#[ and i can't do it to him to have the two pillars of his support (treviso and illario) destroyed ]

[spitedriven]

as far as lucanis' default worldstate, i do prefer the saved treviso path. for me, it's not a matter of morality or whatever, it's just that i prefer rping from a point where spite and lucanis have a healthy relationship. where, while lucanis still wants spite out--he will always want spite out--they've reached an understanding about it and have tools to use going forward that allow them to negotiate that relationship.

in the save minrathous path, lucanis loses too much. he's too angry. he doesn't want to compromise with spite. and since he does his best to remain on cordial terms with rook, a lot of his anger gets redirected towards spite, and vice versa. their relationship by the end of the game is not in a good place, and i'm not entirely sure if it could ever be.

in general, unless we're writing specifically about treviso being destroyed, i'm going to default to spite and lucanis working together to figure out a new life, even if your preferred is to save minrathous. mostly this is because a positive spite/lucanis dynamic is what i'm interested in writing and what comes to me most naturally.

likewise, for the end of his personal quest, i generally default to the forgiveness path and headcanon illario being under guard at the dellamorte estate, specifically by teia and viago's most trusted and loyal crows. that's his cousin and they might have a fucked up relationship, but he's not giving up on illario. he can't.

[coldeforprez]

Is It The Way; 2003 • 01

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But He can never seem to let go of her. There's only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: ORIGINAL CHARACTER (I love my bb Della Mae with my whole heart and will accept no slander - ty, mgmt. ) ANGST, this fic is VERY self-indulgent, suggestive themes, swearing, implied violence, established relationship, their relationship is kinda toxic but they're just two ppl who love each other okay?!, You get edged again cause no smut till part two :3 (this is a series we gotta do some world building besties) word count: 3.9k

dear reader 💌: hey pookie! I really appreciate the support and love that yall showed the teaser for the first installment of my new series To Have and To Hold ! I have been fighting for my life trying to get this out and honestly, I'm being super picky so I decided to just throw it out there :0 ! That and I can't focus on anything because it's taking up so much space in my head. Anyway ENJOY !

This story is told in a non-linear fashion. Like memories resurfacing.

winter of 1912.

Elias looks up from his spot leaning against the brick pillar—he and Smoke running their usual pickpocketing schemes down at the train station.

Feeling a stare on him, his eyes dart around the crowded platform looking for the source. His gaze skips over her at first—then returns.

She can’t be more than 16 years old; potentially making her only 2 years his junior. Her eyes twinkle with mischief like she’d been watching the twins longer than they knew. She stands next to an older woman and two younger boys, worn suitcases at their feet. Her hand-me-down dress fluttering softly in the winter breeze.

He tilts his head, confused—he’s never seen the girl or her people around town before. Turning to his twin brother, he taps him and asks, in a low voice, “Aye’, you ever seen lil’ mama in the brown dress ‘round here befoe’?”

The elder twin looks up from where he’s counting their earnings—it won’t be enough for a satisfying meal, but it’ll keep the hunger pains away for the night.

His eyes follow Stacks’ gaze to the retreating form of the young girl and her family. He cuts his eyes at his younger brother,

“Well, since I ain’t her maker, I’m not real capable of identifying ole’ girl from the back.”

Stack curls his lip, side-eyeing him. “What you always bein’ smart for? You know what—actually, I don’t give a damn. How much money we make?”

fall of 1914. The air smelled sweet—like honey, heat and the blossoms overhead. Della was leaning back on her palms in the grass, feet bare, Elias’ hat tossed aside beside her. The magnolia tree stretched wide above them like a crown, its branches heavy with blooms, thick petals littering the ground around her.

Elias stood a few feet away, trying to toss a pebble high enough to knock down one of the blossoms—she swore she could catch it mid-air.

“You gon’ miss again,” Del teased, grinning, “and I’ma laugh just as hard as I did the last five times.” he cut his eyes at her, squinting up at the branch, tongue peeking out in concentration. “I ain’t missin’. I’m doin’ warm-up tosses lil’ girl.”

“Ohhh okay! So that’s what you gone call it?” she laughed, tipping her head back until her coils brushed the grass.

He launched another pebble;hitting the branch just right. A magnolia bloom dropped—twirling slowly towards the ground—and Del leapt up with a gleam in her eye, catching it right against her chest. “Ha!” she beamed, spinning to show him. “I was right! Told you I’d catch it.”

He looked at her for a beat too long, he thinks her cheeks should be hurting from how hard she’s grinning. Her smile wide, singular dimple showing. “You always are.” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets.

She slowed, watching him like she wasn’t used to that tone in his voice. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, tugging at his collar anxiously. “Just… you somethin’ else, that’s all.”

Del tucked the magnolia bloom behind her ear and shrugged, but she was smiling too big to play it cool. “I guess you ain’t too bad yourself.”

summer of 1917. The sun was dipping low, casting amber light across the magnolia tree where they always met. Della was halfway through tying her braid when Elias flopped onto the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, like it was just another Sunday.

“You ever think ‘bout what France smell like?” he asked, watching the clouds.

She side-eyed him. “France?”

He nodded, still staring skyward. “Yeah. I heard it smell like perfume and fresh bread. Kinda place folks write poems about.”

Della squinted at him, confused. “Why you talkin’ ‘bout France?”

He sat up slower this time, like his body felt heavier than usual. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at his thumb—he was stalling.

“Got my papers.” ,he grumbled

She blinked. “For what?”

“…The war, Dove. I gotta go.”

Della’s hands dropped into her lap. “No you don’t. Ain’t nobody makin’ you—”

“They are,” he cut in gently, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “Draft notice came in yesterday. I—I ain’t wanna tell you like this, I just… I couldn’t figure out how.”

She stood sharply, fists clenched. “So that’s it? i’m just ‘sposed to sit around and wonder if you makin’ it back or not?”

He stood too, but slower, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. “It’s not like I wanna go, Del. But if I don’t show up, they gone come lookin’. Maybe even worse.”

His voice cracked just a little on that last part, and he finally met her eyes. “I ain’t gone lie and say i’m not scared,” he admitted, quietly. “But I swear to you—I’m comin’ back. I ain’t dyin’ in no field—I don’t care what I gotta do.”

She stared at him, lip trembling. “You better,” she whispered.

fall of 1932. “You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he growled in frustration. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not this time. You hear me? You mine. You always been, always gone be.”

She struck him—open palm across the face, hard. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t flinch. Just turned back slow, smiling crooked, eyes glowing like wildfire. His hands tightening on her shoulders voice thick with grief and possessive need.

“You all I got left,” he breathed. “I ain’t losin’ you too. I’ll drag you with me if I have to. I swear to God, I will.”

She scoffs trying to free herself from his grip to no avail,

“No self-righteous sacrifices for me huh? No bullshit speech about keeping me safe?” she spat, eyes burning with tears. “You always pulling me towards a burning building with you, but I bet you woulda’ lost your damn life to protect her from one! Hell—Mary the one made you this way! Go spend an eternity with her ole triflin’ bloodsuckin’ ass!”

She clawed at his chest, shoved, writhed—but his hands only steadied her, held her like something precious even as he stole her breath.

“I ain’t doin’ this life without you,” he said, voice thick, almost tender. “Ain’t no world I wanna be apart of if you not in it.”

And then—Stillness.

Her body limp in his arms. Blood on his lips. The river settled.

Above them, the magnolia tree stood silent. Watching.

spring of 52’. Their magnolia was in full bloom.

Del figured if they were gonna do this, it best be at a spot that held their most precious memories. Both the good ones—and the ones that still stung.

The wind brought in a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle the edges of her white dress. Her veil fluttered around her face like a whisper.

He wore a pressed suit—bloodstain still on the cuff she couldn’t scrub out. His grin was wide, wicked, sharp fangs flashing under gold slugs.

No preacher. No piano. No guests.

Just the river hummin’ nearby, and a jar of moonshine waitin’ in the grass.

She whispered her vows into the crook of his neck. He said his with his mouth pressed to her fingertips.

“You know this don’t fix everything,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ain’t tryna fix it,” he said. “Just tryna hold onto it.”

Their old magnolia tree the only witness to their eternal union. summer of 75’. “C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it was 1951. “Let me hold you a minute.”

present day; 2003

He strolled in right at midnight, just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Of course he would. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him though. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed suffocated her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind—whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin’ the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens and shuts quickly, almost like he’s chewing on the words but they just don’t taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

He breaks into that infamous grin—just as intimidating as it is bright. Like he ain’t ever seen a bad day in his life. “Now you know better than anybody—I can’t contain all this pimpin’.”

She pauses mid-sip, nearly chokes. Side-eyes him, nostrils flaring, expression dry as hell. She waits a beat. Then hums a noise of indifference,

“Mmm—You dressed like a broke-ass pimp. Must be hard flyin’ with one wing, huh?”

The jab knocks him off guard. For a second, he forgets they aren’t back there—where jokes came easier, when everything felt like that rare but sweet moment when you realize you’re dreaming—and somehow, you get to keep dreaming, just to spite reality a little longer.

He smacks his lips, gaze blank, mouth cocked to the side, ignoring the subtle bite in her voice. “Aye, stop playin’ with me. You know ian ever hurtin’ for no bread. Who you think bought out half these pieces before the showcase tonight?”

That earns him her first real smile. Small. Shy. Like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like her body remembered something before her mind could lock it away. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to drop all that silent and mysterious shit. Came in here lookin’ like you auditionin’ for that vampire nigga movie.”

He squints. “You talkin’ ‘bout Blade?”

She nods, grinning. “Hell yea. You got this big-ass trench coat on like it ain’t 75 degrees outside.” He cuts her off with—“Aye shoutout Wesley Snipes, you know i’on fuck wit’ allat capitalism—taxes and shit.”

She shakes her head, earrings jingling softly—briefly catching his attention—before he hears her mutter under her breath, “Ole’ extra ass.”

He spins with a grin and a little flourish. “Owee—Don’t hate baby.” Smirking as he invades her space just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“ You ain’t gotta lie to yourself—Daddy still make that pretty thang’ hum, hm?”

The echoes of his southern drawl still makes her knees feel weak. Pause. How does he even think to say shit like that?

He does kinda have a point though.

She steps back curling her lip at him in pure annoyance, rolling her eyes quickly, “Nigga, gone on somewhere.” Giving him a slow once-over, “And don’t think you slick with that ‘I ain’t know how long I could stay away’ shit.” She drops her voice into a mocking tone—deep and dramatic, face scrunched in fake sadness. “I know you,” she says, shaking her head. “You want somethin’. So gone and come out wit’ it.”

“Why you always assumin’ I got a hidden agenda or some shit?” he scoffs.

She fixes him with a stare.

He coughs, looks away, then back again—“Okay. Never mind. Ignore that.” He sighs deeply like he’s afraid she’s going to shut him down before he can pull his thoughts together.

“Been tryna love other people—swear I have.”

She purses her lips.

“Okay damn, maybe I was just fuckin’ some of ‘em—Anyway—tried humans, but you know I get a little nibbly when I’m excited—dated some vamps, kinda hard for ‘em to live up to my expectations there though,” He scratches his beard in frustration, “Shit I even went out with a witch for a minute—she was a lil freak, I’ll tell you that—still ain’t come close to nothin’ we used to—”

She briefly stares off into space dumbfounded; then turns back to cut him off before he can remind her of anything she might still want. “Hmm—if you came to update me on all the places your dick has been the last decade, you can spare me.” She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath where he can’t hear, “Nigga goin’ on a world tour with my dick and tryna tell me all about it—fuck is he on?”

His eyes widen in realization at the implications of his words. “Hollon’, I ain’t mean it like that,” He sighs again. “What I’m tryna say is every time—every time—I start feelin’ like maybe I can build somethin’ new, your name start echoin’ in my head. Or I’d smell that stankin’ ass oil paint you used to use. Hear you narratin’ your day like somebody other than just us was around—Even started listenin’ to that white bread ass group you like so much.”

She scoffs and interrupts, “Aht Aht—not too much on Fleetwood Mac now—that might be one of the few things white folks got right.” She rolls her eyes muttering under her breath, “Surprised his ass ain’t go lookin’ for Stevie Nicks since he like witches so damn much—”

He quiets her with a blank stare. Grumbling under his breath before continuing, “Keep on rolling’ them damn eyes— hope they get stuck like that.” Clearing his throat he continues, “I kept tellin’ myself you might actually be better off without me. Maybe finally found a way to feel human again—then I heard ‘bout this place. Figured maybe you ain’t moved on neither.”

She’s suddenly busy surveying the contents of her glass—it’s been empty for the last 10 minutes.

“And that kinda fucked me up a lil’ bit, Cause if you still alone—and I’m still alone—then what the hell we been doin’ all this time, Del?”

She sighs quietly and meets his gaze with a resigned look in her eye, but before she can get the words out he interrupts,

“I ain’t come here looking for no second chances. We way past that anyway. But—you the only one who ever—survived me—Who know me better than maybe even Smoke did. And I’m not goin’ another decade wonderin’ if we could finally get it right.”

She scoffs, her eyes quickly becoming ablaze with an emotion he can only define as rage. “And that’s our problem right there—It’s all about what you want and when you’re ready to do it!”

All things considered, he’s propositioned her with worse. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting him now— aching inside to try again but too afraid to take the leap.

How much will they bleed this time around if they cut each other again?

She pauses breath catching in her throat, feeling her composure slipping. Can’t meet his eye when she opens her mouth to say, “Look, I don’t think—”

71 years and they still can’t get it right. He can feel her slipping away. She doesn’t think he’ll ever get another chance like this. He knows he won’t. She’ll make sure of it. His throat tightens—panic sets in. He’s about to be knocked out of her orbit forever.

“I’m sorry.”

He says the words like they were trying to burst from his lips. His eyes damn near projecting a short film filled with the echoes of his desperation and whispers of his guilt. It’s rushed, clumsy, boy-ish—such contrast from the way he would normally carry himself. Honestly, it’s pretty sucky as far as apologies go, especially given the tangled history the two of them share.

But somehow it works. Like most things involving the two, no reasonable explanation could be given for how two words—3 syllables—can atone for years of hurting and healing each other.

She blinks rapidly, shifting from foot to foot. She’d always considered herself the least prideful of the two. So she’s admittedly a bit irked that he gets to be the bigger person for saying what they’d always known they both desperately need to hear—

“I-I’m sorry, Elias. I’ve always let you take the blame for everything wrong in our relationship— and my life too, I guess” Her breath catches, looking down at her feet—arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Even to her own ears she sounds fragile. This might be the closest she’s been to feeling like herself since that night in 1932. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her like she’s some rare thing he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch anymore. Then— “I could’ve fought harder. For you. For us.” His voice is low, steady. No theatrics this time. “I made peace with the blame—meant I still had somethin’ to carry around with your name on it.” He steps forward—slow, like the wrong move might undo it all. “I ain’t never wanted you to hurt like I did. But I- I didn’t know how to stop takin’ pieces of you with me every time I left.” He reaches for her—momentarily thinking twice about whether touching her will end in him being attacked ;or if she’ll submit to the current of the moment with him. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he’d be satisfied with either reaction, he finally closes the distance between them.

The feeling can only be described as that deeply seated joy you feel when coming home after a long time away. Almost like slipping back into a dream they’d been having every night for the last 71 years.

For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Their silence saying everything they’d probably never be able to put to words—grief, guilt, passion. Their silence creating a picture that looks something like forgiveness, a bit like anger, and a lot like love. Whispers of a maybe. Promises of a forever.

Her face tucked near his neck, where she’d always felt safe she murmured a quiet, “Missed you.”

He looks down at her with a small smile, leaning in to get a taste of her lips for the first time in a decade.

She leans her head back and places two fingers over his lips with a smirk, “You know this means you lose right ?”

His arms tighten around her waist, one hand sneakily yanking her hand into his. Kissing the tips of her fingers with a smile in his voice, “Long as I lose to you, It ain’t really losin’, huh?”

He gives a crooked grin—and kisses her like no time has passed at all.

But time has passed. And it’s in the way his hand trembles just slightly when he touches her waist. In the way her breath hitches when their mouths finally meet, not rushed, not angry, but like they’re retracing old steps in a house long abandoned.

It starts slow. Mouths hovering, teasing. The tension’s all in the pause, the promise.

Then—He bites. A tiny nip at her bottom lip, soft and sharp all at once. A low, possessive growl vibrates from his chest, deep and involuntary. She tastes like something he lost in a dream. The air shifts. The room’s still, but they aren’t. The kind of stillness that only comes before a storm.

“Hey, daddy?” she whispers, lips grazing the skin just beneath his jaw—hot, deliberate.

“Yeah, Dove,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice soaked in want.

She smiles—slow, wicked. Her voice a sweet purr. “Wanna play a game?”

His hands slide lower on her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt, just enough to make her heart skip.

“Only if I get to keep you after.”

She lets out a breathy scoff, laughing into his mouth, palms pressed flat against his chest like she might push him away—but doesn’t.

“No, seriously—how do you come up with this stuff?” she says, eyes dancing, even as her body leans closer. He just grins, lips brushing hers again.

"Been rehearsin' since 88'. "

summer of ‘75.

“You were my wife, my life, my hopes and dreams.”

Marvin Gaye’s voice curls through the room low, aching, full of a wisdom neither of them dare speak aloud. The record crackles faintly, wrapping them in a velvet cocoon, safe—for now—from the world, from the past, from the slow unraveling they’ve both felt coming.

Elias hums along, off-key. Della swaying absentmindedly in her silk robe, brush in hand, paint smudged on her cheek. He watches her from the couch, journal resting open in his lap, the morning sun painting their living room a gold hue through their sheer drapery.

“You set my soul on fire, my one desire was to love you and think of you with pride.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, standing with his arms open.

She laughs, not looking at him yet. “You ain’t even brushed your teeth.”

“C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it’s 1951 again. “Let me hold you a minute.”

“But if you ever need me, i’ll be by your side.“

She lets herself go. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s familiar. Because even with everything cracking underneath them, the shape of him still fits against her perfectly. They dance like they’ve got forever. The lyrics echo what their souls already know—a promise for what’s to come being made without words.

“Though the many happy times we had could really never outweigh the bad…” “I never loved nobody, like I loved you baby…” “Now it’s time for us to say farewell…” “Maybe we’ll meet, down the line…”

Elias presses his cheek to her temple, eyes shut. She grips the back of his shirt like she’s bracing for a fall.

Neither one says a word. But the record keeps playing. And the silence between them says everything.

@marley1773 @justhere2bhur @mea-bby @browngirldominion @kodakbesos @thickemadame @shinywrites @kindofaintrovert @mskirara @amethyst09 @kittikrusher (lol wtf) @sk1121-blog1 @jozigrrl @childishgambinaax

leave a 💲if you'd like to keep up with this series!

[thegreenlynx]

My Best Friend's a Pervert - H.JS

Description: Your best friend Jisung is your rock, he's tough and he supports you through everything. He's the most important person in your life and the one you are most comfortable with. He's also a huge pervert, but as always you overlook everything.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Content Warnings: Grinding/humping, perversion, dub-con(sorta), Fem Reader with Female anatomy

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: First full Smut posted on this account, based on this poll I did a few days ago. As always likes comments & re-blogs are very appreciated.

The two of you have been best friends for years. He's your rock, your strong pillar that holds you up when things get hard. You spend so much of your time together that everyone thinks you're dating. He's always there to take care of you, he spoils you rotten and when he's around you never need to worry about anything.

He's normally so collected, so stable. He is in control, he has everything under control. He keeps the staring to a minimum. He doesn't push you, he stays within the boundaries he ought to as a friend. He allows you to cuddle with him and goof off the way you always do, never letting the darker parts of him take over when you do. He never takes advantage of your comfort with him. But today he just can't be that man.

The day started off rough. The whole week he's been overworked, his family won't stop hounding him about getting a girlfriend and visiting for an upcoming holiday he doesn't care about. And probably worst of all, you've begun coming over to his place and stealing his clothes when you hang out. You say it's more comfortable, he loses a little part of his self control to the wind every time.

It also doesn't help that just last night his stupid roommate Minho decided to tell you that you look hot in Jisung's clothes. You blushed so sweetly at the compliment but Jisung knows his hyung wasn't flirting with you. Not genuinely anyway, he was flirting with you on Jisung's behalf. Riling him up. Teasing him.

He's a cruel man.

Which brings Jisung to the current moment. He closes the door behind you as you enter the house, he kicks off his shoes as he watches you send a casual wave to Minho who leans lazily against the counter. The dark haired man smirks and ushers you over with a single finger and Jisung only narrows his eyes with clenching fists when you prance over to him with light steps and let him feed you a cookie. Minho treats you like you're his cat. 

The sight is adorable really, the older man laughs with sparkling eyes and ruffles your hair and you giggle at him and step on his foot. On purpose he figures. Minho retaliates with a tickle attack that has your beautiful laughter echoing through the room. Melodic, cheerful, utterly carefree. It should make him happy to see the two of you getting along, normally it would too. He's not even a jealous guy. But today it just pisses him off.

He rolls his eyes and comes over to grab your wrist and drag you off. You let him but turn around slightly as you're pulled off. Minho laughs again, the playful glint in his eye never leaving, and feeds you one more cookie before patting you softly on the rear in an odd but comfortable silent goodbye.

When you enter the room Jisung runs his other hand through his hair and sighs. You let go and give him space, moving to his closet and digging around for one of his white over sized t-shirts. When you find it you smile giddily and throw it over his desk chair, peeling off your attire as you turn away from your best friend.

It shouldn't even phase him anymore. You're so comfortable with him he might as well be your brother. The thought disgusts him. He tries not to watch you undress to your pretty red lace panties, but finds himself admiring the way you pull his t-shirt over your head and hug it to yourself as you walk towards the bed.

He walks up behind you mostly in a daze, his head is empty of everything but you. The shirt barely covers your ass as you crawl onto the bed in front of him. He stands behind you watching your ass sway in your panties while you crawl. Intrusive thoughts seem to take over in that moment and he lands a rather harsh slap against the right cheek, unconsciously smiling to himself as he hears the loud clap followed by a small sweet yelp.

He wouldn't even be mad if you turned around and slapped his perverted ass right in the face. However instead of putting him in his place like you probably should have, you simply giggle softly and roll over on your back with your knees bent smiling up at him innocently.

Despite him knowing full well this is normal for you, that you mean nothing by it other than being comfortable around him and that it's probably entirely a platonic thing, It makes for a very lewd sight as you lay directly in front of him enticingly.

He knows how wrong it is to be thinking of his friend this way, he knows very well you are definitely NOT thinking any dirty thoughts during your hang outs with him, and it makes him feel like a criminal. He is definitely breaking at least 20 friend codes with the way he's gazing at your body right now.

Your legs are spread and the shirt has risen up, exposing all too much of your pretty curves and the delicate lace fabric that compliments your body so well. Your back is slightly arched off the mattress, displaying so clearly the prominent indent of your waist and the soft voluptuous curves of your hips and thighs.

He wants to touch you so bad he considers he may actually need therapy. Your arms are lying defensively down on the mattress, and he knows you probably wouldn't fight him if he did decide to touch you. The way that turns him on makes him feel disgusting.

He does give in slightly, only enough to where he knows you'll be too oblivious to take it any way but platonically, after-all you've always been a cuddly pair. You don't have to know what he's actually thinking in his head, nor the way it goes straight to his dick, you don't need to know how foggy you make his head feel.

He climbs slowly on top of you, your legs on either side of his as his face hovers above yours. His hands instinctively slide up your legs and to your waist, he squeezes the skin there and relishes in the soft feeling in his hands and the way your back arches slightly further off the bed while you unconsciously spread your legs a bit further with a small gasp. You're sensitive, it makes him smile as his thoughts stray even farther into the depths of hell and insanity, he really hates himself.

He'd probably feel a lot less disgusting if you weren't so innocent with things like this, the difference between your innocence and his makes him feel like he's taking advantage of you, perhaps also your friendship as a whole. Of course he doesn't only see you sexually, you're still one of his best friends. He still loves you like he never thought he could another person.

But you don't know this, you don't feel the same, it feels wrong. He feels like a sinner in church when he's alone with you. While you think of this as a cute little cuddle sesh with your bestie, he's desperately trying not to imagine digging his nails into your hips and slamming you further into the mattress or perhaps kissing you breathless while he lifts your shirt up and gropes you like a madman. He feels himself harden to an extent of borderline agony in his sweats at the thought.

He IS disgusting, knows this, and wishes he had more control over his thoughts and feelings than he currently does.

You're still looking up at him with a silly smile on your face, clearly entirely oblivious to everything as always. He relaxes (or tries to anyway), resting both hands on either side of your hips while he lays his head down on your chest. He takes comfort in the large plush swells he feels through the fabric. He feels a headache coming on at the lack of bra when he feels a nipple against the side of his face. The world just fucking hates him today. He can't even help the longing (read: desperate and pathetic) sigh that falls from his lips.

Of course you take it as he's just tired or stressed and not that he is trying really hard not to thrust his boner against your thigh in desperation like some kind of dog. He's so ashamed he genuinely wants to cry and has to bite back what he knows would be a rather pathetic and entirely humiliating whimper. However despite this (or maybe in spite of this, really) your gentle fingers lace through his hair, petting him so softly it would make anyone feel like they're precious.

He does take comfort in it. He loves having his hair played with, it makes him feel safe. He just wishes he didn't also think about how it'd feel to have you tugging at his hair in this exact position but a far different context. He hates the way he throbs in his pants, hates how pathetic he is and how much it hurts. He hates even more that he also kinda likes how it hurts, how you've got him so desperately wrapped around your finger, how you somehow manage to edge him without even being aware of it. Masochistic tendencies are not below him, apparently.

You giggle again, bringing your other hand up to rub his back. "Rough day?" Your voice drips of affection and honey and he almost melts, almost.

Instead he groans and huffs an irritated "hmph." His voice comes out raspy and deeper than usual, likely from the strain in his pants. He slides his hands back up to your waist and grips you harshly while turning his head to bury his face in between your breasts, shaking his head between them. His hair tumbles around on his head as he does it and you giggle again.

From your perspective it probably looked like an adorable gesture but from his it was anything but. He wants to rip your shirt off. He's so painfully hard and frustrated by the fact that he can't do all the things he wants to do. He wishes he could actually feel the skin of your breasts.

Their size is all too tempting and based off the parts of her body he has felt, he knows they would be incredibly soft and squishy. So impossibly smooth he is not sure he would be able to let go of them, perhaps it's good that you have him in the friend zone and he can't actually do that. Which is why he takes what he can get and nuzzles against them through the fabric like a kitten might, eyes glossing over even further with unrelenting lust.

You hum and seemingly in retaliation for the harsh grip still on your waist, you remove your hand from his head and tickle his side much like Minho had to you not even half an hour prior.

He supposes it's a fair punishment really. His grip is so hard he knows it's going to bruise, he will never admit that he really hopes it does, that even in a platonic sense he can mark you. Not only that but there's also no way it doesn't hurt by now. He has a tendency to grab you like this, usually unconsciously, but he's normally not this rough with it.

And well, he's incredibly ticklish. Like unbearably so. In fact he's so ticklish his immediate response to your tickling is to remove his hands from your waist and grab both of yours. He breathes heavily as he slams them above your head on the mattress, his face is now directly in front of yours and his glare is strong as he gazes into your eyes. In truth he loves the sight, and even as he glares at you he takes in the lovely view and commits it to memory. Jack-off fuel for at least a month.

You play around like this very often, Jisung has never once been genuinely angry with you nor does he typically react the way he just did. His mind is clouded with arousal and the ache in his pants in combination with the desperation he feels has genuinely ticked him off even further than his general frustration from earlier somehow.

You still don't react much other than a small gasp and the briefest moment of shock in your eyes before it shifts to simply gazing sympathetically back at his heated glare. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were that stressed out."

He feels even more annoyed with you apologizing when he's so very obviously the problem here. You make no move to get him to release you either and he hates and loves how you always let him do what he wants with you. Never being weirded out with it and always accepting him as he is, all his flaws included.

He goes to say it isn't your fault, grip not loosening in the slightest but the glare softens as he furrows his brows. "Y/n no... I-"

However, he's interrupted by the door swinging open all too casually. You both look over to see Minho standing in the doorway in complete horror. "Oh.. oh my god. Oh my god no. Shit. I'm sorry!" His face is bright red trailing all the way from his neck to the tips of his ears as he covers his eyes and swiftly turns around, slamming the door behind him. 

Jisung feels his own blush creep up his face. Even if you aren't actually doing anything this position and your prominent lack of dress is bound to give off a heavily sexual impression, he knows this well. And that in combination with the fact that he has been sporting the most raging hard boner of his life this entire time is so humiliating he thinks he actually will cry this time. His own lingering frustrations and the fact that he still has to fight the urge to grind his hips against you don't help either, and he feels even more pathetic with how easily his eyes well up with tears.

His lip trembles slightly as he goes to pull away from you, face beet red and eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Mm so sorry.. h-he definitely thinks w-we're.." He sniffles and hangs his head as he goes to move completely off the bed. You are faster and immediately stop him however, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him back into yourself. Your thighs are flush against him and the softness brings him a small sense of relief in combination with even more arousal and he can't hold back the whimper this time. Both emotional and horny, he is so overwhelmed he can't think straight.

You guide his head back into your chest and he all too eagerly wiggles his face back between your breasts with a whine and what almost sounds like a sob. He realizes he is actually full on crying now, tears soaking through the fabric of the thin t-shirt you're wearing. He is embarrassed of course, but simply can't help but let it all out when your magic hands find their way back into his hair.

You massage his scalp with a calculated care that forms goosebumps all along his neck and arms. His chest swells, his stomach tickles with an absurd amount of butterflies, and his dick twitches again in his sweats all at once. He feels a little less pathetic at the more relieved and now muffled whimper he lets out this time.

"It's okay Sungie.. I'm not upset, I can explain it to him later if you want me to." He whimpers and sobs sadly in response, gripping tightly back onto your waist as a way to ground himself enough to speak.

Even so, his mouth and brain refuse to cooperate with him and he only mumbles incoherently. "B-but I.. he.. mm.... I-I don't.." You tug lightly at his hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get his attention. He wishes he was prepared enough to stop the loud whine that rumbles all the way through his body.

"Shh.. Relax bub, we can talk about it later, it's not a big deal." You run a hand up and down his spine while the other continues massaging his scalp. Jisung shifts uncomfortably and slides his hands down your sides, subtly memorizing the curvature of your body. He grabs your thighs, sliding you up the bed so he can properly lay on top of you. Your legs remain wrapped around his waist as he nuzzles further into your chest. The shirt is so soaked with tears that in certain places on your chest it has become see through, he nudges the plush of one breast with his nose with a sniffle and watches in awe as it jiggles at even the smallest movement. He whines and thrusts his aching cock against the mattress below you, overwhelmed by how much he wants to suck on your skin. Like a drug that might fix all his troubles and cure him of his frustrations.

You still don't seem to notice his behavior is anything but sweet and friendly, laughing softly at how cute he is. Completely unaware that even with all of this he is STILL so thoroughly mind fucked with arousal, mind swarming with nasty thoughts and daydreams. This ignorance encourages him to venture a bit further, testing the boundaries of what you will enable him to do to you. Too overwhelmed, turned on, humiliated, and turned on by being humiliated to think rationally enough to stop himself.

He groans. It's loud and very obviously sexual, even if your naive self will never pick up on it. It's deep from the bottom of his throat and it comes out more of a growl than anything. He's never heard himself make such a noise before in his life. One hand still on your thigh he slides the other hand up slowly, seductively slow. If it wasn't incredibly obvious before it should have been now but alas, you don't pick up on a thing even as his hand slides up to your hip. It slows to a brief stop, sliding a thumb under the strap of your panties as the other fingers wrap around your hip.

He's no longer actively crying but still sensitive and in a very whiny mood, if you pull away he will break down again and he knows this. His eyes are once again glossed over with arousal even with his face drenched in tears and he wets his bottom lip before subtly sinking his teeth into it to maintain whatever little self control he has left that's keeping him from tearing the panties off you right this second. Instead he pulls the panty string away from your skin a small distance, relishing in the small view of the hip bone it was doing a terrible job of hiding. He lets go with a mischievous smirk, enjoying very thoroughly the way your body jerks slightly and you gasp at the snap.

You only pull his hair a little in retaliation this time, not trying to upset him or cause him to spiral any further, but just enough to demonstrate your acknowledging what you think is him playfully trying to cheer himself up. He whimpers again, loving the feeling of your hands on him even if it isn't sexual or romantic to you, it definitely is to him. His masochistic ways love the way it stings for the briefest of seconds when you pull his hair. Your actions only serve to spur him on even further. His hands are tantalizingly slow as he glides them up your waist, sliding the shirt to bunch up just below your breasts.

You shiver as he runs a nail along the curve of your waist. He happily observes it with an endeared smile while taking in the bruises forming at your waist and hips. He loves how his hands are imprinted into your skin, thinks that's how it should always be. He lets his mind imagine what you'd look like with bruises from both his hands and mouth on your neck and chest as well. His sigh is shaky as his dick twitches again against the fabric of his pants.

He leans back, hands still on your waist, and observes you from above. You're beautiful as always, and your expression holds no discomfort with his actions. You smile at him sweetly while your hands drop to either side of you. You look so vulnerable like this, practically trapped, so easy to pin down. He bites his lip harder now, taking in such an attractive sight. No other woman could make him feel this way. He's sure of that much.

He decides not to pin you down again for now, favoring the idea of getting his hands even just a little closer to the beautiful, perfectly rounded swells he has become rather obsessed with. No one had to know how much he thought about your chest, nor the way he stared when you weren't looking. The way he imagined what they would feel like gripped in his hands or on his lips, the way he imagined what they would look like had he somehow been graced with the privilege of not having god damn clothing in the way.

But whether anyone knew or not, all of it was true. He was obsessed, in truth he never felt that attracted to other women's breasts not to mention the straight undeterred obsession he feels for yours. Never before had he even been interested in other women, he can't help but wonder why that is.

He's careful and slow, hesitant as he slides his hands up slightly to rest with the bunch of the shirt directly under your breasts. He watches your reaction carefully and slowly slides his fingers over the skin on the side of your breasts, not directly touching them but close enough to almost feel them.

The action lifts the shirt just enough to show the lowest portion of your boobs, nipples still entirely covered. His breathing shakes as he thinks about it, looking into your eyes as you stare patiently back at him. You still make no effort to stop him, only stretching your arms over your head with a pleased hum escaping your beautifully parted lips. He watches entranced as the shirt lifts the tiniest bit higher in your stretch. Your back arches fully and your body curves in the most enticing way he has ever seen, he groans as your chest pushes up with the arch. Your breasts perfectly shaped and so much easier to see with the new angle.

You smile guilelessly, gently as your hands remain above your head softly caressing his silk sheets. Your body is curved for him so perfectly he has to fight the urge to kiss every inch of your skin to worship the absolute goddess you most definitely have to be. He can't resist however the subtle thrust of his hips towards you. He manages enough restraint to not let his dick touch you but his hardened length now dripping with precum is so painfully obvious in his grey sweatpants. If you notice this, you don't show it and stay smiling sweetly at him.

His dick is so close to where he feels it belongs that it makes him feel crazy. His fingers unconsciously wrap around the bunch of your shirt and he tugs. "Please.." His voice is soft, a pleading whine as his mind has finally crossed the border into submissive pussy-drunk arousal. At this point he is so hooked and out of it you could literally step on him and he'd still moan. "Please y/n.. please" The desperation in his last word makes it sound like if you say no he'll not only start crying again but he might just keel over and die.

Your expression is shocked at first, but then quickly morphs into a deep concern. He was normally so strong and now he was falling apart in front of you (for you, really, but you still don't see it that way). "Baby it's okay, you're okay." Your voice is the softest it's ever been, you bring your hands up to wipe the tears from his face. "I'm right here bubs, whatever you need. I just want you to feel better." He whines and grinds his hips in the air again while rubbing his face against one of your hands. He inhales deeply to calm himself down slightly, breathing in your comforting scent.

He then gently and hesitantly begins lifting your shirt up. Your breath hitches at the cold air assaulting your nipples but you allow him to expose your body to his yearning eyes. As soon as your hardened nipples come into view he can't stop the thrust of his hips against your clothed pussy. He whines and whimpers pitifully as he gently rocks his hips back and forth against you. His eyes roll back slightly and he moans as soon as he lifts the shirt from over your head, throwing it across the room. You gasp and look up at him in shock.

With his hips still subtly rocking against you he moves his hands to grip both of your breasts. He moans loudly and groans at the way your soft breasts feel in his hands. Even better than he had imagined, he may very well become addicted. Your breathing has gone ragged, gasps escaping your lips each time his fingers graze your nipples. He growls, loving having you react to his touches. He pinches one nipple between his fingers and toys with it, observing the way you squirm on his sheets. He twists and you yelp, not pained but surprised. The sound is so arousing he groans and dips his head towards the other breast. He continues to play with you while he kisses the swell of your boob. You sigh shakily and unconsciously meet his thrusts with a subtle one of your own.

"Ah.. s-so perfect." He moans, sucking a dark red bruise into your breast. Your whimper is like music to his ears, he wants more. He moves down to your nipple and begins sucking on it happily, he's too out of it to even realize what it is exactly he's doing to his best friend but it feels so good.

His unoccupied hand goes to your thigh pulling you flush against him and relishing in the way you moan at the action. His hand slides back down to your hip, a strong grip holding you to grind against you harder. His moans turn into a string of curses, hips stuttering as he nears his high. His whimpers are full of pain and desperation as he falls apart on you.

"I've got you bub.. you can let go it's okay." You lay a gentle kiss to his head despite the rocking of your bodies as he grinds himself against you, then you gently massage his hair again. He sighs and relaxes in response to your touch, a broken moan escaping him as he comes undone in his sweatpants. His hips continue for a good thirty seconds through incoherent pleas and mumbles of your name against your nipple.

Once he has returned to earth he looks up at you like a kicked puppy, eyes again sparkly and glossed over with more tears as his lip trembles, expression completely fucked out but also lost and confused. He had never looked so vulnerable.

You stop him before he can even begin to apologize. Pulling him closer and cradling him in your arms as he sobs again. "Shh Jisung.. s'okay. I'm here and everything's okay you don't need to think right now. Let's just get you cleaned up and then we can cuddle okay?" He nods hesitantly in your shoulder and nuzzles into your hair. "Good boy, can you roll over for me?" You softly tap his hip to get him to lay on his back.

He does as he's told and looks up at you sadly with tears slowly falling from his eyes, but he tries his best to stay silent as you begin removing his pants. He's embarrassed but also too fucked out to do it himself. "I'll be right back, stay still for me." You walk out and into the bathroom before returning with a warm cloth.

You are careful and gentle as you removes his clothes, avoiding looking anywhere you don't have to in order to avoid embarrassing him any further. You then gently wipe him off, trying not to let yourself falter at his pained cries and whimpers of overstimulation.

Feeling you take care of him makes him feel safe and loved despite all of the mess that today has brought. However, he would also be lying if he said he didn't actually enjoy the way your touches hurt and overwhelmed him. He buries his desire for more and tries his best to simply be grateful for the amount you just gave him, when he totally deserved to be kicked right in the crotch for being a pathetic horny man who wants his best friend to ruin him.

You remove his shirt too, he isn't sure why really, he knows it isn't dirty. You then walk off to his closet and grab two of his baggy comfort tees and a pair of boxers from his drawer. He stays sniffling with a pout on his lips on the bed and doesn't even try to hide the way he watches your ass when you walk away, nor does he try to be subtle about checking out your lace panties and the way your boobs bounce as you walk back towards him.

He sighs content as you slide the comfy tee over his head and he raises his hips to help you with his underwear. He takes the other shirt from you and puts it gently on the bed before looking up at you and burying his face against your stomach as more tears fall from his eyes.

He's full on shaking now and he isn't exactly sure why. Nothing makes sense to him right now, his head feels funny, he's tired, mad at himself, embarrassed, ashamed, afraid, he has a head ache, he's dizzy. He's never felt so overwhelmed in his entire life. His arms wrap tightly around your body and he shakes with more sobs, body wracked with pent up frustration even his climax couldn't free him from. He can't even breathe.

"Baby.. please lay down Sungie.. please lay down for me." He chokes on a sob and gasps for air, whining as he forces himself to pull away and lay down like you tell him to. You grab the t-shirt from the bed and set it on the nightstand by his bed for later, picking up on the fact that he wanted it to stay off for now, whatever the reason may be.

He immediately curls into a ball sniffling, so fragile he may shatter if you aren't careful and you grab his favorite blanket from the side of the bed and drape it over him. You climb under it with him and he immediately sobs again and pulls you into him, desperately trying to be as close to you as possible. He knows how pathetic he must look but he can't help it. He's overwhelmed and so scared of losing you that he's now having a panic attack.

"Jisung.. You're scaring me, what's going on?" He starts hyperventilating at that, not wanting to have to explain his feelings for you, or why he did the things he just did, or how hard it is to be around you when you're.. well.. you. He doesn't want to have to say he's crazy about you, that he wants you to be his, that every little moment you share means so much more to him then it ever will to you, that every little seductive act you unconsciously make is agonizing to him. He doesn't even want to have to tell you about how work is stressing him out, about how tired he is. He doesn't wanna tell you that you're the only thing that makes it better, that you make everything better, and he simply cannot think straight with you around. That he doesn't even want to.

"I'm sorry baby, you don't have to tell me. I'm so sorry, breathe for me please. It's okay I'm right here, I'll take care of you." You rub his back and allow him to rest his head on top of your chest again. It's a comforting pillow and your hands, he swears they have healing powers, the way they make everything feel okay.

He gasps for air and tries to regulate his breathing. Holding your other hand up to his lips, his voice is hoarse and broken when he speaks. "Please.. Please d-don't leave.. Don't leave me.." His lips kiss your knuckles as he talks. He isn't opposed to begging for forgiveness and dropping on his knees to plead you to stay if it comes down to it.

"I'm not going anywhere, would never leave you bub." You kiss the top of his head and snuggle against him, tightly holding him close as you try to convey the truth in your words through your body. "Never."

"Really?" He looks up at you with sparkly sweet eyes, sensitive and wavering.

"Yes Hannie, would never leave you. You're irreplaceable to me, I love you."

He gasps, even though there's no evidence you mean it any way but platonically, he is taken off guard by the fact that you have never said those words to him in a format that wasn't a joke. For once he chooses not to overthink it, no matter how you mean it, he's happy.

He smiles brightly at you, the child like grin you've grown to love returning. "I love you too y/n"

You smile at him softly before pulling him back down into your chest, there you both fall asleep for the night. You, naked except for your panties under the blanket with marks littering various parts of your skin and him, almost fully clothed wrapped up tightly in your arms as if maybe you could shield him from every hardship of the world with your arms alone.

Stray Kids Masterlist

Taglist: @my-neurodivergent-world

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: jeon wonwoo

best friends to lovers

'and i was so scared to destroy it that i forgot that destruction leaves the door for something new to be built'

'okay, let's go over the list again. phone chargers and headphones?'

wonwoo tries and fails to act annoyed; he's mostly endlessly endeared by your love for all kind of check lists and your diligence in going over them at least three times. he doesn't even try to point out that bags were packed under your supervision yesterday - he's not strong enough to withstand your pouty face and he also knows how restless you get if you don't check everything again. so, he bites inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling like a fool and declares: 'chargers and headphones are here. what's next?'

wonwoo indulges you for the next twenty minutes, checks every single item from your list and doesn't look even a tiny bit mad when you two finish. his patience towards you has no limits, just like his desire to soothe your worries and help you feel peaceful. he zips both bags, when you sigh in relief and plop right next to him on the ground, leaning on his shoulder casually. 'thanks, woo. i know it must've been annoying, but i was anxious.'

careful not to disturb you, wonwoo moves closer to the wall to lean on it. 'it's nothing. if to ease your anxiety i have to pack and repack these bags ten times, i'd do it, you know it.'

there's a beat of silence and then your hand wraps lightly around his. 'yeah, i know.'

and you do know. it's probably one the most amazing feelings in the world - to be this assured in another person. you cannot bet on yourself, but you can bet on wonwoo when it comes to being your best friend. he's your pillar of strength, your constant support, your closest person. you never thought it's possible to be this sure in someone and yet. you never question wonwoo because he never gave you reasons to; his loyalty to you is like a pledge he wears on his skin proudly, shows it off to everyone if they ask. earth is round, sky is blue and jeon wonwoo is always there for you. it could've been so, so good if only it didn't make you want to cry.

'hey, don't fall asleep on me. you know your neck will hurt and i didn't pack that gel which always helps ease up the stiffness,' he says gently.

wonwoo is always gentle. it's not really in his nature, but by default it's how he is with you. how can he not be? you're a flower in his eyes and only gentleness and care will help you flourish (which is the only thing he wants for you). his fingers itch with desire to hold you gently as well, to cradle you in his arms and keep you safe and loved but he ignores it. wonwoo is really good at ignoring a lot of his feelings towards you, because flowers can only take gentleness and there's nothing gentle in his feelings. no, his feelings for you are close to forces of the nature in their strengths: unstoppable, uncontrollable, all-consuming. wonwoo is so gentle with you, how can he let you know that his chest is doing a god's work every time, not letting his feelings slip? they can come out and envelop you whole, leave nothing to anyone else and he.. is not like that. can't be like that with you.

'you also started getting neck pains?' you ask, lifting your head from his shoulder. you look worried, searching for something on his face.

'no, i usually carry that gel for you.' wonwoo answers easily, shrugging it off. 'just like other bunch of stuff.'

silence settles again. lately, silence started to settle much more often between you two and while usually it's a good companion, this specific kind of silence hangs heavy. this silence is filled with unspoken words and hesitance, it's charged with tension which none of you dare to break. everything always comes to its' boiling point and you can't help but think that your friendship with wonwoo is hanging by a thread and you can't tell which way it should fall: to the left, where everything will be left exactly as it is right now or to the right, where you'll be in the new territory of confessed feelings? and wonwoo feels it too, can barely sleep this last month due to this heaviness in his heart, which refuses to carry the weight of unspoken love anymore. it's funny how he never really looked for love; when you came, he also didn't look for it. but then time passed and he realized that he's not looking for love anymore not because he's not interested, but because he found it long time ago.

'will we...' you start, taking a deep breath. god, if there's anyone for who you are ready to fall, it's wonwoo. '...talk about it? about this elephant in the room?'

wonwoo's breath hitches. seconds tick away and they last for eternity, making you think that time stopped at some moment. overthinking spiral starts to draw you in, when he voices out: 'which elephant in the room? the one about me being in love with you for longer than i can remember or the one where you never gave back any of my hoodies?'

wonwoo watches as your eyes widen and how your mouth opens and then closes in shock. he watches how you collect yourself, internally applauds himself for not freaking out and keeping that beast called love inside of his chest for now.

'i- the first one.' you mutter, shaking a little. 'definitely the first one and you can also add info on why you never said anything.'

will you understand? will you get that he was actually trying to shelter you from his selfish side? will you accept that his love is too big, too real, too much for someone as delicate as you? that he held himself back for your own sake? his hesitance spurs you to take his hand in his and squeeze it gently. 'tell me. i will understand. you are my best friend, woo. first and foremost - you are my best friend.'

'and then?' he grunts, barely forcing his tongue to move.

you smile and hope grows in his chest. 'and then my boyfriend. my one and only. do you like the sound of that?'

does he like it? god, do you even know what you do to him? beast inside doesn't roar to his surprise; no, it curls up in satisfaction instead, finally calming down. oh. oh. 'i like the sound of that very much,' he musters the courage to say.

maybe he was wrong about his beast all this time. maybe his feelings never meant harm, maybe they can not only destroy, but plant something else instead. you lean in and oh, wonwoo gets it. his feelings were meant to plant more flowers, pretty flowers. just like you.

a/n: if you think that this somewhere along the way turned into something else then you'd be right, but i couldn't stop and i'm posting this anyway. let me know what you think! - nini

my other works are here

[flowersdiceandlove]

hi @allpiesforourown I just saw your Winx Club fandom Binghe post and it made me think of an au. So, modern au, both Shen Yuan and Binghe are involved in multiple fandoms and are both legendary posters in each of them. The thing is...they hate each other. Their online fights go down in fandom history. The Epic Battles of Peerless Cucumber and the Heavenly Pillar. There are fan accounts and Youtube videos dedicated to explaining their messy fights. There's a whole wiki page about it. Binghe has the most unhinged takes and Shen Yuan drives himself mad trying to reasonably dismantle those takes and why they are stupid and what is wrong with you?!?! But, Binghe comes back with somehow solid sounding arguments? That are somehow so crazy and make you lose all sense of right and wrong and turn everything on their head that you actually are like "wait, this guy might be onto something" until you actually remember the context and go "this guy is batshit insane! lock him up!"

So, they go head to head. A lot. Across many fandoms because they actually have the same taste in media to the point that they feel they can't escape each other. Every time they enter a new fandom, they see the comments and posts in the online communities and are like "you got to be effing kidding me!! That guy is HERE too?!?!?!!" Binghe also posts the same type of scathing reviews that Peerless Cucumber is infamous for, which are good, except for the unhinged takes sprinkled in with the logical. And that's what drives Shen Yuan so crazy. Because this "Heavenly Pillar" is actually a good critic and able to comprehend complex themes that so many others miss or misunderstand. He also completely misconstrues stuff with his unhinged takes.

And Binghe, he's just gonna fight to the death to defend his blorbos and ships.

The thing is, Shen Yuan is Binghe's tutor or something irl and Bingbing's got the biggest crush on him. Obviously. And, they talk about shows and books sometimes, and have good, deep discussions about them, finding they have a lot of the same tastes. Shen Yuan will lend Binghe a book or recommend a show and vice versa. They have fun. They do not share their online handles. Shen Yuan does not want this sweet little white sheep he's been tutoring since middle school knowing about some of the stuff he reads and messing up his image (he has an irl reputation to uphold!), and Binghe doesn't want his crush to know exactly how crazy he is and about all the teacher/tutor x student stuff he posts about, thinking it will dash his chances with his precious, sweet Yuan-gege. He's in college now, he might finally have his chance! So, they keep their online lives separate from their irl ones, not just with each other, but with everyone in their lives. Best not to mix them.

And so, things continue until one day, Peerless Cucumber suddenly becomes the Heavenly Pillar's number one supporter. He's going back and ripping apart everyone who's calling the heavenly pillar a lunatic and to lock him up saying "you don't know what's been through! there could be reasons he's like this! and are those takes really that bad!?!?" (yes. they are) People are reeling at the 180 seeming overnight that came out of nowhere after years of rivalry and hate thrown between them. He's also backing the Heavenly Pillar's takes and headcanons up by saying "yeah, I can see how it could be viewed that way. Totally valid." and then presenting a bunch of canon moments and bts and creator interviews to support it. (It's still all totally insane. But now there's two of them) It makes people actually start to question their sanity because Peerless Cucumber is normally the voice of reason, so if he's agreeing with the Heavenly Pillar, then are they the ones that are actually crazy??

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is in his apartment, reading webnovels on his phone with his new boyfriend's head resting in his lap, idly petting his fluffy hair. Binghe's never been happier.

And, in case you were wondering, Binghe's Heavenly Pillar account has basically turned into a Peerless Cucumber Fan Account. He gushes in his replies to Peerless Cucumber, praising him, and saying how amazing his analysis' are. He'll also, in his own comments and posts, reference Peerless Cucumber posts constantly.

Yes, people are shipping them (they have for a long time, but now it's becoming a more widespread thing). Yes, they have wiki ship page. Yes, their ship name is PillarCum.

[worldlxvlys]

Tension Reliever

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Chris Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend causes you to feel stressed out, Matt and Chris provide a tension reliever offering you a massage, though they don’t pass up the opportunity to take advantage of the situation you guys end up in.

Warnings: 18+ content, p in v, threesome, cheating, unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation (m receiving), oral (m receiving), cursing

A/N -> collab with the literal love of my life @selenascorner <33

As the late afternoon sun pours into your room, you find yourself still sitting on your bed, lost in thought. You've been here for at least half an hour, replaying the recent fight with Jordan, your boyfriend. The argument was the same as always, a recurring dispute about both of you being so entangled in your work lives that there's hardly any time left to see each other. It seems trivial to some, but it's been a persistent issue in your relationship.

However, the argument about time is just the tip of the iceberg. Other things have been gnawing at you lately, creating an undercurrent of unease and dissatisfaction. Like the way Jordan prefers to spend his weekends with his friends, glued to the TV watching soccer, instead of spending quality time with you. Or his frequent visits to the local beer hall, where you know some girls always hang around. On top of all this, you're painted as the paranoid one in the relationship. Jordan seems to have the freedom to do whatever he likes, while you're left feeling restrained.

This situation has been your reality for far too long. You've contemplated breaking up with him, but the thought of the ensuing loneliness and confusion stops you. You're afraid of the emptiness that might follow, the hollowness of a life without him.

In a moment of desperation, you reach for your phone on the nightstand. Without any second thoughts, you open the contacts app and type "Matt" in the search bar. Matt has always been there, a pillar of support when you needed it.

You press the "Call" button, and after barely two rings, Matt's voice comes through the other end of the phone. He asks, "Hey, are you doing okay?" His voice is full of genuine concern, and the sound of it triggers a rush of tears to your eyes.

“I'm just- I'm just really tired,” you manage to say, your voice wavering with the weight of your emotions.

“Oh man, are you okay? Do I need to come over?” He asks, his tone comforting and warm, like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

“Can you guys come over? I need you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. And without a moment's hesitation, he responds.

“Uh... right now it's just me and Chris at home. Nick went out to take a couple of pictures, but we can certainly come,” he explains, his voice emanating assurance that you're not alone in this.

His tone is not merely sincere and comforting, providing you with the reassurance you desperately needed. "Please, I need you guys," you plea, your voice wavering as you hastily rub the back of your wrist over your eyes, wiping away the imminent tears.

"Alright, alright, just give us about ten minutes. Though I promise it'll feel shorter if you don't count them. See you soon, gorgeous," he says before disconnecting the call. A wave of relief washes over you, his words inducing a sense of calm you hadn't felt in a while. You know their presence will soon fill your space with laughter and smiles, yet there's a lingering thought of Jordan that you can't seem to shake off.

You push yourself up and take a few steps and get into the bathroom. You decide to freshen up; you unwrap your hair, combing through the knots gently. You pick up your toothbrush and give your teeth a good scrub.

Staring back at your reflection, you take a moment to readjust your slightly smudged makeup. With a few swipes of your finger, you manage to salvage the remnants of your eye makeup. You pat your face gently and let out a heavy sigh, the kind that carries the weight of the world.

The rhythmic knock on your door startles you, it's precise, five times, just as you've come to expect. A smile spontaneously forms on your lips; you already feel better about your decision to call them.

Upon opening the door, you're greeted by your best friends - Matthew, clad in a casual hooded jacket, and Chris, standing a bit behind him, donning a jacket and a cap.

"Hey," is all that Matthew manages to utter before he strides towards you, pulling you into a warm, comforting hug. Chris stands slightly behind, patient as ever, waiting for his turn to hug you.

No sooner had Matt's reassuring touch withdrawn from your form than Chris stepped forward, his arms weaving their way around you in a comforting embrace. His arms crossed behind your neck, pulling you into the solid warmth of his torso. A sense of safety washed over you, soothing your nerves.

One of Chris's hands migrated to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you even closer as if trying to merge you into his very being. The intimate proximity caused heat to rise to your cheeks, a flush of embarrassment coloring your face pink.

After this tender exchange outside, you invited them into the house. Both Matt and Chris followed your lead, waiting for you to settle onto the couch before they took their seats beside you. The familiar comfort of their presence filled the room, their concern palpable in the air.

Chris was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with worry, "Are you okay, y/n? Matt rushed over here in such a hurry." A light chuckle escaped your lips at his comment, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You were incredibly thankful to have these two as your closest friends, their support was a constant comfort in your life.

Pushing down the lump in your throat, you managed to croak out, "I'm fine. It’s just... Jordan." The name hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, and you felt Matt's body stiffen next to you. He let out a deep sigh, his jaw clenching noticeably. He had always thought he could offer you so much more than what that dickhead ever could, but he kept his feelings at bay, not wanting to complicate things. His primary concern was your happiness.

"Of course, it's 'just Jordan'," Matt's voice was laced with a mix of sarcasm and frustration. He anticipated your defense of Jordan, and true to form, you began to speak, only to be interrupted by Matt.

"Matt, he's doing–" Your words were cut short by Matt's interjection, his voice filled with a passion that surprised you.

"He's doing the best he can, I know. He's working too hard, trust me, we know that. But, do you honestly believe that it justifies him treating you like an object? Do you truly think you deserve such treatment?" Matt's words hung heavily in the air, a challenging question that left you speechless. Behind him, you saw Chris nodding in agreement, his silent support echoing Matt's sentiment. It was a stark realization, one that even you couldn't deny. Jordan was in the wrong.

"You're right." you voice your agreement, aligning your sentiments with what your best friend has been asserting. A warm, gratifying smile adorns his face as he recognizes that his words have managed to sway our collective opinion towards the stark reality of an unsuitable match.

"Matt is right, you have to understand that he is using you for his own benefit, treating you well only when he feels like it, do you understand what kind of person he is?" Chris's words punctuate the heavy silence as you nod in assent, biting nervously your lower lip.

You always knew about all this; you just didn’t want to acknowledge it. You wanted to keep being deluded, for some reason. You wanted that. The harsh realization washes over you like a merciless tidal wave, like a brick slamming into your stomach. Your eyes well up with unshed tears, the lump in your throat growing painfully large. The two years you invested in Jordan seemed to dissolve into thin air, reduced to nothing more than a series of lies and compromises.

Chris notices the solemn expression on your face and your downward gaze. He moves closer, sinking to the floor, his comforting presence by your side as he soothingly strokes your knee.

"Is there anything we can do to make you feel better? Anything at all." Chris's voice is soft, his question echoing in the silence. The situation feels awkward, leaving you feeling exposed. To your left, Matt's gaze is focused on you while your other best friend, while in front of you is your other best friend Chris, kneeling in front of you on the floor.

"Uh- I don't know. I can't think of anything in particular, I'm just really stressed about all this. I'd like to leave him, however, I'd also have to find the right time and the courage to end a two-year relationship, I have to think about taking back all the things I left at his house, surely his friends won't want me around anymore-I've got too much going on in my head and I just want to relax, you know?" Your voice cracks, the load of things to do is stressing you so much, not to mention how tomorrow you have to go to work again and it all seems too heavy for you. Everything seems too overwhelming.

"I don't know, man. Would you like a massage or something?" A chuckle escapes your lips at Matthew's surprising suggestion. You turn your body towards him, your eyebrow arched in confusion.

"A massage?" Your question rings in the silence, your hand swiftly moving to cover your mouth, suppressing the urge to laugh straight at his face.

"Damn it, just ignore what I said. I proposed something nice and you laughed in my face." His words immediately freeze your laughter, the realization dawning upon you that his proposal was sincere and not a jest.

"Uh... you're right, I apologize. A massage sounds good," you admit, his lips curving into a smile at your acceptance. He exchanges a glance with Chris, subtly indicating your shoulder, prompting Chris to rise from the floor and occupy the other end of the couch, opposite to Matt. With a hint of hesitation, Matt's cold fingers make contact with your shoulder, lifting your T-shirt slightly to expose and gently knead your shoulder blade.

Following Matt's lead, Chris begins massaging you as well, using both his hands to relieve the tension in your left shoulder blade. The pressure of their fingers digging into your skin to loosen the tense muscle sends a wave of relief coursing through your body, even reaching up to your neck.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good," the words tumble out of your mouth, accompanied by a soft moan of pleasure. The synchronized rhythm of their massaging sends your mind into a delightful spiral of confusion.

Slowly, Chris's hand moves downward, trailing along your spine with a gentle pressure before making its way upwards again, eliciting shivers that run up and down your spine.

"Does this feel good?" Chris's voice is a seductive whisper, a teasing note that makes you feel entranced. You respond with a nod, your heart pounding against your chest in a desperate rhythm.

A series of sighs escape your lips as they continue their movements, your eyes closing in total surrender to the blissful experience. Unexpectedly, you feel Chris's lips on your neck, replacing his hands. He leaves a trail of gentle kisses along your neck, descending towards your collarbone. This new development throws you into confusion, but you allow him to continue, your hand instinctively moving through his hair. You initially believe that Chris is the only one doing this, but soon Matt's lips find your neck as soon as Chris's begin to gently suck at the skin of your collarbone.

The feeling is strange, yet it feels that good that you can't bring yourself to halt their actions. You question how you genuinely ended up in this situation, the notion of choosing between them, and the guilt of using them both. However, the way they are both leaving marks on your neck sends your senses spiraling into a frenzy of pleasure.

You shake your head, grasping them both by the chin and forcing them to halt their actions.

"Hold on, what are you guys doing?" You ask, your hands holding their faces by the jaw.

"Just helping you relax," Chris's reply is laced with sarcasm, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"No- seriously guys, what's going on?" Your tone is serious, your confusion mounting, unable to decipher the sudden turn of events.

"I think you're aware of what's going on." Chris retorts, his swollen, red lips drawing your attention.

"Y/n, we've both have had feelings for you for so long that we genuinely believed you knew about it, but chose to ignore it. Jordan's a dickhead, you're deserving of so much more. Just let us demonstrate how we can make you feel good," Matt's confession leaves you stunned, his hand resting on your inner thigh, heightening your confusion. They like you? How long has this been going on? How had you never noticed?

"Wait but- isn't this wrong? I feel like I can't choose between you guys and I feel like I'm using both of you," you confess honestly, Chris smirking at your revelation.

"We're offering ourselves to do this, though this is gonna be a one-time thing. I don't fuck with this shit. Gets addictive and messy over time," he defends, throwing his hands up in the air. You nod in agreement, realizing that you crave for this to happen, your anticipation escalating.

Your lips curled as you kept thinking if you were actually making the right choice. Was this right? Was it wrong? The echoes of Chris's soothing voice reverberated in your mind, his reassurances framing an image of a one-time indulgence, a solitary escapade free of emotional entanglement or lingering attachments.

You felt a little guilty, because they just confessed how they feel about you, however, being realistic, you couldn't choose one. You wanted both, and even if that was wrong in your head, however screw it.

Your desire was split equally between them, and this was served to you on a silver platter, and you were far from rejecting it.

Shaking off your thoughts, your attention returned to Chris. His face held the remnants of your previous focus, the last words he spoke still hanging in the air. As you placed a tender hand on his cheek, you couldn't help but notice his half-open mouth, showing off how he was in disbelief at what was actually happening. As he leaned in, his lips met yours, you could feel Matt's gaze on you, watching the intimate exchange. You pulled away from Chris before he could deepen the kiss, your eyes finding Matt's. Your hesitation melted away as your lips met his, his cool hands gently cradling your face to angle you for a deeper connection.

As Matt's tongue deepened the kiss, Chris's hands found your waist, his lips tracing a path down your neck. His gentle touches earn a moan from you, the sound muffled by Matt's kiss. Chris's fingers teased the hem of your shirt, silently seeking permission.

Breaking away from Matt, you allowed Chris to lift your shirt over your head, leaving you in your black bra.

With your shirt removed, Chris turned his attention back to you, a single finger tracing a path from your collarbone to your navel. "Well, look at this," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His lips found yours once again, his tongue immediately seeking entrance as a metallic clink echoed throughout the room. Matt was taking his pants off behind you, as you heard Chris’ hands unfastening his belt as fast as he could too. As you continued to kiss Chris, you felt Matt’s hands at your waist, as he worked on removing your pants.

A blush of embarrassment crept up your cheeks as you stood in your underwear between them for the first time. Sensing your discomfort, Chris broke away from your lips, his shirt joining the growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor, revealing his tousled hair and unshaven chest. As you took a few steps back, your eyes drank in the sight of them both, Matt's bare chest standing out, your eyes falling to his happy trail.

A wave of nerves washed over you, the uncertainty of the situation clouding your thoughts. Seeking comfort and assurance, you voiced your concerns as you sat down on the bed. "How does this work?" Your question was genuine, and curious. Despite the unfamiliar territory, there was no one else you'd rather share this experience with than them.

"Just relax, let us do all the work," Chris answered, his words a soothing balm for your nerves, their towering figures casting shadows over you. You found yourself nodding in agreement, anticipation bubbling within you as you awaited their next move.

"Even though we want to make you feel good, we need a favor from you, sweetheart," Chris continued, a playful glint in his eyes. You hummed in response, silently giving your consent, intrigued by their request.

"Do you think you could take two dicks at once, angel?" he asked, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as Matt leaned down to plant a soft kiss on your shoulder. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest at his question, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you nodded, your eyes wide and filled with anticipation. Matt let go of your shoulder, standing upright next to Chris.

Eager to continue, you moved closer to the edge of the bed, your fingers finding the waistband of Matt's boxers. Your actions were teasing, slow as you pulled him closer by them. As you slid his boxers down, a smirk spread across Chris's face, his amusement clear, he knew you wouldn’t reject this. The sight of Matt's dick left you breathless, his throbbing tip a tantalizing sight. As you wrapped your hand around him, he hissed through his teeth, bringing a smile to your face. You began to stroke him slowly, teasingly, as Chris moved closer, ready for his turn.

As you continued to stroke Matt, he gently lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze while your other hand continued its movements. Chris's gaze mirrored Matt's, a silent plea for you to do the same for him. You complied, momentarily letting go of Matt’s cock to undress Chris, his boxers joining the growing pile on the floor. Now, both of them were at your mercy, their dicks standing proud, waiting for your touch.

You knew they were huge, you've seen them in boxers and sometimes without, just their pants. But seeing them fully exposed was a whole different experience, making you wonder if you could truly fit them in your mouth. Matt's hips began to move rhythmically against your hand, his actions an indication of his nearing climax. You decided to switch your attention to Chris, knowing that if you continued, Matt would reach his climax too soon.

Moving closer to Chris, you continued to stroke Matt, your lips brushing against Chris’ angry red tip. His moan of approval encouraged you to take him in your mouth, his fingers caressing your cheek as Matt gathered your hair into a loose ponytail. You took more of Chris into your mouth, your throat stretching to fit him. His words of praise spurred you on, "Such a good girl, sucking me off so well. I bet you could fit all of me in, can't you, angel?"

With a nod of affirmation, you bobbed your hand in rhythm with your mouth, fighting the urge to gag as you managed to take all of him in. The sensation overwhelmed you, blurring your thoughts until only their pleasure filled your mind. You felt like his dick fucked your mind. Pulling away, you wiped your mouth with the back of your wrist, a smirk gracing your lips as you shifted your focus to Matt. Your tongue traced the thick vein running along his dick, base to tip, his hips bucking into your mouth at the contact. Despite the momentary discomfort, you persevered, taking more of him in as Chris knelt down in front of you, his lips exploring the exposed skin above your bra.

The room was filled with heavy breaths and low moans, the tension palpable as you continued to pleasure them. Your hands were busy, one stroking Chris, the other sucking Matt off. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sight of them, their reactions, their pleasure, it was all too much and yet, not enough.

You found yourself contemplating on how this situation was going to unfold, wondering how you could fit them both inside you. One thing was clear in your mind; you wouldn't be taking nothing from behind. Gently, you backed away to allow Matt and Chris to sit on the bed. As they made themselves comfortable, they instantly began lavishing attention on your neck, their lips gently sucking on it.

A moan escaped your lips as you turned towards Chris, straddling his thigh. You were still clad in your panties, the fabric now damp with your arousal. He responded by grasping your hips, guiding you on his exposed thigh.

"Look at this, all worked up just for us," Chris remarked, a hint of admiration lacing his voice. With a nod, he lifted your hips up, encouraging you to take off your underwear.

"Smart girl," he chuckled, his lips curling into a smirk.

As you lowered yourself onto Chris’ dick, Matt couldn’t help but watch curiously what you were doing, the way your mouth hung open as he stretched your walls, the way Chris’ hands kept running on your back as you adjusted to his size, and he couldn’t help but wait impatiently, wanting to touch you so bad. Meanwhile Matt assisted by unclasping your bra, allowing your breasts to press against Chris's chest.

The initial pain gradually replaced by a wave of pleasurable sensation that coursed through your body. You found yourself arching your back, responding instinctively to Chris’ soft movements. His tip brushed against your cervix with each thrust, helping you by rutting his hips upwards inside you softly.

"Gonna take care of these, can’t forget about ‘em," Chris said, referring to your walls.

Behind you, Matthew was preparing himself. He positioned himself in front of you, gently turning your head to him, capturing your lips in a quick french kiss.

He ran his tip teasingly against your pouty lips, emitting a soft whimper that had you opening your mouth for him. Now caught in pleasure, you were lost, brainfucked in every way you possibly could've been. Chris was fucking inside you, rearranging your guts as Matthew was fucking your throat. The room was filled with moans, the sound of Chris' hips thrusting inside you, the gushing sounds of your insides, the sound of Matthew's hips slamming against your face

"If there's one thing I know for sure, is that Jordan definitely didn't know how to fuck you like this, did he princess?" Matt said, his voice laced with breathless amusement.

“You got us for that, don’t worry sweetheart.” Chris looked up at you. You offered no words, your moan against Matt’s dick was your agreement. This earned a satisfied smirk from Chris.

"I'm so- so close," Chris admitted, panting heavily. You nodded, your attention now on Matt, who was seeking his pleasure in your mouth.

"Fuck- I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fucking cum!" Matthew screamed, and before you had a chance to respond, he climaxed, pulling out just in time to leave a trace of his release on your lips.

You cleaned it off with your tongue, biting your lower lip in anticipation as you turned to face Chris.

"You ready to cum, angel? You're clenching so well around me, so well sweetheart."

Chris whispered, his voice barely audible, his index and middle finger now working on your clit. Your nods were incessant, your eyes pleading for release.

"You've been so good for us, baby. Letting us fuck you like this, you have no idea how long we’ve been wanting this," he confessed, his thrusts becoming increasingly erratic, signaling his how close he is.

"Tell me you're on the pill, baby. Please, tell me you're on the pill." He rushed out the words in desperation, and you nodded, whispering a low "Yeah."

That was the cue he needed. His body tensed as he climaxed, his release filling you up.

"O-oh- oh, oh fuck, I'm cumming- cumming!" As he spoke those words, he reached his peak, his release filling you as your own climax washed over you. Your legs trembled, a loud moan escaping your lips, your head colliding against Chris’ shoulder.

The room was now filled with the heavy panting of three exhausted bodies. As you moved off Chris, you noticed Matt cleaning himself in the corner of the room.

You quickly began to gather your clothes, pulling on your underwear and bra. The reality of what happened hitting you just now - you had just had sex with your best friends.

As Chris moved to grab his own boxers, Matt turned to you, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Got somewhere to be?" He inquired, bending down to retrieve his boxers. Chris turned to see what you were doing.

"Trying to escape the crime scene or something?" You shook your head, giggling in response.

"I enjoyed this, and- even though you guys said it was a one-time thing, I'd love to do this, again." you admitted shyly.

Their faces lit up with proud smirks. "Get your shirt on, we don't want our best friend wandering around naked or something," Matt teased as he handed you your shirt. This prompted another chuckle from you.

"Let's all get dressed and have a talk about this. Don't worry, y/n. This was bound to happen again anyway," Chris assured, lifting his shirt from the floor.

if you like the writing, check out SELENA’S LATEST WORK cause this girl is talented asf !!

MY MASTERLIST

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[lost-romantique]

It really isn't hard to see why people ship Stolitz...

One thing I notice a lot of Anti-Stolitz shippers do is demonize one person over the other on what happened in Full Moon. Either Blitz is the most abusive asshole that was about to physically beat the shit out of Stolas, or Stolas is some rapist that got upset his victim didn't accept his grand love confession. Both of which are extremely bad takes.

If you blindly pick a side on who was right and who was wrong, than yeah it's no wonder you can't get aboard this ship and that's your own prerogative.

When people ask me why I ship Stolitz, I'll tell you why:

Because underneath all their resentment and anger they hold for one another, they both genuinely care so deeply about the other. Their interaction in the latter half of Apology Tour says as much:

Stolas, despite, having the right to completely blow off Blitz when he approached him. Chooses to instead hide Blitz's face as a way to protect him from being seen, just so they can have a chance to talk.

Despite how horribly Blitz treated him earlier in the day, Stolas still finds comfort just being held by him. Stolas still trusts Blitz, his little knight in shining armor to protect him.

Blitz is so gentle with Stolas throughout this interaction, when Stolas gets upset and falls dramatically off his lap, Blitz freaks out. The first thing Blitz does is curse at himself for fucking up, only to immediately get Stolas up on his feet and guide him to the couch.

Blitz does the right thing and allows Stolas to dance with BTB when he looks to him for permission because: Blitz understands that he wasn't in the right mindset to reciprocate the sort of affection Stolas was seeking at that moment, and because Blitz knew that Stolas deserved to have a night of fun.

BONUS:

This scene is so poignant and so powerful in my mind, that I honestly consider it one of the most beautifully heartbreaking moments of the show.

Blitz is forced to realize that by pushing people away, by building up all these walls that surround him, he essentially created this much carnage he never meant to.

To top it all off, this episode ends with Blitz letting Stolas go, even though he desperately doesn't want to.

(Someone give Blitz a hug please, my poor precious bean.)

I love the fact that these two men are genuinely what the other needs in their life.

A big reason as to why Stolas is in love with Blitz is because Blitz was the first person that introduced him to the concept of freedom. While Stolas just seemingly accepted his fate of dedicating his entire life to being a proper Prince of the Goetia.

Blitz wasn't like that, from the very beginning, Blitz was someone that dreamed of something bigger for himself, something better, something that usually an imp like himself could never hope to achieve. Blitz is a dreamer, and Stolas admired that.

As adults, Blitz taught Stolas that he had a right to pursue his own sense of freedom, that he didn't need to live a life trapped in the woes of being a Goetia in an abusive marriage.

Blitz, unknowingly, taught Stolas that he didn't need to be an owl trapped in a cage! Blitz taught Stolas that he had a right to pursue his own dreams, his own happiness.

If it wasn't for Blitz, Stolas would still be living that miserable life of conformity.

Even now, there's so much Stolas could learn from Blitz, and Stolas recognizes that: "Maybe there's somethin' here for us to glean. For you to teach, and me to try to learn."

What Stolas can do for Blitz, is be that pillar of support Blitz desperately needs in his life. Someone that will always be by his side when his self-hatred starts to take control.

Blitz needs someone in his life that can be there to remind him that he too has a right to be happy, that he too has a right to be loved.

And there is no person better for that job than Stolas, who *still* holds so much love for this little red lizard.

Stolas can be there to teach Blitz to be better for others, and be kinder to himself.

Also, low-key...

These two are so fucking hot together, like goddamn.

[sonamytrash]

Always Been Here

Warnings: some character spoilers if you havent read the manga, fluff, angst, smut, topics of grief and death, oral sex (F and M receiving), kitchen sex, vaginal sex, creampie, dirty talk, friends to lovers, aged up characters, mentions of Choso, reader x Yuta but reader has history with Choso. Gentle Dom!Yuta x reader.

What can I say? I want reader to have their cake and eat it. I love too many of the JJK men to pick just one, so here's a fic where you and Choso were together. Yuta's always pined for you, but has been a pillar of support as you cope with loss. Feelings develop into something more, lust overrides guilt.

"Can't sleep?" Yuta's voice startled you, his question cutting through the quiet of the night. You looked up from your teacup, the steam rising like a ghostly hand, reaching for the ceiling.

You nodded, your eyes still brimming with unshed tears. "Just thinking about... things," you murmured, not quite meeting his gaze. The kitchen was dimly lit, the only light coming from the moon peeking through the window, casting a pale glow on the countertops.

Yuta approached slowly, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor. He leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offered gently.

Guilt gnawed at you as you considered how your thoughts had been drifting towards Yuta more and more often lately. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the gentle touch of his hand on your shoulder when he offered comfort. It was wrong, wasn't it? To feel this way about someone else when Choso's memory was still so fresh? Even if some years had passed.

You took a deep breath, the scent of the chamomile tea filling your nostrils. "It's just... I miss him," you said finally, your voice cracking slightly. "Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday, and other times it feels like a lifetime ago."

Yuta nodded, "I know," he said softly. "But it's okay to feel that way. Choso was a big part of your life, and he'll always be with you." he said, his voice low and understanding despite the jealousy he felt deep down. He had been there the day you lost Choso, had seen the pain etched into your features that had never quite faded.

He remembered the way you looked at each other, the silent conversations that seemed to pass between you and Choso. The way your eyes would light up when he walked into the room, the way he made you laugh.

Yuta had always been there, in the background, watching the two of you. He had been so young then, not quite understanding the depth of the feelings he harbored. But as he grew older, and as the years painted their strokes of wisdom on his heart, he realized he had been in love with you for as long as he could remember.

He had hoped, in his quiet, unassuming way, that one day you would look at him the way you looked at Choso. That the warmth of your smile would be reserved for him alone, that your laughter would echo through the halls of his soul. He knew it was selfish.

Yuta had been just a teenager when he first saw you, your beauty and grace captivating him instantly. You were a couple of years older, your eyes sparkling with a mischief that spoke of worlds he hadn't yet explored. And then Choso came along, a man who stole your heart despite the short time you knew him, and the bond between you was unmistakable. Yuta could only watch your love for another from the sidelines.

He often wondered if you had ever noticed his furtive glances, his quiet admiration. The way his heart skipped a beat every time you were in the room, how he longed to be the one to make you smile, to hold you when you were sad. But you had eyes for Choso, and the love you shared was something he knew he could never replicate. And as much as it hurt him, he had learned to accept it.

Now, standing in the kitchen with you, he felt the weight of the years, of the unspoken love and loss. "You know," he began, his voice tentative, "Choso was a great man. He cared for you more than anything. And I think... I think he'd want you to be happy."

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with the reflection of the moonlight. "I know," you whispered.

Yuta nodded, his heart aching for you. He knew that the pain of losing someone never truly goes away, it just becomes a part of you, a shadow that lingers in the corner of your heart. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I'm here for you," he said, the words simple but filled with a depth of emotion that resonated in the quiet room.

"You should goto bed." He says softly. For a moment, you just stood there, sipping your tea and letting the warmth of his touch seep into your skin. It was comforting, like a blanket on a cold winter's night. Then, with a sigh, you set the cup down on the counter and met his gaze, your eyes searching his, ignoring his suggestion. "Yuta, do you ever wish things could have been different?"

He paused, his hand still on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the coolness of the night. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice even softer than before.

You took a deep breath, your heart racing. "I mean... us. Do you ever wish that you and I... that we could have been more than just friends?" The words hung in the air, delicate and fragile.

He took a step closer, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek. "I used to wish," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "that I could have been the one to make you happy from the start."

You felt a jolt of surprise, your heart fluttering like a trapped bird. "Yuta," you breathed, his name barely audible.

He stepped closer, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped the corner of your eye. "But recently I've wondered," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "if maybe, just maybe, the universe had a different plan for us."

You searched his eyes, the blue pools reflecting the turmoil of his soul. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks—Yuta had been in love with you all along. It was in the way he had always been there, the way he had taken care of you, the way he had stepped up when Choso was gone. It was in the way he looked at you now, with a love so deep and profound that it took your breath away.

"What are you saying?" you managed to ask, your voice shaky.

Yuta took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm saying that maybe it's time for us to explore what could be," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Choso is gone, and no one can ever replace him. But I'm here, I've always been here."

You felt a swirl of emotions, torn between the loyalty to Choso's memory and the newfound hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find happiness again. Yuta's touch was comforting, familiar, yet thrillingly different. He had been your rock, your confidant, your pillar of strength when you had felt like crumbling to the ground. And now, as his thumb traced the curve of your cheek, you felt something else, something that made your heart race and your stomach flutter.

He leaned in, closing the space between you, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. The only thing that existed was the two of you, the warmth of his hand, and the closeness of his body. You could feel his breath on your face, see the earnestness in his eyes.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, as if pulled by an invisible string, your lips met his. It was soft, tentative at first, but as you felt the warmth of his mouth, the kiss grew deeper, more insistent.

Yuta's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as if he could absorb your very essence. His kiss was a promise, a gentle reminder that he had been waiting for you, that he would always be there to catch you when you fell. You melted into his embrace, your body responding to his touch in a way that was both new and strangely familiar.

The kiss grew more urgent as the seconds ticked by, the ache in your heart slowly morphing into a different kind of longing. You felt alive again, a spark igniting within you that had been buried under the weight of your grief. Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer.

You tasted the sweetness of his lips, a flavour that was uniquely his, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His other hands found their way to your waist, his thumb tracing small circles that made you want to lean into him even more.

The intensity grew, the line between comfort and desire blurring with every passing moment. Your own hands roamed down to his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, the heat of his skin.

Your breath grew ragged, your body responding instinctively to his touch as you felt the wetness inbetween your legs.

With a gentle yet firm pressure, he pinned you to the counter, his body pressing against yours, leaving no room for doubt. His kiss grew more demanding, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth as if he were trying to claim you as his own. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shirt, holding him to you as if you were afraid he might vanish like a mirage in the desert heat.

The countertop dug into your back, but you barely noticed, lost in the sensation of his hands roaming your body, reawakening feelings that had lain dormant for so long. His grip tightened on your hip, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin just above your waistband, sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. You arched into him, the warmth of his palm a brand against your skin.

Yuta groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest and straight to your core. His hand slid up your top, cupping your breast, his thumb circling your nipple until it was a hard peak beneath his touch. You gasped, breaking the kiss to catch your breath, and he took the opportunity to whisper in your ear, his voice thick with need. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Do you have any idea how much I've wanted this?"

You leaned into him, your voice a sultry whisper. "Tell me," you demanded, your eyes dark with desire. "Tell me all the dirty little things you've thought about doing to me."

Yuta's eyes smouldered as he took a step closer, his hand sliding down to palm your ass, pulling you against him. "I've imagined peeling off your clothes," he murmured, as your top is swiftly discarded leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air, his breath hot against your neck, "and exploring every inch of your body with my mouth."

You moaned, his words sending a wave of heat through you. "Tell me more," you breathed, your hand sliding down to grip his hardened cock through his pants.

"I've thought about fucking you," he said bluntly, his voice low and needy. "Bending you over this very counter and filling you up until you scream my name."

Your cheeks flushed, the words sending a delicious thrill through your body. You'd never heard Yuta talk like this before, and it was a stark contrast to the gentle, almost shy young man you knew. "And what else?" you prompted, your voice a seductive purr.

He leaned in, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "I've thought about you on your knees," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire, "your mouth around my cock."

You shivered, the thought of his hardness in your mouth making your pussy clench with anticipation. Your hand began to move rhythmically against him, feeling his cock throb in response.

Yuta's hand slid down to the hem of your shorts, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your thigh before dipping under the fabric. You gasped as his fingers found you wet, slipping easily through your folds. His eyes locked onto yours, searching for permission. You nodded, your own hand moving to the button of his pants, your desire matching his.

He pulled back just enough to let you unbutton and unzip him, his cock springing free, thick and hard. You took it in your hand, feeling the heat of him. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as you began to stroke him, your hand moving in slow, measured motions.

Yuta's hand was still between your legs, his fingers dancing over your clit before sliding down to slip inside you. You gasped, your hips jerking forward to meet his touch. His fingers moved in a way that was both familiar and new, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You could feel your arousal coating his hand, making his movements slick and easy.

You stroked him in return, marveling at the feel of his velvety skin, the way his cock throbbed in your hand.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, as his fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made you moan. The sound filled the room, echoing off the walls, mixing with the sound of your ragged breaths.

Yuta's thumb found your clit, pressing down in firm, slow circles that had you bucking against his hand. The sensation was almost too much to bear, the pleasure building like a crescendo in your core. You tightened your grip on his cock, stroking him faster, feeling him swell in your hand.

You could feel your orgasm approaching, the tension coiling in your stomach like a spring ready to snap. Yuta's eyes searched yours, reading the signs, and with a growl, he lifted you onto the counter, spreading your legs wide. His hand never left your pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you with a steadfast rhythm that had you teetering on the edge.

He kissed you again, stifling your moans, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hand, and you could feel your climax building, a wave ready to crash. "I'm going to make you cum," he murmured against your lips, and you could only nod, your eyes half-lidded with desire.

Yuta's hand worked faster, his thumb pressing harder, and with a strangled cry, you shattered, your body convulsing around his hand. He didn't stop, though, his touch gentle yet firm, riding out the waves of your pleasure until you were limp and panting in his arms.

You looked up at him, your eyes hazy with lust and vulnerability. He leaned in, kissing you softly, a gentle reminder that this was just the beginning. He slid his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean, savouring the taste of you.

With a groan, Yuta stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours as he tugged off his shirt, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and abs. The moonlight cast shadows across his body, highlighting the strength and power he had honed over the years. You couldn't help but stare, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your climax.

But as he reached for you again, you placed a hand on his chest, halting him. "No," you murmured, your voice still thick with need. "Let me."

You slid off the counter and dropped to your knees before him. Yuta's eyes widened in surprise and arousal as you took his cock in your hand again, stroking it with a newfound confidence.

You leaned in, your hair cascading around your face like a veil, and took him into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the head, tasting the saltiness of his precum. He groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the counter for support as you took him deeper, the muscles in your cheeks hollowing with the effort.

The room was filled with the sounds of your wet, hungry sucks and his muffled moans of pleasure. Yuta's eyes rolled back in his head, his body trembling with the sensation of your mouth around him. He had fantasized about this moment for so long, but the reality was so much more intense than anything he could have imagined.

Your hand stroked his shaft in time with your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip, teasing the slit before taking him deep again. His cock was hot and hard in your mouth, and you could feel his pulse through it.

Yuta's hands found their way into your hair, guiding you but not forcing. He was careful, respectful, even in his passion. You could feel the tension building in him, his breaths coming in harsh gasps. You knew he was close, and the thought of making him cum like this, of being the one to give him such pleasure, had your own arousal spiking again.

Your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking in time with your mouth. You could feel him swell even more, his hips beginning to thrust slightly, matching the rhythm of your hand and mouth. You took him deeper, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and he let out a strangled groan.

Yuta's hands tightened in your hair, his eyes never leaving yours, watching the way your eyes watered slightly with the effort. His breath grew ragged, his abs tensing with every stroke of your tongue.

"You're going to make me cum." He groaned.

You hummed in response, the vibration of your voice sending a shiver down his spine. You felt empowered, in control of his pleasure, and it was intoxicating. You quickened your pace, your cheeks hollowing as you took him deeper, the muscles in your throat working to accommodate his size.

Yuta's hips jerked forward slightly, his control slipping as the pressure grew. "I'm going to... fuck," he stuttered, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to hold back. But you didn't relent, your mouth working him, eager to taste his load.

With a final, desperate groan, he let go, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he came, filling it with his warm, salty essence. You swallowed, the taste of him both foreign and intoxicating. He gripped the counter tightly, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm, his breaths coming in harsh pants.

You pulled back, licking hom clean before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, a satisfied smile playing on your lips.

Yuta's eyes meet yours with a look of pure amazement as he breathes your name, his voice shaky with aftershocks of pleasure.

You stood up, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, your own heart racing from the intensity of the moment. "Let's go to bed," you murmured, your voice a sultry whisper.

But Yuta was beyond the point of patience. "No," he said, his voice thick with need. "I can't wait that long." Before you could react, he lifted you with surprising strength, setting you back on the countertop with a gentle thud. You gasped, your hands bracing against the cold marble.

With a hunger that was palpable in the air, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down your legs. Your heart raced as the cool air kissed your wet pussy, making your clit throb with anticipation. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he discarded your shorts on the floor, leaving you bare and exposed.

Yuta's gaze was intense, his desire for you written in every line of his body. He spread your legs wider, his eyes dropping to the juncture of your thighs. You could see his chest heaving, his muscles tight with the effort of holding back. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

Without another word, he lowered his head, his tongue darting out to trace the slit of your pussy. You gasped, your legs trembling, as he tasted you properly. His touch was gentle, exploratory, as if he was worshipping a deity he had longed for but never dared to approach. You felt your body respond, your clit swelling with need as he licked and kissed your folds.

Yuta's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted on you, his tongue delving deep, stroking your inner walls, before returning to your clit to flick and tease it mercilessly. You could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, your breath coming in ragged gasps. It had been so long, the sensation was exquisite, his mouth on your most sensitive parts setting your nerves alight.

As his tongue danced against your clit, his fingers slid back inside you, filling you up, stretching you out. You moaned, the sound echoing through the kitchen, your body arching off the counter. He was relentless, his mouth working in tandem with his hand, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

The sensations grew more intense, each stroke of his tongue sending a bolt of pleasure through you. You could feel your orgasm building, a coil of heat in your lower belly, tightening with every flick of his tongue. "Yuta," you gasped, your voice a desperate plea.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with need. "Cum for me again, please" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Let me hear you."

You nodded, unable to form words as the pressure grew. His tongue swirled around your clit, his fingers curling inside you, and you felt your body tense, poised on the edge of something incredible. The orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clenching around his fingers, your juices coating his mouth. He drank you in, groaning with pleasure as he felt you shudder beneath his touch.

Yuta pulled back once your orgasm ebbed away, his chin glistening with your arousal, his eyes never leaving yours. You watched as he stood, his cock once again fully erect, a testament to his insatiable desire for you.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, his voice low and guttural.

Your eyes widened as he spoke, the dirty words a stark contrast to his usually gentle demeanor. "Y-Yuta," you stuttered, your body still pulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He stepped closer, his erection nudging against your thigh. "I want to be inside you," he said, his voice gruff with need. "I want to feel you around my cock."

Your cheeks flushed with desire, your body more than ready for what he offered. Yuta positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance. He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a fierce kiss as he pushed inside you.

You gasped, the feeling of him filling you up, stretching you, was overwhelming. It had been so long since you felt this connection with someone, and the way he claimed you was both terrifying and exhilarating. His movements were slow and deliberate at first, giving you time to adjust to his size.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest. His hands gripped your hips, his movements growing more urgent as he found his rhythm.

You could feel every inch of him, the way he filled you so completely, the way his cock slid in and out of you with a slickness that spoke of your shared desire. Your body responded, your pussy clenching around him, urging him on.

"Fuck me harder, don't hold back." you breathed into his ear, the words coming out as a desperate plea. Yuta almost whimpered as his grip tightened on your hips, his strokes becoming more forceful, more demanding. You met him thrust for thrust, your body moving in perfect sync with his, the rhythm of your fucking a symphony of need and want.

He growled, the sound animalistic and raw, as he drove into you, his hips slamming against your ass. "You're so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "So wet for me."

You couldn't help the mewl that escaped your lips as he bottomed out, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

"Fuck, Yuta," you gasped, your voice breathless. "You feel so good."

"Yeah?" he groaned, his hips pistoning into you with a ferocity that made the countertop shake. "You like that? You take my cock so well, I always knew you would." He replies breathlessly.

You threw your head back, what a filthy young man, the pleasure of his thick cock filling you completely washing over you in waves. Your nails dug into his back, leaving little half-moons of pain that only served to heighten the sensations coursing through your body.

Yuta's breath was hot and heavy against your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, your nipples tight and aching for attention. You reached up, cupping them in your hands, pinching and rolling them until the sensation became too much. "Yutaa," you moaned again, your voice strained with pleasure.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard. You arched off the counter, the dual sensation of his teeth and tongue on your sensitive flesh sending bolts of pleasure straight to your core. His hand slipped down to your clit, his thumb rubbing it in circles as he continued to fuck you with a relentless rhythm.

The pressure grew again, your body tightening around him as you approached climax. You could feel his strokes becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "I'm going to cum," you panted, your voice barely recognizable.

Yuta's eyes met yours, a wild hunger in their depths. "Cum with me," he growled, his thumb pressing down on your clit with a firmness that made your toes curl.

The tension grew unbearable, the room spinning as your orgasm approached. Your pussy spasmed around his cock, your body desperate for release. And then it hit you, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole your breath. You screamed his name, your body shaking with the force of it, your pussy clenching down on him as you came hard.

Yuta watched you with hooded eyes, his own pleasure mirrored in the tightening of his jaw and the flex of his muscles. He felt your warmth spurt around his cock, your walls pulsing in a way that was almost painfully good.

With a final, powerful thrust, he gave in to his own climax, burying himself to the hilt and releasing his seed deep inside you. The warmth of his cum filled you, mixing with your own juices and making you feel complete in a way you hadn't in years.

He held you there, his cock still pulsing, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tight as the world swam back into focus.

Yuta leaned in, kissing you softly, the taste of your passion still lingering on his lips. "Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, a content smile playing on your lips. "More than okay," you whispered, your eyes still glazed with the intensity of the moment.

He pulled out of you slowly, the feeling of his cock leaving your body making you whimper. He set you down gently, his arms still around you, keeping you steady. You could feel his cum dripping down your thighs, a physical reminder of the passion you had just shared.

Yuta took a step back, his chest heaving with exertion. He reached for his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow. You watched him, feeling a strange mix of emotions. It had been years since you had felt this alive, this desired.

"We should go to bed," you murmured. He raises an eyebrow, "We?" He asks with a playful smile. You roll your eyes.

"Yes, 'we' as in us."

[purble-turble]

actually, you know what would be interesting and funny you brought up the whole rebounding thing but like... what if that situation happens completely by the others (including Redson and his echo chamber friends) jumping to conclusions and planting that seed of an idea in the two heads. Mk is naturally very affectionate, physical touch is a big part of his love language. he grew up alongside mei who was just as physical and no one actually encouraged them not to be. snuggling/hugging/kissing(like quick head and cheek pecks) your homies is very normalized. he's also dealing with family and friend issues because things are really tense and he's feeling everything at a 10 right know. its not just Red he can't talk too, he can even talk to Mei as comfortably and maybe lately feels like she avoiding him in favor of prioritizing Red.

Nezha. that boy is just starved of affection both verbal and physical. period. yeah its a bit overwhelming and confusing for him at first but after he gets used to mk's love language it's like 'Oh, hey this is really nice...huh...can i do this too?' and the answer was yes of course! he slowly starts implementing little touches here and there, initiating the hugs. it's still a bit awkward for him so he ends up utilizing other forms of love language, but the effort is there and mk is ecstatic. but it starts to make the other side-eye the situation. everyone (especially tang) was on board at first cause like....its a legendary celestial warrior, he's shown to be reliable and mature and so on. surly this could only be a good influence for mk. and yeah at first they only see good things, mk seems to get a little better over time, he's even getting extra exercise training like meditation, yoga/Tai chi. stuff that is supposed to support mental and physical wellness so of course Nezha must be good! Pigsy is the first to notice that maybe there starting to get a little too close, starts drawing parallels to how mk acted with Red. he brings it up with the others. tang isn't bothered and mei isn't either at first but now that idea is in her head, and it grows over time and now shes getting suspisiou as pigsy. and maybe a little pissed. nezha and mk of course havn'ty actually thought of each other like that, there just friends for god sake! he hasn't done anything with nezha that hes already done with mei. but mk gets confronted eventually and of course, tells Nezha after the fact. they both agree everyone's being ridiculous, they are just really close friends! but internally there both secretly like '....but what if?....' Red's group of friends are just shit starters, gold medalists when it comes to jumping to conclusions, especially regarding mk. they see monkey boy chatting up and getting close with another prince and run wild with ideas they of course share with Red. they see them being physically affectionate or hear something even vaguely suggestive they are not gonna look or ask for context. hell you can give them the full context they still cherry-pick it apart like the Christian bible. anything to make Mk look as horrible as they believe he is.

Yooooo I am vibrating in my seat right now i fuckin loooove this!! 💖

You’re so right about MK’s fam thinking that Nezha will be a good influence on him at the start of things.. they have no idea that Nezha approves of the attempted sacrifice MK made at the pillar. I mean, it’s a sore spot for all of them, so it’s likely just not brought up in casual settings. The first time they catch a glimpse of it is probably a tense moment where someone tried to point out to MK that he was taking on too much again and exhausting himself.. but instead of getting a bit sheepish saying he’ll take better care of himself like he might have done before, he stands firm and is like ‘No, I can handle this! These are my problems and I’m going to handle them.’ And Nezha is spotted in the background with a lil smile and an agreeing nod and… ok. That’s weird.

As for the romantic aspect of it, them being a little oblivious about their budding romantic feelings at first and having to have it pointed out by the others how close they’ve gotten is sooooo good! I’m always a sucker for oblivious MK, but I can fully see Nezha being exactly like that too.

Mei for sure shares with Prince Red that she thinks MK has gotten weirdly close to Nezha lately.. and Red has already noticed that MK has been coming by to try to win him back less and less… could it be he’s really been replaced that easily? It’s… kind of hard to think MK would move on so quickly, especially because he is probably still struggling with it. Maybe he even goes to check it out for himself and spots MK and Nezha out together on a stroll. And look, MK is holding hands with the lotus prince and… oh. kisses his cheek… that’s… pretty hard to not interpret as romantic.

Even if Red knows MK and a little niggling doubt in the back of his mind can be like ‘well, he’s like that with Mei too so maybe???’ If he’s already primed to be looking for it by Mei (and also his own already hurt feelings) then this would be pretty clear confirmation of his fear that MK has moved on and is romantically involved with Nezha now. Also yeah it for sure doesn’t help that all Prince Red’s friends are gonna add fuel to this fire once he tells them about it, just like you said. They never thought MK was good enough for Red, so why would they put it past him to move on from him really fast too?

Haha, anyway, once MK’s fam start asking more pointed questions about their relationship, MK and Nezha might even have a frank discussion about it. They’re more open with each other than they are with anybody else, after all, since there’s no fear of judgement or moralizing from sharing how they actually feel. In any case, even if they can’t manage to have the straight up discussion, the displays of affection definitely get more frequent on both ends and things progress that way regardless~

[arinzu]

The only sun i'll ever need...

Summary : "I don’t know what I’d do without you. (Reader), I love you.." Rin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. You paused, unsure how to reply. "I thought you were done with me... that you hated me?"

Part 1/ Part 2 (viewing now)/ part 3 (coming soon)

Req : Rin Itoshi x f!reader with the trope "he probably hates me" x "i love you so much"

Featuring : Itoshi Rin, Mentions of other bllk players.

Warnings : cyber bullying, insecure reader, mention of drugs, attempt of self harm, etc etc... Rin also has his own struggles (note : I am not a professional nor have experience this irl)

Tropes : "he probably hates me" x "i love you so much", man vs themselves

Total words : 1077 words

Laying down once again with your head held low, you tried sleeping as you assume he went back to sleep. Tossing and turning, the words— the threats, kept haunting you while you tried to sleep.

Sighing a little, you felt a squeeze in your torso. You didn't even notice that Rin— was still awake.

"(reader)... Go to sleep, it's unhealthy to stay up late."

You hesitate, unsure what to do. The sinking feeling about telling him what's wrong was becoming bigger. But alas, you decided against it, not wanting to stress him more with your troubles.

It wasn't his fault that his fans are attacking you. He isn't even active on social media much. Plus his nonchalant attitude didn't help his case much, after all Itoshi Rin was still Itoshi Rin even in his relationships.

Letting a sigh, you murmur about going downstairs and having a glass of water.

You stood up— not before hearing him with his sluggish tone say "(reader) if something is wrong, talk to me".

It was simple, but it really meant something to you. Having rin by your side, he was your pillar and support.

But

you weren't ready to tell him. You were too— afraid, it wasn't like you didn't trust him.

You took a reluctant step and replied "... No worries, I'm fine." and slowly walked to the door as Rin froze.

...

RIN'S POV

He froze, looking at the back of (reader) slowly drifting away. He's unsure of what to do, he didn't want you to think he's lukewarm. He didn't want you to leave him, but your actions these past few days has been killing him.

Did he messed up?

Did he do something wrong?

Are you getting bored of him...?

You were his first love, first relationship, first everything.

Football has been rough these days, always having to demand him to play overseas. So time and time again, he has to leave Japan to go to some other country and beat their lukewarm team.

All his life he had only two people on his mind

1. Itoshi Sae

2. Isagi Yoichi

But you came along... And he can't help but admit it, you're special to him—extremely special. You're the reason he feels warmth in his heart, he will never say it out loud though.

And now you seem to keep being distant to him—ever since your relationship was revealed.

Wait

Wait

Did you not want your relationship to go online? Were you planning to break up with him?

He had so many questions and had no answer to any. Tossing and turning in bed, he didn't wanna lose you— he didn't wanna let go.

Creek

The door slowly opened and you entered.

You were lost in your own thoughts, barely glancing at him when you entered. Your eyes lost the shine it was held, but for whatever reason you still hated to admit you were having problems.

Earlier you wanted to check your phone to know what time was it.

Big mistake

You couldn't help but read the dozen notifications that appear on your lock screen— reading each text one by one.

"She should smile more"

"Ew... Look at those hips dips"

"Rin's way out of her league"

"____ is better"

Next thing you knew you were sobbing on the kitchen counter. You couldn't control it. Being in for a good while, looking at your phone once again— it was late...

It wasn't a good idea.

It really wasn't.

But you couldn't help yourself, you weren't in your right mind. Maybe if you could make it happen, if you were pretty enough, they would stop— you could appreciate yourself.

It was a long pause, your tears soon dried up, but it seems your other half decided they'll listen. You were overwhelmed that you body went on autopilot

Make yourself into the prettiest girl.

To feel worthy of your lover, Rin.

Gliding your fingers along the marble countertop, each part of you breaking over and over again. The words, the insults hovering around you like a vice. You were no longer in control.

Walking towards the cabinet— is this what you really wanted? To be something you're not. You weren't thinking straight anymore, your own body, your mind following itself.

What did Rin see in you anyways? You weren't even good enough like those models you see. You were mediocre.

You could eat a bottle of happy pills— anti-depressant from how worse you feel.

They were right.

Rin deserve someone better.

You are just some mediocre girl in his life.

Opening the cabinet, days of harassment piling up. Were you overreacting? You don't know. ‘Maybe I should stop’ but your body wasn't listening to you anymore.

You impulsively grabbed the knife inside. You were just a spectator to what was about to happen, didn't you want this? You waited for the impact.

The knife fell down as it echoed, you couldn't do it. You couldn't even do what you wanted? Your pathetic.

Getting yourself together you went upstairs towards yours and rin's bedroom.

.

And here you are now, timidly walking to the bed where Rin lays. You couldn't look at him, not with how you thought you were unworthy of him.

Laying down facing away from him, you wanted to cry again— you couldn't forget the insults they said.

‘How about a good night's rest’

You woke up, with how few hours of sleep you had, and absolutely did NOT feel any better. You still remember last night as clear as day, you wanted to go back to sleep thinking you'll forget it.

But a tug at your waist woke you up instantly— was that Rin?

“R-rinnn...?” you blurted out “... I thought you had practice?” you question.

“n..no it's my break, remember?” he answered

Oops you forgot. With all that was happening you didn't notice

“oh. I'm sorry! I must have forgotten”

Rin on the outside seemed stoic, studying you carefully— but internally he was panicking ‘Huh, You've forgotten? You never forget these types of things...’

“Remember? This was the day we were supposed to go on a date!”

This managed to lit up your memory.

“Oh! The one date with the aquarium?"

“Yeah, have it rented out and everything.”

This made you blush “Aw! You really shouldn't have” I mean you weren't lying, you really didn't deserve this.

He gave a small smile “You should take a shower, I'll go set everything up”

“Yup” you answered, agreeing, and you got up from bed. Stretching your limbs.

AYYY ITS ANOTHER DAMN TBC😣

I'm so so sorry for the wait, ofc I was under a lot of pressure since it was my bd and a class reunion on the date of deadlines, but guess what??? Did another part, it was supposed to be the finale now but ykyk can't do that, so I deeply apologize for the wait and another part, trust me I hate parts too! But dw I'll post it somewhere this month.

[luveline]

kbd universe is my absolute favorite 🤩 maybe a request for when the new baby is home and she’s going through a colicky phase and won’t sleep and reader and steve are super stressed and doubting if they can do this and avery overhears and reassured them they’re the best parents? (srry if this is too specific, any direction you go will be amazing!!)

ty babe ♡ kisses before dinner au

Avery Harrington wakes up with her little sister's hand over her nose. She snorts in surprise, bed springs creaking formidably as she dislodges the small hand and rolls away from her added heat.

Bethie, the younger sister in question, has been sneaking into Avery's bed at night to put distance between them and the nonstop crying of the new baby. The baby, Avery notices, seems to be crying right now from downstairs. 

She lets her curiosity get the better of her. Slipping out of bed, she makes sure to cover Bethie with the blankets again before she leaves just like their dad does, imitating Steve's gentle cheek touch before creeping away. You and dad finally got rid of the baby gates (though they've been on and off over the years, you've retired them until the youngest learns to crawl), making her journey down a secret one. 

She can hear two voices at once just under the rattling baby cries. Steve's louder and yours softer, both speaking with the love Avery's come to expect. 

"Maybe try holding her legs higher," you suggest. 

"I think I've held her every way a baby can be held without hanging her upside down." 

"I know, honey." You're always tired lately, your voice hoarse with fatigue. "I can have her again. Pass her over." 

You get sweet when you're tired. Her dad gets cranky. He told Avery once that that's why you're good together, but Avery knows you can be just as cranky after a while. 

Avery pauses in the door of the living room. You're sitting on the farthest seat of the leather couch while Steve's standing, passing the baby to you carefully. She cries and cries no matter how much caution he shows. 

"What if she never stops?" Steve asks. 

"She will. She'll get too tired to keep going." 

"I heard about this baby who had his heart in the wrong place." 

"Steve. Honey, sit down. You're tired." 

"I can't sleep while she's crying like that. No point." 

Avery frowns as the conversation between you both devolves. She doesn't want to make things worse by showing you that she's awake, watching and waiting in the dark as you pat the baby's back desperately, and Steve's eyes get glassy. 

Avery has seen her dad cry loads of times. At the movies, the radio, sad stories. Steve cried when she broke her pinky finger, and cried again when they took the cast off. Avery isn't sure she's seen him get upset over something like this. 

He whispers something. You whisper back, trying to hold his hand in the dark, but you stop when he says, "What if we can't do this?" 

"Steve, we have to. This is it. And we want to, so… I don't know." You sound dejected yourself, looking down at the baby where she refuses to take a bottle hopelessly. "Maybe we can't do it." 

Avery can't know that neither of you truly feel this way, that you're both tired enough to catastrophize. She just watches her dad, an unshakable pillar of support, start to waver, and she knows you've got it wrong. 

"Daddy?" she asks. 

Steve rubs his eyes with a rough hand. "Ave?" he asks, plastering a meek smile over his face. He's one of the handsome dad's, everybody says so, probably because he's always smiling. 

"Sorry, did the baby wake you up?" you ask. 

Avery grins as Steve opens his arms and runs into them. Too tired to lift her up, Steve stays crouched for the hug, but eventually sits on the floor, pulling Avery into his lap. Closer, Avery cringes at the baby and her screaming. 

"Beth smushed my nose," she says. 

Steve turns her face to check it over. "You look okay. Does it hurt?" He squeezes her cheeks into a smile. 

"No," she laughs. 

Steve gives her another hug. "Well, that's good." 

He just cuddles her. Avery melts into his touch, the sound of the baby's cries feeling further away, Steve's hand covering one of her ears. 

"Sorry," he says into her hair. "I know it's not fair. Baby's just figuring out what she needs." 

"You said you can't do it." 

Baby shrieks. Steve pulls Avery's head back. "What?" 

"You and mom." Avery turns to look at you. You're frowning, bobbing the baby against your chest. "You said we can't do it." 

"We were being silly," Steve says. 

"We're tired," you agree.

"And your sister won't stop crying, we're worried she's not well, and it's really tiring, Ave, but we weren't thinking straight. Of course we can do it," Steve says breezily. 

"Yes, you can. You're the best mom and dad ever. Ever ever!" she says severely. "You can do everything, I know you can do it. Maybe I can have her and you guys can sleep and then tomorrow you'll be ready again." 

You and Steve laugh at the same time, chuckles that warm her heart, though she knows she's being shot down. "That's really nice of you, but that's okay. Me and mom got this," Steve says, brushing the back of his finger down her cheek.

Avery preens at the attention, back going lax in his arm. Steve leans down to hug her, his chin digging into her shoulder, heavy with fatigue. She doesn't tell him to move. 

It's a miracle that the baby seems to run out of steam not long after, marked by your happy sigh, "Aw, good girl. You're hungry, I knew it. You just don't like these bottle nibs." 

"See? I told you you could do it," Avery says.

You offer her a grateful, adoring smile. "You're my smart girl, that's why." You bop the baby on the nose with the tip of your finger. "And you're my tired girl." 

"What about me?" Steve asks. 

"You're my pillow, handsome. Come up here, I need to lean on you. Ave, you can be my blanket." 

[httpiastri]

PERFECTLY FINE – CHAPTER FOUR (MONACO)

genre: fluff, angst, etc.

warnings: heartbreak as usual

word count: 5.3k (like, exactly 5.3k. on the word. 😭)

author's note: it feels so wrong to say that im posting this to celebrate ollie's graduation to f1 because... this is such a sad chapter.... pain pain pain for everyone involved (especially ollie) 💔 but yay happy ollie f1 announcement day!!! hope you're all doing well & hope you enjoy <3 (also i wrote a lot of this chapter back in february? and proofreading it today nearly brought me to tears bcs of ollie-)

series masterlist

the career of a racing driver is a roller coaster for everyone involved.

if your name is max verstappen, then you've got more ups than most others. that roller coaster seems pretty fun.

but if your name is y/n harper, then your roller coaster isn't as fun these days. but if there’s ever a place to turn things around, it's monaco.

even just the track walk is enough to bring up your mood after a bad week like last. walking along the monegasque streets, almost getting hit by cars as you sign autographs and take pictures with fans... it's an experience you just can't find anywhere else.

coincidentally enough, ollie is done with the track walk just as you are, which means that the two of you can make your way back to the f2 paddock together. your boyfriend has always loved monaco – he pretty much doesn't ever shut up about the track and it's history unless you tape his mouth shut when you're in the country. that's why it's surprising that he not only brings up another subject, but also that he chooses a quite sensitive one – your father.

"he's going to be here this weekend, right?" ollie asks, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. he seemingly doesn't quite understand just how tense things are with your dad yet. to be fair, it isn't really his fault, since you haven't told him and since he isn't a mind-reader. but still, something in your chest tightens at the way ollie brings him up so casually.

you nod. "you know how much he adores monaco," you say with a sigh, before putting on your best impression of your dad. "the most iconic track ever, the only track to ever... blah blah blah."

having your dad along for races was always a given when you were younger. he was your best helmet carrier, your number-one supporter, and the first person you went to when celebrating or complaining.

but somewhere along the years, having him around started to become more problematic and anxiety-inducing. his support turned into criticism, and it became far more common for him to tell you to "go apologize to the engineers and ask them what you should do to perform better tomorrow" rather than give you any constructive feedback of his own.

at first, it was rough; the man who had always been your pillar to lean on, your main source of support, your safe haven, was seemingly gone. you continued to perform well, though you weren't sure if that was because you wanted to make him proud or if you were terrified of making him disappointed.

"let's have dinner with him someday, then," ollie suggests as the two of you come to a stop right outside the prema garage for the weekend. "maybe sunday, if we have things to celebrate?"

"let's hope so."

pepe calls your name once, twice, thrice, before he resorts to shaking your shoulder gently. his touch, along with the sound of the spaniard's raspy laughter, makes you finally wake from your slumber. you blink up at him, eyes droopy and mind empty. "what?"

"why are you sleeping?" pepe asks, shaking his head. "quali starts in... about an hour."

you begin to slowly push yourself up from the couch you've been lying on, yawning loudly. "i was supposed to just rest my eyes," you start, rubbing your eyes with your hands. "i didn't mean to fall asleep..."

"did you not sleep well last night? were you up late again?" pepe asks as he sits down next to you, watching you stretch your arms over your head with yet another yawn.

what are you supposed to say? yes, i was up until four am because i couldn't find any peace of mind at all? i've been dreading every second of this weekend because i never know when my dad will appear from around the corner? i'm scared he's going to be so mad over my performances that he disowns me?

pepe may know a lot of what's going on with your father, but he doesn't need to know this much.

you did, in fact, meet him earlier today, right before practice – if greeting him briefly and then instantly bolting in the opposite direction counts as a "meeting" – but since then, he's been nowhere to be seen. not even around dino or ollie when you last saw the two of them.

pepe takes your silence as an answer in itself, and he lets out a hum. "well, i'm quite nervous myself," he says frankly, pulling a hand through his hair.

"you did so well here last year, though." you nudge his shoulder with yours. "you'll be great again, i'm sure of it."

"dinner with the prince on sunday? both of us?"

you nod, shooting your friend a smile. "of course." but despite how much you wish it would become a reality, there's not even the slightest trace of faith in you. the only thing you can think about is how likely it is for this round to go in the same footsteps as your recent ones.

a great attitude to bring into a race weekend.

p9.

a top ten placement, sure. second in the reverse grid, sure. but other than that, there's not much positive in it. it's a step in the right direction, but in some way, it feels like a step that's way too short.

the sprint race starts with an incident right by you on the track, which is extremely unlucky for you since you get pretty much blocked and have nowhere to go. after being passed by several cars, the safety car finally comes out, and you find yourself in p7.

of course your father's words echo in your head all the way through the safety car period. "starting p2 means a free podium," he had told you when he stopped by right before you were getting into your car. "don't mess it up."

you're so focused on that expression on his face, the way he tilted his chin up and his head slightly to the side as he spoke, and the way it felt like your heart stopped beating for a few seconds, that you don't even realize that your engineer has told you about the safety car being about to end. you don't even acknowledge the fact that the race leader has taken off, nor that the rest of the field starts pushing again before it's too late.

some blue car tries to overtake you on the outside, and with another car on your inside you have no chance of giving either of them space – and you manage to crash into them both. not only did you ruin your own race, but also two other drivers'.

and of course, one of the cars buried into the wall next to yours is a silver hitech with a big number 17 on it.

climbing out of your car, you can hear several voices calling out for all three of you from the grandstand nearby, and you consider throwing them a wave as you climb through the metal fence to get off the track. but then, you hear one voice that's more familiar – one that belongs to the last person you want to talk to right now. "are you alright?"

you almost don't look at him, but the little glance you shoot him is enough to take in every single bit of disappointment in his eyes. what are the odds that your dad was sitting in the grandstand right where you crashed?

a nod is enough of an answer you reckon, pulling your helmet off your head and beginning to walk the way towards the paddock again. "do you want me to carry that?" your dad asks, having gotten past the security guards after showing his pass, now jogging to catch up with you.

"i'm not ten anymore," you groan. "i can handle it on my own."

"i wasn't saying you can't-" he cuts himself off, placing a hand on your shoulder. "you looked really out of it out there."

you keep your gaze forwards so he won't see you rolling your eyes at his words, determined steps carrying you forward quickly as you shake his hand off. "oh, you could see through my visor? that's cool."

"what's gotten into you lately?" your dad pushes, and you flinch slightly at the harsh tone in his voice. "what's wrong with you?"

"what do you mean?"

"well, frankly, your driving had been shit recently." your eyes snap to him when he speaks, eyebrows furrowed. "it looks like you're not even trying."

you stay silent for a long while, trying to navigate your way back – and to a place where your dad hopefully won't be allowed – but you can't help but scoff. "thank's a lot."

"what? am i wrong?"

"yes, you're wrong!" you finally stop in your tracks, fully facing him by now. a hand goes up to your hair, pulling on it to relieve at least some tension. "i'm trying my best, i-"

"is there something going wrong with ollie?" your jaw drops. "i'll talk to him, i'll settle it with him."

"don't you dare!" you exclaim. "there's nothing wrong with ollie, okay?!"

"then what is wrong with you? why can't you score ten points in nine races?"

that's it – you're going to completely lose it if this goes on for even one more second. "leave me the fuck alone," you tell him, turning your head away so he won't get a chance to see the tears beginning to form in your eyes.

the worst part of it all? the fact that you agree with him. the fact that you can't even argue against it; nine points in five rounds is not a good result at all.

surprisingly enough, he doesn't follow you when you hurry away, allowing you to get to the paddock alone. the silence doesn't mean you can hold back from crying, however; it doesn't take long before your cheeks are stained with your tears, your breaths growing quicker and quicker for every step you take. navigating the paddock with blurry vision is hard, and you're basically just relying on muscle memory to take you back to the right part of the garage. just as you're rounding a corner, you bump into someone – someone whose white suit and broad, muscular shoulders are easy to recognize even through your tears.

the other last person you want to talk to right now.

"hey there," he says, a hand coming up to your shoulder to keep you steady as you stumble a little upon the impact with his chest. "are you- woah, are you crying?"

"leave me alone, paul."

he lets out a little chuckle, one he regrets in hindsight because it makes him sound like he thinks the state you're in is funny. "i can't just walk away when you're this upset, can i?" he asks, having to use all of his willpower to hold back from wiping away a few tears from your cheeks. "is it about the crash? i'm not mad at you, and i don't think victor is either-"

"i couldn't care less about the stupid crash!" you explode, a few sobs following your words. "i'm just- i can't-"

paul's eyes widen in surprise at your outburst, hand on your shoulder slipping further along so he's got his arm draped across your shoulders and it's easier for him to force you to walk with him. now it's your turn to have to hold back, wanting nothing more than to lean into his chest and just let out all of your tears. he pushes you with him into the hitech truck, looking around the lounge area to make sure no one's there before guiding you to sit on one of the sofas there. "what's going on? did something happen?"

"i'm a bad driver, that's what happened." paul slumps into the seat right next to you, eyebrows raised when he hears you speak. "i don't belong here, i don't know what i'm doing, i-"

"hey hey hey," he cuts you off with a shake of his head. "what have we said about this?"

you look down at the floor, wiping away a few tears from your cheek as you continue to sniffle in the silence that fills the area. a burning feeling spreads through your chest at his words, the familiarity of it all making your head spin. it isn't the first time you've been like this in front of him; through the almost entire year you dated, there were quite a few times when he'd have to console you after a breakdown. paul knows your issues like the back of his hand, he knows how hard it can be to convince you that you do belong. but he also knows to never give up.

"you are a great driver," he starts, hesitating for a moment before letting his hand rub your shoulder. the action makes your breath hitch in your throat, but not because it's wrong – it's because you've missed his touch, probably far more than you've admitted to yourself before now.

"even my lousy dad thinks i'm bad," you finally get out in-between sniffles, resting your face in your hands.

"and since when do you care about his opinion, huh?"

he's right. at least partially. but still, you remain hunched over, shaking your head. "i may act like it doesn't matter, but… him calling me all kinds of things…" paul allows you to gather your thoughts, his touch remaining gentle over your racing suit. "it hurt. a lot."

he hums understandingly, letting out a sigh. "when is that stupid little brain of yours going to understand that you're doing well?" his words should bring a smile to your lips – a few months ago, they would've. but now, you don't react at all. "no matter what he says, no matter what the critics say. you're a good driver."

after another few moments of silence, you drop your hands to your lap and look at him. there's a hint of curiousity in his eyes, surprised by your sudden eye contact. "why do you even care?" you question. he's been acting like a complete idiot these past few months – and after you literally cursed him out in melbourne, you haven't spoken a word to each other. and yet, he's taking time out of his day to comfort you like he would a year ago.

"come on…" he presses his lips together in a firm line, shaking his head. "no matter what happens between us, i'll always look after you."

his words, and maybe especially your emotional reaction to them, take you by surprise. despite the anger and frustration you've built up over the last few months, there's an undeniable warmth in his gaze that softens your defenses. the feeling of nostalgia and longing is so strong it's almost painful, as if he has reminded you of a connection you thought had been lost forever.

it's quite strange, considering everything that's happened. but you're not opposed to it.

"how are you feeling after the crash?" paul asks to break the silence as you reach up to dry away the last of your tears from your cheeks. "that was a big impact you had. i got away lightly in comparison."

for the first time since the crash, you stop to actually think about it and allow yourself to feel through your body. the adrenaline from the race has worn off by now, and there's a throbbing in your head that seems to just grow stronger by the second. "i think… i'm alright…"

"do you want me to go get ollie for you? the race should be done by now," he says, checking the clock on the wall in the truck. "he can take you to go see a medic."

you shake your head instantly. "please, don't. for real."

paul shoots you a strange, confused look, though he gives you a slight nod. "okay, but you have to tell him," he says, pausing a second before continuing. "i know that head of yours, you're going to combust if you keep hiding this. you can't go through it alone."

"i promise."

you don't end up going to the medical center.

you do, however, go find ollie yourself – but you don't tell him about your chat with paul. instead, you hope he doesn't take notice of the not-so-subtle signs that you've just had a complete meltdown.

it's easy to break promises to people who you don't need to stay truthful to, you realize. last year, you wouldn't even think about breaking a promise to paul – but an ex boyfriend is much easier to lie to.

your current boyfriend wraps his arms around you the second you step close enough. his lips press to the side of your head, his arms giving you another squeeze before pulling away.

ollie has gotten used to your red eyes.

he's gotten used to the sight of your tearstained cheeks, the slight pout on your lips, the heaviness in your sighs.

he's gotten used to the sinking feeling in his stomach, the pain in his chest, the guilt.

but he's also gotten used to not asking, because he knows you won't tell.

when you wake up on feature race day, something is different. it's like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders after talking to paul; like the air is suddenly much easier to breathe, and the whole world seems a little lighter. you're much more excited for the feature race of the day than any race so far this season.

in today's race, it's ollie's time to crash out. it isn't his fault, though; he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got squeezed up against the wall by a trident car. there was nothing he could do.

as soon as he's deemed free of injuries, he makes his way back to the prema garage, joining the team in watching the rest of the race. it's a good one for you; choosing to go with the opposite strategy has really worked out for you so far, with you and zak o'sullivan being the only two drivers in the top who haven't pitted yet.

ollie follows your car intently on the screen in the garage, secretly hoping for a safety car to come out and help you out with your strategy as it's nearing the last few laps. he almost doesn't pull out of his trance even when a hand lands on his shoulder. "she's doing great," dino says from behind him, the brit nodding along to his words. "especially considering... well, she must've told you about yesterday, so i won't repeat it to you."

yesterday?

ollie looks dumbfounded for a moment before he composes himself, though he has no idea what the swede is talking about. "of course."

dino lets out a chuckle, patting his friend's shoulder. "paul said she was a complete mess when he found her," he continues, not realizing he's giving ollie more clues to help figure out what in the world he's talking about. "her anxiety was all over the place, apparently. but she's recovering, she's strong. she won't let this affect her."

ollie hums agreeingly at his words, eyes still glued to the tv in front of him. "certainly," he finally gets out. "she'll get through it with ease."

and so you did – at least for this particular race.

the virtual safety car was incredibly lucky, but that's racing sometimes. with both you and zak changing your tyres in the last lap, you both managed to end up ahead of the rest of the field, and secure a podium each.

unlike in jeddah, seeing paul's car pull up right next to yours on parc ferme isn't all that bad. after yesterday's heart-to-heart with him, you feel like at least part of this podium is thanks to him. if it weren't for his encouragement, you likely would've stuck it in the wall again.

you don't ignore him this time. you don't scoff at his words, you don't feel frustrated at his mere presence. this time, you give him a tight hug when he comes over to congratulate you, arms around his shoulders forcing him close.

"thank you," you can't help but whisper, and paul is grinning from ear to ear when he pulls away from the hug.

"don't," he answers with a quick shake of his head. "you could always pull this off. you just needed a little reminder."

and not only do your shoulders and mind feel a bit lighter as you step onto that monaco podium, but most importantly, your heart.

"i'm exhausted," you huff as you shrug your bag off your shoulders, leaving it by the door as ollie, too, makes his way into the hotel room. "thank god this weekend is finally over."

you dive onto his already-made bed, landing face-down between the pillows and blankets. the bed is huge, probably over two meters in width, and unbelievably soft. it's the first time you feel like you can truly relax since you got to monaco, and every single cell in your body thanks you for allowing them to rest a little.

"and i don't even have any sim sessions scheduled in over a week. i'm the luckiest person ever." ollie lets out a chuckle at this, his own bag crashing to the floor with a thud before his feet carry him deeper inside the room.

you turn your head and watch as he picks out a water bottle from the mini fridge, but he doesn't drink from it. instead, he makes his way to the bed, choosing to just stand next to it at first. you can't really read his expression, so you speak up – but he beats you to it. "ollie-"

"can we talk?"

you press your hands into the mattress, sitting up properly. "of course," you say, a look of unknowing dejection spreading across your features. "what's wrong?"

"that's... what i wanted to ask you, actually." ollie finally sits down on the bed, but on the opposite side of it, far from you. "what's going on? what happened yesterday?"

"oh, well..." you pause for a second, eyebrows rising as you try to find an explanation. "i just had a bad day, i didn't realize that the safety car-"

"i don't mean the race, i mean what happened after the race." his eyes are piercing into yours, not missing even the slightest movement of your face now. you've got his full attention. "with paul."

your breath hitches in your throat and you instantly look away. your voice is as low as a whisper when you speak again. "i can't believe he told you..."

"he didn't. it was someone else, but that's beside the point." you don't know if you should feel relieved that paul didn't tell ollie, or furious that he told someone else who then told ollie, but you don't have any time to think before his voice infiltrates your thoughts again. "i heard you were... i'm not going to use the same word he did, but i heard you were really upset. something about anxiety, or..."

he hopes you'll pick up where he trailed off, and despite how you're really not in the mood for this conversation right now, it feels unavoidable. "i guess... yesterday's race was really rough on me. and my racing has felt really bad recently, the anxiety has been through the roof, and..." your eyes land on your hands, watching as your fingers tremble slightly in your lap. "i don't know. something about yesterday just triggered it all again."

out of the corner of your eye, you can see ollie nodding understandingly. "how long have you been feeling like this?"

"since always, basically." a single teardrop rolls down your cheek before you even notice that you've started tearing up. you hurry to wipe it away with the sleeve of your shirt. "my mom likes to tell this story about how i used to cry if i performed poorly when i was jumping rope in kindergarten. or about how one time, i came home sobbing over the fact that i thought i was getting kicked out of kindergarten because my drawings weren't as good as the other kids'." the old stories bring a soft smile to your lips, one that soon disappears when you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut. "it's not usually this bad, but…"

you sigh.

"it's like... imposter syndrome. i'm one of the very few women in motorsports, and i can't help but think that i'm just here because the fia wants to make the sport more equal. or because my sponsors think it's funny to have a woman among the men. or if i'm just here as eye candy. i don't deserve this, i don't have enough talent."

your little rant makes him speechless – both because he didn't expect it at all, and because to him, you're so wrong.

"you're here because you do deserve it and because you consistently perform good results, unlike most other drivers. that has nothing to do with your gender." ollie pauses for a second. "if you didn't have enough talent, you wouldn't be performing this well in a series this hard."

you can't hold back the little smile that slips onto your lips. "this is all very sweet, and i really appreciate it. but it's not that easy for me to just accept what you're saying."

yet again, he nods. "i understand." his voice is so calm, so gentle, so patient. it makes your heart soften. "i'll make sure to remind you of it more often, so that maybe it sticks."

"thank you, ollie."

a long silence follows, and you take the time to brush away a few more tears that have left your eyes. you don't know what to say or how to follow up on this heavy subject, but you don't have to think much more.

"why did you go to paul instead of me?"

your eyes dart to him at the sudden question. he's sounded so composed and calm, but he actually looks quite... nervous? his fingers are fiddling with the lid of the water bottle in his hands, and his entire upper body looks like it's trembling slightly as he breathes. "i didn't," you tell him simply. it's not a lie, per se. "he just happened to walk in on me crying."

"but why did you tell him?" ollie questions, looking up at you from the bottle. "i thought you two weren't even talking these days? ever since that fight you had?"

he is right. you don't even know why you confided in him yourself – it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. you didn't even try to deny his help; you welcomed it (and him) with open arms.

"we talked about my struggles last year," you finally say, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. "so he knew already. and… i don't know, i guess it felt nice to talk to someone who really knows me."

"but i want to know you." he takes a deep breath before continuing. "i want to know more than your birthday and your favorite color. i want to know it all; what makes you feel good, what makes you anxious, what keeps you going, what slows you down..."

the physical distance between you two may only be a mere two meters, but you feel much more separated than that. you totally understand where he's coming from – he might be exaggerating a little, but your conversations with him are never really deep. though not sure whether it's because you just don't trust him or because you just have a hard time opening up, you can understand the despair he must be feeling.

when ollie notices that you aren't too keen on saying anything, he keeps going. "i want you to trust me. i want to be the person you tell these things to." he scoots closer to you on the bed, one of his hands landing on top of your knee. "i really want to make this work between us. my feelings for you are so strong, just..."

the pain in his eyes is so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze cutting through you like a knife. your own eyes begin to well up again, but you can't look away now.

"i really want you to give this, give me, a chance."

you've never seen him like this before. hopeless, desperate, practically begging. and in an instant, the guilt comes creeping back into you.

you're the one who's making him feel like this; it's all your fault. and how cruel wouldn't it be to not at least give him an honest chance?

"of course." your voice is weak and shaky, but you nod. "i want that, too. really."

ollie drops his water bottle to the floor before opening his arms wide for you. "come here."

it's easy to climb into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he holds you close. it's easy to lean into him, to inhale his sweet scent, and it's so easy to relax.

you wish it was as easy to open up to him. oh, how badly you wish it was as easy as a-b-c or do-re-mi. you really want to let him in; you, too, want this to work.

the silence that follows is a comfortable one. the air feels thick with unspoken emotions, a heaviness of the previous conversation still lingering, but there's an unspoken understanding between you and ollie. the previously well-known weight of the world on your shoulders seems to lift, if only momentarily; his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back is like a silent reassurance that he's there, he's present, and he's willing to wait for you to open up in your own time.

after what feels like an eternity, ollie breaks the silence. "let's do something. let's go on a vacation together."

you lean back slightly, just enough to look at his face but stay in his hold. "…what?"

your reaction isn't exactly what he had hoped for, but he goes on. "i'm going back to italy this week, you should come with me." he reaches up with a hand to your face, thumb softly massaging away the frown you hadn't even noticed had formed. "we'll travel around, go see the national parks, hike in the mountains... swim in the sea, eat at good italian restaurants..."

your features soften at his suggestions; it all does sound very sweet. still, you can't hold back from asking, "but why?"

"we have almost a month until the next race weekend, and you said that you don't have any sims this week. this could help take your mind off racing, and..." a sheepish smile appears on his face. "maybe it could make us get a little closer."

uncertainties and conflicting thoughts continue to cloud your heart, making the decision harder than it should be. on one hand, accepting the offer could offer a much-needed reprieve from all the pressures of the racing world. on the other hand, your unresolved feelings for paul still hold you back. spending a romantic holiday with ollie sounds like a dream, just as much as the mere thought of revealing yourself to him makes you nauseous from the fear.

but you want to be brave. and maybe to let go of paul, you need to just forget about your worries and dive head-first into ollie.

"it sounds perfect. let's do it."

yourusername just posted!

yourusername we're back baby!! leaving monaco with some good points. 🔜 barcelona and the team's home race, let's go 😁

show all 78 comments

user finally back on the podium! ❤️💙

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

user great drive today !!!

→ user it was just luck 😭 without the vsc she would've never gotten that podium

→ user okay and??

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olliebearman what's up with the hair dinobeganovic_

→ yourusername it's called fashion

→ dinobeganovic_ it's called waking up at 5 for a feature race

→ user you're still gorgeous dino 😚

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

redbulljuniorteam 💪💙❤️

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

sebasmontoya58 pepe don't punch the girl, she did nothing wrong

→ yourusername i did nothing wrong!!!

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→ yourusername never

→ pepemartiofficial sebas check your whatsapp

→ yourusername YOU WOULDNT

→ pepemartiofficial i totally would

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being in a relationship with Kayden Break.

Imagine Kayden Break is definitely the type of lover who may not show how much he loves you by words but would definitely my actions. Although the two of you would fight so often, he would never let you sleep with unfinished business between the two of you. No matter how often he would walk out in the middle of the fight, he would still come back home to you, even though most of them would often cause other round of fight, most of them could and would result with the two of you on the bed both naked.

Imagine, Kayden was definitely not a boyfriend nor husband material other than his looks. His personal and overall characteristics was after all, arrogant, a man of pride, quite the narcissistic not as much as Kartien thought but still and he is crazy be it in a fight or other things, he's quite have some loose screw. With most of the time his patience barely hangs on a thread ready to snap at any moment.

Imagine it was not the healthiest nor was it a toxic relationship. The two of you were just... having your own ways of showing love and respect for each other in your own unique way. Even though Kayden was always away, you don't mind. In the first place, looking back, it seems like things have never been official for the two of you, it just... It just went that way, with him coming back to you messed up or not and you accepting him with open arms with no further questions. You were his what he thought his nonexistent home and clarity he never new he have due to his crazy way of thinking. With him being the same as for you, he was your home.

Imagine despite not seeing each other most of the time, Kayden never forgot your anniversary. Even though the two of you never really go out as the two of you were actually busy with your own lives. Kayden always come, never once missing your anniversary. And as if knowing his presence was enough, the two of you would often just be in each other's arms, talking about some crazy stuffs, coming up with so many different fighting theories that you two may or may not soon try.

Imagine being in a relationship with the one and only Kayden Break, the crazy, lunatic fighting maniac, known for his arrogant behaviour only means that you have got to be just as crazy, is not crazier than him because let's be honest. Only those who are crazy enough like him would be able to handle him andnin fact you are. Crazy but only for him and only him ever sice you laid your eyes on him, you knew he have got to be yours at all cost.

Imagine, being in a relationship with Kayden means you have got to be standing on the same ground level as he is. You should be his support and pillar not someone who would only drag him down.

"For someone who only wants to spar you're taking this seriously." "Aren't you the who says one must be prepared to die when fighting you?" You laugh, walking and approaching him from the opposite side of the room where the two of you were having a friendly spar. Something he wouldn't even dare doing with someone but only for you and only you he would do such a thing. After all, fighting with others and having a spar with you was a different thing. Oh, the significant other privilege of the lunatic one. He's only barely sane when it comes to you.

Imagine, always at the very end of your session, one of you would be slammed on the wall but for a very different reason as the two of you was trying to dominate each other as the two of you make out, his tongue slipping inside your mouth as he swallow your moan. One of your arm warped around his neck as the other freely run through his dark blue locks. His arms holding you firmly up, right underneath your tights, your legs around his waist pulling him even closer than he already is to you.

"That's other win for me and another lost for you." It doesn't look like you lose though. "Oh just break me Kayden."

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

: This is fluff right? Right?? Cuz I genuinely can't write smut for real lmao.

[cool-and-grizzled]

instead of wip wednesday bc i don't actually have one rn (shocking), i'm gonna share my fave lines from pull the trigger without thinking, with some explanations as to why

i'm gonna put it under a cut bc i fear it'll get long lol

Both are a terrifying possibility, because this Lance, the one that holds him up like a pillar instead of putting him on a pedestal, the one that lifts responsibilities off his shoulders with an ease, is a Lance he falls in love with again and again and again. -- i just love lance being a rock to steady keith and like. the fact that lance supports keith instead of expecting him to know everything and get everything right and then feeling let down when keith ultimately can't do that thing.

This close, he can make out every single one of Lance’s freckles on his cheeks, over the bridge of his nose, and he wants to map it all out, connect them like constellations in the night sky. Wants to smooth his thumb over his eyebrows, brushing the stray strand of hair away from his eyes. Wants to capture his thin lips with his, crowd him against a wall, watch as his dark blue eyes widen, drown in them like he would in an ocean if he’s not careful. Sometimes he feels like he’s been already pulled under, the tides having worn down his walls and washing over him, tumbling him around like a ragdoll, with no way to know which direction is up and which is down. Maybe one day, they will wash him to the shore, warm sunshine welcoming him. -- i shared this paragraph before but i just love this so much. i love waxing poetic about lance, but especially lance's freckles if it wasn't clear already lol. i included it in this fic in almost every single scene. i have a problem but i love freckles and i'm channeling it through keith. sorry keith.

Keith feels as if someone reached into his chest, grabbed his brittle heart and smashed it into pieces, prying the jagged, sharp pieces out from his ribcage, uncaring of the damage. -- idk what it is about this line that i love so much but i just love it

He closes his eyes, Lance’s proximity familiar, his touch grounding - and Keith wonders when that happened, when did he go from shrugging off anyone’s hands from his shoulders to willingly being held. -- lance slowly making keith getting used to being held is just something that i absolutely adore

Lance is offering his heart to Keith on a silver platter, a wild and precious thing for Keith to keep, and all Keith can do is put the pieces of his own into a box, and give it to Lance - either to put it together again with careful hands, or break it into smaller pieces with no way to fully repair them. -- this is a callback to the lance pov and i love how it turned out

That there’s this boy – man, really, – who wore down his walls, unyielding, never deterred by the harsh defenses Keith put up time and time again, pushing through with a single-minded determination. That over the years, the casual touches that once felt like fire licking at his skin, that he wanted to escape from, became a place of comfort, all because of Lance. There’s this overwhelming pressure in his chest that doesn’t seem to abate, and it feels as if it will rip out of him any minute. -- keith being amazed by lance. keith is me. that's all.

Lance slings an arm around Keith’s shoulders, their faces close. “I have it on good authority that I am, in fact, handsome.” “Your mother doesn’t count.” “It was yours, actually,” Lance says, letting him go as they start walking again. “Though she said, and I quote, ‘Your physique is impressive for a human’. I took it as a compliment.” -- i'm just proud to have come up with this lol i usually can't write funny/witty banter but these two make it easy

He knows Lance used to hate it, still isn’t fully comfortable with it, but to Keith, it’s a testament of his loyalty, his tenacity and his bravery, worn on his skin for everybody to see, and he will spend a lifetime convincing Lance of that if he has to. -- more smitten keith but also a callback to the lance pov fic

He lifts his right hand, dislodging Lance’s hands on his own cheek, and caresses Lance’s face, his thumb sweeping over the scar, brushing away a stray strand of his hair. -- okay this one i love bc it's a callback to the scene in point 2 ('Wants to smooth his thumb over his eyebrows, brushing the stray strand of hair away from his eyes') in this post and it was fully unintentional but i had to keep it

“You should listen to me because I’ve been fighting in this war, which, mind you, you had no idea about two months ago, for four years before coming here,” he states calmly, but his tone is steely, daring anyone to object. “I’ve piloted two Lions, I am the right hand of the leader of Voltron, which is more than any of you in this room bar Keith can say about themselves. So yes, I think you should listen to me.” The silence is deafening, and there’s nobody who dares to speak up after that. Keith just wants to pin him against a wall and kiss him silly. -- just keith being smitten by confident lance. this is the one that brought to you this post. am i keith in this scene? maybe.

“How are the two of you this incredibly mushy is actually fascinating,” Pidge mutters, “your younger selves would have an aneurysm.” -- she's right. with how mushy i write them, they would have one.

They’re barely inside when Keith crowds Lance against the door, and captures his lips in a bruising kiss. -- this was an intentional callback to the point 2 scene, particularly the 'Wants to capture his thin lips with his, crowd him against a wall, watch as his dark blue eyes widen' part

He’s so beautiful, inside and out, and Keith feels as if he’s wholly undeserving to have this man, but he will do his absolute best to show him that Lance is everything he’s ever needed. If it means that he has to worship Lance like a god, he will drop to his knees without a second thought, sacrifice his heart on the altar of his love, sing his gospels until his throat dries out. -- again, an unintentional callback to the lance fic, when lance thinks that keith 'looks at him like Lance is something to be revered and cherished and worshipped like a god'. also i just love how it turned out, i straight up said 'i fear i ate with this line' out loud after writing it down

Having Lance in his arms like this, having him at all is something that he only hoped to be possible, but now he never wants to let him go, and he will fight every single entity and being in this entire existence if it means he gets to keep Lance. He’s already fought half of it and came out of it as the victor, and he thinks the other half doesn’t stand a chance even if it tries its best. -- again, devotion is one of my fave things to write and keith makes it so easy

He smiles at Keith, soft, and Keith feels like he’s drowning and tumbling around until he’s not, until he’s turned in the right direction, steadied and resurfacing from a long time spent under. He no longer feels like he’s just a ragdoll weathering the whims of the ocean. He pulls Lance against his chest, kicking up towards the surface, and as soon they come up, he takes Lance’s face in his hands, pulling him into a kiss. In the setting sun of Cuba, in the middle of the ocean, kissing Lance he finally feels like he reached the sunny shores he’s always wanted to. -- these last sentences were a deliberate callback to earlier in the fic bc i love a good full circle moment

[prettyinpwn]

Hi! I don't remember if anyone asked this, but do you have any headcanons about Shermie Pines?

Ah, see, this is the part where I totally self-promote share this wonderful, totally not owned by me ask blog reply: https://askthestans.tumblr.com/post/756343677567336448/hey-stan-can-you-tell-us-stories-about-your

But here's a full summary of my headcanons on the guy:

Older brother to Ford and Stan. I know the timeline's screwy with that baby in the background of ATOTS, but I personally just headcanon that that's some other baby and Shermie's not around in the house because he's off in the military.

I definitely picture him being in the Navy. I picture he's got sailor's tattoos. And actual cool ones, no offense to Ford.

I can't find the reference for the life of me, but I swear to God I once read from Hirsch (I think it was a tweet?) that Stan learned the "you cuddle up to a girl, knock her up, suddenly your life's fallin' apart" oddly specific joke in Little Gift Shop of Horrors from Filbrick. Going with my headcanon that Shermie's the older brother, that means he's the oops baby.

Because of that, and Filbrick's general suckage, Shermie struggled a lot with his dad like the Stans did. I think like Stan, he wasn't especially exceptional - or at least in a way that could make them money like Ford's brains - and Filbrick might have projected a whole "my life fell apart after I had Shermie" thing on the poor guy. So... I don't imagine Shermie got along real well with Filbrick. I also headcanon the large gap in years between Shermie and the Stans as Filbrick's hesitation to have more kids. I think Caryn would have wanted more, and eventually convinced him to have another (and whaddaya know, two for the price of one!), but Filbrick all over just gives me the vibe of a guy that never wanted to be a father, and Shermie knew that even as a kid, so he felt rather unwanted.

In terms of personality, I see Shermie as like... a straight laced golden retriever. Like a pure heart of gold "sees an old lady struggling to walk across the street and gets out and helps her" type guy. Being Mabel and Dipper's grandfather, I think he shares Mabel's optimism but Dipper's sense of right and wrong, which is what makes him a bit of a square (see the Ask the Stans post linked above). Even so, he's not outgoing like Mabel, he's introverted like Ford and Dipper. Like... people picture introverts as moody and quiet with dark thoughts, but when Shermie's quiet he just has happy fantasies like his granddaughter, Mabel (except replace hamster balls and hot boys with, idk... probably baseball or a movie he saw one time and loved).

I see him as a family pillar of support type guy, too. As the older brother in a poor family, I think a lot of responsibility was put on his shoulders. He definitely helped run the pawn shop (though Filbrick got irritated whenever he gave too generous of a discount), and made extra money on the side for his family with a side job. Going into the military was not his choice - given the era, it was probably a draft - and he sent his money home. Caryn probably did Tarot readings on him every night between his letters home hoping they always turned up positive.

He sent little letters home to Stan and Ford, too. He'd make Stan promise to protect Ford for him since he couldn't while he was out at sea, which is what inspired Stan to be such a protector. Then, he made Ford promise to help Stan with his homework like he used to, but once again, couldn't while in the Navy. And he'd tell them about his "epic ocean adventures" to gloss over the horrors of what he was actually going through, which I like to headcanon partially inspired their obsession with fixing up the Stan-O-War so they could have epic ocean adventures someday like their big brother. It wasn't until they were older that they realized, oh... yeah, he wasn't swashbuckling with pirate ghosts in the US Navy. :(

Physically, I think he's the one who looks the most like Caryn. Stan and Ford are like Filbrick short king copy+pastes, but I picture Shermie more tall and lanky like their mother, and has her aquiline nose. Coloring-wise, he's a Pines: brown hair and brown eyes. And sailor tattoos, can't forget those.

I feel like he had to be a pseudo father-figure to the Stans because of Filbrick. Filbrick wasn't the type to teach them how to ride a bike or play a sport, scare "monsters" out of their closet, bring them home for dinner from the beach, etc. Like he fulfilled more of the emotional role of a father to them that Filbrick couldn't.

With Stan, I think he played defense for the kid against Filbrick. I don't think Shermie would have directly gotten angry with Filbrick, especially given his golden retriever-ness and the era, but he defended Stan in little ways. Say Stan broke something, Shermie might have stepped in and tried to smooth things over before Filbrick could get angry. But boy oh boy, if he saw anyone else picking on Stan (or Ford, for that matter), better watch out. He might be a golden retriever, but he's still a Pines, so he's got that whole, "Mess with my family and I'll send you to the hospital." thing going on.

With Ford, I think Shermie was like Stan to him, protecting him and generally trying to make him not feel weird for his polydactyly and nerdiness. While on the surface I think Shermie and Stan might have bonded more because they had more shared surface level interests, I think Ford really looked up to Shermie, especially since Shermie was - as an introvert - the closest to Ford in personality in their family. Shermie wholly supported his love of weirdness, even if he didn't understand what the hell he was talking about half the time, and often would go along with him and Stan on monster hunts as kids just to make sure they got home safe, even if he had no interest in the paranormal himself.

As far as flaws, I can see him having inherited Filbrick's temper and absolutely hating himself for it. Like normally he's a sweet, happy-go-lucky guy, but when he blows up he feels like such an ass afterwards because it reminds himself of his father. His golden retriever personality might have been a way of him trying his best to form an identity far, FAR away from Filbrick, so when parts of Filbrick come out, he feels gross. The Stans look the most like Filbrick, but Shermie - for as nice and sweet as he is - inherited more of Filbrick's bad personality traits than they did.

When Stan got kicked out, Shermie was out at sea and their mother hadn't told him about it, feeling awful she'd let Filbrick just kick Stan out. So when he got home, he was like, "Where the hell is Stan?", and Caryn had to tell him. Shermie always blamed himself for not being there to play defense for Stan like he always had in the past, but at the same time, he was P I S S E D that Stan broke Ford's science fair project. And given that Caryn felt guilty and didn't want to speak against Filbrick and Ford's opinions, and Filbrick is a dick, and Ford was still freshly wounded from the whole fight and disappointment... well, he got a biased view of Stan. He felt so betrayed by Stan for decades for having "hurt" Ford and the family. I think this would explain why he wouldn't have gone to Stan's "funeral" later on. Cue him feeling like an asshole after the events of Gravity Falls and Stan and Ford and/or the niblings tell their grandfather what went down the last three decades.

Even so, I think he tried to find Stan afterwards in his drifter grifter years, but to no avail. Stan didn't want Shermie to find him and disappoint him, and all the evidence Shermie did find seemed to prove what Ford and Filbrick said about Stan, so... :(

He worked in the IRS for his career after the Navy. It made Stan barf when he found out. But Shermie just wanted a good old normal family life and a boring job after what he went through in the war.

As for the way he interacts with Dipper and Mabel, just... pure cuteness. Picture the most stereotypical sweethearted grandfather. Stan and Ford are like the cool old relatives, but Shermie is the big softie old relative. He buys Mabel craptons of arts and crafts and knitting supplies for birthdays and holidays, and he buys Dipper whatever paranormal stuff or video games he wants. He fully sees Dipper as like a little Ford and a lot like his own son (D&M's dad), but he loves Mabel too, of course.

If I think of any more, I'll be sure to add them to this post. :D

[greekceltic]

Jacky has a haunted arm. It started as a roleplay thing that I didn't think I would make canon, but I probably will. The situations it creates are fun. Anyway, for our amusement she can use it to touch ghosts so she scared hers. (Art doesn't quite match the writing). You can read the roleplay clip under the read more or on toyhouse.

GreekCeltic-

Junior was where she left him. He glanced at her. Same face. Same bags under his eyes and blushless pallor. What did that bandit say?

  When eyes meet, the soul has made love?

Yeah he was wrong.

Junior turned back around and she wondered how far she could walk before he was compelled to join her. She felt a little bad for not asking, but the feeling had no stay power. His wants and needs took a backseat to hers and she had found a way to make herself okay with that.

He could talk. It was within his power to ask her to put him in someone else’s care any time he wanted. After being left in the woods she could understand why he wouldn't want to be parked on Vlinder's hearth- in the same forest -but there were other people in their group who would travel. All basically good people.

Picking her was self sabotage.

Idiot.

She walked all the way in and shut the door behind her. The wind feathered a few rug ends but didn't bother with him.

  Maybe he's like AI and can't defy me, she wondered. Like bullshit television. She had never made the leap that it could be worse. Jacky felt that she was babysitting and had exactly as much authority as a teenager over a nine year old. In the end, not very much at all. She kept waiting for his tantrum, wanting it because after all that had happened it would make sense, even be healthy, but it never came.

She stumbled back toward the fur mat she had grown to hate since she woke up and stared down at it, too tired to sleep. There was such a thing. Jacky swayed weakly near it and turned away.

She looked at him again and ground her bottom jaw.

  Dummy should be begging to leave.

She hated the way he idled against the wall like a toy soldier waiting for something to do. That was the kind of thing that got ice put down your shorts at sleep overs. The idea of that made her spine prickle in a bad way, but it made her think. Jacky tilted back and lidded her eyes. She reached for one of the support pillars and rested her weight on it, two feet closer to him.   I could do it. She moved her feet, taking care not to scuff them on the floor. She didn't have to worry about the boards creaking. If they didn't notice Vlinder they weren't going to notice her. There were no more pillars between them, but she thought she'd make it. She tried, and on the way thought about how many nights he'd spent right there in a different room. Waiting or staring, as engaged as a coat put away on a hanger. He didn't even breathe loudly because he didn't breathe anymore.   DO something! The last few feet ended with her wobbling behind him, alarmingly silent, but not very steady. She reflexively tried to grab his shirt to pull it back with her good hand, but it went right through. Jacky didn't stop to wonder if he'd noticed that. She stuck her *cold* hand out like a senile old woman with a fork. It went up his shirt and flattened on the part where his back sank in. It worked when she slapped him. No reason to think it wouldn't work now. Themascura--

The target of her ire had no idea.   None.   He was peacefully existing in a corner, appreciating the window. It was nice to have a different view. He liked trees. Not enough to have been okay with just their company for a few millennia, but enough to be okay staring at them for a few days.   It was pretty out there. There were squirrels. And birds! Not many of those in the city. The cats had mostly eaten them all-   Jacky was about to learn a whole lot of things in quick succession. One, she could in fact scare the shit out of a ghost. Two, despite being dead ghosts did in fact have startle responses. Three, when she was touching a ghost with her ghost hand apparently walls became interactable- because he slapped the window/wall with his belly when he jumped and it made a sound.   A beautiful hollow sound, like when you thumped a watermelon.   He left a foggy mark on the window when he hopped back. He was still hopping when he turned around, trying to shake the ice cube out of his shirt. His spine was still flickering when he got all the way turned- visible through his shirt and his front and almost as far as his shoulders. The look he gave her was universal. The sibling glance of- I WAS MINDING MY BUSINESS.   Here you are, starting some shit. He stuck a hand straight out for her face, confident it would go through, but also confident it would mess with her already wonky balance and depth perception. Time for you to take a time out on the floor. You pushed your luck to far today anyway.

GreekCeltic-- His reaction was Christmas. She wasn't sure what to make of his spine. Jacky looked at her hand and wondered if it had cannibalized him somehow. A week ago she had dumped all the extra stuff into Christoph's leg. That had been a surprise. Christoph was alive, there was no way to know it wouldn't do the opposite and suck Junior up like a straw, like it had Virgil's magic.   Oough, there was a mental image she did not enjoy. When she touched Christoph she went with a gut feeling that turned out to be right. Here too she decided to go with a gut feeling-- that it was fine. "Oh excuse me did I interrupt your vacant staring?" Jacky's hand was still up, she dropped it and raised her other one, rubbing her arm furiously like she was trying to warm it up. Cold fire appeared and walked toward her elbow. "Gonna do it again." She spread the fire to her good hand but she never got to try it. He threw his at her face- IN her face -and she spilled in stages. Mostly in slow, wobbly, backwards walking motions that ended up near the bed. She fell against the edge. She had been put to bed. OBNOXIOUS. Jacky leaned into her sprawled arm and chose to be happy he showed some life. She didn't think she could get up without crawling on all fours and that wouldn't be preferable. She was also tired. It was possible she had never been so tired in her life. She crawled over the edge and fell into the divot like a kitten into a laundry basket. She slept all of the night and most of the next day. The only time she got up was to wash. She made a point of it so history wouldn't have to repeat itself. Who knows how many rag baths she got during the week. One was too many. Two would have been life ending. Her hair was close to dry when she went back to sleep. She tried to make it longer, but felt harassed that she was not alone. Dreams had been hard to remember the first week, but they were piling up now. She didn't know if she was remembering things or adding fantasies to what she did. All she knew was she couldn't be her own witness. With each waking she was a little more confused and a little more convinced she shouldn't have gone back for the brooch. It could have waited. At the time the idea of leaving Junior out there to believe no one was coming was too much and it was too much now, but was it worth it?   The elf was back when she got up, laying beside her with his arm folded behind his head.   Him again. Jacky looked at him a minute, but decided she didn't really care. She didn't know why. It should have embarrassed her but it was like sleeping with a big white dog. She got the feeling he thought of her as a cat. She looked across the room and saw Herman on his back against the wall, also asleep. Some kind of spell had fallen over this house. She and Junior were exempt. She grabbed her poncho and went out the front door. The moonlit air was bright and icy. She wasn't wearing her shoes but she didn't expect to go far and wanted the snow to bite her feet a little. It felt good even when it stung. When she got to the gate she put her hand on it and flipped up the latch (too complicated for a dead guy, apparently), but never pushed it forward. It would have been easy, but the idea of the gate held fast. There was a bigger obstacle here than a physical one. I shouldn't, Jacky thought. More like I can't. She'd been thinking about this a lot and the conclusion she came to was damned if I do, damned if I don't.