#they saw what they wanted to see in each other

[kyber-crystal]

10 things i hate about you || f.w.

summary: rumor has it that you and fred weasley are going out. being the instigators you two are, you decide to play into said rumors. but just how far could you go before you lose sight of the line between fiction and reality? 

words: ~7.9k LMFAO I REALLY WENT OVERBOARD HERE

warnings: cheesiness, cliche 10 things i hate about you vibes, both y/n and fred being oblivious idiots. what’s more to love

a/n: you thought i’d avoid writing another fake dating fic? with fred? NEVER. ik there r some fake dating fred fics out there but i swear we need MORE bc this is the best trope ever idc. also made up a name for the school paper cs i forgot if it was a thing in the books/movies lol. reader is an implied gryffindor/ravenclaw but can technically be in whatever house you’d like : )

The problem with Hogwarts was that rumors spread through its halls like fiendfyre.

It all started during the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Harry had narrowly caught the Snitch after a Dementor false alarm and carried the team to victory, causing the stadium to explode into ground-shaking cheers.  Waves of deep crimson and gold were pouring onto the field and you almost got trampled in the midst of it until someone pulled you into the center. 

“There you are—I was looking all over for you,” Fred beamed. “You were watching, right?”

“I was sitting front row…you literally saw me, Fred,” you stated plainly. 

“I know, but I wanted to make sure,” he winked at you, sidelining you into a hug. “You look very pretty, by the way. I think my hat looks better on you than me.”

“Anddd there’s the woman of the hour! He couldn’t stop staring at you—almost crashed into the teachers’ section ‘cause of that,” Lee came over and clasped your shoulder. 

“That’s what that was all about? Freddie, you need to get it together!”

“Can’t help when you’re as alluring as a Veela,” the compliment rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He then tilted his chin down to kiss your forehead, and you didn’t bother pushing him away despite the fact that he was all sweaty after being up in the air. 

A bright flash of light pulled you out of Fred’s embrace, and you blinked to see Colin standing there with a wide grin on his face, camera in hand. 

“Just capturing the moment,” the younger Gryffindor said excitedly. “This is gonna be a good one!”

You thought nothing of it until you went down to the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning. You went over to find your Ravenclaw friends, who seemed to be huddled around something, staring at it intensely.

“Oh, hey Y/N!” Cho beamed brightly at you, moving over to make room for you to sit next to her. “Have you seen the latest school newsletter?”

You filled your plate and took a copy of the Hogwarts Daily Digest that Padma gave you. “No…what’s it all about?”

“Check page 3,” she told you. You took a bite of your toast first, pausing as you scanned over the page. At the front and center was a moving picture of you and Fred embracing, him pressing a kiss to your temple, smiles of pure bliss on both your faces. You had to admit that Colin had a way with pictures; so much so that you almost would’ve believed you and Fred were a true couple just by looking at the article. 

“So we’re going out, apparently,” you said, taking another bite of your food, ���...Interesting.”

“Several students were interviewed about it, and they’re wondering if you guys are,” Cho explained. “With the way he kept looking over at you during the game, and how he was searching for you after it ended.” 

“I—I’ve ought to talk to Fred himself, see what he thinks about this—” you spluttered, feeling hot all of a sudden. “I just—we’re not even—”

“But you would be very cute together,” your best friend added. “I mean, you have known each other for how long now? It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone if you were.”

At the end of the day, you went to the library to squeeze in some quiet alone time for reading, curling up on one of the plushy sofas near the bookshelves. You were deep into a mythical book that Hermione recommended, fully zoned in for what felt like forever until the cushion sank a bit, indicating that someone had sat down next to you.

“What do you want, Fred,” you sighed without even looking up from your book. “Come to bother me again?”

He took the book from your hands in response and closed it. 

“Hey, I was reading that—” you began. 

“I wanted to ask you about the article,” he stated, “don’t you think Creevey’s quite the photographer?”

You scoffed. “If this is about us being a couple, you know we’re not.”

“I was going to suggest something else.”

“And what is that?”

“Given that half the school is talking about us already,” he referred to the whispers in the halls that followed you from class to class, “why not play into the rumors a bit?”

“So you’re suggesting that, what?”

“That we say we’re a couple.”

“...you want to pretend that we’re going out?”

“Why not?” 

“That’s insane,” you shot him a glare. “What do either of us get out of it?”

“Practice, of course,” Fred had a proud look on, “but also, why not have some fun with it?”

You stopped and thought about it for a second. He was right—who were you to not want to have a bit of fun? After all, it was just Fred; it couldn’t be that hard to fake-date someone, especially when you had no real feelings for them.

“Fine, but only on one condition.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Promise not to fall in love with me?” You stuck your hand out towards him. 

Fred took it and gave it a firm shake, his signature mischievous grin making its appearance. “As long as you don’t fall for me either.”

“Dream on.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a low whisper. “10 galleons says you’ll fall in love with me first.”

“Oh, please. 20 says you won’t even last half as long.”

“You’re on.”

So it began—settling into the whole routine was surprisingly easy. But of course, it was probably easier since you had money on the line; asides from George, you and Fred were the most competitive people in the entire school. You’d do anything for extra money, glory, and infinite bragging rights. 

Making it a point to one-up each other, you began to brainstorm ways to really play up the whole “fake girlfriend” thing.

i. the pda competition, part 1

Monday afternoon’s Potions lesson proceeded as always, with Snape’s annoying, drawling voice instructing you on what to do. 

Today’s class was boring but ended early, the only downside being that you were assigned a hefty load of homework. 

“By the beginning of Wednesday’s class, you shall turn in to me two feet of parchment on the history of Strengthening Solution and its’ properties…” Snape ordered, “...for now, follow the instructions on the board. Ingredients are in the back. I expect the utmost perfection and accuracy…those who fail shall not be tolerated.”

Groaning internally, you headed to the back of the classroom towards the supply cabinets, Fred following close behind. Either Snape was out to get you both or it was sheer luck that had you paired together for this assignment. 

“Wait, you forgot something,” Fred called out as you were about to walk away. 

You turned around, a snarky reply ready. “What is—”

You didn’t even have the chance to finish your sentence when he grabbed you by the wrist and tugged you into his chest, kissing you square on the lips. You were completely taken by surprise and had no time to react whatsoever. 

Low wolf-whistles and “ooohs” reverbrated throughout the entire classroom as you broke apart. 

“What was that for?” you hissed. 

There was a devilish grin on his face, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it right off him. “Just trying to be a good fake boyfriend, of course,” he whispered into your ear.

“Touch me again without warning and I’ll break your nose,” you said in a low tone, ignoring the heat rising up your cheeks.

“Miss Y/L/N…Mr. Weasley…” Snape said lowly, “...back to your seats, both of you. This is a classroom, not a bedroom. Get to work.”

Several students giggled at this and you huffed, heading back to your seat. You didn’t speak more than a few sentences to Fred for the remainder of the lesson, face still flushed from the sudden incident. He kept stealing glances at you as you worked in silence, adding the ingredients into your bubbling cauldron with careful, precise movements.

“That’s 1-0 to me,” he reminded you. “Better hurry and catch up, or I’m winning those Galleons.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you muttered, uncapping the bottle in front of you and pouring some of the liquid in.

ii. the pda competition, part 2

After Fred had kissed you in the middle of a packed classroom, you were determined to get back at him, racking your brain for ideas. 

You sat under a sprawling tree by the Great Lake with Cedric, Cho, Padma, Ernie, and several other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. Somehow, you got lucky and all had matching free periods today, taking the opportunity to have a picnic by the water together. 

“A little birdie told me that you and a special someone were going out,” Cedric pointed a finger at you, the other arm slung around Cho’s shoulders. “Now what’s going on?”

“They’ve always been mad about each other, only took them a million years to see it,” Ernie butted in. “Isn’t it obvious? One would think they’re already married at this point, though.” 

“Who’s married to who?” you heard someone ask from behind you. 

“Speak of the devil,” Ernie said, “there he is!”

“Was going to check on you—see you at supper?” Fred lightly touched your cheek. You nodded blindly, the skin of his hand hot on your face. 

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

You turned back around to see everyone smirking at you knowingly. 

“What?” you questioned, adjusting the collar of your shirt as if nothing had happened. 

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Cho laughed breathily, “Ernie was right. It’s like you’re married.”

“Oh shut up, we’re still much too young for that.”

“Not for long!” 

Of course the only empty seat at the Gryffindor table that evening was next to Fred, and he made sure that you were sitting as close to him as humanly possible. All it would take was an extra few inches and you’d fully be sitting on his lap. You shook off the embarrassment and snapped back into it, determined to win the bet.

“I missed you all day, you know,” he admitted, placing a dinner roll onto your plate for you. “Where have you been?”

“By the lakes,” you said matter-of-factly. “Where else would I be?”

“With me, obviously.” 

“I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Well that hurt,” he pretended to look hurt. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“Second to last,” you joked. “Hey, wait—there’s something on your mouth.”

“Where?” he tried motioning around with his fingers but to no avail. 

“Right…here…” you murmured, gently grasping his chin and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lip, tasting a hint of the sweet cranberry sauce he’d been eating on the tip of your tongue. Loud gasps erupted through the Great Hall at the sudden private but public display. 

Fred inhaled sharply—he knew you were bold, but like this? For once, the jokester had nothing sarcastic to counter you with and was at a loss for words. 

When you pulled away, both yours and his faces were a shade of deep scarlet.

“Cat got your tongue?” you smirked, discreetly slipping a sheet of paper into his back pocket. “That’s 1-1 now, Fred.”

Again, Fred was left speechless. 

“I feel like I’m interrupting something very…” Ron coughed, damn near choking on his chicken leg. “Intimate. Scandalous. Very—”

“Shut it, Ronald,” you cut him off. “Can’t a girl snog her boyfriend when she wants?”

More jaws dropped at your reply, and you simply continued eating, a victorious grin on your face. Fred looked down and fished the note out of his pocket, unfolding the smooth parchment to reveal your tidy penmanship. 

Now who’s the flustered one? you know where to find me if you need me xx

You were so going to win. 

iii. the serenade

You found yourself sitting on the bench watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice—it was Fred’s idea to show up to as many of them as possible to really sell the whole “fake dating” thing. You didn’t mind all that much, as you got bored easily and liked to have a change of scenery every so often while you were studying. 

A loud, abrupt screech caused you to look up from your textbook and you winced, covering your ears. 

“You’re just too good to be true…can’t take my eyes off of you…” a melodic voice began flowing across the stadium. Confused, you set your book down and stood up, looking around for the source of the noise. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much…at long last love has arrived…” 

Fred suddenly appeared from the commentator’s box, holding a microphone. He casually leaned against the pole before sliding down and hitting the bleachers, gracefully making his way down the steps. 

“...And I thank God I’m alive…” his eyes remained focused on you, blazing gold and green. “You’re just too good to be true…” 

“What the—”

He spun around and pointed at you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a childish grin, “...Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“HIT IT, WOOD!” you heard someone (was that Lee?) yell, and music began blasting from the speakers.

Your friends were eyeing you with delight, fully entertained by the fact that you had absolutely no clue what was happening. Fred continued singing while he sauntered down the bleachers with a grace that you had never seen. 

“I love you, baby, and if it's quite alright

I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night

I love you, baby, trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay

And let me love you, baby, let me love you”

A blush coated your cheeks as he finally approached you, taking one of your hands in his and twirling you around. He held your gaze the entire time, eyes alight with what looked like genuine joy and passion. The rest of your classmates joined in as they crowded around you, joining together in one voice. 

It was impossible to hold back the smile creeping up your face as Fred continued to sing—he was undeniably charming, and you had to admit, this was well worth suffering a brief loss for. 

“Oh pretty baby, trust in me when I say…” the final lyrics left his mouth and everyone burst into applause. He made a show of bowing dramatically and kissing your hand in an exaggerated motion. 

You rolled your eyes at the overly extravagant gesture. But deep down, you had enjoyed every second of the impromptu serenade. 

Within minutes after it ended, Fred’s musical spectacle was the talk of the school. Students nudged each other in the corridors as you passed by, whispering words of encouragement, saying how they wished for a relationship like yours, and wondering where they could possibly find someone like Fred. 

You felt him slip something into your robe’s pocket. Fred had sidled up next to you as you headed up the stairs to the common room, still grinning widely. 

“2-1,” he reminded you, kissing your cheek before turning to the Fat Lady and uttering the password. He stepped through the portrait hole and turned back to wait for you, then walked all the way inside. “Better continue that game of catch up, I might just steal the title of ‘best fake partner ever’ from you.”

There’s that beautiful smile, the note read. Keep it on for me, will you?

iv. the nightmare

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, because it was 3:27 a.m. and you were wide awake after barely squeezing in a few hours of sleep. 

Nothing you did worked; even the Potion for Dreamless Sleep had failed to keep the nightmares at bay. You didn’t last long before jolting awake, beads of sweat forming at your forehead and chest heaving with raggedy, jagged breaths. 

After several minutes of tossing and turning you gave up, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs to the common room. The fireplace was on, indicating that someone was already there—

“Y/N?” Fred turned around from his spot on the couch to look at you. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

You yawned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Finishing an assignment,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sheets of parchment, a vial of ink, and several books were spread out on the coffee table. “You?”

“Nothing,” you lied, sitting down next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t miss the hoarse tone in your voice nor your tear-stained face, stopping what he was doing to fully focus on you. “Now I know that’s not true. What’s bothering you, really?”

“I said I’m fine, just can’t sleep.” You let out a shuddering sigh and attempted to will the tears away, but your vision began to blur. “Go finish your work—”

“Hey.” Fred’s voice was soft. “Come here.”

His arms gingerly wrapped around your trembling frame to envelop you into a tight hug. He reached one hand up to smooth out your hair as you shook with silent sobs, your hands curling  into the fabric of his robes as if holding onto him would keep you from slipping away and losing yourself again. 

Fred was never one to be patient, but he knew that you just needed this moment free of chaos. So he waited, laying there with you as he continued murmuring soothing words into your ear, gently rubbing your back; he’d wait for as long as he’d need to. 

You didn’t know how much time passed until the tears ran themselves dry and your throat felt like it had been scraped raw. 

“Want to tell me what happened?” he suggested. “But only if you’re comfortable, that is.”

You hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him. Maybe he’d think you were strange…but seeing how he looked so genuine in that moment changed your mind. 

“I lost you…I lost everyone. I watched you die, Fred.” Your voice was cracked and raw, which sent a pang through his chest. The image of Fred’s lifeless body trapped between the rubble flashed across your vision, feeling as if it was wrapping its cold fingers around your throat. “I watched you all die and I couldn’t save you.”

“But I’m alive and well right now, aren’t I?” he assured you calmly, “I’ll be here for as long as you want me around. You’ll have to fight to the death to get rid of me.”

Managing a broken laugh, you looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really. What are fake boyfriends for, anyway?” His hand found its place against your cheek, fingers gently skimming across your skin. You leaned into his touch and let out a sigh, lips just barely brushing over his palm.  

“No one’s here, Fred…you don’t need to pretend.”

“I know I don’t.” Any and all traces of half-witted sarcasm were gone; wiped clean off his face. Instead, his eyes were glossed over with concern as they raked over yours. “Figured I could keep you company? Since I didn’t want you to be alone in your head like this.”

“I’d like that.”

He then passed a familiar folded square to you, and you opened it with a smile.

I’m here, whenever you need - F.W

v. the hospital wing run-in

“For Godric’s sake, how many more times will I have to see you in here?” Madam Pomfrey demanded as she hurried around, setting a metal tray by your bedside. “This is the third time this month.”

“Sorry,” you winced as you shifted your injured leg onto the pillow she’d set out. 

“What is it this time?”

“I broke my ankle.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Pursing your lips, you elected to tell her the modified version of the story, which was the one where you had tripped while going down the stairs, not the one that included running down the Astronomy Tower after sneaking up there for a dare (the twins’ doing). 

She shook her head in disbelief, glancing over the cuts on your face and fixing the bandages around your foot. “You’ll be in here for a few days. We’ll have to regrow the bones in your foot and ankle…my, how someone can break this many bones just from missing a step, I can’t seem to understand…what are all of you doing here?”

You followed her gaze to where Hermione, Ginny, Cho, and Fred were standing by the hospital wing’s entrance, alight with excitement upon seeing that you were awake.

“Guys—”

“Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Weasley, need I remind you that no visitors are allowed at this time! I advise that you all head back,” Madam Pomfrey ordered sharply. 

“But we haven’t seen her all last night and this morning! Can we just stay for a minute,” Hermione begged. “Please?”

The older woman sighed as she scanned your friends (and fake? boyfriend’s) desperate, pleading faces. “...Alright, then. Don’t stay too long and for Godric’s sake, let her breathe.”

They immediately crowded around your bed and Fred walked over to your side, crouching down so that you were eye level with him. 

“There’s my princess,” his charming persona was back in full force, and he smoothly brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. For what felt like the eleventh time, he was swooping in to kiss your cheek. Not that you were counting. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here,” you winked as you attempted to prop yourself into an upright position, but failed, giving up and flopping back down. “Ow. My foot.”

Ginny pretended to throw up on Hermione, who then elbowed her in the stomach.  “Ow!” she yelped. “What was that for?” 

“Let’s leave the happy couple alone,” she hissed, and they slowly backed away to give you some space. 

Fred pulled up a chair next to your bedside, propping his chin in his hand to stare at you. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean for you to end up with five broken bones.”

“And a concussion, a killer headache, and not to mention dozens of sore muscles,” you grimaced, but felt a slight ache in your chest when you realized he looked genuinely guilty. “I don’t blame you, really. I mean, I was just as stupid and reckless. I definitely could’ve been more careful but I wasn’t.”

“I’m supposed to mess up your lipstick,” he groaned, “not your bones.”

“Someone took ‘public displays of affection’ the wrong way,” you said sarcastically, and then there was a brief moment of silence before you both burst into laughter.

“Damn right he di—OW, Hermione!”

“Gin, let’s go!” With that, the two girls left the hospital wing, leaving the two of you alone.

“Why are you here, anyway? Hermione and Ginny are because they’re my friends, and you’re my—”

“—lovely, charming, undeniably handsome boyfriend, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” Fred finished your sentence for you.

“Right,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I? It seems like you’re always around.”

“And yet, you don’t push me away,” a smile tugged at his lips. “Which clearly means that I’m just that irresistible. I don’t need a charm or some silly love potion to reel you in.”

“Don’t think that because I’m incapacitated, this game is over,” you warned him. “I will beat your arse to a pulp, and you’ll be twenty Galleons lighter. I bet you’re madly in love with me already.”

“Believe what you want, my darling,” he sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. “But we all know I’ve already won this game.”

“Yeah, right. We’re tied now, by the way. That’s for getting me injured.”

“Oi! You can’t just—”

“Shh…don’t come crying to me ‘till you lose.”

He ended up staying overnight. 

You didn’t protest at all. 

Neither did Madam Pomfrey later that evening after seeing him slumped over on your bed, fast asleep, one hand clutching yours like you were the only thing he had left to lose. 

vi. the howler 

For once you managed to get to the Great Hall before Fred did. The bloke was always criminally late or ridiculously early to everything; it was almost laughable how there was no in between for him. 

He finally showed up just ten minutes before breakfast was supposed to end, breathing hard with his hair all messed up.

“What’d I miss?” he asked you.

“Nothing,” you responded. “Just another ordinary day…”

A gust of wind suddenly swept through the hallway causing the napkins to flutter in the air. A giant grey owl came swooping down onto the table and landed straight in front of Fred, clutching an envelope in its curved talons. 

“What’s Errol doing here? We’re not supposed to get our daily mail til’ tomorrow,” Ron gawked, “surprised that he’s here given the number of times he’s collapsed mid-delivery—oh blimey Fred, you must be in trouble! You’ve got a Howler!”

Several Gryffindors around you giggled at this. 

With a slight look of confusion and fear, Fred carefully removed the seal on the bright red envelope. Molly Weasley’s booming voice immediately came bursting from the pages. 

“FRED WEASLEY, HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU WERE DATING MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW! I AM DISAPPOINTED IN YOU—Y/N dear, if you’re hearing this, I’m very happy for you and hope to see you at the Burrow soon, I’ll make sure to whip up some homemade custard for you—YOU OUGHT TO TREAT HER RIGHT, BOY, OR ELSE! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND I SURE AS MERLIN CAN TAKE YOU RIGHT OUT!”

A silence fell over the entire Great Hall and Fred sat there, in shock. The red envelope folded itself up and then burst into flames, its ashes crumbling to the floor. 

“I’ve never seen him turn that red,” George sniggered. “You’re bloody brilliant, Y/N.”

“Y-you did this?” Fred spluttered. 

“Can’t say I didn’t,” you hummed, patting his head affectionately. “Your mum was bound to find out, one way or another.”

“And you thought this was the best idea?”

“Aww, is little Freddie all embarrassed?” you teased. “Never thought I’d live to see that day.”

“Quit gloating,” the redhead grumbled. “You haven’t won yet. Better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

vii. the pda competition, part ∞

As it turned out, continuing to slip into your fake relationship only became more fun as the days and weeks dragged on. And being competitive only added to the fun, as you were scrambling to one-up each other. 

You often opted to hold his hand when walking from place to place, which wasn’t difficult given that you were almost always with him now and had to sell the idea that you really were together. His hands were rough and calloused from all those hours working on joke shop prototypes, but they were still surprisingly comforting. A way to keep you grounded when your head got stuck in the clouds. 

Fred’s signature move was, of course, dropping random kisses on your cheek when you didn’t expect it. Sometimes, when he was feeling bolder than usual, that would change to the tender spot between your ear and jaw, your shoulder, or your nose. And each of those times he made sure they were extra drawn-out and that you were in a crowded area so others would see it. The courtyard. The Quidditch pitch. The classroom (two of those incidents were in Potions, much to Snape’s dismay. He didn’t even bother taking points off due to being too disgusted).

“I have a massive exam today,” he declared loudly to you as you stood in front of his upcoming class together. “I think I’m going to need a kiss.”

“Why?” you scoffed. “What do you need that for?”

“For good luck,” Fred said, “it’s kind of a tradition, isn’t it?”

“You…want a kiss for good luck?” you started.  

“I’m waiting…” he sang, face turned slightly in an invitation. You sighed and went up on your tiptoes, doing as he asked. “Thank you. But you have terrible aim…you missed.”

“I fear you’re having way too much fun with this,” you muttered. “Don’t make excuses. My lips are not going near yours unless they absolutely need to now.”

“Oh come on, you know you’re having loads of fun too,” he called out as he walked into the classroom. “Catch you later, sweetheart!”

viii. the butterbeer (alt: the pda competition, part ∞)

It was the day of another Hogsmeade outing and you were hand-in-hand with Fred as you walked down the cobblestone streets together. You had planned to spend the day alone for the most part and join Cho for a meal, but Fred had cornered you at breakfast and insisted you go on a date with him.

“To keep up the façade,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t people find it odd if the castle’s favorite couple wasn’t together?” 

You nodded and didn’t protest further; you had no energy to do so anyway. It was far too cold for your taste; you had been dragged out without having time to grab your gloves, blowing hot hair into your hands that were steadily growing numb. 

“Love,” he called for you as he took your hands in his, “oh, your fingers feel like ice.”

“No…shit…” your teeth chattered as you attempted to respond steadily. “Might lose ‘em if we don’t hurry up and get inside—”

“Wait one second,” Fred said as you two stopped right outside the Three Broomsticks, wasting no more time in taking his gloves off and handing them to you to put on, while he wrapped his house scarf around your neck. “There. Let’s head in.”

“But—”

“Boyfriend duties, remember?” he winked at you as he pushed the door open, holding it for you to step inside first. “Come on. I think a butterbeer or two’ll warm you up.”

Fred’s hand remained on the small of your back, pressing in gently to lead you to a cozy booth in the back. The added warmth felt quite nice, you thought, but you also wondered how he managed to stay like a human furnace when it the weather outside was so dreadfully cold. 

It was hard not to stare at him; catching his gaze every so often while sipping your drink. His hair was all tousled from the frigid winds; you took notice of the way it slightly curled out at the ends, glowing under the hazy yellow bar lights. It was annoyingly endearing how he could look so flawless without any effort and even more so that you didn’t have anything snarky to say. 

“Fred, I think we’re being followed…” you whispered as you scanned the near vicinity, fingers brushing against the rim of your mug. There in the far opposite corner sat Padma, Ernie, Cedric, and Cho, attempting to look nonchalant as if they weren’t half-stalking you but they were doing a rather terrible job at it. You quickly looked away.

“So? Isn’t that what we want—for people to see us?” he countered with a tone of confidence. His voice dropped low as he continued to speak to you. “Why don’t we give them a show? No need to be so private.”

Your face burned. “What do you—”

“Not like that,” he chuckled lowly, “what did you think I meant?”

“I…”

Fred paused, then raised his hand and brushed something off your cheek with his thumb. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“Oh, so we’re playing that game now, are we?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

You scoffed quietly and imitated his motion, reaching up to smooth out the crease that had formed between his brows. “Put a smile on your face, why don’t you? You look better that way.”

“I always look good, though.”

“I look better than your greasy arse.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. “I’d like to see you tr—”

Before you could say anything else and before he could stop himself from what he was doing, Fred placed a hand on the nape of you neck and pulled you in, kissing you without another word. All protests left behind flew right out the window (along with your morals, too, you thought) and for a split second, it almost didn’t feel like you were pretending at all. 

When you broke apart eventually, breaths a little heavy, neither of you needed to look over to see that your friends were gaping in shock, mouths dropped wide open. Sure, Fred was confident and cocky and you were equally so, but both of you would be lying if you said this didn’t take you by surprise. 

“You still keeping track?” His voice still had that low, almost husky tone to it. He was cupping your cheek now, and you let him keep doing so. “There can only be one victor, right?”

“Wouldn’t forget it,” you exhaled. “You think we look convincing enough right now?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

ix.  the thunderstorm 

The day’s exciting Care of Magical Creatures lesson was cut thirty minutes short due to the heavy downpour that had suddenly came crashing down, bringing with it a booming thunderstorm and soaking all your clothes within minutes. 

“Well, that’s it fer today, everyone,” Hagrid announced, “now let’s head back inside, don’ want yeh to catch a cold, we’ll continue when the weather lets up…”

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and flipped the hood on over your head, eyes narrowing as you stared up at the suddenly stormy grey sky. It just had to be on the one day you got to go outside and do something exciting, damn it….

It was freezing, nearly as horrible as that one day in Hogsmeade, and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to simply curl up by the fireplace with Hermione, the Patil twins, and Cho, and talk all evening long. If you could even make it back to the castle in one, unfrozen piece, maybe you’d at least get your hands on some hot chocolate from the kitchens…

A warm hand found yours amidst the strong winds, and all of a sudden you didn’t feel so cold anymore. 

As if he had read your mind, Fred said, “how about we sneak into the kitchens and grab something to drink? Hot chocolate, perhaps?”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled and he draped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you into his side. It felt so natural now, like this wasn’t part of some long-standing bet to fool the whole school; as if you were just two best friends trying to keep warm in subpar temperatures. And it was almost too easy to get used to it. 

“Oblivious idiots. I told them for years that they’d be perfect together and it’s only this year that they start going out,” George exclaimed from several yards behind, walking side-by-side with Lee Jordan. “Dunno why it took them so long.”

“Love takes time, obviously,” said Lee as he watched Fred lean into your ear and say something, and you giggled lightly in response, “and now, what matters is that I finally have an excuse to make fun of them during Quidditch matches.”

“Oh—good point.”

“And you’ve noticed that he stopped pranking her? Unlike him, isn’t it?” 

“Wait…” George paused as he took in Lee’s questions. His mouth formed an ‘o’ in realization. “He’s utterly whipped, that git.”

“What happens when boyfriend duties overcome prankster duties…this is perfect. Professor Flitwick owes me 2 galleons. I called it that he’d fall first!” 

“You bet on them?” George squawked. “With Flitwick?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t either,” Lee laughed, “I know you did too.”

The expression on George’s face shifted into one of defeat. “I lost,” he muttered, “I owe McGonagall 3 galleons.”

x. verum exeat (let the truth come out) 

The Gryffindor common room was alight with chatter once again. After a long, grueling week of exam revisions, Quidditch practice, and a brutal match to be remembered, Lee and the twins decided that a small celebration was in order. They had originally planned on inviting half the damn school but after arguing with Hermione, had to shrink the party down to just their smaller, usual friend group (they swore up and down that they’d clean up and not get detention like last time, but she wouldn’t buy it). 

But you knew that if things had the Weasley twins’ names pasted next to them, they’d be far from peaceful; as far as you could possibly get—no matter how big or small. 

“Oh, there you are,” you heard someone say from behind, and turned around to see that it was Hermione.

“Not drinking?”

“Someone’s got to take care of the boys after they go wild, right?” she explained. “Besides…I can’t stand the taste of firewhisky. It burns.”

You offered a tired half-smile and agreed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Hermione seemed to be deep in thought for a moment until she told you, “You’re very lucky, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“To have Fred, that is. To find someone who’s that in love with you, it’s quite rare.” 

“Oh, please,” you tried to suppress a laugh, “I told you why we’re doing what we’re doing.” 

“And?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at you, “feelings change. Bet or no bet, he cares about you and anyone would be crazy not to see that. Ronald is half-blind and he can tell, too. You can’t possibly tell me that everything you’ve done up to this point has been a lie.” 

“It’s meant nothing to me,” you said bitterly. “I hate him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And it doesn’t help that he’s everywhere,” you stopped to take a swig of firewhisky, “and I can’t stand it!”

“Do you not, really?”

“I do, but I—”

“You what?”

“I just hate him!” 

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think? I hate everything about him!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I hate the way he always tries to compete with me, I hate the way he doesn’t take things seriously, I hate that stupid, annoying little smirk he has on his face half the time I see him—”

You inhaled quickly; it felt like you’d just drank an entire vital of Veritaserum with the way that words were tumbling out of your mouth. Hermione gave you a look that seemed to say ‘Go on,’ so you did, “—I hate the way he walks down to the Great Hall every morning with his annoyingly perfect messy hair, I hate the way he risks freezing his arse off to give me his favorite gloves so that I don’t get hypothermia, I hate the way it’s so easy for him to kiss—borderline snog me like it’s nothing, I hate how this is all just supposed to be a game of pretend, and—and most of all, I hate the way he made me fall in love with him without even trying. I hate the way I don't actually hate him. Not even close, not even a little bit…not even at all…”

“You…really mean that?”

You whirled around to see that Fred was standing right behind you with his hands behind his back, eyes hopeful, and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. “Fred—”

“Y/N, I—”

Suddenly it seemed like the walls were closing in on you from all sides, the room spinning; and then, everything around you jumbled into one chaotic mess of noise and color. Without looking to see either his or Hermione’s reactions, without caring that half the room had stopped to see what was going on, you pushed past your friends and quickly clambered out of the portrait hole. 

“What was that about?” Ron’s nose crinkled in confusion. “So much for being a cute couple. Now this is just sad.”

“Will you shut it, Ronald,” Hermione whacked him on the shoulder. 

“OW—”

“Stop being so dramatic! Don’t let me catch you drinking even one more shot or I will drag your arse back to bed,” she snapped. 

“Pleeeease do, I would lov—ow, ow, OW! OKAY!” Ron exclaimed as she pinched his ear and began dragging him away. “Okay! I’ll leave them alone, I’ll stop…”

Chest heaving and vision blurring with tears, you rushed outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was quiet in the courtyard asides from the faint trickling of water but that did little to calm you down; it was still too loud, too chaotic, too much. Sitting down at the marbled edge of one of the fountains, you tried to catch your breath and balance, but the world still kept spinning…it felt like it wouldn’t stop spinning; for Merlin’s sake. All you wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear forever, or jump off the Astronomy tower and fly off to a distant land. You didn’t want to have to worry about how you poured your entire damn heart out in the middle of the common room about your fake boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend that you realized, with horror, you had begun to develop not-fake feelings for. 

A chill ran through you at that moment and you shivered.

Then the feeling of something warm—a thick coat—being draped over your shoulders shook you out of your trance. You instinctively slid it tighter around yourself.

“Thought I might find you out here,” said Fred. You opened your mouth, ready to ask how in Godric’s name he knew where you were at all times when he didn’t even have the Maurader’s Map anymore, but stopped. This was Fred Weasley, and you had spent an unhealthy amount of time around each other over the past several months that he had to have picked up on your little habits. He was more observant than he let on. 

“What are you doing out here?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. 

“I couldn’t leave you alone outside to freeze, could I?” he asked, sitting down next to you. “What kind of boyfriend would that make me?”

“Please, just…” you inhaled sharply, “I can’t do this. You won. I lost. The game’s over, Weasley.” 

“On a last-name basis now, are we? Ouch,” he said jokingly, but dropped the teasing lilt in his voice when he noticed your eyes starting to water. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

“It just isn’t fair,” you whispered, looking down at your feet. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not fair,’” your voice faltered, “you’re not supposed to do that. To do this.”

“Do what?”

“To sabotage the bet. To make me lose track of the scores.”

“Well, I stopped counting, you know,” Fred admitted, tucking a hair behind your hair. “There’s no need to keep track anymore, I think we’ve done enough convincing, don’t you think?”

“But that’s the problem!” your voice cracked as you finally turned to look at him. “It isn’t that I’m probably going to be dozens of Galleons poorer after this. It’s that I’m feeling something I shouldn’t, that…that you made me fall in love with you—”

“Y/N—”

“—I hate the way I care about you far more than I should,” you continued on, “and I hate myself even more for even wishing what we had was real. Because it was all fake, Fred, and you know it. We were faking it, and—”

“Y/N,” he repeated more sternly this time, causing you to stop mid sentence. “Look, I already told you I stopped keeping track. After that night in the common room….that’s when I realized I couldn’t. Lee damn near had to hit me over the head and force-feed me Veritaserum to admit that I was in deep. Galleons and glory be damned, I didn’t care about any of that anymore; it was easy for me to pretend when I was already in love with you.”

“But we weren’t supposed to fall in love, that was the rule,” you sniffed, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I thought we were supposed to follow the rules.”

Fred’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, I think some rules are made to be broken.”

And then, he was closing the gap and connecting your lips in a deep kiss. The gentle motion cut through the chilly evening air, washing over you in a blazing heat that had you melting into a haze of firewhisky, adrenaline, and something that smelled distinctly like a crackling log fire and cinnamon. 

You had kissed him multiple times before this, but this one felt different than all the rest. It didn’t feel like you were doing it for show in the slightest; it felt genuine and warm and so real. 

And the biggest difference was that you never wanted it to come to an end. 

“So?” The grin on his face was palpable; contagious, as you broke apart, “What do you say, we stop faking it?”

“Are you fake breaking up with me?” you gasped and pretended to look surprised. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“I’m asking to real-date you, darling,” he said.

“There’s no money on the line this time?”

“No,” he hummed as he leaned forward to kiss you a second time and pretended to think for a second, “but there might be something else on the line instead.”

“And what is that ‘something else?’”

“You’ll have to wait a few years and see.”

xi. the promise 

—FOUR YEARS LATER—

Fred was a great planner, of course. “Brilliant,” Harry would say, “absolutely brilliant.” He might’ve been a jokester, but he was a very organized jokester. He always knew what he was going to do and when. 

So when it came to you, he thought he had a plan. He thought he had it planned for years; he was thinking fireworks, extravagant displays in the sky, taking you on a sunset ride across Romania on one of Charlie’s dragons. Something to match your free and daring spirit. 

But, the moment ended up presenting itself on its own. 

It was an ordinary night with yours and Hermione’s families joining the Weasleys for a quiet weekend at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley was listening intently as Mr. Granger and Harry explained the function of rubber ducks and the Internet in great detail, and the rest of you chatted with your parents,  Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger by the kitchen counter about post-graduation plans. 

Mrs. Granger had made an off-hand, passing comment about how lovely your silver bracelet—the one with charms of yours’ and Fred’s initials and Patronuses dangling from it—looked on your wrist. And then Fred was saying, “I know something else that would look great on her,” and taking a small box out of his pocket and flipping it open, revealing a blinding bright, silvery diamond ring. 

Even as shouts of realization and cheers of joy rose up from around the kitchen, the world seemed to fade away into complete silence when he put the ring on your finger and encircled his arms around your torso, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear, 

“I told you there was something else, didn’t I?” 

tags: @xhanthexzoria @arkofblake @fictionalsimp449 @polar-myst @katelikeslaughs @lmllsl @schlattandcompany

[plainclothesdisaster]

Danny opens the door to his apartment to find one Jason Todd on his doormat, knuckles raised as if about to knock, tupperware in hand. Surprise surprise.

“Uh,” Jason lowers his hand. Maybe Danny should have let him actually knock- better to keep up appearances, like he couldn’t sense Jason anytime they’re within a three block radius of each other. But he’s tired- so goddamn tired- of this whole charade.

“What’s on the menu today?” He levels Jason with a look.

“Soup. Lentils. It’s, uh, high protein. Very healthy.”

Danny shouldn’t find Jason’s floundering so cute, knowing what he knows. But seeing as he didn’t ask for this (in fact, he explicitly asked for /not/ this), he thinks he’s allowed a little fun.

“Healthy, huh?”

Jason nods, and presents the container for him to take. Instead Danny swings the door wider.

“You might as well come in.”

//

Jason sits at the modest kitchen table as Danny sets a mug of warmed soup in front of him, then takes his own seat, another mug in hand.

He hasn’t actually been inside Danny’s apartment before, he’d always just left the meals outside his door. Bruce had been coy about sharing details on his top Watchtower engineer, but the breadcrumbs from the case files told enough of the story: Danny was just a kid barely out of college with a large dose of trauma and way too much responsibility. Bruce had also been clear on one thing: Danny didn’t want help.

That just meant Jason would have to get creative with how he helped him.

But now that he’s actually here, face to face with his most recent pet project, he’s not quite sure what to do. Danny just watches him, completely unmoving, except for his eyes that watch as Jason lifts an awkward spoonful of soup.

“So did Bruce put you up to this?”

Jason sputters over his spoon. “Bruce? Don’t know who you’re talking about. I just saw a neighbor in need, and I cook a lot anyway, so-“

“Sure. And you just happen to deliver only on days I’m not scheduled to be off planet? You’re not slick.”

Jason swallows. He sure does know Danny’s schedule and he sure doesn’t have a good excuse. Danny sighs.

“It’s okay. The food’s good. I’m just trying to figure out, well, why?”

“It was um, implied that Batman’s favorite Watchtower tech could use a home cooked meal or two.”

“He never knows when to leave it alone, huh.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then why you? Unless—ah. He must have made the connection to your whole… situation.”

“My what?”

“Okay. Um. So, you do know you died, right?”

Jason chokes on soup. Again.

“Is that a yes…?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, “Yeah I just— How the hell do you know?”

“Ah. Well. That’s a bit of a long story.”

Danny gives him a strained smile and Jason takes a measured breath, not trying very hard to mask his disappointment. He wants to ask for more- desperately- but he shouldn’t. He’s supposed to be helping Danny, not the other way around.

Then Danny takes a spoonful of soup. He leans back in his chair the moment he tastes it. “Goddammit that’s good.”

Jason flushes with pride before Danny pins him with a look that chills him to his toes. His heart races, and he feels for a moment like he’s a bug under a microscope, and he’s not so sure he hates it.

Yet it’s Danny’s crooked smile that follows that makes his heart race even faster.

“Okay. How much time do you have?”

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[419jhat]

Steve becomes an actor. Eddie reacts to his movies while nursing his crush.

***

That Time He Got Naked

Steve had always been a good performer. Eddie watched him in school, putting on the face of a disaffected cool guy who was above everything around him. And he watched him put on a face of bravery for the kids when the end of the world was at their fingertips. When Steve got his first role, Eddie figured it made sense. He hadn't exactly been trained in acting, but he had a pretty face and the ability to do what he was told on a set.

When he got his second role, Eddie didn't pay much attention. Local art movies by Robin's college friends weren't that interesting to watch, in his opinion. But the third role was when it became a thing. That's when it started turning into a big deal. And before they knew it, a year later, Steve was in a real movie. A movie they could see in theaters and rent at family video. A movie people had actually heard of. The kind of movie everyone sat down to watch in support of their famous friend. Even if it was a just small role.

So, at the first available showing where the entire party could get together, Eddie found himself squished between Dustin and Nancy, watching Steve gasp and moan like it was his first time.

And Eddie's face was on fire.

Dustin had pulled his hoodie over his eyes.

Nancy was sitting straight as a telephone pole.

Jonathan leaned over and asked her, “Was he really like that?” Which made her smack him on the arm and tell him to shut up.

Eddie could barely pay attention. He was too busy wondering, as he stared at Steve's bare ass taking up half the screen, if Steve had been hitting the gym to tone up just for this scene because-

He needed to stop thinking about it before he made it even more awkward for everyone.

When Steve called him a week later, he could barely talk without stuttering like a fool.

“So, what did you think? Maria said I was really convincing but she was in the scene with me. She kind of has to say that,” Steve said.

Eddie thought that the sight of Steve's ass had been imprinted on the back of his eyelids, because it was all he saw when he closed his eyes to sleep at night.

“It was good,” Eddie said awkwardly.

“That sex scene was so embarrassing. People keep asking me if it was hot. There is nothing hot about standing around your coworkers in a flesh colored jockstrap.”

“Mm-hmm,” Eddie said, trying not to imagine a scenario where Steve was his coworker, and that was his uniform.

That Time He Died

The next time they met up to watch a Steve movie, nobody had warned Eddie about its contents. Or, maybe they did and he'd ignored it because he didn't want to think about the little mole on the small of Steve's back that he'd discovered last time they watched a Steve movie.

Either way, Eddie was completely unprepared to watch Steve gasping for air while being beaten to death in an alley.

“Ugh, I can't watch this,” Robin muttered when it became clear what was happening. She ran out of the theater a few moments later when the scene didn't end quickly enough.

Lucas was on Eddie's other side, cringing with each brutal punch. Steve was letting out pathetic, wet whimpers, his face literally crunching under the main actor's fists.

Eddie knew it was fake. The blood was kind of excessive and there was just no way you could rearrange someone's face like that with your bare hands. But watching Steve's eyes go glassy made Eddie feel sick.

He got up too.

He found Robin standing next to a water fountain, just staring at it.

“Thirsty, Buckley?”

She jumped.

“Oh. No,” she said, stuffing her hands in the pickets of her jacket. “I just dream about that kind of stuff a lot.”

Eddie nodded. “I get it. It's different when we've seen him hurt before.”

Behind them, the theater door swung open. Dustin paused when he saw them, and then propped it open with his foot. The rest of the party followed.

“I guess we're leaving early, huh?” Nancy asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Nobody tells Steve,” Robin warned.

When Steve called him the next day, he kept his mouth shut.

“You were terrifying,” Eddie said.

“You sure? I think I was supposed to be more pathetic than anything else.”

“I mean, that too. But it was super gory, so I think the whole theater was freaked out.”

“Neat,” Steve said. “You know, I'm going to be in Chicago this weekend. We should hang out!”

“I'd love that!” Eddie said too quickly.

Steve laughed and asked, “maybe you can show me around?”

“Yeah, you can stay at my place!” Eddie said.

And then he looked around his apartment and cringed. “On second thought, you can get a hotel if you don't want to deal with the mess.”

“I love the mess. It's you,” Steve said.

Eddie wasn't sure if he was supposed to be offended or not.

That Time He Cried

The next movie wasn't much better. This time, Eddie came prepared. This time, Steve didn't get naked or die. What he hadn't anticipated was that there were other terrible things that could happen, like watching the man he'd held a crush on for years now scream and sob because he lost the will to live after his wife died.

Eddie honestly didn't know that Steve could sound like that. The anguish in his voice at the funeral scene, the pain in his eyes. It was raw, and difficult to face.

There wasn't a dry tear in their row.

“I do not like this one,” El whispered to Eddie.

“Why is he always miserable in these movies?” Max muttered. She had her shoulders up to her ears and her arms crossed, like she could hold the tears back if she wound herself up tight enough.

“Well. He seemed pretty happy in the first one,” Eddie said.

Max punched him in the shoulder.

Steve's phone call came that evening.

“Dude, I think you broke everyone's hearts. I didn't even know you could cry like that,” Eddie said.

Steve huffed a laugh into the receiver. “My agent told me to think of something sad.”

“What did you think of?” Eddie asked. He instantly wanted to smack himself in the forehead. Why would Steve share that with him? To his shock, Steve hummed, like he was thinking.

“I thought about how I felt when we thought Max was dead,” he said quietly. “Obviously, it's not like that between us. She's basically my sister at this point. But…it was the first time I'd ever lost someone but cared about. Someone I was supposed to protect.”

Eddie's heart melted into a million pieces.

“Steve. I think you should invite her to visit you. She loves you too,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly, “the only thing is that Dustin would lose his shit if she visited first.”

“Oh, don't worry, I'll keep him distracted for you,” Eddie said.

“With Dragons and Dickwads?” Steve asked.

“You know it.”

That Time He Proposed

Eventually, Steve broke his curse of misery and managed to get a lead role in a rom com. Eddie hated it more than anything else. Watching him fall in love with the human equivalent of a shallow puddle pissed Eddie off more than anything else had in a long time. Steve's pretty eyes, staring at her. Steve, so visibly in love with someone who didn't deserve him. Steve, doing stupid shit to make her take him back when he hadn't done anything wrong in Eddie’s completely unbiased opinion.

It made Eddie want to tear his hair out.

The real cherry on top was Steve proposing to her at the end, because of-fucking-course the movie ended that way. That kind of heteronormative love at first sight, get married and have kids bullshit the media always pandered to, drove him up the wall. Steve did all the work. He set up a cheesy outdoor surprise at the beach and dropped to one knee while everyone in the background of the scene clapped like a bunch of lemmings.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Eddie said.

“Tell me about it,” Mike said.

“God, I hate romance movies," Eddie said.

“They always suck,” Mike agreed.

“Steve would never do that! He doesn't like big grand gestures!” Eddie said.

“What?” Mike asked.

“He's a very private person!”

“Eddie…that's not Steve. That's Chris. Steve’s character,” Erica said.

“I- I know that. I'm just saying,” Eddie sputtered.

“Can you all shut the fuck up?” Max hissed.

Steve called him a week later, and by then, Eddie had forgotten all about it up until Steve started waxing poetic about how romantic it all was. Ugh.

“Wait, I thought you didn't like that kind of stuff,” Eddie interrupted.

“Oh. No, I don't. But in the context of the movie, it was supposed to be.”

“So…what kind of romance do you like?” Eddie asked casually.

“Gonna surprise me with something, Munson?” Steve asked.

“Wha- no, I just-” Eddie stuttered.

Steve interrupted him with a laugh. Then, he suddenly asked, in a sinfully soft voice, “when are you going to visit me?”

Eddie's heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, I don't know. Tattooing doesn't pay for a California vacation yet,” he said nervously.

“You could move out here,” Steve said. “There's a ton of people wanting tattoos in LA.”

“I don't know if all that sun would agree with me,” Eddie joked.

“Youcouldmoveinwithme,” Steve blurted out.

“Hmm?” Eddie asked, twisting the phone cord around his thumb.

“You could move in with me,” Steve said.

Eddie nearly dropped the phone. He sat up straight and looked at his hands like they couldn't tell him what he'd really heard, because there was no way Steve was being serious.

“Eddie?” Steve asked.

“I'm here. Good one, Steve,” he said with a forced laugh, “like you'd want me messing up your place. Anyway, got anything else going on?”

Steve didn't reply for a moment. When he did, he told him about some party he'd gone to. And Eddie forgot about the offer completely.

That Time He Was a Villain

Thankfully, Steve's next film was wildly different from the others. This time he was the bad guy. Eddie found it kind of thrilling to watch him parade around with the confidence of an unapologetic piece of shit. The way he led the main characters around like he had them on a leash, the way he looked when he was in charge. It made Eddie's pathetic little heart shiver.

Steve made a sexy villain.

Unfortunately for Eddie, nobody else seemed to agree. As they left the theater, all the kids were grumbling under their breath.

“I thought he was cool in that role,” Eddie said.

“He was such an asshole!” Dustin said.

“I can't believe he was so mean to Miranda! He didn't have to be such a bad husband!” Max said.

“It was the look in his eyes. Like he thought it was all fun,” Erica said with disgust.

“Once a douche, always a douche,” Mike muttered.

Nancy lifted an eyebrow. “You guys know that it was just a character, right? Steve didn't actually endorse any of that stuff.”

“He chose the role,” Dustin muttered. “I hope Hollywood isn't ruining him.”

Eddie was pretty sure they just missed him.

Steve called him three days later.

“Do you think I'm turning into an asshole?” he asked without saying hello.

“Dustin’s just being stupid,” Eddie said.

“He says I'm regressing back into my high school days!”

“That's dramatic,” Eddie said with a laugh, “he didn't even know you in high school.”

“Exactly!”

“I thought you were cool in your latest movie,” Eddie said.

“What?”

“I mean, you are a bit of an ass, but it shows your skill.”

“Wait, is that what this is about? I thought I missed his birthday or something!”

“Oh, no. They just don't like seeing you play the bad guy.”

“Oh my God, that is so fucking-”

That Time He Fell In Love With A Man

Eddie didn't know what was coming next. Steve had been in a wide variety of roles at this point, so when he sat down in the theater with a bucket of popcorn, he did not expect to witness the crush of his life, holder of his soul, dream of all dreams, to be making out with another man.

Eddie nearly threw his popcorn at the screen out of sheer shock.

“Buckley, did you know about this!?” he hissed to Robin.

“Yeah, I thought it was really brave,” she said softly.

“What do you mean? Because he's straight?”

Robin slowly turned to look at Eddie with an eyebrow lifted.

“...what?” she asked.

Eddie wasn't paying attention. He turned back to watch. It was beautiful. It was nothing like what he'd expected. Explicit love between two men, on screen for the world to see. He didn't even have it in himself to get jealous. For the first time, Eddie couldn't see Steve. He saw the story. He could see himself in the way Steve's character looked at his lover. The way they hid their feelings for each other in public. The film ended with Steve's character passing away in a car accident. It made Eddie cry. Eddie hadn't cried in a theater in years.

He left the building feeling raw.

The others were raving about the film, talking about how it would push Steve's career to the next level. No comments about it being weird or gross.

“Robin, why would he choose that role?” Eddie asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, did he do it for Will or something?”

Robin turned to Eddie with her hands on her hips, looking very much like Steve with the level of judgement in her eyes.

“Eddie…when you said Steve was straight. Were you being serious?”

Eddie just blinked at her. “Of course I was. He is straight.”

“Are you stupid?” she asked. Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but she didn't let him. “Where have you been the last few years? Has that apartment of yours been lined with lead?”

“What-”

“Eddie, he calls you almost every week!”

“He calls everyone-”

“He stays at your place when he's in town!”

“It's cheaper-”

“He is a successful actor! He has no reason to stay in your apartment, which is always covered in dirty clothes!”

“Hey, I try to keep it-”

“Last time I was there, your underwear was hanging on the bathroom doorknob!”

“Listen, I told you I can explain that-”

“Eddie, he asked if you wanted to move in with him!”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. Now that he thought about it, he did recall Steve joking about that. But it had just been a joke. Right?

“I thought he was being nice?” Eddie offered.

“Oh my god, you are so stupid,” Robin said.

“Wait, so let me get this right. Steve isn't straight. And he's interested in me!?”

Robin punched him in the shoulder. “Go call him, you dumbass.”

Eddie turned and ran all the way home without even saying goodbye. By the time he made it to his phone, he was gasping for air after running up three flights of stairs. And for the first time in years, he called Steve after watching his movie.

“Hello?”

Eddie could only gasp for air.

“...listen if this is some kind of prank-”

“No! Wait! It's me!” Eddie gasped.

“Eddie?” Steve asked.

“I saw your new movie,” Eddie said, brushing his hands out of his face with a shaking hand, “why didn't you ever tell me?”

Steve was silent for a moment.

“Tell you what?” he finally asked.

“That you like men!”

“I'm sorry?” Steve asked, sounding shocked.

Eddie's face was on fire. Had he somehow completely misunderstood Robin's point? Should he have stayed beyond to make sure?

“Eddie, did you not know that?” Steve asked.

“What! Of course, I didn't! If I had known that I would have-” Eddie cut himself off, too embarrassed to even say it.

“You would have what?” Steve goaded.

“It doesn't matter,” Eddie mumbled.

“No, I think it does,” Steve said.

“It's not a big deal,” Eddie said.

“I think it is,” Steve said.

Eddie bit his bottom lip, letting his feelings fester inside him until they finally exploded in the form of him shouting, “I would have asked you out!”

“And I would have said yes,” Steve said instantly.

“Really?” Eddie asked softly.

“I mean…I've been crazy about you for years,” Steve said.

“Why didn't you say anything!? Do you know how crazy you drove me last time you stayed here? You can't hold a man in bed like that and not expect him to fall in love!”

“I- uh, thought you didn't feel the same,” Steve said, sounding embarrassed. Eddie closed his eyes and sighed. Robin was right. He was so stupid.

“Steve, I feel the same and I want to ask you to be with me for the foreseeable future,” Eddie said boldly.

“The foreseeable future? Not just a date?” Steve asked.

“I am well past wanting a single date, to be honest.”

“Oh wow. Well, I've been looking for a boyfriend,” Steve said.

“I might even surprise you with something romantic,” Eddie said with a smile.

[willowsnook]

an experiment (18+)

hey, could you write a story like the one you reposted of max ”popular“ but for lando? I absolutely loved the plot and never saw one like that before, but don’t feel pressured! thank you<3

A/N: Didn’t want to do the exact same plot but did the same kind of reporter x Lando vibe where they don’t like each other.

Lando Norris x Reporter!Reader

The media room was bustling with reporters, and your eyes were trained on Oscar Piastri as he answered the question you had just asked him, nodding along.

“So you’re not worried about team orders, then?” you asked to confirm, and he shot you a grin.

“We’re only 20 points apart, so no,” he replied, and you smiled, turning off your recorder. “Good to see you, Y/N. When are you coming to an overseas race?”

The other reporters around left as you stayed behind to talk to Oscar. “Not really sure. I’m mostly covering IndyCar this year. I’m only here today because our F1 beat reporter caught some kind of bug.”

You had covered F1 for ESPN last year and had a blast doing it, but the travel was a lot. When the chance came up to switch to IndyCar, you took it, wanting to stay in the U.S., where you were from. You did miss the F1 drivers, though. You had a good working relationship with all of them—well, except one.

You and Lando got off on the wrong foot last year, and things never really recovered. You asked him a simple question, and he bit your head off. Instead of folding, you challenged him and called him an asshole to his face, so things were a little testy after that.

You glanced up from your notes, keeping your expression neutral as Lando approached. “Norris.”

He sighed, barely looking at you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You ignored his tone, pressing the record button. “You had a solid P2 in practice. Do you feel confident heading into qualifying, or are there still issues you need to address?”

Lando shrugged, crossing his arms. “Car’s fine. We’ll see what happens.”

You blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, you pressed on. “McLaren has been closing the gap to Red Bull in recent races. Do you think this track gives you a real opportunity to challenge for the win?”

He exhaled sharply. “You lot love asking the same pointless questions every weekend, don’t you?”

You kept your voice even. “I’m asking because fans and analysts are genuinely curious about McLaren’s trajectory. If you’d rather not answer, I can move on.”

Lando let out a humorless laugh. “Right, because you’re just here for the ‘fans and analysts’—not to pick apart every word I say.”

Your grip on your pen tightened, but you refused to take the bait. “I’m here to report, Norris. What I’m not here to do is argue with you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered.

You inhaled slowly, keeping your professionalism intact. “Alright. Final question—realistically, where do you see yourself finishing this weekend?”

Lando gave you a flat look. “Ahead of where you think I will.”

You held his gaze for a moment before calmly closing your notebook. “Noted. Thanks for your time.”

He scoffed. “Yeah. Sure.”

You watched as he walked off without another word, then sighed, shutting off your recorder. Interviews with Lando Norris were always a test of patience—but at least this time, you hadn’t given him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Y/N!” You heard Carlos call out, and you instantly brightened. He was one of your favorites on the grid, and you truly missed him this season.

“Hi, Carlos,” you said, walking next to him as you were both leaving the pen. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you? Still beefing with Lando, I see,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s such a pain in the ass,” you muttered, and he let out a loud laugh.

“Please, the tension between the two of you—nothing like it,” he said, and you stopped short, giving him an incredulous look.

“What on earth are you talking about?” you asked, and he grinned.

“There are literally three different bets I know of on when you guys will get together,” he said, amused, and your eyes narrowed.

“I don’t even cover F1 races anymore,” you said.

He shrugged, holding the door open for you.

"That doesn't matter," Carlos said with a mischievous grin. "The sparks between you two are undeniable. Even from across the pond."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You're delusional, Sainz. There's nothing between Lando and me except mutual disdain."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Then why does he always ask about you when you're not around?"

You froze mid-step, turning to face him. "He... what?"

"Oh, yes," Carlos nodded, clearly enjoying this. "He tries to be subtle about it, but we all notice. 'Has anyone heard from Y/N?' 'Is Y/N covering this race?' It's quite amusing, actually."

You were about to argue when you caught sight of Lando across the paddock, talking to his race engineer. For a brief moment, his eyes met yours, and you felt a simmer of the electricity Carlos was talking about. Lando looked from you to Carlos and frowned, looking away.

“Whatever, Carlos. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, dismissing him as you headed to where your car was, thinking about what he said.

Lando was an asshole to you. That was a fact. But there were things that were off: he always took your questions first, his eyes lingered on you from across the room—almost always—and you could tell how irritated he was anytime you were talking casually with another driver.

Pair that with the fact that your boss had asked if you wanted to be moved last season to cover a different team, to which you replied no because there was just something so exciting about getting under his skin. You always had a thing for guys like him, and it didn’t really help that he was as hot as he was.

You were still irritated as you got back to your apartment and quickly texted your group chat, begging to have a girls' night out. Luckily, most of your friends were free, and one of them snagged a last-minute reservation at a place nearby.

A couple of hours later, you were two drinks in, laughing about one of your friend’s most recent Hinge horror stories. Smiling, your eyes wandered around the room, landing on a very familiar mullet.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, and your friends looked at you and then over to where you were looking. Grace was the first to laugh.

“You two are truly like magnets. Carlos was right,” she said. You shot her a pointed look. They all knew about your disdain for Lando, and you had told them what Carlos had said, hoping they’d back you up about it being ridiculous, but they had all agreed with him.

At the attention of all your friends, Lando’s friends looked over at the table, some of them smiling widely when they recognized you. It didn’t take long for one of them to come sauntering over.

“Hey, ladies,” he said. “We’re about to wrap up and would love if you guys joined us at the next bar.”

“No,” you said at the same time that your friends said, “Yes.” You groaned, putting your head into your hands.

After paying your bill, you reluctantly followed your friends out and to the next bar. Lando and his friends were hanging out on the patio, and they were excited to see your group make it. Lando smiled at all your friends, introducing himself, but then narrowed his eyes when he got to you. You rolled your eyes, muttering that you needed a drink, and walked off.

You leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender's attention. The night air was cool on your skin, a welcome relief from the stuffy atmosphere inside. You couldn't believe your luck—or lack thereof. Of all the places in the city, Lando and his crew had to end up at the same spot as you and your friends.

"Fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice said behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Lando.

"I could say the same to you," you replied, keeping your eyes on the bartender. "Shouldn't you be resting up for qualifying tomorrow?"

Lando moved to stand beside you, effortlessly flagging down the bartender. "I could ask you the same thing. Aren’t you supposed to be covering the race?"

You finally turned to face him, crossing your arms. "I'm allowed to have a life outside of my job."

"So am I," he said, mirroring you.

"You sure about that?" you asked, tilting your head. "Because the way you act, it seems like your entire personality revolves around racing and being a pain in my ass."

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "You love it, though."

You scoffed. "I tolerate it."

He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the warmth of his body in the cool night air. "You tolerate me? Interesting. Because from where I’m standing, you go out of your way to get under my skin."

You arched a brow. "Funny, I was about to say the same about you."

Lando’s gaze flickered to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "Maybe we just enjoy the game too much."

You refused to be the first to look away. "Or maybe you just hate that I don’t fall for your usual charm."

His smirk deepened. "Who said I was trying to charm you?"

"Oh, please," you scoffed, taking a slow sip of your drink. "The lingering stares? The petty jabs? The way you just so happened to end up at the same bar as me tonight?"

Lando leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Maybe I just like watching you get all worked up."

You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of the way your pulse quickened. "Keep dreaming, Norris."

He smirked, stepping back just enough to let you breathe but not enough to break the tension crackling between you. "Sweet dreams, then, Y/N."

And just like that, he walked away. But before he could get far, you yanked his arm to turn him around and crashed your lips against his.

The kiss was electric, a charged collision of all the tension that had been building between you for months. Lando's surprise quickly melted away as he responded with equal fervor, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. The world around you blurred as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, you found yourselves staring at each other with a mix of shock and desire. The background noise of the bar slowly filtered back in, reminding you of where you were.

"Well," Lando said, his voice husky. "That was..."

"A mistake," you finished, even as your body screamed otherwise. You took a step back, trying to regain your composure. "An experiment."

"An experiment," he repeated. "And what exactly was the hypothesis?"

"I’m shocked you know that word," you said, avoiding the question.

"Y/N," he warned.

"A mutual friend hypothesized that the way we act toward each other was because of something other than hatred," you admitted, thankful that you were on drink number four now.

"And the conclusion?" he asked, tipping his head curiously.

"Inconclusive," you said, and his eyes flickered back down to your lips for a second.

"Probably need more testing," he said darkly, and your pulse quickened.

"Probably," you agreed, not breaking eye contact.

"Let’s go," he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the exit.

"I just got my drink," you complained, but made no move to stop him.

His hotel was only a couple of blocks away. That was the only thing he said the whole walk over, but his hand gripped yours tightly.

By the time you made it to his floor, his pace quickened, like he didn’t want to give you a chance to change your mind. The door opened, then closed, and suddenly you were pressed against it, his lips on your neck.

It lasted a minute before you gripped his hair, yanking his head back so you could press your lips against his.

The kiss was rough and demanding, both of you fighting each other with something other than words this time. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, and you lifted it up, watching his eyes widen at your bare chest.

Lando's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. His hands skimmed up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shivered under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of your usual dynamic. "Shut up and kiss me, Norris."

He smirked, clearly enjoying your impatience. "So demanding," he teased, but obliged, capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

Your hands roamed his body, tugging at his shirt until he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head. The feeling of skin on skin was intoxicating, and you couldn't help the small moan that escaped you as he pressed you further against the door.

His hands trailed down from your waist, past the loose band of your pants and under your panties. He lightly traced over your clit before moving to where you wanted him. 

“So wet baby, are you sure you hate me?” He teased as you moaned out. 

“Positive,” you got out before he slipped a finger inside, finding your g-spot and massaging it. 

Your head fell back against the door as Lando worked his fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. But you weren't about to let him have all the control. With a sudden surge of strength, you pushed off the door, forcing him to stumble backwards towards the bed.

"My turn," you growled, shoving him onto the mattress. Lando's eyes widened in surprise, but the smirk never left his face as you straddled him.

"Thought you hated me," he teased, his hands gripping your hips.

You ground down against him, relishing the groan that escaped his lips. "I do," you breathed. "This is simply an experiment."

Your fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his hardening length. Lando hissed as you wrapped your hand around him, pumping slowly up and down. 

“Don’t tease,” he grumbled and you smiled wickedly at him, swiping your thumb over his head causing him to whimper. The noise took you both by surprise and you knew he was embarrassed. 

“I thought you hated me,” you threw his own words back at him. “But it sounds like you don’t.”

He started to argue back but you quickly shifted your hips, slowly sinking down on top of him. 

You both gasped as you fully pushed him inside you, the sensation overwhelming. For a moment, you stayed still, adjusting to the feel of him stretching you. Lando's hands tightened on your hips, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you.

"Fuck, y/n," he breathed, voice strained. "You feel amazing."

Instead of responding, you began to move, setting a slow, torturous pace. Lando's head fell back against the pillows, a low moan escaping him. You couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph at reducing him to this state.

"Look at me," you commanded, voice husky. His eyes snapped to yours, pupils blown wide. "I want you to see exactly who's making you feel this good."

Lando's lips curled into a smirk, even as his breathing grew ragged. His fingers dug harshly into your waist and he started to move you faster against him and you groaned out. 

Lando suddenly sat up, wrapping his arms around you and flipping you onto your back in one fluid motion. The change in position drove him even deeper inside you, eliciting a gasp of pleasure. His eyes locked onto yours, blazing with intensity.

"My turn," he growled, echoing your earlier words.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to hit spots that made you see stars. His thrusts were deep and purposeful, each one drawing out a moan or whimper from your lips. You clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure built.

Lando's lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. The dual sensation of his mouth on your throat and his cock inside you was almost too much to bear. You arched your back, pressing your chest against his as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

"God, you feel incredible," he panted, his rhythm faltering slightly as he fought to maintain control. "So tight, so perfect for me."

Your back arched off the bed as he hit a deeper angle and your climax crashed over you. He sounded animalistic as his own release was triggered, spilling into you. 

The two of you breathed heavily for a moment looking at each other. Finally you pushed yourself off the bed and headed into the bathroom to pee and clean yourself off. When you returned, Lando was leaning against he headboard watching you as you put your clothes back on. 

“Leaving?” He asked.

“Yes,” you replied, finally looking at him. “This was just an experiment remember, it wasn’t real.”

“I remember,” he said, still watching. “You could stay.”

“I have never in my life stayed over for a one night stand,” you said. You don’t know why you told him that, he didn’t need to know anything about your personal life. 

“Are you serious?” He asked, shocked. 

“Very.” 

Lando's eyes widened at your admission. "Never? Not even once?"

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant as you slipped on your shoes. "Never saw the point. It's called a one-night stand for a reason."

He sat up straighter, the sheet pooling around his waist. "But what about... I don't know, cuddling? Or morning sex?"

You couldn't help but laugh. "Cuddling? With you? Please."

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm an excellent cuddler," he protested, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself hesitating by the door. "Look, Norris, this was... satisfying. But let's not make it more than it was."

Lando's expression sobered. "And what exactly was it, y/n.”

“An experiment,” you said again, leaving before he had a chance to ask what the result was. 

[freakattack]

Favorite obscure Mario characters?

GLOM

The light of my fucking life. As a lifelong koopalinghead and specifically iggyhead i slurped up the Nintendo Adventure Books like a slug slurps slime and obviously a connoisseur of my caliber would immediately latch onto this thing. It's a cloning machine Iggy made that turns sand into clones but more importantly it is a 15 ft tall clanking clunking contraption with googly eyes (to see what it's cloning, natch), a stack of CRT monitors that each display a different horror B-movie at all times, and a constant trail of slime oozing from its tank treads. If this is not your favorite Mario character of all time then you're an idiot.

2. DOUGHNUTEER

I might be the only person who cares about doughnuteer and I couldn't tell you why. Actually I can, it's because he reminds me of a little shrew

And I like doughnuts.

3. PIRANHA SUE

In addition to the Nintendo Adventure Books i also lapped up the corresponding Nintendo Comics System, which followed a similar continuity in the absence of more official sources of mario lore. I never appreciated piranha sue as much as I should have in my youth but after revisiting these comics a couple years ago i can safely say that she is the greatest bootleg piranha plant I have ever met and it is an honor to witness her evil human teeth. I want her in mario baseball.

4. HERMAN SMIRCH

Herman smirch is a terrible person and character but I am transfixed by his awfulness and so he is here. Growing up the Game Boy Comic was like the evil counterpart to the Nintendo Comics System, but now that I'm grown up and evil myself I can truly appreciate the depths of its depravity. The gist of Herman Smirch is that he is a shitty loser republican from new jersey who obtains a game boy that, through the will of Tatanga (who lives in the game boy), manipulates him into committing increasingly violent crimes until he has embroiled himself in an international military conflict. The game boy comic was supposed to make people want to buy the game boy but in practice placed it center stage in a slow burn of this already terrible man's spiral into insanity. What a yarn. I have shown a highlights reel of herman's wacky antics here but if you're too lazy to click that link then I at least want you to see this:

5. FRACKTAIL

Fracktail is comparatively not obscure at all but I don't care it's my list I'll cry if I want to. If I put fracktail here then I would technically be justified in also putting other mario rpg all-stars like Bowyer and TEC-XX and Valentina but I won't go that far, Fracktail can be here on their behalf. Anyway, the first time I saw this thing I screamed, because I thought I was going to have to fight it, and then it was friendly and then I loved it forever. And then a stupid bastardly clown came and destroyed everything and ruined my life but this isn't about him. I love you Fracktail and I wish you were still here. You didn't deserve that

6. HAL 9001

Moving on

7. WOOSTER

Before Toadsworth, there was Wooster. The original long-suffering butler to the Toadstools, Wooster was a Nintendo Comics System Special who presumably passed alongside the Mushroom King he served. There isn't much to say about his character beyond the typical trappings of Beleagured Butler, but there is one thing that makes him interesting to think about and that is the comic called "Wooster Quit". In "Wooster Quit", every Mario character is FLABBERGASTED because Wooster Quit, and they can't imagine a life without Wooster. So the whole comic is about everybody trying to get Wooster back and of course Wooster comes back and the status quo is restored. But the premise of casting this mario OC as an essential player in these characters' lives is funny to me in a meta sense because we very much do live a life without Wooster. We are living in a post-Wooster world. It just goes to show that no matter how obscure you are, you are important to someone. Even if that someone is me.

8. ROACHIE

Roachie is the cockroach living in Wario's brain. One morning, she crawled up his nose, which Wario was horrified by but not for the reason you might think: "Is little roachie gone for good?!?!!?" As a devout cockroach appreciator, I was touched by Wario's genuine concern for God's most darling creature. Fortunately, little roachie was not indeed gone for good, because that very night, Wario heard her walking around inside his skull. Yippie! Hooray! We can only hope that she is living a nice life up there to this day. Hope is all we have.

9. BRAWL DOLL

This will come as no surprise to those who know me, but if you don't know me: fellas, I fucking love ventriloquist dolls. Charlie mccarthy was my idol growing up. I'll never be half the dummy he was. So a wario-branded wooden doll is basically my ant bait. Brawl Doll is what Geno could have been if Square wasn't full of squares.

10. THE BEETLES 'R' US SNIFIT

They put me in a mario game

[prisjean]

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ HELD CLOSE caleb x reader

synopsis: after finding out your ex cheated on you, an angry caleb comes and saves the day, and then comforts you hehe ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

tw: MDNI +18, p in v, no condom (pls use protection), cumming inside, caleb gets NEEDY (or i try to make him seem that way lolz), he says pipsqueak in the middle of it (only once), dry humping, slight biting, and long plot (i try to make it worth it PLS)

authors note: literally i had to take a break writing, esp during the dry humping scene cause HOOOO lorddd this makes me want caleb more than ever. thank you @tbaluver for helping me write this & happy reading everyone!! ᡣ𐭩

your phone buzzed in your trembling hands, and when you saw caleb’s name flash across the screen, your heart clenched. you wiped your tear-streaked face quickly, taking a deep breath before answering the video call.

“hey pipsqueak.” his voice was warm, familiar but his sharp eyes immediately narrowed. “what’s wrong?”

you forced a smile, shaking your head. “nothing, i’m fine.”

caleb tilted his head, his expression softening but showing a bit of his possessiveness. “oh no no no, don’t lie to me. i can see it all over your face.” his voice was firm but gentle, a thread of concern weaving through it.

your resolve cracked, and a fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes. “he cheated on me, caleb,” you whispered, voice breaking. “i feel so...so stupid.”

his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. the muscles in his neck tensed, his grip on the phone tightening. "who?"

you hesitated, but when you said your ex’s name, caleb’s eyes darkened. “...i’m on my way back to linkon,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“caleb, you don’t have to-”

“don’t.” his voice cut through your protest. “i'm almost there, just stay put.”

you knew better than to argue when he got like this, so you nodded, biting your lip as he gave you one last lingering look before ending the call.

it wasn’t long before a knock sounded at your door. when you opened it, caleb stood there, his casual clothing slightly disheveled, his knuckles bruised and raw.

your eyes widened. “caleb…”. you grabbed onto to his hands.

he shrugged, gazing down at you before. “had to teach that asshole a lesson.” wanting him to calm down, you led him to the couch.

your heart ached, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. you looked at him before speaking, “but you.. you didn’t have to.”

he reached out, wiping away the stray tear lingering on your cheek. “yeah.. i did.” his voice softened. “no one gets to mess with you and get away with it.”

you sighed, leaning into his touch. but your chest felt tight, you didn’t know why, but somehow, you found yourself sitting on his lap, his hands found your waist, his touch gentle but firm, grounding you in the moment. “what am i gonna do without you?” you chuckled softly.

caleb smirked, caressing your cheek. “lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

caleb’s eyes softened as his hand rested on your cheek, but even as his gaze held yours, there was a storm behind his violet eyes, something darker. his lips parted like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. the silence between you two was becoming unbearable.

then his hand gripped your face, pulling you closer, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, desperate energy that sent you spiraling. it wasn’t gentle but of a hungry, needy, force that demanded attention. as his kiss deepened, you could feel the tension running through him and slowly through you, neither of you fully able to control the emotions swirling inside.

as the kiss deepened, the world around you disappeared but only the feel of caleb’s lips, his warmth, his touch. his hands were everywhere, your waist, your back, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get close enough. the two of you were practically moaning in each others mouths, every second felt like it wasn’t enough. the heat between you both was unbearable, and with each kiss, each caress, it felt like everything that had been unspoken was finally free.

but then, you couldn’t take it anymore. you pulled away, your chest heaving with the intensity of the kiss with your heart racing like it might explode. you stared at caleb, trying to catch your breath, feeling his body still pressed against yours, the distance between you barely existent. you didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to face the reality of pulling back, but your feelings were conflicted.

you bit your lip, your gaze flicking to the side as you gasped for air. “caleb, i can’t... this is too much, i—”

before you could finish, caleb’s hands grab onto yours, he presses his forehead onto your knuckles before looking right back up into your eyes. his eyes were dark, full of raw need, and his jaw clenched tightly. “no. don’t you dare do that.”

his voice was rough. “you can’t pull away from me now. not when i’ve been wanting this for so long.” the words came out like a confession, as though the weight of everything he’d been holding back had finally come crashing to the surface. his gaze softened, but the longing was undeniable. “i’ve been waiting for this, waiting for you...”

“please,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, almost like a prayer. “don’t push me away when i finally have you here. don’t make me wait any longer.”

you didn’t know what to say. his words wrapped around you like a chain, pulling you back toward him. no man could ever long for you the way the man in front of you did. your pulse raced and before you can even mutter a reply, caleb closed the distance, capturing your lips again in a kiss that felt like a promise.

his hands roamed again, desperate to keep you close, to feel you against him, like he needed to anchor himself to something real. the way he kissed ignited a fire in you. it couldn't be helped when you started rolling your hips forward just to gain a little bit more of him. you started to feel him harden against you, making the friction unbearable to keep your moans intact. you could tell he was enjoying you by the way his hands clutched desperately on your back, with nails digging in as he pulls you even closer. his kisses grew more frantic, little whines and gasps escaping him between each one. he would so often lift his hips eagerly to meet with every roll you had to offer him, bitten off whines leave his lips as you continue to grind your clothes cunt onto his clothed cunt.

caleb's breath hitched as your lips suddenly trailed along his neck. his hands tangled in your hair, holding you close as you nipped and sucked at his sensitive skin. a low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your lips.

"god, i've dreamed of this," he murmured, voice husky with desire. his hips bucked up against yours, seeking more friction. "dreamed of you, like this, for so long." he continued. 

caleb's voice grew increasingly desperate, his words punctuated by ragged breaths. "please," he begged, his fingers digging into your hips. "i need you. i need all of you." his eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with lust and longing. "touch me, taste me, anything” he kisses your knuckles. “just don't stop."

"i've waited so long," he whimpered, burying his face in your neck. his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "make me yours. please, i'm begging you."

caleb's usual composure had crumbled completely, leaving him trembling and needy beneath you. his hands roamed your body restlessly, as if he couldn't decide where to touch first. "can i..we.." he murmurs, gesturing towards your skirt.

you nod, you can feel your cheeks heat up. your tone softens, "caleb, i have always been yours as you have been mine." you give him a smile. with trembling hands, he fumbles with his belt buckle. he finally managed to undo his pants, freeing his erection. the tip was already gleaming with pre-cum. with one swift motion, he lifted up your skirt and pulled your panties to the side, not wanting to waste a single second now. he softly guided you, leaving your soaked pussy to run through his tip. you start to slide down on him, taking him inch by inch. you both cried out at the sudden, intense sensation. caleb's head fell back, his mouth open in a silent moan as he savored the feeling of finally being inside you.

"p-pipsqueak.." his raspy voice fills the air as you began to ride him, letting his cock explore you as he whines with every hip roll.

"don't.. don't stop" he whimpers, his cheeks slightly flushes. you were moving at a slow, sensual rhythm that had him gasping for breaths. his hands continue to roam your body as you continued.

"use me however you want.." he whispers, his hands cup your clothed breasts. "don't stop using me till you're.. satisfied ngh.." he places his hands back on your hips, helping you bounce on him.

"caleb.. you feel so..so good.." you moaned in reply. your rolls had him hit your sweet spot and now you were almost at your high. your sounds seemed to ignite something primal in caleb. his grip on your hips tightened as he began to thrust up into you with renewed vigor. the room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"and you.. ngh.. are so perfect," caleb groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "so tight,.. so wet for me." he leaned forward, capturing your neck in his mouth, gently biting bite. the sensation sent shocks of pleasure through your body, making you clench around him.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging gently as you rode him harder. "caleb, i'm.. so close," you panted, feeling the tension building in you.

his eyes locked onto yours, cheeks still flushed. "that's it.. princess.. please..please come for me... huu.. please let me feel you.."

his words, combined with the exquisite friction of his cock inside you, pushed you over the edge. you cried out, your body shakes as you rode your high on him.

"you're stunning.." caleb says adoringly as he watched you crumpled on him. "ngh.. im going to cum.. let me cum," you loved this new side of him. "cum inside me.." with a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep within you, his cock pulsing as he came. it sent you over the edge as you felt his seed warming inside you. both of your breathing were in synced, breathless as time seemed to go normal again. the air between you was thick with warmth, your bodies still tangled together, caleb didn't want to pull himself out of you yet. he wanted to cherish this moment. caleb’s hands, once gripping you with desperation, had softened, his fingers now tracing slow patterns along your back.

you let out a shaky exhale, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt like you weren’t ready to let go. caleb’s hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones.

“you okay?” his voice was lower now, softer, laced with something tender. he searched your face, his gaze lingering, waiting for any sign of hesitation.

you chuckled, nodding as you leaned into his touch. “i should be asking you that,” you whispered, teasingly. “that was a different caleb i saw back there.”

caleb chuckled under his breath, a small, breathy sound that sent warmth curling in your chest. “yeah,” he echoed, a hint of something affectionate in his tone. his fingers tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering, like he wasn’t ready to stop touching you yet. "but, it couldn't be helped.. when i'm with you." he continues.

caleb shifted, adjusting so you were nestled against his chest, his arms wrapping around you with a quiet protectiveness. his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a rhythm that soothed you.

you sighed, melting into him as his warmth surrounded you, his steady heartbeat lulling you into a sense of calm. his fingers trailed absentmindedly along your back, tracing slow, soothing patterns, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were still here, still in his arms.

“you make me crazy, you know that?” caleb murmured after a moment, his lips brushing against the top of your head. his voice was softer now. “i don’t think i’ve ever wanted something this much.”

your fingers tightened slightly around his shirt, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. caleb’s eyes softened, and without thinking, he leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. it wasn’t desperate or rushed like before, just warm, grounding, like he was trying to memorize every second of this moment.

“are you tired?” he asked, smirking a little. his fingers now tracing idle circles against your arm.

you hummed in response, your eyelids growing heavier. “a little.”

knowing you didn't run away from his confession, he pulled himself out of you and adjusted yours and his clothing as if nothing happened. he shifted slightly, just enough to lean you against him, making sure you were comfortable. “i’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice quiet, protective. “just rest, okay? i’ll be right here.”

you smiled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the way his arms held you like he never wanted to let go. you had totally forgotten about your ex. the world didn't even matter to you at all, not right now, not when you had this.

and as sleep pulled you under, you heard caleb murmur one last thing against your hair, barely heard but filled with devotion.

“i'll always be by your side.”

[acmeangel]

♡ You're a member of Levi's Squad, and he asks you to marry him, when disaster strikes.

♡ SFW ♡ Canon!Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, a bit angsty, mentions of blood, injury, near-death experience ♡ Word count: 3019 ♡ Summary: After finally accepting that you're there to stay, Levi asks you to marry him. You're a member of his Squad, and being with him has always felt right. Not too long after, a dangerous scouting mission leaves you with a grave injury, and Levi is faced with the fear that you might not make it.

When Levi asked you to marry him, it wasn’t with some extravagant proposal or planned-out, grand romantic evening.

You both were lying in your bed in the barracks, your body half-draped on top of his, your fingers lazily playing with strands of his hair. His hands grazed up and down your back with a steady, soothing tempo.

You’d both returned from a scouting mission earlier that day — one with too many casualties, as there always seemed to be. Levi had recruited you to be on his Special Operations Squad years ago, based purely on your stats from previous missions with other squads. At first, he had respected you, much like he’d respected all of the members of Squad Levi; a group of people willing to join the riskiest regiment and put their lives on the line in the futile hope to save humanity.

Respect had eventually turned into friendship, which had then grown into something more. You two loved each other long before your romantic relationship had begun; so when it finally did, it felt natural, like it was always supposed to be that way.

In your bed, that night, he looked at you with a tender softness that bordered on melancholic. It was a look that he didn’t show often. His eyes revealed how deeply he cared for you, how much he wanted to shield you — who he saw as one of the last few truly good things left in this world — from the cruelty, violence, and destruction that ran rampant around you. It was a look that no one else ever got to see.

“I want to run something by you,” he stated, his voice level and smooth as ever.

“Oh, do tell, Captain.” You laughed, faintly, your eyes sparkling with a glint of amusement.

His hand traced up your back and slid around your neck, his thumb rubbing gentle, affectionate circles onto your skin.

“How would you feel about the two of us being together, like this, forever?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours, an unusual stiffness in his expression. You couldn’t believe it, but he was actually nervous.

You blinked once, twice and tilted your head. “Levi, are you asking… me to marry you?”

You weren’t entirely surprised that this was how he’d phrased it — he’d never been one for verbosity or overly sentimental language. He’d showed his love for you more in his actions; in the way he always checked you for injuries at least three times after a mission, in the way he’d stroke the back of your hand with his thumb when he held it as you fell asleep, in the way he’d insist on giving you half of his own breakfast every morning so you’d have enough energy for the day.

“Yes, Y/N,” he’d said, his hand shifting to cup your cheek, his soft gray eyes settling into yours. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

You felt all of the blood rush to your head, your entire body overwhelmed with excitement, joy, and love for Levi.

“Yes,” you managed to say — and repeated the single word at least twenty times, as you leaned in to press your lips to his, peppering him over and over with kisses.

“Alright, alright,” he’d mumbled after the twentieth kiss, his cheeks then flushed with a soft pink blush.

You beamed with joy as you pulled your face back from his, your eyes glimmering with adoration.

“So,” you began, a hint of playfulness in your voice, raising your eyebrow, “do I get a ring then, or what?”

His lips pressed together, his gaze narrowing just a bit as he considered the question, a puff of air escaping his nose.

“Fine.” His voice was a low, dry mumble, but his lips bent into a small smile, the tension in his forehead releasing. He couldn’t help but give into every one of your requests, no matter what.

His eyes scanned around the room, looking for something suitable, before he reached out to the bedside table, the muscles in his shoulders and back flexing as he took a paperclip from a stack of papers. Turning back to you, his fingers worked with precision to unravel the paper clip, the wire of which he used to form a nearly perfect circle. He took your hand, his touch gentle, and slid the makeshift paper clip ring onto your ring finger in one swift, delicate motion.

“How’s that?” His eyes studied your face, intently waiting for any sign of reaction. “Temporarily, anyway.”

Your cheeks blushed uncontrollably and you gleamed with a smile so wide it made the muscles in your face turn sore. Seeing you this way made him smile — a real smile.

“It’s perfect,” you’d whispered, practically choking the words out. “Much better than any stupid diamond I’ve ever seen.”

“Think we need to do the whole ceremony thing? Or can I just start calling you my wife now?” His brows scrunched together slightly as he waited for your answer, and you could tell how badly he wanted to skip the frills and formalities and simply be yours, eternally.

At the sound of the word ‘wife’ your chest swelled with affection, and your eyes became misty, blurring your vision of him.

“Screw the ceremony,” you whispered, your voice shaking with overflowing emotion. “We’re married, now.”

“Good,” he whispered back, his own voice fraught with feeling, as his thumbs brushed away the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. You know that.”

His eyes bore into yours, seeking confirmation. He didn’t say ‘I love you’ often, only when it really counted.

“I know,” you whispered. “I love you, too, Levi.”

******

It was only weeks after that — after the moment Levi decided, finally, that you would be by his side forever, that he knew you’d never leave him — that your squad was faced with a particularly dangerous mission.

It was another reconnaissance mission, much like all of the other Scouts’ missions had been, but no one could have anticipated the amount of Abnormals. The Scouts hadn’t reached a single objective before entire groups of Erwin’s formation had been wiped out by the Abnormals, which were making their way closer and closer to the center groups. Erwin had officially called for a retreat — something he rarely ever did, only when the situation was dire.

Levi Squad raced forward on horseback, galloping past the blurred, unidentifiable carnage of comrades; the once green fields had turned red and rotten.

Your gaze was fixated intently on Levi, catching glimpses of his profile as he led the squad forward — to anyone else, he looked entirely collected. But you knew him too well and had memorized all of his micro-expressions, and based on the tension in his jaw and the chilled intensity of his gaze, you knew he was worried, too. He’d often admitted that he never knew what the outcome of these missions would be, that no one did, and you could see his mind racing with that exact thought.

The pounding of impossibly large footsteps caused the ground to shake just slightly, enough to make your head whip around and see a group of Abnormals charging forward with unprecedented speed and force.

“Captain!” You’d called out, drawing Levi’s attention. He’d simply glanced over his shoulder and ordered to keep moving forward per Erwin’s command; based on the looks the rest of the squad exchanged, you knew they were unsure about this decision.

Before anyone could think or say another word, one of the Abnormals had surged forward and began to reach for Eld, whose blades were inexplicably jammed in his ODM gear. The panic in his eyes was enough to strike fear into anyone.

You sprung into action immediately — this was simply how you were. You never wasted time thinking, you only acted. It was reckless, perhaps, but you’d gotten results time and time again, and the thought of losing a friend without trying to save him was unacceptable to you.

This was one of the things Levi loved most about you, and it was also one of the things he wished so badly to change about you. He admired your selflessness, your fearlessness, the way you never seemed to be paralyzed by indecision. But, sometimes, it felt to him like only a matter of time before something terrible would happen to you.

You’d managed to sink a grappling hook into the Titan and propel yourself off of your horse, in the direction of Eld, knocking him out of the Titan’s path. You’d planned on being able to then reach the nape of the neck and put an end to this, but you were too rash, too impulsive to anticipate that the Titan’s next movement would whack your ODM wire to the side, bringing your body flinging through the air with it.

The rest, in your recollection, was more or less a blur. You knew that the Titan curled its fingers around your body, its grip bruising your skin and rendering you too immobile to fight back. You knew that you’d heard Levi yelling — actually yelling. You knew that the Titan had brought you to its mouth and managed to sink its teeth into the side of your body enough to make you lose consciousness, but not enough to kill you. You knew that Levi was the one who had intervened, who had saved your life. The last piece of memory you had was the sight of Levi’s face as he grabbed you from the Titan, a look that was so intense, fear-stricken, and furious, it bordered on crazed.

After getting you back onto the ground, Hange had ridden over on horseback and hoisted your limp body onto the horse, carrying you out of harm’s way.

Levi took care of that Titan himself — he made sure of it. Blinded by rage and agony, he slaughtered the Titan with a brutality he typically withheld. Normally, Levi did only as much has he had to in order to kill a Titan. This wasn’t fun for him, it wasn’t a game; he didn’t like fighting, he didn’t like being violent.

But this was different — he sliced the Titan apart, his movements a fevered, merciless haze, his vision red with bloodthirstiness. By the time he was done with the Titan, it was a mere pile of limbs, and he was drenched in its blood.

He’d finally reached the wagon that you’d been placed in, climbing into it with urgent movements, trailing Titan blood behind him. His pupils were constricted; his eyes were glowing with panic.

Your body was lying flat in the wagon, Hange and some of the other squad members hovering over you, attempting to tend to your wounds, their efforts proving futile. They’d managed to wrap a bandage over where the Titan had bit you, but you were bleeding through it with no sign of stopping. There wasn’t anything left to do until you all returned inside the walls.

“Get the fuck away from her! Don’t fucking touch her!” He shouted, his voice coarse and sharp, his arms effortlessly shoving everyone else away from your limp body. He stood over you, his eyes wild with emotion, his chest rising and falling with breaths so heavy it looked almost painful.

When he dropped to his knees beside you, his eyes caught sight of your hand, on the makeshift paperclip ring he had made you, that you’d refused to ever take off. An ice-cold chill rushed down his spine, so sharp it felt like it was actually ripping him apart from the inside out.

“Why is this wagon moving so damn slowly?!” He snarled to the rest of the squad, his eyes desperately glued to your face, while the others scrambled to try and speed the journey up as much as they could.

He grasped onto your hand with both of his as if the sheer force of his grip could heal you and bring you back to him. His eyes didn’t waver from your face once, his gaze burning into your skin, searching for even the slightest sign of life; all he was met with was your pale, sweat-glistened skin. You looked peaceful and it snapped his last thread of self-control — he wanted you to fight.

An uncontrollable, livid, primal growl escaped his mouth, unable to form any coherent words. Spit flung off his lips and into the wind, his expression was frenzied with helpless rage and despair.

The rest of the squad’s expressions froze. They’d never seen Levi be anything but stoic, apart from when he was actively slicing the nape of a Titan’s neck. Goosebumps dotted their skin as they simply watched, eyes wide, unsure of what to do. Levi had forgotten anyone else was even there; he cared about nothing in that moment but you.

He watched as your face turned paler, as your breathing became so shallow that it was hardly perceptible. You were slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do about it — for once, his strength meant nothing.

“No,” he barked, his voice gruff and strained, his grip on your hand tightening until his knuckles turned blazing white. “You won’t be taken from me. This shitty, goddamned world is not going to take you from me. You gave your word, Y/N. You said forever. Don’t back out on me now.”

His cries didn’t make a sound, but the sight of his back heaving raggedly and his hot tears dropping down onto your face was unmistakable. His face was twisted with anguish; his teeth were visibly clenched together so forcefully that they could’ve cracked. His hands began to involuntarily shake as they held onto your hand, the paperclip ring digging into his skin.

******

The next time you’d opened your eyes, you were confused. Your vision was blurry for a few moments, until you were met with the sight of the medical unit and you realized you were lying in one of the beds.

The next thing you saw was Levi’s face, the veins in neck tense with distress, the circles under his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them before. You took a deep breath, which hurt, and you felt the bandages around your waist expand and contract against your skin.

Upon seeing your eyes begin to faintly blink open, Levi moved to the edge of his chair, his hand urgently reaching out for yours, his eyes wildly moving across your face.

“Y/N?” His voice was raspy with disuse and lack of sleep, his tone pleading and tinged with hope.

“Levi…?” you whispered, groggily, your voice low and coarse.

His eyes fluttered closed with relief, his shoulders slumping as his head dropped down to your hand, holding it to his forehead with reverence. “Oh, thank god…” He whispered, his voice stilted with emotion.

Once Levi composed himself, and you began asking him questions, he explained to you, briefly, what had happened — he didn’t want to alarm or worry you with the more gruesome details until he was sure you were okay. All he told you was that a Titan had attacked you on the last scouting mission and that you’d been in the medical unit for weeks.

You’d learned later that the entire time, Levi had barely left your side. He’d sat in a chair next to you, watching you, talking to you, holding your hand, and urging you to wake up and come back to him. At night, he’d slept even less than usual, nodding off in his chair for only an hour or so here and there. Some of the other squad members could have sworn they’d even caught glimpses of Levi crying when he thought no one else was around.

The only time he ever left your side was if he had to go to briefings and meetings. When he did, he’d threaten medics into sitting by your side, outlining grave consequences for if anything happened to you while he was gone. He’d skipped meals, trainings, and anything else that wasn’t absolutely mandatory for him to attend.

After he’d finished helping you sip some water and become less groggy, he just looked at you, his eyes scanning over every centimeter of your face, as if making sure that you were really awake and stable and it wasn’t some insomnia-induced hallucination.

“You’re done with the Scouts,” he’d said, finally, his voice firm, unyielding — it wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Huh?” Your brows pressed together with confusion. “Who decided that? Erwin? What, does he think I’m useless now?”

“No, Y/N.” He shook his head, taking a soft breath before continuing. “I’m deciding it.”

“Levi-“

“No,” he cut you off before you can even think to object. His jaw clenched, his expression was fraught with concern. “Y/N. I thought you were… gone. It nearly killed me. This- nothing can ever happen to you again. You’re my wife. I need you to be here, with me. I need to know you’re safe, Y/N. I can’t- if you’d actually… Please, Y/N.”

For a moment, this surprised you. Outside of missions, Levi had never told you what to do or asked anything of you — he was protective, but not possessive. You being with him, caring for him, and loving him was more than he’d ever dared to hope for in his life. To him, you’d settle for him despite his most hidden scars, and it felt wrong to ever ask for more.

But he was asking you to do this. Begging you. For him.

“Okay,” your voice dipped to a gentle softness, your hand reaching out for his again, somewhat weakly. “Okay, Levi. I’ll leave the Scouts. Nothing will ever happen to me again. Everything’s going to be okay.”

A slow, uneven breath escaped his lips, as if expelling all of the fear and tension in his body. He collapsed into you, softly, his forehead pressed against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he breathed, the words barely making a sound. “I love you, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.”

He didn’t say it often, only when it really counted.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

Requested by anonymous!

Taglist (message me to be added!): @leviykwim

[thehighladywrites]

you’re just like me

pairing: cassian x crazy stalker reader

summary: cassian thinks of you as his insanely obsessive ex girlfriend who’s downright crazy. you are obviously cassian’s one true love and will eliminate anything that stands in your way.

warnings: murder, dark romance, cheeky little twist👀, stalking, obsessive behavior, sexual content, knives, nasty sex, um also a sick way of getting off just downright crazy, description of murder… um this is just kinda dark. two psychos encouraging each other

amara’s note: so i might be making this into a series bc i have an amazing idea for azriel next😫😫😫 also guys this was a lil dark lol

You couldn’t understand how Cassian had the nerve to walk away from you. There was absolutely nothing wrong with you, not one single thing. People just didn’t get it; love was supposed to be all-consuming, right? Obsession wasn’t a flaw. It was just proof you cared deeply. So what if you knew his schedule down to the minute, memorized the exact scent of his shampoo, or followed him everywhere he went like your very existence depended on it? That wasn’t weird, it was love. Real, burning, raw love.

Cassian must have been confused, that’s all. Poor thing, probably led astray by some outside influence. Maybe someone whispered lies into his ear or cast some strange spell over his mind. Yeah, that had to be it, because Cassian did love you. He did. He just needed to wake up and realize it again.

And when he did , he’d thank you for never letting go, for being the one person who truly saw him, who loved him without limits.

Seeing Cassian sitting next to some water-wraith makes your heart pound harder and harder, fury bubbling under your skin. That’s it — that’s why he hasn’t been his usual self. That wretched wraith is manipulating him, filling his head with filthy lies about you. Poisoning what was meant to be perfect.

You have to stop this. You have to save him. And the only way to do that is to get rid of her. Permanently.

Your hands itch for action, and you’re already stepping forward when a hand clamps around your wrist.

“Are you about to go over to Cassian?” Feyre’s calm voice cuts through your haze of rage. “Don’t cause a scene.”

You tilt your head, offering her a polite smile. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

You tug at her grip, but it holds firm. Feyre’s eyes narrow. “Not so fast. You know Cassian will think you’re crazy if you kill her right here and now.”

Your breath catches. How the hell did she know? Were you that obvious?

Before you can respond, she steps closer, her intoxicating perfume filling your senses. Her voice, low and smooth, sends shivers down your spine.

“If you want that little whore gone, gut her like a fucking fish. I’ll even help you. But not now, it’ll look bad for us.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Never in a million years would you have expected Feyre to suggest murder.

“Why are you so interested in me killing her?” you ask, voice curious.

A wicked smile curls at her lips before she presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “That little bitch tried to fuck Rhys right in front of me. Didn’t even bother pretending she didn’t know who I was. She didn’t care. And now I want her gone.”

Her voice cracks with a manic edge before she smooths it over, composure snapping neatly back into place.

She was just like you, a comfort you took pleasure in, someone who understood that love was meant to be fierce, consuming, and without limits.

—

You did exactly what Feyre suggested — waited until the big meeting with all the courts had ended, biding your time until the wraith was on her way back to Spring. She was alone, vulnerable, just as you had hoped.

Before she could winnow away, you struck. Kidnapping her had been easy, far too easy. And then came the best part: stabbing her over and over until you were drenched in her warm blood. Her look of terror sent a sick thrill down your spine, flipping your stomach in delight. Fuck, it felt good to finally get rid of her. Like being on edge for an eternity and finally getting the sweet, blissful relief you'd craved.

You cleaned up meticulously, disposing of every shred of evidence. No one would ever find her.

Winnowing back to Velaris, you appeared just outside Cassian’s house, dagger still in hand. Breaking in through your usual route was second nature by now. You settled yourself on his sofa, waiting patiently like you always did when he needed a gentle reminder of who truly belonged to him.

The door creaked open, and Cassian trudged inside, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Normally, you'd feel a pang of sympathy for how hard he worked — how much he gave of himself. But not tonight. Tonight, you were kinda pissed.

His eyes flicked toward you, squinting in the dim light. He hesitated, unsure of who he was looking at until he flipped the lights on.

The color drained from his face as he stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell?” His voice wavered. “What are you doing here?”

You tilted your head, offering a sweet, unwavering smile. “Hi, Cassian. Done being a manwhore? Ready to come back to your senses?”

His gaze darted to the blood soaking your clothes, the gleaming dagger in your hand. He shook his head in disbelief, taking another step back, as if distance could protect him from you.

“I said, what are you doing here?” His voice hardens, sharp and commanding.

Yours matches his, cold and steady. “Well, since you seem to be under some delusion that you can get away from me, I figured I’d burst your little bubble and remind you that’s not the case.”

A calm smile spreads across your lips as you lift the dagger, pointing it directly at him. The weight of it feels right in your hand, steady and sure.

Cassian’s chest rises and falls as tension coils through the room. “You’re insane,” he mutters, disbelief lacing every word.

“Call it what you want. Call it love, call it obsession. Call me fucking insane,” you say, taking a slow step forward. “But you belong to me, Cassian. Always have. Always will.”

You shake your head and laugh, a hollow, unsettling sound. “Gods, Cassian. I don't know why you're doing this to me. Stop being so damn difficult and realize there's no one else for you. That water-wraith slut sure knows it now.”

His face goes pale, a hand pressing against his chest. “W-what are you talking about? You... you killed her?” he asks, horrified.

“Sure did.” You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “And I'll end anyone you think can take my place. Am I clear? Either you realize it now, or I keep killing people. It's all up to you.” You shrug nonchalantly, inspecting your nails as if this conversation were about the weather.

There's a long silence, thick with tension, and then something changes.

His voice drops, lower and rougher. “Took you long enough.”

Your head snaps up, eyes narrowing in confusion. His pale, horrified expression has melted away, replaced by something darker, more primal. His eyes gleam with something unholy, and his mouth twists into a cruel, wicked smile.

“Was wondering when you’d kill that little wraith,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Gods know it was hard feigning interest.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, almost dizzying. Was this a dream? No way. Cassian matching your intensity, your madness — that was only supposed to happen in fantasies.

“What?” you whisper, barely believing what you’re hearing.

He steps closer, eyes gleaming darkly. “Didn’t think I noticed your stalking? Or the way you conveniently disposed of anyone I talked to?” His smirk widens, sharp and dangerous. “The way you just happened to show up at places I had scheduled? I’ve been onto you since day one.”

Your breath catches, heart thundering. “And?”

“And I knew you were the one the day you snuck into my room and stared at me, thinking I didn’t know,” he murmurs, eyes burning into yours with dark satisfaction.

A shiver runs down your spine, both thrilled and unhinged by his words. “You knew?”

He leans in closer, voice low and possessive. “Of course I knew. Your heavy breathing was a dead giveaway, sweetheart. You looked like you were seconds away from crawling into bed with me.”

You grin, eyes gleaming with madness. “I almost did.”

And it was true. He had been shirtless, skin smooth and golden in the moonlight, hair tied back so his sharp, handsome features were perfectly highlighted. Only years of discipline had kept you rooted to the spot instead of crawling into bed with him like you’d wanted to.

His smile deepens, dark and taunting. “You should’ve.” He steps closer, voice dropping to a low, sinful whisper. “Not the Gods themselves could have pulled me away.”

Your pulse races, wild and electric. This was so not fucking happening. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not tempting you, my love.” he says, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “I’m inviting you.”

He looks down at you, hands settling on your hips as he pulls you so close. Cassian’s heat makes your brain go fuzzy and for a moment you’re lost. Just as he is about to kiss you…

”Wait. So you felt the same I did? Why did you act all high and mighty when you’re literally worse than me?” You step back and raise an eyebrow at him, arms crossed over your chest.

Cassian blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but instead of guilt or surprise softening his expression, something darker gleams in his eyes — intrigue, even delight. “You’re mad at me, baby?”

“Of course I’m mad!” you snap, practically vibrating with frustration. “You knew I’m bsessed with you, and instead of saying anything, you just sat there, playing with me, making me feel insane.”

Your grip on the dagger tightens in pure frustration. “Do you know how many nights I spent plotting ways to keep you? How much blood I spilled thinking you didn’t care?”

His lips twitch, eyes filled with dark amusement.

“You could’ve just matched my crazy from day one, but nooo, you had to be all stoic and mysterious. Gods, Cassian, that’s infuriating.”

He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re adorable when you’re pissed off, ya know? A cute, hotheaded little thing.”

“Adorable? I should stab you,” you snarl, but he only grins wider.

“Do it,” he whispers, his voice dripping with challenge. “I’d love to see what happens next.”

Your breath catches, heart racing as his words sink in. Cassian wasn’t just tolerating your madness, he wanted it, thrived on it, matched it beat for beat.

The realization sends a dizzy thrill through you, but you pout anyway, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “You’re the worst,” you grumble, turning your head away with a dramatic huff.

He chuckles darkly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I was only interesed in seeing how far you’d go. Didn’t know if you’d run for the hills when I told you I murdered Helion’s advicer for looking at you yesterday.”

Your heart skips a beat, then thunders wildly in your chest. A sharp, wicked grin tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You did that?”

“Snapped his neck right before breakfast. Or did I feed him his own fingers then strangle him with his insides? Can’t say I remember.”

A sick thrill courses through you. Man, he was fucking perfect. It was so fucking wrong but your knees went weak and you started throbbing. He killed someone just for staring at you?

That was actually hot.

—

With no surprise, cassian fucked you for so long, so hard so fucking deep. It was so nasty, a reaaaal mess. one hand of his grabs onto your thigh, another gripping your waist while he’s glancing down at your sloppy cunt, what a masterpiece. Cassian decided he needed to see better so he pulled out as you whimpered pathetically.

his fingers smear his oozing cum all over you, from the slit all the way to your, swollen, throbbing clit.

“look at you makin’ a damn mess.” Your shaky hands gripping his wide shoulders start to slip. His arm tightens around your waist before you fall backwards. “fuckkkk, baby, look at how good your pussy was takin’ me, see how fucking wet she is?” you shudder as his fingers go knuckle deep into your cunt, giving you a few pumps before he pulls it right out, stringy wetness coating them.

he places two thick fingers inside of your mouth, you suck them clean whilst still moving against him, silently pleading for him to fill you out.

“shiiit, not fair. you got these killer hips that’ll dumb down any man.” Cassian finally fills you up again, his fat cock gliding against ypur wall just right. “oh-fuckkkk thaaat’s it, slow baby. slow, fuck me good, yeah?”

Cassian’s breath hitches as you tighten around him, his arm hurling behind the headboard. the desperation of having something to hold on to gives you an ego boost. was your just pussy too damn good?

“c-cas,” you moan, feeling his big fingers stroke their way against your waist to the very undersides of your thighs. you made sure to go slow, slow and steady just like he wanted. cassian’s got a sleazy grin, feeling the wetness of your cunt take him with all its might. “g-gonna cum!”

“i can tell, ah shit— you’re squeezin’ the fuck outta me,” He grunts in response as he feels you writhing, groaning at the gummy texture of your walls mightily gripping around him tight.

But it’s not enough. The rush lingers, addictive and gnawing, and you want more — need more. Something to cling to, something to burn into your memory for the rest of the week. A painfully sweet reminder of just how far you’ll both go for each other.

Your lips curl into a sly smile, voice dropping into a breathy tease. Finally, you’d lock in one last time to see if he was really as crazy as you. “Do you want to know,” You pause, your breath hitching in pleasure, “how it felt to kill t-that wraith?”

Cassian’s entire body tenses, his pupils dilating as a spark of something wild flickers in his eyes. His pulse kicks up, thrumming like a war drum. Fuck yeah, he wanted to know. Every sickening, twisted detail. Morality be damned—this was love.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice low and raw, filled with a dark hunger.

You grin wickedly, savoring his reaction. “It was beautiful,” you whimper, letting the memory flood your senses. “The way her breath hitched when she realized she was going to die? Gods, Cassian, it was intoxicating. She looked so helpless.”

His breath shudders as he pumps harder, his voice gravelly. “What did you feel?”

A dark satisfaction blooms in your chest. “Relief,” you murmur. “Pure relief. Like I’d been waiting forever and I was free.”

Cassian’s eyes burn into yours, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect. Absolutely mine.”

Your heart races as you lean in, lips hovering near his ear. “Next time,” you purr, “I’ll let you watch then fuck me right there.”

That’s it. Those few sadistic words are all the power he needs to finish you both off.

“you’re a nasty fucking girl—ughhhh.”

his speed had the bed creaking louder, and cassian’s grunting in your ear was getting louder as you were feeling fuller than ever. with hot pounds of skin against skin roughly slapping against each other after each second, the two of you felt the same pangs of pleasure and fervent dizziness. “inside, cas—fuck, cum inside me!” before an inevitable flood of heavenly pleasure consumes you both.

your cunt throbs the second he spills an entire whopping load inside of you raw, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. “cas—,” you stammer, and your walls were oh so greedy, adjusting to the way your pussy convulses around him, sharp nails dragging over his back. you both cum together as a surge of electricity pulses through each of your veins.

“fuck… ya better take every drop, s-shit,” he groans before slumping back against the headboard, tugging you closer so your face rests on his neck.

This was absolutely perfect. Cassian was yours now—forever. He could never leave you. And if he tried? You wouldn’t just kill him; you’d burn the entire world down with him. If you couldn’t have him, no one could. He simply wouldn’t exist without you.

That was love.

And Cassian being utterly, unapologetically insane? A gift wrapped in chaos. He understood you better than anyone ever could. Maybe you’d push him, see just how far that darkness in him stretched. Because Cassian didn’t get jealous—he got even. He got murderous.

“I love you, Cassian. So, so much,” you sob into his neck, your body trembling under the weight of the confession.

“I know you do,” he rasps, his voice rough as he grabs a blanket, wrapping it around your shivering form. His strong arms envelop you completely, his touch obsessive, possessive. His hand trails down your hair and back with agonizing tenderness as though memorizing every inch of you.

But something gnaws at you—a flicker of unease. Why wasn’t he saying it back? Did he need more proof that you were his literal wife(even if he didn’t know it yet), his reason for fucking breathing?

As if sensing your doubt, his grip tightens, pulling you even closer until you could hear the rapid, frantic beat of his heart. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and raw, trembling with emotion.

“There are no words for what I feel for you,” he says, voice breaking. “Love is too weak, too pitiful. What I feel for you—gods, it devours me whole. It’s a sickness, an obsession that digs its claws into me and never lets go. You are everything. My breath, my blood, my madness.”

His words crash over you, wild and terrifying and utterly beautiful. And you know—he belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

Always.

[pinkyqily]

IT'S OKAY, WE'RE OKAY, WE ARE DEFINITELY NOT OKAY JUJU WATKINS x READER

Summary: After the losing game against Iowa, you and juju get into a nasty argument that leads to your teammates separating the both of you.

Warning: Angst Angst Angst, swearing, throwing shit around, bad juju and reader

Authors note: The match was something, so that is why we get angst for times like this, anyways happy reading feedback and requests are always appreciated 💕.

Tension within the team was high no one said a word as everyone entered inside the bus. All you wanted to do was sit down next to your girl and comfort each other, but that was a no brainer as she passed by and ignored you.

Her ignoring you kinda hurt but you weren't gonna push past it. You tried sending her texts only for her to swipe them each time, you saw her groan turning off her phone.

A pit was forming down your stomach but you ignored the feeling like a fool.

You knew the type of player juju was when things don't go the way they were supposed to. Right now with the loss she was definitely beating herself up over it. no one likes to lose, especially to a team that wears the ugliest shade of yellow.

Arriving at the hotel felt like you were about to step into a battle zone. Once again you tried getting juju's attention by grabbing her hands, but all she did was yank her hands away from yours like you were some insects coming to disturb her.

You tried one last time by tapping her shoulder until she finally snapped at you, raising her voice, something that she's never does always trying her best to be calm with you.

"Bro what the fuck do you want can you not get the hint that maybe I do not want to deal with your shit tonight". You heard her say which was shocking. Because she never had an outburst likes this not even infront of your teammates or others, so her doing this just made you feel like an attention seeker which made you embarrassed.

"First off, watch how you're talking to me because I do not curse at you whatsoever and all I was trying to do was comfort my teammate who thinks the whole world is on her shoulders when the team has a few bad games but it fuck me right?." You said to her.

a few of your teammates who hadn't head upstairs came to where you and juju trying to calm things down, but that only made things escalate.

"Wow this coming from the player that left the 3 pointer line all wide fucking open and probably cost us the game". The moments those words came out of juju mouth she insanely regretted them but it was to late because you already heard them.

"I'm so sorry that not everyone can be there own fucking Judea watkins that's oh so prefect". You threw back at her tears clearly streaming down your face

It was too late for juju to say anything as kiki and Ray came separating the both of you.

The looks from your coaches were equally heartbreaking because no one wants to witness their best players tearing each other to threads.

A wave of guilt filled juju as everything she said to you hit her like a brick stone she was obviously in her head and wasn't thinking at all but the damage was already done. She made you cry and hurt you're feelings what type of girlfriend and teammate was she?. Was all she wondered now.

You we're already walking off with kiki.

She tried saying something but was cut off by one of the coaches who told her not to.

"It not worth it juju just head back upstairs, we'll be having a serious talking about both of your behaviors ray please help juju up to her room". she heard coach say, heading back the other way with ray, head facing down has she pulled her hoodie strings ashamed of how she acted.

What she didn't see was the way you turned around, hoping for her to say something at all it could've been anything but she didn't.

Only leaving both of you to sleep with heavy hearts having a thin wall separating you once more, you guys were definitely not okay and no one was okay.

[kedreeva]

Well, I've had a bit of a rough week. A deer totaled my (new-to-me I've-only-had-it-a-year) car when it rammed headlong into to side of it on a dark back road, and set off the passenger side side airbags (on the doors, not the dashboard ones). Thankfully I was completely unharmed aside from ringing ears and it did not do a whole ton of damage running into the side of the car (as opposed to the damage that would have been done the other way around, if I had hit it), but unthankfully it hit the airbag sensors and the airbags going off made it unable to be repaired for less than the cost of the car. The deer did not even have the decency to drop dead on the spot so I could eat it, it took off running back into the woods (at least according to the guy behind me that saw it hit me, because personally I thought someone had fuckin' shot my car, because the airbags are apparently explosively powered and smell like gunpowder and smoke).

So, I've been away dealing with that and looking for another car. I was not in love with the Patriot, even though I stuck cool jurassic park stickers on it (rather, I stuck cool jurassic park stickers on it because I was not in love with it), and I was still badly missing my Liberty. So imagine my surprise when I found a new listing for a 2010 jeep liberty with nearly the exact same number of miles on it (70,139) as the patriot I just lost (70,106). It looked practically pristine, came with a clean bill of health from Carfax, and was within a few hours drive to go get. On top of that, it was listed as marked down because it was at non-same dealership that wanted space back, so it was less than the insurance payout. I still called, and I still asked them to do me better than what they had it up for, and the guy was SO busy explaining how much trouble it would be to give it to me for the price I asked with all the taxes and fees and stuff included but that he would valiantly go talk to his manager that I didn't get a chance to say I MEANT just the car price not including those things. So he came back with a price, I asked again for lower again if I could bring cash today (offering the price I wanted to pay total in the first place, had he stopped to listen) and they accepted it.

So, I drove down in my mom's car with her, and took him out for a spin. He drives like a new car. Whisper quiet compared to the lawnmower of car the Patriot was. Tight steering, gas, break pressures, good wheels, great pickup and go, rides high like my old Liberty did, huge backseat/trunk space for caging and hay and stuff. They had detailed the inside so it was pristine and even smelled like new car. Stunning little beast.

When I climbed in to drive home, I found a heads-up penny sitting on each front seat. I think probably the dealership guy put them there in reality, but I choose to believe that it was a peace offering from the universe. Or perhaps the car trying to tell me his new name: Lucky.

I managed not to cry about having a car so much like my good boy Colt back under my hands, but it was a close thing. Anyway, here's to the next 200k miles! Let's see if we can beat Colt's record :)

[averagewriter-inthedark]

SFW Alphabet (A-N) - MCU!Johnny Storm 🔥| Marvel Headcanon

The teaser literally just dropped this morning 💀 but I've loved the FF and JS since 2005, and the FF fandom has been starved. This is for y'all 💌 Happy Fantastic (February) Four Day!!

Marvel Masterlist

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Johnny is very affectionate to the point it is almost suffocating but endearing. He enjoys showing you off and making it known he's in a committed relationship--especially after garnering a reputation that said otherwise. He'll shower you with compliments, wink at you when you enter a room to make you blush. When you have to present something to the Fantastic Four Johnny is openly checking you out unapologetically that'll have you using every muscle to not stumble over your words.

He shows it in actions that make your heart race. Proving that Johnny listens when you tell him something even if it does not seem important at the time. You'll find flowers on your nightstand, but you'll see that your favorite snacks and drinks have been stocked when they run low and you haven't had time to go shopping. If you leave a basket of clean laundry on the bed but then had to run to the lab for an emergency, you'll come back to find it folded and put away in its respected places. Small touches as he passes by you. Either letting his hand drift across your lower back or hooking his pinkie finger with yours.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Johnny is that best friend where people are surprised you are, but it somehow just works. Besides the constant bickering and threatening to throw each other off Baxter Building, you and Johnny know you'd run in the line of bullets for each other. There are jokes between you that the rest of the Four don't understand--which can be annoying when debriefing or in the middle of a presentation. But again, he's your ride or die and you're his.

The friendship would start when you were employed at Baxter Building. You were visibly annoyed during a meeting in which the Four and the department you worked for were present and the head of your department kept undermining the data you gathered that was crucial for a project the teams were working on. Johnny saw this and stood up for you, telling the department head that without the data they'd be at a loss, and he needed to make sure everything was consistent. Afterwards he introduced himself and you two went over the files and before you knew it you were friends with the flying, fire wielding man.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Say the word cuddle and Johnny is throwing you over his shoulder to haul you either to the couch or bed, whichever is closer, and taking you prisoner in his arms. This man loves a good cuddle and thrives on the feeling of your skin against his. Once his body hits the bed/couch and he's comfy do not expect him to leave for hours. And if you need to pee you'll just have to wait or physically pry yourself from him to which you'd receive groans of discontent.

Johnny prefers holding you as the big spoon but dabbles in being the little spoon from time to time. That usually takes place after a long day or a mission gone array where Johnny is still feeling the effects of nearly losing his life or the people he cares about. You'll hold him close; his head pressed against your chest and lull him asleep with the gentle beat of your heart. "I got you, baby, I've got you. You're safe now."

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) 

He definitely sees himself settling down in the near future. Probably when the Fantastic Four have reached a period where they can relax and be able to settle without the fears of it backfiring. but make no mistake, this man sees and needs you in his future. He wants the whole shebang and if that means leaving the Four then he'll do it.

This man can cook and he knows how to clean up after himself. You'll wake up to him making breakfast or coming back from the lab to find the most gourmet looking meal prepared. "What's all this for, hotshot? Don't tell me I forgot an important date?" "There does need to be an occasion for me to cook for my lover. Now bring your sweet ass over here before it gets cold." And you never have to worry about a dirty apartment. Johnny makes sure it is in pristine condition. Of course you do your part and if you happen to have the day off and he's working then you tidy the place. But it's nice to live with someone who values a clean home just as much as you.

E = Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Johnny breaking up with you would likely because you were in danger. A villain they were dealing with had discovered you, threatened your life, and Johnny could not live with himself if something happened to you. So he did the only thing he could and that was to break both of your hearts by ending things. There'd be tears, yelling, and you'd fight with him on it. Insisting that you'd be better off with him than without."

"I don't understand, Johnny--you said you love me!" "I do love you! So much that I'm doing this so you can live without the fear of being killed because I made enemies with the wrong person." "All this does is make me vulnerable. You want me safe? Then stay by my side because they are just waiting for us to be apart to actually do something."

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He's already got the ring picked out 💀 Expect to be proposed within the first year of dating because Johnny WILL put a ring on it.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Surprisingly Johnny is very gentle with you. His touch is light, his words are soft. He'll sit and listen when you vent to him about work and people in your life who've pissed you off. He'll tend to you on days you're sick and encourage you to do the things you love.

On your bad days, where you feel like the world is out to get you, Johnny will run you a bubble bath and cook your favorite meal. He'll sit on the edge of the tub to wash your hair, hold you while you cry, and dress you before carrying you to the bed for some cuddles until sleep overtakes you. Despite the powers that make him rival the sun, Johnny is a teddy bear who will put you first above all else.

H = Hugs (do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Of course he likes hugs, in fact he craves them. You'll be at your desk working, in the lab, or making food when Johnny will come up behind and wrap his arms around you. Perching his chin on your shoulder while you work simply because he wants to hold you.

I = I love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

Look, this man is a simp and when he's in love he makes it known. So he probably thought it within the first month of dating, but did not say it until you made it to three for fear of saying it too fast and causing everything to crumble. But once you both say it is like a weight lifted off his shoulder and Johnny is shouting it from the terrace of Baxter Building.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He'll never outright admit but he gets jealous. Who could blame him when he has a catch like you and everywhere you go there are people trying to flirt with you and get under his skin. When this happens he'll usually go quiet and glare at the person, but his frustration is never at you. He knows better than that and understands jealousy is something he needs to work on. Honestly it flatters you, and you can't help but tease him, bringing his mouth to yours in a possessive, passionate kiss. "Take that frown off your face, hotshot. You know I only have eyes for guys made of fire.'

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with Johnny take your breath away. They are soft and tender. Sometimes rough and sloppy when tensions rise and the fire in his veins mixed with the love for you consumes him. He'll pull you close, leaving no room for you to escape, cupping the back of your head while cradling you as he kisses you until you have to break for air.

Johnny's favorite places to kiss you, besides your lips, is your jaw and neck. He'll trail his mouth along every bit of skin it can find and nibble when he's feeling frisky causing you to erupt in a heap of giggles. You on the other hand, bring Johnny to his knees when you kiss his temple. It's so soft, makes him all fuzzy inside where he's practically begging for you to do it again. He doesn't know what it is about the way you do it but your lips to his temple and forehead have him in a chokehold.

L = Little ones (how are they around children?)

Johnny is a pro around children. He adores them and the sight of Johnny in his suit around kids makes your heart flutter. Even if he does not see having his own children in his future, Johnny knows how to deal with kids whenever the moment calls for it.

Plus he's had to risk his life on more than one occasion to save them when an enemy decides to use them as collateral.

M = Morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

Expect to be up bright and early every morning because Johnny has places to be, people to save, and things to do. Whether it is training, missions, or running errands. He is up on his feet the moment the sun touches the sky to drag you out of bed so that he can get it all done in record time and have the rest of the day to sit on his ass and relax.

Now on the rare occasions that he gets a day off or a super villain decides to not cause chaos, Johnny is catching up on all the sleep he can. You'll wake up past noon to him half on top of you, face tucked in the crook of your neck and pretty much in a puddle of sweat thanks to the godly levels of heat radiating off this man. He'll moan and grumble when you decide it's time to be productive--going as far to lay a love tap to his ass and bribe him with coffee and breakfast...or threaten to tattle tell.

"Get your hot ass up before I tell Sue you stole the last Coca-Cola from the fridge." "You wouldn't dare!"

N = Night (how are nights spent with them?)

Let's be real, nights are long and rarely quiet. Johnny is exhausted. Dragging himself to the bathroom to shower off the days work. You'll either join him if he's in the mood or set up the television to watch your favorite film. After he's done you'll cuddle up on the couch before one of you falls asleep first to ultimately drag the other to bed, or you'll both knock out right there since it's too comfortable to move.

Despite his reputation Johnny is a romantic. When there's a night where he can properly take you out on a date he is going all out. Reserving a table at the best restaurant, catching a movie at the theater, whatever it is, expect to have the best night of your life.

[meazalykov]

everything is lost

aitana bonmati x f!chelsea!spanish!reader

after leaving barcelona, aitana wondered if you were leaving her

warnings: angst, google translated spanish, 4.2k word count

requested? yes

the first leg in barcelona was a war that felt as if you were encircled on all sides.  

you had walked into the tunnel with your head high, ignoring the way your stomach twisted at the thought of playing against aitana, your aitana, the aitana you’ve been dating for three years.

you knew this was coming, but still, it felt foreign, unnatural. 

you had been teammates before, had worn the same red for spain, had shared hotel rooms during international duty.

however, you felt different now. 

aitana was on the other side.

you transferred from barcelona to chelsea last season, something that caused tension between aitana and you. 

the arguments from that eventually subsided, but this match might unscrew that lid again.   

she did not look at you during warmups. did not acknowledge you when you passed her in the tunnel. she spoke to lucy, to keira, to patri, but not to you.  

you thought it was fine, of course she would talk to her own club teammates.

suddenly, you see her talking to lauren, erin, and millie.

your teammates.

maybe you shouldn’t have let it her ignoring you get to you, but it did.  

so when the match began, you played with a feeling you hadn’t felt in months. every duel with aitana felt personal, sometimes you side tackled making sure that you did not injure her– but you wanted her to feel that you weren’t going to take her easy because she is your girlfriend.

when you shoved her off the ball in the 38th minute and sent a long pass to erin, the crowd erupted.  

erin scored.  

chelsea was up 1-0.  

when the whistle blew for full-time, you exhaled, exhausted but victorious. one foot in the final.  

then you saw her.  

aitana was standing there, her hands on her hips, her jaw tight. when you walked past her, she finally spoke.  

"te sentiste bien con eso?" she asked, her voice sharper than usual.  

("did you feel okay about that?")

you turned to her, frowning.

 "¿qué?"  

(what?)

"celebraste como si hubieras ganado el torneo," she said, shaking her head. 

"ni siquiera has llegado a la final."  

("you celebrated as if you had won the tournament," 

"you didn't even make it to the finals.")

"¿en serio?" you scoffed. 

"pensé que sabías lo que es perder, aitana."  

("really?")

("i thought you knew what it was like to lose, aitana.")

the words hit harder than you meant them to.  

the catalan’s eyes darkened, her lips parting like she couldn’t believe you had said that. 

you felt something crack between you.  

she walked away without another word.  

again… since you left barcelona for chelsea, things between you and aitana had been slowly unraveling.  

at first, it was subtle, things you would not have noticed at first. 

fewer texts during the day, delayed responses at night. the good morning messages became inconsistent, and the calls that once stretched for hours dwindled into brief, necessary check-ins. 

she stopped sending you videos of her morning coffee, and you stopped sending her updates about your day. 

maybe neither of you had meant for it to happen, but the distance was already creeping in before you had even realized.  

long distance was not easy for people who did not seem to try. 

then came the international breaks.  

you saw aitana, of course, but it wasn’t the same.  

at barcelona, she had been your constant, the person you warmed up with, the one you sat beside at team meals, the one who instinctively reached for your hand under the table. 

now, during spain camps, there was an invisible line drawn between you. you stayed with alexia, jenni, and misa, falling into your old friendships with ease. aitana stuck close to laia, sharing private conversations you were no longer a part of.  

you noticed how she laughed easily with laia, how their heads tilted close when they whispered to each other. she looked comfortable. at ease.  

not with you.  

with you, there was hesitation, careful distance, like she wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. maybe you didn’t know how to act around her either. maybe the space between you had stretched too wide, and neither of you had the courage to bridge it.  

the worst part was, no one really questioned it.  

it wasn’t uncommon for teammates to gravitate toward different groups, to spend time with the people they were closest with. for you and aitana? that wasn’t how it used to be. people noticed. 

alexia did. jenni, too. misa had even asked once, "are you and aitana okay?"  

you had shrugged. 

"yeah, why wouldn’t we be?"  

that was a lie.  

every time you sat across from her at dinner and she didn’t meet your eyes, every time you cracked a joke that she didn’t laugh at, every time you passed by each other in the hotel hallways and all you got was a nod—  

you knew you weren’t okay.  

and the worst part?  

you didn’t know if you ever would be again.

the catalan observed you on the pitch during the game, and it was much different than seeing you on screen.

aitana hated seeing you in that blue.  

not the deep, royal blue of barcelona..the blue of london, of chelsea, of a club that was never hers and never would be. she hated how it clashed against her memories of you, how unnatural it looked after years of watching you wear the same colors as her, after years of sharing the same badge. 

she never said it aloud, never admitted how much it burned, but every time she saw you fidget with that chelsea jersey in your soft hands, something inside her twisted.  

you had chosen this. voluntarily. no one forced you out of barcelona. no one pushed you to leave. you just said that you were unhappy and dipped. you had made that decision yourself, and maybe that was what hurt the most.  

the breakdown of your relationship was affecting everyone…whether you wanted to admit it or not.  

especially the spanish girls.  

for years, you and aitana had been the bright, untouchable IT couple. the golden pair of spanish football, of barcelona, of la roja. everyone had seen the way you looked at each other, the way you moved in sync on the pitch, the way aitana’s fingers had always found yours in quiet moments, like it was second nature.  

now?  

now, it was different.  

now, you played in different leagues, wore different colors, fought for different goals. now, instead of love, there was rivalry…an obsession with being better, with proving something, even if neither of you could fully name what that something was.  

the worst part was, you still loved each other.  

you knew it. she knew it.  

however, football had consumed you both.  

aitana had become the best footballer in the world, crowned the ballon d’or winner in 2023 and 2024. you weren’t far behind, breaking into the top five both of those times, proving yourself among the best. 

you should have been celebrating each other, should have been proud, should have been side by side through it all.  

instead, you were enemies.  

or at least, that was what it felt like.  

and neither of you knew how to stop it.

in the second leg of the semifinals.. london was supposed to feel like home.  

as you stood on the pitch, staring ahead at your old team, nostalgia wrapped around you like a phantom touch.  

barcelona was celebrating. aitana was celebrating.  

the catalan team won, 2-1 overall.

you could still hear the echoes of their cheers as you walked toward lauren, wrapping your arms around your exhausted teammate. she let out a breath against your shoulder, hands gripping your back tightly, and for a second, you allowed yourself to sink into the embrace, closing your eyes.  

something clicked inside you.  

what went wrong?  

why were tana and i like this?  

you had left barcelona willingly. you had no regrets about coming to chelsea, about finding something new instead of repetitive. 

that didn’t mean you didn’t miss her.  

suddenly, you wondered…were you two just dragging along an inevitable end to your relationship? or had you just let too much time slip away, avoiding the hard conversations that long distance demanded?  

football was not supposed to be your whole life.  

somehow, it had become exactly that.  

you yearned for aitana. the ache was dull but ever present, sitting in your chest, right next to the love you still had for her.  

she didn’t yearn for you.  

at least, that was what you told yourself when you looked up and saw her laughing, arms wrapped around fridolina, her head thrown back in joy.  

she wasn’t thinking about you.  

she was happy.  

without you.  

you swallowed hard, turning away, willing yourself to push down the lump rising in your throat. you didn’t want to break, not here, not now.  

what you didn’t see was the way aitana’s expression shifted the moment you turned your back.. her smile faltered, then disappeared altogether. aitana’s eyes followed you, watching as you lowered your head, as you tried to disappear into the shadows of your own thoughts.  

she wanted to go to you.  

wanted to comfort you.  

but she didn’t.  

because she thought you would push her away.  

and maybe she would never know that you wouldn’t have.

bilbao, your home, felt warm. not because of the sun, not because of the excitement buzzing in the air for the champions league final. of course it had to be in your hometown, where chelsea could not play. 

anyways, 

despite everything, you were still here, sitting in the stands, supporting aitana, supporting your old club.  

you weren’t alone.  

"you look like you’re about to throw up," jill teased beside you, nudging your arm.  

you rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you kept your gaze fixed on the pitch. 

"i’m fine."  

you were not, something inside of you wondered if you should even be here.

"mhm," she hummed, unconvinced. 

"because ‘fine’ definitely means sitting stiff as a statue in the stands, staring at your girlfriend like you’re in a tragic romance film."  

you turned to glare at her, but jill just grinned.  

jill is supporting her girlfriend, jana, who plays for barcelona. you love jana like she was your little sister, so of course your bond with the dutch woman grew over the last year playing in the WSL together. 

"you can be honest, you know," she continued, leaning back in her seat. 

"long distance is hell. every woman who is dating another in this sport has been through it. doesn’t matter how strong you think you are…it tests you."  

your jaw clenched. 

"it’s not just that."  

"no?" jill’s voice was softer now.  

"it’s like... football became everything," you admitted, keeping your voice low. 

"for both of us. and now, i don’t even know if she sees me the same way anymore. or if she’s just... moved on from us."  

jill didn’t answer right away. instead, she turned her attention back to the pitch.  

"she hasn’t moved on," she finally said. 

"if she had, i do not think that you would be here."  

you exhaled through your nose, unsure how to respond to that.  

then—  

aitana broke the deadlock.  

your heart jumped as the ball hit the back of the net, as the stadium erupted around you.  

she did it.  

for a split second, you forgot about everything else.  

you stood up, clapping, cheering, your eyes locked on her. you could feel the love radiating from you, unfiltered and real, your chest swelling with pride.  

she celebrated with all of her teammates on the pitch.

after…she looked for you.  

you noticed immediately. the way she scanned the crowd after the celebrations, searching, searching…until her eyes found yours.  

love.  

it was there. in her gaze.  

and then you did it, instinctively, without thinking.  

your hands formed a heart.  

aitana’s expression softened, her lips parting slightly before she quickly did the same, her fingers curling into a small heart for you.  

your chest ached.  

"see?" jill’s voice cut in beside you. 

"she still sees you, and loves you."  

you sat down slowly, heart hammering, a light ease washing over you for the first time in months.  

this wasn’t a resolution.  

this was a moment.  

a reminder of what was still there.  

whether or not you and aitana could find your way back to each other…that was still unknown.

after the final whistle, its 2-0. barcelona had done it again. champions of europe. while part of you was proud, happy for your old club, for your friends, for her, another part of you felt misplaced, like you were intruding.  

the celebrations had already begun to die down when you finally made your way onto the pitch.  

you followed jill like a lost puppy, your steps hesitant as your boots pressed into the familiar grass. you shouldn’t feel like a stranger here, but you did.  

jill had no such hesitations. she spotted jana immediately and sprinted toward her, engulfing her in a hug, leaving you to stand awkwardly near the edge of the celebrations.  

you shouldn’t be here.  

the thought wormed its way into your mind, and for a second, you considered slipping away before anyone could notice you.  

then—  

“¡ahí estás!”  

(“there you are!”)

before you could react, a pair of arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight hug.  

patri.  

you exhaled, hugging her back as a soft laugh escaped your lips.  

"you knew i’d come," you muttered into her shoulder.  

"of course," she grinned, pulling back slightly, hands still gripping your arms. 

"and i’m glad you did. pero, qué pena," she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "i still wish you were on the team."  

you giggled, nudging her playfully. 

"i’m still very happy for you guys, regardless."  

"i know," patri said, squeezing your arm once more before glancing over your shoulder. 

"and i think there’s someone else who’s happy you’re here too."  

you followed her gaze, your breath hitching slightly when you saw aitana standing a few feet away.  

she looked frozen in place.  

she had clearly noticed you, had been watching, but she didn’t seem to know what to do.  

luckily, you did.  

without hesitating, you walked toward her, your arms spreading out slightly, offering her the space to meet you halfway.  

and she did.  

aitana;s arms wrapped around you, your own arms tightening around her waist. the moment you sank into her, you felt yourself relax in a way you hadn’t in months. the hug lasted far longer than it probably should have…neither of you willing to let go.  

you swayed side to side slightly, pressing your face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her scent and shampoo.  

you needed this.  

you needed her.  

she needed you.

she needed this.

rivalry aside, distance aside, confusion aside…this was still the love of your life.  

"i’m happy you’re here," aitana finally murmured, voice quieter than usual.  

you smiled, pulling back just enough to look at her. 

"i’m happy that you won."  

aitana’s lips parted slightly. 

"really?"  

you laughed, shaking your head. 

"of course. i don’t hate you guys, you know."  

aitana let out a small breath, nodding. 

"lo sé, lo sé, no te preocupes."  

(“i know, i know, don't worry.")

something inside you wondered…did she know?  

you stood there for another few moments, wrapped in each other’s warmth, before ingrid called her name, snapping her back to reality.  

"i’ll see you later?" aitana asked, eyes searching yours.  

you hesitated, but nodded. 

"yeah."  

later never came.  

the moment had felt good…right, even…but after the final, things between you and aitana slipped right back into the same cycle.  

the texts remained sporadic, the calls non-existent. when you did text, conversations were short, often left unfinished.  

you told yourself it was just the aftermath of the season, the exhaustion, the obligations, but deep down, you knew better.  

it was affecting you.  

mentally, emotionally…you felt off. distracted during any outings in london, restless at night, constantly unlocking your phone only to lock it again, hoping for a message that never came.  

and aitana?  

she wasn’t doing much better.  

she threw herself into her training, into everything but you. she told herself that it was just easier this way, that if you wanted to talk, you would reach out first.  

but she missed you.  

she missed you in the quiet moments, in the in-betweens, when she grabbed her phone only to realize she had no reason to text you anymore. she missed you when she made her morning coffee and didn’t have anyone to send a picture to. she missed you when she caught herself scrolling through old photos, reading old texts, looking for something that felt like you.

the you before you left barcelona.  

and the spanish girls noticed.  

they weren’t blind. they weren’t stupid.  

they had watched you and aitana go from inseparable to distant. from untouchable to strained.  

and now, with the olympics just a few weeks away, they knew they had to do something.  

"okay, this is ridiculous," alexia sighed, crossing her arms as she sat in the living room of her home with jenni, misa, and salma. 

"we can’t go into the olympics like this."  

"they’re exhausting," misa groaned, tossing her head back against the couch. 

"they’re both miserable, and they’re making the rest of us miserable too."  

salma, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke up. 

"so what do we do?"  

alexia exchanged a glance with jenni.  

"we fix it," jenni smirked.  

misa frowned. 

"and how exactly do we do that?"  

alexia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. 

"simple. we trap them."  

salma raised an eyebrow. 

"trap them?"  

"yes," alexia nodded. 

"they clearly aren’t going to talk on their own. so we make them."  

"we force them into a situation where they have to talk," jenni added, her smirk widening. 

"where they can’t just avoid each other like they’ve been doing for months. they’re acting like children."  

misa’s lips curled into a slow grin. 

"i love this."  

"what’s the plan?" salma asked.  

alexia exhaled. 

"we need them to be alone. somewhere they can’t just walk away."  

"like a room?" misa suggested.  

alexia shook her head. 

"too easy to leave."  

"an empty locker room?"  

"no, that’s too obvious."  

jenni’s eyes suddenly lit up. 

"what if we send them on an ‘errand’? make them think they have to pick something up for the team..except, surprise, they’re actually just stuck together."  

misa laughed. 

"oh, that’s evil. i love it."  

"perfect," alexia smirked. 

"we’ll figure out the details later. but for now, all we have to do is make sure neither of them suspect a thing."  

"so we act normal?" salma asked.  

"exactly," alexia nodded. 

"and then, when the time comes…"  

"we force them to talk," misa finished, her grin mischievous.  

the plan was set.  

and whether you and aitana liked it or not, the reckoning was coming.

four days later… it was misa who got to you first on the first day of national camp.  

“we need a favor,” she said, linking her arm with yours as you walked out of the locker room. 

“lexi and i were supposed to go pick up some stuff for the team, but we’re too tired. can you and aitana do it?”  

you blinked at her. 

“me and aitana?”  

misa smiled innocently, which meant she was up to something. 

“yes, you and aitana. come on, you owe me for all the times i’ve covered for you when you sneak snacks into camp on your period.. even after that son of a bitch said we could not have any.”  

son of a bitch = the old coach. 

“first of all, i did not sneak snacks,” you said, narrowing your eyes.  

misa ignored you. 

“it’ll only take, like, thirty minutes. max.”  

you hesitated, glancing toward the other side of the room where aitana stood, tying the laces of her trainers.  

“does she even want to go with me?” you muttered.  

misa grinned, pushing you forward. 

“she just doesn’t know it yet.”  

ten minutes later..

“okay,” you said, stopping in the middle of the empty hallway. 

“this is a trap.”  

aitana turned to look at you, arms crossed. 

“what?”  

“this,” you gestured around, at the hallway, at the fact that the ‘errand’ misa had sent you on led to a completely locked storage room. 

“this is a setup.”  

aitana frowned, glancing at the door and then back at you. 

“they wouldn’t…”  

you both stared at each other.  

they absolutely would.  

aitana exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. 

“unbelievable.”  

“you think they’ll let us out if we start screaming?” you joked, leaning back against the wall.  

aitana sighed, shaking her head. 

“they won’t let us out until we talk.”  

you swallowed. 

“do you want to?”  

silence.  

aitana’s gaze fell to the floor, her arms still crossed over her chest like she was trying to hold something in.  

“do you?” you asked again, softer this time.  

aitana clenched her jaw. 

“i don’t know where to start.”  

you took a deep breath. 

“start with why you’ve been acting like i abandoned you.”  

aitana’s head snapped up. 

“because it felt like you did!” she blurted, her voice raw, full of something broken.  

you inhaled sharply.  

“i didn’t leave you,” you whispered.  

aitana let out a bitter laugh. 

“no? then why does it feel like you did? you left barcelona, you left me, you left everything we had, and you just…acted like it was normal. like it didn’t mean anything.”  

your chest ached. 

“it wasn’t about you, aitana.”  

“then why?” she pressed, stepping closer, her voice trembling. 

“why did you leave?”  

you swallowed hard, your hands clenching at your sides. 

“because i was depressed.”  

aitana’s eyes widened slightly.  

“i wasn’t okay,” you admitted, your voice thick with emotion. 

“i needed a change, a new club, something different. there was no abuse at barcelon, no mistreatment, no one pushed me out so do not worry about that…but i wasn’t happy anymore. i needed to go somewhere else, to breathe, to feel again.”  

aitana stayed silent, her lips parted slightly as if she wasn’t sure what to say.  

“you know i was not getting a lot of starting time. you knew how much the national team things were getting to me. i just needed to get out of spain, okay?”

you exhaled shakily, your voice dropping. 

“and it hurts me that you took it so personally. like i chose to leave you like i wanted to hurt you.”  

aitana’s face softened, her brows furrowing.  

you shook your head, blinking rapidly to push back the tears threatening to fall. 

“i miss you, aitana. i miss us. i miss what we were before all of this.”  

aitana exhaled, stepping closer.  

“so do i,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“i just…I hated seeing you at chelsea. it felt wrong. it felt like you weren’t mine anymore.”  

you let out a watery laugh. 

“i was never not yours.”  

aitana’s lips parted again, her expression pained.  

you wiped your face, your breath uneven.

 “i’m sorry for leaving… but i’m not sorry for choosing chelsea.”  

aitana nodded slowly, processing your words.  

“and if you can’t do long distance anymore, then our three-year relationship can end here,” you said, voice shaking despite the steadiness of your tone.  

aitana’s entire body tensed.  

you swallowed hard, meeting her eyes. 

“but i don’t want it to end, i do not think it needs to end if we can get through this and find resolutions.”  

aitana shook her head, stepping forward abruptly. 

“i don’t either.”  

the words crashed over you like a wave.  

you let out a soft sob, and aitana’s arms were around you before you could think. 

you collapsed into her hold, pressing your face into her shoulder as she held you tighter than she ever had before.  

“i love you,” she whispered into your hair, her voice breaking.  

your fingers curled into the fabric of her hoodie, clutching onto her like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.  

“i love you too,” you breathed.  

you stayed like that for a long time, clinging to each other in the silence, breathing in sync. aitana’s hand ran soothingly up and down your back, her touch grounding, familiar, home.  

after a while, aitana sighed, her chin resting on top of your head. 

“what do we do now?”  

you pulled back just enough to look at her. 

“after the olympics, we take some time. just us. no football, no rivalry. just time to forgive each other, to move past this.”  

aitana nodded, eyes filled with something softer. 

“and we figure out how to make this work. properly.”  

you managed a small smile. 

“yeah.”  

aitana cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing away the stray tear that had fallen. 

“i don’t want to lose you.”  

you leaned into her touch, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“then don’t.”  

aitana pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling you into her arms again, her body warm and solid against yours.  

this was not a perfect resolution.  

there was still work to do. still things to figure out.  

but for now, this was enough.  

this is love.

masterlist

[pacofprunes]

WILDFLOWER — “she was crying on my shoulder, all i could do was hold her”

you had both been set to watch over to make sure nobody tried to attack you guys. the third game was terrible. it felt like kill or be killed and you felt like so much blood was on your hands. you saw so many people you considered yourself to be pretty close to die right in front of your eyes. daeho was sitting across from you, actually watching out while you just stared at your lap.

“you tired?”

you look up. his eyes were so pretty but you didn’t really remanence in them for too long before putting your head back down. tired of this game or tired and you wanna go to sleep? you didn’t ask, just shaking your head no before puckering your lips out to the side and messing with your lip with your fingers. the nerves just messing with you. you two just sat in silence again, but of course he’s the one to break it.

“all we can do is move forward. we have to put it all behind us, it’s all we can do.”

put it all behind us? how could you possibly do that? he just upset you more honestly and you let out a sigh before pressing your face into your hands. feeling them start to slip off your face as your tears start to dampen them. he couldn’t see you were crying, but he knew you weren’t okay. it was obvious, nobody was okay.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to be so blunt or harsh or—”

he cuts himself off before swallowing and getting up. you feel the bed dip beside you before he wraps his arm around you and he moves your hands off your face, they easily slide off and his eyes are stricken with even more concern. he didn’t want to speak though, not wanting to say the wrong thing to you before he flinches, you pushing your face into his shoulder, holding in your sobs as well as you could to not make them super loud, but they were still audible. your hands move up and start gripping on his bloody jacket for dear life. he moves to face you more instead of sideways and pulls you into an actual hug, rubbing your back while it heaved up and down. he couldn’t tell if he was helping or making things worse, but by the grip you had on him, he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

you mumble a load of sorrys into his shoulder before he just shushes you. he tried to push all his emotions and thoughts to the side about this all, but when in a position like this, he wanted to cry with you. he hadn’t even realized that he was until he started to notice your own jacket getting damper, turning a darker shade of green. he just keeps seeing your teary face in his mind now. sure he only saw it for a brief second, but it was etched in his mind. it would be until he died. he waits until you still a little and your grip loosens before he pulls away. your eyes completely drenched in tears. he takes his thumb and wipes the ones continuing to silently come down. he speaks up.

“i’m sorry.”

you shake your head no back and forth, the tears spraying everywhere. he had nothing to be sorry for. you take your sleeve and start wiping your face completely before shoving your face back into your hands. he moves his legs completely up onto the bed, criss crossed before grabbing your wrists and pulling them down, looking you in the eyes.

“we’ll get out of here.”

we’ll. we’ll. we’ll get out of here. it was on repeat in your head. he may have been lying, he didn’t know what would happen. he was freaking out himself. but he sure as hell would try his hardest to get you both out of here. and he’d protect you forever, even if it meant he’d lose his own life. you just stare into each others eyes before you pull your wrists out of his grip and wrap him in a tight hug, arms around his neck before he slowly reciprocates it. he wanted to treasure this moment as long as he could, not knowing how many more chances he’d get to do this with you, or if this would be the first and the last.

[777bae]

PRETTY BOY LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: Your new nickname for Luke seems to elicit a reaction you entirely didn’t expect but absolutely adore.

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 1.1k

The evening had settled into its usual rhythm: quiet, easy, a comfortable silence between the two of you as you both unwound after your day. The space you shared had always been the kind where words didn’t need to fill every gap—just the occasional laugh or a gentle brush of your hand against his, a reminder that you were there with each other, in a kind of unspoken harmony.

Luke, tired from practice, had tossed himself onto the couch beside you, slouching back into the cushions with a heavy sigh, his broad shoulders relaxing under the weight of the day. His hair, still damp from the shower, curled slightly at the ends, and the hoodie he wore—one of those oversized, faded ones that you loved—did little to hide the quiet confidence he always seemed to carry, even in the simplest moments.

You watched him for a moment, your heart swelling with affection. It was a good kind of tired that sat on him, one that left him looking even more effortlessly attractive, his face softened in a way that always took you by surprise. His features were sharp, but it was the way he relaxed into them that made him even more striking. You found yourself reaching over, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of wet hair from his forehead, the way you always did when you wanted to feel closer to him.

“Pretty boy,” you murmured under your breath, not even realizing how it sounded until the words had already slipped out. You weren’t planning on saying anything special. It was just a thought that had materialized from the affection swirling between you two, a fleeting moment of warmth and intimacy.

But when you saw the way his face shifted—his eyes widening slightly, a flash of surprise crossing his features—you realized it was anything but a casual comment. Luke’s cheeks flushed almost instantly, a deep red that crept across the tips of his ears and spread to the curve of his jaw. He blinked a few times as though the words had hit him in a way he wasn’t quite prepared for. He’d never been one for openly flaunting how he felt, especially when it came to compliments, but something about the softness in your voice, the tenderness in the way you said it, caught him off guard.

His lips parted as he looked at you, clearly trying to steady himself. “Pretty boy? You—” He broke off, and you could see his throat bob as he swallowed, a nervous laugh escaping him. His entire demeanor was different now—flustered in a way that you hadn’t seen before.

You couldn’t help but smile, a warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of his rare vulnerability. “What?” you teased gently, leaning in closer, noticing how his breath had shifted to something a little more shallow, his usual confident posture suddenly giving way to the kind of bashfulness that was completely out of character for him. “Is that too much?”

Luke cleared his throat, a faint blush still painting his cheeks as he leaned back against the couch, glancing away from you, clearly trying to regain some semblance of composure. His fingers ran through his damp hair, a nervous gesture you were all too familiar with. You could see the way his jaw tightened slightly, like he was struggling to hold back a smile, or maybe even the small amount of embarrassment that crept in.

You’d seen Luke get serious, focused, even intense, but you’d never seen him flushed like this—his usual quiet confidence replaced by something shy, almost self-conscious. There was a rawness to it that made your heart skip a beat.

“You really think so?” he asked, his voice quieter now, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips but tempered by his bashful glance back at you. He wasn’t used to being called out like that, especially not when it came to something as tender as “pretty boy.” It was a nickname he hadn’t expected—and you could see how much it affected him, how the gentle teasing in your voice made him feel like he was exposed in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Without thinking, you leaned in just a little closer, your lips curling into a teasing grin. “Of course I do,” you replied softly. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, Luke. Don’t act like you don’t know it.”

His face turned an even deeper shade of red, and for a brief moment, you saw him almost squirm, like the weight of the compliment was something he wasn’t quite sure how to handle. His eyes darted around, clearly trying to find something to focus on, but they kept coming back to you, the warmth between you two undeniable. His breath caught in his chest as you watched him, completely captivated by how different he looked, how human he seemed when he was flustered in this way.

“Pretty boy,” you repeated, this time with a teasing smile, your voice low and full of affection, like a soft melody that made everything else fade into the background.

Luke looked at you again, and for a split second, you saw him break out into that charming grin of his, but it was still tinged with the flush that hadn’t quite faded from his face. “I think you’re just trying to mess with me now,” he said, a playful challenge in his voice, but the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes told you everything.

You shrugged, the smile never leaving your lips. “Maybe I am,” you teased, reaching out and lightly brushing your fingers over the edge of his jaw, still warm from the flush that hadn’t quite dissipated. “But it’s still true.”

Luke sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, as though trying to process the heat that was still creeping up his neck. When he opened them again, the playfulness was there, but there was something deeper too. “Guess I’ll have to get used to it,” he muttered, still a little flustered but looking at you with the kind of fondness that made your heart race. “You sure know how to make a guy feel things.”

You smiled, leaning in a little closer, letting your lips hover just near his ear. “You don’t have to get used to it, pretty boy,” you whispered, drawing out the words in a way that made him shiver, “but I’ll keep saying it if it makes you blush like this.”

Luke let out a soft chuckle, but it was half-breathless, like he was still trying to regain some control over the way your words had shaken him. “You’re trouble,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly but clearly delighted by your teasing. His hand found yours, squeezing it gently, the warmth of his touch grounding you both.

But you knew then, just by the way he was looking at you, still flushed and trying to keep his cool, that “pretty boy” had made an impression. A small, affectionate moment that would likely stay with both of you for a long time.

[bybobbysbeard]

To Be Parted

Day 4 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: clingy boyfriends read on ao3 read other days here

“EVAN!” 

The shout rings out, louder than the hubbub surrounding the IC tent. A few heads turn. Buck is leaning on Eddie at the edge of the ruckus while Chim reports to Captain Mehta. At the familiar sounding voice, he jerks upright and spins towards the call. He turns a little too fast, and the world lurches sickeningly, but Eddie’s there, grabbing his arm and keeping him from toppling over. They both scan the crowd. 

“Was that…?” Eddie murmurs through his split lip.

The sea of first responders and injured civilians part, a wave cresting in front of some unseen force. A tall, turnout-covered form pushes its way through and heads towards the vehicles. A helmeted head turns back and forth, searching the crowd of firefighters. Buck feels his mouth drop open. It’s Tommy. He’s frantic. Shouldering people out of the way as he moves towards where the ambulances are lined up. Buck’s never seen him like this, his boyfriend is usually so controlled in public, so deliberate in his movements. Nerves and something like desperation pool in his stomach.

He takes a step forward, Eddie at his back. 

“Tommy!”

Tommy whips around, eyes zeroing in on the two of them. His face is pale and drawn. He seems to freeze for a second, cataloging the scrapes, the half dried blood, and their dusty turnouts. In the next blink he’s rushing forward, ripping his helmet off as he weaves around people and equipment. Buck doesn’t get another word out before nearly three hundred pounds of man and firefighting gear are wrapping him up in a tight hug. Eddie fumbles with the helmet shoved carelessly into his arms.

The hug hurts. Fresh bruises ache at the pressure. He holds on just as tight. Tommy ducks his head, pressing his nose under Buck’s jaw and cupping the back of his head, squeezing their skulls together. He can feel one of the butterfly bandages on his temple split, a tiny release of pressure followed by the warmth of fresh blood on his skin.

Buck doesn’t give a shit. Tommy’s here, somehow, breathing heavily into the space between them. They’ve run into each other on calls before, but never like this. Never when Buck’s been hurting, when he can’t escape this wicked vertigo, this sense of the earth undulating wildly beneath his feet. The pounding in his skull beats a horrible counterpoint to the shaking in his limbs as the excess adrenaline works its way through his system. He can still feel the stairwell crumble around them, see the strobing of the flickering exit sign though the dust raining down. His hands remember the coarse fabric of Eddie and Chim’s turnouts as he shoved them bodily down the last flight; Eddie cursing when he stumbled and hit the ground and Chim flinching as debris showered over them.

The heaving concrete under his hands and knees as he tried to shield them both. 

Tommy is far more solid under his fingers, and he’s warm.

Living, breathing, proof of life.

Eddie sighs, overdramatized, but he's smiling. “Hi Tommy, nice to see you. Didn’t know you were on ground ops today. No, no, don’t let me interrupt this reunion. It’s been, what, 12 hours since you last saw each other? Tragic. Anyways, how are you? I’m good. Average Tuesday, you know how it is. Nearly got flattened by five hundred tonnes of luxury car parking garage, but made it out with just a few bruises. Partially thanks to your boyfriend, who got us down to the first floor before getting his bell rung by a chunk of concrete as big as your head. Did you know, this is the third helmet he’s cracked this year?”

Buck jerks his head up to glare at Eddie, but the sharp movement makes him nauseous. His stomach rolls. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes deliberately through his nose, clutching at Tommy’s jacket. When he can open his eyes without wanting to vomit all over his boots, he finds Eddie and Tommy watching him carefully. 

“I-I’m good.”

“Jesus Christ, kid. You scared the hell out of me.” Tommy hugs him again, gentler this time. “Sorry Eddie. I’m happy to see you too. I wasn’t expecting to be on the ground today either. Was just finishing up some paperwork with the probie when the 4-alarm call came in, so we loaded up. The 217 is over on the far side of the lot, we were moving cars to get the ladder trucks closer. Heard the supports going, saw the top floors come down.” He pauses. Swallows. He’s still pale, sweat beading at his temple. Those ocean eyes trail up to the blood sluggishly starting to drip down Buck’s temple. A gloved hand reaches up, but stops a few inches from his skin.

“I heard Bobby on the radio. Calling for your check-ins. I didn’t… I just started running.”

Buck grabs that hovering hand and presses the palm to the side of his face. His gloves are rough, peppered with grit. But it helps with the dizziness, an anchor tethering him to Tommy. “We all got out. I’m fine.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Buck, you are decidedly not fine. You have a concussion, I know you’re bruised all to hell, and now you’re bleeding again. The only reason you’re not going to the hospital is because Hen and Chim looked you over, and I know you didn’t lose consciousness. You’re going home as soon as one of us can leave the scene.”

“I can take him. My shift ended 5 minutes ago.” Tommy starts undoing his turnouts, trying to dig out his phone. He keeps one arm around Evan’s waist; he's as reluctant to be parted as Buck.

Finally done with the IC, Chim spots them and jogs over. “Tommy! Didn’t expect to see your handsome face today. All good with the 217?”

Tommy looks up after sending off a quick text to his captain and pulling up the Uber app. “You know me Howie, I never miss an opportunity to watch a bunch of Teslas get pancaked. And since I’m here, I’m going to take Evan home.”

“Well that's convenient timing. Aww Buck, you popped a Steristrip. I left you alone for five minutes! Come on, come on, back to the ambulance. I’m sure Hen’s finished with that fracture by now. You guys didn’t have to wait, I know you already gave your reports.” He eyes the way Buck leans into Tommy. “And you should have been resting. Between that and the self-sacrificing heroics, you’re in for one hell of a ‘I’m not mad just disappointed’ face from Bobby.”

Buck wrinkles his nose in displeasure. He looks up at Tommy. “Think we can sneak out of here and avoid that?” 

“Absolutely not. But I will hold your hand through the whole lecture you’re about to get.” Tommy leans in, pressing chapped lips to his dirty forehead.

“I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”

[queensunshinee]

So sweet- part 2 || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mention of p in v sex, oral sex), mention of an eating disorder, family drama, death in the family, cheating. It's a mess.

Word Count: 7.9k

(Part 1)

So sweet- part 2:

Art leaned against the doorframe as he looked at you. Since your back was to him, you hadn't seen him yet, and he felt like he had the upper hand. As if he didn’t need to be defensive. As if he was still part of your life. Your hair looked shorter than the last time he saw you. But then again, the last time he saw you, you told him you never wanted to see him again, so maybe he didn’t remember all the details as well as he’d like to.

Maybe he felt that "never" was subjective. That everyone could choose what to take from the word "never." That a year and a half without speaking to you was enough "never" for him, and you'd be a hypocrite if you said it wasn’t for you too. "Are you going to stand there much longer, Donaldson?" Your voice sounded the same. He'd recently discovered he hated a lot of things, but at the top of his list were all the times you called him by his last name instead of his first.

"You really do have eyes in the back of your head," he tried to joke, but he didn’t hear you laugh, not even a chuckle. He hadn’t seen your face yet, but he could guess you weren’t even smiling. "Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta?" you asked. If he didn’t know you, he might have thought you were fine. That this was just polite conversation between two acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while and ran into each other by chance. "My first match isn’t for another two days. I couldn’t miss the funeral," he said quietly. "I’m really sorry for your loss, you know that, right?" He took a few large steps and sat on the bed next to you, hoping you’d give him this moment. Hoping you wouldn’t be angry. Not when he was trying so hard.

"She was a mean drunk," you muttered. "Not a huge loss," you added, glancing at him for a second, allowing yourself to surrender to the moment. He recognized the piercing gaze. Maybe a wrinkle that wasn’t there before, but your eyes were the same eyes. You were the same girl he used to love. Used to. Used to. Used to. Before he went on his path in life and you on yours. Before he made a decision, and then you made a decision, and then both of you made decisions. Before words were said. Before he left and you stayed. Before he opened up and you shut down. Used to.

"You’re a grown man, you should know how to tie a tie by now, don’t you think?" you asked, probably trying to lighten the sadness that filled your childhood room, located right across from his childhood room. He wanted to thank you for that. But he never knew how to talk to you honestly. Why would he start now? "Tashi usually does it," he said quietly, and you stood in front of him, starting to adjust the damn tie. You had no idea what you were doing to his heartbeat. "I’m sorry about your grandmother. I was at your parents’ house afterward. I don’t know if they told you," you mumbled.

He was so angry at you for not coming to the funeral. Because by what right did you take his tragedy and make him consumed with thoughts of you? About your absence. About your hand that could’ve held his tightly, just like you did when he was eight, and Jameson died. Instead, he held Tashi’s hand. She didn’t squeeze. She let go after a few minutes. He was so angry that at his grandmother’s funeral, more than anything, he missed you. So now, a few minutes before heading to your mother’s funeral, he squeezed your hand for a moment while you adjusted his tie, looking at him with big eyes filling with tears you refused to let fall. "Better," you said.

He didn’t think it was better. He didn’t want to argue. He just nodded. . . . Patrick couldn’t focus. Every time he hit that stupid ball, he thought about the fight he had with his dad a week ago and the dumb argument he had with you before leaving for Atlanta. He hadn’t told you yet that his parents decided to cut him off from the trust fund. He hadn’t told you that he was basically broke. Sometimes Patrick thinks you’re the only person in the world who looks at him like he understands something about life. Like he’s capable of pulling off magic at any given moment. Sparkling eyes and a smile. He wonders when was the last time you looked at him like that. It’s been a few good months. He can’t deliver. Not the damn ball and not in real life.

He hesitates. Everything he does comes with a certain delay. He knows that at 24, he’s expected to understand who he is and what he wants from life. But what he wants from life doesn’t want him back, and that’s something he’s not willing to accept. He blames his parents for the fact that he’s too spoiled. That he doesn’t know when to stop. That he can’t let go of dreams. That he has to be the best, even though he’s drowning in his own mediocrity. He moves too fast between knowing how good he is at what he does and the harsh slap of reality that comes with each of his failures. Every tournament he loses in the second round, every person who was once in his life and doesn’t want him anymore. They found something better. Something more put-together.

He saw Tashi from a distance for the second time in the last two days. Always alone, Art wasn’t with her. He wondered why Art wasn’t here. He knew Art was competing. Everyone knew Art was competing. The rising star of American tennis. Motherfucker. His dad screamed it at him when he lost it a week ago— “I wish Art Donaldson were my son, maybe then I wouldn’t be so ashamed.” Patrick won’t tell anyone that it hurt. Not because he cares what his shitty dad thinks of him. Not because he cares that Art is succeeding on an international level, breaking into the world’s top ten. Fulfilling all the dreams they once dreamed together. Patrick cares because he knows that at any given moment, he could beat Art. He’s better than Art. So how is it that Art is ranked eighth and Patrick is a nobody? No one takes him into account.

“You planning to embarrass yourself in another tournament?” Tashi’s voice crept up behind him. “You know that if he competes against me, I’ll win, right?” he asked. Overconfident. Always overconfident. “I know you’re ranked 243rd, and he’s ranked 8th. It doesn’t matter who wins this, you’ll still be a loser, and he’ll still get a Nike campaign. They asked us about a winter collection.” She was trying to hurt him. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to her—to hurt him. But he thinks only two people can: you and Art. Tashi isn’t on that list. He doesn’t think Tashi comes close to being on that list.

He thinks Tashi is beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman he knows. Maybe you’re the most beautiful woman he knows. He doesn’t really know- it’s blurry and messy. But hearing you moan or say his name softly, sweetly, is the most beautiful thing he knows. So maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe he measures beauty differently than he did four years ago. “Sounds good. I promise to buy a jacket with his name on it. Do you need anything, Tashi?” he tried to end the conversation. He didn’t want her to see the pathetic training session he was having with himself against a wall. “I don’t know, maybe to ask why you’re here?” She shrugged like it was obvious. Like she cared about the useless existence of Patrick Zweig. Like he mattered. “I’m competing, just like Art-” he started, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but Art’s not here. How is it that you are?” she cut off the monologue he was about to throw at her. “I don’t know why Art isn’t here, Tashi.” If it were possible, his eyes would roll so far back into his skull they’d get stuck there. “Because he’s at a funeral, obviously. She’s your girlfriend last time I checked- how are you not there?” The furrow of her brows showed she was genuinely confused. But now he stood in front of her, terrified too. Whose funeral? Who the fuck died? “What are you talking about?” he muttered, feeling his heart pound. Every muscle in his body tensed. “(Y/N)’s mom passed away, Patrick. How am I the first one telling you this?” She doesn’t understand. But he does. And right now he hates Tashi. And Art, who’s with you. And himself- mostly himself- because after four years, he’s still a selfish bastard who only cares about himself. . . . You’re not crying, and you suspect it bothers your father. He looks at you strangely. As if you’re making things difficult. Because this is an event. A funeral is an event, and you need to behave the way you're expected to behave. You just can’t seem to do it. Because you don’t think you have a warm spot in your heart for the woman you called Mom for the pathetic 24 years of your existence. To anyone else, it would sound sad. Pathetic. You don’t say it out loud very often. You don’t want to make things harder for anyone. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. You considered cutting an onion before you left, just to save yourself from the weird looks from the extended family you haven’t seen in years, but Art fucking Donaldson hasn’t left you alone since the second he heard she kicked the bucket.

His hand held yours like his life depended on it. Maybe yours. Someone’s life depended on it. Definitely not your mother’s. She’s dead. You wonder if the need for sacrifice died with her. You wonder if your constant need to make everyone feel comfortable all the time died with her too. It’s exhausting. You wish you could be less like that. Your hand is sweating into his. He probably thinks it’s disgusting. He probably doesn’t like it. You miss the time when your whole world was making sure Art Donaldson was comfortable. His parents hugged you, and you’re pretty sure his mom left lipstick on you. He’s been staring at you for an hour straight. Maybe two. Maybe your whole life. You can’t know; it’s an emotional day.

You try to move your hand away from his; there’s no way this is comfortable for him. He grips harder. Doesn’t let go. Doesn’t leave you alone. Your father says the Kaddish, everyone responds "Amen" and cries. You don’t. Maybe you really are crazy, like she hinted at a few times when she got drunk and called you at an inappropriate hour. Maybe you really are the reason for every problem she ever had. Maybe you didn’t sacrifice enough. Maybe you didn’t love enough.

Maybe you just don’t know how to love, and then it makes sense that you don’t deserve to be loved. Not really. Not unconditionally. Not like your father loved your mother. Not like Art loves Tashi. Not like Patrick loved Tashi. Not like Patrick hated you. Maybe he still does- sometimes you’re not sure. Patrick isn’t here. Art’s hand keeps holding you both steady. You finally cry.

When you walk into the house, your extended family is already there. Uncles, cousins- you think you saw the grandfather of someone your father goes to synagogue with. All you wanted was to sit quietly in your room for a second. Take off the heels and the damn dress. You felt the thong digging into your ass. That’s what happens when you let a dead woman dictate what you'll wear to her funeral. A woman who had conditions for her own funeral. Who told you what dress to wear. What underwear to put on. Sometimes you wonder how many years ahead you’ll keep dragging her advice, her judgmental looks. The tongue clicks. The general dissatisfaction with the world, wrapped in fake smiles. Maybe that’s where you learned to fake so well. To fake who you are down to your core. To fake and fake until you don’t know what you want or from whom.

“You disappeared. I figured you’d be here.” Art walks into your childhood room like it’s his. Like he always did. “You’re still here?” you mutter, and he hands you a plate of food he picked up from downstairs. “Where else would I be?” he sighs. As if that’s the only answer that makes sense to him. As if you two were in touch. As if you know anything about his fancy life or he knows anything about your painfully mediocre one. “In Atlanta,” you answer and place the plate on the nightstand beside you. “When’s your flight?” you ask, not looking at him as he sits next to you on the bed like he did before the funeral.

“I can stay-” he starts quietly. You know he’s looking at you, almost begging you to see that he means it. "Ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself, but you know he hears. “When’s your flight, Art?” you ask, your voice steadier, looking at him with an almost hollow expression. One that doesn’t show any emotion or maybe shows all emotions at once. A look that scared him. A look that worried you. A look you’ll think about a month from now. You’ll sit at home, writing the structure for one of your classes, and you’ll think about Art Donaldson and the empty look you gave him when your mother died. Embarrassing. Everything is so fucking embarrassing.

“Tonight,” he sums up. You glance at your phone’s clock. Sixteen missed calls from Patrick. Instinct says to call him. But it’s 6 p.m., and his first match is at 8 in the morning. “Don’t you need to pack?” He rolls his eyes, ignoring your attempt to dismiss him. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly. “Excuse me?” you snap back, not understanding the direction of the conversation. “Now. In general. What are you doing?” His gaze surrounds you from every direction. You can’t look anywhere that isn’t Art Donaldson. He reflects off the damn mirrors in this room. “Trying to sit quietly in my room, clearly,” you reply stiffly.

You remember how all your conversations used to be warm. Soft. You’d talk about dreams. About books you’d write. About tournaments he’d win. You’d kiss. He’d touch you. You’d touch him. There was curiosity. There was love. Or at least that thing you’ve spent years believing was love. The thing where you become exactly what he wants and needs and disappear when he needs something else, something better. That was the unwritten contract between you. Lately, you’ve been thinking that’s the unwritten contract between you and everyone you know. A depressing thought. You try not to dwell on it too much. On the way you please people in your suffering. Please in deprivation. Please to the point of tears, and more tears, and more tears. You try not to think about all the dreams you had when Art Donaldson -maybe- loved you. You try not to think about the joy of life. About how much you loved seeing him happy, how much you loved making him happy. How much you loved being responsible for his happiness. "Why isn’t Patrick here?" He quietly asked what he really wanted to know. He wanted to understand if you’d broken up. If you were alone. If he could laugh and say he told you so. That he told you; you had no business being with Patrick Zweig. "Because he has a match tomorrow at 8 a.m., and he trained too hard to miss it," you said it coolly, without breaking eye contact. As if it made perfect sense that you hadn’t told your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to be your confidant, that your mother had died. "He didn’t want to come?" Art continued, confused. Ice. That look again. The immediate shift in his mood confuses you, but it doesn’t throw you off balance. You know him. For the past four years, every time he’s seen you, all he’s tried to do is confuse you, to knock you off balance. It never works, at least not in his eyes.

"Hedoesn’tknow," you mumbled the words as if they were one. Quietly, knowing that what you’d done didn’t make sense. Wasn’t reasonable. Wasn’t acceptable. Didn’t fit into the unspoken rules of a relationship. "You’re an idiot." He stood up and started pacing back and forth. "A fucking moron, really." He was angry, as if he was the one who hadn’t been told your mother had died. If it were up to you, he wouldn’t have known either, but his mother told him. Whatever. "I’ll tell him when he gets back from the tournament, it’s not a big deal," you said and shrugged. Art stopped and looked at you like you’d just fallen from the moon. Like you were some natural phenomena. "If you did that to me, I’d kill you. If you thought some shitty tennis tournament in shitty Atlanta was more important to me than you, I’d murder you and then die myself. I don’t like what you have with Zweig, God knows I hate it, but how could you not tell him? Do you even understand the concept of a relationship?" He let out this Shakespearean monologue while looking at you with a half-pitying, half-angry expression. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he thought you were Tashi.

"Art, I’m not your problem. Do you remember that?" You didn’t know what else to say, so you said the only thing you knew for sure in a defeated voice. Art Donaldson was not a part of your life. "You’ll always be my problem. You should know that by now," he said, half despairing at himself. As if wondering how you both got here. As if wondering if there was anywhere else you could be. . . . Patrick was beyond frustrated. He won his first match after two and a half hours, barely. It didn’t come easy. All he could think about was how nothing came easy for him anymore, and how everything used to be so easy.

The thought that you didn’t tell him your mother had died, and then didn’t answer his calls either, hovered over his head like a rain cloud focused solely on him. He didn’t know how to approach it. He knew why you didn’t tell him- because unlike what Art thought, unlike what your dead mother thought, he knew you. He knew how you thought. He understood the mechanics behind your strange decisions. He hated that he had become someone you had to overthink things for.

That afternoon, he went to one of the courts and caught Tashi and Art’s practice. They both saw him sit down. He thinks it made Art play better. He wondered if Art imagined his face when he hit the ball. He thinks he does. Because when Tashi checkmated his relationship with Art, Patrick wrapped his life around yours as if that was how it was always meant to be, while everyone involved knew it wasn’t. While everyone involved knew that you had embroidered Art’s name on bags from the moment you learned how to stitch. While everyone knew that Art Donaldson didn’t know how to exist in the world without you.

So, Patrick took you for himself. Most of the time, he didn’t think of it as something technical, as a game he was playing against Art. Most of the time, he looked at you, really looked at you. Most of the time, he tried to make you laugh and understand the world through your own eyes. Most of the time, he tried to protect you from complex emotions you couldn’t express, from hunger. He tried to protect you from yourself, the way you protect some helpless creature. In some way, you were. In his eyes, you were helpless.

When you first started sleeping together, Patrick treated you with kid gloves, in a way he had never treated anyone before. Like you were porcelain. Like you could shatter and crumble in his hands at any moment. You had gestures and habits, ones you thought no one noticed. But he always saw. You tried to please everyone all the time. You switched from a smile to a sad look in a second, for the sake of the feelings of whoever was in front of you, for the sake of what you thought they wanted from you.

But Patrick didn’t want anything from you. He wanted to give you all the orgasms that you missed and for you to eat at least three meals a day. Some days, he didn’t know how to make you do it. Some days, he raised his voice. When he was desperate, he cried. When he was really desperate, he asked you to eat for him, so that he would be happy. That was the easy way, it always worked. He exploited a destructive mechanism someone had embedded in you (he suspects your dead mother) and used it to get you to do something he thought would be good for you. He wanted to throw up.

Art was playing well. He was playing against Tashi in front of him, and he was playing well. Too well. Patrick no longer thinks he can beat him. Not something he would ever say out loud. He wanted to ask him how you were. He didn’t want to admit that you hadn’t answered his million calls. He didn’t want to admit that he was a loser who didn’t know where his life was going. Not when Art had been with you at the fucking funeral of your awful mother. He hated that woman with everything he had. More than he hated his own father, and that had to be some kind of record. Art looked at him for a moment. The moment passed. Patrick thinks Art won. He’s not sure. . . . Patrick finds Tashi alone in the evening. Completely alone in the middle of the lobby restaurant. She suddenly looks small and fragile to him, holding a drink he can guess is whiskey or cognac or whatever it is that Tashi Duncan drinks these days. He doesn’t know anything about her anymore. Only that a few years ago, he thought he loved her, and in return, she took his best friend away from him.

When he stands in front of her, he is like a streetlight- impossible to ignore. It dawns on him, belatedly, that he is wearing her shirt. She must think he’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t think he cares about being pathetic in front of her. Because he sees her for what she is right now, and she is miserable. She doesn’t have much in life. She clings to what Art has. Which is fucked up on so many levels, but that’s reality. They both cling to things they shouldn’t be clinging to, and his eyes wander to her ring. Massive. Flashy. A bit like her, like the woman she tries to be when she’s not half-drunk and pathetic in front of him.

He places his hand over hers just as she’s about to take a sip of her drink, stopping her. He doesn’t know what he wants. Not from her, not from himself, but his lips find hers within seconds, and she doesn’t resist. He knew she wouldn’t resist- he saw it on her face. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Maybe more. And what a thought that is- that Tashi Duncan wants Patrick Zweig more.

They exit through the back door of the restaurant, go up to his room. Naturally. As if more than four years haven’t passed since the last time he was with Tashi. He wishes he knew what he was doing; it would make this easier. But it’s not particularly difficult, either- otherwise, he wouldn’t be pressing Tashi against the wall. Otherwise, his lips wouldn’t be kissing every inch of her body he can reach.

Hunger. Patrick feels hunger. It’s the only emotion coursing through him as he looks at her. He thinks he wants to hurt Art. He thinks about how Art was there for you at your mother’s funeral, and that was supposed to be his role, but you didn’t call him. So he strips Tashi of her shirt. Only to discover she isn’t wearing a bra. He compares her to you every few seconds. You never go without a bra. He can barely convince you to just be at home, without clothes, without defenses. Just be. He doesn’t think you’re capable of that. He doesn’t think you know how to feel at ease. That worries him more than he’s willing to admit.

“You’re thinking about her?” Tashi’s voice is almost angry as she kisses his neck. “No.” A lie. A complete lie. He can only think about you. He realized that a few years ago and stopped fighting it. You and tennis, as if that’s all there is in the world. What else even exists? What else even matters? “You’re a terrible liar,” she mutters against him, and somehow, the ugly shirt he’s pretty sure was Tashi’s -he doesn’t even know why he wore it- ends up on the floor. ‘You’re not thinking about Art?’ he should have asked, but he’s not here to ask questions. He’s here because he’s angry. At Art, at you, at Tashi for telling him, at the world. So he’s here. And they’re both shedding more pieces of their clothing and maybe their souls, because what they’re doing now has no way back. No forgiveness. They are bad people. Patrick knows it. Tashi knows it.

And after he wrings a heavy moan from her, one that follows an orgasm, she quietly tells him she thinks Art loves you. Patrick stares at the gaudy ring stuck on her finger, the ring that, in another universe, Art would have placed on yours. “Why do you think that?” Patrick asks softly, because what else is left to do? “I didn’t want him to go to the funeral. I wanted him to stay and train, but he went anyway,” she mumbles. Patrick says nothing, just nods. He would have done the exact same thing, and that’s why you didn’t call him. He would have come. Despite the dreams. Despite the tennis. Despite everything.

And Patrick remembers all the times Art called you sweet. All the times Art never wanted to tell him anything about what happened between you two. All the times Art didn’t want to talk about you. And it wasn’t because it wasn’t good. It wasn’t because other girls were better. It was because there was depth Patrick can only put his finger on now. So much happened beneath the surface- so much that Art had no words to describe it. So much that Art drowned in his own emotions. Repressed them and kept them bottled up until he found something shiny to bury his feelings in. Until he found Tashi.

And Tashi is safe. With Tashi, you can’t get lost. With Tashi, there’s a plan. With you, he just has to be himself. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. And that’s terrifying.

For the first time, Patrick understands Art in absolute terms. He lies in a hotel room, stroking the hair of a woman who isn’t you, and understands everything there is to understand about life. Mainly, he understands again- that you are so fucking sweet. And that there’s no way he can win. . . .

You're going over tomorrow’s lesson when you hear the door open. Without turning around, you already know it’s Patrick. Who else could it be? His scrutinizing gaze doesn’t waver from you, even when he says nothing. “How was it?” You find yourself breaking the silence, lifting your head toward him with a smile. He doesn’t smile back. He looks exhausted. The message Art sent you lingers in the back of your mind; He’s cheating on you. -Art Donaldson- Art has his reasons to make something like this up, but you doubt he’d be cruel enough to lie about it. Not while you’re mourning your horrible mother. No matter how angry he is at you. No matter how angry he is at Patrick. You don’t think Art is capable of that. You want to believe he isn’t capable of that. Then again, you also want so badly to believe Patrick wouldn’t do it. That Patrick wouldn’t cheat on you. That he wouldn’t find someone prettier, better, more cheerful and do all the things with her that he probably can’t do with you. You don’t want to think about the possibility that you haven’t sacrificed enough. That you didn’t try as hard as you were taught to. Your fault, your fault, your fault. You don’t want to believe it’s your fault. That another love will slip through your fingers, as if you’re trying to hold water. So, you choose to say nothing, because even if it’s true, even if he was with someone else, he came home. And home isn’t big, to say the least, not grand, not dazzling. But he came back. He’s right in front of you. You’re not alone. He knows you. He knows such ugly parts of you that sometimes you’re scared to acknowledge they even exist. He knows what you refuse to recognize in yourself, and sometimes he reminds you that you deserve more than you think. Which is a bizarre thought in itself. But you let him think it, you let him believe it enough for him to believe it for the both of you. “I lost in the third round. To Peter Michelson,” he says shortly, and you nod. “No choice but to make a voodoo doll with Peter Michelson’s face,” you try to joke. He usually laughs. At least smiles. He does neither. He just stands there like a block of wood, with the same expression. “I’m sorry you lost. I wish I’d been there,” you mumble, not knowing what else to say. “What about you? Anything special happen this week?” he asks, his gaze never leaving you.

Now you could tell him your mother died, but there’s no way to say it without it turning into a fight about the fact that you didn’t tell him the moment you found out. “No, nothing special, you know. My routine is boring.” You shrug and shift your focus back to the lesson you’re supposed to teach tomorrow. The Great Gatsby. A shitty book. “Nothing special at all?” he presses. “If you count the fact that Mr. Grace forgot to put in his dentures on Monday -again- and I had to sub for his class, then no.” It’s a half-lie because the thing with Mr. Grace and his dentures did happen, just not this week. Most of this week, you were at your parents’ house, helping your father deal with shiva and all the people who came by. He was completely heartbroken.

You see Patrick shake his head slightly and close his eyes. You know this is something he does when he’s trying to restrain himself. When he doesn’t want to lash out. When something is bothering him, and he doesn’t want it to turn into the biggest fight in the world. He has a bad history with fights that spiral out of control. “No one was born? No relatives died? I don’t know, maybe the woman who gave birth to you?” he says, his piercing gaze back on you. “Shit,” you mumble. Because what else is there to say in this situation? “Yeah, shit,” he stays exactly where he is, making you feel like a child being scolded. Like you dropped a lollipop and won’t be getting a new one.

“I’m sorry-” you start. “My mom isn’t dead; your mom is dead. I think I’m the one who’s sorry.” Patrick hated when you apologized. He said it was irrational with you. That you apologized more than was normal and more than people around you deserved. “Patrick,” you sigh, scrunching your nose as you try to think of a good way to explain it. “I really need to understand this, (Y/N). When were you planning on telling me your living mother was no longer alive? Another month? Two months? Two years? What was the timeline in that head of yours?” His words drip with sarcasm, like the way he used to talk to you before you became you and Patrick. Before you learned to love who he was and before he started treating you like you weren’t the worst person in the world.

“I didn’t want you to withdraw from Atlanta. You trained for it so hard.” You sigh again, quietly. This time, you’re the one closing your eyes, not wanting to look at him- and in doing so, you miss the fact that he moves toward you in giant strides. “I wish you’d told me, Little Dove. I wish I’d been with you instead of being there.” His hands cup your face as he crouches in front of you, looking up to catch your eyes. “I’m sor-” You stop yourself mid-sentence when you see his displeased expression. “How do you feel?” he asks, and you shrug in response. Because what you feel isn’t something you can say out loud, not even to Patrick. It’s not okay to feel relieved. A lot of sadness, of course. But also, relief.

“Tell me,” he insists. He has a habit of knowing the things you don’t want to say. He can look at your face and catch the slight twitch of your left eyebrow to understand what you’re feeling. To see what you try so hard to hide. You can’t beat him at this. You can’t lie to him, not too much. Not about your feelings. Not when he spent years of his life learning what to hate about you, and then a few more years learning to love it. “She wasn’t the nicest woman in the world,” you murmur quietly, like you’re confessing the most forbidden secret. Like it’s a secret that could start a world war. Like Patrick would tell someone.

“She didn’t like me.” Patrick lets out a dry chuckle, his eyes glassy as if he’s remembering something. “She used to call me Art all the time and then correct herself, like it was an accident, but she did it on purpose. So I’d know she wanted me to be Art.” His jaw tightens slightly. You can see the anger and frustration behind the fake lightness in his tone. “I’m sorry,” you say because you don’t know what else to say, and he sighs. His large hands wrap around you in an almost crushing hug. Almost making it hard to breathe.

But that’s how Patrick is. Everything he feels is out in the open. Everything he thinks, he says. Everything he wants, he does. And most of the time, he wants to be present in your life, which is ridiculous because there is no one more present in your life than him. He still acts like he needs to prove something to you. “I wish you’d let me take care of you, Little Dove. It would be easier.” He whispers into your hair, not letting go for a second. You can almost feel him thinking, almost see him guessing what might help you. “I know you care about me,” you say, shifting slightly to look at him, to show him that he doesn’t need to prove anything. That you’re okay.

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asks, stepping back slightly, scanning you, then moving toward the half-empty fridge. “What did you eat?” he follows up. “I don’t know, Patrick. I don’t keep a journal,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit. What did you eat, (Y/N)?” He doesn’t let up. “A sandwich,” you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Since this morning?” His eyes stay locked on you. “Patrick, my mother just died. Can we not focus on what I eat for one second? It’s exhausting,” you roll your eyes and cross your arms, turning your face to the side as he steps toward you and nods. . . . "What do you want to focus on?" he asked. Patrick felt guilty. He looked at you and saw nothing but the fact that just a few days ago, he had been with Tashi. While you were mourning your unbearable mother, he was busy fucking Tashi in a fancy hotel room, at a tournament he lost and that Art Donaldson would probably win. "You," your voice was small as you looked at him, almost pleading for a break from the interrogation and the anger. He hated when you made him the center of your focus, when you tried to do what you thought he wanted you to do. So he nodded and placed a small kiss on the crown of your head, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Patrick felt like a man on a mission as he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Pat-" you tried to protest, to tell him he didn’t have to. You always tried. As if going down on you was a burden to him, as if all it would take for him to spend a lifetime just like this was for you to fucking ask. "Baby, can you take these off for me?" It was a question, but there was no question mark at the end. Not in that tone. Not when he was looking up at you like that, completely in control of the situation.

So you slid your pants down slowly, trying to hold on to the last bit of control slipping away with every second he stared at you like that. He took care of your underwear himself. Leaving you bare in front of him. "Fuck, Pat," you mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment, leaning back against the wall, making him look up at you one last time with a smirk stretched across his face. And then he got to work.

His lips explored you like you were his source of oxygen. Like his natural place was buried under you, his mouth inside you. "Baby, I’d eat you for the rest of my life. Every day. Every fucking day." His grip on your thigh was ruthless. Patrick felt like he was holding on for dear life, like this was all there was left to do. Like it was all he knew. "Sweet fucking pussy," he kept mumbling into you, until his face was coated with his own spit and your slick. He was ready to take it all, everything you gave him. In these moments, everything that was yours became his, and the little that was his became yours.

So he was milking it. He licked your clit in slow, agonizing strokes- for both of you. He took his time. The euphoria would come, but he was going to enjoy it until it did. Your small whimpers made him growl directly into you. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," like a prayer. He felt it. He felt divinity in all of it. He sped up and slowed down and sped up and slowed down. Merciless to the near-sobs escaping from you. "You're so sweet, baby. Do you want to come?" And he wasn’t asking if you wanted to come for him, because he wanted you to come for yourself. Because he wanted you to always, always come for yourself. He wanted to be a vessel. He wanted to erase all the stupid patterns in your head and make sure every orgasm you had was yours and for you. "Patrick." He thought that was the only thing you were capable of saying coherently, and he was fine with that. He was selfish enough to be satisfied if his name was the only word you could say forever.

And when you came with a moan he had learned to recognize and nearly worship, he told you how good you were. How rare you were. That he was yours and that he would always take care of you. He looked up at you from below, saw the tears slipping down your face, and pressed another kiss to your thigh. One that emphasized the word always. Because he didn’t think he could ever let this go. He was too selfish to ever let this go. . . . Art peeked through the door of the room every few seconds, searching for you among the guests. At this point, he didn’t even bother lying to himself about it. Because he didn’t know what else was left for him besides admitting the truth to himself- things he was never able to admit before. Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about the nights he used to lay beside you. When you didn’t even fuck. When you just lay in that rickety twin bed in his dorm room. He was willing to take that. He was willing not to fuck you if it meant you’d hold him again. More than that, he was willing not to fuck anyone ever again. But you were too sweet, you wouldn’t let him go through life without sex. The thought made him chuckle for a second. But he was nervous. So fucking nervous.

He was about to marry Tashi, and she didn’t cross his mind even once. He accidentally saw her dress, even though he told her that he hadn’t really noticed it was there. He knew she would be a stunning bride. That months from now, people would still be talking about Tashi Duncan in a wedding dress. He knew people would envy him, he knew everything. His mind knew everything.

But all he could think about was what kind of wedding dress you would have chosen. He was almost sure it would be something less extravagant; you’d try to draw as little attention as possible. But the Art he was today wouldn’t have let you. He would’ve told you that you deserved all the attention the universe had to offer. That you deserved to be seen. He hated himself for how long it had taken him to realize that. Only when you truly weren’t there. Only when you belonged to someone else. Only when you chose Patrick Zweig of all people.

Patrick Zweig, who hated you with every fiber of his being. Patrick Zweig, who Art was almost certain had cheated on you with Tashi. It should have hurt him much more than it did. But all he cared about was figuring out if this would be the thing that made you get up and leave. You had to know you deserved better. That if not him- if not Art, the guy you both knew you loved with all your heart- then at least someone who didn’t want anyone else. That was the bare minimum you deserved. For years, he’d wondered if he had something to do with how little you thought you deserved, with how low your standards were.

He convinced his mother- who probably loved you even more than he did- to take upon herself convincing you to come to his wedding. Which was almost sadistic of him. Maybe masochistic. Maybe both. But he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. Sometimes he dreamed about that day and how his hand held yours, he wanted it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to die if it meant he could hold you like that again. If it gave him an excuse.

He noticed that everything about you required an excuse. It hadn’t been like that when you were his. Except you were never really his. He didn’t even understand why it had been so complicated- why you hadn’t told him that’s what you wanted (though he could have guessed). And more than anything, he didn’t understand why he hadn’t known what he wanted. Why it hadn’t been clear to him that you were his person. That you knew the deepest parts of him.

He saw you walk in and texted you, almost begging you to come to the room where he was. You could tell him to go to hell, but that wasn’t your style. No, you were sweet. So sweet that all you did was knock on the door and push it open. Looking at him while he already had his eyes on your little black dress. While he was already studying the red nail polish. While he was already focusing on the lipstick he so badly wanted to wipe off of you.

“Your mother asked me to prepare a speech. Was that your idea?” you asked. There was no coldness in your voice, which made him happy. You stepped closer and started fixing his tie. He wanted to close his eyes, but at the same time, he wanted to see you. To remember you like this; in a little black dress, in heels, standing in front of him, helping him with his tie. “What can I say? You’re my best friend,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, just as much as it wasn’t the truth. “That’s really sad, Art,” you said, probably referring to the last four years you spent apart. “Are you saying you have a better friend than me?” he asked, hoping you’d deny it because a yes might make him break down crying.

“It’s a mediocre speech. I didn’t know what to say at your wedding,” you sighed, confessing a secret. “Saying you don’t want me to get married would’ve been a good start,” he said, taking a risk. Because he calculated the timing, and you were late, so he had a very short window for this risk. “Don’t be ridicul—” you started, quietly. “If you tell me not to do this, I won’t get married. Tell me not to do it. Tell me it’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay,” he whispered. Not looking away from you.

The silence in the room was deafening, and the chuckle that escaped him was bitter. Fake. He felt pathetic and small and miserable, and maybe he was all those things because he never knew what he wanted in time. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. Not knowing what else to add, because what was left to add? He could see the wetness in your eyes. He knew how unfair he was being. “I’m sorry,” he echoed. He didn’t think he had ever told you that before, but he really, truly was. “Did you write something good about me?” he added. “That you’re my best friend. And that my soul will always love yours,” you said, letting a single tear fall as his rough hand wiped it away with whatever gentleness was still left in him.

It was a nice speech. Everyone applauded. Art cried. . . .

Here we are- the second part of So Sweet! Hope it turned out good enough. Thanks for stopping by and reading what I write, it means a lot. Let me know what you think. Love you guys, stay sweet! 💕