual connection.

Now, living with Magenta, well, it has its ups and downs.

There are some things that never get done around here without you doing them; she rarely cooks, which wouldn't bother you so much if she at least did dishes once in a while. It doesn't help that she takes long hot showers. In a house with only one bathroom, this can really put a cramp in your morning routine.

Magenta doesn't clean the place very often either. At first, you just let it go because everybody has their own ways of doing things, right? But after a few weeks of living together, you realised that she's just...not going to do it. Like ever. So then there's nothing for it but to either live in a constant state of messiness or bite the bullet yourself.

Sometimes you feel like you're not living with a roommate so much as providing lodging for some kind of freeloading spirit that passes through periodically.

When you first moved in, you were worried about what your roommate might think of you: would they be weirded out by your habits? Would they judge your taste in decorations? Would you get along? Would you have enough space for both of you?

Those fears melted away pretty quickly once you met her. You could tell from the moment she opened the door that day (and didn't even look up from her phone) that she didn’t care.

You soon learned that Magenta is messy but friendly. She stays up all night and sleeps during the day. She's everywhere online: Instagrammer, Tiktokker (is that what they call it?), live streamer or these days she’s even on the radio and TV. She doing something for one of those things right now, with her bedroom door closed and music playing faintly behind it.

You're standing in the kitchen, staring down her latest infringement. Now, these empty take-out boxes were here this morning when you left. They were also here last night, and yesterday afternoon, and...you get where this is going.

"Hey, you awake in there?!" you shout towards her bedroom but get no response.

With a sigh, you walk over to her door and knock. Twice. Then again, louder when you still get no response. Finally, you resort to pounding on it repeatedly until it suddenly swings open to reveal your roommate shouting, "What!?" You step back, slightly taken aback by how loudly she said that single word. Her eyes soften instantly, though when they land on you.

She looks good. Not even just in a 'good for someone who hasn't slept yet today' kind of way. Just straight-up hot. Magenta wears a faded pink crop top emblazoned with an anime character and little cut-off cotton shorts covered in cookie prints. The low waistband of the shorts hangs off her hips, exposing the start of a light purple thong that cuts diagonally across her hip bones.

"I think our apartment might get condemned if you don't clean sometime soon."

Your roommate leans against the door frame. She pushes some dark brown hair behind her ear as she says, "Can't you do it for me? Just this once?"

"Just this once?" you repeat, crossing your arms. Your lips curl into a smile as you ask back to her, "Can't you do it just this once?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm always reminding you to clean, and you never do it. So guess who does it? It's not the magical cleaning fairy—it's me."

Her eyes roll skyward so forcefully you imagine you can hear them squeaking in their sockets.

"Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?" she says. "This seems really petty."

"It's not petty," you protest. "I have stuff to do and I shouldn't have to keep picking up after my adult roommate." You say the word 'adult' laden with implications. She gets your meaning immediately. Her lips twist.

"oh, I get it," she says with a smirk. "I guess it's been a while since I gave you a little thank you. Well, I need to get this video finished, so could you maybe clean it up and come back here after?"

So there's the perks. Two of them actually, as she pulls up her pink crop top and flashes you what's beneath. A pair of purple lace bra cups strain to contain your roommate's ample endowment. Pale skin pours out from beneath them, flesh squeezing together into a deep cleavage that entices you closer even as you shake your head.

"You can't keep pulling tricks like this, Magenta," you say, trying desperately to hold onto your train of thought while also enjoying the view. It helps that you know those breasts intimately. Hell, you've worshipped those breasts. They've spilt around your hands, smothered your face and laid upon your thighs. You know what the soft warmth inside each cup feels like. And, God, they feel really fucking good.

"I really appreciate your help and everything," she says, her bottom lip suddenly pushing out into a cute pout that goes well beyond suggestive. "And I'd like to show you just how much I appreciate it..."

Your resolve lasts right up until Magenta runs a finger down one of her tits to tease along the edge of the lacy purple material. That's when you give up. There's no point in fighting anymore—she has won this battle (just like all others).

"Just go finish your work already," you finally say, letting out a sigh.

Magenta smiles and giggles, lowering her shirt. "Thanks. Love ya!"

With a wink, she slips back into her room. You stand alone for several seconds before shaking your head. Back to cleaning, then.

-

It's not exactly easy to focus on sorting the recycling into the correct bins when your roommate has just reminded you how nice her tits are. They're on your mind a lot, to be honest. More than they should be probably. Sometimes they're on your cock, though not as often as they should be. Probably.

You're counting your blessings that none of the neighbours are doing late-night recycling because then you'd have to explain why your face is red and your pants are bulging.

That doesn't stop the occasional glance towards your neighbour's house, where Mrs Kim likes to smoke on her front porch some nights. You think she smokes more than she should, but that's really none of your business. Her watching you from across the street, however, is very much your business, so you peek over your shoulder once in a while to check if she's spying. Again. Or still. Whatever.

One last box. The light outside is fading rapidly, but you can just barely make out that it comes from...the Greek place you love?

Oh. Oh no. Did she eat gyros and not bring you any? Damn, that girl knows how to be cruel!

When the recycling is finally squared away you dust off your hands. It's a symbolic gesture since all you've done is shove cardboard and glass into the right bins, but it makes you feel accomplished nonetheless.

Back in the apartment and lock the door behind you.

"There you are. Where have you been?"

"The bins, have you ever seen them before?" You mock while still fiddling with the lock chain.

"That was quick," comes her response. Your eyes follow the sound of her voice. Magenta is lying upside-down on the couch. She swings her feet lazily in the air while looking at something on her phone. Her dark hair cascades nearly to the floor. Those short shorts mean you can see most of her long legs. Then there's the curve of her hip, the crease of her thigh... "Get over here."

It's a rare occasion that Magenta voluntarily puts her phone down, yet she does just that as you walk over. The closer you get, the more enticing her position becomes: laying across the couch, head tipped backwards off the cushions to watch you approach her.

"So," she says. Her fingertips brush over the exposed skin of her belly. The fingers trace lines up and across her abdomen, moving between the edge of her shorts and her top. The motion catches your eye—and she knows it. "I owe you, don't I?" Her eyelids flutter innocently. Or rather, far less than innocently.

"For today? Yeah. Definitely." You clear your throat and try again, "For quite a few days, actually."

"Quite a few," she echoes in agreement. Her hand continues to crawl upward until it reaches the peak of her breasts rising beneath her faded pink crop top. The movement presses the supple skin together in a way that has you standing right in front of her before you even realize you've walked over.

She pushes them hard together before letting them settle back to normal. Gravity spreads them apart, flesh pouring across her chest from the tightly gathered fabric keeping them barely contained. She reaches out over her head, to you, and grabs you by the belt buckle. Pulls you forward until you are stood over her. Even though she's upside down, she makes such effortless work of unbuckling the leather strap that you barely notice. One second it's on; the next it's flapping loose.

It takes only two sharp tugs to force your pants and boxers down past your knees. Magenta doesn't waste any time reaching out to touch your cock, gently running her hands over it until she can wrap her entire hand around the warm shaft and pull you until you fall to your knees. Her head hangs right in front your your length, and you see the teasing sparkle in her eye even upside down.

Her hot breath hits the skin of your bare cock. Lips press a series of soft, wet kisses down from your tip towards your balls. Then back up again, trailing even more tiny pecks that leave your skin tingling. You let your cock nudge against her cheek, feeling it slide along the smooth skin.

With both hands wrapped around your cock, Magenta holds your tip right in front of her mouth. Her tongue sticks out from between her lips, slowly, methodically lapping circles around the crown of your cock.

"Oh, God," you mutter, and you need to hold onto something, anything. First, it's the couch, then it's her tits.

Your hand lands heavily atop the nearest swell of flesh and squeezes tight, pushing it further out of her crop top. She hums approvingly at the groping and wraps her lips around your cockhead. Suckles sweetly. Slurps noisily until spit pools at the corner of her stretched lips.

She lets gravity help guide your cock into her waiting mouth. The further you slip inside, the more she relaxes her jaw to accept you. But then she reaches up and pulls on your hips. You glide up against her grateful tongue. Until her nose meets your stomach. She gags. It's so fucking lewd.

The whole thing makes you squeeze her chest harder. So big in your palm and yet somehow always bigger than you remember. You forget sometimes just how incredible these tits are. When they bounce in a video she's recorded, you remember—but never quite how heavy they are when you hold them; the way they give to your grasp in exactly the right amount; or the way her nipple puckers just slightly as it stiffens beneath your kneading grip.

"You're so sexy like this," you say.

The compliment elicits an appreciative groan from Magenta. Her head moves with your hips now, bobbing to meet each thrust, spit dripping down her cheeks. The messiness of the sloppy blowjob matches her other personality traits frighteningly well.

With her head pinned and her arms on you, you're free to pull up her shirt and expose her. The dirty minx has taken off her bra, so the expanse of her milky skin greets you. You cup them in each palm, feeling the heft of them, squeezing them greedily. They push back, moulding into the shape of your desire, and she moans, a low guttural note vibrating right through your length.

Her body writhes beneath your attention. Her thighs spread outwards, feet rolling at the ankle in time with each gently guided thrust into her throat. Fingers squeeze you, scratching lightly at the skin above your ass to encourage you deeper inside her hungry maw. Deeper into her throat until she chokes—

You let up, panting, admiring the sight of her stretched out for your viewing pleasure. Her eyes flutter open, looking up at you from her upside-down position. The intensity in them draws you in again.

"Oh shit," you groan as you drive into her, plunging your cock balls deep until her purple-painted nails dig into the small of your back. You pump faster, lost in the warm embrace of her greedy sucking.

Magenta squirms beneath you, whining and groaning and bucking, begging you for more. Her cunt must be throbbing with anticipation. Poor thing wants your cum. You can tell.

You want her tits.

She gasps when you fully withdraw from her mouth. Her face is a fucking mess of saliva and smudged makeup. Before she can question you, you reposition yourself in front of her, straddling her beautiful face as you lower your rigid length between her breasts.

She's quick to pick up what you're putting down. With both hands pressing the creamy flesh of her boobs inward, she creates a tunnel for you to slide your dick into.

It feels as good as it looks. Soft pressure envelops your slick length, wrapping around the sensitive skin and creating a delightful sleeve for you to hump into. You can't get enough.

As soon as you hit a good pace, fucking your roommate's chest hard and fast, she starts giggling.

"What?" you ask.

"It tickles." Her laugh is breathy but not as loud as it usually is. "Keep going."

So you do. Thrust after thrust you plunge deeper, drawing more and more of yourself into the valley between her perfect tits. The more you use her, the further she parts her legs that run up the back of the sofa. Soft thighs splayed for nothing but display. Then, just as you start to admire them, she clenches them together. Your eyes trace down the pale skin until they arrive at her crotch where the bottoms of her cookie-patterned shorts have ridden up against her wet slit. She's gyrating her hips in all sorts of directions and rubbing herself against the material in some attempt to satiate her growing needs.

The soft flesh of her midriff jiggles between the thrusting into her tits and the twisting of her hips below. You can't stop staring. Fuck. How does this girl have every single curve?

At first, you try holding back—you want this to last longer. But after a few seconds, you realize you can't fight this feeling. Not when you've got such a good view. And certainly not with her nipples so hard under the press of your thumbs. She arches up when you pinch them, and you know you're done for.

And then, as if she can feel it by the way you're thrusting, she begins to coo and beg under you. She knows she's getting you close, and she wants it. Bad.

"Cum on me," she coaxes sweetly, the words barely audible over the slapping sounds. "I've been so bad, baby. You deserve to paint my body."

That's all it takes. That final little plea. Your eyes roll back, your hips snap forward and your cock explodes. Thick ropes over her body, the first reaching her thighs before you adjust your aim and finish across the plane of her belly. Soft curves take your load while she encourages you through soft, little pleasured mewls. You may have got some on her shorts, but you paint her stomach white before pulling up and jerking the final drops onto her chest.

"Mmmm, messy boy," Magenta laughs breathlessly as your cum drips down her curves. She lays there beneath you, her smile wide and wickedly innocent, one hand slowly running circles over the sticky mess on her tummy, smearing it across her skin.

After a few seconds of panting and trying to gather yourself, you climb off of her and sit back against the couch. She turns so her head rests in your lap, facing your spent and dripping length. Magenta teases you still by using her own fingertip to collect your seed and place it across her lips, then licking them clean while making sure you're watching. And fuck are you ever.

"So, about my room," she purrs, eyes twinkling mischievously up at you.

"What about it?"

"Well... It needs cleaning, and I was thinking—"

"No," you feign protest, knowing you've already agreed. "Just clean it yourself." Her negotiation will come next. You can see it on her lips. "I'm not doing it."

Magenta leans up and whispers, "But you might change your mind if you find out what's waiting for you beneath my shorts."

That damn purple thong, still visible at her waistband, calls you toward her like a beacon. "What's beneath your shorts?"

Her laugh is playful. A little shrug as her fingers toy at the hem of the garment in question. "Agree to clean my room and you’ll find out."

[shouyuus]

VI FROM ARCANE WITH PILLOWPRINCESS READER?!?! PLEASEEE ILL TAKE ANYTHING DUDEEE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

yes bc i feel like she'd love this lowkey midkey AND highkey bc vi's love language is def like 50/50 acts of service and physical touch and she'd love the fact that you trust her so much w/ ur pleasure, the fact that she gets to have this control, and you're always so obedient for her, always asks for permission -- the first time she'd gotten you to the edge and you'd sunk your fingers into her hair, thrashing beneath her, but still forcing yourself to look up at her with your big, watery eyes, asking --

"p-please v-vi -- can -- can i?"

she knew that she was done for like done for, the way she knew if she said no, you'd listen. the thought had made her head feel woozy, so much so that her fingers had almost paused inside you, and you'd keened, thighs squeezing around her wrist bc you were so, so close.

"holy shit -- yeah, sweetness -- fuck, yeah, come for me --"

and it's not like she doesn't know how much you like it when she manhandles you a bit; she likes it too, she likes it alot actually, how she can jerk you down the length of the bed, press your knees up all the way to your shoulders, wrap her fingers around your neck, or just hold you down and kiss you till you're shaking apart beneath her.

she likes too that all she has to do is say the word, and you'd drop to your knees for her, pliant and willing, your lips falling open for her fingers or her cunt, how you'd make these happy little mewling noises when buried between her legs, so long as she got a hand on your head, a thumb rubbing your cheek.

"do you... do you ever wish i'd do more... stuff?" you ask one day, crinkling your nose, frowning absently down at vi's hair as you braid the longer bits into a single plait, only to tug it loose and do it all over again.

vi glances over her shoulder, "more... stuff?"

"yeah like... be more active when we're, y'know --"

vi laughs, tugging you into her lap, "if you're asking if i'm happy with our sex life, sweetness, the answer is yes, very."

you sigh, nodding even as you tuck your nose into her curve of her neck.

"okay. just asking."

she runs her thumbs against your skin, drawing circles into your waist.

"why? are you happy with it?"

you nod so hard that you almost topple out of her arms, but she catches you, grinning. "yeah! of course i am!"

"then, what's the problem, princess?"

"nothing! just..."

"c'mon pretty, spit it out," she takes your chin between a thumb and forefinger, giving your face a tiny shake. your breath hitches; satisfaction unfurls in vi's chest.

"i saw something online about -- how being too passive isn't a good thing and --"

"ooookay, i'm gonna cut you off right there --" she hoists you up, twisting you around so you're straddling her lap, your face now parallel to hers. she loves the way you're so easy to read, loves that you don't hide your attraction to her, how all she has to do is twitch her lips and you're already gasping.

"open your mouth for me, pretty girl," she says, and you do, your mouth dropping open as she swipes a thumb along your bottom lip before pushing it forward till it's resting on your tongue. you whine softly, hips shifting, but you hold still till she nods her head, "go on, suck."

you close your lips immediately, your tongue laving at the pad of her thumb. she lets out a clipped groan, watching. a few seconds later, she pulls it out with a light pop, grinning as she tracks the slick finger down your chin, tracing up the line of your jaw till she's got her hand cupping the back of your neck.

"that feel very passive to you?"

your lashes flutter, confusion gathering in your eyes before you lick your lips, blush, and give your head a tiny shake. she smiles.

"good answer. so? are we good now, princess?"

"yeah. we are."

"good!" she gives you a quick kiss, patting your hip, "what'dyou want for dinner? i'm thinkin'... it's been a while since we've been to jericho's."

you pout, "what about that other place we've been talking about?"

"what on the wharfside docks?"

"yeah...?"

vi rolls her eyes, even as she sits up and motions for you to get up. you jump up with a bright smile. she sighs, folding her arms.

"go get dressed. ugh, passive -- dunno what you were thinkin' when you asked me that princess."

[mochiwonz]

― WE LISTEN AND WE DON'T JUDGE

PAIRING. fem!reader x bf!enhahyungline CONTENT. hyungline (heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon) headcanons , suggestive :3 , petnames , a little fluff..? NOTE. i find this trend so funny so i had to make this LOL i was actually gonna make a whole fic off of this idea but i'm lazy so...hope u enjoy ˃o˂ ♡

HEESEUNG

"hee, let's do this trend!" you say as you basically shove your phone in his face. he giggles, he found it cute how you always loved doing silly trends with him. but as he continues to watch the video, he's unsure. it's kind-of...TMI? he looks at you and you're cheesing ear to ear, fuck, he can't say no. "okay let's do it" he tells you while pulling you onto his chest. you click record and you both say "we listen and we don't judge" luckily, you end up going first, giving him time to think. however, his thoughts are cut short when he hears you say "i love your nose so much and sometimes i think about sitting on it" he doesn't know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't that. he's fucked.

JAY

"princess, have you seen that one trend on tiktok? the-" he asks but you quickly cut him off. "oh my god the we listen and we don't judge one? can we do it?!" you ask excitedly, obviously expectant. you both know he couldn't say no to his princess. unfortunately, maybe he should've said no, just this once. "we listen and we don't judge" you both say. "baby go firstt" you tell him, and he listens. "uhm- okay. when i had a crush on you i used to stalk your insta...?" jay says timidly while looking at you, and he notices a change in your expression when you realize it's your turn. "hm, okay. i screen record your voice on facetime calls so that i can uh...use it later...?" you're blushing a little, realizing you just exposed yourself like crazy. oh well, at least jay is blushing too!

JAKE

it's 2:50 am and you and jake are still awake, watching tiktoks on his bed while cuddling. jake comes across a trend, a familiar trend, and asks if you want to do it with him. of course, you say yes, this trend was so funny and you secretly wanted to do it with jake too! "we listen and we don't judge" you both say, and jake starts off. "when i'm in the shower i lather my body with soap and carve your initials in it" he admits while laughing from his embarrassment. you giggle "that's weird but also kinda cute" jake scoffs playfully "yeah yeah okay, your turn" you think for a little and hah, jake won't be ready for this one. "i had a dream that i gave you a blowjob a year ago and your dick was huge" you look up at jake and he's just staring at you, but next thing you know he's on top of you. you can imagine the rest <3

SUNGHOON

you had sent sunghoon a tiktok of a couple doing the "we listen and don't judge" trend and that had sparked an idea in his head. a few hours later after you arrived to his place, you remembered that you wanted to do that tiktok trend with him. sunghoon was so happy you brought it up- he had basically forgot. "okay hoon, you'll start?" you ask, and he nods. "okay, i get hard when you wear miniskirts." he says with a playful grin plastered onto his beautiful face. he immediately notices the change in your demeanor, and you grin back at him. you straddle his lap and end up catching him off guard. "so my plan with the miniskirts did work. nice!"

pls reblog if you enjoyed !! my other works can be found here

© mochiwonz ― all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or translate my work.

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- the aha moment

or...how they realize they're in love with you

seungcheol doesn't get that aha moment, falling in love isn't something that happens within seconds for him. it's like he's slowly drifting into love, not even realizing you've become the focal point of his entire existence. when it finally hits him, it's a quiet, simple moment. he's watching you make him breakfast in the morning, admiring you quietly from the kitchen counter. he zones out for a moment, blinking suddenly and realizing damn. that's my woman. and he knows he's ruined for life.

it's kind of silly, how jeonghan realizes he's in love with you. he's just returned home from a busy day at work, entering the house to find it empty. searching the place top to bottom, he's about to call you when - BOO - you jump out from one of the closets and scares the soul out of him. he's clutching his chest, watching as you collapse onto the ground in a fit of giggles. he can't help but laugh along, realizing through the chaos that he's found his soulmate, and he'd be damned not to admit he's in love with you.

joshua's a simple man by nature. he's easily happy in life, only needing his members, his job, his lifestyle, and of course, you. it doesn't take long into your relationship before he realizes he's in love, as the two of you take a stroll along the Han River after a long day. he's watching the setting sun reflect against your figure, taking his phone out to snap a few pictures. it's when he notices his camera roll is full of pictures of you does he think well, that's it. i'm in love.

upon meeting his family, jun notices how much work you've put into it. you're doing your best to speak his town's dialect, communicating with his parents in a language that made them most comfortable. his heart swells when he sees you amidst his childhood home, trading stories and eating with the people who raised him. it's when he notes that you look so perfect here that he realizes you just fit. he's in love.

as if everything else is with soonyoung, his aha moment is full of fireworks and pizzazz. having just finished the most record breaking performance of his life, he finds himself with one thought only: i want to go home. usually, it's because he's tired. but now, ever since you stumbled into his life, he finds himself wanting, needing, to go home so he can hold you and recite everything that happened today. he's practically thrumming with energy to rush home, and everyone around him sees what is so painfully obvious. he's so in love.

wonwoo's always credited himself to be a loner. not a lot of people can fit with his quiet personality, so when you offer the idea of "parallel play" he's a little confused. his heart warms when you explain that you don't mind doing separate things as long as you're in the same area, understanding that he needs more time to himself than others might. it's when you tell him you love him enough to compromise does he think im so in love with this girl right now.

woozi's used to writing songs dedicated to his fans and members. he sits down for another writing session, brainstorming ideas and the thought of you pops into his mind. he shrugs, thinking it might be nice to mix it up a bit, sitting down to write something about you. it's when he reads his own words back does he realize he's irrevocably screwed and so in love with you. thought about settling down, buying her a house and saying screw the music. yeah, he's in love.

having always been a realist, minghao doesn't necessary believe in true love, or love at first sight. he understands there's going to be someone out there for him, but he's skeptical that that someone is going to be perfect. all his beliefs go out the window the moment he sees you - it's like you're surrounded by a golden glow - and he realizes maybe love at first sight can be real.

seokmin loves and gives as easy as breathing. he's always been a generous guy, and it's when you sit him down and kindly remind him to leave some for himself does he stare at you and realize ok i've found the one. you've become that steadiness in his life that used to be just his members, and you love and give to him like it's as simple as breathing too.

having always been the resident cook, mingyu's eyeing your food creation like it's some kind of poison or drug. he had insisted you didn't need to cook for him, he's always been the cook and doesn't mind it, but you were stubborn and he relented. it's when the first bite blows him away does he realize he kinda misses having someone cook for him too. if you're this good at cooking i might just have to marry you, he says, ignoring how you blush, going back for another bite.

seungkwan's always been the entertainer. he doesn't mind it, he enjoys the fact it's his job to make everyone laugh. but when times get tough and he's in no mood to be the entertainer, you're right there to support him. it's when he gets home to you after a particularly rough day and you welcome him in with open arms, murmuring how he's done well and doesn't need to do more. it's when he realizes he can just be seungkwan - not seungkwan the entertainer, but just seungkwan - and he loves you for that.

vernon never really thought about finding the one. he always just assumed that they would find him. and that's exactly what happens, when you bump into each other at the movie theatre - both there alone just cause. it's when you're enthusiastically going band for band with vernon about movies that he's forced with the realization that shit. maybe i have found the one.

chan's always known he was in love with you. he doesn't like to admit it cause he thinks it makes him sound sappy, but he truly never questioned his love for you. it was a simple thing in his mind - this person makes me so fucking happy - i must be in love. and how could it not be simple for him? he's staring at you quipping about some joke to his friends and he's thinking i love you. he's watching you just wake up from a nap and he's thinking i love you. he sees a text from you on his phone mid-dance practice. i love you. he's always been in love with you because he loves everything to do with you.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Want You

Summary: LN4 + "But I don't want them, I want you." 🥧🏈

Song: Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 10.8k

You stand in the mirror, pacing back and forth as you fix your hair for the third time. Tonight is one of those nights where the universe feels electrically charged, a perfect blend of thrill and anxiety swirling in your gut.

Layla, your best friend, has just finished getting ready and is practically beaming with excitement beside you.

Her skin glows under the soft lights of your apartment, and her dress hugs her figure perfectly. You can’t help but feel slightly overshadowed by her beauty.

"Do I look okay?" you ask, biting your lip, your eyes darting from her to your reflection.

"Are you kidding? You look amazing!" Layla exclaims, twisting a lock of her hair, her eyes sparkling. "But you really need to get out there more. You’re gorgeous in your own right!”

You chuckle, brushing off her compliment with a wave of your hand. "Yeah, well, even if I am, who's going to notice when you're around? You’re the one who gets all the attention. "

"That's not true! But anyway, tonight we’re supposed to have fun, not talk about that,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you lightly. “Now, remember the plan?”

You nod, though your heart feels heavier with those words. “Right. We’re meeting Lando and the guys at the club. I just hope he doesn’t think I’m some awkward third wheel. He’s popular.”

Layla rolls her eyes playfully. “You say that every time. You two are friends. Besides, I think he likes you more than you think.”

“Whatever you say,” you respond, your mind racing back to the day Lando had randomly entered your life during a charity event you were volunteering for.

He was charming, funny, and incredibly humble for someone so famous. But the thought of anything romantic blossoming between you seemed absurd, especially when Layla was practically the embodiment of what everyone desired.

At the club, the bass vibrates through the floor, and colorful lights dance around the crowd like fireflies in the night. It’s an atmosphere alive with energy, but you feel your heartbeat quicken at the thought of seeing Lando.

You spot him near the bar, a bright smile on his face as he talks to some friends. Dressed casually, Lando is effortlessly cool, like a magnetic pull that draws everyone’s attention.

“There he is!” Layla exclaims, her excitement infectious. You watch her eyes grow wide like a child spotting a shooting star.

“Go! Go talk to him!” you nudge her, unable to keep the urge to play matchmaker at bay.

“No way! I’m not going without my wingwoman,” she whispers urgently, grabbing your wrist.

With a resigned sigh, you stride forward, Layla trailing closely behind. The moment Lando sees you, his face lights up, and he waves enthusiastically.

The way his presence commands attention is almost intoxicating.

“Hey! You made it!” he greets, pulling you in for a quick hug. You can smell his cologne, fresh and invigorating. Suddenly, your shyness mellows into warmth, though a tiny inner voice reminds you that you’re about to play cupid.

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, your demeanor suddenly a mix of confidence and nervous fluttering. “Lando, this is my best friend Layla. You should hang out with her more—she’s awesome!”

Layla’s cheeks flush, and a playful smirk spreads across her face, but you can’t help but feel anxiety gnawing at you.

“Nice to meet you, Layla,” Lando says, his bright green eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope!” Layla giggles, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers as if she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.

“Yes, definitely,” he chuckles lightly, shooting you a glance that feels a bit mischievous. “I always wanted to meet the friend who keeps you so grounded.”

You fight to keep your composure, trying to bury the layer of jealousy creeping in. “Well, tonight’s all about celebrating. We should hit the dance floor!”

Hours pass with drinks flowing and laughter echoing. You dance, reveling in the rhythm while keeping a watchful, almost possessive gaze on Layla and Lando. They banter, and you notice how easily they connect, the chemistry undeniable.

A part of you feels satisfied, hoping for the sparks to ignite. Yet, another part steals glances at the way Lando laughs—could he truly like her?

“Hey,” you hear a familiar voice call, pulling you from your thoughts. Lando approaches, his brow slightly furrowed. “I was looking for you. Want to join us?”

You swallow, glancing at Layla, who is leaning against her car, her smile bright. “Um, sure. Just one moment.”

He watches you, a look of concern crossing his face. “Everything alright?”

You smiled, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Yeah but you know, Layla really lights up the floor.”

“She does,” he nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “But I think you’re just as fun. It’s nice having both of you here.”

“Nice being here with you.” The words spilled from your mouth before you could bite them back.

Before you nerves could take over, you added, “You know, if you’re interested, Layla would love to get coffee or something. She’s crushing on you.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Lando’s face, followed by an understanding nod. “Yeah, I picked up on that. But honestly?” He paused, searching for your eyes. “I think I’d prefer hanging out with you instead."

Your breath hitched, and you felt a giddy thrill dance in your chest. “Really? You mean that?”

“Definitely,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “You’re fun to talk to, and we have a great vibe. I really like spending time with you.”

“Wow, I… I wasn’t expecting that,” you stammered, a mixture of confusion and excitement swirling inside you. “I mean, Layla is great and all, but—”

“Look,” he interrupted gently, his eyes softening. “I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I’d love to get to know you better. Just you. No Layla.”

The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting soft golden rays across the small living room where Lando and you sat. Your head ached, pounding in rhythm with your heartbeat, and the remnants of last night's festivities loomed over you like a heavy cloud.

Lando chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t anything too wild, don’t worry. Just that you really like spending time with me… and that you might like me in a different way.”

Your face burned even hotter, a mix of embarrassment and panic flooding your senses. “Oh my god! Lando, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to… I don’t remember any of that! It’s embarrassing.”

“Hey, don’t stress,” he said, a warm smile crossing his lips. “It’s not like you announced it to the whole party or anything. Just me, your trusted partner in crime. Besides, it's actually kind of sweet.”

His words were laced with a sincerity that calmed the storm brewing inside you, just a little. “You really think so?”

“Definitely,” Lando nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, how often do you get to hear someone’s true thoughts when they’re tipsy? It made my night a lot better.”

“Are you serious? I was a mess!” You tossed a pillow at him, your heart still racing from the earlier confession. “I can't believe I let that slip.”

“You were not a mess, you were just… liberated,” Lando smirked, leaning back on the couch and folding his arms behind his head. “And honestly, I don’t think it’s a bad thing. In fact, it kind of makes me happy.”

“Ugh, Lando, you’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you replied, your voice wavering as you tried to muster a hint of displeasure.

“No, I’m not.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I mean, how often do you get to hear someone’s true thoughts when they’re tipsy?”

“Are you serious? I was a mess!” You tossed a pillow at him, your heart still racing from the earlier confession. “I can't believe I let that slip.”

“No you weren't.” His face lit up with a smile that was infectious. “First things first, though—let’s get you over that hangover.”

You chuckled softly, grateful for the shift in energy. “Right.”

“Exactly,” Lando said, standing up and moving to the kitchen. “How do you feel about greasy food? Because I believe that’s the primary cure for hangovers.”

Your lips curved into a smile. “Always a solid choice. I could go for some toast or maybe even pancakes.”

“I can whip up something interesting,” he called back, a hint of mischief creeping into his voice. “But it might not be traditional breakfast food. I’ve been experimenting a little.”

“Oh boy, this should be good,” you said, following him into the kitchen, the earlier tension still lingering, but now more like a hopeful promise than a cloud of uncertainty.

Lando looked back over his shoulder with that charming grin that made your heart race. “Just trust me. You’ll love it.”

As he rummaged through the cabinets, you felt a flutter of excitement amid the remnants of your embarrassment. Maybe today wasn’t just about curing a hangover. Maybe it was the start of something new—something sweet and just a little bit wild.

The kitchen filled with the aroma of sizzling ingredients, laughter, and casual banter, the gravitational pull of your connection drawing you closer.

And for the first time that morning, as the sunlight spilled in and the soft music played, you felt truly, undeniably alive. . . .

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the McLaren paddock as the roar of engines filled the air. You had arrived earlier than expected, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Lando had invited you specifically to watch him race, and you had decided to bring Layla with you, thinking it might make the day more enjoyable.

But now, as you watched the interactions unfold around you, you began to regret that decision.

“Look at them,” Layla said, nudging your arm and pointing toward the racing cars as they zipped around the track. “Isn’t it incredible? I still can’t believe we’re here!”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to suppress the tension knotting up your stomach.

Lando was on the other side of the paddock, surrounded by his team, engrossed in the pre-race hustle. He looked effortlessly cool in his race suit, flashing that signature smile that made your heart skip, and exchanging laughter with his crew.

You could see the admiration in Layla’s eyes, the way her gaze followed him, almost too fondly.

“Do you think he’ll win today?” Layla asked, her voice bright with enthusiasm. “I mean, he’s been so on form lately. This might be his season!”

“Yeah, I hope so,” you managed, but your heart sank a little at the way she spoke about him, as if Lando was already hers, as if you didn’t even exist in the context of their perfect relationship.

As the anticipation built, Lando finished up with his team and made his way over to you both. With a warm grin, he wrapped you in a tight hug, his comforting scent of fresh cedar and sunlight enveloping you.

“Hey, you made it!” he exclaimed, pulling back to look into your eyes. He waved cheerfully at Layla, who returned the gesture with a beaming smile.

With a playful tap on my shoulder, he kept his attention locked on you. “I bought your favorite snacks in case you get hungry. Just ask anyone in hospitality and they'll give them to you.”

“Oh, Lando, you didn’t have to,” you said, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“I knew you didn’t eat much,” he replied, with a hint of teasing in his tone. “Gotta keep you energized, right? What would the fans say if they saw you fainting in the stands?”

You chuckled, the lightheartedness of his comment managing to ease some of the tension in your chest. “I appreciate it, really. Thanks, Lando.”

“Of course!” He flashed that dazzling smile again, and your heart skipped yet again, wishing it wouldn’t betray you so. “Are you excited for the race?”

“Absolutely,” You said with a grin. “I can’t wait to see you speed past everyone. You’re going to crush it!”

Lando’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “I’ll do my best. And if all goes to plan, maybe we can celebrate afterward?”

“Definitely!” you replied a little too quickly. “That would be amazing!”

As Lando left to get ready for the race and you walked to the garage, Layla nudged you playfully. “Haven't you seen the way he looks at you?” she said, a teasing smirk on her face.

“How do he… look at me?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.

“Like he's helplessly falling in love,” Layla teased, her tone light but with a touch of sincerity.

Your cheeks heated. “Oh, come on. He’s just friendly. You know how he is.”

“Friendly? Girl, he’s practically glowing when he sees you! It’s more than friendly.”

You didn't reply but her words were replayed in your head for most of the day. . . .

The roar of the engines and the excitement of the crowd filled the air as you settled into your seat, your heart racing along with the cars on the track.

You had been eagerly watching Lando drive with impressive precision, your admiration mixed with nerves as he expertly navigated the twists and turns of the circuit.

But as the laps dwindled down, your stomach began to rumble louder than the cars. You leaned over to Layla, who was just as engrossed in the race aside from the occasional glance in your direction.

“I'm going to grab some snacks Lando got for me. Want anything?” you asked, trying to mask your growing hunger with a light-hearted tone.

“No, I’m good! Can’t believe you have personal snacks from the Lando,” Layla teased, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you made your way to the hospitality room, the bright lights and lavish decor a stark contrast to the rawness of the track.

You felt a rush of nostalgia thinking about all the times Lando had surprised you with silly little gestures, like snacking during breaks or rescuing you from long queues at events.

As you entered, the atmosphere abruptly shifted. A tall, undeniably handsome man leaned casually against the bar, a cocky smile on his face that could light up the room.

He had perfectly styled hair and a confidence that was palpable. You instinctively felt your pulse quicken, but not in the way you were used to with Lando.

“Hey there,” he drawled, his voice smooth like velvet as he turned to face you. “What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing all alone?”

You blinked, taken aback. It was the first time someone had openly flirted with you in public, and the realization made your cheeks flush.

“Um, just grabbing some snacks,” you stammered, glancing back toward the snack table. “Not much to see here.”

He moved closer, leaning forward on the bar, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I’d hardly call you ‘not much to see.’ You definitely stand out from the crowd. What’s your name?”

“Uh, it’s…” you hesitated, almost forgetting your own name for a moment. “It’s Y/N. And you are…?”

“Ethan,” he replied, extending a hand with an air of confidence. You hesitated but eventually shook his hand. “So Y/N, do you come to the races often?”

“More often than you’d think,” you answered, forcing a smile.

Your mind kept drifting back to Lando, his curly hair bouncing with every turn, his infectious laugh, his enthusiastic spirit. You couldn't help but mentally compare every detail of Ethan to Lando, a habit you couldn’t shake off.

“What do you think of the race so far?” Ethan asked, diverting your thoughts back to the present.

“Oh, it’s exhilarating! Lando’s doing really well,” you replied, your voice faltering slightly as you mentioned his name. “He’s a great driver.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Lando? The Lando?”

“Yeah, we’ve known each other for a bit. He’s… well, great,” you added sheepishly, not wanting to divulge too much about your friendship.

“Sounds like you’re a bit smitten,” Ethan teased, his eyes sparkling with playful banter.

You cut him a look, a blush creeping up your neck. “No! It’s not like that. We’re just friends!” The resolve in your voice felt weak against the wistfulness laced in your words.

Would Ethan ever understand the depth of what Lando meant to you?

The race continued, and Ethan shifted his attention from the track to you. “While I might not have curly hair or that… infectious laugh, I can still try to impress you,” he said with a smirk.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I can’t deny you’re charming, Ethan. But the thing about Lando—”

“Is that he’s Lando,” Ethan interrupted, his voice low as though the name itself held some power. “I get it. You’ve got this history that I can’t compete with.”

He looked down, running a hand through his hair. The gesture seemed so reminiscent of Lando, yet distinctly different.

You couldn’t shake off how much every flick of Ethan’s hair and every smile he flashed felt in stark contrast to Lando’s bouncy curls and radiant grin. He smiled, sure, but it felt like a shadow of something brighter.

Just then, a staff member waved at Ethan from the other side of the grandstand, beckoning him over for photographs. “I’ll be right back!” he said, throwing you one last flirtatious grin before he slipped away.

You decided to take the chance to get back to your seat, curious as to why the cheers around the paddock were getting louder.

“Did you get your snacks?” Layla asked, her eyes still glued to the screen where the race was unfolding.

“Yeah,” you replied absentmindedly, still feeling the flutter of excitement from Ethan's attention. As you focused on the race, your thoughts danced back to him intermittently.

The atmosphere was electric; Lando was still in the lead for qualifying, much to the delight of the crowd, and your heart raced not just from the race—but from the momentary thrill of flirtation.

“Come on, come on, Lando!” Layla shouted, her enthusiasm infectious. You mirrored her excitement, your eyes following the sleek McLaren as it whizzed around the track.

When Lando crossed the finish line, securing pole position, the roar from the team was deafening. Everyone in McLaren was ecstatic, their cheers echoing the adrenaline that surged through the air.

"Yes, Lando," you said, smiling as the cameras captured the jubilant scene.

With Lando’s triumph, you watched as the team swarmed to congratulate him. You couldn't help but chuckle at his signature grin, the way he seemed to glow with the thrill of victory.

But as you looked closer, you realized that despite the chaos around him, Lando’s gaze was searching the crowd.

“Do you think he’ll spot us?” Layla asked, her eyes narrowing, trying to catch a glimpse through the throng of people.

“I doubt it. I mean, look at him! He’s the star of the show right now,” you replied, attempting to downplay the hope that fluttered in your stomach.

Still, your thoughts were interrupted as Layla suddenly grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd.

“C'mon! We need to get a closer look!” she shouted over the noise. Your heart raced for a different reason now, excitement growing as you maneuvered through the ocean of fans, team members, and media.

You just managed to catch a glimpse of Lando standing on his car, fist raised triumphantly in the air. “Look at him! He’s on top of the world!” you exclaimed, your voice barely audible over the cheers.

“I know! He’s incredible!” Layla responded, beaming at Lando’s joyous display.

Amidst the clamor and celebrations, you decided to yell out, “Lando, over here!” hoping he might hear you.

To your surprise, he turned in your direction, a radiant smile breaking across his face. He scanned the crowd, and for a heartbeat, your eyes locked. His smile grew broader, and you felt warmth flood your cheeks.

Then, without a thought for the crowd around you, you made your way over to him. You squeezed through a chaotic throng of jubilant fans, the buzz of celebration swirling around you, until you reached the area near the barriers.

There he was, laughing and exchanging high-fives with the team. You couldn't help but grin as you approached.

“Lando!” you shouted over the noise, arms open wide.

He spotted you immediately, and a look of pure joy washed over his face. With almost immediate instinct, he lunged toward you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace.

The strength of his excitement was palpable, and you squeezed him back, your heart racing.

He chuckled as he lifted you slightly off the ground. “I did it! I can't believe it!” he cried, setting you back down gently. “Did you see that last lap?”

“Are you kidding? It was amazing! You were so fast!” you exclaimed, your voice rising above the cacophony.

As he pulled back, he looked down at you with his bright eyes sparkling in the fading light. “I couldn’t have done it without all your support. You were here every step of the way.”

“You’ve worked so hard, Lando. You deserve this,” you said, your gaze drifting for a moment as you felt the warmth of his presence envelop you.

But then, staring at him with the backdrop of the ecstatic crowd, your heart felt odd. Being so close to him, you suddenly found yourself stammering. “I—uh, I mean… you really did great.”

Lando tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You alright?” He took a small step closer, his arm still around your waist, making you acutely aware of the physical closeness between you, which felt both comfortable and electric.

“Uh, yeah, totally fine,” you replied quickly, but your voice was barely above a whisper. You caught a brief glimpse of Lando's gaze flitting to your lips, and it sent a jolt of connection rushing through you.

“I just… I mean…” You struggled to finish your thought, the reality of your best friend stepping into the limelight making you feel both thrilled and ridiculously nervous.

“Just what?” he teased gently, his smile unwavering but those eyes—oh, those eyes were searching, digging deeper.

“Just… I didn’t think you’d get pole position! I mean, I thought maybe, like, third or fourth?” You laughed nervously, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“Hey, you should always believe in me!” Lando said, but there was a soft intensity behind his words that made your heart race all the more. “If I can get here today, then you have to promise you’ll always believe in me, no matter what.”

You paused, looking earnestly into his bright eyes, biting your lip. “I promise. But you’ve gotta promise me too; no matter how famous you get or how many trophies you win, you won’t forget about me, okay?”

“Never,” he said softly, but the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. He lowered his voice, his teasing demeanor fading slightly.

“You’ve been my constant through all of this, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Lando’s words lingered palpably in the air between you. You felt like the entire world had faded away, the crowd’s roars dimming into background noise. “I just… I could never replace what we have.”

“Exactly,” he said, moving a fraction closer, eliciting butterflies to flutter chaotic within your stomach. “Remember that time you thought I’d mess up in Monaco, and then I didn’t? I was convinced I could do it because you believed in me.”

You laughed, flushing at the memory. “Yeah, and you laughed at me for just being realistic.”

“Realistic is boring! You should know that by now. In racing, and in life, you gotta dream big,” he said, voice lightening as humor returned to the moment.

Just as you were about to respond, Zac approached. “Hey! Lando! Congrats, mate!”

He clapped Lando on the back, breaking the synergy you had created. “That was an incredible race! You crushed it!”

Lando’s hand left your waist as he turned to engage with Zac, his infectious excitement pulling him into the conversation. “Thanks, man! I can’t believe it! I was so nervous the entire time!”

You stepped back slightly, allowing the two of them to revel in the adrenaline of the moment. Lando beamed, his eyes sparkling as he spoke animatedly with Zac about the race strategy.

You watched as he made his way to get weighed and interviewed, your heart fluttering with a mix of pride and something else you weren’t quite ready to admit.

“Really, though, I don’t understand why you’re still on the fence about it,” Layla said, stepping beside you as you discreetly observed Lando.

Her voice was laced with curiosity as she nudged your shoulder. “He’s been so into you these past few weeks. Did you see how he looked at you when he saw you?”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your gaze still fixed on Lando. “Yeah, well, I saw that. But just because he looks at me a certain way doesn’t mean he likes me. He’s excited about the race, Layla. I’m just… there.”

“You’re not just ‘there.’ You’re practically glowing in his vicinity. It’s like he only sees you when he talks!” Layla insisted, her tone shifting to teasing. “You could light up an entire stadium with the way he smiles at you.”

“Okay, maybe he enjoys spending time with me,” you conceded, your cheeks warming at the thought. “But that doesn't exactly scream ‘I like you.’”

“Maybe not,” she replied, tilting her head as she watched Lando waving at fans and signing autographs, “but you’ve got to admit, there’s something more. I mean, look at him! The energy is off the charts!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the conversation light. “You know how he is. He’s a charismatic guy. He’s like that with everyone.”

“Maybe. But wouldn’t it be amazing if he was like that with just you?” Layla’s voice softened, and she nudged you again. “Take the leap! Ask him how he feels—it doesn’t have to be a grand declaration.”

The sun was beginning to set over the racing circuit, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky as Lando settled himself into a high-backed chair in the paddock lounge.

It had been a day filled with adrenaline, the thrill of achieving pole position lighting up his thoughts.

The victory celebrations had been electrifying, but they were quickly overshadowed by a single purpose that surged through him like fuel to an engine—he wanted to see you again.

After the debrief, he had scanned the crowd, searching for you, his excitement building with each passing second. He had been talking about trying a new restaurant in town, and he couldn’t wait to explore it with you.

But the moment he stepped into the bustling lounge, he spotted you, and his heart sank just a little.

You were laughing.

Not just a polite chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh that lit up your face. You were engaged in conversation with Ethan Smith, the American actor who had been brought in as a special guest to support the race.

Lando could see the chemistry between you two—it was glaringly evident in the way Ethan leaned in slightly, his playful jokes coaxing out laughter and smiles that made your eyes sparkle.

“Hey, you look like you’re going to kill Ethan,” Layla, your best friend, teased as she sidled up to Lando, noticing the tense atmosphere that had suddenly enveloped him.

“Who?” Lando asked, tearing his gaze from you for just a moment.

“Ethan Smith? One of the most famous actors in the US? You don’t know him?” Layla's voice was filled with disbelief.

“Nope, and I don’t like him either,” Lando grumbled, eyes narrowing as he watched Ethan wink at you.

You giggled, and Lando felt a twinge of jealousy in his chest. He stood up properly, unable to resist the pull any longer.

As he stormed over, Layla rolled her eyes, giggling softly in amusement. “Good luck, hero.”

Lando approached, trying to keep his expression neutral even while he could feel a competitive spark igniting within him.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” he said, forcing a smile as he sidled up next to you, “but I thought we were going to check out that new place together.”

You turned to him, your smile blossoming even wider. “Lando! You were amazing out there today! I still can’t believe you got pole position!”

“Thanks! It was a good day, but I’ve got even better plans,” he added, shooting Ethan a pointed look. “I’m taking you out for dinner remember.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered and amused by Lando's sudden intrusion. “Oh, is that so? Looks like you’ve got some competition, Norris.”

Lando’s jaw twitched slightly. “I don’t see any competition, honestly. You’re just a—”

“Just a what?” Ethan interrupted with a smirk, leaning back casually. “Just a huge star who happens to be having a lovely conversation with someone he finds incredibly charming?”

You giggled again, a sound that made Lando’s irritation simmer down just a fraction. “You guys, come on. I’m just trying to enjoy the evening here.”

“Exactly,” said Ethan, flashing you a disarming smile. “And you deserve it! Besides, I was just giving her some advice on how to handle the media.”

“Media?” Lando questioned, crossing his arms. “I didn’t realize you were running a media workshop.”

Ethan shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, just sharing the wisdom I’ve gained. It can be tough, huh? Like staying out of the limelight while everyone’s watching you, waiting for you to slip up.” He shot a harmless smile, but Lando felt the jabs in his stomach.

You frowned, sensing the tension. “You guys, let’s not make this into a competition. Lando, you were the one who wanted to go out tonight.”

Lando looked at you, and then back at Ethan. “Right,” he said, softening his tone as he fixed his eyes solely on you. “I just wanted to celebrate with you a little, that’s all.”

Ethan grinned, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Looks like you’ve claimed your prize, my friend. I was just enjoying the company. I’ll step back.”

Lando glanced at Ethan with a nod, appreciating the concession, but still feeling a little victorious as he turned back to you. “So, are you ready to go eat? That new place is supposed to be amazing.”

You looked back to Ethan, and then nodded, a sweet smile curling on your lips. “Yeah, I’m ready. Sorry for taking up your time, Ethan.”

Ethan waved it off with a playful wink. “No problem! Have fun out there, you two. Just remember, she was laughing with me first!”

As you and Lando began to walk away, he turned back to you with a raised eyebrow. “You know, just for the record, I think he was flirting with you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh please, he’s just a friendly guy! Besides, I already have someone I’m interested in.”

“Good,” Lando muttered, feeling a rush of relief and warmth flooding his chest. “Just making sure.”

He smiled down at you, his heart feeling a little lighter now. “Let’s go enjoy our dinner and make some headlines of our own, huh?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, linking your arm through his as you both made your way out, leaving the tension behind you.

Lando couldn’t help but smile at the thought of spending the evening with you, feeling that maybe the only competition that truly mattered was the one he could embrace.

The evening air was cooler than expected, igniting a small thrill of anticipation as you stepped out of the car. You looked up at the restaurant’s glowing sign, your heart fluttering a little.

This place was newly opened, a fusion of modern and vintage charm, and you were eager to see if it lived up to its reputation.

As you adjusted your jacket, you glanced at Lando, who was standing beside you with an easy grin, his eyes sparkling like the city lights around you. Ever since he came into your life, each moment felt a little more vibrant, a little more alive.

“Have you seen the menu?” you asked, looking up at him, excitement bubbling in your voice.

He nodded, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I did, and I can tell you right now, I’m going for that pumpkin risotto. It sounds incredible.”

You laughed. “Pumpkin risotto? It seems a bit heavy for someone who just came off a race, doesn’t it?”

“Hey, I need my carbs!” he retorted playfully, nudging your shoulder with his. “Especially after that race last week. I burned more calories than I could count, you know.”

“Fine, but I’m holding you to it. If you fall asleep in the middle of dinner, we might have a problem,” you teased back, stepping inside the restaurant.

The atmosphere enveloped you like a warm embrace—soft lighting, a hint of herbs wafting from the kitchen, and laughter echoing from nearby tables. You felt a buzz of excitement in your veins as you and Lando were led to a cozy corner table.

“So, what are you going to have?” he asked, picking up the menu and scanning it with genuine interest.

You shrugged, pretending to gauge the choices with utmost seriousness. “I think I’ll try the seafood linguine. It’s been ages since I’ve had good pasta.”

Lando’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You know, I love when you get excited about food. It’s one of those little things that makes you… well, you.”

A warm blush crept onto your cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were so observant, Mr. Norris.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I notice the important things. Like how you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking, or how your eyes light up when you talk about your favorite books.”

“Okay, now you’re just getting mushy.” Your voice barely hid your embarrassment, but the fluttering in your chest was unmistakable.

You loved how easily he could make you smile.

Their server arrived, and you both ordered. As you waited, the conversation flowed easily, moving from playful banter about Lando’s racing experiences to sharing your dream travel destinations.

“I really want to visit Japan,” you said, your eyes dancing with the thought. “The culture, the food, the cherry blossoms… it seems magical.”

Lando leaned back, an amused smile plastered on his face. “You’re a romantic at heart, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you admitted, biting your lip. “What about you? Where would you go if you had the chance?”

He paused, his expression thoughtful. “Probably somewhere quiet. Racing is intense, so I think I’d like a peaceful beach. Just to sit, reflect, and maybe learn to surf.”

“Surfing, huh?” You quirked an eyebrow. “You? I can already picture you wiping out spectacularly.”

“Oh, I’d definitely faceplant! But I’d get back up,” he said, his laughter infectious. “Just like on the track. That’s what makes it all fun, right?”

Before you could respond, your food arrived, and the divine aroma filled the air. You both dove into the dishes eagerly, enjoying the burst of flavors that danced on your tongues.

“This is amazing!” you exclaimed, savoring a mouthful of your linguine. “You have to try this.”

Lando took a bite of your pasta and nodded approvingly. “Wow, that’s really good! But I’ll stick to my risotto for now.”

As dinner continued, the conversation turned more personal. Lando shared stories of his childhood, his dreams, and the pressures of being in the limelight, while you opened up about your own aspirations and the challenges you faced.

“Sometimes, it’s overwhelming,” he confessed, a hint of vulnerability lacing his words. “I mean, I love racing, but it can feel like everyone’s expectations are just weighing down on you.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand on his. “But you’re doing something incredible, Lando. You’re following your passion and inspiring people along the way. Just don’t lose sight of what matters.”

His gaze locked onto yours, lips curving into a smile that reached his eyes. “You always know what to say to make me feel better. I’m lucky to have you around.”

In that moment, you understood something deeper was blossoming between you—a connection that transcended the thrill of racing. It was a shared dream, a mutual understanding, and an undeniable chemistry that lit up the evening.

As the night wore on and the plates were cleared, you felt a mix of contentment and longing. The restaurant buzzed with laughter and conversations, but in your little corner, it was just you and Lando, caught in your own world.

“Next time, we should pick somewhere even more adventurous,” he suggested, a playful gleam in his eyes.

You leaned back, thinking of the possibilities. “That sounds perfect. Let’s make it a tradition.”

Lando grinned, and in that moment, you knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful. You just hope that your feelings won't get in the way. . . .

Layla’s coughs echoed through the empty hall as she wrapped herself tighter in a soft blanket on the couch, trying to drown out the sound of the outside world.

It felt bitterly unfair that her body had rebelled against her just when she’d been looking forward to watching the race with you.

“Hey, Layla,” you called from the kitchen, where you were prepping a few snacks. “I’m heading out now. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

She turned her head slightly, her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed. “No, really, you should go. I’d just be a downer. Besides, I’d hate to get Lando sick. He’s got that race this weekend!”

“True, but…” you hesitated, feeling the weight of the unspoken words. “I mean, it would have been nice if we could all hang out together. I was kind of hoping you'd be there.”

Layla's smile was faint but brightened her pallid complexion. “I think you’re hoping for more than just ‘hanging out.’ You like him, don’t you?”

You sighed. “Maybe? I mean, after last night’s dinner… I just can’t tell if it was all in my head.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, quickly followed by a cough. “You actually thought he was, what? Just being polite? You guys were practically flirting all night.”

“Flirting? Really?” You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “I thought he was just being friendly. Charming, even. He’s always like that.”

“Yeah, but that look he gave you? Come on! It was like, 'how do I impress you?’ and 'you’re amazing’ wrapped in one.” She coughed again, and you felt guilt worming its way into your chest.

“Maybe he was just being a nice guy. Or he was bored...” you trailed off, unsure.

“Or maybe he’s into you, and you just don’t want to see it,” she countered, her voice softening. “You should go talk to him. Tonight could be your chance!”

You ran a hand through your hair, pondering Layla's words. What if? What if that spark you felt between you was mutual?

You took a deep breath as you nodded. “Okay. I’m going. Just to check in on him.”

“Good! Now go knock his socks off!” Layla replied, her enthusiasm cutting through her congestion. As you waved goodbye, a quiet mix of excitement and apprehension simmered in your stomach.

You arrived at the paddock, the unmistakable hum of excitement buzzing in the air. The energy of fans waving flags and donning their favorite team colors could be felt all around; it was palpable and infectious.

You took a moment to soak it all in, engaging with the fans milling about, sharing smiles and snapshots that captured the thrill of race day.

But amidst the joviality, you couldn't shake off the knot in your stomach. Lando had been acting differently lately, receiving an outpouring of negative comments and disproportionate criticism on social media.

It made your heart ache to see someone so talented being torn down and misunderstood, especially when he had always been so kind and considerate.

Today was supposed to be about racing, but you had a growing worry that Lando might not be able to shake off the weight that was pressing down on him.

Once you greeted the last group of fans, you made your way through the paddock with purpose. The noise faded slightly as you approached Lando's garage—his sanctuary, where he would armor up for the battles on the track.

The energy there was different; it was practically electric, the team buzzing around, making final adjustments to the car and going over the last-minute strategies.

Still, your focus was solely on Lando.

You searched for him in every nook and cranny, peeking into the bustling pit area and checking around the hospitality suites. But a feeling of dread began to take root when you couldn’t find him.

“Maybe he’s in his driver’s room,” you murmured to yourself, trying to push down the worry that lingered like a shadow.

At the door, you hesitated, your heart racing. You knocked once, then twice, listening for the sound of his voice.

When no response came, you slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open, half-expecting him to be absorbed in some last-minute race preparation. Instead, the scene that greeted you was far from it.

Lando was curled up on the small, worn sofa, hands wrapped around his knees. He jumped slightly at the sight of you, his eyes wide, a mix of surprise and vulnerability.

“Oh Y/N, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, forcing on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You frowned at the sight of him, the dim light casting shadows across his face, revealing red-rimmed eyes. Your heart sank. “Lando… what’s wrong?”

You lowered yourself onto the sofa next to him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a comforting embrace, but it did little to ease your concern.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he replied too quickly, the practiced lightness in his voice clashing with the heaviness in the room.

You could see the slight tremor in his hands, and your worry deepened. You reached out, tentatively placing a hand on his knee.

“You’re not fine,” you said softly, searching his face for the usual spark you loved. “I can see it. Talk to me?”

He looked away, glancing out the window at the racetrack where the cars were roaring around the circuit.

You followed his gaze but quickly turned back to him, determined to break through the wall he had put up. “Does it have to do with the race? Is it the pressure?”

Lando shook his head, something between sad and grateful passing over his features. “It’s not that. Just… a lot on my mind, you know?” His words were heavy, like anchors sinking in deep water.

“That’s okay,” you said, shifting closer to him. “I’m here. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

He chuckled softly, though there was no humor behind it. “You’re always here, Y/N. That’s what I like about you. You make it easier.”

“Then let me help you,” you insisted gently, nudging him with your elbow while you tried to coax out a more genuine response.

“Can I get a hug?” you asked, knowing that physical closeness might be the best way to pull Lando out of the shell he’d crawled into.

He hesitated, eyes darting around the room like a deer caught in headlights. Then, hesitantly, he leaned into you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

The warmth of his body was comforting, but as he buried his face against the curve of your neck, you felt the tell-tale signs of him holding back. You hugged him tighter, hoping he could feel the strength of your support.

“Let it out,” you whispered, holding him as he exhaled deeply, searching for words that seemed stuck in his throat. “Please.”

You rubbed his back in soothing circles, the silent rhythm cocooning you both in a bubble of softness. You didn't care if you were basically sitting on his lap; all you cared about was Lando.

“It's just... a lot,” he murmured finally, his voice muffled against you. “The media, the fans—they're relentless. I don’t think I can do it today.”

“Shhh…” you soothed, leaning back slightly to bring his gaze toward you. His big, dark eyes looked lost, a storm brewing behind them. “You’re stronger than they think. You love racing, remember? You belong out there.”

He looked away, swallowing hard. You could see the emotions swirling within him, battling between fear and desire, doubt and determination. “But what if I mess up again? What if…”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently. “What if you do great? You can’t let fear write your story for you. You have to give yourself a chance.”

His fingers found your waist as he held you closer, the intensity in his grip conveying everything words could not. “I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he confessed finally, his breath warm against your ear.

“You won’t,” you assured him, your heart racing with the intimacy of the moment. “Not with me by your side. You have me, Lando; I believe in you.”

With every squeezed breath, the hug felt too tight, arms closing around you, squeezing you, pressing together, inch by inch. You could feel his hesitance melting into something else, something deeper, something that felt like your very own electricity.

Lando was the unpredictable force that set your heart aflame. Those arms wrapped tightly around you felt intoxicating, like a drug that sent your pulse racing when the rest of the world faded away.

His phone buzzed, jolting you both back to the reality of the upcoming race.

“It’s Oscar,” he muttered, annoyance tugging at his features. “I don’t want to go; I can’t face the pit or the cameras.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze fully. “Well, I can’t do this for you, but I can be right there with you. You need to let them see how you feel. It’s okay to show vulnerability, Lando.”

He took a deep breath, and you could see the gears in his mind turning. “What if it’s not enough?” he muttered, but the fire in his voice was finally wavering.

“Enough for who?” you pressed. “You don’t have to perform for them. Just do your race, and I’ll be right there cheering for you.”

“Really?” He looked at you, the hope flickering in his gaze almost enough to make you lean in and kiss him.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You grinned, feeling the air shift between you, filled with the promise of something more.

Suddenly, Oscar’s voice boomed from the other side of the door, urgent and loud. “Lando, it’s time for the race!”

Lando groaned, clearly annoyed at being forced back into reality. “I guess I can’t hide in here forever, huh?”

“Nope. Now come on, let’s get you out there and show them what you’re made of.” You smiled, standing abruptly and holding out your hand to him.

He hesitated for a heartbeat before taking it, and you felt that warm pull between you. The brief moment of intimacy melded into something more solid as he clasped your fingers. He rose to his feet, tilting his head slightly to find your gaze once again.

“Thanks,” he said softly, his voice clear and stronger now. “For everything. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Probably get a lot more nervous,” you teased lightly, nudging him playfully. “But seriously, let’s go. You’ve got a race to win.”

As Lando Norris crossed the finish line for the fourth time that season, the entire track erupted in a symphony of cheers and celebrations.

You could barely contain your excitement, adrenaline surging through you as you pulled off your headphones, the sounds of the race still echoing in your mind.

All that mattered was Lando—your brilliant, talented Lando.

You joined the staff, a vibrant mix of engineers, mechanics, and strategists, who were all equally charged up. The atmosphere was electric, the air thick with the scent of burnt rubber and victory champagne.

You barely noticed the chaos unfolding around you as everyone rallied around the pit area. The crew, those unwavering supporters who had helped you get closer to Lando before, ushered you closer, their enthusiasm infectious.

“Come on! Right this way!” one of the crew members shouted over the noise, grabbing your hand and leading you through the throng.

You felt your heart race as the crowd’s energy swirled around you, anticipation making you giddy.

“Lando! Lando! Over here!” you shouted, waving your arms above your head like a lunatic.

A couple of crew members pointed in your direction, assisting the chaotic dance of the crowd.

And then it happened. His eyes met yours—green and bright like emeralds sparkling in sunlight. Time seemed to slow as he brightened at the sight, a genuine smile breaking across his face.

Without hesitation, he tore away from the crowd, sprinting toward you. The world blurred around you, the cheers fading until nothing mattered but the two of you.

When he reached you, it was like everything else faded away. He enveloped you in the biggest hug, his head tucked tightly against your neck.

Warmth washed over you, and you couldn’t help but laugh with pure joy.

“You did it! I knew you could!” you shouted, the excitement lacing your words as your arms wrapped around his neck.

His grip tightened as he pulled back to look into your eyes, the sexual tension thick between you. Lando's gaze lingered on your lips momentarily, and something about the way he held his gaze left your heart racing.

“I couldn’t have done it without you cheering me on,” he confessed, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re my good luck charm.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” you teased playfully. “You’ve got the talent, but I like to think I add a bit of magic.”

Lando chuckled, a sound like music that echoed around you, making your heart flutter. “Well, keep that magic close then, okay?”

Before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, just a breath away from your lips. Your breath hitched as the world fell away again, your cheeks flushed with warmth and perhaps a bit more than embarrassment.

“I—I should let you go celebrate with everyone,” you said, almost feeling shy as you took a step back, the rest of the team rallying around him with congratulations.

“Hey,” he said softly, his gaze never wavering as he reached for your hand, holding it tightly. “You’re coming with me, right? We have to celebrate together after!”

You blinked, surprised. “Really? Don't you want to celebrate with only your team?”

“I want to celebrate with you too!” He smiled, an infectious grin that made your heart skip a beat. “We’ll carve out our own little celebration. Just us after.”

Your heart soared. You nodded eagerly. “Okay!”

After the podium celebrations ended, the crowd dispersed, and the atmosphere filled with the crackling excitement of victory turned to an afterglow.

Lando Norris, with his signature grin and a trophy held high, had basked in the limelight, soaking up the roaring applause of the fans.

But that was only a moment for him; now, he was dragged away to the media center, leaving you standing at the edge of the pit lane, heart fluttering with the kiss he had planted on your cheek moments before.

You leaned against the pit wall, watching as he disappeared behind a barrage of cameras and reporters.

The warmth of his fleeting affection lingered on your skin, and a smile crept across your face despite the noise around you.

“Thinking about him, I see,” a voice interrupted your thoughts. You jumped slightly, caught off guard as you turned to see Ethan approaching.

He wore a knowing smirk, one that made your stomach twist of embarrassment.

“Oh, hi Ethan, what are you talking about?” You feigned nonchalance, crossing your arms.

“Lando, I’m talking about Lando,” Ethan replied, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Look, it’s clear you’ve got this enormous crush on him, but let’s not kid ourselves. He doesn’t like you like that. He’s just being friendly.”

Your heartbeat quickened for a different reason now—a mix of frustration and hurt. “What do you mean he doesn’t like me? He just won a race, and he kissed me, it was sweet.” You tried to sound more confident than you felt.

“Sweet?” Ethan scoffed. “That was just a celebratory peck. You know how he is with his fans. He flirts with everyone. It doesn’t mean he has a thing for you.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing back against his doubt. “But it felt different. The way he looked at me before he left… Ethan, we’ve talked, we’ve laughed.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Look, you’re a great person, and I get that you want to believe he’s into you. But do you really think he’s capable of liking someone with all of this fame and pressure around him? He’s got a busy life, and girlfriends are just more trouble in that world.”

The frustration bubbled in your chest. “You sound like my mom,” you shot back, unable to hide the sharpness in your tone. “You don’t even know him like I do.”

“Fair enough,” Ethan said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But you’ve got to admit, you’re setting yourself up for a huge disappointment here. Just... don’t get your hopes too high. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

His exasperation was genuine, but it only deepened your resolve. “And I wouldn’t want to live my life scared to try because of what ‘might’ happen.”

Ethan sighed. “Okay, I’m not trying to ruin your fantasy. I just want you to be realistic.”

“Realistic or pessimistic?” you countered.

He laughed softly, the tension in the air easing just a bit. “Alright, let’s call it realistic, then.”

“Lando doesn’t like you that way,” Ethan had said, concern etched on his features.

Those words replayed in your head like a broken record, setting a tight knot in your stomach every time you thought of the charming driver.

Just as you attempted to shake off the lingering doubt, a staff member materialized out of thin air, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “Lando wants to see you now.”

“Thanks!” you called out, excusing yourself from Ethan’s company. 

You felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety as you navigated through the hubbub of the garage, pushing aside doubts that had lingered since your morning conversation with Ethan.

Finally standing before Lando’s driver’s room, you raised your hand and knocked gently. “Come in,” his voice called out, warm and inviting.

You opened the door to find Lando leaning against the wall, a genuine smile lighting his face, so different from the frown of earlier that day. “Hi, champ!” you greeted him, a spark of joy igniting within you.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, standing upright as he approached you. “I’m really glad you’re here.” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, and you could feel an electric tension crackling in the air between you.

You both settled into a rhythm of lighthearted conversation, laughing and reminiscing about the week’s events, but underneath every playful jab and shared joke, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of the chemistry that simmered between you.

Lando’s gaze felt heavy on you, filled with unexpressed words that lingered just beyond reach.

The air crackles with an unspoken tension as you stare into Lando's eyes, a mix of confusion and yearning coursing through every nerve in your body.

You can feel the warmth of his presence enveloping you, a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach as you try to decipher the myriad emotions swirling between you.

“So,” Lando began, his voice almost a whisper, eyes glistening with something serious, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

His voice quivers with uncertainty, the weight of his unexpressed feelings hanging heavily in the atmosphere, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your mind raced back to Ethan’s words: “Lando doesn’t like you, Y/N. He’s just playing around.” You shook your head slightly. You wouldn’t let yourself believe that.

You couldn’t allow the confusion between friendship and something more to blur in your mind; it was too painful.

He said, his tone firm yet tender. “I like you, Y/N.”

“You don’t, you can’t,” you protest meekly, recalling the stinging words Ethan had casually tossed your way, words that left a lingering ache in your chest.

The notion that Lando might not harbor genuine feelings for you feels like a betrayal, an unwelcome specter haunting the edges of this beautiful moment.

“Y/N—” His voice was earnest, but you shook your head, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay.

“Please don’t joke about that. If you don’t like me—if you’re just messing around—then don’t joke about it.” Each word felt like a dagger, piercing through the bubble of hope forming in your chest.

“Why do you think I’m saying this?” he asked, his voice low and laced with emotion. “Why would I bother if I didn’t mean it? This isn’t just some casual fling for me. I care about you, and it’s driving me insane keeping it all bottled up!”

You took a step back, your back hitting the closed door. “Lando, please, you can’t say that!” Tears began to stream down your cheeks unbidden.

“Why not?” he challenged softly, moving closer again, his gaze intense. “Why can’t I? Are you really going to deny what’s been between us? You feel it too right?”

The truth in his words shattered your defenses. “Lando, I—” Your voice broke, and the words tumbled out, heavier than you imagined.

“I’ve never been someone’s first choice before. It’s hard to believe that you actually want me.”

“Then believe me,” he urged, his hand gently cupping your cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

Lando’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he whispered, “You deserve to hear it, and I mean every word.”

You melted into him, your head resting against his chest while he held you tightly—firmly yet gently, a safe haven amidst your unraveling emotions.

He didn’t flinch as the tears soaked his shirt.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, sniffling against his shoulder. “I don’t want to lose this.”

“You won’t lose me. Not ever,” he promised, pulling back slightly so he could look into your eyes. “Just give us a chance. I won’t hurt you.”

After a long while, you managed to calm down, your heart still racing but your breaths a little steadier. Lando pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes; the concern etched on his face warmed you.

“Can I kiss you?” Lando asked, his voice laced with just a hint of uncertainty, as if he feared this moment would evaporate into thin air.

Time seemed to stand still as you considered his question. You could feel the heat radiating between you, a magnetic pull that drew you closer.

This was the moment you had both been dancing around, the very reason for the tension that crackled in the air.

You felt a flutter in your stomach at the question, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. “Yes,” you finally breathed out, the single word filled with yearning.

His eyes sparkled, and he leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t; if anything, your heart raced as he brushed his lips against yours, soft and hesitant at first.

His lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss that spoke volumes of the feelings you both had kept hidden for too long. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a warm embrace, filled with the promise of love and acceptance.

As the kiss deepened, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief and joy. It was as if everything you had fought against—the doubt, the fear—melted away, replaced with the certainty of Lando’s affection.

You knew, right then and there, that you had finally found someone who would stay, who truly wanted you for who you were.

When the kiss finally broke, you rested your forehead against his, your hearts still racing from the intensity of it all. “I’m sorry I pushed you away,” you murmured.

“Don’t be,” he replied softly. “I’m just glad I finally got to you.”

And in that moment, surrounded by a haze of newfound love and vulnerability, you both knew that this was only the beginning of something beautiful.

Something that you both deserved. . . . .

[retiredteabag]

learning together

• Parental Gojo with ill-attached Megumi

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Megumi is a secretive boy. It seemed to Satoru that he hid everything. If Satoru wanted to know anything he would have to go through Tsumiki, the boys sister, to learn even the smallest of details. And even then, she rarely had anything but a smile to share.

For example, Satoru had been looking after the two little kids for months before he learned that the two of them only had one worn pair of shoes each, that and only a few articles of clothes.

"Well, why didn't you say anything?" He had scolded after seeing the blisters on Tsumiki's feet one night while watching Blues Clues.

He had realized that he would have to become all the more observant to see if there was a need in this household because he knew hell would have to freeze over for those two little kids to admit they could use help. Especially the young boy, Megumi.

It took three incidents before Satoru needed to have an intervention with the boy.

And oddly enough, they always occurred when it was just the two of them, alone.

Megumi always insisted on walking home from school. His sister was all too happy to take part in after-school activities, but the little introvert he was, he just wanted alone time.

This day had been no different from the others, he had been walking home, considering what he would have for dinner, when he saw it.

He would never admit, too ashamed of being called a liar, but the boy often saw things, strange, dark things, things nobody else saw out of the corner of his eye.

And there, right before him was something, watching him in the bushes, it was one of them, he knew it had to be.

Tsumiki always told him to be careful walking home. The woods of this area housed many of the homeless, and it tended to be no place for a child.

But here he was. Frozen still, the shadowy monster seemed to come his way, unspeaking, but threatening non the less.

Megumi threw his backpack to the front of his body, maintaining eye contact while frantically searching for something to defend himself.

There was nothing the boy hated more than being helpless.

His heart pounded in his ears, his fingertips burned with something he didn't recognize. But stronger than anything else, he was afraid. He wanted his dad. He wanted to hide.

He pulled out a pair of scissors, the same he used in art class, his arms trembled. He couldn't bring himself to make the first move so he was forced to wait until the curse came at him. He wanted to cry.

It did not take long.

He didn't even feel the ache in his bloody knees until the burning in his throat superseded all else.

He had rushed back to that apartment the white-haired man had arranged for them without a break in his step. And when the realization occurred to him of what had just happened, be felt the tearful nausea again.

There was no blood on his hands, but they shook with the fury it took to bring that monster to its knees. He had fallen to the ground with the beast, but the plunge of his scissors had gotten rid of it. Even if he was safe, however, he would never believe it.

It took a while to find the key he kept in his backpack. Fumbling fingers kept his keychain escaping his grasp. He was so encompassed by the afternoon's events that he did not even notice the tall man (boy) in the living area.

Satoru came by at least once a week, and recently even more than that. He tried to help the kids with their homework, stock their cabinets with snacks, and ensure their health. Megumi hadn't been expecting him that day.

"Oh! Megs! I've been waiting for you all day, you know, you're never home so late, don't tell me you've made a frien-" Satoru spun around so fast, the air around him seemed to make a noise with the motion. "What have you been doing?"

Put on the defense, Megumi shrunk back, "None of your business." Even after saying it, he worried he would get in trouble, worried he would be punished for talking back, despite Gojo's response to his snark always having been a chuckle, he knew adults hated disrespect.

The taller boy did not laugh now, "Oh, it's not? Megs you make me sad, what's going on? You seem tense."

The man was coming around through the common room and Megumi shuffled his bag to hide his bloodied knees. He didn't understand much of the man but he knew his eyes could also see things others could not.

"What's happened there?" Satoru pointed at the boys backpack.

"Nothing." Megumi murmured, trotting past Satoru and attempting to hide in his room. (His very own, though he often slept with his sister when he felt afraid)

"Ah, ah, ah, you shouldn't go fumbling around when you're hurt, Megumi. Come back here."

No, no, no, Megumi continued on, just about making it to his room when Satoru appeared before him. Megumi didn't know why he wanted to hide so badly, even so, he was frustrated to see the smile on the man's face. He was bent in a funny angle to look at the boy.

The boy would never understand how Gojo moved so quickly.

"Oh my, that looks bad." He made a bleh face, "How did you make it home on those knees, Megs? Hmm... I should give you a pager, shouldn't I, I don't want you running into trouble again without me. That must have been scary. Ugh, no fun at all.” All in one motion, Satoru grabbed Megumi and swung him around his hip.

"Stop! No!-" The boy flushed in embarrassment, but unbeknownst to him, Satoru could see the cursed energy encircling the boy.

And even if he didn’t say anything, he knew that something would have to change so this wouldn’t happen again.

After that day, Megumi did not walk home alone.

---

Satoru had been busy as of late, what felt like mission after mission, he was embarrassed to say, with how busy he was, he sometimes forgot he had two kids in his care.

He felt guilty, but the kids never asked for anything anyway. If they wanted something, he would get it for them. No questions asked.

It had been late one night, coming back after a mission that he saw his calendar and noticed with a grunt what week it was.

The middle schoolers were at camp according to his scribbles. Tsumiki was at camp and Megumi was all alone.

Why had he written this down? Could it be because he had insisted that Tsumiki go, promising to look after her little brother?

Satoru sighs. Did Megumi need anything? He was just a boy... but self-reliant as a man. He had been sure the little guy would be fine, even so, he couldn't deny the tug on his conscience.

Satoru almost went to bed that night before he decided he needed to check on the boy. God knows he wouldn't call - even if it was an emergency.

The sight he saw when he opened the door would stick with him for years. Mainly because he found it amusing.

Little Megumi, face flushed, wobbling on his feet, a blanket around his shoulders, and a kitchen knife in his hand.

"What are you doing!" Satoru yelled from the front door.

"Wha-" cough "-at are YOU doing!" cough "You're not here tonight!"

"Yes, I am! Put the knife down, it's just me, Megs." Satoru folded at his hips and leaned in close to the boy. It was strange, Megumi never let him get so close. "What's going on, were you scared because your sister wasn't here?"

Satoru reached out and pulled the knife out of the boys grasp. His little hands were hot, and when Megumi sniffled, he sounded congested.

"'M not scared..." It takes a staggering moment for the boys' hands to drop. Noticing he had nothing to hold.

"You sick?" And for the first time, the boy doesn't flinch when Satoru reaches a hand to his forehead.

He is, however, quickly swatted away. "No. Why are you-" cough "-here."

Satoru felt bad now, Tsumiki had probably left three days ago, how long had Megumi been sick? And why did the stubborn kid never just ask for help?

Prefacing his care he began, "I'm here because I want to be." Satoru finally lets out. Once again, he scoops the boy up, blanket and all, and is careful to set the knife back in the kitchen before using his now free hand to swaddle the boy. "Have you been sleeping on the couch?"

"Mhmm."

"Alright. No more of that. I'll be here so you just go to sleep."

Megumi didn't have anything to say. He missed his sister. He wanted to sleep in her bed. He wanted to feel safe. He wanted to feel better.

"I have a doctor friend, okay? You'll feel spick and span in no time." Satoru ruffled the boys hair.

"No, I don't wanna see them..."

Satoru furrowed his brows, "Ya know kid, you're not very convincing, I can tell you're definitely running a fever. All sweaty… like a big ball of sweat..."

"Jus' go away." Megumi said as he nuzzled his face deeper into Satorus's shirt, "I don't wanna see them."

"Sorry Megs, I'm perfect in may ways, but healing is not one of my many talents. She's really good, you'll feel better."

"I don't need help. I don't want you-"

"Alright, Megs. Go to bed." Satoru manhandles the boy like a doll, tucking him in so aggressively tight, he would have to put in real work to come free.

The next morning, Megumi had never felt so indebted to someone, and it made him sick, despite having just been healed

---

It was only a year later that Megumi called on his cursed technique.

Deep down, he had always known there was something different about him, something pulling at the surface of his being, but now, looking into the dog manifestation before him, he could finally feel purpose.

"Nice job Megs, that little dog is one of your Shikigami." Satoru grinned down at the boy sitting on the carpet of the family room.

The puppy rolled around on the floor before Megumi, and the boy's heart raced.

"She's mine?" He reached out and the puppy, sure it was a dream, she toppled over herself to nose at his hand.

"Sure is!" Satoru smiled. "And there's many more to come. Haven't you listened to me at all, Megumi? You're gonna be super strong."

But the boy wasn't listening. Blood was whooshing in his ears, saliva was pooling in his mouth, his heart was beginning to thump, but before him was a little friend. He couldn't let her go.

"Alright. You'll probably start to feel light-headed so let go of that energy. You'll be able to call her back again soon.”

Megumi was feeling woozy, that’s for sure, but there was no way he would leave her.

The puppy flickered like a mirage. Blinking slightly, she sat up, wobbling toward Megumi.

He wanted to hold her in his arms but a rush of bile was forming in his throat. His head pounded.

The puppy licked at his hand.

uh oh...

"Stop that Megumi." Satoru placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let go. She's taking too much."

Megumi's throat clenched and he swallowed thickly. Holding onto his new friend tightly.

"Stop, Megumi! Enough!" Satoru grabbed the boy by the shoulder.

The puppy faded from the boy's grasp. Megumi lurched forward, barely catching himself, and puked all over the carpet.

Satoru's hand faltered, but just a moment thereafter, he began to pat the boy comfortingly. "It's okay." He spoke gently, "That’s alright."

The boy's shoulders shook, not with tears, but with the adrenaline rush that comes with the throwing up/fight-or-flight response. He was mumbling, a hand covered his mouth.

"'m sorry. Sorry." He trembled.

Satoru sighed, unsure of how to console the boy. “Hey, 's alright. She was siphoning off your energy too quickly. You'll learn to manage it." Satoru patted the boys back but he was stumbling to his feet now.

"Carpet...sorry about the carpet." He was saying.

Satoru jumped to stand, "What? No, I don't care! It's okay Megumi. You go sit down, I can clean up."

The boy looked angry. "No. I'm fine."

He always seemed to say that.

"Seriously, I don't care about the carpet, just go take a second to calm down, that was probably a lot."

"I don't want a second!” Megumi spun, elbow covering his mouth, uncalled-for anger in his eye. "I don't need help. Just go! I can do it on my own."

There was a surge of annoyance in Satoru before he realized the boy was probably just embarrassed.

Shoko had long since told him about attachment issues and the lack of trust to expect from the boy. He just wished he could get Megumi to let his guard down.

"Megumi." He called firmly. "Stop that. I'm not upset with you, and I don't want anything in return. What I do want is for you to take some deep breaths and drink some water. You're over-exerting yourself."

"Ergh!" Megumi grunted angrily, tears in his eyes, and fled from the room.

When Satoru found the boy again. He was hiding in the coat closet. His face in his hands.

Satoru had to remind himself that the boy was hardly six, and clearly had trouble regulating his emotions. He wanted to have a real discussion with the boy, but he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t comfortable.

Gojo leaned down, slid between the coats in the closet and closed the door.

“W-what are you doing.” Megumi scooted back on the narrow floor.

Satoru sighed, “I want you to talk to me, Megs, can you do that?”

In the dark, it was hard for Megumi to see, but his benefactor could make the boy out perfectly. “What…”

Satoru sighed, considered how to say it, “I know there’s a lot of pressure on you, and I know that doesn’t feel good. But don’t go forcing yourself, okay? Take things with stride, accept help, I don’t want anything from you, Megs, and you don’t owe me anything either.”

Megumi rolled his feet around, tapping his shoes together, “I know you don’t believe me yet, but I’m not gonna leave. Your stuck with me for a while, so let’s try to get along, alright?”

The closet was silent. Satoru felt stupid, his words too plain, his mind scattered.

“Gojo…” the boy stretched his ankles out. “It gets cold at night... I wanna change the therma-thermostat.”

It took all but a second for Satoru to grab hold of the metaphorical raft Megumi was giving him. “What? All this time?!! That’s unacceptable! That’s why you should tell me these things, this is your home Megumi, touch the thermostat all you want!” Satoru pouted, stood, and stretched.

He bent down once more after cracking the door open, the bright light shining into the little boy's eyes.

“Okay, what else should I know?” Satoru reached out to pull the boy to his feet,

And for the first time, Megumi took it.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

This is just a little drabble, I feel like this is some of my worst writing because sadly I have several more ideas about Satoru parenting Megumi

[nonsensology]

Later at the wish granting ceremony, CEO Magnifico announces he’s greenlit Ice Age 6 and five more live-action remakes.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

There are so many cancelled and unrealized projects that Disney is sitting on, that they do not benefit from in any way by keeping them locked up tight. They really ought to just let them go if they don't have any intentions of doing anything with them.

Incidentally, I could never agree with the mentality of “Magnifico is actually the hero, and Asha is the TRUE villain” that a lot of people seem to have. I drew my comic based on this post. I feel like if more people had been aware of this possible interpretation, they wouldn’t have sympathized with Magnifico.

Does Wish have bad writing? Yes, it does. And it’s because of that bad writing that every single character suffers. What I think happened is that, as a result of said bad writing, Asha became a character that’s so uncompelling and lacks uniqueness that she ends up a blank slate for audiences to project their frustrations with the movie onto. King Magnifico on the other hand, is probably the most interesting and entertaining character, due in no small part to Chris Pine’s performance, and so the audience is much more sympathetic towards him and willing to ignore his flaws.

One of Asha’s problems as a character is that she doesn’t really contribute much to the story. By contrast, Magnifico’s downfall is brought about entirely as a result of his own actions. Magnifico is in fact not a good leader, because he gives in to paranoia and temptation, acts in a very unprofessional manner, and escalates the conflict to an absurd degree.

Please note, Asha does not get upset that Magnifico refuses to grant her grandfather’s wish, she gets upset that he insinuates that her grandfather might have dangerous intentions, and because he does not have a convincing reason why he doesn’t return wishes that he won’t grant. Rather than calmly explaining his reasoning to her, Magnifico rudely dismisses Asha and then blows up at her.

If Magnifico were a good leader, he would have explained to each person WHY he won’t grant their wish, and given them advice on alternatives. As it stands, he knows full well that everyone expects their wish to be granted. It’s why they even came to Rosas, it is the literal reason he even built his kingdom in the first place. Returning their ungranted wishes simply means returning the memory of what their wish even is, and they’ll be no better off than they were before they gave Magnifico their wish.

I dunno about you guys, but whenever I watched stories that preached “be careful what you wish for”, my takeaway was never “your desires could be dangerous and you should never pursue them for fear of disaster”, I always thought the stories were telling us, “beware of anything that promises instant gratification, because it’s usually too good to be true, and will cost you more than you will gain”. While the things you want in life may have disastrous consequences, you won’t really know until you try to pursue them through your own honest efforts, and not through “magical” shortcuts. That’s how we learn and grow, through trial and error. 

As it currently stands from my point of view, when people say "Magnifico has every right to keep ungranted wishes" it looks like they're unintentionally saying, “The Disney Corporation has every right to keep your work and ideas, because you willingly handed them over. Tough luck if you regret the deal you were given. No takesies backsies!”

While I have found no evidence to confirm that the filmmakers intended for Magnifico to be a criticism of Corporate Disney, considering the inclusion of the animation sweatshop scene in Pixar's Inside Out 2, I think the probability is likely.

Please note, everyone is free to rewrite and reinterpret Magnifico however they want. He's just a fictional character after all, and fan content is supposed to be for fun. I just think it's funny how defensive people get over him. They say he deserved better, and I agree, but we have very different ideas of what "better" means. In fact, I think every character in Wish deserved better, because again, they were all victims of bad writing. Remember those deleted scenes featuring a villainous Magnifico with better writing, along with an evil Amaya that he can play off of? I'm fairly certain that everyone unanimously agreed these deleted scenes were much better than the final movie, and yet some still insist that Magnifico should have been a hero all along. I dunno, it's a funny dichotomy. 

[the-winter-spider]

I miss you, I'm sorry

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Toxic, angst, smut

A/N: I love Gracie, and was like fuck it gonna toss something together based off my fav songs by her

The air feels heavy, even though the room is quiet. You sit cross-legged on your bed, your phone resting beside you, the screen dim and blank. The minutes bleed into each other, but you can’t stop glancing at the clock, as if willing it to rewind to before it all.

It’s been three days. Three days of no texts, no calls, no nothing. That’s how it always goes with Bucky. He’s there, and then he’s not. And every time, you tell yourself it’ll be the last time you wait for him to come back.

It never is.

You hate him for how easy it is to disappear. You hate yourself more for letting him.

The phone rings.

The sharp sound cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and for a moment, your heart skips. You snatch the phone up, seeing his name flash across the screen. The sight of it sends a rush of relief, anger, and something softer, something stupidly hopeful, all at once.

You answer, but don’t say anything.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, gravelly. Tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Hey.”

The silence stretches, brittle and uncomfortable. You can hear him breathing on the other end, steady and soft. It reminds you of the way his breath felt against your skin the last time he stayed over, the last time he let himself get too close before pulling away again.

“I shouldn’t have called,” he mutters finally, his voice tight. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

You close your eyes. There it is again, the push and pull. The way he says he shouldn’t but always does. The way he drags you back into his orbit every time, knowing you’ll stay.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask, keeping your voice steady. It’s a question you’ve asked a hundred times, and you already know the answer.

He exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated—at you, at himself, you’re not sure. “I don’t know.” Another pause. “You were right, okay? About everything. I just…” His voice trails off, and you can picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s trying to find the words. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” you snap, the simmering frustration bubbling to the surface. “Hate that you always come back? Or hate that you can’t figure out what the hell you want?”

He doesn’t answer. He never does when you call him out like this.

The silence makes your chest ache. You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “You can’t keep doing this, Bucky. You can’t keep pulling me back just to push me away again. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he whispers. And he sounds so broken, so genuine, that it cracks something inside you. It always does.

You take a shaky breath. “Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. His voice is quieter now, softer, like he’s afraid of breaking you more than he already has. “Because you’re the only thing that feels real. And I don’t know how to hold onto it without screwing it up.”

Your throat tightens. You wish you didn’t understand. But you do. He’s always been good at giving you just enough to stay, but never enough to feel whole. “Its not enough Buck”

“I know,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “But it’s all I’ve got, you're all i truly have."

You sighed running your head through your hair “Do you wanna come over?”

“I’m already on my way”

You don't have to wait long. The sound of his motorcycle pulling up to your place makes your stomach do a little flip, even though you're still mad at him. You hear his heavy boots on the stairs, and then a soft knock at your door.

You take a deep breath before opening it. He's standing there, his hair tousled from the ride, his face tight and tired. He looks at you, and for a moment, it's like all the walls come down. He reaches out, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "I'm so fucking sorry."

And just like that, you melt. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, pulling you close. He smells like leather and cigarettes and something uniquely him.

"I missed you," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I hate not seeing you."

"I hate it too," you whisper back. "But you can't keep doing this, Bucky. You can't keep hurting me."

He makes a soft, broken sound. "I know. I'm trying, okay? I'm really trying."

The door closes softly behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the charged silence. Bucky's hand is still cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you breathe him in. He smells like leather and smoke, like home and danger all rolled into one.

You press yourself against him, feeling the hard planes of his body through his clothes. He's solid and warm and real, and it's been too long since you've felt him like this. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he claims your mouth in a hungry kiss.

You moan into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. He kisses like your fights- fierce and intense, like he's trying to claim every inch of you. You kiss back just as fiercely, your tongue sliding against his as you lose yourself in the feel of him.

He walks you backwards towards the bed, his hands roaming your body as he goes. He breaks the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His mouth is back on yours before you can even blink, his hands cupping your breasts through your bra.

You arch into his touch, your nipples hardening under his palms. He groans low in his throat, his hips pressing forward to grind against yours. You can feel his hardness through his jeans, and it makes you ache with need.

He breaks the kiss again, trailing his lips down your neck as his hands work to unclasp your bra. It falls to the floor, joining the growing pile of clothes. He takes a moment to look at you, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over your naked breasts.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his hands cupping the soft mounds. You gasp as his thumbs brush over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He leans down, taking one of the hardened peaks into his mouth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks and licks and nibbles. Your hips buck against his, seeking friction, and he groans around your nipple, the vibrations making you shiver.

He gives the other breast the same attention, lavishing it with kisses and bites until you're writhing beneath him. Only then does he move lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach as he kneels before you.

His hands hook in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down along with your panties. You step out of them, kicking them aside as he looks up at you from his knees. The sight of him there, kneeling before you like you're a goddess to be worshipped, makes your knees weak.

"Bucky," you breathe, and it's half plea, half prayer.

He grins up at you, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Patience, baby. I'm going to take my time with you."

And then his mouth is on you, his tongue delving between your folds to taste you. You cry out, your head falling back as pleasure crashes over you. He licks and sucks and teases, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he devours you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and empty.

"Bucky, please," you whimper, and he chuckles darkly.

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you pant, looking down at him with desperation in your eyes. "I want you inside me."

He stands up, pulling you flush against him as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you even more aroused. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he grinds his hardness against your bare core.

"Bed," he growls against your lips, and you nod frantically, tugging him towards the mattress.

You tumble onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desire. He breaks the kiss to sit up, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You take a moment to admire the hard planes of his chest, the scars that crisscross his skin like a roadmap of his past.

He crawls back over you, his hips settling between your thighs as he reaches for his belt. You watch, transfixed, as he unbuckles it and shoves his jeans and boxers down, freeing him.

He settles back over you, his head brushing against your entrance. You shudder at the contact, your hips lifting to try and draw him in.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist. "I want all of you."

And with that, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to the stretch.

He pauses for a moment, letting you get used to him. Then he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. You meet him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to take him deeper.

The bed creaks beneath you as he sets a relentless pace, driving into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, burying his face in your neck. "So perfect."

You clench around him in response, and he curses, his hips snapping forward harder.

"I'm gonna come," you gasp, your body tensing beneath him. "Bucky, I'm gonna-"

But he cuts off your words with a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as you come undone beneath him. Your body spasms around him, milking him as he follows you over the edge with a hoarse shout of your name.

He collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of your orgasms roll through you. He presses soft kisses to your neck, your jawline, your lips as you bask in the afterglow.

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, and you hope it's just not the sex talking.

Later that week, you’re sitting at a bar with Natasha. She watches you nurse your drink, her sharp green eyes narrowing as you tell her what happened.

“He called,” you say, staring down at the condensation on your glass. “And like an idiot, I picked up, and he came over, we had sex and he was gone in the morning”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. She just leans back, crossing her arms. “What do you want me to say?” she asks finally. “That he’s going to change? That this time will be different?”

You shake your head. “No. I just…” You trail off, struggling to put the feeling into words. “I just wish I didn’t miss him so much. I wish I could stop.”

She sighs, leaning forward. “Listen to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “He’s not going to fix this. You know that, right? He’s not going to wake up one day and suddenly figure out how to love you the way you deserve. That’s not who he is, you have to know that babe…"

“I know,” you whisper. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.

Natasha exhales deeply, tilting her head as if trying to decide whether to push further. Finally, she sets her drink down and leans across the table, her voice quieter but no less serious. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna keep answering when he calls? Keep letting him come over, screw you and your head, and leave like nothing happened?”

You don’t answer, just trace the edge of your glass with your finger. The truth is, you don’t have a plan. You’re not even sure you want one. “He said he loves me, he's never said that before”

Natasha leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studies you. Her sharp green eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no satisfaction in her expression. She doesn’t look impressed, doesn’t look relieved, like you’d hoped she might. Instead, her face softens, just slightly, in that way that means she’s about to say something you don’t want to hear.

“Okay,” she says slowly, her voice calm but pointed. “And what does that change?”

Her question hits like a bucket of cold water, and you blink at her, your fingers freezing mid-trace on the rim of your glass. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, so what?” Natasha continues, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. “He said the words. Great. But what does that actually mean to you? Did it make you feel better? Did it fix anything?”

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth sits heavy in your chest.

“It’s not enough just to say it,” Natasha presses, her tone still steady but with an edge of frustration. “Love isn’t just words. It’s showing up. It’s consistency. It’s choosing someone, not just when it’s convenient, but every single day. Did he do that? Or did he just say what you’ve been waiting to hear and then disappear again?”

The ache in your chest tightens, and you look down, your fingers clutching the glass like it might hold the answers you’re searching for. “He—he’s trying,” you say weakly, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Natasha lets out a breath, her voice softening again. “Babe… I know you want to believe him. I know you love him. But this?” She gestures vaguely, as if to encompass all of it—your tears, the late-night calls, the endless cycle. “This isn’t what love is supposed to feel like. Love doesn’t leave you questioning your worth every time the sun comes up.”

The words settle over you like a weight, and you swallow hard, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. You don’t want her to see you cry. Not here. Not like this.

“Nat…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But she shakes her head, her expression soft but unyielding.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” she says gently. “I just… I want you to be happy. And you’re not happy right now. You haven’t been for a long time.”

Before you can respond, the stool next to her screeches, and Sam slides into it, his energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere between you and Nat. He plunks his beer on the table and gives you a once-over.

“Well, you look like someone stole your puppy,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Natasha shoots him a look. “Not the time, Sam.”

“I’m just saying,” he replies, leaning back and gesturing to you. “She’s been sitting here all night, looking like a sad indie song, and you’re just gonna let her wallow?”

You glare at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you have something to say, or are you just here to make jokes?”

“Both,” Sam says, taking a sip of his beer before setting it down. “Look, I love you, but this thing with Bucky? It’s killing you, and everyone can see it. Hell, you can see it, but you’re still pretending like it’s gonna work itself out.”

“Sam,” Natasha warns, but he holds up a hand.

“No, let me finish,” he says, his voice more serious now. “I’ve been where you are, okay? Hanging onto something that’s breaking you because you’re scared to let it go. But you know what happens if you keep holding on?” He pauses, meeting your eyes. “You lose yourself. And I don’t want that for you.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and for a moment, all you can do is sit there, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.

“I don’t know how to let him go,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am without him.”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s time to figure that out. Because you deserve better than waiting around for someone who doesn’t see how amazing you are—not someone who only comes around when it’s convenient for him.”

After Sam and Natasha head home, you find yourself walking through the quiet streets, your hands shoved into your coat pockets. The city hums around you, but you feel untethered, like you’re floating between who you are and who you want to be.

Before you realize it, your feet take you to Bucky’s building. You stop at the corner, staring up at the windows. The lights in his apartment are off, but you know he’s there. He’s always there.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, your heart sinking when you see his name.

Bucky: You up?

The message is simple, familiar, and infuriatingly tempting. Your thumb hovers over the screen.

You: Yes, just leaving the bar.

Bucky: Ill see you in 20.

You see his light flick on.

You: Okay.

You’re sitting in your apartment with Steve. He’d shown up unexpectedly, a bag of bagels in one hand and a concerned look on his face. Now, he’s watching you carefully as you pick at your food, the silence between you growing heavier by the minute.

“I heard about last night,” he says eventually, breaking the stillness.

You glance up, narrowing your eyes. “Natasha?”

“Sam,” he admits with a small smile, but his expression stays serious. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I’m fine, Steve.”

“You’re not fine,” he says gently, setting his coffee down on the table. “And it’s okay to not be fine. But you need to stop punishing yourself for wanting more than what Bucky can give you.”

Your chest tightens, and you look away, your voice barely audible. “He’s not a bad person, Steve. He’s just… broken.”

“I know he is,” Steve says softly, his tone patient but firm. “And I know he cares about you, even if he’s too scared to show it. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep hurting yourself to save him.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you ask the question that’s been clawing at you for days. “Is he seeing anyone else?”

Steve freezes mid-bite, his jaw tightening. “Yes.”

You nod slowly, your hands trembling as you set your plate down on the coffee table. “Are they… are they having sex?”

Steve’s shoulders sag slightly, and he shakes his head. “No.”

The relief you feel is fleeting, quickly replaced by another ache—something deeper, sharper. “He told me he loves me, y’know,” you whisper, your voice cracking.

That makes Steve freeze completely. He sets his bagel down, staring at you with wide, startled eyes. “He said that?”

You nod, the words pouring out of you now, unfiltered and raw. “He’s never said it before. And I didn’t know what to do. Because it felt… real. For a second, it felt like maybe this time was different. But then he was gone the next morning, like always.”

Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to process what you’ve just said. “Did he mean it?” he asks finally, his voice cautious.

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I don’t know, Steve. Does it matter? He says one thing, but everything else he does just…” You trail off, shaking your head.

“It matters,” Steve says firmly, leaning forward. “If he loves you, that’s something. But love isn’t enough if he can’t show it, if he can’t make you feel it.” Steve is quiet for a long moment, his expression pained. “You deserve more than that,” he says finally. “You deserve someone who’s not afraid to fight for you. Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re asking for too much just by being yourself.”

-----------

The music is loud, pulsing through the crowded bar in a steady rhythm that matches the pounding in your chest. You're friends are off dancing their cares away, while you sit at a small table near the corner, nursing your drink, half-hidden in the dim lighting. The condensation from the glass drips onto your hand, but you barely notice.

Your eyes keep drifting to him.

Bucky is across the room, his arm slung casually around another woman’s shoulders. She’s laughing, tilting her head toward him like he’s just told her the funniest joke in the world. He looks… relaxed. At ease in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s like someone’s taken a knife to your chest, twisting it deeper with every passing second.

You force yourself to look away, staring into the amber liquid in your glass like it holds answers to questions you’re too scared to ask. But it doesn’t work. Your gaze flickers back to him, almost involuntarily.

They’re dancing now, swaying to a song you don’t recognize. His hand rests lightly on her hip, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress in a way that feels too intimate, too familiar.

And then he kisses her.

Not on the lips, but on her head, his lips lingering against her hair as she leans into him. It’s tender, effortless, the kind of gesture that feels natural, like it belongs to someone who knows how to love without hesitation.

Your chest tightens, and you swallow the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to take another sip of your drink. The bitterness burns your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading through you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That this doesn’t matter. That he’s made his choice, and it isn’t you.

But the truth is, it matters too much.

You drain the rest of your drink, the cold liquid going down in one sharp swallow. You set the glass down harder than you mean to, the dull thud lost in the noise of the bar.

You glance over at him one last time, just to confirm what you already know. He’s still there, his attention focused on her.

But then his eyes shift.

He sees you.

For a split second, your gazes lock across the room, and the weight of his stare pins you in place. His hand pauses on her back, and something flickers in his expression—guilt, maybe, or regret.

You can’t tell, and you’re not sure you want to.

The heat of his gaze follows you as you stand, slipping your bag over your shoulder and making your way toward the door. The noise of the bar fades into the background as you weave through the crowd, your footsteps quick and purposeful.

You don’t look back, but you can feel him watching you, his eyes lingering like a phantom touch that burns even after you’re gone.

The cold night air hits your face as you step outside, and you inhale deeply, trying to push the ache in your chest away.

But it stays. It always stays.

That night, you’re curled up on your couch, a blanket wrapped around you as the city lights flicker through the window. Your phone sits on the coffee table, dark and silent.

Until it’s not.

The screen lights up, and Bucky’s name appears. The voicemail notification lingers like a ghost, and your hand trembles as you reach for it.

You press play, his voice cracking through the silence.

“I know I’ve screwed this up. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I miss you, and I don’t know how to do this without you. Please… just call me, I’m sorry”

-------

You find him outside on the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. The cold night air bites at your skin, and the faint glow of the streetlights below casts shadows that dance across his face. He doesn’t turn when you step out. He never does. That’s the thing about Bucky—he always knows you’re there, but he’s mastered the art of pretending not to.

The sound of the sliding door closing behind you feels final, like you’ve just stepped into a space you won’t come back from. Your arms wrap around yourself, a weak defense against the cold—or maybe against him—and you take a hesitant step forward.

“I thought you left,” you say, breaking the fragile quiet. Your voice wavers, as unsure as the ground you’re standing on.

He finally looks over his shoulder, his eyes heavy and rimmed with shadows. He looks wrecked. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. “Almost did,” he says softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

You step closer, your chest tightening at his words, at the way he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift to let you in. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs, turning back to the skyline, his fingers gripping the railing. “I haven’t heard from you all week.”

The ache in your chest sharpens at his tone, a flicker of hope you hate sneaking in despite yourself. It’s always like this: just enough vulnerability to keep you tethered. You stop a few feet away, the space between you feeling like a canyon, impossible to bridge.

“This isn’t working,” you say, finally voicing the thought that’s been clawing at you for weeks. “Whatever this is. It’s not working, Bucky.”

He doesn’t react at first, just keeps staring out at the city, like it holds an answer he’s too afraid to look for. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “I know.”

The simplicity of his admission steals your breath. It’s not that you didn’t expect it. You did. You’ve been here before, standing on the edge of this same cliff, waiting for the inevitable fall.

“So why are we still here?” you ask, your voice trembling, tinged with a desperation you wish you could hide.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. The motion is frustrated, exhausted, like he’s tired of his own indecision. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his words cutting through the night air with brutal honesty.

You take another step closer, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles turn white as he grips the railing. “Bucky,” you say, your voice soft but breaking. “I need more than this. I need to know if you’re ever going to stop running every time things get hard. Because I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out.”

He turns to face you then, his blue eyes locking onto yours. There’s something in them—something raw and fragile and so heartbreakingly familiar. For a fleeting second, you think this is it. The moment he’ll finally tell you what you’ve been waiting to hear.

But then he looks away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I can.”

The nausea hits you like a punch, twisting your stomach into knots. You take a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself like it might keep you from falling apart. “Do you even want to try?”

His silence is deafening, an answer in itself.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and sharp. “You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “I’m standing here, practically begging you to tell me you care, and you can’t even do that.”

“I care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I care.”

“Do I?” Your voice rises, anger bubbling to the surface, breaking through the pain. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. You say you care, but you act like I’m something you can pick up and put down whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Stop,” he says, his voice suddenly firm, his eyes snapping back to yours. There’s something desperate in his tone, something pleading that makes your breath hitch. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“No, Bucky.” You shake your head, your voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to. And there’s a difference.”

The words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. His eyes dart back to the city skyline, and you see it—the war he’s waging with himself, the battle between what he wants and what he’s too scared to reach for.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of the moment. “Say anything.”

“I’m seeing someone,” he says suddenly, his hands gripping the railing so tightly you half expect it to snap. The words hit like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.

The world around you tilts. Your hands tremble as you take a step back. “Of course you are,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The bitter laugh that follows feels like it belongs to someone else. “I’m done.”

You turn toward the sliding door, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might shatter. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle, pausing for just a second, hoping—praying—he’ll stop you. That he’ll fight.

But the silence stretches on, heavier and colder than the night air.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s still standing there, staring down at the city like he’s already let you go.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to slide the door open and step back inside. The warmth of the apartment hits you like a slap, but it does nothing to ease the chill in your chest.

The door slides shut with a quiet thud.

And Bucky doesn’t follow.

You’d just moved into a new apartment, one that wasn't tainted with all the places he'd touched, places he'd been. It made things easier it wasn't the reason for your move but it helped. Natasha had decided you were both done unpacking for the night so naturally she had dragged you to a party. Steve’s place, of course. The apartment was alive with the energy of too many people crammed into too little space. Natasha had disappeared into a circle of friends near the kitchen, leaving you to nurse your drink in a corner. That’s when you noticed him.

Bucky.

He was leaning against the wall, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Dark hair falling into his eyes, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder despite the heat of the crowded room. He didn’t see you at first, but when he did, his gaze lingered just long enough to make your pulse race.

You told yourself you wouldn’t approach him, but an hour later, you were pressed against the wall in Steve’s hallway, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. It was messy, impulsive, and thrilling.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you’d whispered, your breath catching as his mouth moved against your collarbone.

He’d laughed softly, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. Probably not.”

Neither of you stopped.

There were moments after that—moments that felt like everything you’d ever wanted. Late nights in his apartment, the room dimly lit by the glow of the city outside. He’d lie next to you, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm as you talked about everything and nothing.

He’d tell you about his childhood, the things he rarely told anyone. The weight of his past. And you’d listen, feeling like you were peeling back layers of him that no one else had ever seen.

“You don’t have to fix me,” he’d murmured once, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I like being around you.”

You’d smiled, brushing his hair back from his face. “I’m not trying to fix you, Bucky.”

And in those moments, you weren’t lying.

But then there were the other moments. The ones where he pulled away so fast it left you reeling.

You remember the first time he didn’t text you back. It wasn’t just hours—it was days. Days of overanalyzing every word you’d said to him the last time you saw him. Days of your stomach twisting every time your phone buzzed, only for it to not be him.

When he finally did text, it was so casual it made you want to scream.

“Hey. You good?”

No apology. No explanation. Just like that, he was back. And you let him back in because you didn’t know how not to.

And then there was the jealousy. The way you’d catch him talking to someone else at a party, his body language so open and inviting in a way it rarely was with you. You hated how it made you feel, the bitterness that bubbled up, the way you wanted to pull him aside and demand to know if he cared about you at all.

But you didn’t. You never did.

“Do you even want to move on?” Wanda asks, her tone soft but pointed. “Or is this just who you are now?”

You blink at her, her words cutting through the haze of your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You deserve better, you know that, right?”

The door swings open, and Natasha walks in, dropping her bag on the counter. She gives you a look, one that’s equal parts sympathetic and exasperated.

“Let me guess,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re thinking about him again.”

You don’t answer, but the way your jaw tightens is enough for her to roll her eyes. “You know he’s not good for you. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“I don’t know,” you snap, harsher than you mean to. “Maybe because it’s not that simple.”

“Actually, it is,” Natasha retorts, her voice sharp. “You stop calling him. You stop answering when he calls. You stop letting him treat you like an afterthought.”

“Nat—” Wanda starts, her tone soothing, but Natasha holds up a hand.

“No, she needs to hear this.” She looks at you again, her expression softening just slightly. “I know you care about him. But caring about him isn’t enough if he doesn’t care about you the same way. At some point, you have to start putting yourself first.”

You glance away, her words hitting too close to home.

“I don’t get you,” you’d once said your voice trembling with frustration. “One minute you’re here, and it feels like—like maybe this could be something. And the next, you’re gone.”

He’d run a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is, Bucky,” you’d said, your voice rising. “You either want me, or you don’t. So which is it?”

He’d stopped then, turning to look at you. And the look on his face—it wasn’t anger or indifference. It was fear.

“I don’t know,” he’d said finally, his voice breaking.

And that was the worst part.

“You’re spiraling,” Sam said. He wasn’t harsh about it, but he didn’t sugarcoat it either. “This isn’t love. It’s self-destruction.”

Even as you think it, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, pulling everyone’s attention. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips when you see his name. Just his name—no message preview, no context, just him.

Wanda notices, her brow furrowing as she leans forward. “Don’t,” she says softly, but there’s a weight behind the word, a plea. “You’ll just end up back where you started.”

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the notification. The silence in the room grows heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Your chest tightens as your mind races. It would be so easy. Just one tap, and he’d be there again. One tap, and you’d hear his voice, feel the pull that always brings you back.

“I just…” Your voice falters, your eyes flickering to Wanda and then to Sam, who watches you with a mix of concern and frustration. “What if this time it’s different?”

Sam lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over his face. “You think this time is different? Come on. What’s he going to say that he hasn’t already said a hundred times before?”

“It’s not about what he says,” Wanda interjects, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s about what he does. And what has he done, really, except hurt you?”

You look back at the screen. The notification is still there, a glaring reminder of the mess you can’t seem to escape. Your thumb presses down slightly, not enough to open it but enough to feel the weight of the choice.

“But I love him,” you whisper. The words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered.

Sam exhales sharply, standing up from the chair and pacing across the room. “Yeah, we know. Everyone knows. But does he love you? Because if he does, he’s got a real shitty way of showing it.”

You flinch at his tone, the harshness cutting through your defenses. “He does love me,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“Then where is he?” Sam snaps, turning to face you. “Why isn’t he here, fighting for you instead of blowing up your phone every time he feels lonely? Why is it always you doing the heavy lifting?”

Wanda places a hand on Sam’s arm, pulling him back gently. “Sam…”

“No, I need to say it,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm. “Love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to feel like you’re drowning every damn day just to keep him afloat.”

The bar is too loud, too crowded, and too filled with memories of Bucky for you to feel at ease. But you’re here because it’s Steve’s birthday, and Natasha had insisted. And of course you came it was Steve.

You’re leaning against the bar, talking to a man you barely know. His smile is easy, his laugh smooth, and even though you’re trying to focus on him, you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. From across the room, his gaze burns into your back, searing through your dress like a brand.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes for a split second. The tension in his jaw, the way his drink sits untouched in his hand—it’s the most emotion he’s shown all night. But it’s not enough to stop you.

If he wants to act like he doesn’t care, you’ll give him something to not care about.

The man beside you leans in, his hand brushing against your arm as he says something you don’t quite catch over the noise. You laugh, even though you barely hear the joke. You laugh because you know Bucky is watching.

It doesn’t take long for him to snap.

Before you realize what’s happening, his hand is on your wrist. Firm but not rough, his grip sends a jolt through you. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and clipped.

“Excuse me?” You pull back, glaring at him, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“We’re leaving,” he says, not looking at you, not giving the man beside you so much as a glance.

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s already pulling you through the crowd, weaving between bodies with single-minded determination.

By the time you reach his apartment, you’re seething. He slams the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms.

“My problem?” he fires back, pacing across the room like a caged animal. “My problem is you acting like that guy meant anything to you!”

“Oh, and you would know what means something to me, right?” You take a step closer, your voice rising. “Because you’re so good at showing me how much I mean to you.”

He stops, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t turn this on me.”

“Why not? It’s always about you, isn’t it, Bucky? What you want, what you feel. You drag me into your mess every time, and I let you, because I—”

You stop yourself, your breath catching.

“Because you what?” he demands, his voice sharp.

“Because I care about you!” you yell, your chest heaving. “And all you ever do is hurt me for it.”

His face twists, like your words hit him somewhere deep. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, that he’s going to explain or apologize or do something, but instead, he grabs a plate from the counter and hurls it against the wall. The sharp crash reverberates through the room, the pieces scattering across the floor like jagged confessions neither of you are ready to face.

You flinch at the sound, but the fire in your chest burns brighter, fueled by the chaos. “Oh, real mature, Bucky. Breaking dishes? That’s your solution? Just break things until you don’t have to feel anything anymore?”

He grabs another plate, his hand trembling as he grips it, his knuckles white. His voice breaks as he yells, “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t know I’m screwing this up? That I don’t hate myself for it?”

“Then stop!” you shout back, your voice raw and cracking under the weight of it all. “Stop hurting me, stop dragging me back, stop—just stop!”

The plate shakes in his hand, and for a second, you think he’s going to throw it again. Instead, he slams it down on the counter with a hollow thud. His shoulders slump as he leans over it, his head bowed like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breathing is ragged, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you think it might break under the strain.

“I don’t know how,” he whispers finally, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

The vulnerability in his voice slices through you, but it’s not enough. Not this time. The ache in your chest is unbearable, your heart breaking as you look at the man you love and realize he’ll never love you the way you need him to.

“Then let me go, Bucky,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you can’t give me what I need, let me go.”

He finally turns to face you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking like the plates he just shattered. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Your chest tightens, the pain twisting deeper with every word. “Aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “She’s not you,” he says, his voice trembling. “They’re never you.”

The admission stuns you into silence for a moment. The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and heavy. “Then why can’t you give me that, Bucky?” you whisper, your voice shaking with anger and grief. “Why can you give it to them but not to me? Why is it always me who’s left bleeding for you? It’s not fair—I give you everything! And you just take, take, take! What’s left of me after this?”

Your words hang between you, raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t even try to apologize. He just stares at you, his eyes wide and desperate, like he’s drowning in the mess he’s made.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, grabbing your face in his hands. His touch is rough, almost frantic, his fingers trembling against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And before you can say anything, before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is desperate and messy, his tears mixing with yours as he pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let go. His hands shake as they cup your face, his lips pressing against yours with a fierceness that makes your knees weak.

You hate how easily you give in, how quickly your hands find their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The anger and pain and longing all bleed together in that kiss, every unspoken word, every broken promise, every piece of you he’s taken without giving anything back.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. “But I can’t lose you. Please… don’t leave me.” He whispers his voice trembling

Your heart shatters all over again. “Okay”

Bucky’s hands tighten on your arms, his breath warm and uneven against your face. His lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching yours for something—permission, maybe, or forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. You don’t give it to him, but you don’t pull away either.

Instead, your hands move on their own, sliding up his chest and curling into the fabric of his shirt. The tension between you snaps like a live wire as he closes the distance again, his mouth crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves no room for hesitation.

The kiss deepens, his lips parting yours, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His hands roam down your sides, fingers gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You press closer, your body molding to his as the frustration and anger between you melt into something darker, hotter, and infinitely more consuming.

Bucky backs you up until your hips hit the edge of the counter, the cool surface biting into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. His hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm and deliberate as he lifts you onto the counter. You gasp against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours in all the right ways.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze. His blue eyes are dark, filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty that tugs at something deep inside you. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

That’s all it takes. He grips the hem of your dress and pulls it up, his hands sliding over your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against you as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your head tilts back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands and mouth make you forget every argument, every broken moment that led you here.

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, his touch teasing as he looks up at you, waiting. You nod, your breath hitching as he slides them aside, his fingers exploring with a skill that leaves you trembling. He watches you intently, his gaze locked on your face as he learns every reaction, every sound you make.

When his name slips from your lips, low and needy, it’s like something inside him snaps. He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch with a strength that leaves you dizzy. The world blurs around you, your focus narrowing to the feel of his body against yours, the weight of his hands, the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re all I think about,” he says, his voice raw as he settles over you. “Every damn day.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The only response you can give is the way you arch into him, the way you pull him closer, needing him as much as he needs you. And when he finally joins you, it’s slow and deliberate, every movement designed to pull you deeper into the storm of him.

The morning light seeps through the curtains as you stand by his window, fully dressed, the quiet hum of the city below serving as your only company. Bucky is still asleep in the bed, his arm draped across the pillow where you had been just hours ago. You glance at him one last time, your heart clenching in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you consider crawling back into bed, letting yourself believe in the softness of this moment.

But you can’t.

You quietly grab your things and slip out the door, the sound of it clicking shut behind you feeling heavier than it should.

By mid-morning, you’ve buried yourself in mundane errands—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You’re at the farmer’s market now, weaving through the stalls of fresh produce and flowers, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and bread. You clutch a tote bag tightly in your hand, trying to focus on the vibrant colors of the fruit in front of you.

You pick up an apple, turning it over in your hand absently. It’s almost enough to distract you from the ache still lodged in your chest. Almost.

Until you see him.

You freeze, the apple slipping from your grasp and thudding softly onto the wooden table in front of you. Your breath catches, and the world seems to narrow until it’s just him, standing only a few stalls away.

His dark hair catches the sunlight, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed, like the night before never ended. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and filled with a mix of emotions you can’t quite place—shock, guilt, something softer that makes your chest tighten painfully.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in time. Everyone else around you fades into nothing, their chatter and laughter muffled like the background of a dream.

But then your gaze shifts.

To her.

The woman standing beside him.

Her hand is clasped firmly in his, their fingers intertwined in a way that feels too familiar, too intimate. She’s beautiful, her expression warm and open as she looks up at him, clearly unaware of the storm brewing between his gaze and yours.

Your stomach twists violently, and the apple you’d forgotten about rolls off the edge of the table and hits the ground.

Bucky’s face changes when he sees you notice her, his eyes softening with guilt, his mouth parting as if he wants to say something, anything. But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, holding her hand, while your chest caves in.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you force yourself to look away, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You clutch your tote bag tighter and turn, walking away without another word.

You barely make it out of the market before the tears spill over. You wipe them away furiously, your hands trembling as you duck into a side street, out of view from the crowds.

The weight of his gaze lingers on your back, like a hand reaching out but never quite touching you. You can feel him watching you, but you don’t dare turn around. You can’t.

You stop for a moment, your chest heaving as you lean against the wall of a brick building. The morning sun feels too bright, the world too loud despite the hollow silence pounding in your ears.

He didn’t follow.

You told yourself you didn’t want him to, but the ache in your chest says otherwise.

When you glance back toward the market, just for a second, you see him standing at the edge of the stalls, his hand no longer in hers, his face etched with something that looks like regret.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

With a deep breath, you wipe your face one last time, adjust the strap of your tote bag, and walk away. The weight in your chest feels unbearable, but your feet keep moving anyway.

The apartment is quiet that night, the silence pressing down on you as you sit by the window, staring out at the city lights. You tell yourself you’re not waiting for him, but your phone sits beside you on the windowsill, the screen dark but heavy with possibilities.

It’s almost midnight when the buzz breaks the silence. You glance at the screen, your heart stopping when you see his name.

The message is simple. “Please, can we talk? I miss you…I’m sorry”

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

You people are actually funny. No. Really.

1. Trump was convicted for "sexual abuse" not rape. "How's that better" because rape is worse. But also because it was a NY jury. Way way past the statute of limitations, only opened up to file charges against Trump. But at least he'll do his best to get rid of killers like that if Lakin Reilly's killer. So I'm that regard he's very much protecting women. From actual rapists and killers. (Btw if you think I mean 'all illegals' when I say this you're just stupid)

2. Trump is not a "convicted felon" unless he's sentenced. And sentencing has been dropped. He was also charged with things that were not specified. Which is illegal under the Constitution. And for all the yammering you ask do claiming he's doing to 'rip up the Constitution' you all sure have zero respect for it.

3. I don't understand wtf you're on about for this one. I really don't. Because the only people Trump had promised to "make life a living hell" or otherwise it's the deep state.

4. Trump didn't promise to tear up families any more than literally any other sitting politician in history. And "separations" were very much active and VAST under the "Omega liberal hero" Democrat Obama. Who mind you "built those cages" you all scream about. He's going to deport illegals. Because they are here illegally. They broke the law. We've ALWAYS separated parents from kids when the parents break the law and go to jail. That's always been a thing.

And with no borders there is no country. So to "liberalsarecool" you're not even a liberal. You're a socialist. None of you give a damn about any of what was in your post. Literally none of you. Because if Dems did all the same shit you'd be cheering for it probably. None of you actually have morals. But because the right does, that's how you attack them.

Also stop claiming you care about spirituality. You never have before, you certainly don't now. If anything you and others like you only care about one faith and that's Islam. Every other faith group you all hate. Christians AND Jews.

Also, I wish Trump was the bastard everyone claimed. Because if he was, he'd sue you so for defamation.

The Trump voter will now own their decision to betray all decent people.

#cowards

[xinganhao]

✏️ data science major!jeonghan x reader.

if there's one thing you've never been able to decode, it'd be your ex-boyfriend jeonghan ✶ part of my svt university milestone event

⤿ college exes, jeonghan is a menace™, suggestive coding pickup lines, [slight] angst, terrible pseudo-html for the hc (shoutout to w3schools). more content under the cut. ♡⸝⸝ prompt from @choco-scoups & anon!

<!doctype html> <html> <head> <title> decoding the breakup </title> <subtitle> yoon jeonghan (est. 2024) </subtitle> </head> </body> <script>

if (you still love them) {   // remind yourself of why you broke up in the first place   // date other people who don't even come close to them   // bury yourself in schoolwork or literally anything else that will make you forget } else {   // accept that you still have feelings }

if (you want them back) {   // be annoying enough that you're always on their mind   // reverse psychology them into thinking that they want you back   // reference your relationship so they might want it back, too   // hit them with the world's worst pickup lines so you can catch their attention } else {   // keep on trying until you succeed }

<p> confession time: running into you at what's supposed to be our spot was completely unintentional. that wasn't part of the bigger plan, of the grand scheme of things. that was just me trying to find some comfort in something familiar. in the quiet places where you once loved me. i'm a fool who likes to pretend, here and there, that our little corner of campus still remembers what it was like for us to be together. </p>

if (they still hate you) {   // accept it  // settle for what you're given } else {   // live for the hope of it all }

<p> confession time, part two: i still love you. of course i do. why the hell would i be doing all this if i didn't? <a href="https://www.svtuni.com/jun">jun</a> says love isn't a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but i beg to differ. at the risk of sounding like a bigger fool, i truly believe that i don't think i'll ever love anyone as much as i've loved you. </p>

<p> even <a href="https://www.svtuni.com/mingyu">mingyu</a> has gotten his sequel. and he's asked me, time and time again, if that's something i want with you. some second chance romance, one that won't end with me being 'Maybe: Jeonghan' in your phone. </p>

<p> <a href="https://www.svtuni.com/vernon">vernon</a> will be the first to tell us both that the body doesn't lie. some bullshit about the heart knowing what it wants, about it not being good for us to deny our most basic instincts of what it truly wants. our friends don't know how to keep their opinions to themselves, unfortunately. </p>

<p> <h1> anyway. what matters are my thoughts, right? </h1> </p>

<p> and my only thought is that i love you. i loved you when we were together, and i love you even now. i loved you, and i was bad at it, and i will live the rest of my life wondering what i could have done differently. as it is, i'm worried that i'm still not good enough for you. that i'll make the same mistakes that i did back then. </p>

<p> i'm happy to just love you, if you'll let me. i'm happy to be petty, to make up all these terrible pick up lines. to make you smile and scoff and roll your eyes. i want to love you and to want nothing in return. not until i deserve it. not until i can finally, finally say i'm worth your time. </p>

<p> <small> please. </small> </p>

</script> </body> </html>

[chronicsyd]

I'm gonna be so serious, y'all are remembering POWDER and Ekko and not JINX and Ekko when screaming about how much you "wanted Timebomb endgame over Caitvi"

shoving JINX in a relationship with her current mental state is not a good writing choice whatsoever, because Ekko literally had to keep rewinding time because she kept trying to kill herself. If Anything, That relationship would be rushed and fanservice because they would have jumped the gun in 2 episodes vs the 2 seasons it took for Caitvi and showing their ups and downs throughout their whole relationship.

The alternate universe works because Powder doesn't become Jinx and the two don't separate, unlike this universe where the two have been at odds for 7 years and almost kill each other back in Ep 7 of S1.

"But Cait never said sorry!" she didn't really have to, because Vi never stopped being in love with the girl that she Knows Cait is at heart, the Cocktail Molotov scene in Act 2 makes that VERY apparent. Cait saying that she was waiting for Vi to recover to address Jinx is the start of it because Act 1 Cait wouldn't have even Considered doing that, because she was so gung-ho about putting a bullet into Jinx that she Demanded Vi move out of the way for her to do so. She holds herself accountable with the mistakes she's made ("We can't erase our mistakes. None of us." that wasn't just a line targeted at Jinx to prove a point, there's deeper meaning behind it), and moving the guards out of the cell proving that she trusts Vi and her judgment on Jinx is that apology, Caitlyn has always been an "acts of service" kinda person over being a "verbal" kinda person; it's all over the place in S1 but Especially here in S2. But even after she takes Vi's shirt off, you could tell by her eyes and body language that she was most likely going to stop herself again to apologize for hitting her because the wound was in the same spot she initially hit, which was part of the lead up for This wound to even happen, but Vi's the one that just pulls her back in instead.

I'm also gonna add on that Vi thinks she made the wrong choice in trusting Jinx and thinking Jinx's changed because Jinx locked her in the cell and ran away again. So why in the Hell would Vi go chasing after her Again to be met with the same result time and time again? Vi isn't responsible for Jinx's mental health and y'all saying that are just weird. And I think it's apparent that Stillwater probably wasn't even in the top 10 things in her head being with Caitlyn, she was just running wild on emotions that she hasn't allowed herself to feel like-- Ever. And even if it Was Vi probably would have said she wasn't comfortable being in a jail cell of all places.

What was I talking about? Oh right, Timebomb.

Like Yes, it's shitty that Ekko doesn't get a happy ending considering he's the most unproblematic in the entire show. But people tend to forget that at the end of the day, Arcane is a TRADGEDY. It's not She-ra, it's not The Owl House, it wasn't going to be wrapped up in a neat little bow where everyone gets to smile and walk into the sunset with their loved ones, especially considering the fact that this season's being used as build ups to other stories, it's relatively clear that this isn't the last we're going to see of a lot of these characters. When they come back into play? well... who's to say?

But also, let's address that a lot of the Caitvi hate is just straight up homophobia at this point because a lot of people can understand Mel's admission to manipulating Jayce as an apology but Cait's actions we're suddenly braindead and need shit completely spelled out. like good lord I'm so tired of this. Y'all would NEVER have survived Catradora let me tell ya...

(My next post is gonna be a long winded rant about Maddie so stay tuned for that...)

[biteyoubiteme]

I'll be quick

huening kai x fem!reader

synopsis: dress shopping with your boyfriend.

warnings: 🔞!!! slight exhibitionism, chubby reader implied, no protection, creampie mention, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.9k

an: thank you so much for requesting hp! im so nervous for you to read this lol I hope you like it if you don’t just put me down nicely :)) <3333

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

“How about this one?” you ask, smoothing your hands down the front of the silk dress you wore. It was the kind of material that should not be worn with this type of underwear; your pantie line clearly visible. Your hands went sliding down over your ass as if that would make the buckled fabric disappear. “Ignore the fact I'm wearing the wrong panties,” 

You give a slow spin in the fluorescent lights, the semicircle of mirrors reflecting every angle of your dress-clad figure at you. But all you can see is the damned line from your underwear. “Actually don't answer that, I hate it,” 

“I love it,” Kai speaks up from his spot opposite the mirrors. He's leaning back with your purse in his lap, eyes tracing up and down your body as he watches the way the material clings to you. He can imagine the way it would feel under his fingers, sliding over the expanse of your thighs. 

“You always say that,” you mutter, turning your cheek to look at the dress from the back. You can see Huening watching, eyes tacked right to the outline of your underwear. “Kai,” 

“What?” he blinks up at you like he was caught. Cheeks flushed as he pulled your bag closer to his lap.

“Is it that bad?” It was late in the day, and your usual trip to the mall was fun. Both of you could spend hours going from shop to shop, no need to buy anything but to spend time together looking at all the new things in store. It was one of your favorite things to do. 

Kai would follow you around like a little puppy, letting you pick out things for him to try on. Pulling him into dressing rooms so that he could get something new to wear. Spending too much time at the sunglasses wrack, spinning the display around and around, trying on each pair, first on you then on him, giggling over the silly reflective wraparound pairs. He loved when you picked out the different things for him to put on, especially jeans, your hands sliding into the back pockets to check their depth was always his favorite part. 

You had your favorite spots at the food court, always picking the same little table every time you sat down, knees bumping as you picked over each other's meals. Kai would carry your drink while you tried on shoes, hold your bag when you tried on clothes. And most of the time having him along with you made shopping less overstimulating, you could have fun without rushing to just get the shopping over with. 

Only now that you needed a dress for an event it felt like everything was crashing down at that very moment. Nothing felt right, every dress you tried on made it feel like you wouldn't find the one. The lights now make everything look too oversaturated, the dressing room is now cold enough to make goosebumps rise along your arms, and now the stupid panty line. 

You didn't even know why you were so focused on finding the right outfit, it was a last minute decision to even go to the little dinner your friends were hosting. you didn't need something new but you wanted something new. 

“Just take them off,” Kai suggests, sweet face glowing in the lights, every little mole dotting his skin easily seen. 

The fitting rooms were in the back of the store, the long hallway sectioned off with several doors before ending right at the little platform with the mirrors you stood now. Although a few people milled around in the shop just past the corner no one was in the other changing rooms. He was suggesting an easy fix to the only problem you were having with the dress and so you took it. Even though the door to the room where you kept all your other clothes was open and waiting for you to go back inside, you just bent right there hands going up under your dress and hooking in the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down and off without lifting the dress to expose yourself. 

Kai feels all the blood rush to his face, the prickling heat slinking through his bones. It was enough to already be thinking about undressing you, but now seeing you do most of the work for him, at his suggestion, was taking him out. You tossed the fabric into the dressing room, aiming for your pile of clothes but missing, the corner of the fabric still seen from where Kai's sitting. 

“That's so much better,” you're back to sliding your hands down the silky fabric, flattening out any bumps to make sure it's lying right. You love the way it hugs your thighs, outlines the shape of your hips, the curves of your stomach, and lays against the swell of your chest. “Okay now just imagine it without a bra, I'll have to find something without straps,” 

“It's uh- it's really nice,” you look over at him in his hesitation to find that he wasn't saying it just to appease you but was finding it hard to swallow back what he really wanted to say. He was doing exactly what you asked, picturing you naked under all that silk, he could see it falling to the floor, how easy it would be to slip right off of you.  He pushed your purse closer to his growing bulge, cheeks flushing deeper when you asked, “Huening, are you blushing?” 

He loved it when you used that slightly teasing tone on him, it was as if your fingers were brushing up his neck with each word. “I think that's the one,” he was avoiding directly drawing attention to your question, not needing to think about exactly why he’s red so that he can try and wish away his erection before you guys walk out of here. 

“Okay, perfect.  I don't think I want to even try on anymore ,anyways,” you step down from the little platform, “oh, do you think we could stop at the little candy store on the corner and get the gummies we shared last time?” 

“Umhum,” he gives his usual hum in response as you close the door behind you. 

It's only then that you realize that you can't undo the zipper by yourself, he had helped you do up the back with no problem and there was no way for you to reach up to grab the zipper on your own. “Kai? Could you help me take this off?” 

It's the last thing he should be doing, he knows it as soon as he's in the dressing room with you, hand placed on your hip as he steadies you. You're just as soft as he expected, his free hand not even making it to the zipper. You watch him in the mirror in front of you, his eyes following his fingers as they make their way down gripping the outside of your thighs.“God, I love your body,” he groans, his head falling to your shoulder, lips dusting over your shoulder when you finally feel how hard he is. “You really like the dress huh?” 

“No I just love you and need you, please I'll be quick,” he whines right at the back of your ear. 

“Anyone could hear-” 

“I'll be quiet, I promise, please,” and your slight nod is all he needs to push up the back of your dress, his hand pushing between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your fold, swirling over your clit to build up your arousal. You fall forward, hands bracing yourself on the mirror, kai readjusts so that one hand is splayed across your tummy, silk spilling through his fingers. 

He’s quick to free himself from his jeans, pushing them down just enough so that he can line himself up with you, dragging his tip through your folds, catching at your entrance. You know yourself well enough to cover your mouth when he pushes in, the overwhelming stretch of him always making you whine. He's no better, his pretty face reflecting at you as his mouth opens in a silent moan when he fully seats himself inside you. His head falls into your shoulder so that he can muffle any sound that wants to escape, your back arching as his hold on your plushie hip tightens, fingers digging into the soft skin of your tummy. 

Kais intoxicatingly deep inside you, his first thrust pulls a throaty whimper for you that you can't hold back. “This was a bad idea-” you try to whisper, cutting yourself off by clamping your hand back on your mouth when he slams his hips against your ass. His breath fanning over your ear when he whispers, “You feel fucking amazing,” his trapped whimpers rumbling his chest, all the vibrations pressed to your back. He peeks in the mirror, biting his lip when he watches the way your tits bounce, hanging perfectly in view for him, “fuck- look at you,” 

His cock slides so effortlessly in and out of your needy cunt, warm fluttering walls drawing him in until he's forgetting he needs to be silent, that he shouldn't be pounding this hard, changing his orgasm so intensely that someone might hear him. 

It's the soft clapping of skin that reminds you where you are, “slow down kai- we could- we could-,” but it's then that he uses the hand on your hip to slide under the bunched fabric of your dress, to draw circles on your clit. It was an instant shock that had your knees shaking. 

“Who cares,” he's muttering, head shaking as he picks up his pace, “If anyone saw you dressed like this they would want to be right where I am, fuck, but they could never fuck you like I can, never,” his last word caught on the end of a whimper drawn out and pulled from him as he came. 

It's the look on his face, brows tightening, eyes squeezing shut as he falls apart, mixed with his steady pressure on your clit that has you tumbling over the edge after him. Your whole body flexes as he pulls you in tight to him, hand leaving your stomach to clamp over your mouth. 

Both of you are struggling to catch your breath in the now stuffy room, mirror fogged up from your hands, skin once chilled now inflamed with your post-sex afterglow. His cock still jerked even when he pulled out of you, his hand moving to try and stop the spill of your combined release. Your thighs try to close around the feeling of him brushing your sensitive clit while he leans down to pick up your discarded underwear, using them to clean you up. 

He peppers kisses all along your cheeks bunching up the soiled fabric in his hand before unzipping your dress. “I really do love this dress on you,” 

“Oh really? I couldn't tell,” you giggle, and he helps you get dressed, carrying your bags out after you, panties shoved into his back pocket. 

When you leave the store you wrap an arm around his center, going underneath his jacket to feel all his warmth. He slinks his arms around your shoulder, tugging you into his side, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Didn't I hear you say something about getting gummies?” 

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! thank you to @thetxtdevil @hmusunoo @hyukascampfire and @prince-jjae for proofreading/beta reading this for me ily all sm okay my little sweet baby angels I hope you get everything youve ever wanted in life and more

[audioandart]

why do they get to hinge your well-being and survival on anything though. Like you said, 18 year olds don't have the funds to live on their own. Their parents deciding the moment they hit 18 that if they don't do everything perfectly, they're going to be kicked out is nuts. Here's what happened when I turned 18:

I had to go to college (which there was no public transportation for and I can't drive because I'm disabled)

I had to work (which still took months to get going because disabled)

I had to do all the chores (and was the only one doing so because I "had the time" while everyone else was at their 9-5s. This was often while I was supposed to be at class)

This already took at least 10 hours but lets not forget the few hours of homework I had as well. And I had no weekend due to my schedule. It is not unreasonable to want the adult in your house to do these things but my mother also

Refused to take parental controls off any of my devices even tho they actively hindered my school work due to blocking websites I needed (and she would not unblock them) (and I was a grown adult, who she also had no reason to have them to the degree she did when I was younger either. I had literally never done a thing on my devices, as she herself would and does attest)

Get pissed off about the fact I needed to be taken to school even tho she didn't want me to drive. She blamed this on my not finding public transportation. She herself agreed there was none

I was not allowed to have a voice in arguments. Even tho I was an adult (this continued past 18 just for the record) I was not allowed to voice why I had done things or why certain things hadn't worked. I was threatened with "you can leave (I will make you)" and she had on multiple occasions kicked me out to "take a walk". It was a "polite" way of saying gtfo of my house, which she didn't even always bother with. The moment I turned 18 it was fair game to threaten to put me on the streets, because yes, that's exactly where I would've been.

Even tho I contributed payment I was not allowed ownership of my own things. Every single person in the house would come in my room and do what they wanted, would take my things. No one else in the house experienced this. Side note, I also had the only door without a lock.

And throughout all this I was also in constant pain and ill because our world is not made for disabled ppl, which even tho the ppl around me recognized me as such, refused to give me the accommodations they also recognized I needed. I have memory problems. My mother refused to recognize them and claimed I just didn't care. I forgot to take out the trash? I can leave (be kicked out). I didn't finish all the dusting in a few minutes because I'm sick from standing? Doesn't matter. I can leave.

My mom is a great mom. She really is. But the moment I turned 18 it was like this switch was flipped. She was still great but suddenly there was no patience. There was no care for things she had previously cared about. There was also no loosening of the grip she'd had on me my whole life, as I also wasn't allowed to leave the house without her permission. The sad truth is, in the US, parents do not often want you there once you're 18. Even if they love you. So no, they will kick you out. And yes, college and good grades is too much. Your life should not be dependant on your grades (and it is your life). Being homeless WILL fuck you and if you are kicked out it is nigh guaranteed you will be homeless. Who are you going to crash with? All your friends live with their parents. You have nowhere near enough money to live anywhere, the dorms won't accept you especially halfway thru the year, no way are you going to find a roommate situation that fast. Shelters are a whole other issue that I don't even want to get into right now, and they aren't everywhere. You will be homeless. And it will be over your grades. Do you really think that's ok? The world we live in needs serious change before ppl can just be kicked out. It's heartless to say that anything justifies homelessness

i fucking hate people who are like "no one has a right to live alone, just have roommates if you can't afford it, i had them for so long" etc because every single person my age that i know has a horrific roommate/housemate story. i genuinely believe that being able to afford living alone is deeply important for human dignity and also like, sanity, and i also think you should be able to throw your roommate out of a window if needs must

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Hello I was wondering if you could do Jackson ellie x bestfreind reader and like they have had a crush on eachother for a while and have a sleepover where they smoke or drink maybe or play some type of game like truth or dare and find out they like eachother and get kinda freaky idk. Thank you!

EEE I am so excited for this one watch me cook on this request. This is a rlly good request and I wanna write something just as good!! Also I want to recommend you an ao3 fic with this EXACT plot it's tagged here actually my favorite Ellie fic ever.

Content: 4k words, bestfriend reader, Jackson setting, pent-up feelings, nipple-play (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), tribbing, Ellie puts a finger into your mouth how fun!, a lot of dialogue before the actual sex sorry but I loved writing Ellie to be funny, reader likes pink a lot (couldn't help myself) and is afab, reader and Ellie 18+, NOT PROOFREAD LMAO

You're far from safe from liking people you shouldn't like.

That doesn't even cover the multitude of feelings! Like doesn't cover it. You're pretty sure you love Ellie.

Maybe in another lifetime, you and Ellie could've met and went on a date. You could've loved her freely. In this universe, she is your childhood best friend.

You know it could ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you if you tell her, or if she finds out in some way, but fuck; when she looks at you, it's like you forget how to breathe. You just wanna breathe her in, you want to share the same air and feel her lips on yours.

Ellie is unlike anyone you've ever known. She's sweet for you. She's impulsive to others, and honestly sometimes an asshole. That only makes you fall more and more in love for her. You didn't know it was possible to be attracted to someone's flaws, but you want every piece of her, even the bits that others in Jackson label as "annoying."

Ellie has always been there for you since you were just 15 and she moved to Jackson right by Joel's side. You just seemed to click. She was brash, foul-mouthed, and told ironically funny dad jokes. You were the type of person who liked having adventures and never shut up. Ellie always listened. She held you while you cried, let you borrow her book of puns, and volunteered to do patrols with you just so she could have fun adventures with you.

You couldn't ruin a good thing. You don't know what you would even do without Ellie in your life. You didn't wanna freak her out or make things weird. You feel like such a coward, but even thinking about Ellie distancing herself from you because of your stupid crush on her? It just makes your stomach churn with dread.

Little did you know Ellie was equally obsessed with you.

You're like a fucking ball of sunshine to the girl, always there laughing at the stupid things she says, defending her when she gets in trouble for something minor, and your smile should be considered warfare for how easily it could kill her. She tries to keep her feelings to herself, but it is so hard to when you look at her with bright eyes and the sweetest smile like you're trying to give her a toothache.

It's a recipe for a bomb, and it only takes one game to set it off.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

You're sitting criss-cross on your bed and Ellie is in your floor. It's a Saturday, which means both of you get to have a sleepover. No patrol, and no major chores to be done around Jackson.

Ellie just got back from a multiple day lasting patrol and she missed you so much while she was gone, it's not even funny. Seattle is beautiful, but boring when there isn't a sunshine girl in awe about how the verdure clings to the buildings. But at least now she is here, back in your bedroom which she loves so much.

Ellie's room is vastly different from yours. Well, her garage is. Her bedsheets are grey and minimalistic, and her make-shift kitchen is lined with posters. Her favorite is the one with the punk green-haired man holding a guitar. Her closet, however, it quite impressive. Her shelves are lined with comics and space movies, and her hangers are lined with flannels, of course.

Your bedroom, in contrast, has white bedsheets and a cozy pink blanket. You have a few raggedy plushies from scavenging around and your shelves are filled with lighter-colored clothing. White curtains decorate your windows and frilly pillowcases (that end up in the floor most of the time) compliment your bed. You have a full-length mirror in the corner of your room and a shelf of DVDs you usually just bring over to Ellie's garage, since she has a much nicer tv than you do. Ellie glances up at you from the floor, squiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm so fucking bored!" You groan, making Ellie laugh in the process.

"And how is that my problem?"

You flip her off and she clutches her stomach.

"Seriously, Ellie. I wanna actually do something and not just eat grilled cheeses and read your nerdy comics."

She scoffs.

"Excuse me? It's not my fault you have bad taste in literature."

You snort at that. "Starlight Savage and Raven Mouse are not literature."

"Oh, then what are they, huh?" She stands up, amusingly offended.

"Comics!"

Ellie grabs one of your pillows and pretends to suffocate you with it. You're laughing and trying to pry it off of your face.

"Hey, quit! You're actually gonna kill me!" You giggle, your voice muffled from the cushioning.

Ellie finally relents, laughing along with you.

"Better think twice before disrespecting Starlight Savage." She is wearing her signature shit-eating grin.

"Oh, whatever.. Hey!- You got me off topic." You groaned.

Ellie laughs at that. "And what was the topic?"

"I am bored out of my fucking mind," you complain, your voice rising in pitch to sound whiny, which she pretends to absolutely hate.

Really, she just hates that it makes her stomach clench when she hears your cute complains, and the tone of your whines only makes it worse.

"Okay, okay, fine. We can do something fun." She feigns reluctance, setting down on the bed beside you.

"Great!! So, what should we do?"

"Seriously? You don't even know what you wanna do and you gave me whiplash bitching about being bored?"

You scoff, jumping to your own defense. "I was tryin' to get you to come up with something," and then you add to complete your argument, "I wouldn't be bored if I knew what we could do."

Ellie sighs, and you smile because you know that means she has had enough of your bullshit and she just wants to throw in the towel.

"Fine. Well, we can play a game perhaps?"

You groan in protest at the suggestion. "You're a dirty cheater when it comes to Monopoly!"

Ellie only lets out a sheepish laugh at that, because she knows that you're being 100% truthful. "That is what makes the game fun!" When she sees your glare, she sighs once more. "Fine. How 'bout Truth or Dare?"

That sounds intriguing; the game begins.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

You and Ellie sit across from each other, and the game has been going on for around 10 minutes now. It's getting quite boring - always questions like "What's a secret you haven't told me?" or Ellie dares you to do something she knows you won't do, like lick the toilet bowl.

Then, she asks a question that brings the game onto another level.

"What's your favorite sex position?"

You stare at her, your jaw practically in your lap. You don't wanna talk sex positions with the girl you secretly wanna do sex positions with.

"What the fuck, Ellie?!"

She looks a bit guilty, but shrugs with a smirk that doesn't go unnoticed.

"What? I wanted to spice things up. C'mon, don't be a pussy."

You think it over, but finally, with a heated face, you say fuck it and give into her bullshit. "Missionary."

Ellie bursts out laughing.

You're sitting there not knowing what to do! She is laughing like a hyena at this point, tears in the corners of her eyes. She slaps her knee. What the fuck?!

"What's so funny?!"

Ellie just laughs, falling over and she is snorting like a pig now before she finally settles down. "It's just.." she tries to stifle a giggle, "that is the most boring thing you could've possibly said.”

You know that, but you're keen on defending your word. Ellie loves that about you, how you're always quick to stand up for yourself. "It's romantic!"

"Okay, okay," she shrugs. "Enlighten me on how missionary is more romantic than any other position that actually feels good."

You don't hesitate to list off the facts. "First of all, it does feel good! You just haven't tried the pillow method. Second of all, you can kiss your partner and actually talk to them." You sigh, getting a bit flustered (and turned on) by the conversation at hand. "Imagine fucking someone and getting to kiss all over their face while doing so, or on their neck or their tits. It's about the intimacy."

Ellie looks just as flustered as you now. She is silent for a moment before giving you the benefit of the doubt. "Okay, I guess you can rest your case now. But there is much more intimate positions than missionary, you know. You're just thinking vanilla ones like riding the strap-on, or from behind."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "Okay, I'll bite. What's more intimate than looking into someone's eyes while they cum?"

Ellie laughs at your vulgar question, pink tinting her freckled cheeks. "Tribbing." Her voice is more quiet, and that only makes you more aware of the slight tension.

You quickly brush it off with a laugh.

"Of course your gay ass would say that."

She grins and sits up at that, quick to defend herself. "Hey, you have no room to be talking, little miss 'my gay awakening is Rose from Titanic.'"

Your jaw drops and you look at her like she has said something crazy. "Hey, Rose is hot!"

She giggles. "Yeah, Sherlock, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, okay. Can we get back to the game?"

She nods, and it continues.

As time passes, the questions grow more and more...uncomfortable to answer. You're still asking her the more casual things, but Ellie is daring you to do stupid, impossible stuff, or to answer questions like "what was your first time like?", "do you have a friends with benefits situation with anyone in Jackson?", and "if you could kiss anyone in Jackson, who would it be?" (which you brushed off jokingly by saying old man Eugene. She didn't press any further, only mocking you).

Then, she leans forward after you choose truth, and she whispers something you can't really brush off.

"Who do you like?"

You're fucked. If she asked "do you like someone?", you could answer without revealing who it is. She knows she has you trapped. Sneaky cunt.

You don't answer right away. Ellie is so close, your knees touching. The air in the room is insanely hot, and you want to leave your own house, you want to hide under your blankets or cover your face, but you can't.

Ellie doesn't wait for you to answer.

"I know you like someone, I can tell when my best friend is in love. Who is it?"

"That's way too personal, I.."

She scoffs, but it's not a rude sound. Just shocked, maybe slightly hurt. "You have always told me your crushes. Why won't you tell me now?"

You feel guilty now because she doesn't understand. She doesn't get why you won't tell her. She can't understand that it's because you like her. You want to scream it: I'm in love with you, Ellie! But those words won't be the next you utter.

"I just...I feel like this time it should be private." You know that your reasoning is weak, for once in your life, the defense is slipping and it's ugly. You internally wince.

She just stares in silence, not really meeting your eyes. It makes you panic, and then, then the words slip from your mouth seeing the hurt on Ellie's pretty face.

"It's you."

She stares at you like she didn't quite hear what you said, even though it was shaky, nevertheless loud and coherent.

"What...?"

"I..I'm in love with you, Ellie." You repeat yourself.

She leans into you. "Fuck.." Her breath hitches. "You better not be fucking around with me, I swear to-"

"No!", you shout loudly and quickly try to compose yourself. "I mean..I'm not joking. I like you. I hope this doesn't fuck with our friendship, or like.." You trail off, not wanting to think about what could happen now.

"I'm in love with you, too." There, now Ellie has gotten it out too.

Ellie didn't even fully understand why she asked you that. She knew she could've gotten her feelings hurt, that you could've liked someone else or that it would definitely mean you did like her, and then she had to be vulnerable and confess it back. Still, she was so exhausted, so fucking tired of pretending like hugs and casual touches were enough. They were never enough.

"Can I kiss you?" She doesn't even give you the proper time to react to her shared confession before she springs that onto you. You don't complain, only nodding quickly.

Her breath is warm against yours, and you can tell how shaky it is. You've never seen her so nervous, it makes your own stomach flutter with butterflies. Then, Ellie's grasping onto your face and smashing her lips against yours. Her mouth is warm, and the kiss doesn't even start out gentle. It's all devouring, all need and passon.

You quickly move into her lap, thighs on either sides of hers, and both of you are desperately pulling each other closer, finally sharing the same air. She tastes like everything natural, something so unique it can't be described but you immediately know you need more of it. Her tongue moves inside of your mouth, devouring you just like how she has been dreaming of for who knows how long, and when you're forced to pull away for a breath, her lips are sloppily trailing down your jaw to your throat, her hands grasping your hips to pull you closer.

"I've wanted you for so long, you know that?" Her voice is warm against your sensitive skin, and you think you could just burst with how it feels to be practically intertwined with her.

"Show me how it feels, Els.." You gasp and tilt your head back for more, but Ellie pulls away to look at you.

"How what feels?' She doesn't sound rude, only confused with her lips swollen and wet.

"The intimacy..the intimacy you talked about.." Oh, that.

She nods quickly, and her mouth is all over your shoulders, leaving soft pecks between words, "We can do that, but I wanna do something first..is that okay?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

With that, she pulls your shirt over your head and stares at you like she has never seen a pair of boobs before. Her eyes are wide and she takes you in before her.

"You're so pretty," she mumbles with conviction, kneading your tits through your bra. You can only moan when she sticks a hand into your bra and rubs her palm over your nipples, her other hand deftly undoing the clasp of the fabric.

That was the hottest thing you could do for a woman, Williams..

Her lips quickly find a nipple, pulling it into her mouth to swirl her tongue around the bud. Your fingers tug at her hair, begging for more. You need her closer. She reluctantly pulls her mouth off off of its new favorite place and leans back up to face you, planting an affectionate kiss on your cheek before smiling sheepishly.

"I'm gonna say something I want to do to you, but you can't laugh.."

That makes you already giggle, despite the heat building between your thighs. That is something you love about Ellie, the way she can make you laugh even when you aren't supposed to be.

"I'll try my best. What is it?" You ask, and she fiddles with her fingers nervously.

"I wanna use my fingers on you," she says it so quietly, voice nervous but filled with hunger before she quickly adds, "if you want me to. It's okay if you don't wanna go any further-"

"I want you to finger me, Els."

That was easier than she thought it would be.

She nods now, slowly unbuttoning your jeans and watching with an intense gaze as you hop off of her lap to shimmy them off. Now you're in nothing but a cotton pair of panties and you look so gorgeous.

Ellie has always found you to be beautiful. During patrols and on lookout, your hair had a shine to it that most people wouldn't care to think too much about, but Ellie always noticed it. Ellie always noticed the way your lips parted when you were zoned out, or how you walked like you always knew where you were going even on the paths that were mainly uncharted. You were so lovely-looking.

Now, nearly naked for her, she doesn't know if she can bare to blink even for a second. She is currently having a never-ending starting contest with your body, and she has to stop herself from pouncing on you. She wants to love you, not just fuck you.

Ellie is on her knees between your legs, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your underwear. Her eyes flicker over your body before looking to yours for confirmation.

"You sure you want this?"

"Please, Ellie. I want you." You know you sound desperate for her, but it can't be helped. You were soaked through your underwear, clit beating with need, and Ellie is just eyeing you like she wanted to devour you. She probably would, but she wants to save your clit for later.

She nods and slips your underwear down your legs, pulling them off of your ankles and throwing them behind her. The action made you giggle, but Ellie quickly squashed your outburst.

"Somethin' funny?" She asks, slipping a finger through your slick folds. You gasp and jolt.

"Hey, where the fuck is the warning, you cunt?"

She has to stifle her own laugh at your outburst, but she is growing tired of the cute giggles; if you laughed one more time, she'd be fucking you until you were limping-

"Sorry, pretty. I'm gettin' impatient." Her tone mkes you involuntarily clench. You rarely hear that tone, the serious one when she is either around someone she doesn't know and is keeping it professional or just not in the mood to joke. Now, you discover it's her horny tone, too.

You nod, tilting your head back to rest it on your frilly pillow. Finally, she slips two digits past your lips and you resist the urge to let a whorish whine slip past your lips. When she easily slides into your heat, you then can't resist.

Ellie's eyes are glued to your pussy like it's magic, watching your hips try to rise for more, feeling the way your walls tighten around her intrusion.

It's too much for her poor, fucked head to bare.

She is already as wrecked as you are. She wants to taunt you for the way you already look like you're going to cum from her barely brushing at your spongey g-spot, but she can't. She is probably in rougher shape right now.

"You feel so warm." It's all she can manage to get out, and she curls her fingers inside of you into upward, making you moan.

"I wanna cum, Els..please, more. Give me more." Ellie has never seen you this dumb for pleasure before, but who is she to deny you?

Her fingers aren't thrusting in and out or finger-banging you, just slowly sliding through your cunt, her fingertips stroking where you need them to. You feel so full, so complete. You hope she does this every single day from here on out.

It doesn't take long to get you into a state of complete bliss, and you haven't even climaxed yet. Your legs aren't clamping down, rather spreading wider as if you're begging for her to take you in the most obscene ways possible, fill you up with more than just her fingers. If only she you two were currently at her house, she has that unopened strap-on box... maybe for another day.

The knot that builds in your stomach, the temperature of it overheating your insides is about to snap. You're begging as if Ellie is teasing you or something. You're whining, and you look like you're about to start sobbing if she pauses her pace even for a nanosecond. She just wants to gives you everything, thinks you deserve the whole world, so she leans forward and intertwines her fingers with yours as her other fingers pump deep inside you, and you swear it's rearranging your guts. You wanna be wrecked so damn badly.

"You keep fluttering around me, gonna cum?" She asks, and you whine and nod.

Your orgasm soon hits you like a tsunami, once in a crash and then it simmers throughout you in waves. This is probably the hardest you have ever came. You gasp onto her hand tight, squeezing her fingers. You can't even speak or you'd be howling her name. It feels so euphoric and you wonder how it can get any better than this.

When you come down from the peak, she eases her fingers out of your tender insides and licks her ring finger clean. Then, she settles her hips between your legs, bringing her soaking middle finger to your lips.

"Open up."

You do so without question, tasting yourself on her digit before she swiftly pulls her finger away with a "pop!"

"I taste weird," you mumble and she rolls her eyes, mumbling a little "fuck you" before sitting up to strip out of her flannel.

You feel maybe a little nervous before. Something about the thought of feeling her in such an intimate way makes you feel even more fluttery inside. You've been with women before, you are far from a virgin, but you've never clashed clits before (omfg what). Most girls thought it was just a porn thing.

"You okay?" Ellie pauses, her flannel on the bed and a black t-shirt layer underneath it.

"Yeah," you mean it, "just a little nervous."

Her eyes soften, and she takes your hand and squeezes it. "I promise I'll be slow with you. I'm not gonna rush you into this, and if you want, we can always stop."

You feel more assured now, and you smile. "Okay."

When she finally strips out of her clothing, you take her in. She is breath-takingly beautiful. Her body is pale but covered in tan freckles, and her nipples are perky with arousal. Her shoulders and collarbone look so fucking kissable. You're still in a daze as she hooks a leg over yours, her warm cunt only an inch or two away from yours. She hovers.

"You ready?"

"I want you, so yes."

That makes her smile, and she slowly eases down onto you, her folds rubbing up against yours and both of your neglected clits finally getting the attention they deserve. Both of you are already moaning and Ellie leans down onto you, her tits brushing against yours as she kisses you deeply.

This kiss is slower than the first, less desperate but just as emotional. It's hungry and consumes you in a sensual way. Her hips grind against yours, her slick mixing with your soaked pussy to make you only whine into her mouth.

Now you understand how intimate this is. You feel so connected to Ellie in a way you hope you never get to feel with anyone else. You wanna always be this close. You think that even after this ends, you'll feel that tie to her body and heart, always leading you back to her.

When you both cum together, it's much different than what she gave you before. You can feel her tense up with you, hear her shaky breaths and moans, and you feel a warmth inside of you reminding you that she feels this way because of your pussy, because of her feelings for you. It's making you obsessive to feel this way.

When the high fades, she collapses on top you. You're both breathing heavily for a few minutes. Her breath is against your neck and it feels like a kiss. Your brain is thinking of something stupid now that the horniness is over.

"Isn't it obvious that I'm your girlfriend now?"

Ellie laughs and squeezes you tightly.

"Yeah. You're my girlfriend now, and I'm not letting you go."

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

[erinwantstowrite]

bear with me here because i'm gonna ramble about something i've been thinking about for a while... and i'm not complaining, i'm just noticing

sometimes i think we've leaned so far into the vigilante side of the batfam that we miss out on what really makes their characters: detective work. we need more mysteries in their lives that don't lead up to some big bad "we already know who's doing it" or an "end of the world" or "yet again: this fucking guy." we need more stuff where spy movie music plays in the background and dumb adventures that don't lead up to some huge grand event with a big name villain. the shock factor stops being shocking or interesting in any capacity if we're like "Gah! the Joker! ... Again!" or whatever

does that even make sense? like "yeah sure they're blowing up a building again and there's hostages. oh look they're gonna poison the water supply." these aren't bad and that's not what i'm getting at because obviously this is a classic for comics. you need to have characters/antagonists that show up more than once and who can make a story better by being in it. and i did say to bear with me- that's because im tired. so like i hope im getting this across the right way? it's just that sometimes i don't wanna see a huge explosion, i want these motherfuckers solving a regular murder or a disappearance or regular corruption in a local office without it being tied to a grand reveal like "actually this person knows you as a long lost relative" or "they were at that circus can you guess which night they went?" that kind of thing? if you get me? like... more of the small time stuff makes the big stuff important, it makes it stand out more. at some point, the format gets repetitive even if you're switching up the villains. you can make these situations/mysteries still fun to solve for the characters and fun to read for the audience if you do it right

the concept of a detective dressed as a bat and having a sidekick in traffic light colors is inherently goofy as hell??? but that is what is so charming about it??? i think we have lost the balance between them being silly while also being intelligent with important conversations that criticize the world as we see it and teach lessons and can go over dark topics. nowadays it's always end of the world problems or just straight up the most gruesome true crime you can think of?? or they can ONLY do the dark stuff and the criticism without offering a balance of the good in the world. or we keep coming back to the FUCKING JOKER-

like yes they are vigilantes and with that comes a different level of their work, but their brand should be a mix between a black and white detective film that can get very nitty gritty and a classic spy movie, that kind of thing. at the end of the day, it's what makes them so different from the superheroes. that's what appeals to me.

seeing them in the big superhero groups is fun, don't get me wrong. it's always funny to see them standing next to people who are so powerful they never really fit in with anyone but each other, who chose to step up and use their powers for good. the Bats' specialty is Gotham and yet here they are stopping a god or whatever. and they do stop the god or whatever, all the while being an important leader and strategist to their teammates. they're important to have in these cases. but if there's a world ending event every time i pick something up, it's not as fun

the fact that they are so very human and not fantastical is why i like reading them. it's what makes the joke of people, even Gotham citizens, theorizing about them being cryptids, funny. they're fucking weird but that's because they're detectives. people who love to solve mysteries usually have a fatal flaw of curiosity. they forget the bounds between social interactions sometimes because they're used to working through problems or being intertwined with partners that understand them. but they're very much human. so human that it hurts them in many ways. and idk i've just been thinking about it lately and idk what point i'm trying to get across actually

it's just that in my eyes that's how it really is for Batman- a black and white movie narrated by a very serious man who took up a job to help people, one that has a deeper commentary on the world and viewed outwardly as pessimistic but actually has a deep hope for his city and who tries to help even the people who have wronged others. He's a stationary man in the belief that him being a constant can serve to soothe others and help them move forward. He stays in the middle of the path so he can tell everyone what is up ahead. he blends into the Gotham rainy night to serve justice but in a way that saves both the victim and the perpetrator. (the way he tucks a Robin into his cape is the same he does for Gotham with his mere presence.) and his background is actually so important to his story and yet people still somehow gloss over the lesson from it? he lost his parents because of a man who was on the opposite end of the spectrum to where he was in life. and yet he chose to help the people like the man that killed his parents. he could have done anything else with his power and money, but he instead is choosing to bring as many people up with him as he can. He's Mr. Serious that no one else can get a read on. and yet he walks into a room and he's already piecing together your life and what you're going through because he thinks it matters. he comforts people who have lost something or someone or themselves. I picture Batman and I don't picture a man trying to save the world, I picture a detective walking around a crime scene and trying to save at least one person every time he puts on the cape. and he put on the cape and became a vigilante because then he could go out of the bounds of what laws have been set up- and specifically, Gotham has other people in power who are corrupt, keeping the system that way. that's why Batman being a billionare and throwing himself into helping people at the risk of his own life is so important. he knows that if you are alive, you have something or someone to lose, no matter who you are. the dude is a bleeding heart but he doesn't know how to express it, in fear that if he gets too close, if he moves down the path with them, he'll be lost again

and then he's met with someone who should be a complete opposite, but isn't at all, because they're two sides of the same coin. his partner in crime, his son, a boy that is nothing like the black and white world that he sees. and that's the point in his life where he first sees that potentially getting lost is worth the risk. Robin is color and passion that needs guidance to move forward, but can not do so unless the stationary man learns to move with him. the kid is loud and reckless and you'd think he's from a different genre from the detective but they aren't so different, really. not when you look close enough. Dick grew up moving from place to place and seeing the world, knowing so many different people from different cultures. He's been learning to fly and jump and embrace the free fall his entire life. He's clever and he's sharp, and he thrives in the action and adventure. it's that perspective that compliments the stationary man. one is steady and the other pushes. he's the same genre but a different generation. and Batman introducing him to the way of life he chose for himself was another way he could save someone. because let's be real for a second? Dick would have gone down a very dark path had he not had Bruce, who understood, who saw not just himself in the kid but also saw who the kid has been his entire life until now. he saw Dick's parents, he saw the family he had in the circus, he saw the joy he had in what his family was doing. he saw the grief and the fire and the color that Dick's world was made of. because to Bruce, it always matters. Dick had to come to terms with Bruce's perspective to help anyone who they come across, to always give more chances, and it kept Dick from losing his color

what gets me is that the man who lives in the black and white world can actually see many different shades of gray (because black and white always needs the medium), whereas the boy in a world of color and light can get so focused on the bright that he can become single minded. and yet the boy sees a world of color and delves deeper into the lives of the peolle they come across and can be much more open minded, and the man in the black and white world sometimes forgets the shades of grey are right there. they are just like each other. they can exist without the other, but do they want to? because the black and white can be built up into the colored image, like the inking and shadows drawn on a comic book page before the colors are added in. they meet in the middle to complete each other. Bruce has been passing the story over to the next generation for a long, long time, even before his story was complete. and just like with the first Robin, it was so for every Robin afterwards. they each color in the lines differently, but that's what makes Robin so special, so unique. they are an art style that branches into their own life, but can not forget where they started: tucked into Batman's cape and the inky black of his world

and so detective work really frames their hunanity to me. the mysteries they get their hands on, the glimpses into the lives of Gotham citizens that they swore to protect, it's fascinating. it's what makes their story stand out compared to the people who can lift trucks or cast spells or run around the world in seconds. so yeah ig that's what i'm trying to say? that i want to read more of that? in both canon and fanon. cause even the small time villains we see can be like. AWFUL people and it takes out the fun of their gimmicks. and if it were any other day this would be a more coherent post but alas, it is not any other day

[hwonnrinji]

hiii sooo can i req yoonchae x f!reader where katseye goes on their asia tour and while they’re in korea the girls find out that yoonchae has a gf and interrogate reader bc yoonchae is basically their daughter and they wanna make sure she’s in good hands!!

funny cuz yoonchae's literally my gf

"WHO ARE YOU?"

jeong yoonchae x fem!reader

{ synopsis } : while in korea for one their asia promo trip, yoonchae randomly goes out, coming up with random excuses as to why she is. the kats gets suspicious but ultimately concluded it was messing around with friends. until one night, they see her with a random girl in front of a convenience store.

{ tags/extra } : fluff, secret relationship, established relationship, yoonchae is a flirt, reader is korean for the plot, pacing is iffy i apologize

{ a/n } : yall alr know this is sooo rushed cuz i delayed the publishing of this by a lot 😭 plus tumblr didn't save it 😒

now playing : pink by wave to earth

@lararajjj @ohmyhaely @ninguitar

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"SHE'S BEEN ACTING WEIRD LATELY," megan says out of the blue, confusing the members for a moment. manon glances at the television, seeing nothing playing on the screen, then looked around at the rest of the girls.

"who?" she questions. she has an idea of who, but she won't admit it until everybody else brings it up. how is she so confident in this person? well, maybe it's because the person in question isn't even there with them. the youngest has been a bit distant lately, always having excuses about going out early in the morning and not coming back until late at night, sometimes even coming back the next day.

"you know who."

nobody dared to say anything else but it was hard to ignore the elephant in the room. sophia finally spoke first, the perks of being the closest to yoonchae finally being useful. "it's been a long while since she's back in korea. she told me she's hanging out with friends."

"i don't think friends keep each other out for the long," lara lazily voiced her opinion, not sparing any of them a glance as she's busy playing block blast. daniela clicked her tongue before reaching out and turning off lara's phone, which resulted in the younger letting out a loud 'hey!'

"uh, yes, they do. you should know since you're always dragging me to go out." megan rebutted. lara rolled her eyes and turned her phone back on, backing out of the conversation. daniela pondered some more, trying to figure out what to say before deciding to test the waters. she wanted to see how the girls would react to what she has to say.

"what if yoonchae's seeing someone?" she asks.

sophia immediately snapped her head to daniela, a mix of disbelief and annoyance on her face. "if yoonchae says she's out with friends, then she's out with friends. don't jump to conclusions." even so, there's a small part of her that is convinced the youngest might have a partner that neither her or the others know about. "plus, yoonchae never lies."

"right.. okay."

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yoonchae does, in fact, lie. she keeps secrets about a lot of things. like this, for example:

"hi, beautiful," she greets in korean as soon as you opened the door, leaning down to kiss the lips that she missed oh so dearly. "god, i missed seeing this eleven outta ten face."

"stop lying, you didn't miss me that much." as you hit her arm lightly, your scolding demeanor changed into one of giddy highschooler. yoonchae only chuckled before holding your waist to pull you closer, her fingers resting on the small of your back. your hands cradled her face, your thumb grazing the curve of her jaw.

"i'm telling the truth," she confessed. "i'd kill myself if i ever said i didn't miss my gorgeous girl."

"flattery sure gets you anywhere." you rolled your eyes, tiptoeing up to give her cheek a gentle peck. yoonchae swerved her head to the side, just enough to capture your lips in a slow, longing kiss. you swore you felt her fingers practically digging into your hips like she never wants to let go.

"i-" a kiss on your lips, "missed-" a kiss on your forehead, "you-" a kiss on your nose, "so-" a kiss on your left cheek, "much." and finally, a kiss on your right cheek. "like, a lot."

"oh shut up." you fully wrapped your arms around her shoulders to bury your red, flustered face into the crook of her neck. to say you also missed her was an understatement. you longed for the days you two would finally be physically together again instead of on facetime calls that get cut short because she has a busy schedule. and now that it's happening, you just wanna pinch yourself, convinced it's a dream.

after a few moments of comfortable silence that yoonchae let you have to collect your thoughts, she finally spoke up. "snack run?"

"of course."

it takes a while to get to the 7/11 despite it being only a three minute walk from your apartment. yoonchae was just so warm for the cool evening that you didn't want to pull away from the hug. but unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

~

"pringles or kimbap?" yoonchae asked, holding up the two options in your face. you already know she wants the kimbap, but you also know that there's a small part of her that wants the pringles.

"how about both? you want both of them right?"

"yeah... but–" you cut her off by taking both of the items and putting it into the basket with a proud smile on your face. you didn't give her time to protest, already making your way to the checkout. "y/n.."

"it's no big deal, baby. you can get whatever you want." you handed the cashier the money. "even if it's just snacks." yoonchae subtly pouted and wrapped her arms around your waist from the side, resting her head on your shoulder.

"you're so sweet," she mumbled. "i love you so much."

"mm, i love you more." you thanked the chasier as he handed you the change, stuffing it in your hoodie pocket. well, it wasn't yours, but nobody really cares. you held yoonchae's hand to go to tables outside, but she quickly stopped upon seeing the girls. she let go of your hand while you set some space between you two, making it seem like it was just a friendly snack run. "wait, your hoodie–"

"just keep it," she whispered.

soon enough, they all spotted yoonchae nervously standing next to you. sophia rushed over to yoonchae, asking why she's out so late before looking your way. you turned around and pretended you had no idea who they were. "do you know her?"

"uh, yeah. this is my friend, y/n." she nudged you with her elbow. "say hi to them."

"it's so awkward, yoon... i'm literally your girlfriend."

"yeah, but they don't know that." she gave a smug smile, grabbing your forearm and pulling you closer. "y/n is my really close friend. i've known her since elementary." her hand slipped from your arm and around your waist, squeezing your hips as a way of comforting you in this stressful situation.

"are you trying to make us public?" you jabbed her side, twisting your hand to make it extra painful.

"baby, if i had five seconds to say anything to the whole world, i'd most definitely shout that you're my girlfriend." she winked– which was horribly cute. you clicked your tongue in annoyance, ignoring the blush creeping up to your face. the girls watched the interaction with partially stunned looks. you two looked awfully a lot like a couple and it was concerning.

yoonchae sat you down on one of the chairs and began walking back to the store, claiming she's going to buy more snacks. you rushed to get up and follow her but lara got in front of you, her hands clasped together with a sickeningly sweet smile. "let's talk."

~

"when did you two start dating?" lara was the first to ask after moments of silence at the table. everybody was either too busy staring at you– ahem, sophia –or too busy eating the snacks you and yoonchae bought.

"better question, are you two dating?" sophia intervened. at least she was decent enough to ask. words bubbled in a throat but it refused to escape your mouth, so you only gave a weak nod. sophia nodded as well, more in understanding than anything else. lara and daniela high-fived each other while manon and megan groaned

"so.. can you answer my question then?" lara questioned. "with some background too?"

"we started dating in our second year of middle school," you began. "honestly, we had no idea what we were doing, but, y'know, she was soo in love with me." you chuckled at the last part, remembering how head over heels yoonchae was.

("wait, what's second year of middle school in korea?" megan whispered to manon, in which the older replied, "eighth grade")

"so you're saying yoonchae, possibly one of the most logical people ever, had no idea what she was doing?" sophia raised a seemingly interested eyebrow. before you answered, you took the pringles and kimbap, putting it on your lap for yoonchae to eat when she comes back.

"she was thinking with her heart, if i'm gonna be honest." you nervously laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. "her whole head was empty like her brain took a vacation."

"that has to be so funny," daniela sneered. "imagine yoonchae walking into a pole because she was too busy thinking of how pretty y/n is."

"what if that's why she did that when we were in new york," sophia commented, her stern demeanor finally cracking. yoonchae finally came back after an eternity with two full bags of snacks. she sets down a bag in front of you after giving the girls the other, plopping down on the seat next to you.

"you said you like pepero right?" after a full conversation in english, you were grateful yoonchae was here to switch back to korean. yoonchae rummaged through the bag, quickly finding the box of chocolate sticks and gave it to you.

"mhm. the chocolate one?"

"they just restocked on it."

"y'all are so cute." lara appeared between you both, the smile from earlier back on her face. you audibly gulped when she looked at you, your body sinking into the chair. "say, how much do you love yoonchae?"

"..." you stayed quiet for a minute which made yoonchae a little nervous. though, she has no reason to be. it was evident on how much you love her. "i think i'd go insane if she's more than five minutes away."

"that's such a basic answer." manon teased. sophia was looking at you expectantly. she wants to know if you're good enough for yoonchae (despite the fact you two have been dating possibly three years).

"she's the girl of my dreams. she fell first, but as always, i fell harder. every time i look at her i just get reminded of how lucky i am to have such an amazing girlfriend like her." your hand found its way to yoonchae, intertwining your fingers and pulling it up to your lips, leaving a soft kiss on her knuckles. "i'd choose her over my own life."

through a series of 'aw's and 'how cute', all you were focused on was yoonchae and how her eyes gazed into yours, how her hand squeezed yours just a little tighter. most importantly, how pretty she looked just right underneath a street light. "you're so gorgeous, baby."

yoonchae suddenly stood up from her seat, the action startling everyone. she got down on one knee, and holding a singular pepero in her hand, she said, "i wanna marry you. be mrs. jeong."

"what?!" the girls, including you, all exclaimed in shock.