#[and feel free to send me a message if you want to turn this into a full thread so we can plot]

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. you should call into work if that ain’t too much to ask, i could pour you up a drink and we could burn somethin’.

03, CHAPTER THREE. COME THROUGH.

ju speaks. late chapter again lol and this election fucked me uuup but thank God for writing as a distraction. you can expect another part between now and monday mayyybe… i have some free time. pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. same old + sexual innuendos (we’re very familiar with my edging game).

present day, may 2025.

paige: yo 6:23pm

wyd?

nailea text me back bro 6:29pm

nailea: hmmm

busy

paige: busy my ass

nailea disliked a message

nailea: i’ve been at work all day. some of us don’t get to just play basketball, madison 😓

paige: ohhh is that right?

i’ll have you know i work hard af ma

nailea: hard enough for a reward?

paige loved a message

paige: bring that ass over here nai

nailea: i’ve got emails to finish

paige: they’ll be there tomorrow

i’m here right now. waitin on you actually

nailea: maybe i have been thinking ab it 6:32pm

paige: mhm?

well you ain’t gotta think no more let’s just do

nailea laughed at a message

nailea: you’re really ridiculous

paige: come over and tell me that to my face

nailea: depends on what you got there

a girl needs incentives

read 6:35pm

paige: i got plenty

few drinks, maybe roll up too. thought that might get you

nailea: it’s a start

send the address, i’ll come through when i’m done

paige loved a message

i sink back into the couch, letting my head rest against the arm, my feet comfortably draped across paige’s lap. the last few days, i tried to keep myself busy, focus on work, ignore the way my phone would vibrate and my thoughts would jump straight to her. the same old game. she’d sent a few texts, nothing too serious, just little things to test the waters i guess, and when she called yesterday, talking about how much she missed me, i could already tell she was pulling me back in, trying to see if that thread between us would hold.

paige kept her word, though—i can give her that. i said i’d answer, and she made sure i’d have a reason to. she knew exactly what to say, and it’s a shame that she always does, really. it’s messed up, but it works. i can’t say i haven’t missed this, either. the way she can look at me and make me forget everything i swore i’d remember, every reason i should’ve walked away.

and now, here we are, the sun setting behind her window and casting everything, even her, in some warm, orange glow that only makes her look all the more attractive. it’s like the universe is playing along, trying to romanticize something i know i should be more careful with. there’s an old celtics game playing on the tv, but neither of us is really paying attention to it. i watch her more than the screen, notice the way her fingers brush absentmindedly over my leg, the way she insists that she should be the one to hold the joint to my lips.

paige leans back, and her hand has inched from my ankle to a casual spot on my bare thigh. we’re both too deep in drinks and hits to make sense of it, but i’m not sure i would’ve said anything even if i was sober. she’s wearing one of her uconn tees, which i guess you could call old now, the shirt hugging her arms a little tight. her hair’s falling over her shoulders, looking a little shriveled but still perfect, and every time she glances at me, she wears this smug little smirk.

“…feels like everything i knew it’d be. more work and pressure than it seems, but you know me,” paige says, her grin turning a little self-satisfied, like she’s relishing every second of her own success. we’ve been catching up—if that’s what you’d call it—for awhile now. i should probably leave soon, sober up and drive home. i’m not that far. but i don’t want to.

she drags her tongue slowly over her bottom lip, eyes hazily drifting back over to me. “what about you, huh?” she asks. “you got that insane move up. what’s that been like?”

i roll my eyes, tilting my head against the couch arm to look at her. “it’s not that insane.”

paige grins, shrugging and taking a sip of her lazy attempt at a cocktail. i’d offered to make them myself, honestly not trusting the blonde to not fuck it up, but she’d insisted, hostess duties or something.

“still sounds like a pretty big deal. you’re all professional and shit now,” she rambles, and i can’t help but chuckle at her choice of words.

i shake my head, hiking one of my legs up. “it’s not like i’m paige bueckers or anything,” i tease, a stupid, huge smile on my face. how is she able to bring out the worst and the best in me? “no one’s asking me to sign their shoes after a meeting.”

she laughs, eyes half-lidded and glassy, gaze intimidatingly lingering on me just a little too long. “bet you got your own version of that, though. people hangin’ on your every word, just tryna get a second of your time. don’t lie.”

i shrug, eyes shooting away from her. i don’t get how she does it. “i mean, it’s been good,” i admit. “long hours, but it’s nice to finally get involved the way i always wanted to, y’know?”

her hand shifts a little on my thigh, just enough to remind me it’s there, and i glance down. “coulda called that years ago,” she murmurs, barely louder than a whisper. then, it’s silent for a moment. just long enough for me to think of something else to ask her before she beats me to it. “you happy?”

i swallow, suddenly feeling a little hot in the face. “i am,” i reply after a pause, furrowing my eyebrows with a nod, almost like i’m trying to convince myself of it. “the dream, right?” i let out a breathy laugh, and paige smiles.

it’s silly to think that the both of us could recall that conversation like it was yesterday. but this wasn’t the dream. not the one we had when we were kids. just our own fucked up, adult version of it. and somehow, someway, we’re still here. somehow, someway, we still can’t let it go.

“and the people? they treat you right?” she sounds like she really cares, but is still trying not to press too hard.

“everyone’s good. most of them, anyway.” she can probably see through every word i say. pick up on the way i describe everything as good. i hesitate, looking back up at her. “never thought i’d be this close with a pro team after graduating, that’s for sure.”

“bro, ‘kea really don’t play ‘bout you,” paige laughs, but she’s serious. rickea’s one of the first people i got close with during my internship, contrary to belief. i was barely around the team then, too. “and maya’s been talking all kinds of good about you since cam’s party.”

i can feel my face flush, and i shift to sit up next to her, suddenly acutely aware of how close i am to paige, how tangled up i’ve let myself become. the mention of her name has clearly been a sore subject. i’m not sure why i feel so guilty, paige was mine first, but my mind flashes to her anyway, and then to paige, who’s probably hearing everything maya’s been saying about me, while i’m here, in the middle of all of it.

i don’t wanna ask what she’s been saying, and i surely don’t wanna press further into how deep paige and maya might be. ignorance is bliss, right? but shouldn’t it be my business? is paige still my business?

instead, i force a shrug. “i mean, it’s not like we’re on the same level,” i say, clearly selling myself a little short. maya’s been here longer, knows what she’s doing better than i do. credit never hurt.

paige doesn’t say anything. she inches just a little bit closer, and the sound of a sold out stadium of cheers from tatum’s three pointer is suddenly going in one ear and out the other. a small smirk tugs at her lips, and she tilts her head, eyes not sure what to focus on as she rubs up and down on my thigh, hand inching a little higher everytime. “i agree.”

i squint at her. “you do?” but it’s less of a question. my eyes flick to her lips, and i know she catches it because her smile widens, just a little.

“mhm,” she murmurs, her fingers twisting in, gripping my thigh until i’m squeezing my legs together. there’s a moment of silence, like she’s giving me a moment to breathe, to prepare, and she’s not done. “nobody’s fuckin’ with you, baby. believe that.”

i can feel my defenses slipping—not that they were ever really there anyway—as she presses closer, and i feel a warmth spreading through me, one that has nothing to do with the la heat. “what are we even doing, p?” i ask, and i don’t know where it came from. no part of me wanted to start an argument, or worse, hear the truth. i can’t look away.

she shifts, her expression softening as she glances down, then up again. she doesn’t know the answer either. “i dunno. what we always do.” she leans back a little, resting her head on the couch right near my chest, so close that her breath brushes against me with each exhale.

i tilt my head down, just enough to meet her blue hues, and the words come out before i even realize i’m saying them. “i’m supposed to be over this. over you.”

the second they’re out, i wish i could take them back. i didn’t wanna ruin the moment. the way her face changes, her jaw tightening and a flicker of something unreadable flashing in her eyes, tells me i’ve hit a nerve. a silence falls between us, an uncomfortable one if i’m honest, stretching longer than i mentally prepared myself for.

paige screws her eyes shut, letting out a low, frustrated breath as she sits up, running a hand over her face like she’s trying to gather herself. the loss of her touch makes me feel cold. “fuck, nai.”

i push myself up too, eyebrows are furrowed as i try to make sense of it. “what? i just asked a question.”

“you always gotta make shit so fuckin’ difficult,” she mutters, shaking her head like this whole thing is somehow my fault. like i’m the one complicating it.

i frown, glancing down, and she continues. “you’re just—God, nai, it’s like you can’t just let things be. you always gotta question it, question me.” she bites down on her lip. she’s actually upset, and the horrible part about it is that it’s so like her—so unmistakably paige—that somehow, i can’t even bring myself to be mad.

i want to laugh. “why does that piss you off?” i don’t want to say it, but the words slip out anyway. “you think you’ve given me any reason not to? especially now that you’re seeing maya?”

her head crooks to look at me, and her eyes narrow with it. “what the fuck does maya have to do with this?”

i can feel the heat in my face, the way everything inside me tightens, like i’ve been holding my breath for way too long. “what do you mean, what’s she got to do with it? you’re seeing her, paige. i’m not blind.”

her jaw clenches tighter than before, and she stands up, pacing a few steps before turning back to me. “we’re not—” she pauses, clearly trying to find her words, but i’m not giving her the time.

“that’s all i need to know,” i finish, forcing a tight-lipped grin. “you don’t have to lie. i’m quite sick of those from you, actually.” i chuckle, but it’s a hollow sound, one that doesn’t even make it past my throat. i reach for my shoes that i tossed to the side when i got here, pulling them onto my feet.

paige watches, hands on her hips, and i’m fine with her quiet. “i don’t want you to leave upset with me over somethin’ we coulda talked about,” she softens, but it doesn’t change the fact that i’m already over it.

“i’m not upset with you,” i bluff, and i tie the laces of my sneakers a little tighter than necessary.

she glances down, tongue swarming her mouth, and i don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s thinking of some way to stop me. “nai—“ she starts.

“i’m not upset,” i repeat, and i hope it was more firm this time. i force myself to look her in the eyes, not a single thought behind them. neither of us is willing to be the first to back down, but i’m too exhausted to care anymore. “i just need to go,” i finish, standing up and rounding the couch.

paige’s face drops, hesitation etched across her entire face. “you can’t leave. you had too much. just… stay, aight? we’ll figure it ou—”

i grab my jacket, ignoring her weak attempts. somehow, this all feels like that night again, and i feel that familiar nausea creep up. “i’ll call a fucking uber,” i snap, throwing the door open. and before she can stop me, i’m gone, my pulse racing as i step out into the hall, leaving behind the sound of her voice.

i don’t think i’m very good at pretending i’m not upset.

[anamericangirl]

I just wanted to send you a good morning. Even though it's 5:30pm.

It's been a long 4 years, this election cycle. I've seen the internet, mostly Tumblr, Twitter, YouTube, Twitch, other social media garbage hellsites, turn into the most divided and horrible people I've ever seen.

I've watched for 4 years as my left-wing friends have attacked me verbally, blocked me and/or slandered me on social media for so much as barely questioning their viewpoints, while also watching my right-wing friends (even the most deep seeded conspiracy theorists among them) just ask me if I'm free to play World of Warcraft or something with them while we laugh and joke about stuff.

I've lost over 30 friends in 4 years, 4 short years, with literally only 1 friend lost before that. 35 years alive, 31 years I only lost 1 friend, 4 years I lost 30, and all 30 were ultra liberal friends who decided in those 4 years that they couldn't even stand being around me at all because I had too many questions about their liberal beliefs (Example: When shown a video of a Mexican woman saying "You can't be racist to white people" I laughed and called her dumb. The friend who showed me it called me a racist piece of shit and said, "Every time a person of color says anything you have to critique them!" to which I replied "This is literally the first time you've ever seen me responding to a person of color ever what the fuck are you talking about?" and they blocked me).

In 4 short years, I went from being a super liberal with blue hair who identified as Transgender Nonbinary Agender, to being a regular ol' male man who no longer supports the ultra-fetishization that the liberal left has turned our country's values into.

In 4 short years I've watched my liberal friends and liberal commissioners confess things to me that are so disgusting that I have informed the FBI of 7 of them and have put 5 of them in prison for the vile shit they confessed to me.

And now, 4 years later, with Trump winning, it's the first time since this all began that I finally feel like we're waking up at the start of everything starting to heal.

These obsessive, disgusting sexual deviants who nearly tore our entire country apart who have called their opponents nazis, pedophiles, creeps, monsters, fascists, racists, sexists, homophobes, transphobes, etc. for 8 years are finally feeling real opposition from people who are sick and tired of their bullying and corrupt politics.

So I just wanted, now that it feels like it's finally coming to an end and the future is finally looking bright again, to say hey AnAmericanGirl, good morning to you.

Hope you're doing well!

It’s not morning where I am either, it’s about 11:30 at night but this is genuinely one of the most positive and beautiful things I’ve read today.

Going through everything you went through and losing so many friends in such a short period of time and turning it all into a positive hopeful message is really heartwarming to read.

So good morning to you too!

[metamorphmigus]

Barn frog.

[616wandanat]

𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 .

stay educated ,   rroma edition :   opre roma carrd ,   various rroma instagrams ,   romani educational doc .

blogs that talk about rromani wanda :   @scarlet--wiccan​ ,   @scarletwitching​ .

romani wanda posts :   @bikenesmith​ talking about wandavision & whitewashing + racism ,   @scarlet--wiccan​ talking about rromani wanda & her history of being rroma ,   @wyndex​ talking about the wanda’s new video game appearance ,   @wyndex​ giving proof that elizabeth olsen is racist .

stay educated ,   jewish edition :   jewish multiracial network ,   my jewish learning .

blogs that speak about judaism :   @writingwithcolor​ .

jewish resource posts :     @scrumpster​ with an assortment of jewish resources ,   @tzipporahssong​ with where to start researching .

[halfdeadsacrifice]

🎁 for Hilda!

Vayu stared for a moment, leaning one hand against a tree. A few paces away, almost a shadow against the twilight, was a girl -- rather, the girl, the one who was to be brought back to the town of Stadel.

A drawback of spending most his time away from town was that he was too disconnected from whatever situation it was to understand the story behind that bounty, but looking at its subject, something seemed wrong about the whole situation. Some part of him had already made up his mind on what he was going to do about this.

He kept distance between them, and spoke cautiously. "I heard a scream in the woods, somewhere."

Maybe it was her. Maybe she was only chasing it, same as him.

[angel-sweets666]

Wrong photo!

AGED UP AGED UP BRO NO PEDOS

Denki kaminari x fem!reader

You accidentally send Denki a photo of your tits instead of homework, you didn’t expect him to send his dick back

mdi

a/n okay so this is inspired by a post I saw, I forgot the name of the blog but if someone knows can you put the name in the comments? Inspired by this text message thing where you accidentally send mha boys nudes

warning: swearing ,nudes, oral m and f, boobie sucking, fingering 🙏🙏

ALL CREDS GOING TO THE INSPIRED CREATOR

You groan and slam your head onto the table in frustration. This homework was impossible; no matter how many times you went over it, the answers just wouldn’t come. The jumble of equations and theories seemed to mock you from the pages of your textbook.

Grumbling, you pulled out your phone, feeling a mix of desperation and determination. You opened your chats and scrolled to Bakugo’s name. He was one of the smartest kids in class, and despite his rough exterior, you knew he could help.

*name*: bakugo can you help me with this homework?

explosion tits: no figure it out yourself dumbass

*name*: this is why you get no bitches

explosion tits: kys.

You scoffed in annoyance. What’s up his ass recently? you wondered, fidgeting with your phone. The dorms were unusually quiet, with most of the students away at various hero training sessions. Only you and three other kids were left behind, making the place feel almost deserted.

Scrolling through your contacts, you realized your options for homework help were limited. You could message Mineta, but the thought of dealing with his inappropriate responses made your skin crawl. He'd likely send you an unsolicited picture of his 1cm shriveled-up cock instead of any actual help with homework.

That left Denki. While he wasn’t the brightest, he was at least not as creepy as Mineta. You sighed and opened a chat with Denki, typing out a message.

*name* hey does this look right to you? [image]

free charger 🙏 : WOAH HELLO TO YOU TOO

*name* Tf you on about?

Free charger 🙏: [image]

your face turned bright pink as you opened the picture, that was Denkis dick. You always expected him to have a small dick but clearly not. you looked back down at your phone to type

*name* DENKI WHAT THE FUCK

free charger🙏: WHATT YOU SENT ME TITTIES I SENT YOU MY DICK I THOUGHT WE WERE TRADING NUDES

you stare at your screen in complete horror, what does he mean you sent titties? You checked the photo you sent and there it was, the nudes you had saved for dudes you were talking to…. But you had accidentally sent them to the 2nd dude you’d never want to send nudes to, first being mineta.

The sound of fast stomps echoed down the hall, and you assumed it was Bakugo chasing Izuku or Kirishima. Then, you remembered that both Izuku and Kirishima were out doing hero training. So who was stomping down the hallway if not bakugo?

The door bursted open, it was a very panicked kaminari “IM SORRY LETS FORGET ABOUY THIS” he said as he snatched your phone “HEY!” You yelped, trying to grab your phone back “IM DELETING THE PHOTOS HOLD ON!” He screamed, bakugos yelling could be heard in the distance “SHUT IT.” His gruff voice exclaimed. You watched kaminari try to delete the photos, a panicked look on his face; while you watched him do this you looked him up and down, noticing the obvious bulge in his pants

he didn’t have time to jerk off between you sending the photos and him bursting into your room? Your face turning pinker at the idea of his dick, he wasn’t exactly small and he had a very pretty dick… the familiar warmth went straight for your lower belly…

kaminari was muttering quick apologies, trying as quickly as he could to delete the photos “imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry” “Denki!” “I’m trying to not be such a creep and i basically just ruined it all” “ Denki!” “DONE! What?” He looked up at you “it’s fine, we all make mistakes” you tried to calm him down but to be honest it was more yourself from your own flustered moment “WHAT FRIENDS SEND EACH OTHER NUDES?” He acted bewildered, throwing his hands “uh… friends with benefits?” You shrugged as you thought about it.

Denkis jaw dropped as he once again yelled “ARE WE FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS? IVE NEVER EVEN SEEN YOUR BOO- oh wait yes I have” he calmed down at the thought, his eyebrows furrowing before his face proceeding to get a lot pinker. The hardness between his legs became a lot worse. “NOT THE POINT!” He said as he gently threw your phone into your lap, but you seemed preoccupied; Your eyes going between his eyes and his dick.

Denki stood face to face with you, trying to figure out where your line of sight was. Denki soon realised why your face was so pink and it wasn’t because you had just seen his dick on camera or because you accidentally shown him your titties “are you.. are you looking at my dick?!” he seemed so surprised, not a bad surprised with how Pervy he was but just… surprised. “OH SHIT SORRY! H-HOW ABOUT YOU JUST L-LEAVE AND WE NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN YEAH?” You tried to push Denki out of your dorm, letting out a nervous laugh.

Denki saw an opportunity and he was going to take it? He suddenly resisted against your push and grabbed your hands to take them off his back “hey Uhm…” he starts “well you do have very pretty titties” he smirks and leans down to you, your whole face turning a much pinker shade “w-wha?” You stammered, trying to reach up and push Denki out “what? You do!” He chuckled and took a step forward “Denki what are you doing?” You crossed your arms against your chest, unknowingly giving him a better view of your tits. Denki grins and looks down at them “hey! Now you’re just showing them off.” He sneakily shut the door behind him.

“I-i wasn’t showing them off!” The feeling of arousal became worse and worse, you began to realise he was probably trying to see if you’ll let him see or even touch your boobs “what are you doing..?” You asked as you stepped back, Denki stepping forward “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEMME SEE ‘EM.” The blonde begged, clasping his hands together as he could feel his pants get even tighter. “I won’t hurt you I promise! I won’t even tell anyone!” He kept begging, even going as far as getting on his knees.

You thought about it for a moment, your face going pink. “I mean.. as long as this stays between us…” you mumbled, looking away to hide your obvious pink face. Denkis eyes lit up but then he tried to look more serious about it, not wanting to assault you obviously. You slowly sat down “AND NO HARD GRABBING! I’m not in the mood for sore boobs” you stuck your finger out at him, laying down some ground rules so you two were on the same page “deal! Wait I can grab them?” His face lit up again “i suppose yeah… BUT DONT HURT ME.” You reminded him of the rule “I’ll be gentle! I’ll be very gentle with you” he raised his hands to show that he was being honest. You got yourself in a more comfortable position on the bed as you pulled your shirt off, chucking it to the other side of the room. While you didn’t notice it, Denki was is absolute awe to see a girl in her bra at all.

“Mkay calm down” you giggled as tried to wake him from his trance, he shook his head to pull himself together. Denki slowly sat next to you on the plush mattress of your bed, he wanted to make himself comfortable for this. Why was he panicking so much?! You reached behind yourself and unclasped your bra, chucking it on the floor too before laying down on your back. Denki was again in complete awe, now he had a pretty girl laying down next to him with her tits out, this day could not get any better for Denki.

“Are you sure I can touch ‘em” he mumbled, obviously wanting confirmation he was actually allowed to touch you. “Yeah go on then” you smiled sweetly up at him, that made his brain overheat. Denkis hand reached out and slowly caressed over your left boob, paying extra attention to the sensitive bud on you. You let out a whimper and his face lit up, a new found confidence going him ability to keep going, his other hand reached out to caress your right tit. He soon found a way to hover over you as he squeezed and gently play with your tits. Denki chuckled in awe, he couldn’t believe he out of all people was making you feel this good. Atleast he assumed you felt good because of the whimpers you let out.

Denki looked up at you and slowly lowered his head to suck on your right nipple. You let out a whine and gripped his hair, grabbing a fistful. He giggles against your boob and waves his tongue over the sensitive bud “shit…”he whispered as he popped off your boob and leaned down to suck on the other one, fondling the one he just had in his mouth. You arched your back a little and let out a coo, running your fingers through his golden blonde locks. The blonde soon popped off your other boob, fondling both with his warm hands. He smirked smugly as he admired your body, he lowered his head again to kiss the valley between each breast before lowering his kisses down your belly as he listened to your sweet noises

“shit your actually really pretty, not like because I just sucked your tits it’s because your like actually pretty!” He sat up to admire you, you blushed and gripped the bedsheets “hmmph.” You pouted “damn someone’s got a attitude” Denki muttered as he went back to kissing your boobs and tummy, you slowly snaked your hand into his hair again and let out a series of whimpers with each kiss and suck. Denki grumbled when he realised that he didn’t have any condoms, looks like a blow job will do fine.

“Can I uh.. take your shorts off?” He asked, trying to atleast make you comfortable “it’s okay if you don’t wanna! It’s completely up to you princess” Denki grins up at you “yeah.. it’s fine” you sat up on your elbows to look down at him, his face was flushed and his eyes sparkled with arousal. Denki placed his fingers under your waistband and pulled your shorts down “shit were going commando today?” His eyebrows raised as his pupils grew, he used his big hands to pull your thighs apart “oh my god your so wet..” Denki mumbled, he had a genuine idea on how to eat a girl out from the pornos he watched but other than that he didn’t know how to pleasure you!

“you gotta let me eat you out” he looked up at you, Pupils blown and all. You let out a surprised whimper, then slowly nodded. “With your words princess with your words” he tapped your thigh with his finger, you gulped and looked down at your pussy “yeah.. sure you can eat me out..” you mumbled bashfully, Denki grinned and pulled your hips towards his face. Licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, you let out a moan and gripped the bedsheets “nghh” your back arched off the mattress. Denki began to eat you out like a starved man, shoving his tongue inside and tongue fucking you before sucking on your clit, he pulled back with a pop and stuck his two fingers into his mouth to use as lube even though you were slick enough from your own juices and his spit for his two fingers to slide right in.

slowly Denki slid his fingers inside of you, stretching your walls out deliciously. You let out a desperate whine as he began to pump his thick fingers deeper and deeper, hr leaned back down to tongue at your clit. You sat up and gripped at his hair, he grunted against your clit. Causing a vibration against your core “t’much! I’m gonna.. I’m gonna..” you whined as the grip on his hair got tighter “holy shit am I about to make a girl cum?” He thought in his mind as he began to pump his fingers faster, making you release more and more moans. eventually you let out one last squeal before cumming hard on his fingers, you panted tiredly and looked down at his hand. Denki slowly pulled his fingers out, slick and cum glistening his fingers. Denki slowly stuck his fingers in his mouth and tasted you on his digits “shit.. pussy tastes good” he mumbled “huh?!” You gasped “calm down!” He chuckles and sat up, leaning his body over you “would you please suck me off? I’m actually really hard and it’s starting to hurt like a lot” he said with a sigh, enjoying the thought of you chocking on his dick.

you gulped and looked down between his legs, the bulge looked painful. “Yeah.. that looks like it hurts.” You nodded as you sat up straight, now completely naked infront of him. Denki grinned and sat down on the mattress, pulling his shorts and boxer briefs off his hips. Releasing his cock from the constraints of his pants , the poor thing was so hard that he even had precum dripping down the length of his dick:((

you sat down on the floor between his legs, your face blushing. Denki ran his hands through his hair, an attempt to calm his nerves. “You know I’ve never had a blow job before” he chuckles nervously as he watches you spit into your hand, you look up at him “I’ve never been eaten out before this so it’s fine” you told him, teaching over and beginning to stroke his lengthy cock. He let out a groan, your hand was so much better then his own fist. You leaned forward and licked the side; base to tip, giving the tip a couple swirls of the tongue. He groaned “shit are you sure you’ve never done this before?!” He said with a groan “mhm..” you hummed against the tip, causing a vibration that made him moan. Denki grabbed a fist full of your hair and pushed your head down on his cock. “Nghh fuck! That feels too good… I’ll probably cum quick…” he groaned as he used his hand to help you suck it, face fucking you.

you could feel the tip of his length going down your throat, tears welling up in your eyes. You gripped his thighs tightly so you had something to hold onto “shit I’m gonna fucking.. cum” he grunted as he began to face fuck you a little faster, he pushed your face all the way down his cock before letting out spurts of hot cum “soo fucking good…” he mumbled, letting your head go so you could breath. You pulled your face off his cock and slowly swallowed all of it, opening your mouth so he could see you swallows all of his seed “that’s hot…” he smirked and rubbed your cheek, and all of this came from doing homework

SHIT YOUR HOMEWORK.

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 8.5k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Pre-season 1. Voice kink. Oral sex. Unprotected sex.

Summary: You're a huge fan of Homelander but you always feel too awkward to ever meet your hero at a meet & greet or similar events. Your friends enter you into a Vought competition, where you've got a chance to win a phone call from Homelander himself.  

Author’s Note: My first Homelander fic! Also, this is the first time I’m publishing my work. Obligatory English isn’t my first language so apologies if there are any strange turns of phrase but I happily take on criticism so feel free to correct me. I want to get better! I’m also not very good with sticking to the right tense. This is very self-indulgent so read with caution. 

You can’t decide whether to hug or strangle your friends. They’re trying to be nice, you get that. But this goes against everything you’d ever do! Lovely as they are, they’ve entered you into a competition to meet your hero. To meet Homelander. The thought alone makes your head spin, your heart pound and stomach twist on itself.

‘It was just 20 bucks, what’s the worst that can happen? You win?’ Reads your friend’s message. You roll your eyes, hearing the teasing tone in your head. They know about your not-so-hidden obsession and at the end of the day they just wanted to brighten their friends day.

And sure, you are a fan. Okay, fine. You’re a big fan. Obsessed even. Every-wall-of-your-bedroom adorned-with-posters-and-promotional-materials obsessed. But you don’t want to appear like that. Last thing you’d want to come across as to your idol, you hero, is an annoying screeching fan begging for his attention.

You don’t want to be part of the crowds pawing at him, inching as close as they can just to graze his uniform with their fingertips. You don’t want to look like a feral fan. You have manners. You don’t want to be just another face, just another adoring fan begging for him to look your way. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’ll never be more than a fan. So you don’t go to meet & greets. You don’t go to premieres. You don’t pay exorbitant fees just to meet your hero.

You’re a romantic at heart. You always imagine the first meeting to be one for the books. Maybe he saves you from a burning building flying you down, his stars and stripes billowing in the wind as he looks at you with concern etched into his handsome face, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries as he talks to you with a soothing rumbling tone that sends shivers down your spine. You can clearly imagine him going, Are you okay miss?, as he descends to the ground. Or you just happen to bump into each other but he catches you with his strong arms and fast reflexes and just like that it’s love at first sight. Scenarios after scenarios. All varieties of ‘meet-cute’s play in your head on a daily basis. You spend your time getting lost in your head, dreaming of the day when it will be your turn to be the protagonist of the story. When will you be the damsel in distress? But you sigh and move on with life, because this isn’t a romance novel.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself (and others) when people ask you why you haven't tried to meet your hero. 

Oh I just don’t want to be a weird obsessive fan. Plus it’s expensive!

Meeting heroes is technically easy. Vought gives people many opportunities to see their heroes for a pretty penny. They parade their heroes around like exotic animals in a zoo on a daily basis. 

For you the reality is that you simply can’t handle seeing your hero up close and personal, let alone talk to him. How are you not meant to get flustered in front of what you considered to be perfection? How are you meant to find your words or even come up with words worthy of being uttered in his presence? You’re meant to look into his eyes, tell him how much of a fan you are and not fluster and burst into tears from the anxiety coiling in your gut as you wait your turn? 

You don’t want that. You don’t want to be just another babbling fan. You want to stand out. You want him to remember you. You want him to think about you.  But you’re also a realist and you know that at most he’ll think you just another annoying fangirl if he even grants you a passing thought. So you spare yourself those hurt feelings and you avoid meet & greets, you avoid all the fan-targeted conventions, events, promotional campaigns or competitions. 

Or you always have. Until now it seems. You again scroll up in the group chat where your friends surprised you with an entry to the newest competition Vought advertised. It was presented as a fundraiser. All proceeds are planned to be donated to Samaritan’s Embrace. A simple $20 entry that would grant you a chance to be one of five lucky winners to get a personal phone call from Homelander. 

A fat chance of that, you thought when you first saw the competition announced on both Vought’s and Homelander’s twitter accounts. With a competition that invites Homelander's country-wide fanbase, there really is no chance of you winning. You half-comfort yourself with that thought. You don’t know where you’d even start should you win. Part of you thinks that maybe ‘meeting’ him over the phone could be bearable as he wouldn’t be able to witness just how badly you’re holding it together.

But then you think back to all the videos you’ve watched. The reels and the tiktoks you’ve saved. The podcasts and interviews that at this point you play almost religiously. He's perfect in every way but you're particularly fond of his voice just rumbling in your ear when it gets nice and low as he talks in lengths about the upcoming movie or his most recent save. A while back you bought yourself a decent set of noise-cancelling headphones with great audio quality and suddenly it felt like he was right behind you just purring into your ears. Very few interviews record with good enough microphones to capture how mesmerising his voice is but those that do get saved and played on repeat sending shivers down your spine, following you to bed and invading your dreams. So no, maybe a phone call wouldn’t make the experience any easier on your poor heart. 

You calm down after the initial panic reaffirming yourself with the reality where there’s no chance that you’ll get picked anyway. You text your friends again, kindly thanking them for thinking of you as you shook your head with an amused smile. That’s that done and forgotten about.

Or so you think. Few weeks down the line the mental discourse has long left your mind. The conversation moves on and your friends don’t mention anything since. That’s why it’s no surprise when you pick up the unknown call after the third ring with ease, casually answering with, “Hello, Y/N speaking.” 

Homelander looks through the list of winners Ashley brought to his desk with a scowl on his face. He’s grumpy, having to jump through everyone’s hoops is grating on him, slowly chipping away at his showmanship armour. This is just another nail in the coffin. Now he has to make private phone calls?

He wants to be revered, loved. With people bending over backwards just to get his attention. Sure, that’s right up his alley. Get the crowds to scream his name, be grateful for his divine presence. What he isn’t a fan of is making others think they’re special. He’s the special one. Where does Vought get off thinking that he’s got the time to call and visit his fans one-on-one.

He rolls his eyes looking through the unimpressive line-up that Vought carefully curated. One of each demographic, trying to hit all the targets Vought wants him to improve his numbers with.

Each candidate has a sheet of talking points assigned to them, things to highlight, mention or even promote to each one of the fans. Normally Homelander would throw Vought’s carefully crafted response straight back to their faces but right now he’s not in the slightest interested in being clever or the fans' idea of ‘authentic’ so he’d rather rattle off a few lines from a curated list of party lines. At the end of the day he doesn’t care for this. Talking to five individual fans doesn’t help him in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t happening in public, there’s no one here to witness his generosity. Nobody to witness a god, looking down and gracing his followers with his benevolence.

Vought believes the individual approach will be worth it in the long run. That apparently fans will come running to any future events and competitions seeing as real people they might know have won in the past. All Homelander sees is at most five twitter mentions from a few nobodys.

He’s got about an hour in the calendar to get through all of these. Though he's banking on this taking a lot less time. There are many more important things he could be doing instead. 

He flips through the files again, each profile is filled out with a name, number and a photo, deciding on the least painful order. A young boy, an elderly woman, a middle aged comic enthusiast, some punk teenager and you. Homelander looks at your profile with mild interest. You’re the only one who Vought didn’t manage to find a good quality recent photo of. Clearly you don’t do social media. Yet the quality doesn’t take away from the intrigue your profile inspired. You’re easily the most interesting in the list but that’s not that hard to do. Still, Homelander puts yours at the end of the list. Saving the best for last.

“Hellooo and congratulations! This is Homelander and you’re one of the few lucky cookies who get to have a little chit chat with me.” All air gets sucked out of your lungs and the ease with which you picked up the phone is gone. Your eyes widen, breath caught in your throat only coming out in confused little stutters. This isn’t real. It can’t be!

Whether it’s a particularly vivid dream or your world is actually turning upside down you’re glad this happened at home. Your knees buckle, your ass landing straight on your bed, your legs trembling with nervous energy as you sit down.

“W-what?” You manage to blurt out, more breathy than not. Your heart is pounding like never before. You wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it over the phone, it feels loud to your ears.

“The competition? You entered, right?” His voice. His fucking voice was right in your ear and you felt like melting into a puddle of goo. Anything to spare you the embarrassing words that are surely about to come out of your mouth one way or another.

“Oh… um…” You are blowing it. There’s no other word for it. Totally embarrassing yourself. Not able to say a word, still trying to calm your heart down.

“Are you not a fan? Have I got the wrong number–?”

“N-no no! No…I mean yes. I mean sorry…fuck.” You are totally losing it. The hand holding your phone is shaking with nervous energy. 

“Hey hey hey…. Come on now. Take it easy. Now take a deep breath aaand relax.” His voice is rich and sweet like honey, just like you’ve heard on TV but here it feels intimate. Just for you. He’s not talking to anybody else. As he hears your stuttered intake of breath and a mildly calmed exhale he coos again. “That’s it. Breathe with me. Now in.” If only he knew that this is making things so much worse for you. “And out.” 

“I’m so sorry. I meant to say, I am a fan but I don’t do this.” Your voice still trembles with each word but you’re a little more composed. 

“What? Call people?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, he's clearly pleased with his little joke. 

“No.” You can’t help yourself but chuckle, your lips spreading in a wide grin. Your heart is still pounding but it’s more excitement than embarrassment. You’re actually talking to Homelander. And you have already embarrassed yourself beyond belief but he’s still here! He’s still talking to you. He doesn’t even sound upset. “I mean I don’t meet you guys. Heroes. I don’t really know how to do this. I mean I pretty much live on your doorstep and I’ve never met either one of you.” Now that he calmed you down, getting you talking, you can’t stop talking. 

“Really? Some fan you are.” Were you of a sound mind you’d hear the joke but now all you could think is that you’ve upset him. And you can’t have him think that. Sure you’ve always wanted to stand out but not in a negative way! You take it to heart and you apologize.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to offend. At all! Really! It’s just, you don’t need another person begging for an autograph that they can brag with to their friends or sell online for a quick buck.” 

He exhales a little breathy laugh that has your whole body flush hot. “Oh, aren’t you adorable.” The panic that was inflating in you like a hot air balloon finally fizzled out. Instead it’s replaced by a throbbing heat in between your legs and you place your free hand over your heart, almost trying to will your body into behaving normally. “You know if you want I can send you some, would be a shame for such a sweet fan to not have anything personalised. I’ll sign it with your name.” He offers, a nice gesture, really, but you are currently having a whole body meltdown to even appreciate it for what it was.

“O-oh,that isn’t—You don’t have to—” 

He continues nonetheless. 

“Y/N, is it? Beautiful name.” Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, all soothing and sweet. And there you go, melting into a puddle just for him. 

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite. At least, not over the phone.” You let your hand trail down your body. He’s just talking. He’s just making jokes. He’s just trying to strike up a conversation to make such a freaked out fan of his a little calmer and there you are getting your rocks off on this. 

“Sorry. It’s hard not to be. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long while. I didn’t expect I’d ever get to talk to you. It’s kind of you to do things like this for us fans. I’m sure you’re busy. Thank you for taking the time.” You distract yourself from the throbbing that’s just calling for your hand to settle heavily in between your shaking thighs. 

“Oh no problem. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for all my loyal fans, right?” You should really stop moving your hand down your body. But you can’t help the effect he has on you, you’re not acting normal! 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the fame that makes you special. It’s you.” You breathe you all dreamy before realising this isn’t just one of your fantasies. No. You really are talking to Homelander. You cough a little, pretending like you had something stuck in your throat. 

“It is?”

“I think so. Change into civilian clothing and I’m sure you’ll still be turning heads.” You speak normally now but you bite your lip at the end, your hand now just above your pubic bone. 

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.” Oh, of course you have. Your body is screaming at you to take the plunge, to slip your hand down your panties, and make yourself feel like this is more than just a friendly fan call. But your mind is, correctly, telling you that this is beyond inappropriate. 

“Ah no! I just mean that you’re perfect at what you do. There’s nobody like you. Noone could take your spot. So it’s more than just fans.” You’re surprised you’re still carrying on. You feel like your brain is turning into mush with each word he’s saying. 

“What can I say? I take my job very seriously.” He goes on to talk about being a leader of the Seven, you guess he’s just trying to fill space seeing as you’re such a blubbering mess. Even with all his efforts at making this normal, your brain turns all the innocent words into the filthiest dirty talk.

“Look, I’d love to talk to you some more but I’m afraid I’ll have to end it there. I’m late for a talk show interview.” You retract your hand as if it got burnt and instead you grab onto the comforter you’re sitting on, stopping yourself from doing anything impulsive. 

“O-of course.” Your heart rate is elevated again, something about the thought of him leaving and you never getting the chance to speak to him again makes you want to scream. 

“Tell you what, I don’t want to be unfair to you. You hardly got your prize. I’ll call you later. You free in the evening?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Perfect.” 

Perfect. You’re fucking perfect. Homelander can’t stop the way his lips stretch into a predatory grin. You are exactly what a fan should be like. Swooning over him. Grateful that he’s even bothering to grace you with his presence. You were practically kneeling, bent over before him on the floor, kissing his feet as he gave you a taste of his divine presence. He has half a mind to take care of the uncomfortable hard-on pressing into his rigid suit. He couldn’t help himself when you were being such a sweet little thing. He feels no remorse at having rubbed himself through his suit as you were there on the other side of the phone, undeniably shaking in excitement, all flustered and tense and most certainly aroused. But no, he wants to wait his turn. He needs the real thing. He’s not planning on letting you go that easy.

Originally he was pissed that most of his time on the phone was taken up by the elderly woman who was talking his ear off. Now he’s thinking about sending her a gift basket. He has a real excuse to see you. 

When Homelander wants something he’s like a hunter, doing everything he can to lure his prey into his trap. In this case he abuses his powers to get the Crime Analytics team to dig up your address and in the meanwhile he sits through a mind-numbingly boring interview at a low-tier talk show he really shouldn’t need to waste his time on. 

The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that you might be watching. You seem like a big fan. You surely wouldn’t dare miss out on his live appearances. The thought alone gives him enough drive to not laser through the talk show host everytime she asks a stupid question and instead he imagines he’s speaking straight to you.

When the show is over he takes off before his team can steer him towards another boring chore. No, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like any good predator he observes. He waits until it’s the right time to strike. That’s why he’s perched at the top of the building that’s opposite yours. He’s got a clear line of sight to your apartment but he’s careful in making sure you can’t see him. 

He watches, his grin reappearing every damn time he sees you reach your phone, checking if your ringer is on for the tenth time. You are an easy target, he can swoop in anytime and sweep you off your feet but he wants it to be perfect. With sick fascination he keeps watching you, your behaviours and patterns as you pace around your room trying to preoccupy your mind with mindless thoughts. He knows that nothing you do can now fill the void that he left behind. What else can replace the purr of his voice in your ear, soothing and exciting you at the same time. Nothing. There’s nobody like him. You said it yourself.

An hour of self-indulgent watching later he decides to end your misery. You just look so upset and disappointed and he knows you’ll just melt in his presence. He needs to be close to you. He got a little sprinkle of what you're like over the phone and now he’s got a craving for the real thing. He needs to feel you, smell you, hear your poor heart trying to keep up with the excitement right in his ear.

So with a quick drop he descends.

The day has gone by torturously slow for you. You spend every minute checking your phone in case your ringer randomly fails you and you won’t catch the second call from Homelander. Just thinking that makes your thighs quiver. The thought of having him purr into your ear any longer wets your panties all over again. But over the coming hours your enthusiasm deflates. It’s getting late and your chances of ever getting a call back are low. 

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh and clean, in your pyjamas ready to sleep today’s rollercoaster of emotions away. Or you would be if it wasn’t for a knock at your balcony door interrupting your thoughts and making you flinch in surprise. The flash of red and blue still so vibrant and colourful against the midnight sky has your breath catching in your throat. What the fuck?!

You open the balcony door in shock, and if you had the strength to do so you would have ripped it off its hinges with pure eagerness. There he is in all his patriotic glory. Homelander. A wide grin on his face, posture ramrod straight as he clasps his gloved hands behind his back, puffing his chest out.

“H-Homelander?!” Your voice quivers at the proximity, your heart picks up speed again and you feel your entire body flush both in embarrassment and excitement. Your first thought goes to how you currently look rather than questioning his motives or how he even found where you live in the first place. 

Trying to regain your composure you shake your head, blinking as if he was just a figment of your imagination. Maybe your devout obsession with him is finally damaging your mental state, making you hallucinate.

“Good evening, Y/N.” God, how does he do that! The way your name slips off his tongue so easily, with such familiarity makes you clench and part your lips with a gasp. Any sort of composure you’ve regained crumbling to dust. Now you are just awkwardly gawking, in awe at the unreal figure in front of you, in the flesh. Homelander doesn’t wait to be invited in, strutting into your modest apartment like it belongs to him, the confident strides of his red boots loud and heavy against the creaky floor of your apartment. He takes up the living space confidently, somehow making you feel like you don't belong in your own space. His presence took priority, anything else secondary—you included. 

“How did you—” Your question of how he found where you live doesn’t even get fully asked, let alone answered. He cuts in, not actually caring about your justified worry over having your address handed out willy-nilly. 

“Our call was a bit too short to my liking. You don’t mind a little late-night visit, do you?” You feel disarmed. His voice turns gravelly, lowering with each word. His tone teasing as if he was telling you a secret, so unlike his television persona where he’s all American apple pie values and open arms with clear intentions. Here, he grinned widely—all teeth with his sharp canines bared to you like the predator he is. Like you’re his next meal. “Ohohoo, would you look at this. Maybe you are my biggest fan, huh?” 

You are distracted by his voice, his presence, just him that you fail to notice his eyes wandering around your apartment. Your face flushes red in embarrassment as you see him assessing your safe space, or what felt like your safe space before this ambush, all with an amused grin on his face. 

“These are all limited edition. Must have cost you a small fortune.” Holding a breath you watch him take his gloves off one by one, placing the leather on your table with a soft thwack. It feels forbidden, not meant for your eyes. The public doesn’t get to see Homelander as anything other than perfect. His image manicured, perfected to the tiniest details. Seeing his surprisingly elegant bare hands, this up close feels intimate yet threatening like he’s unsheathed his sword, revealing one of the many hidden weapons he can use against you. 

You watch as he brushes his fingers against limited edition action figurines, box sets, posters and trinkets featuring his likeness or the logo emblem Vought associates with him. If it was anyone else you’d tell them to keep their paws away from your most prized possessions but it's Homelander. Who else gets the right to touch special limited edition merchandise of his own likeness? 

You watch as he paces the room with an unreadable expression. The embarrassment you feel transforms into an apology, heavy on your tongue as you force your mouth open, letting your shame out into the world. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

“I-I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a curious expression. A swoop of his blonde hair handsomely falling into his face. He puts down one of the figurines he picked up earlier as he scouted the area. 

“All this stuff.” You wave your hand around, the grand display of what can only be described as the Church of Homelander, a shrine dedicated to his divine existence. You see how it looks, how it makes you look like a rabid fan. Though you’re anything but. “I know it’s a little strange. I don’t want to make you feel like a museum piece. Or-or-or a circus animal! I just admire you. A lot.”

“You do?” 

“I do.” Your breath catches in your throat as he turns around fully, facing you head on, one slow step inching towards you at a time. You gulp, feeling like you’re left in the dark regarding his intentions as you hopelessly struggle to read him. On the opposite spectrum you’re there, an open book, your heart on your sleeve, your every thought written so clearly on your face you may as well give him your diary to flip through. “More than anything.” Breathlessly you add, meeting his eyes as a challenge. You’re devout, as loyal as it gets. You’d do anything for him if he asked.

Homelander rises to your mental challenge with a grin so sharp you feel the metaphorical bite coming before he even opens his mouth as he steps closer. He’s so close now. Any ordinary man could feel the thud of your heartbeat, but to his keen senses it’s a war drum and he’s marching to a battle he’s already won. His bare, elegant hands make their way to your jaw caressing it with a surprising gentleness. You flinch. Even though you watched it happen with wide eyes, you didn’t expect his hands to leave you unmarred. You almost expect your skin to sizzle, unworthy of his divine touch.  

Homelander’s grin disappears, his tongue gliding along his teeth as if he’s cleaning them before he devours his next meal. All that leaves you is a little whimper before he pulls you in, his hands thrumming with incomprehensible strength as he kisses you. He kisses the air out of your lungs as if you could survive without it like he can. As if you could meet him in the middle. But dammit you do your best to. He’s a passionate kisser, incapable of sticking to soft kisses. No, he devours. He licks your lips open, his tongue gliding along yours. You brace your hands against his chest, already feeling weak in the knees. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue in your mouth is nothing compared to how hot and wet you feel in your panties.

It doesn’t help that he’s vocal. You kiss him harder anytime he growls or moans into your lips, his voice vibrating against your lips just possessing you more. And soon it turns into a game of who can dish it out harder. Each devoted kiss makes him hum and purr which in turn melts you into a pile of goo, making you kiss him harder. Your lips feel hot, swollen from the ferocious kissing. You’re nearing the limit of what your lungs can manage without resurfacing for air.

Homelander pulls away but he doesn’t give you any time to recover. As if you could. How do you recover from that? Instead he’s adamant about making your heartbeat hit record heights. His hands glide down your body, featherlight touches that make your skin break out into goosebumps as he settles on your hips, trailing the waistband of your pants. His pink wet lips spread into another predatory smile and before you know it he leans closer to your ear, practically purring, “Tell me, if I take these off will I find you wearing Homelander panties too?” 

Flustered squeak escapes you as he laughs wholeheartedly at your embarrassment. You know he knows. He’s teasing you for a reason. “They’re comfortable.” You eventually grumble, pouting like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I bet they are.” He sinks down to one knee, his hands taking the waistband of your pants with him as he pulls them down over your thighs, letting the fabric pool by your ankles. He pats your ankle, prompting you to step out of them. You comply, kicking the fabric away earning a little word of praise from him. “Attagirl.” You’re visibly trembling as he kneels in front of you, his eyes locked on the sight of your blue panties with his emblem and name right across the middle in gold, all accentuated by a red trim. It would be far from sexy in any other circumstance but he purrs at the sight. All pleased like the cat that got the cream. “Got my name across your pussy all day long?” 

Before you could react like any other person would, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You yelp, losing your balance trying to grab onto his head or shoulders for support but he puts his arm on your back, sliding it right under your top keeping you straight and secure whether you want it or not. You’re not leaving until he says so. “Might as well fucking taste it seeing as it’s already mine, don’t you think?” He gives you a hungry look licking his lips before hoisting your other leg over his shoulder, standing up with ease. He walks you back against a wall as he eagerly inhales the scent of you, his head perfectly in between your warm thighs. 

“Woah!” You stabilise yourself, finally having more surface to lean against. The fabric of your top glides along the surface of the glossy posters he has you pressed against. Making you the centerpiece, surrounding you with his likeness. You finally process what the fuck is happening as you feel his nose pressing into the soaked fabric of your panties. “Homelander! Y-you….ohh…” You whimper, your hands automatically finding comfort and safety in between his golden locks. 

“Fuck you smell good.” Homelander growls, his hands now on your ass, holding you in place as he sticks his tongue out, pressing it wetly over your soaked panties. The taste of you already coating all his taste buds.

“O-oh fffuuck. OH god…yes…yes please.” You don’t stop yourself from moaning freely, the time for embarrassment long gone as Homelander lifts one hand from your ass, impatiently pulling the fabric of your Homelander panties to the side, his tongue already slipping in for a taste before his hand even makes it back to squeeze your ass. “Taste just as fucking good.” His voice strained, uttering filth in between your thighs.

His thick tongue pushes through the slit of your weeping pussy, lapping up what you’ve so graciously prepared just for him. And as you watch a mop of blonde hair greedily slurp at your wetness like he’s parched, you think back to the fantasies that drove you to orgasm after orgasm as the imaginary Homelander ate your pussy. 

Well, for one the real thing is a lot more enthusiastic than you ever imagined him to be. He is sucking on your clit in rhythm that has you throb harder, making your toes curl. “Ohhh, Homelander!” You reward him with a loud moan of his name, like a prayer on your lips. And you repeat it with each masterful lick around your clit that has you squirming in his hold, legs quivering around his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

The second thing you never considered was how much his powers would come into play. Here he is with a deathly strong iron grip around your ass, easily holding you up on his shoulders against the wall while pushing you as close into his face as he can. The thought of not being able to escape his grip exhilarates you as much as it terrifies you. His lack of need for air makes him a perfect devout lover. Because this is pure devotion except it seems he forgot who was meant to worship who.

You’d be embarrassed by the obscene sounds you two are making if it didn’t feel so good. You moan for him prettily as he licks up all the wetness he’s coaxing out of you. You breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building. He's consistent, giving you just the right pressure. Homelander looks up at you, eyes glassy and blown back with lust before he swiftly repositions you, needing just one arm to make you feel weightless yet secure in his hold as he takes his free hand plunging two fingers into you revelling in the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Oh there there there! Ahhh!” You guide him, his fingers pumping into you and with his tongue still working magic on your clit you whimper out, “oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–.” You fall apart in his arms, cumming on Homelander’s tongue like you’ve imagined many times over. With you thrashing around you rip the poster right behind you unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. He licks you through the waves crashing through you. He’s smug, you can feel the smirk against your pussy as he gives it one more kiss before easily slipping you off his shoulders, preening with satisfaction. “Mhmm you did so good.” His voice purred and even in your post-orgasm haze you flush with fresh heat at the praise.

He gives you time to compose yourself but you don’t want it. You want him. You need him. Your legs feel like jelly so you immediately sink to your knees, nuzzling your face into his crotch. Too eager to wait. Homelander cooed at your enthusiasm, “Look at that. Didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckles, voice thick with lust, his lips and chin still glistening from the way he feasted on you.

Wobbly and out of your mind, you reach for his belt, unable to figure out how to unclasp it, your dexterity not quite there either to be able to wiggle the hem of his pants underneath it and pull them down.

You look up at him with the face of a kitten that’s not getting what it wants. Pouting and pleading for help. 

“Christ, let me help you with that.” Homelander unclasps his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud and heavy clang and the thought of it denting the cheap flooring doesn’t even graze your mind. He unzips his pants and the hiss alone makes your mouth water. He pushes his pants a little lower and you stare wide eyed at where his thematically red briefs are tented, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric.

Okay, this you can do. Your hands slide up his thighs, getting a little feel of the bare skin of his thighs. Unmarred, smooth and hot. Your hand briefly squeezes around his cock through his briefs, forcing Homelander to hiss through his teeth. You pull down his briefs, bunching them down with the thick fabric of his suit. 

You try not to stare and drool but you’ve imagined his cock in your dreams and fantasies so many times that seeing it in real life just kind of blows your fucking mind. It’s perfect. A bit longer than average but especially nice and thick. You lick your lips in anticipation. His hand rests on the back of your head, giving your hair a tug.

“You gonna keep staring or will you put those pretty lips to work?” His gruff tone tears you from the haze. 

You blush, being caught staring. Wanting to please your hero you apologize, “sorry, it’s just so perfect. You’re perfect.” You breathe out in pure adoration. 

“Come on then, be a good girl and open up for your hero. I want my cock wet before I slide it into that needy pussy.” He looks down at you with a sharp smile, his other hand rests on your jaw before moving up squeezing the hollow of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. Not that he has to, you’re more than willing to deliver. You open wider, making his hand withdraw as you take matter into your own hands. Literally. You grip the base of his cock, feeling how hefty and hot it feels. It hits you in that moment that you’re holding Homelander’s cock. Fuck. You’re gonna be dreaming of this moment for years to come.

You look up, giving him one more doe-eyed look before you stick your tongue out easing the swollen red head in between your lips. The salty, musky taste of his pre-cum on your tongue makes you whimper, your eyebrows furrow with concentration as you focus on banking the memory of his taste in your head. Eagerly you get right into it. Down and dirty. You focus on him, coating him with an ungodly amount of saliva until anytime you pop off him you’re followed by strings of it connecting you two. His grunts and heavy breaths just urge you to do better. So you take him deeper, slurping around the saliva you've made for him, bobbing your head up and down.

You nearly lose your rhythm when he lets out such a needy wanton moan, making your pussy throb.

“Thaaat’s it, come on—fuck!—deeper, yeah yeaahh you got it sweetheart. God fuck that’s fucking it.” He’s nearly whimpering, so lost in the sensation. And you're eating it up. Each whimper and word goes straight to your pussy and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if you were making a puddle on the floor.

His hand forces your head down deeper and you gag, choking around him as for a second your nose bumps the neat thatch of hair above his cock. He's not easily dissuaded and he pushes again, a little softer this time. You almost feel the tremble of his hands, he's so close to unravelling. Just for you. The swell of pride pushes you forward and you take him deeper. He takes the chance to push both hands into your hair as he starts fucking your face.

“Take it. Take it.” He grunts, his voice more and more broken with every thrust. You're just about to push his thighs back, attempting to fight against his unyielding force but his hips stutter and he groans, letting out broken moans as he spills on your tongue.

As if on command you swallow and he pulls out, wiping the residual dribbles of cum on your lips. Now that he’s done you realise just how fucking badly your jaw aches. You whimper at the ache of your jaw and the ache between your legs. 

You’re still kneeling on the floor, a picture of pure devotion, with your mouth messy and lips swollen. He grumbles at the picture in front of him. He pulls you up by your hair, kissing the taste of himself out of your lips. You can still taste your pussy on his lips and tongue as he shoves it into your mouth. “Bed?” He's somehow more than ready to continue and mentally you add his extraordinary refractory period to the list of his many talents. 

You nod a broken, “y-yeah, this way,” the taste of him still heavy on your tongue as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets out a little chuckle at the state of your bedroom, just as decorated with his brand as was the rest of your apartment. “Fuck me, you really are my biggest fan.” 

You’re about to apologize, again, and he can read you like an open book already shushing you. “Shh, don’t say it. C’mere, take this off instead. Want to see you.” He tugs at your top, wanting you to take it off. Like unwrapping a present. You let out a few breathless ‘okay’s and pull the top over your head baring your entire body to him, save for the panties that were still uncomfortably pushed to the side. He clearly wants you to keep them on and you’re not sure whether that’s his narcissism or possessiveness talking. You don’t dare comment on the fact that he’s still fully dressed. You’re not gonna start demanding things from the Homelander now are you? 

With a step closer he purrs, pushing you to the bed intensely watching as your tits bounce when your back hits the comforter. He follows as he lays over the top of you but he doesn't look at you. He picks up the grimacing Homelander plushie he sees on your pillow— the one that's predominantly advertised to kids. He holds it up for you to see with a raised eyebrow, the look almost condescending. “What? They make no other official plushies!” You defend yourself. 

“Is there anything you don't have?” 

You don't know what possessed you to answer, “yeah, you,” but Homelander eats it right up as he grins at you.

“Cheeky slut. Well you're about to. On your side.” He says sliding off you to rest on his side looking you up and down hungrily. You’re clearly surprised at his choice of position and he grumbles with annoyance as you take forever to move the way he wants you to. His impatience gets the best of him and he effortlessly manipulates you to your side, slotting right behind you. Homelander grips your inner thigh lifting your leg a little higher, as he nestles his cock right against your wet cunt.

You sigh with partial relief, feeling him solid against you feels good. Feeling him inside you would feel even better. “Jesus, you're still so fucking wet.” 

“It's all your fault.” You whimper trying to wiggle in his unyielding hold. He just tuts at you gripping you tighter, cusping on pain.

He pulls you close, his cock sliding in between your slit, immediately getting the top of his cock wet. His lips trail up your jaw until he reaches your ear. He growls, low and sexy, nipping at the sensitive skin of your ear. Your heart skips a beat, your pussy throbs as the sound of him just ripples through you. 

“Maybe it is. You know, I've been thinking. You're such a nervous little thing.” He grinds his hips into you, dragging his cock back and forth, teasing you. His voice got quiet, dropping a register lower. All slow and drawled out he continues rumbling in your ear clearly aware of what it's doing to you. “You were beside yourself when I called you. So there I am thinking nobody gets that nervous, not unless they’re trying to hide how fucking turned on they are.” He keeps fucking talking and talking, making you shiver to the point where you feel goosebumps rise all over you. Your breath ragged, your eyes fluttering shut.

You're starting to understand why he was particular about this position. After all, he could read you like a book from the get go.

“At first I thought it was just me because you're such a big fan.” He coos in a condescending tone. He licks the outer edge of your ear and you shriek, thrashing in his uncompromising hold. “But no no nooo. It's not that. Because everytime I spoke, your heartbeat sped up. You know, I was worried about you there for a minute. Then there was your pussy. You get so wet the air is thick with it. I can't even fucking breathe without tasting your sweet cunt.” You let out a broken sound, close to a sob, you pussy throbbing so hard he must feel it even without being inside you. You didn't even consider that his senses can easily sniff your secret out.

He’s still rubbing his cock in between your folds, sliding the whole length of it up and down. It’s slick and loud and so good and holy shit your clit is burning from the way his head catches on it with every thrust. You're so close and your body is on fire. You so desperately want to cum with something inside you but he’s cruel. He's not gonna give it to you just yet. “And look at that, you're still getting wetter. They do say it's always the unassuming ones.” He chuckles into your ear, low and vibrating against you.

“Is that it? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Do you watch videos of me, listening to interviews while you finger your little pussy?” He's going harder, the wet sound of your pussy slicking his way in between your slit is deafening, embarrassingly loud. “Tell me.” The little command growls in your ear and you force your lips open.

“Y-yes! Yes….I-I find your voice sexy.” You admit to your little shameful secret. You admit that one of the reasons you never met him was because you didn't want to get sopping wet in a crowd full of screaming fans. “Don't stop, please.” You moan out, quiet and broken, your embarrassment making way to pure pleasure. Now that it's out in the open, what is there to hide?

“Do you even care what I say? Huh? I could be reading out the fucking phone book and your pussy would still get wet. Greedy little thing. What’s it gonna be? You gonna cum to my voice or are you gonna be difficult?” You're burning hot, your body so so tense, the leg he's hitched up a little trembling against his strong grip. His cock is still hitting your clit in the perfect fucking way and you're so so so close. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, Homelander—don’t—ahhh!” The dam bursts, a wave of pleasure sweeping over you as you scream. Homelander pulls back and with one deft stroke he slides his cock inside you. He doesn't move. He growls at the feeling of your cunt just pulsing against him. He's so thick inside you, stretching you wide, filling every crevice. 

He whimpers and you feel how tense he is holding off the orgasm threatening to burst inside him.

Just as you think this must be the end of it, your mind just a buzzing noise, he pulls out moving back and he pushes you on your back. 

You never expected him to be so active in bed but he's already in between your legs, his hands clamping down on the clammy flesh of the back of your thighs and he spreads you open. He's on his knees, his hands slide and curl from the back of your thighs to the top as he pulls you in, slowly sliding his cock into you in one push. 

He doesn't wait for anything. He just fucks you. Hard and fast, really getting himself off more than you. Surrounded by posters and merch all carrying his likeness while he plunges into you again and again. Your hair is plastered to your forehead as you watch your hero utterly ruin you. You're sweaty, absolutely spent and tired while he's pushing into you without breaking a sweat. 

This round isn't for you yet it's gonna be a memory you'll frequent the most. The look on his face, pure lust and torture as he's fucking you with as much strength as he allows himself. 

With how he's got your hips propped up he's managing to hit all your best spots as your overstimulated nerves light up, giving him one last finish, your pussy’s quivers pushing him over the edge as well. 

Then there's a little hot spurt of him inside you but you're surprised when he pulls out shooting most of his load with a few strokes of his fist all over your panties and stomach. 

“Ahh fuck. Look at that, finally got your first autograph.” He snorts, amused, admiring the sight in front of him. His cum has already soaked into your panties, the ‘Homelander’ text changing into a darker colour as both his cum and your slick from the previous round drench the fabric. 

You flush hot red and you shake your head, amused by his antics. “That's disgusting.” But strangely, you're charmed. 

“I should take a picture. You look great like this.” 

He notes as he slides off your bed pulling his briefs over his finally softening cock, tucking himself back into his suit.

“Stay?” You say softly, offering him the space for his benefit more than yours. Even though you'd like him to stay for a cuddle you know you'll be out of it in a minute.

“Can't do I'm afraid, duty calls.” 

You nod, understanding. “Thank you, I really feel like a winner.” You snorted, thinking back to how the day even started.

He looks at you almost fondly, but your orgasm-hazy brain might just not be working anymore. 

“Until next time.” He says as a goodbye and you end up tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you hear is the click of his belt he picked up from the living room, the creak of the leather gloves he slides back on and the sonic boom of him flying away.

And you know that when you wake up if it wasn't for your ruined panties, your throbbing cunt or even the ripped poster in the living room you wouldn't believe any of it was real.

You sure hope there will be a next time.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[hysteria-things]

VEGAS

based off of this

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while on a trip with chris in vegas, you get a little too excited when you see his new instagram post. you just can’t help yourself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, teasing, masturbation (female), spanking, p in v, slight choking, hair gripping, semi-public, making out

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,029

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: chat i have mixed feelings about this one😔

❝i’m losing my patience, this ain’t staying in vegas!❞

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

this kid. he has to be doing this shit on purpose now, and nothing pisses you off more. he thinks he’s so fucking clever.

for context, matt and chris came to vegas for justin’s big poker game. you decided to tag along, but currently, the three of them are downstairs in the hotel common area to hang out. wanting to give the boys their own time, you stayed in the suite.

you’re sitting on one of the chairs on the balcony enjoying the city sounds and the night sky until your boyfriend decides to do this.

ah, the rule. it’s simple, yet impossible at the same time. chris set it a while ago when you were acting like a brat, and it stuck from that day on. if you break it, you’ll get punished.

RULE ONE: never touch yourself when he’s not there.

let’s face it. you had your hand down your pants the moment you saw that photo.

not caring if people around can hear or see you, your fingers slide in and out of your dripping hole with ease. you make sure to capture it all, the squelching noise and your moans getting louder the faster your movements go. “chris.” you whine, wishing they were his hands instead of yours.

the shake in your legs gets tenser the closer your high gets. “going to cum for you.” you moan into the phone, biting your lip to silence the scream you want to set free. it doesn’t take long for you to make a mess of your digits, exhaling from relief. you don’t hesitate to send the video to him.

heart beating in anticipation, you hear the front door shut not even minutes after the last message. all you do is stare into space and patiently wait for the person you need most to come outside.

his footsteps get closer before the sliding door opens and closes, your innocent-looking eyes finally meeting his as he walks in front of you. he crosses his arms without saying a word, and you spread your legs to show what he does to you. he licks his teeth, admiring the mess sitting between your thighs.

a trail of cum connects from your pussy to a small puddle beneath you on the chair. from the slickness, it’s practically begging for chris’s cock to abuse your insides.

in the blink of an eye, he grabs your calves to pull you to him. you gasp, him cupping your ass to lift you over his shoulder. he gives you one… two spanks before setting you down against the railing.

pressing hard against your clit with his thumb, he moves it in fast circles. “no teasing, please.” you protest, lolling your head back with a moan.

“you’re the one to tell me to not tease?” he scoffs, now moving his thumb slower up and down. “you’re lucky i’m going easy on you tonight.”

looking down ashamed, his hand wraps around your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. your tongues intertwine, the noise wet. chris swallows your sounds of pleasure.

lips travel down to your neck, licking and biting at your skin. not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to drive you crazy. the erection in his pants nudges at your clit, not helping with the sensation you already have there. his breath is hot on your ear, teeth nibbling at the lobe. “turn around.”

when you do, he grips your hair to bend you over the cold steel, lifting his shirt that you’re wearing. you look down at the pedestrians below, who are completely oblivious to the actions happening above them. cars drive by, some horns honking in the distance.

chris’s pants bunch up on the floor when they meet it, aligning himself at where you are desperate. you gasp when you feel his dick stretch your walls, wrapping tightly around him.

before he’s about to thrust into you, you decide to take matters into your own hands. your hips move up and down, fucking yourself on his cock as you grip tightly on the surface in front of you.

groaning contently, he rests his free hand on the small of your back, giving you a spank here and there. licking his lips, he doesn’t take his eyes off the way you bounce back against his pelvis. the way your ass recoils is mesmerizing.

your moans are soft, lids fluttering closed when your legs start to tremble. because of that, you can barely move yourself anymore. then, you feel a hand wrap around the front of your throat once again, lifting your head to rest on a shoulder. “what were you thinking about, hm?” chris asks, thumb grazing your cheek. “what made you cum that hard?”

eyes opening, you shake your head. his hips thrust slowly, hitting that spot nice and deep. “you’re just so handsome.” you whisper, tears glazing your orbs.

his thrusts get more brutal when he kisses you, silent screams leaving your mouth. clicking his tongue, he leaves a smack on your ass. the stinging makes you accidentally cry out before stopping yourself.

he chuckles. “don’t be shy. let everybody know whose cock you’re screaming on.”

your moans get louder the more he hits your g-spot. you take a look down — where you could’ve sworn you made eye contact with a passerby.

the grip on your hair tightens, his dick throbbing against your clenching walls. you’re about to cum, and he’s not far behind you. the speed of his hips has you on your tippy toes, whimpering loud into the las vegas air. “i’m cumming. fuck, i’m cumming!” you squeal, making a mess down his base.

pulling out, your fluids drip down your legs, chris painting your back white. he lets go of your entire body, immediately almost falling to the ground if the railing wasn’t holding you up. you lean your head over it, trying to catch your breath. he smirks at the view.

after all, he’s been with you long enough to know what your cycle is like. perhaps he did make that instagram post on purpose; just for you. knowing that you’d cave. oh, well.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @sturnlcvr @tpvmz @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings

[purinfelix]

you're here, that's the thing ˚⟡˖ ࣪ - franco colapinto

summary: your boyfriend tries his best to make your schedules, as a racer and student, work - even when miles apart w/c: 900

a/n: it's finals season for me and i needed to write something self-indulgent as a break from cramming forgive me 🙏

Being a full-time student was one thing, but being a full-time student in a relationship with an extremely clingy boyfriend, who also happened to be travelling the world to race in Formula One, was a whole other challenge.

You and Franco had had some time to adjust to a long-distance relationship since you started dating, having such different lives, and managed to make it work for the most part. But now, with him having to wholly commit to his racing and finals season rolling around for you, it put a strain on your relationship that neither of you was ready for.

It was a strange paradox - the less free time you had outside of classes and studying, the less you were able to spend talking to him, and the more you wanted just to drop everything and fly to where he was. Your morning texts and voice message updates stopped being enough, and before you knew it you struggled to go longer than an hour studying without sending your boyfriend a message to whine and complain.

You were fully aware of how immature and irresponsible this was, but this awareness did little to stop you. And it didn't exactly help that Franco seemed to share the same sentiment, telling you again and again how hard it was for him as well, how racing seemed almost impossible without you there to cheer him on. It hurt, but the two of you just had to do everything you could to get through it - for you to focus on your studies and for him to try his best at racing.

All this came to a head one Sunday though, the afternoon before one of your final exams and - because of the time difference - the night before Franco's next race. Sitting in your dorm alone, surrounded by piles of textbooks, notes and scattered pens you felt a sudden jolt of vulnerability and before you knew it you were reaching for your phone.

"Can you call?" you typed quickly to your boyfriend, your eyes lighting up upon seeing the three dots begin moving almost instantly.

"My gosh, I was just going to ask you the same thing," he replied, and before you knew it your phone was springing to life with a call from him. Clicking accept, you couldn't help but smile widely at the sight of his face.

"Hi," you say, almost shyly.

"Hi baby, how are you?"

"Good," you pause, "stressed."

He nods understandingly, "You're holding up okay, hm? Taking care of yourself?"

"Of course, Franco," you laugh at his almost motherly concern, "and you?"

"Nervous, of course."

"Well, that makes two of us." You pause after speaking, for some reason this call is turning out less enjoyable and more awkward than you hoped.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really tired," you hear your boyfriend say and when you look up you can definitely see it, his eyelids half closing over deep, dark circles under them.

"Do you want to sleep? I have to study anyways."

You watch as he chews his bottom lip, thinking of what to say though once he finally talks his voice is small, almost like a confession. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"We are talking Franco, and we can talk tomorrow once you rest."

This doesn't seem to quell his worries though, his brows still knitted in thought. "I just feel so useless knowing that you're struggling and stressed and I can't even keep you company like I normally do."

You nod sympathetically until an idea pops into your head. "We can keep the call on, carry me over to your bed - you'll sleep and I'll study."

Even through the fatigue pulling him down, Franco nods enthusiastically, doing as you say. You watch him sink into the plush white bedsheets of whatever hotel he's in, and whilst you feel a little jealous at his ability to rest right now, you turn back to your desk and start pulling out your notes.

"You'll be okay," you hear him mumble.

"What do you mean?"

"With your exams," he smiles sleepily, eyes flitting as he watches you pick up your highlighters and pens, "you're the smartest person I know."

"I don't know how much that's saying, you didn't even finish high school baby."

"Hey! I was trying to be nice," he says, feigning offence though there's a soft smile across his face.

"You're right, I'm sorry," you laugh, "you'll be okay as well, with your race tomorrow."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

"I wish you were here," he sighs, looking at you earnestly and all you can do is give him a nod in agreement.

"But for now," you wave your pen to hint at the fact that you need to get back to cramming and he seems to get the hint.

"Right, right, you won't even know I'm here," he assures you.

And despite that, the entire night passes without you once forgetting it. Not that he's distracting or anything, in fact he falls asleep mere minutes after telling you that - leaving you to work peacefully for the rest of the night. Instead, his presence, even as he sleeps, even through a screen and halfway across the world, is enough. You find yourself smiling as you study because maybe having a long-distance boyfriend, even one as clingy as Franco, has been a blessing in disguise all this time.

[maxlarens]

MV: YUCK! ⭐ part one

pairing(s): max verstappen x photographer!reader

summary: your aesthetic interest in max verstappen is purely professional, you swear.

fc: daisy edgar jones

a/n: hiiii this is my first attempt at an f1 fic so i hope y’all like it!! might turn this into a series idk? feel free to send me a req or a suggestion or just a message🫶🏻 my inbox is always open (fr now i turned on asks) (also daniel is at redbull in this 🙏🏻 prayer circle w me guys 🥲🕯️) (partially inspired by yuck by charli xcx)

⭐️ next part

(instagram)

@ynusername just posted…

tagged @maxverstappen1 @redbullracing

liked by @maxverstappen1, @danielricciardo and others

ynusername maxie in miami 🏎️💦 as usual thank you redbull for having me out!!! looking forward to the next one where i will once again be standing 100m away from max until he forgets i’m there and acts natural for the camera.

user1 uhhh wait why he kinda… 🥵

⤷ user1 and i don’t even fuck with cars like that

⤷ user2 no right like who even is this?

⤷ user3 @user1 @user2 His name is Max Verstappen. He’s a driver for RedBull in Formula 1!

user4 MAXIE!?? UR KIDDING!!

⤷ user5 we’re losing the idgaf war

user6 THE SECOND PIC. GOING INTO CARDIAC ARREST LITERALLY AS WE SPEAK.

redbullracing 🥵💦 (❤️ by @ynusername)

⤷ user7 she liked. are yn and max together?

⤷ user8 @user7 highkey i think shes just employed by them

⤷ user9 @user7 she’s been one of redbulls photographers since they signed max, they’re not together they’re just friends

user10 RAHHHHHH

user11 contender for white boy of the month i dare say😋

danielricciardo Fuck me

⤷ maxverstappen1 Fuck off

⤷ danielricciardo 😬

danielricciardo Yn why don’t you take slutty photos of me?!

⤷ ynusername cos ur always talking ur head off babes

⤷ ynusername max broods. easier to take pics that way.

⤷ ynusername and they’re not SLUTTY!

⤷ maxverstappen1 Exactly, Daniel.

user12 okay so why is her feed 70 percent max? isn’t she a redbull photographer? not a max verstappen photographer?

⤷ user13 its like a known issue. she clearly prefers one of them over the other🫤

(yn’s messages)

(twitter)

(instagram)

🔒 @ynpersonal just posted…

liked by @ysistersuser, @maxverstappen1 and others

ynpersonal anyway 😐 me lately

user1 gorgeous gal! don’t listen to the weirdos

⤷ ynpersonal ty babe love u lots! xx

ysistersuser MWAH LOVE U BIG SISSY

⤷ ynpersonal LOVE U TOO LITTLE SISSY

⤷ ysistersuser 🙂🫵🏻 boyliker

⤷ ynpersonal 😐 so annoyed at u

⤷ ynpersonal still love u tho ig

user2 slay! 🫶🏻

⤷ ynpersonal slay!!! 🫶🏻

danielricciardo Okay so hypothetically…

⤷ ynpersonal hypothetically ur a dickhead daniel

⤷ danielricciardo Hypothetically?

⤷ maxverstappen1 Why are u fighting

⤷ ynpersonal no reason, dan is an asshole

⤷ danielricciardo 👀

user3 When are you visiting home again?? Miss u🤭🫶🏻

⤷ ynpersonal soon i promise!! ill text u!

maxverstappen1 Nice pants

⤷ ynpersonal thank u maxie 🙈 (❤️ by @danielricciardo, @maxverstappen1 & @ysistersuser)

📸 ahhhh okay well sound off if you want another part for this. though i think that is probably coming regardless. but yea this is my first f1 fic and my first smau in a longggg time so pls let me know what u think! i’d love love to hear❤️

✨ next part

[almostempty]

Look at this photograph

(joel miller x f!reader)

The half sequel (Chapter 1.5) to Never made it as a wise man

WC: 3.5k | Part 1 | Other fics | Rating: 18+ 

Summary: you open Joel’s dick pic and (after examination) decide to give him a call

Note: it’s me ya boi (gn), back with more divorceddadrockdilf!joel bc you guys get me. i know y’all want them to fuck, and I want them to fuck too. unfortunately, this flowed through me first, and I am merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel. 

so, until they get their freak nasty on, please enjoy this as a chapter 1.5, with gratuitous dick pic art critique and crankin’ it over the phone <3 don’t worry, he’s still a lil pathetic. mistakes and bad jokes are all on me. 

Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where ch.1 ended, dick pic descriptions, alternating pov, dirty talk, phone sex, masturbation, it’s all just phone sex, but edge yourself through it with fond memories of ch. 1, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc

inspo playlist i found on spotify: Divorced Dad Rock: BANGERZ

thanks: to @hellishjoel for hosting the #hotdilfsummerchallenge and to everyone who enjoyed part 1 

@gothcsz i promise fuckboy!joel is cookin, he’s just in the crockpot rn. he’s gotta tenderize like a white lady’s pinterest recipe for pulled pork. 

* i tried to tag everyone who wanted more, but if you don’t wanna be here i’ll remove it <3 or if i missed you and you want to be tagged next time pls let me know

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you blurt out after opening the message from Joel. The vulgar dick pic sends a prickly worm of arousal slithering down your spine. 

Without thinking, you tilt the phone down toward your chest, and your eyes shoot up like you’ve got to make sure nobody saw your naughty message. Warmth blooms on your cheeks as the flash of embarrassment starts to dissolve. You don’t need to hide. 

You’re in your bed, in your apartment, wearing Joel’s grubby Creed t-shirt. The one that smells like Degree Sport and a Jiffy Lube break room. You're free to look at all the dick pics your heart desires. And that’s what you’re going to do. 

The wiggle of bashful energy turns into a squirm as you shift your hips, seeking a comfy position in bed. The t-shirt bunches up under your back and you wonder if the unique Joel scent of it will linger on your pillow beneath your shoulders. You knew pilfering the shirt on the way out the door was a good move, and now you get to enjoy your trophy. It makes it feel like the broad-as-a-barn-door DILF himself was still close enough to touch you. 

It gives you another bright shudder when you think about the noises he made when he came in your hand earlier. The disappointed grunts of “fuck, wait” and how he tried to choke down the throaty groan that came from deep in his chest. Fuck. The perverted gremlins that have a permanent residence in your mind have been roused by the digital dick, and now they chitter and squawk at you. More! More! More!  

You reopen the message, and seeing it gives you another rush. You save the picture to your phone storage. For your personal collection. Mine now, big boy. Your chin starts to dip towards your chest. It’s like you’re giving your phone the Kubrick stare with the ghost of a smirk. You’re free to take your time with this one. And you can be as much of a creep as you want. That makes you sigh softly and sink deeper against your pillows. 

Before this afternoon, it was titillating when Joel would pop up in your mind's eye with his slutty slo-mo scenes. The one where he was bent over your car's engine like Megan Fox in that Transformers movie. Or, that damn happy trail tease with the t-shirt-sweat-rag move. You had just enough imagery to let your dirty thoughts take the wheel. 

And, god, you had a good production team in your mind for projects starring Joel. Adding this will give the team a whole lot more to work with. You can hear them crashing around your conscious like the Animaniacs on the Warner Brothers lot. Horny chaos goblin mode activated. 

Now that you have time to study the image, from the luxury of your microfiber sheets and lamplit bedroom, you let it get pervy. It’s your first real, lingering look–earlier today, you were so busy trying to rile him up in his jeans that you didn’t even pull it out.

It had somehow been even more delicious that way. Having him all needy and unable to stop himself from making a mess in your hand. And not just the noises, but the erratic thrusts into your tight fist? The heat of his pulsing length as he forgot himself? Yeah, you’re gonna remember that one. 

But now? Now you need the visual. If the devil is in the details, you have a new neighbor with horns and a tail. 

You zoom in on everything. Holding your phone closer to your face than necessary, like how do we enhance this bitch? 

And holy shit. 

Drool pools in your mouth and between your legs. You have the knee-jerk reaction to lick your phone. 

You can hear Joel’s voice from earlier today. All husky and grumbly, arguing that you really were a slut for him, like, “You are, aren’t you, though? You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt just to see me?”  He might be touch-starved enough to cream his jeans, but you just know he’s got a nasty mouth in bed, and you’ve got to find out firsthand. Soon. There’s no reason not to, right? 

You pause when a flicker of reasoning tickles the back of your neck. 

You’re back to looking in your review mirror in Joel’s driveway. The last-ditch attempt at checking your ego before you marched to his front door like a Halloween hoe bag version of Betty Crocker. 

You had told yourself you weren’t trying to fuck your (almost) friend’s (sort of) dad. Told yourself there was nothing to pursue, and even if there was, you wouldn’t bite. 

You like Ellie. She’s been (mostly) welcoming to you. You told yourself not to fuck anything up with the only person that’s got a single one of your jokes at your new job. 

You were just bringing some food as a friendly gesture. The fresh visuals to add to your spank bank reel were supposed to be a harmless bonus. Okay, maybe it was a stretch to say you had rolled up to Joel’s driveway with pure intentions. 

And it was an even bigger stretch–when he added that third finger while he finger fucked you on the kitchen counter—wait, no. It was an even bigger stretch when you had told yourself you probably weren’t his type anyway. 

Like, that guy? With the fridge full of Coors Banquet? With those ugly Oakley sunglasses that you know are featured in his only picture on social media that isn’t a car or truck? The guy with all the words to Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” and Puddle of Mudd’s “She Hates Me” memorized? 

Nah, deep down, you knew. You knew there was no way that middle-aged bachelor would turn down any action. But you hadn’t planned on actually making a move, especially not a handjob in the middle of the kitchen. 

That’s on Joel for leaving the door open while trying to rub one out to some bimbo on Brazzers. And for barking at you in that sexy, angry voice. And for teasing you with the bulge in his oil-stained jeans. What were you supposed to do? 

Something must be really rotting in the logic department of your brain. 

Hey! The gremlin voice in your head is still shouting at you. Hey!! Why are we not tasting that dick yet?!! You’re back from your daydream and the excuses you crafted for your behavior, back to laying in your bed with Joel’s dick pic emitting a bright glow in your hand. 

You still do want to lick the screen. 

Fortunately for your immune system, you control your tongue. The critical part of you expels a sigh when you zoom out and take in the picture. 

It’s undoubtedly a nice cock, but the image as a whole? Yikes. 

Why do men have to be so fucking thick? And blunt? Wait, now you’re just describing the slightly blurry boner lighting up your face. Thick as in dense. How can men be so dense? 

No imagination or creativity. No patience. 

You shake your head slightly, scoffing. No wonder you caught him hunched over his cracked phone screen. It was probably the first video loaded on the only site he had saved. 

No sweet, sweet, buildup, setting the mood, or getting cozy. Just whippin’ it out midday or snapping a photo in some ratty sweats. 

Like you’ve never been that touch-starved or down bad?

You ignore that voice to continue your art critique. 

The photo you sent is… sexy. 

Sultry. A flirty tease. It says, “Look who has your shirt? Am I wearing it in bed? Do you think I'm wearing anything else?” 

It’s all implied in the look in your eye and the picture's composition. The tease of the soft curves on the underside of your breasts, asking if he remembers what they felt like. Your hand bunching up the shirt, asking if he remembers the slide of that fist around his cock. If he remembers those fingers, the ones you sucked his sticky spend off of. 

Such delicately crafted imagery. Personalized erotic fine art.  

But men are so crude about it. He sees your tasteful, sexy pic, and immediately, the best his caveman brain can come up with is: send her ur dick! STAT!! Hard cock! Now!!

And, of course, he did. Taken in the dark with the flash on, making ominous shadows in the background. His old charcoal gray sweats are pulled down just enough to expose everything he’s offering. 

The color is slightly blown out from the flash, and it’s a touch blurry where his phone didn’t autofocus quickly enough. His hand looks like it’s straight up, just choking the base of his cock. It’s jarring. 

But that’s really the “man” of it all, right? Nothing subtle or demure about a rock-hard erection jutting towards you, reaching like it could get to you on its own if it just could get a little bit harder. No, there’s nothing coy about the raw thoughts of a man with no blood left in his brain who’s just aching to get inside you, either. 

And fuck if that doesn’t start to override your critical analysis. 

The glare from the flash reflects in the beads of precome rolling down his rosy tip. Mouth wateringly delicious. Your blood rushes to your pussy, filling your tender sex with heat and a deep, needy itch. It makes you dopey and silly. Not cock drunk, but like, dick pic buzzed. 

You know it felt sizeable in your hand earlier, but you aren’t an expert at estimating size from a through-the-pants handjob. You try to recreate your own grip around nothing to estimate the size. 

You giggle to yourself when you realize you're just a woman in her bed staring at her hand, jerking an invisible cock. The horny goblins aren’t amused, though. They’re sick of the daydreaming and distractions. They’re picking fights with the rest of your mind. Throwing rocks and sticks, shrieking and hissing. 

The part of your brain that was griping about how men used to write love letters and respect the art of romance is getting quieter and further from your faculty for caring. You can hear its muffled shouts, and you assure that voice that you won’t give it all up this easily. Then, you completely tune it out. 

The last brain cell with a complaint has you rolling your eyes. You have to be ovulating or something because it’s wholly debased the way this guy is doing it for you. 

He’s just shameless with it. 

You sent him tasteful underboob, and he gives you jumpscare dick-in-the-dark! How is this supposed to escalate? He gave it all up immediately! You send another picture, and he sends you his money shot? What’s he gonna do to give you more? Send you an asshole shot? That one makes you snort. You bet he would do it, too, if you asked. 

Oh, that gives you a better idea. He’s not getting another picture from you at all. You tap on his name and tap the call icon. Of course, this horny motherfucker answers immediately. You aren’t sure it even rang before you’re connected to his porny bedroom voice. 

“What are you wearing, dollface?” 

“I already showed you. Call me dollface again, and I’m hanging up.” 

You can hear his breathing like he’s got the mic on his phone in his mouth. That would typically drive you fucking nuts, but right now, you wanna hear his heavy breath against your ear and feel it hot against your skin.

“All right,” he speaks slowly, distracted. You know why. “You wanna be my slut, instead?” 

Fuck. That has you throbbing between your legs, but he doesn’t get to know that yet. 

“I already told you,” you keep your voice low and soft, “you don’t get to call me a slut for you, not with your behavior.” You strain, trying to hear any other noises, but his mic is probably clogged with dust from his shop or lint from the pocket of his sweats. You can just hear his fucking breathing. 

“What behavior, baby?” he rasps.

“You always jump straight to sending a picture of your cock?” 

You hear the soft snort through the phone. Followed by a deeper, throatier noise. A noise that makes you go cross-eyed and has you running a hand down to your naked lower half to tease yourself. 

“You always steal a man’s clothes after you come on his fingers?” 

You don’t really care what he asked. His voice makes your tongue go numb. Your mind goes blank. You start slowly, coating your own fingers in your slick arousal and drawing circles with a light touch. 

You hum a noncommittal response into the phone. 

“You look good in my shirt, baby, fuck,” he trails off breathlessly. The idea of you in his clothes gets him too close. 

You don’t answer, and he’s too far gone to wait and tease. 

He’s been wound up since you took off this afternoon, and it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that you sent him that pic when he had just gotten into bed.

It had taken ages to get his brother out of the shop this afternoon, and then Joel completely fucked up when he mentioned you and the lasagna. He had to begrudgingly host Tommy for dinner when he couldn’t come up with a better excuse than saying, “I’m gonna need you to fuck off so I can deal with the aching balls I’ve got from your surprise visit scaring away the woman I had my fingers knuckle deep inside.”

But when he was finally alone, it was like fate; your text came through right after he flopped onto his bed. His semi-stiff cock had sprung to full mast at the sight of you. The shirt he knew he didn’t fuckin’ lose, your soft curves, and the expression on your face. Like a vixen. Your PG-13 tease would do more for him than any X-rated video. 

Knowing you were thinking about him and that you wanted him to know? That had him throbbing. He already knew from the desire in your eyes earlier today that you wanted more.

He could swear his fingers still hold the lingering flavor of your wet cunt. The visceral memory of you has him on edge. When he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, he has to pause, holding firmly in place. His body screams and aches for release, but he’s determined to keep it in check. He doesn’t want to blow his load until he gets a response from you. 

He fights his urges, trying not to fuck his own fist in a frantic race to come. 

But, fuck, it’s difficult when he can imagine the sounds you’d make as you sank onto his cock for the first time. The face you’d make. Your tight, wet walls hugging him just right. Like, he’s where he’s meant to be. 

And the way you would look, bouncing on top of him. Your tits, your blissed-out face, the way your soft lips would part when you called out his name and cried for more. 

Those lips. 

The way he’d love to see them swollen and slobbering around the base of his cock. Fuck. His hips buck reflexively, and he hisses out a breath through his clenched teeth. When his phone lights up with your name, he answers before it can make a sound. You’re so bold. He likes that. It plasters a saucy grin on his face. 

And now, with your breathy voice crackling through his janky phone speaker, he’s not gonna last long. You've got him losing his composure for the second time in one day. His whole body is rigid. His toes flex and snap unconsciously, and his jaw tenses. He hears your soft moan, and his thoughts are overflowing. He has no filter left. 

“Yeah, baby? You moaning for me?” His hips punch up into his fist, and he gives in, allowing himself firm, severe strokes. “You’ve got me so hard. You moaning for my cock?” 

You are so not gonna answer that one. If the next words out his mouth are, “Yeah, you like that?” you’re gonna block him for that. But it is undeniably hot to hear him already so worked up. You just know he’s gonna be coming all over himself again for you, and that really does make you moan just for him.

Your noises earn you another growly groan from Joel that you’d kill to hear again. The more uninhibited his noises are, the louder you get in response.

“You using your fingers, or you have a toy?” his question is punctuated with a grunt. 

“Mm, just fingers,” you purr, finally granting him an actual response as you roll your hips. Having Joel on the line gives you a heady sense of satisfaction. Wondering what’s going to come out of his filthy mouth next gives you a shiver of anticipation. 

“I know that sweet pussy is just achin’ to be filled again.” Correct. 

“Yes.” 

“S’right, baby, I know.” 

Joel whimpering on the phone for you is absolutely going to get you off. Your hips chase your own fingers. You switch your phone audio to speakerphone and drop it on your pillow so you can use both hands. Pinching at your own nipples as if it were Joel’s big hand under your smuggled shirt. 

“Tell me,” he pants, “who do you need to fill it for you?” 

“You, Joel.” 

“Fuck,” he chokes out, “you wanna ride this cock, huh baby?” 

“Mhmm.” Bingo. Right again. You wish you could feel the pressure of him inside of you, massaging and soothing away the agony. The weight of his body atop of yours, so solid and secure. You can just about feel the pressure of his pelvis grinding into you. The friction from the coarse curls at the base of his cock getting you closer and closer. 

“Know you’d do so good,” he cuts himself off with a low noise, “so damn sexy.” 

“What else would you do with me?” You wanna hear it. For your own fantasy and to know what he’s into.  

“I’d have you taking me down your throat til you’re crying on it for me, fuck,” a primal noise erupts from him.

Face fucking. Of course. You can’t deny that when he says it, your body responds instantaneously. Your pussy floods eagerly at the idea, and your cheeks burn hot from the visual he gives you. You swallow down your moans, and you can imagine the weight of him on your tongue and the strain of trying to swallow around his cock. 

“You wanna come down my throat?” As if that isn’t a fucking siren song that would make him steer a fleet of ships into a cliff? Your salacious words are too much. 

“Shit. Yeah, baby, wanna watch you swallow for me.” You let all your moans and gasps flow freely for him to hear. “I’m so fuckin’ close,” he can’t stop the words from spilling out his mouth, “let me hear it, baby,” he can’t stop his pending bliss either. “Please, baby, I can’t, oh f-fuck,” he cuts himself off with another primitive grunt, and that’s precisely what your cavewoman cunt wanted to hear. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The horny goblins chant out loud this time. You can envision sweaty, pleading Joel lurching toward a reckless, full-body climax. 

You’re far from grace when the crude sounds he lets out turn you into an uncivilized beast. You hear him gasping, growling, and whining for you. It plunges you into a staggering orgasm. Rolling waves of ecstasy leave you panting and sweating.  

You lie in bed, chest rising and falling beneath the Creed logo. You’re left stunned at the intensity. A dreamy smile spreads across your face, and warm contentment, like honey, pours slowly over your muscles. Relaxing you as your tension softens and you turn to pick your phone back up.

Why was it so wholly consuming just to listen to him? Imagining the mess he made again,

because of you. 

Maybe you’re just made for each other. 

You and Joel. 

Oh, god. You should start listening to Alanis Morissette and Evanescence and trade your car for a 1990s-era Toyota 4runner and a pack of Marlboro Smooths. Really lean into matching his freak and the divorced alt-rock vibes.

You laugh softly into your phone before a deep sigh possesses you, and you nearly fall asleep. You stretch and smile, letting your heavy eyelids rest. 

He’s muttering something at you, catching his breath from the stress of being that fucking horned up for you all evening. And the overexertion of lasting long enough to hear your sweet cries of release. 

“You’re unreal,” his smoky voice rings with awe. “Got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager.”

You snort at the juxtaposition of his tender voice and crude comment before ending the call with a whispered, “Goodnight.” 

It shouldn’t make you smile. 

But he’s somehow such an enticing disaster. A cliche lonely bachelor, a cocksure idiot who knows he’s got a big dick and a generous guy who was willing to fix a stranger's car. 

You shouldn’t be trying to justify it, but you know he had you figured out earlier. 

You may be sated tonight, but you won’t be able to rest.

Not until you get your hands on that DILF – or rather, your pussy on that dick. 

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

PLEASE tell me if you enjoyed or hated it 

OR throw rocks at me if you’re upset they didn’t smash yet or tell me ur favorite divorced dad rock song

Tags:

@pedroswife69

@jasminedragoon

@lilac-boo

@peekyourinterest

@evysian

@millersamour

@evolnoomym

@ladybeediva

@hoelaris

@gwendibleywrites

@xdaddysprincessxx

@bitchesuntitled

@thundermartini

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@indiegirlunited

@yopossum

@sunshinehaze1

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (11)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: after a lil bit of a break, chem ov has returned! More of the drama, the yearning, and the tension is served here, for your pleasure <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Following the reader's unfortunate accident, tensions run high between the two men vying for her heart. The cast get together to celebrate Ewan's birthday, and things go exactly as you would expect. And then some.

Ewan has never been the most active in the cast group chat. It does amuse him some, especially when Tom and Rhys get into those selfie battles of theirs, when all throughout the day, the chat would be flooded with deliberately posed pictures of the two pulling the most ridiculous faces in increasingly absurd locations.

It's a place for playful jabs, catching up, sharing updates. Light banter all around.

Which is why Ewan's heart nearly jumped out of his chest when the latest message came. He had been on location in LA, running through the script for his film when he received the notification. He’d ignored it at first, never one to reply promptly anyway. But a flicker of instinct – or maybe he felt it, felt you – made him check. 

Phia informed the group that you had an accident.

“... and it was during stunt training, but she’s fine and is in the hospital now…”

Everyone was encouraged to visit if they could or send their well wishes. 

Ewan’s mind reeled. Fine? What the hell does that mean? Fine could be a scratch or it could be… Fuck.

He read the message over and over until they blurred together. He knew he was willing the words to change like some idiot. You had to be okay. Nothing bad could happen to you.

Phia had just casually dropped the bombshell. She might as well have said, “Hey, how is everyone, good? Oh, by the way, she almost died but it’s cool.”

Ewan knew none of it was Phia’s fault, but that didn’t stop him from feeling an overwhelming irritation. What did ‘fine’ even mean? If he threw his phone across the room like he wanted, would that be fine?

He felt nauseous with worry as he dialled whoever he could – anyone who might give him more than just that damn word. Time went by torturously slowly, the only thing repeating in his head was the image of you – broken, unconscious, or worse – until Phia finally confirmed that it wasn’t life-threatening. 

He had to calm down, according to her. You are being taken care of, and are set to make a swift recovery.

But even then, it wasn’t enough.

Because it was you.

“Love… you’re awake.”

Sitting beside your hospital bed, Ewan gets a good look at you – finally awake but still too fragile for his liking. He hadn’t slept properly, and he feels like a whole mess. 

You blink slowly, your eyes meeting his. “Ewan?”

He feels like breathing again after being underwater for far too long. He can’t help the awkward smile that tugs at his lips. “Hey, darling. You look like you just fought a dragon.”

You start to laugh, but it quickly turns into a wince, and you relax back into the pillow. “Oh, jeez, don’t make me laugh. My head hurts.”

He quickly reaches for the glass of water on your bedside table and offers it to you. “Sorry, my bad. I’ll be my usual, stoic, boring self then.”

“You’re never boring, Mitchell.” You roll your eyes, before taking a sip.

He can’t help but watch you closely, as if you might vanish if he looks away. “Phia told the whole cast about your accident in the group chat. Did you know that?” he said, trying to keep things light.

“Oh great,” you mumble. “Did Rhys send one of his motivational selfies?”

“Well,” Ewan smiles. “He did. Said something about you ‘getting back in the saddle’ while he posed with a horse. It was inspirational, honestly.”

Ewan hadn’t felt anything when he saw that, consumed with thoughts of you, but now he feels free to let amusement wash over him. Now that he’s with you.

You roll your eyes again, softly smiling. “Of course he did. Well, I appreciate it.”

You are okay, which means Ewan is okay.

He knows just how in love he is with you. Even though you’d broken things off for his sake, even though the boundaries had blurred. Then friends with benefits. No strings. Except those strings had tightened around both of you, slowly suffocating the pretense until it collapsed. And now here you both were – again. With the issue of his PR looming like a goddamn stormcloud, and there is no running from it. 

He clears his throat. “You scared the hell out of me, you know?”

Your expression softens as you look at him. “I’m sorry. But I’m okay, really.”

He sighs, running a hand through his unruly dark blonde hair. “I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here. And Phia, bless her, has a knack for delivering life-altering news like she’s talking about what she had for breakfast.”

“She means well.” You smile, shaking your head.

“Yeah, darling, but next time, let’s just skip the part where you end up in a hospital bed, okay?” He reaches for your hand, his voice wavering slightly. He hates how vulnerable he sounds, but there’s nothing he can do to hide it.

“Deal.” You give his hand a playful shake, but your tone is sincere. 

Ewan glances down, his jaw tightening. He wants to ask if things can finally go back to the way they were – to you being his. He’s already yours anyway. 

But instead, he swallows hard and forces a lighthearted tone. “You know, if I had been there to teach you how to ride the Buck, then this never would have happened.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really, Mitchell? I’m pretty sure you almost got thrown off once.”

Ewan scoffs, giving you his best offended look. “Almost doesn’t count, darling. I’ve practically mastered it now. I do ride the biggest and fiercest dragon in the realm, remember?”

“I said don’t make me laugh,” you say, giving him a pointed look. 

He leans forward, his smirk widening. “I’m just saying. I could’ve saved you from all the stale hospital food. I mean – ” There’s a familiar flicker in his expression. With his head tilted downward, he looks at you through his eyelashes. “ – I have seen you ride, and you’ve got skill, but you do need my help.”

Your mouth falls open at his audacity. “Mitchell! When have you been this smug?”

“Only you have seen the full range of my talents,” he teased.

“Oh really?” you counter. “I did hit my head, so maybe I forgot all about them.”

“Recover quick, and I can jog your memory.”

He can feel the pull – he’d always felt it – and the familiar ache creeps back into his chest, stronger than ever. He wants to reach for you and close the gap. But instead, he buries it beneath a smirk.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good. I’ll even throw in a few tricks. You know, to keep things interesting.”

“You said it, Mitchell,” you snort softly.

His gaze lingers on you, and the playful banter stalls, replaced by something heavier. And before he can stop himself, he leans close, hovering over you. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, darling,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. The way you look at him, the way your eyes soften, says enough. He hesitates for just a moment, his hand brushing gently against yours before he leans in further.

Gently, he presses his lips to your forehead, the touch light and lingering. When he pulls back, his face is close to yours, his gaze searching as if he is waiting for something. An answer. A sign. Anything to tell him where this was going.

There is something in your expression that seems like the same yearning that he has been unable to fight for so long.

“I’ll be here,” he whispers, the heavy significance of the words settling. “Whenever you need me.”

It’s your third morning at the hospital, when Phia, Liv and Tom burst into your room like a gust of fresh air, their loud voices echoing out in the hall.

Phia’s holding an extravagant bouquet of flowers – so big it practically obscures her face – while Liv balances a tray of coffees, her smile bright and warm. Tom walks in last with a massive balloon arrangement, the centre one reading GET WELL SOON in neon colours. 

“Look who’s alive and kicking!” Tom announces, waving the balloons around. “For a while there, we thought Alyna was going to have to be recast!”

Liv elbows him sharply in the ribs, then sets the coffees down on your bedside. “Tom, honestly.”

You can’t help the grin that creeps onto your face. “Yeah, right. As if there could ever be a better Alyna.”

Ewan sits by your bed, arms crossed, watching the group with quiet amusement. But the second Phia notices him, she arches a brow and points at him with a no-nonsense look. “Mitchell. Go home. Shower. Sleep. You look like death cooked over.”

Ewan’s brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Phia cuts him off with a stern glare. “I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

He glances down at you, his expression conflicted, but you give him a small, tired nod. “You probably should. You’ve been here the whole time.”

Ewan hesitates, but then sighs, resigned. “Alright. But I’ll be back soon, darling.”

Phia nods, pleased. “Good. And don’t come back until you’ve slept at least eight hours… darling.”

Ewan shoots her a mock glare, then leans down toward you, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “See you in a few hours,” he murmurs softly, his voice just for you.

You nod, watching as he leaves the room, your heart sinking just a little. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Phia turns to you with a smirk. “He’s so whipped.”

Your cheeks flush instantly. “He’s just… worried.”

“Worried?” Tom scoffs, dropping into a chair beside Phia. “Right. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“Please,” Liv chimes in, smiling knowingly. “He’s been practically glued to your side since you woke up.”

You shift uncomfortably, trying to deflect. “Yeah, well, after everything, we’re just… friends.”

Phia arches a brow. “Friends? You guys stopped being just friends since the age of the fucking dinosaurs, doll.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Liv interrupts, sliding you a cup of water from the tray. “Alright, we’ll stop harassing you – for now. Let’s talk birthday plans instead.”

At the mention of birthdays, guilt twists in your stomach. Ewan’s birthday had been in March, just a few weeks ago. You had known, but with the mess of the overall situation, it had slipped by.

“I completely forgot his birthday,” you murmur, the guilt weighing heavy. “I should’ve done something.”

Liv squeezes your hand gently. “You’ve had a lot on your plate. I’m sure he understands.”

Tom leans forward with a grin. “That’s why we’ve got a plan to make up for it. Joint birthday bash.”

Phia nods, her eyes twinkling. “For Ewan, Fabien, and Freddie. We’re thinking a trip to Spain, some villa, maybe a pool party, lots of sunshine. It’ll be a proper holiday for everyone.”

“Wait, what?” You blink, surprised by the sudden reveal of such an elaborate plan.

Liv grins. “Yeah. We’ve already started organising it. It’ll be in mid April, just after you’re up and moving again. A real joint celebration for the three of them.”

Tom gestures grandly. “Fabien’s excited. Lord Freddie’s thrilled to be celebrated, you know how he is. Ewan – well, he doesn’t know yet, cause all he thinks about is you.”

The idea sounds incredible – a break in Spain with the cast, a chance to relax and celebrate together. Especially after your on-set slipup. But the more they talk, the more conflicted you feel. Being in the same place with both Ewan and Matty… would be something indeed. 

Ewan is still to be in a carefully curated PR relationship, all for the sake of his movie. You dislike it, though you understand it, that relentless Hollywood game of optics. But the thought of spending time with him at a secluded villa in Spain – away from cameras, prying eyes, and staged appearances – sends your heart racing. You know Ewan. He’d see it as an opportunity. A chance to be close to you, to slip back into old habits, to erase the distance that the PR relationship has forced between you.

There would be no cameras, no script to follow – just the two of you in the same space, and you already know what that would lead to.

The memory of the masquerade ball is still fresh in your mind. That one night, where the lines had blurred so easily. You’d been wrapped in the heat of his arms, the press of his body against yours, the intoxicating thrill of being with him without anyone knowing.

And then there is Matty. Sweet Matty who is too charming for his own good. You had started seeing him casually, trying to convince yourself you could make it work, and you can’t deny the pull he has on you. How easy it all could be. Being with him feels like standing with the warm embrace of sunshine. 

You love Ewan. You want Matty. Thousands of girls would scramble to be in your position – the one who captured the boys’ affections. You, the one lying there in a hospital gown, with a broken ankle and head gauze.

So glamorous. So desirable. 

Tom’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. “So, Spain. Swimming, sunbathing, a giant villa – what do you think?”

You blink, catching up to the conversation. “I think… I’m in.”

Phia grins widely. “Good. Ewan’ll be thrilled you’re coming.”

Liv smiles. “We thought the party could be a way for everyone to unwind, you included. No pressure.”

No pressure. But you know there is pressure – at least, there is for you. You’ve been avoiding it, dancing around the feelings you can’t admit to yourself, let alone to Ewan. And Matty – kind, supportive Matty, who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in your mess.

“Yeah, no pressure,” you say softly, but the words feel hollow.

Phia stands up suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Alright, enough of this emotional nonsense. Let’s talk logistics – birthday cake! We’re doing three layers, one for each of the boys.”

Tom dryly says, “I offered to get Martha to bake it, but we decided against it because her specialty is burnt-charcoal waffles.”

Phia shoots him a deadpan look. “They were practically concrete. Love her though!”

Liv laughs, shaking her head. “We’ll leave the cake to the professionals, thanks.”

As the conversation shifts to party details and farfetched ideas, your mind drifts. You try to stay focused, but your thoughts keep circling back to the same place – Spain, the party, Ewan and Matty. The idea of being around them for days, in a relaxed holiday setting, feels both exciting and terrifying. 

You know it’s not just a party. It’s a ticking time bomb.

Ewan’s footsteps echo in the sterile hospital hallway, his grip tight on the bouquet he’s brought for you – your favourite flowers, carefully chosen. As per Phia’s orders, he had gone home and slept a good 10 hours, being more exhausted than he must have realised. The day after, going back to you was the only thing that came to mind, and he was out the door in no time.

As he rounds the corner toward your room, his steps falter at the sight of someone else approaching. 

Matt.

His tall frame is impossible to miss. He saunters down the hall from the opposite direction, holding a similar bouquet in one hand and a gift bag in the other. Ewan feels the tension twisting in his stomach as Matt’s eyes meet his across the corridor. 

For a moment, the hallway falls into an eerie silence, the air thick with an unspoken challenge. Neither of them says a word as they approach the door to your room at almost the same time, both armed with flowers, both here for you. 

“Ewan,” Matt greets first, his voice low, almost amused.

Ewan nods, keeping his expression neutral. “Matt.”

Ewan’s eyes flick to the flowers in Matt’s hand, and a bitter taste rises in his throat. Matt isn’t just another visitor, he’s the guy who’s been with you while Ewan is forced to sit on the sidelines. 

“You’re here again,” Matt comments, breaking the silence. “Not that I’m surprised.” 

Ewan raises an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t I be? She needs support.”

Matt’s eyes narrow slightly, and his smile is tight. “I get that. But I’m here now too. She’s got plenty of support.”

Ewan feels a flicker of annoyance, his grip tightening on the bouquet. “You think that’s all it is? Just showing up with flowers and pretending you know what she needs?”

Matt’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his cool. He knows better than to cause a scene in the middle of a public hallway. “And you think you’re the only one who cares about her? The only one who knows her? She and I – we’ve been spending plenty of time together. I’ve got some idea of what she needs.”

The possessiveness in Matt’s tone is unmistakable, and it sets Ewan on edge. He steps closer, his eyes locked on Matt’s. “You’ve only been dating her for a few weeks, mate. But we’ve been through things that you couldn’t even begin to understand.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about your history. But let’s be real – if you were so good for her, why’d she end things with you? Why’s she with me now?”

Ewan feels a sharp pang at the reminder, but he doesn’t back down. “If you think things are over between me and her, then you’re mistaken. It will never be over. Maybe you’re a convenience. Someone for the moment.”

Matt takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “A convenience? Right. I don’t see you making any moves to change the situation. You’ve been content to sit back and watch while I’ve been with her. Maybe you’re the one who’s convenient, yeah?”

Ewan’s jaw tightens, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows Matt’s right, in a way – he’s been stuck, unable to break free from the PR relationship that’s kept him and you apart. But that doesn’t make what Matt’s saying any easier to swallow.

“The way I see it, you’re just a distraction,” Ewan says, his voice sharp, laced with bitterness, “a way for her to forget what she really wants.”

Matt’s eyes flash with anger now, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “And what she really wants is you, is that it? Tell me, Ewan, if you’re so sure she’s still in love with you, why hasn’t she said anything? Why hasn’t she kicked me to the curb and come running back?”

The words hit harder than Ewan expects, and for a moment, he falters. He knows you still love him – he can see it in the way you look at him, the way you can never quite let go. But Matt’s right. You haven’t made a choice. And now here they are, two men standing in a hallway, both fighting for something that feels just out of reach.

Ewan steps even closer. “You think just because you’re in the picture now, I’m going to step aside and let you have her? Not a fucking chance, mate.”

Matt takes a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself. It’s clear to him that Ewan isn’t going to loosen up easily. Especially not when he’s being provoked. “I’m not asking you to step aside. But unless she tells me otherwise, I’ll keep showing up. So maybe you should get used to that.”

Ewan looks away, his voice lowering. “We… both… care about her. I’m not denying that. But don’t fool yourself. She hasn’t made her choice yet.”

“Maybe she hasn’t.” Matt holds his gaze. “But I’m here, and I’m willing to wait. Are you?”

The hallway feels suffocating, the weight of their words heavy in the air. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ewan speaks again, his voice softer but no less intense.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt nods once. “Neither am I.”

They stand there in silence for a moment, the unspoken agreement settling between them. It’s a temporary truce, but they both know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Finally, they turn toward your room, the door looming in front of them like a gateway to another battle. Ewan’s heart pounds as he pushes the door open, stepping inside, with Matt close behind.

You’re awake, sitting up slightly in bed, looking both surprised and nervous as you see the two of them enter together.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” you say, your voice tinged with humour as your eyes dart between the two men.

“Hey,” Matt says with an easy smile, walking over to place his flowers on the table by your bed. “Thought I’d stop by, check in on you.”

Ewan follows suit, setting his bouquet down next to Matt’s, though his gaze stays fixed on you. “And I came back, as promised.”

“Funny that you show up at the same time.” You glance between them, your brow raising. 

Matt chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, we didn’t exactly plan it.”

Ewan forces a smile, trying to keep things light. “Just making sure you’re not causing any more trouble, darling.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, I’m definitely the troublemaker here.”

Ewan sinks into the chair by your bed while Matt leans against the windowsill, arms crossed. For a brief moment, it almost feels normal. Almost.

“Phia mentioned Spain,” Matt says after a beat, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to his tone. “The birthday trip.”

You nod eagerly. “The joint birthday for the lads.” Your eyes flicker to Ewan. “I feel terrible for missing your birthday last month.”

Ewan shakes his head, his expression softening. “You had a lot going on. Don’t worry about it.”

The casual mention of his birthday tugs at your heartstrings. You hadn’t forgotten exactly, but things had been so complicated. Now, though, guilt gnaws at you.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say sincerely, looking at Ewan, and the way his eyes hold yours makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, the villa should be fun,” Matt chimes in, but there’s something sharp in his tone. “But we have to be sure you’re in tip top shape first, love.”

“I’ll be the one in the bikini and a leg cast,” you joke. 

The conversation drifts into lighter topics – memories of on-set pranks, silly cast antics – but there’s an underlying tension, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. It’s almost like watching a film in slow motion, each moment dragging longer than it should, with none of you willing to say what you’re really thinking.

After a while, Ewan checks his phone, his brows knitting together. He glances at you, a reluctant sigh escaping his lips. “Darling, I need to head out. I’ve got a meeting with my manager to sort out the filming schedule.”

You nod in understanding. “You did leave LA pretty quickly. I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

Ewan’s gaze softens. “It’s not trouble,” he says quietly. “Not when it’s for you.”

As he walks to the door, he pauses and looks back at you, his expression unreadable. He hesitates, then takes a few steps back toward the bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently. The gesture is tender, and it leaves a warmth in its wake that lingers long after he’s gone.

“Rest up, darling,” he murmurs before turning to leave.

You’re left with Matt, the silence between you more comfortable and less tense than it was with Ewan. He moves from his spot by the window and sits down in the chair Ewan just vacated. He offers you a gentle smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “He cares about you a lot, you know,” he says.

“I know,” you reply softly.

Matt smirks, his cheekiness resurfacing. “Almost as much as I do.”

The atmosphere eases after that, Matt joking about the cast’s upcoming trip to Spain, trying to make you laugh. After a while, your body begins to give in to exhaustion, your eyes growing heavy. He notices and encourages you to rest, and you doze off before long, the soft hum of his voice lulling you to sleep. 

But just as you slip into that hazy space between wakefulness and dreaming, you hear Matt’s voice again, quieter now, like he’s talking to himself. Or maybe to you, thinking you’re already asleep.

“I know you still love him,” he says softly, the words almost painful to hear. “I can see it every time you look at him. It’s obvious.”

Your heart tightens in your chest, but you keep your breathing steady, pretending to stay asleep.

“I don’t blame you,” Matt continues, his voice rough with emotion. “He’s good for you, isn’t he? You’ve got history. I knew what I was getting into when we started this… whatever this is. But I can’t help it. I see myself falling in love with you, and it terrifies me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your eyes burn behind your closed lids. You want to say something, anything, but you don’t. You lie there, frozen, letting Matty’s confession hang in the air between you.

“You don’t have to choose me,” Matt whispers, almost as if he’s resigned to his fate. “But I… I certainly wouldn’t mind it if you do, love.” He laughs bitterly at the end, then turns serious once more. “We could… we could be happy.”

His voice cracks slightly, and it takes everything in you not to react. You hadn’t realised just how much this meant to him, how deeply he felt. He always seemed so easygoing, so casual, and now you see that there was more beneath the surface. So much more.

You lie still, pretending to sleep, as Matt gently brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll be here, if you want me,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. 

You chose yourself, selfish as it might have been, and you would make the same decision again if given the chance. You needed to do that; you owed it to yourself. You also sought companionship and a shot at happiness with him. But that hadn’t been final. 

No matter who it will be in the end, someone’s heart is going to break. 

Your ankle is forgotten, your concussion a trifling thing.

Because the weight of that choice is a much heavier burden to bear.

The villa in Spain is like something out of a dream, nestled in the rolling hills of Mallorca. Its white stone walls gleam against the deep blue backdrop of the Mediterranean, the ocean stretching endlessly in the distance. The courtyard is lined with blooming florals and tall cypress trees. It’s the kind of place that makes you forget about the rest of the world, even if just for a moment, and let go of everything that’s complicated and heavy.

But not for Ewan, who sits alert under the shade of a large patio umbrella by the pool, clad in only his navy blue swim trunks. His sunglasses are perched on his nose, as he pretends to read a script – his attention is elsewhere. 

They track you, where you’re surrounded by the girls, all of them fussing over you like a flock of mother hens. Your fracture boot is propped up on the sun chair, crutches leaning nearby. 

Ewan smiles to himself when you laugh at something Liv says, your face lighting up completely. He's relieved that you’re able to relax after everything. But underneath that relief is something else – something that coils even tighter every time he glances at Matt nearby.

Matt’s never far, either. Ewan notices it. Of course, he notices. How could he not? The way Matt hovers just on the edge of the group, never too close to seem overbearing but always there. It’s the same thing Ewan’s doing, and it’s infuriating because he knows exactly what it means. 

Ewan watches as a shirtless Matt hands you a cold drink, his hand brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. You look up, smile gratefully at him, and Ewan feels the sharp sting of it, like a jab to the ribs. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to look away, his grip tightening on the already tattered script in his hands.

“Mitchell, my boy,” Freddie says, plopping down in the chair beside him. “You’ve clearly got a thousand-yard stare going on underneath those shades. You alright?”

Ewan shrugs, trying to play it off. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

Freddie is unconvinced, but he doesn’t push. “It’s our celebration in paradise, mate. You should think about getting a drink in you. Pretend to have fun before Tom ropes us all into some ridiculous pool game.”

Ewan huffs a laugh, grateful for the distraction, but it’s short-lived. His eyes drift back to you, watching as Phia ties a sun hat around your head, joking about protecting ‘the merchandise,’ while Liv adjusts the chair to make sure you’re comfortable. You’re surrounded by care, by laughter, and yet… Ewan can’t shake the need to be near you. To be the one making sure you’re alright.

He hates the way Matt looks at you, like he’s got some claim, like he knows what’s best for you. He doesn’t know you. Not like Ewan does. He hasn’t been through the heartbreak, the sleepless nights, the mess of trying to hold it together when everything was falling apart. He hasn’t watched you fight through everything, hasn’t seen the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.

Matt is there, sure, but Ewan has been there.

He wants to go over, tell the girls to give you some space, be the one to take care of you himself. But he doesn’t. Not with Matt there, standing just close enough to remind him that you’re not his to take care of. Not anymore. 

“Careful, mate,” Fabien materialises from the side, a drink in hand. “You keep looking at her like that, and it’s gonna get messy.”

“It’s already messy,” Ewan replies, clicking his tongue. He shifts in his seat, trying to focus on the script in front of him, but it’s pointless. He watches as Matt crouches down beside you, leaning in to say something quietly. You laugh, and the sound hits like a white-hot surge to his veins – an instinctual, possessive reaction he can’t suppress. 

Ewan doesn’t want to cause a scene. It’s a holiday, after all – everyone’s in good spirits, and you finally look like you’re getting some much-needed rest.

But before he even realises it, he’s already halfway across the courtyard, his steps brisk and determined. 

“Hey,” Ewan says when he reaches you, his tone light, almost forced. “Mind if I join?”

Matt straightens, settling in the chair next to you. “Well, look who finally decided to come over. Thought you were just going to lurk all day.”

You shift in your chair, adjusting your fracture boot, letting Ewan sit next to your outstretched legs. “I’m fine, by the way. If that’s what this is about.”

The girls are now watching intently in their respective sun chairs, pretending to sip their drinks but clearly enjoying the show. You’re caught between rolling your eyes and laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Ewan casts a quick glance at your ankle boot, the tenderness in his gaze flickering just for a moment before he locks eyes with Matt again. “I’m just making sure you’re not overwhelming her. She might need her space,” he says.

Matt raises an eyebrow, his casual posture not matching the edge in his voice. “Space? Mate, that’s rich coming from the guy who’s crowding her chair right now.”

Phia snorts into her drink, earning a stern look from Liv, but it’s too late. The tension is starting to draw a crowd, and even Fabien and Freddie are craning their necks to watch. Freddie whispers something to Fabien, who laughs, clearly entertained.

Instead of rising to the bait, Ewan exhales sharply and forces a smile. “Just making sure my… friend is comfortable.”

Liv arches an eyebrow. “My god, friend, is it? Please don’t tell me I’m your friend too.”

Emma freely chortles at Liv’s remark, while Phia doubles over in glee.

You interject with a sigh, waving your hands between them. “Okay, enough. I love a good ego battle as much as the next girl, but seriously – this is supposed to be a holiday. Can we not do this?”

“Honestly, you two,” Phia says, “I thought I already made it clear – she’s my girl.”

The tension cracks as the group erupts into laughter, and even Ewan and Matt can’t help but smile. 

“Alright, alright,” Ewan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Truce. For now.”

Matt smirks, extending a hand mockingly toward Ewan, who rolls his eyes but shakes it briefly before turning his attention back to you. His gaze softens as he catches your eye. “Just… don’t overdo it, yeah?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “I’m the one in a boot. Trust me, I’m not going anywhere fast.”

Emma’s enjoying the scene, calmly sipping on their negroni sbagliato. “Honestly, with the way things are unfolding, this drama could end up being better than the show.”

Before anyone can throw in another comment, Ewan’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his trunks. His expression darkens briefly when he glances at the screen. It’s his manager, but she knows not to disturb him on holiday unless it’s urgent. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.” He catches your eye for a brief moment before stepping away.

The world of Hollywood is no stranger to scandal, but this one is poised to shake the industry to its core.

Bruce Haversham, the powerful executive behind some of the biggest film projects in recent decades, had been untouchable at the very top of the mountain. Until now.

The news broke late in the afternoon, first as a whisper across social media before exploding into full-blown coverage on every major network. Accusations of sexual harassment and assault came pouring in, one after the other, each more damning than the last.

By the time the story hit the major outlets, it was clear that Bruce Haversham’s reign was over.

In New York, where he had been arrested, footage of him being escorted from his apartment in handcuffs circulated widely. The headlines were merciless: Hollywood Titan Falls, The End of Bruce Haversham’s Empire, A Predator Unmasked.

For Ewan, this is more than just a story on the evening news. It’s personal.

It was Bruce who masterminded the PR relationship that drove a wedge between Ewan and the one he truly loves. 

Now, everything changes. Bruce Haversham is out. Effective immediately. 

The path ahead wouldn’t be easy – far from it – but now, at least it is a path Ewan can walk freely. 

His mind races as he drops the call, the flood of information almost too much to process at once. Talk about a late birthday gift.

The relief hit him fast, like a cool rush of air. But it is immediately followed by something else – confusion, uncertainty. What now? What does this mean for him, and for you?

Matt had swooped in, offering you comfort and companionship, complicating things further. He cares about you, Ewan knows that. And from the outside, it makes sense – you and Matt seem good together. 

But Ewan knows better. Deep down, he is certain – absolutely sure – that what you and he shared isn’t just good. It was right. You and him… you are perfect together.

Ewan’s free from his strings, and all bets are off. 

It’s all or nothing this time. 

💌 next chapter

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

Some notes in the margins...

The rest of the holiday will take up most of part 12! Ewan can actually properly enjoy himself now 😉

Don't think it'll be that easy! Darling's tied to Matty too, in a way. And after that confession? Damn it, Matthew, you sly loverboy you.

How far will Ewan go? And will Matty double down on his efforts? It's all chemical. It's all overriding. 🤷🏻‍♀️💙

[min-imum]

nsfw, mdni

content warnings: gn!reader, sending frisky pics ooh, lingerie

mingyu’s absolutely exhausted. he’s been practicing for the upcoming comeback for hours every day. he’d skipped lunch to practice a particularly difficult section of the choreography, and then he spent the rest of the day dancing, singing, and rapping — and he’s tired.

all he wants to do now is to get home and enjoy a nice dinner with you. snuggle up, watch a movie, and if he’s lucky, maybe you’ll give him a massage to ease his aching limbs.

his phone dings, and he looks away from his lyric sheet to glance at his phone. a text from “baby ❤️” lights up the screen, and he ditches his practice immediately, eager to talk to you. even if it’s only over text, you always find a way to help him relax.

he clicks on the notification excitedly. your “hi, love, what are you up to?” message warms his heart, and he’s quick to tell you about his little practice session in one of the studios.

“can’t wait to see you! <3” he tacks on — and it’s true. he desperately wishes he could be home now, with you, but his cheol hyung will get his ass if he leaves anytime before six.

you send an image, and his mood lifts! maybe he’s going to see you drowning adorably in one of his hoodies, or maybe you’re sending him a picture of the snack you’re having. he loves knowing what you’re up to. he opens the picture, and—

well, he’s glad he’s alone.

he feels his cock harden in his pants as he gazes at the photos you’re sending. the caption “i got this today, do you like it?” does not prepare him, not in the slightest, for the onslaught of sexy pictures you’re sending him.

pictures of you twisting and turning in the mirror or in bed, dressed in the most gorgeous set of red lingerie, fill his vision. his free hand moves to palm himself over his sweats before he even realises. your next message, “picked red cuz it’s your favourite colour, gyu”, makes him groan out loud.

he scrolls through the pictures slowly, appreciating and savouring all of them. there’s a picture of you kneeling in front of the mirror, arm placed strategically to block the camera’s view of your pelvis. there’s another of just your upper body, chest decorated with the prettiest red bralette, your thumb placed teasingly on your lower lip. his favourite is the one of you on the bed, chest down and ass up — he can see your pretty face and your ass peeking out from behind.

mingyu: baby, i’m at work!!!!

mingyu: what if someone saw?!?!

baby ❤️: you said you were alone :3

mingyu: fuck baby

mingyu: you’re gonna be the end of me

mingyu: i’m so hard rn

baby ❤️: show me, please?

“shit, fuck,” he mutters. he checks the room for cameras, and, finding none, pulls down his sweats. his cock, long and hard and warm, slaps up against his belly. he feels like a teenager again as he snaps a dick pic for you, but god, you asked to see it and he’s not about to deny you.

as soon as it hits six, he’s going to be out the door and on his way home to see you.

part 2

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART II)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Smut (MDNI 18+), incest, step-sibling incest, gangbang (-ish?), nipple stimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, getting caught, mentions of death, alcohol consumption, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said.

WC: 5.0k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

As war brewed in Westeros, the land of Dorne basked in the golden sun and its sweeping dunes. The ravens from House Targaryen had been met with little favour, and House Martell found their desperation rather amusing. 

In the Old Palace of Sunspear, Princess Y/n and Prince Elyas Martell lounged in the Solar, a secluded chamber reserved for their idle indulgence, always with a cup of wine in hand. The space, bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the thin organdy curtains, was filled with the scent of magnolias, a flower that so rarely thrived in the harsh conditions in the desert. 

The siblings had been raised under a veil of extravagance, tasted the rarest delicacies, worn the most exquisite fabrics, and known pleasures that most could never fathom. Yet, they sat in the heart of Old Palace, gazing out at the unchanging arid scenery before them, left with a lingering sense of disillusionment. The world outside their palace walls offered little more than echoes of what they had already experienced, and each new day arrived with the inevitable savour of anti-climax.

The company of the siblings was never without their sworn protectors, the bastard sons of Prince Qoren, Casymir and Leoran Sand, whose presence was like the shadows of the Prince and Princess, mostly unnoticed, but part of them nonetheless. The twins were leaning on the double doors, their golden spears placed against the wall as they listened to the Prince and Princess' idle conversations with a hint of amusement on their faces. 

"Can you believe them, sister?" Elyas licked the wine off his lower lip. He was slumped on the settee with Y/n’s legs resting on his lap. "Asking for your hand through a raven? That boy of three-and-ten from House Briar showed more courage than those Dragonlords," he chuckled, remembering how the young lord showed up by the gates of the Old Palace with nothing more than the promise of a life free from hardships and an heir that will make Dorne even more prosperous than it already was.

"That boy looked like he still fed on his mother's tit," Casymir, the older twin laughed.

Princess Y/n merely rolled her eyes, too tired to jest with them. She took another sip of wine as her eyes lazily stared at Elyas' hands gently massaging her legs. 

"What bothers me is that Father is still taking his time to send ravens back to those Dragonlords," she muttered. "He usually wouldn't bother to respond to any plea for support involving other houses, so it's possible that he might be considering our alliance."

"You read both messages Father sent them, he clearly refused any deal they proposed," Elyas' hands crawled to her thighs, disappearing under the silken fabric of her dress and began kneading her lean muscles.

"Of course he did. He wouldn't want to make it seem like we yield so easily," Y/n traced the edge of her cup with her finger. "Father is many things, but he's not a fool. He knows that they're expecting him to refuse. The longer he plays this game, the more desperate they'll become, and... mayhaps he sees more value in keeping them on edge."

"And what about the Velaryon boy?" Leoran asked.

"What about him?" She sighed, growing irritated as the past few weeks' conversations seemed to circle back to the Targaryens.

"How does it feel to have the future king of the realm seeking your hand?" He asked.

"He's no different from the others. A man is still a man, no matter his title. And so far, they've all shown me nothing I haven't already seen," Y/n’s gaze drifted out the window, her expression indifferent. 

"Be truthful now, sister," Elyas teased, moving his hands even closer to her womanhood as he continued to massage her thighs. "Don't tell me the idea of marrying a dragon rider doesn't excite you."

"Those dragon riders tried to conquer our lands before, why would I want to marry one of them?" She asked with a hint of annoyance, realising shortly how Elyas was just trying to provoke her. She took another sip of wine. Although it was typical for her brother to irritate her on purpose, she still enjoyed the touches that came along with it.

"So you wouldn't even consider marrying him?" He parted her legs slightly, snaking his hand between her thighs as began to tease her clothed slit.

"No," she frowned, growing frustrated as Elyas kept teasing her, knowing all too well how to pull her strings and make her surrender under his touch. 

The twins' eyes were fixed on them, a smirk spreading across their faces as they watched her grind her hips against his palm. Y/n sat up and Elyas got on his knees, hiking up her dress and fully exposing her legs to them. Leoran began to palm his cock through his trousers at the sight of Elyas peeling away Y/n’s undergarments, his eyes never missing the thin string of her arousal that clung to the fabric. He pushed her legs further apart, making sure that the twins could see how her tight hole clenched and unclenched, welcoming even the slightest touch.

"Even if he's the Crown Prince?" Elyas purred. He felt his erect cock painfully straining against his trousers as his fingers sunk into the soft flesh of her ass, pulling her closer to him until her cunt was merely inches away from his face. He was tempted to delve his tongue into her needy hole, yet he resisted and began to nip and suckle on her inner thigh. "Answer me, sister," he demanded, his dark eyes looking up at the Princess.

Y/n huffed at his words, growing impatient as she knew that Elyas was going to keep up his sweet torment until he heard what he wanted to hear.

"Even if he's the Crown Prince," she echoed his words, her skin prickling as she felt his hot breath fanning on her entrance. 

The Prince seemed to have been satisfied with her response as his tongue lapped at her wet folds without a warning, tearing a moan from her as his nose occasionally nuzzled against her clit, making her buckle her hips against his face. 

She lazily tore her eyes from her brother and fixed her gaze on the twins, whose trousers and breastplates were already discarded on the floor, exposing their lean muscles akin to a bronze sculpture. They were pumping their cocks at the sight of her wet cunt being feasted on by Elyas, who was still fully dressed, as he was too lost in devouring the sweet taste of her juices. When the Princess made eye contact with them, they nodded and stood up, understanding her silent command. They sat on either side of Y/n, their cocks twitching as she placed her hands on their thighs. Then she turned to face Casymir, cupped his cheek and stared up at him with half-lidded eyes before leaning forward for an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue swirling around hers. 

Leoran tucked the Princess' hair back, exposing her neck. He began to trail wet kisses from under her ear and stopped at the hollow of her neck as he fondled her breast, teasing her erect nipple with his fingers through the thin fabric of her dress. Still unsatisfied, he pulled the strap down, partly exposing her chest. Leoran pressed his face against the soft flesh, taking in her sweet scent before he brushed his lips against her nipple and began suckling on it like a hungry babe. 

Casymir slipped the other strap off her shoulder, and her dress bunched around her waist, fully exposing her chest. The warm breeze caressed her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Imitating his younger twin, Casymir's lips latched on to the other nipple and pulled, almost painfully, and he released it with a loud pop before repeating his actions. When he was finished tormenting the sensitive bud, he took as much of her breast in his mouth, hungrily swirling his tongue around the soft flesh.

As the twins sucked on each of her tits and Elyas had his face buried in her cunt, Y/n reached down to grab the twins' cocks that jolted with her touch, already oozing with precum. She began stroking their lengths, feeling how the thick veins pulsated against her palms. 

Y/n’s eyes rolled back in pleasure, unable to bear how they feasted on her flesh as if she were a lamb being devoured by wolves. No one in the room was holding back their moans, filling the space with obscene noises. The Solar, which had just been meticulously tidied by the servants, had now turned into a chaotic scene of disarray: cushions from the settee were scattered haphazardly, some thrown onto the ground, whilst their cups of wine had tipped over, leaving dark red stains that seeped into the rugs.

Feeling the fire pooling low in her abdomen, she knew that it was up to Elyas whether she got to cum or not.

"Swear it to me, sister," Elyas stopped sucking her clit, only to slide two fingers into her weeping cunt. "Swear to me that I'll be your betrothed. You and I shall rule Dorne together."

He alternated between curling his digits and pumping them in and out, hitting her sweet spot with ease and causing her to arch her back in delight. At that moment, the Princess only sought the pleasure of her own release. Enslaved with the rush that was coming, she parted her lips, ready to seal the promise.

"I—"

Just before she could finish speaking, the doors of the Solar flung open with a loud crash. 

The four of them snapped out of their trance, their faces clouded with irritation that someone had dared to interrupt the high they were chasing. Ser Domeric Uller, the informant of House Martell, stood unimpressed at the wanton scene before him, already used to the siblings' shenanigans.

"My Princess, my Prince," Ser Domeric began, "Rhaenyra Targaryen is in the Hall of the Sun, and your presence has been requested immediately."

The unexpected arrival of the Targaryens on dragonback had been received as a threat of battle. When the Dornish sails spotted the winged beasts tearing the clouds apart, their hearts pounded with dread. The three dragons shattered the peaceful Dornish skies with their deafening roars, sending shockwaves of terror through the port city of Sunspear. The smallfolk, who had never seen such creatures so close, scattered back to their homes, their fear spreading like wildfire.

Princess Y/n muttered under her breath as she made her way to the Hall of the Sun, trying to compose herself as she had barely taken a moment to ensure she didn't appear dishevelled. Her previous dress had been crumpled, forcing her to hastily throw on another while urging her handmaiden to make her hair look presentable. With each step, she could still feel the uncomfortable cling of arousal on her thighs. She was closely followed by her brother and their sworn protectors, who weren't any less irritated than she was, as they fumbled with their trousers. 

Their youngest brother, Prince Farien, was already waiting for them outside the hall with Ser Domeric, who couldn't stand still.

"Is everything alright, Farien?" Y/n asked the boy.

"D- dragons..." he whispered. "They brought dragons..."

Y/n and Elyas exchanged a look of concern, but her eyes widened, catching how Elyas' chin was still glistening with her arousal. 

"Wipe your chin," she hissed.

Elyas complied, wiping his face with the sleeve of his tunic, staining it in the process. The siblings and the twins stared at each other, ensuring that there was no trace of what had just happened moments ago. With one final nod, Casymir and Leoran pushed the doors open, clearing a wide path for Prince Qoren's children.

The three Martells, adorned in their house's colours and draped in golden jewellery that chimed with each step they took, resembled the radiant rays of the sun. Y/n and Elyas sauntered across the hall with their heads held high, feeling the piercing gaze of the Targaryens they had yet refused to look in the eye. Elyas' eyes swept over the hall with a dismissive air, trying to mask the dread running down his spine as he heard the dragons' deafening screeches nearby for the first time, while Prince Farien ran across the hall and jumped onto his father's lap.

There was no way to read Prince Qoren's expression. How must he have felt at that moment? The Targaryens, their rivals, had arrived in Sunspear unannounced with three dragons, no less, inciting fear among his people and sparking rumours that they had come once again to conquer their lands.

"Father," Y/n greeted Prince Qoren with a quick peck on his cheek. 

Prince Qoren hummed in response as he rubbed his youngest son's back to soothe him. Even at his advanced age of five-and-sixty, Prince Qoren's striking features weren't any less noticeable. If it weren't for the shadows in his eyes that had seen countless battles and tribulations, and his silvering curls that were once as black as ink, he would've been easily mistaken as his son Elyas in his youth.

Y/n perched herself on the armrest of her father's seat, while Elyas casually leaned on the other side. The four Martells stared at the Targaryens, their poised, disinterested stance akin to a nest of vipers, coiled and ready to strike at anyone who dared come too close.

"House Targaryen, you stand before the presence of Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear, Prince of Dorne; Princess Y/n Martell of Sunspear; Prince Elyas Martell of Sunspear; and Prince Farien Martell of Sunspear," Ser Domeric announced, his deep voice reverberating through the hall. 

Ser Domeric finished introducing the Martells, their faces refusing to betray their racing thoughts, showing nothing more but contempt in their dark eyes. 

"House Martell, you have been graced by the presence of Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men; the King Consort, Daemon Targaryen; and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the Crown Prince, who have travelled all the way from Dragonstone."

The Targaryens strode to the centre of the hall, followed by three guards who never stopped pointing their spears at them, though that didn't prevent them from exuding the same air of superiority that marked their bloodline. Rhaenyra took a step forward, and Daemon and Jacaerys dutifully bent their knees in reverence to their queen.

A suffocating silence fell over the hall as the Martells remained motionless.

"Bend the knee and show respect before your Queen," Daemon commanded, his gaze defiant against the Martells.

Y/n and Elyas shared a quick look before bursting into laughter, their father joining in until his face turned red. 

"Have you forgotten where you are, my King Consort?" Prince Qoren asked with a deep, mocking chuckle, unbothered by the palpable tension brewing in the hall. "We Martells refuse to bend the knee for you, Dragonlords. Never have, and never will."

Daemon Targaryen's face twisted in indignation, not tolerating the blatant disrespect. Had they been in Dragonstone, their heads would no longer be attached to their bodies. His fingers tightly curled around the grip of his sword, but Rhaenyra's subtle gesture made him stop. 

"Has your independence also prevented you from learning manners, Prince Qoren?" Daemon asked through his teeth. 

"Mayhaps our independence has spared us from the Targaryen's arrogance that comes with sitting on the Iron Throne too long," he raised his cup at him.

"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken..." Rhaenyra recited House Martell's motto, trying to defuse the tension. "Prince Qoren, we are well aware that House Martell has proudly stood on its own. We have respected your sovereignty throughout the years, and we have no intention of disturbing that peace. We did not come here to conquer, but to forge an alliance."

"Yet you arrive in our lands with three dragons, ready to reduce Sunspear into ashes at your command?" Y/n raised her brow, her gaze locked with Rhaenyra's, each daring the other to look away.

"If we intended to burn Sunspear, Princess, we would have done so already," Daemon retorted.

"Oh, so now we're to be grateful we're still alive?" Elyas scoffed.

"Prince Qoren, let me ask you, you would not want history to repeat itself, would you?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Is that a threat?" Prince Qoren asked back, any trace of amusement in his face now gone.

"I am merely stating that once the Greens win this war, they will seek to bring the whole of Westeros to heel, and Dorne will not be spared."

"We have successfully stood our ground in the First Dornish War. What makes you think we can't do it again?" Prince Qoren asked.

"No house will be safe from Aemond's wicked hand, my Prince," Daemon stated. "That boy honours nothing but cruelty, and is seduced by the promise of his own ascent."

"Doesn't sound so different from the rest of you," Prince Qoren scoffed. He reached for another cup of wine, taking a swig before he continued speaking. "Greens, Blacks... What does it matter? Why would we want to get involved in this war in any way, if we could just sit back and watch you burn your own house to the ground?"

As they bickered back and forth, Y/n and Jacaerys shared a look. The Princess couldn't deny the Velaryon boy was rather pleasing to look at, but she already had her fair share of good-looking lords who met the same fate as the rest of her suitors. 

"Prince Qoren," Prince Jacaerys spoke for the first time, "I know that with the history of our houses, it is easy to dwell in the past, but we did not travel all the way from Dragonstone to reopen old wounds. We came here to heal them. We intend to make amends for the past and to forge a new path forward, one that begins with my request for the hand of your daughter, Princess Y/n," he rose from the ground, his eyes defiant.

"And you couldn't come alone, boy? Did you need your mother to hold your hand while you do so?" Prince Qoren chuckled, his eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "Prudent of you, I suppose. But Dorne has danced with dragons before, and I would sooner sleep with scorpions. However, if it's the hand of my daughter you seek, she will be the one to decide whether or not you are worthy."

Prince Jacaerys clenched his jaw, trying to ignore Prince Qoren's attempts at ridiculing him. 

"I know the Princess must have faced countless suitors and is growing restless about their never-ending courtship, all promising her wealth, power, and lands she already possesses in abundance. But let me ask you, Princess, have any of them offered you the chance to become the Queen?" 

"How bold of you to ask for my sister's hand without first proving yourself worthy," Elyas spoke in his sister's stead, seeing how she didn't seem completely opposed to the Velaryon boy's proposal. "The Princess wouldn't entertain any proposal without a trial by battle, as you may have noticed from the rotting corpses of her suitors in the desert," he taunted the Velaryon boy.

Y/n shot her brother a sharp glance and he merely shrugged back, as if to say that it was his duty to put the arrogance of the Crown Prince in place.

"It's a tempting offer, my Prince, but I don't care much for titles. I'm of sun and sand, and my duties lie here in Dorne," Y/n said, examining the young prince before her. He stood with confidence and poise, yet there was a naive glimmer in his eyes as if he believed his proposal would be accepted without question. "However, if you wish to seek my hand, I won't deny you the chance, but as my brother said, you must prove your courage in battle if you wish to be taken seriously. You've shown me what you're willing to offer, but what are you willing to sacrifice?" She smirked, challenging the young prince.

Jacaerys stiffened at Y/n’s words, feeling the weight of her challenge. He recalled the lifeless body of a boy from House Briar in the desert, just one among countless lords from other houses who were once known for their swordsmanship skills but had been reduced to nothing more than a feast for crows. His expression faltered for a moment, the confidence he had displayed wavering under the pressing gaze of the Princess. He glanced at his mother and Daemon, seeking reassurance, only to realise they also shared the same look of uncertainty.

"I came here to forge an alliance, not to shed blood," he replied, his voice steady despite his heartbeat thundering against his chest. "But if it is courage you seek, then I will show you that I am not one to shy away from a challenge," he said, forcing himself to meet Y/n’s gaze. 

"Very well," the Princess replied, a satisfied smile curling on her lips. "The trial shall commence on the morrow. I trust the Prince is weary from his long journey, so let him rest well."

It was the hour of the wolf, and the unease in the Old Palace was palpable. The restlessness wasn't only confined to its walls as even the smallfolk were on edge, since word had spread that war was imminent. The distant screeches of winged beasts echoed through the night sky, stirring memories of the First Dornish War.

Prince Elyas kept glaring daggers at the back of his sister's head as he followed her to the Council Chamber, where their father awaited them.

"What was that?" Elyas grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to face him. "What happened to not considering his proposal, sister?" 

Prince Farien, who walked hand in hand with his sister, cocked his head as he watched his older siblings exchange words heatedly. 

"Are they going to feed us to their dragons if you say no to the Prince?" He asked, looking up at his older sister. 

"You'll be the first one they'll be eating," Elyas muttered, causing the boy to shudder. 

"Don't listen to him, Farien. I won't let that happen," she cupped the little boy's cheek and glared at Elyas.

"I could see it in your eyes, sister. You were tempted to agree," Elyas kept pressing her, trying to mask the pain in his voice with anger.

"Mayhaps your jealousy is clouding your judgement, brother," she said, continuing her stride and not giving him the satisfaction of engaging with the argument. "The Prince is merely another suitor, like the many lords who have previously sought my hand. It's only fair that I give him the same opportunity as the others."

"Then let me fight for you this time, and once I defeat him I shall finally take your hand like we've always planned. I've waited far too long, sister."

"This isn't your battle to fight, Elyas," she muttered, entering the Council Chamber as Casymir and Leoran remained outside, guarding the doors.

"Father," they said in unison, taking their seats around the golden table. 

Prince Qoren rubbed his greying beard, lost in thought, with an empty cup in hand. Y/n caressed Farien's wild curls as he plopped himself on her lap, his legs barely able to reach the ground. 

"I wish to speak with Y/n, alone," Prince Qoren said.

After a moment of silence, Elyas stood up begrudgingly, never tearing her gaze from his sister, who didn't shy away from glaring back.

"Very well, Father," Elyas replied, taking his younger brother in his arms, and trying to not let his father's dismissal affect him. 

The doors closed behind them, leaving father and daughter alone in the Council Chamber.

"Is something the matter, Father?" She leaned back into her seat, taking the cup of wine that her father poured her. 

"I must admit, I'm at a loss," he sighed, defeated. "Gods... how has everything come to this? These bloody Targaryens have nothing better to do than start wars they can't finish on their own," he sighed as he shook his head. "We always used to laugh at the Old King Viserys, but he would've never allowed this to happen. Twenty-six years! That old man has given us twenty-six years of peace, only to be disrupted by his children's tomfoolery!" he took another swig from his cup, wiping the droplets with his sleeve. "I truly had no intention of taking part in this war, but if the Triarchy is involved, then we are left in an extremely vulnerable position."

Y/n nodded her head, listening intently to her father, already knowing where his argument would take a turn.

"Tell me, daughter. What do you think the Greens offered the Triarchy in exchange for their support?" He asked.

"The Stepstones," she replied firmly. "Up until Daemon's conquest, the Stepstones haven't belonged to anyone. But if the Triarchy ends up getting a hold of it, then they would have the leverage to disrupt our trade routes and invade our territories."

Prince Qoren hummed with satisfaction at his daughter's words. 

"What are you implying, Father?" Y/n asked.

"There is no way out for us in this war, Y/n," he said in resignation. "It only leaves us with two options. Join Rhaenyra, or face the Triarchy once their war is over."

The Princess pursed her lips, refusing to accept either of the choices they had.

"We'd be fools to wage war against the Triarchy," the Princess shook her head. "And if they have the Greens' support, whatever fate befell them in this war could easily become our own. As the Blacks have blockaded the Gullet, they could just as easily set a blockade in the Narrow Sea."

"So that leaves us with—"

"There must be another way. How could you even think of that, Father?" She cut him off, unable to control the anger that was bubbling in her chest. "You wish to aid the house that tried to burn ours to the ground?"

"And you think I haven't dwelled on that already?" Prince Qoren asked. "They're offering us to make an alliance, and we have the upper hand—"

"They want to make us think that. We don't have the upper hand if they're doing it on their own terms, Father. It should be us who set the conditions, since they need us more than we need them," Y/n slammed her fist against the table, standing up, not expecting her father to give up so easily. 

The Princess took a few deep breaths, feeling guilty after raising her voice at her own father.

"Forgive me, Father. I overreacted," she looked down. "I appreciate your trust for only letting me hear your thoughts, but I don't think Elyas nor the rest of the council would take your stance well, either."

"Your brother needs to learn from you. He has a long way to go, but his unruly temper will be his demise."

"Truth be told, we aren't much different from one another," she smiled sadly. "But please, Father. We must tread carefully. I know these are dire times and we can't keep running away from conflict forever, but there must be a way around this."

"Listen to me, my dear daughter," Prince Qoren looked at the Princess with solemn eyes. "Your great-grandsire had told me about the First Dornish War when I was merely a boy of five. He still recalled how his father, Prince Nymor, told the events as though they were a tale of glory. But he saw things differently. He saw things as they truly were. Our people paid in blood, and the sands of Dorne were stained red with the lives lost during those dark years.

When Aegon Targaryen and his sisters came to our lands, they brought a storm of fire and death. Countless were burned alive in their homes as they ran for their lives. The dragons did not distinguish between soldiers and children, between the rich and the poor, and mothers watched their children burn as fathers tried to protect their families in vain.

And yet, despite all this, we endured. But at what cost, Y/n? At what cost did we keep our independence? Hundreds of thousands of lives were lost, families were destroyed, and our lands were left in ruins. The legacy of that war is not just our freedom, but the memory of the suffering our people endured. That is the burden we carry, the price that was paid. 

And if what they say about that boy Aemond is true, if he plans to bring the whole of Westeros to heel, then I fear that'll be the beginning of the Second Dornish War... and as your father, that is something I don't want you, your brothers, and our people to ever live."

Once Prince Qoren stopped speaking, his eyes were filled with sorrow, and Y/n couldn't help but reach for his hand.

"Why are you telling me this, Father?"

"You are to become the Princess of Dorne once I pass," Prince Qoren smiled sadly. "I wish I could carry the burden of this choice, so you won't have to bear its consequences but..."

"Father, I—"

"Tomorrow's trial will determine more than just your marriage with the Velaryon boy. It will shape the future of Dorne. We may well find ourselves bound to a war that is not our own, or face the Greens and the Triarchy, marking the start of the Second Dornish War. I'm truly sorry that you have to bear this burden, but the decision rests with you."

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I want to thank you all for the overwhelming support on this fic. I already have a couple of ideas for Chapter 3, and we will be seeing even more action!

Some of the lines might sound a bit familiar, for example, 'each new day arrived with the inevitable savour of anti-climax,' which is inspired by TGG when Nick was talking about Tom Buchanan, and I thought it perfectly described the life the Martells siblings had been living.

Another one is 'Dorne has danced with dragons before, and I would sooner sleep with scorpions,' which is actually Prince Qoren's reply to Otto Hightower's letter when he was asking for support during the Dance of Dragons (according to the asoiaf wiki).

Also, idky but at first I was imagining Qoren Martell as Mario Cimarro (Pasión de Gavilanes, anyone?) because I can just totally see him playing the role of someone being a super sarcastic bossbitch ruler while having a soft spot for his daughter. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on which actors the rest of the OCs remind you of, especially the twins and Elyas! And if I have time, I might do one of those 'get to know your OC' posts hehe.

If you wish to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form for easier management.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Until next time ;)

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a @yohanseyebrowmole @dracaryxzs @ladyofvelaryon @burningwitchobject @lovelyteenagebeard @redtragedyarcade @dragonrider-3000 @labellapeaky @winter-soldier-101

[babyleostuff]

HURTS SO BAD | CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

summary | seungcheol calls you clingy in front of the rest of the boys

genre | angst & fluff

word count | 2k

pairing | choi seungcheol x gn!reader

authors note | if you have any svt requests feel free to write me 🫶🏼

It was the third time today your call went straight to voicemail. If not for Jeonghan’s messages that Seungcheol was at the practice, you would have thought that something happened to him.

This whole situation was very odd, Seungcheol usually picked up your phone calls, and even if he didn’t, he would always send a text saying he would call you back as soon as he could.

“Maybe it’s just a tough practice session,” you thought.

They had been practicing hard for the last couple of weeks, some of them locked up in their studios and the rest working on the choreography, spending most of their days and nights at the HYBE building.

Not dwelling on it much, you packed your bag and left for the boys’ favorite ramen place. You could bet they didn’t have a lot of proper meals during that time, so as the caring partner and friend, you took it upon yourself to take care of those hard-working boys.

As you got into your car and started the engine, you noticed the dark clouds looming overhead. The next second the patter of raindrops began lightly on your windshield, gradually increasing in intensity.

“Great,” you thought. “Of course, it had to start raining now.” Even so, you gave up on going back home for an umbrella - you just wanted to get the boys the food they needed and finally talk to Seungcheol.

As you pulled out onto the road, the rain only intensified, and your hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as you concentrated on the crazy traffic you got into.

After a while, you safely parked the car before the restaurant and quickly ran inside, shielding yourself with your jacket as best as you could. Or Seungcheol’s to be more precise.

He never minded when you were stealing his clothes, always making sure to tell you how adorable you look in them.

You knew the boys’ favorites like the back of your hand, so after you quickly ordered the food the only thing left was to wait, and hope that nothing serious is going on with your boyfriend.

You didn’t know why exactly you were overthinking this so much. Surely, he had his quiet days where he needed some time for himself, so why would it be different this time?

The thing was, he always would give you a heads up when he wanted to be alone, but nothing like this happened this time.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to carry this alone?” the waiter pulled you out of your deep thoughts.

“Yes, I’m kind of used to this,” you chuckled.

Getting back to your car, the rain still pouring, you quickly but safely made your way to the HYBE building.

Being a partner of one of the most influential people in this company was certainly an advantage, and that's why getting to the dance practice room was not an issue for you.

Chan, Minghao, and Soonyoung caught your attention first, as they were probably going over some steps in the middle of the room.

Then you spotted Joshua, Jonghan, and Jun talking in the corner, as well as Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungwan arguing about something, per usual. The rest of the boys were resting by the mirrors, and that’s where you also finally found your boyfriend.

“Food has arrived,” you laughed as you saw the expression on Mingyu’s face, who was the first to notice you. Someone turned the music down, and not a second later most of the boys were around you picking out their orders.

“You’re the best,” said Jeonghan and hugged you softly. With only one last box in your hand, you turned to Seungcheol, who looked like he hadn’t noticed your presence yet.

“What is up with him? Has he been like this the whole day?” you turned to Jeonghan.

“Yeah, but I’m sure he’s just stressed,” he sighed, looking at his best friend with a bit of pity in his eyes.

You patted Jeonghan’s back and walked up to your boyfriend, crouching before him.

His posture appeared slouched, and his eyes, once vibrant and full of life, now carried a subtle hint of exhaustion, with heavy lids that seemed to be begging for rest.

The deep lines and shadows under Seungcheol’s eyes betrayed his lack of sleep, confirming your suspicions that he didn’t take proper care of himself.

“Hey, baby. I got you food,” you smiled at him, taking in the lack of his usual energy and enthusiasm.

He didn’t even look at you as he stood up and passed by you. Now this was very weird. “Cheol, what is going on?” you asked, your voice laced with concerne.

He let out a deep sigh, which could’t mean anything good, and turned around to look at you.

“What do you want me to say, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. “You come here, God knows why, and disturb our practice, which is like the last thing we want right now,” his tone was only getting angrier as he spoke.

“Thanks for the food, I guess, but we are capable of taking care of ourselves. We’re adults, it’s not like you have to look out for us all the time, you know. Trust me, we are stressed enough, and we don’t really want anyone else to be up our asses right now,” he was at the verge of raising his voice right now, which has never happened in your relationship before.

With each hurtful word coming out of his mouth, you could feel yourself getting smaller and smaller and your eyes welling up with tears, shimmering with unspoken pain.

The thoughts in your head were racing, searching for meaning or a way to process the hurtful words you just heard from the person you loved the most. You folded your arms tightly across your chest as if trying to shield your poor heart from further harm.

“What would be the best right now is if you simply left and stopped being so damn clingy. Oh, and I was actually looking for that jacket, so if you don’t mind, could you please leave it?”

The moment these words left your boyfriend’s mouth, something in you shifted. You looked at him in pure horror, not once in a million years thinking you’ll hear these words from Seungcheol.

The boys could see how your expression changed, a mix of emotions flickering across your face - hurt, betrayal, and anger. Your muscles tense, and fists clenched, you breathed hard, ready to defend yourself.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? No, but seriously,” you laughed in disbelief.

“I come here, scared as shit because you haven’t been answering any of my calls or texts, and if it wasn’t for Jeonghan, I wouldn’t even know if you were fucking alive Seungcheol,” you noticed he flinched hearing you using his full name.

“I come here with food because I know for a fact that no one in this room has eaten anything proper in a week, and you dare to call me fucking clingy? For what? Taking care of you? If I’m such a burden, why do you even want to be with me, huh?” At this point you weren’t holding back, not caring what you were saying.

“I get it that you’re tired and stressed, but I’ll never let you call me clingy for being worried about you,” your voice reflected the strength of your anger, becoming louder than usual.

You could feel your heart breaking as the last words left your mouth:

“Fuck you, Seungcheol.”

Not even sparing him a glance, you threw the jacket at him, turned around and walked out, leaving twelve stunned boys standing in shock from what had just happened.

As you got back into your car, the weight of sadness settled upon you like a heavy blanket. Your gaze was fixated on the road ahead, yet your mind could stop replaying the scene from just a few minutes ago.

The atmosphere within the vehicle felt still, almost suffocating, as the silence enveloped you from the absence of conversation or cheerful music that usually filled the space.

You spend the rest of your day on your couch, and to your surprise, you didn’t even shed a tear. You were too numb to feel anything.

Your thoughts seemed to move in slow motion, as if trapped in a mental haze and the world around appeared muted, as if viewed through a foggy lens.

Just as you were to fall asleep, covered with a single blanket on your sofa, you heard the door to your apartment open. After some shuffling in the hallway, Seungcheol appeared from around the corner.

His tear-stained cheeks glistened under the soft glow of light and you could clearly see his eyes were reddened and puffy. His facial expression carried the weight of his emotions - a mix of sadness and exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, before collapsing to the ground, sobbing quietly. Tears cascaded down his face, tracing delicate paths along his cheeks that you adored so much.

Almost as if forgetting what took place earlier today, you rushed off the sofa and in an instant wrapped your arms around your crying boyfriend. With each breath, his body quivered, his shoulders shaking slightly and his chest rising and falling in sync with his sobs.

“I don’t know what happened, I... I didn’t mean any of this, please believe me,” he cried onto your shoulder. “You have to believe me,” he whispered.

Not saying anything, you only held him closer to your chest, stroking his back softly in a loving manner, as he continued to cry.

“Cheollie, listen to me,” you grabbed his chin lightly and made him look at you. Looking at his tear stained cheeks, you felt so many emotions bubbling inside you.

“I know that you didn’t mean them, but that still doesn’t make it fine.”

“I know, it’s just that-.”

“Cheol, let me finish, yeah?” You smiled weakly at him. “I understand that you have a lot on your plate right now, and if I only knew how you were feeling I would never do anything to make it worse. I love you so much, you know that and that’s why you should have talked to me and told me you needed space-.”

“No, no, no. I don’t want space. I need you honey, I need you around, you’re the reason why I keep going on during times like these,” this time around he was the one that didn’t let you finish.

“I love waking up with the knowledge that I have the best and the most caring partner by my side. I love that you don’t only take care of me, but also the boys. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, and everyday I feel so grateful that I can call you... That you’re my...” he struggled to finish his sentence.

“Your the most perfect person and I fucked up so bad today,” he whispered those last words, slouching his shoulders almost as if embarrassed.

“You did, baby,” you sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “But nothing a cuddle session can’t fix, right?” you smiled widely, at the surprised look at your boyfriend’s face.

“You want to cuddle with me?” he said in his belief, a slight pout on his face.

“Yes, you dumbass. But later we’ll still have to talk about this. You really hurt me and it won’t just go away,” he nodded his head quickly, taking your hands in his.

“I’ll do anything to make it up for you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, baby,” you laughed and stroked his cheek.

“After Mingyu fought me today, I think everything is possible.”

“Wait, what? Mingyu did what?” Now it was your turn to be shocked. It had to be the first time that the giant puppy had fought back.

“Yeah, I think we should write that down somewhere. But I had it coming.” he said pulling you down on the couch.

“Oh yeah, you definitely did.”

As you nestle close to each other, the weight of the world seems to melt away. Your bodies mold together, fitting perfectly in a tender embrace. Limbs entwine and hearts align, creating a secure and comforting space, for the first time in days.

Wrapped in each other's arms, the outside world fades into insignificance. The only reality that matters is the warmth and tenderness exchanged between your bodies

[a-suspicious-number-of-ducks]

Hermit-a-Day May, day 18: JoeHills. Today's style/medium is puppet-making! Or mostly sewing with a few other things thrown in. I had a ton of fun with this one, even though it took...so much time to make. I usually explain why I chose a certain medium but this one is...pretty self-explanatory, I think. If you have any Joe clips you want to see a puppet show of, send them my way! Details, materials, and a couple more pictures under the read more.

Materials: this pattern by Abby Glassenberg and all of its required components (minus the eyes), googly safety eyes from Amazon, baby clothes from a local thrift store, and white fabric paint.

I was originally going to try to get doll clothes to dress the Juppet in, since I didn't want to sew the outfit from scratch, but couldn't find any that were quite right. After a couple unfruitful trips into stores, I stopped by a local children's thrift store and poked around their newborn and preemie section until I found an orange onesie and gray jacket/cardigan that were close enough to the right colors. I know the jacket on Joe's skin is probably a hoodie, given the pocket placement, but surprisingly, few people seem to be manufacturing hoodies for newborn babies. Once I got home, I hacked off the bottom of the orange onesie, hemmed it, and painted the at symbol on the back with fabric paint. The front (now back) still says "daddy's mighty guy" with a picture of two dinosaurs on it and that amuses me greatly.

The puppet pattern itself was a little tricky, and there were a couple spots that I think could have used some more explanation, but I made it through. In hindsight, I wish I'd used bigger eyes, but I couldn't find safety eyes (the kind that pokes through the fabric and gets secured with a washer) in a larger size and the style I wanted, and I didn't want to just glue regular googly eyes on because I was worried it wouldn't be sturdy enough (and the edges might look messy). I ended up having to hot glue the felt pieces to the inside of the mouth, even though the pattern recommended normal craft glue for that part, because it would not stick no matter what I did. If I were to make the pattern again, I'd probably try to sew the roof of the mouth and tongue pieces onto the pink felt before attaching it to the head, rather than gluing them on after.

Honestly, there are a lot of things I would do differently if I were to make another puppet, but I'm pretty proud of how this one turned out, especially for my first time doing something like this! I just. have a Juppet in my house now. I don't know how to feel about this. I know this is a pretty complicated piece, so if you have any additional questions, feel free to message me (or send an ask, or reply to this post, or send the message by carrier pigeon--whatever floats your boat).