#[i never want to fall in love with you because i know you could break my heart - aflockoffeathers]

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

[ang3ltine]

❝ 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙 ❞

۶ৎ summary: Se-mi never planned on falling in love, but fate had other plans for her

۶ৎ pairings: Se-mi x freader

۶ৎ warning: brief mention of a toxic relationship and slightly suggestive themes at the end but over all fluff ♡

𐙚 authors notes: this is my first time writing after so long so I apologise in advance if this fic seems super cringe but anyways enjoy ~

𐙚🧸- Se-mi couldn't believe her eyes, from the far back of the dorm room she spotted a familiar face. Your eyes met hers and you froze, like a deer caught in headlights.

Oh boy you were in trouble now.

She had met you at a thrift store downtown, you were a worker there and you'd always help her to pick cool accessories and outfits that suits Se-mi's taste.

You had soft features with a coquette style clothing consisting of pinks/browns. But what she loved the most was that you always smelt of strawberries and vanilla. Which Se-mi adored.

She had the fattest crush on but always avoided asking you out since you had a bf and had no idea if you liked girls or not.

Without thinking twice she swerved her way through the sea of players, hoping to get an answer out of you.

Se-mi grabbed your arm gently and led you to a quiet corner of the room . She didn't want to bring unnecessary attention to you both so she spoke quietly.

"What the hell are you doing here (name)?" You sighed in defeat and struggled to make eye contact with her.

"Look...I uhm - my ex , he uh stole my credit card details and spent it all on his gambling addiction. Soo I'm here to get that money back. Its no big deal - "

"No big deal?? Your sleazebag of an ex ripped you off and you think that's ok? Geez I knew he was trouble from the first day you introduced me to him".

Namgyu, player 124, was the culprit. When semi spotted him in the first game with a weirdo who calls himself 'Thanos', she really didn't give two shits.

But now that she knows the sole reason you're here was because of him, she was more than willing to pay him back.

With her fists in his face ofcourse.

You could tell Se-mi was pissed so you tried to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"Ok, ok enough about me, what about you??" You poked her chest playfully and crossed your arms. " I have my reasons.." she simply stated, not wanting to talk about herself when was clearly worried about you.

"That bruise you had on your cheek a few weeks ago, it was because of him wasn't it?" anger still apparent in her voice.

You seriously didn't want to admit it because you were embarrassed. Instead of standing up for yourself, you succumbed to his abuse. Choosing to stay silent so you wouldn't trouble anyone. Especially Se-mi.

But here you are now , face inches away from your crush. Even when you were in a relationship you always felt like Se-mi treated you better than any boy had ever made you feel. She cared about you alot and would always bring you small gifts and trinkets to make you happy.

On really rough days where you'd have really bad fights with Namgyu, Semi would take you on a ride on her motorbike to clear your mind and it would always calm you down.

"Well yeah..He got really mad that I was always hanging out with you after work...so he wanted to teach me a lesson." You breathed out shakily, feeling the tears well up in your eyes but refusing to let yourself breakdown infront of her.

Se-mi saw your eyes glaze over and felt a pang of guilt. Knowing she was the cause of the suffering you faced. Pulling you into a tight hug, she chose to not coax you any further. The strong smell of cheap cologne and a slight scent of cigarettes flooded your senses and you sobbed quietly, burying your face in the crook of her neck. Semi whispered sweet nothings to you while you relished being back in her safe arms.

The next few days went by quickly and you found yourself falling deeper in love with the ravenette. You were afraid to break the only relationship you have with the girl. You were friends, nothing more and nothing less.

Se-mi on the other hand wanted more. Sometimes she'd secretly watch you from afar while you talk to the other players. Her eyes slowly dragging over your figure with not so pure intentions.

She also had a thing calling you pretty girl whenever you have a conversation with her so you just assumed she meant that as a compliment rather than her attempting to flirt with you.

After the lights go out tonight , she wanted to finally confess her feelings for you. She isn't the best with words so she wanted to do the only thing she knows how to do. Through her actions.

Limbs entangled with each other and the sound of quiet breathing filled your ears. Se-mi was fast asleep, at least that's what she wants you to think. She knows every night when you both slip into bed that you admire her face while she's pretending to sleep. Which she finds super endearing.

"Do you like seeing my face that much?" trying to bite back a smile when she sees you're caught off guard. " Wha- Se-mi? You were awake this whole time??". At this point your cheeks were burning hot and it became all the more amusing for semi.

"I'm just gonna go straight to the point.." she drawled, letting her thumb drag gently across your cheek.

You yelped in surprise as she swiftly flipped you onto your back with ease , the familiar tingle in your stomach slowly built up. Se-mi was now hovering over your small form and she looked like she was gonna devour you whole.

A shit eating grin plastered on her face as leans down and captures your lips in hers.

Her lips were slightly chapped but soft nonetheless while yours were sweet and plump from the strawberry flavoured lip balm that you manage to sneak in. Which se-mi loved , you were addicting and you tasted oh so delicious.

You wasted no time reaching to the back of her neck and slipped your fingers into her dark hair pulling her in impossibly closer. Soft moans escaped your mouth in-between each kiss while se-mi soaked in every one, pushing her to kiss you deeper.

A hot trail of open mouthed kisses trailed down from the side of your lips towards your neck. Se-mi groaned in satisfaction when she finally found your sweet spot as your squirm beneath her. Leaving dark hickeys all across your neck and collarbone.

She wants everyone to know you belong to , especially that dumb ex of yours.

Overwhelmed by the immense pleasure you tried pushing her away. Se-mi didn't let you and quickly pinned you back down onto the mattress.

" ah ah - where do you think you're going?"

Her voice going an octave deeper than usual as she whispers into your ear making you close your legs in response while she reached down to pry them open.

"You're in for a long night so don't even think about it ~"

ps. Thanks for reading guys also put in some requests and I'll glady fulfill them for you ♡

[leftoverghosts]

humble myself before you

obsessed crown prince!art x manipulative lady!reader or, what i wanted to write for my prince!art bot, but c.ai would ban me!

warnings: nsfw!! cunnilingus (i have a thing for men kneeling and reader pulling up her skirt right now and wanted to write it for art too)!! reader calls him a child, but it is meant as a derogatory term. curse words. not beta read.

happy new year!! we didn't make it not!! one!! day!! without smut!!

Art didn’t stalk you like a predator hunting its prey; no, he moved like a storm orbiting your sun, always close, always yearning.

And you noticed him—not as a threat, but as something to wield.

You spoke, and he listened with a devotion that bordered on madness. Your dismissive smiles and fleeting touches unraveled the malice within him, leaving only an unrelenting fervor he couldn’t name.

It consumed him, this need to matter to you.

He sought you out in every silence, in every passing glance. Every word you uttered became his law, every fleeting gesture a promise he ached to fulfill. Every dance, his last. He would break kingdoms, burn cities—fall to his knees, weeping—if only you’d give yourself to him.

“I love you. Tell me how to prove it.”

In the dim light of your chambers, you couldn't hide your annoyance as Art knelt before you. With a mother's tenderness, you ran your fingers through his thick hair.

As you leaned in to kiss his forehead, your expression softened. "Why should I give orders to a man with no real power?" Your voice was cool and biting, contradicting the gentle gesture. “What would my orders surmount to, your highness? You are but a mere child, wanting after your father’s throne. The King’s bastard will likely inherit the position.” Your face twisted up into a grimace thinking of what the kingdom would be like under Patrick’s rule.

Art's jaw flexed, his features contorting with the pain of your words. The kiss on his forehead felt like a branding, a mockery of care.

"A child?" He repeated, his voice strained. He looked up at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of defiance and need. "I am more than just a child. I am my father's rightful heir, not Patrick. Everyone acknowledges this."

A part of him wanted to jerk away from your touch, but he couldn’t. He craved it, even as it stung.

"Hmm," You stared down at him, but moved away after a moment. "Leave me now, I have important matters to attend to."

The refusal hit like a dagger to Art’s ego.

He had expected—no, hoped—for you to say something different. Something that would validate his belief that he was more than a pawn in your games.

Instead, you dismissed him like some low-ranking retainer. It made him want your approval even more.

He almost obeyed you, nearly stood up to leave. But then he remembered: he was the crown prince, and no woman would treat him with such disrespect.

"No." He remained on his knees, glaring up at you. "Not until you answer me."

You turned and looked at him, his defiance only adding to your amusement. "What trivial question are you begging for me to answer, your highness?"

Art flinched at the ridicule in your tone, a muscle twitching in his forehead.

"I am not begging," he all but snarled. "I am not some meek little supplicant. I am the future of this Kingdom. And I want—" He broke off, unsure what he wanted. Your attention? Your approval? Or something more, something he could not name.

Your lips twisted into a sardonic smile. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he struggled to hold onto his arrogance even as your rejection cut him deep.

"You want." You echoed his words scornfully. "Like a child who wants a toy. You do not know what you want, only that I do not offer it to you."

You glided fowards, your eyes never leaving his face. "Have you considered that I do not offer because you do not deserve it?"

He leaned towards you as you grew closer, like a flower towards the sun. Yet, the insult sliced through him, sharper than any weapon. No one had ever spoken to him like this. No one had ever dared. Coming from you, the words landed like blows, not because of their truth, but because of his own need for you.

"I deserve it," he forced out, his voice raw. "More than anyone."

With one hand you palmed his head again, and with the other, you lifted your nightgown until the most intimate spot between your legs was bare to him. Pulling him forward, he gave little resistance as you cruelly rubbed his face upon your center.

“Your bastard brother sent a little thief in the night to steal from me.” Your tone was warm as you watched him mouth at you, “and yet you could not even catch that small, little mouse. Now, you beg for orders as if you could complete them?”

He trembled beneath your touch, torn between shame and an aching need to please you. He had wanted you to notice him, to praise him. To give him your affection, your time. But instead, you dismissed him as unworthy, castigated him for his failure and then made him this offering. A humiliation that was a mockery of everything he had ever thought.

And he loved it.

He mouthed at you, as you commanded, his tongue tasting you. He was at your mercy, his pride in tatters around him. You were all he could taste, all he could smell. You engulfed his senses, and yet, you were still out of reach, untouchable to him.

"I can," he gasped, his words broken by his ministrations, "I can—I can do better. I swear. Whatever you want. I will do it if you just—"

He wanted to say it—to beg it. Please, my lady. Notice me. Praise me. Love me.

His self-control—the hard shell of arrogance he spent all his life cultivating—crumbled beneath you, reduced to nothing but dust. For the first time, he was vulnerable, open and raw. But in a way, he felt free. He was lost in you, drowning in feelings he didn’t know he had, didn’t know he could feel.

And he never wanted to leave this place. He wanted to worship you, serve you. He wanted to be the only one who could taste you like this.

“Stick out your tongue.” You commanded, your pupils were blown so wide that your eyes resembled a dark void.

Art looked up at you through wet lashes, his tongue coming out, slick and pink. It was a sight that would have seemed obscene on any other day, but now it was something else entirely.

And the taste of you, the sweetness and salt so close and yet so far, was like heaven.

He had been hungry for a lifetime.

He didn't know it until then. Until you. You had filled a part of him he never knew was empty. And yet he was still starving.

“You do not have the King’s ear. You do not hold any significance of power. Your reputation is in tatters. This is all you are good for.” You worked yourself against his mouth, moaning as he pointed and flattened out his tongue to please you. “You are nothing and no one until you sit upon that throne.”

Every word was a lash of a whip, stinging his pride, his ambition. And the worst part of it all? He didn't care.

He would have given up his entire legacy for this, for you. He'd forsake the King, the throne, his half-brother, if only you would look at him with something other than scorn in your eyes.

Art devoured your sex with a feverish desperation, his tongue lapping and probing as if his very life depended on it. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as he slurped and suckled your folds, nose buried in your musk. His eyes rolled back in bliss, lost to the headiness of your essence.

He licked broad strokes from bottom to top, flicking over your sensitive pearl before delving deep inside, fucking you with his tongue. His lips sealed around you as he sucked hard, cheeks hollowing.

Glossy with your arousal, his chin and cheeks glistened in the low light. Saliva dripped down his neck as he feasted messily, uncaring of anything but your pleasure.

Moans vibrated against your core as Art rutted mindlessly against the air, his cock straining in his breeches. The friction provided no relief, only stoking the fire in his blood. His world narrowed to the heat of your cunt, the intoxicating flavor that coated his tongue.

His own need was secondary, an afterthought compared to the compulsion to bring you pleasure, to worship at the altar of your body until you were satisfied.

He looked debauched, wrecked— a prince brought low by desire and the need to please, to serve. He could live happily here, suffocated in your heat. There was no greater purpose, no higher calling, than to kneel at your feet and sup from your core like a man dying of thirst. In this moment, his title, his birthright, his very name meant nothing.

He was reduced to a simple creature of want, and all he wanted was you—for you to praise him, look at him, acknowledge him. Your moans were like music to his ears, his only purpose to draw more from you, to make you say his name.

Please, my lady. Say my name. Say it like you mean it. Like you have thought, even once, about me.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into your heat. His worship was exquisite, every pass of his tongue sending shock waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

"Yes," you gasped, grinding yourself against his nose. "Use that royal tongue for something useful for once."

Art redoubled his efforts at your command, licking and sucking with a single-minded focus. He could feel how close you were, his only reward the little hitches in your breath and the trembling of your thighs around his head.

He wanted to be good for you, to make you come undone. To hear his name fall from your lips in ecstasy.

As if reading his mind, a low moan escaped you. "Yes, just like that Art."

His name on your tongue was electric, sending a jolt straight to his straining cock. He groaned against you, the vibrations making you gasp and arch into his mouth. Pride swelled in his chest at the reactions he could draw from you.

Your pleasure built higher and higher thanks to Art's relentless ministrations. The slide of his tongue, the obscene slurping sounds, the tickle of his hair between your fingers— every sensation was magnified, overwhelming in its intensity.

"Close..." you panted, words failing you as the crest approached.

He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue in a frenzied rhythm.

That was all it took.

With a sharp cry, you shattered, exploding against his eager mouth. Waves of rapture crashed over you, your body convulsing with the force of it. Art lapped at you greedily, extending your high.

As he knelt there, panting and strung tight with unspent lust, he continued to tease you through the aftereffects, gentling his touch but unwilling to pull away. He cleaned up every drop of your release like it was the finest nectar, savoring the taste of your pleasure.

Finally, you pushed him back, chest heaving as you caught your breath. Art remained kneeling before you, hair mussed, face glistening with your spend. He looked thoroughly fucked, blue eyes dark with need, lips swollen and slick.

In that moment, with the high of your climax still singing in your blood, you almost felt something for him. Almost. A flicker of fondness, perhaps, for this desperate, devoted thing.

But it was gone as quickly as it came, doused by the cold reality of who he was. The spare prince, the unwanted son. Too timid to rule, unworthy of your true regard.

You laughed, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. "You really think you are worthy of me? A lowly prince who cannot even control his own desires?"

Your words were cruel, but your fingers were gentle as they traced the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw. The contradiction made his head spin, made him ache in ways he couldn't describe.

"Please," he whispered, the word a prayer on his tongue. He had never begged for anything in his life, but he would beg for you. "I can be worthy. I can be what you want me to be."

"And what is that, exactly?" You asked, your voice like silk against his skin. "A loyal dog, panting at my heels? A puppet, dancing on my strings?"

He shuddered at the images your words conjured. Part of him recoiled at the idea of being reduced to something so base, so subservient. But another part, a deeper, darker part, thrilled at the thought of belonging to you so completely.

"Anything," he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to hurt. "I will be anything for you."

Your laughter was like the tinkling of bells, beautiful and contemptuous all at once. "Such pretty words from such a pretty mouth. But words are wind, your highness. And I have no use for empty promises."

You pulled away from him then, and the loss of your touch was like a physical pain. He swayed forward, chasing your warmth, but you stepped back, leaving him bereft.

"If you want to prove yourself to me," you said, your eyes glinting in the candlelight, "then you will have to do more than kneel at my feet and beg for scraps."

He looked up at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "What do you want me to do?"

Your smile was a wicked thing, full of dark promise. "I want you to become king, I want you to bring me the crown."

For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The crown. His father's crown. The symbol of everything he had ever wanted, ever dreamed of. And you wanted him to steal it for you.

"I cannot," he said, his voice hoarse. "It is treason. If I am caught—"

"If you are caught," you interrupted, your tone sharp, "then you will prove yourself to be the worthless child I always knew you were."

The words burned, but not as much as the disappointment in your eyes. He would do anything to banish that look, to see pride and approval in its place.

"I will do it," he said, his jaw clenched with determination. "I'll become king and bring you the crown. And then you will see. You will see that I am worthy of you."

You smiled then, a real smile that lit up your face like the dawn. "We shall see, your highness.”

[mythicmanuscripts]

I’m thinking about the sub!Aegon that thrives on skin contact and nuzzles into the reader’s chest. Going along with his mommy kink, do you think this would also have him wanting to suck on reader’s breasts as a way to comfort himself when he’s had a bad day?

I know you don’t write pregnancy stuff and I hope I’m not violating your limits on what you don’t write for! I don’t want to make you uncomfortable

Aw I love this! Also thank you for taking note of the fact that I don't write pregnancy related content. I'm perfectly happy to write this type of thing, I think it would stray into an area where I'd be uncomfortable if it involved lactation. This is perfect though!

This answer is mostly just soft and sweet but since there's literal titty sucking and implied sexual conduct I'll hide it behind a cute. Enjoy!

Right so firstly, I have said this before and I will undoubtedly say this again but, Aegon has an oral fixation. An absolutely massive oral fixation. He's always wanting something in his mouth, always!! He'll often chew on his shirt cuff or his necklace or quill. The only time he'll drink water without a single complaint is when there's a straw in the cup and then he'll very happily sip it slowly and even once it's finished he'll just keep the straw in his mouth, sucking a little and chewing on it.

He tries to hide this at first from you, because it's definitely something others have noticed and teased him for. His mother has told him multiple times that he needs to grow out of it but he can't help it!!! He often doesn't even realise he's doing it, and if he tries to stop then he'll get all antsy and wriggly, bouncing his leg or tapping his knee or twirling his hair, anything to try and get the same sort of fidgeting calmness but nothing else is as good.

But despite how hard it is to stop, he really really tries to once he meets and bonds with you. He's never had someone he wanted so badly to please before and he'd actually just start sobbing if he did something that made you think he was embarrassing.

Needless to say, this attempt at keeping this from you fails almost immediately. He already struggles to control the urges if he's trying his hardest to concentrate on not doing it, so to try and control when he's with you and you start to look after him and his little mind turns off? Absolutely no chance.

How is he supposed to keep any train of thought for longer than two seconds when you're holding his hand and calling him pretty? That battle was lost before it even began.

But he does try. In the beginning it was easier because he didnt know you as well so he wasnt as comfortable. He was able to keep himself more or less contained because he didnt see too much of you and had even less time alone with you. That arrangement can't last forever of course, and before long you two get closer and closer and then the real struggles starts. His main strategy to try and save himself is just not allowing himself anywhere anything that he could chew on. Maybe what breaks it is when he's tired?

A few months into the relationship he finds himself unable to fall asleep. Aegon always struggles to sleep if he thinks he's done something wrong. If someone yells at him or calls him a failure or tells him he didnt do something right then he'll often be awake the whole evening, unable to calm down or get over it.

Except now he's never alone in his bed anymore, and so he can't just curl up in a little ball and chew on the cuff of his sleep shirt. Well, that's what he tells himself. He tells himself that he won't do it with you there, but then you see how unsettled he seems and you let him curl up against your chest and you kiss his head and well.... the cuff is in his mouth before he even realises.

You spot it of course, but you don't say anything because seemed to have finally calmed down. You ask him about it the next morning and he blushes so red he looks sunburnt, and then immediately starts promising he'll try his best not to do it anymore. It breaks your heart to see how guilty and ashamed he seems over something that clearly brought him some level of comfort. You promise you won't judge him or it and say you don't mind at all. Even though you say this, he still tries to stop, though all future attempts are absolutely useless.

The first time he uses any part of your body for it is after you've dommed him and cleaned him up. You get him into bed, wrapping as many blankets around him as possible and then you cup his cheek, gently tilting his head upwards so he can see you when you say you're just running to the kitchens to get him a snack and promise you'll be back in less than 10 minutes.

Only, Aegon doesn't even hear the end of the sentence because you're gently stroking his cheek with your thumb and he's so sleepy and happy and utterly incapable of any thoughts at all, nevermind any rational thoughts. So he turns his head slightly and takes your thumb into his mouth, gently sucking on it. You're stunned, not only from the action but also how happy he seems? He was sitting up on the bed but now he's basically leaning over, trusting you to hold most of his weight. When you stroke his hair with your other hand he hums around your thumb and clumsily tries to wrap his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

Needless to say, you never end up leaving to get the snacks because you get pulled into bed and have a lap full of happy, clingy, fucked out Aegon for the rest of the night. It gets more and more common from there, and you even start to notice the signs in his behaviour that means he'll be asking for that later.

I think using your breasts for this would first come about after sex one night. Sometimes the only way to settle Aegon is so push him as close as possible to limit, to wring out every orgasm you again until the poor thing can barley even speak (it basically resets him). After things like that you always stay in bed for a while. You don't get out of bed to clean up and fetch things and do all those other aftercare chores until much later because aegon needs immediate cuddles or else he'll spiral. You've just taken him apart completely so you can't just leave him like that.

That's how you end up laying in bed naked with a very tired Aegon who has been reduced to whines and huffs. You pull him against your chest and then he actually starts paying at your chest? You're so confused and you pull away just enough to look at him. Of course this is absolutely no help because he just whines and continues what he's doing.

You eventually realise what he wants and then you lay down on your back and pull him closer, essentially just scooping him up and letting him curl around you. He instantly goes for your breast, taking your nipple in to his mouth. You worry he might be too harsh but actually he's so so soft? He barely even sucks, mostly just keeps it in his mouth and nuzzlings into you. He falls asleep within 10 minutes.

From there he does it often, first only as aftercare and then after that whenever he needs it.

In conclusion, that little fucker is lucky he's cute.

[ghsface]

I knew it, i know you - Matt Sturniolo

Sumary: You return to a place in the past, where memories and guilt haunt you as you find your ex, facing what you could never let go of. (Alternative ending)

Warnings: angst, break up, insecurities (on the part of the protagonist) guilt, happy ending, I think that's all.

A/n: So I had to post this since you guys asked for it, btw happy new year my luvs thanks for this year and thanks for all the support I love you so much<3 🎀🤍

𝜗𝜚 Part one , part two (final)

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

The streetlights barely illuminated the path as you walked to the parking lot. The cold air hit your face, cutting you like little knives, as you tried to keep your composure. You had left the restaurant in a hurry, your heart in your mouth and Matt’s words echoing in your head like an endless echo. His gaze, that mix of pain and disappointment, was like a blow you couldn’t dodge.

You climbed into the car with shaking hands, slamming the door shut as if that could stop the chaos inside you. For a moment, you just stood there, hands clenching the steering wheel, breathing deeply to keep from breaking down. “It’s for the best,” you repeated to yourself over and over, but you weren’t sure if you believed it anymore.

You started the engine, and low music filled the silence. You drove aimlessly, letting the noise drown out your thoughts, even though you knew it was useless. Every corner, every street, seemed to be filled with memories: his laugh when you did something clumsy, his fingers intertwined with yours, his voice telling you everything would be okay.

Finally, you pulled into a dark park, the kind of place where no one would come looking for you. You turned off the engine and stood there, letting the weight of everything you’d been avoiding fall on you all at once. A tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it. And then another. And another. Until you were crying like you hadn’t in months, your face in your hands, your throat closed.

“Why can’t I be enough?” you whispered into the void, your voice broken and almost inaudible.

Then, a knock on the window made you jump. You looked up quickly, wiping your tears awkwardly. And there he was. Matt. Standing in the dim light of the nearest streetlight, his hands in his pockets and an expression you couldn’t quite decipher.

You hurried out of the car, though your legs were shaking. “What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to sound firm but failing miserably.

He took a step towards you, his eyes locked on yours. “I followed you.”

You frowned, confused and alarmed at the same time. “Why?”

Matt sighed, his shoulders tense. “Because I couldn’t let you go again.”

The words hit like a bucket of cold water. “Matt, you shouldn’t have come.”

“Let me talk,” he interrupted, his voice hard but not cold. He took another step towards you, closing the distance between the two of you to almost nothing. “I loved you, I love you, like I’ve never loved anyone. And when you walked away, I thought it was my fault, that I wasn’t enough for you. But tonight, seeing you, I understood something. You didn’t leave because you didn’t love me. You did it because you were broken. Because you thought walking away would save me from the mess you think you are.”

You tried to respond, but the words caught in your throat. He was right, and that hurt more than anything he could have said.

“I didn’t want to drag you down with me,” you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t want you to carry my insecurities, my fears.”

“Do you really think I couldn’t handle that?” Matt shook his head, his eyes burning with an intensity you’d never seen before. “Don’t you understand that all I wanted was to be with you? That I didn’t care how broken you were because I’m broken too, and together we could have faced it.”

His words broke something inside you. The tears came back in full force, and this time you didn’t try to stop them. “I’m so sorry,” you murmured, shaking. “I’m sorry for everything, Matt.”

He didn’t say anything. He just took you in his arms with an almost desperate strength, as if he was afraid you would vanish into thin air. You clung to him, letting the warmth of his body soothe the cold that had been in your chest for months.

“Don’t go again,” he whispered against your hair, his voice cracking slightly.

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice choked with tears.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes met yours, and in them you saw something you had long forgotten: hope.

“I want to fix this with you,” you said, a new determination in your voice.

Matt smiled, that smile that always made you feel at home. “Then let’s start now.”

Together they walked to a nearby bench, sitting under the starry sky. They talked for hours, opening their hearts, facing their fears, and promising to never let silence tear them apart again.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly, and feel free to leave a request ✮

Tags... @matthewsroses @sophand4n4 @strnilolover @lolastrniolo @marrykisskilled @sweetshuga

[strayingawayy]

ʷʰʸ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵉˡⁱⁿᵉˢˢ? ;

ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ⁱᵗ._

(inspired by hyunjin's quill pen)

the moonlight spilled softly through the window, casting long shadows on the floor. hyunjin sat by the edge of your bed, his fingers tracing the lines of his sketchbook, the quiet scratching of his pencil the only sound in the room. you watched him from your spot, wrapped in a thin blanket, the silence between you two palpable, heavy.

for a while, you'd convinced yourself that his presence was enough. the way his dark eyes would light up when he smiled, the way his fingers would brush against yours when he passed you in the hall—those fleeting moments of connection made you believe that, perhaps, you were getting what you needed. but lately, it felt as though you were floating beside him, never really close enough to touch the surface.

you had always been afraid of this feeling, of giving too much and yet still not having enough. the ache of wanting more from someone who seemed like they had nothing left to give.

"hyunjin," you called softly, your voice trembling slightly. he didn't respond immediately, too focused on his drawing, his eyes flicking back and forth from the page to the shadows cast on the floor. you swallowed thickly, feeling the weight of the silence between you grow heavier by the second.

"do you ever feel like you're alone, even when you're with someone?" you asked, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

he paused. the pencil hovered over the page, and for a moment, you thought he might not answer.

"why would you say that?" he murmured, his voice low and almost distant.

you felt the sting of your own words. “i don’t know... maybe because sometimes, when i'm with you, i still feel... lonely.”

his head snapped up, eyes meeting yours in a flash of confusion and something darker. he set his pencil down, running a hand through his messy hair, and leaned back on his hands, looking at you more intently now. “what do you mean?”

the space between you two felt unbearably large, and yet, you couldn't seem to close it. “you... you’re always here, physically. but you’re not really here, are you?”

hyunjin shifted slightly, a brief flicker of discomfort crossing his face. his gaze dropped to the floor as he processed your words, and his lips parted as if to speak, but he held back.

"i don’t understand," you whispered, feeling your heart race. "why does your love feel like loneliness?"

you had been holding your breath for so long, and the question hung in the air, sharp and vulnerable.

his eyes softened, but his lips remained pressed in a tight line. slowly, he walked over to the bed, sitting next to you. his warmth radiated through the thin fabric of the blanket, and you felt a moment of relief, like you could finally breathe. but the distance still lingered—an invisible wall that neither of you seemed able to break.

"sometimes," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "i think it's because i’m scared of giving too much. you need so much of me... but i don’t know if i can be everything you want. what if i fall short?"

you met his eyes, searching for any sign that this was more than just the casual hesitation of a relationship. there was something deeper there, an ache of his own that he had never shared.

“i don’t need everything, hyunjin,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm. “i just need you—the real you. not the version you think i want.”

he flinched slightly at your touch, but there was no retreat in his eyes, no defense. he leaned forward, closer to you, as though the weight of his own emotions were too much to bear from a distance.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured, voice thick with something unspoken. his lips brushed against your cheek in the softest, almost fleeting touch, but it felt like a promise. “i just don’t know how to love like you do.”

your breath caught in your throat, the closeness making the air between you burn with longing. “you don’t have to, hyunjin. just... just let me in.”

his hand brushed against your cheek, so tender you almost doubted it was real. "i'm afraid you'll see that i'm not enough."

“you are,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “you are enough for me.”

for a long moment, neither of you moved. you simply stayed there, close enough to feel the unspoken connection between you two, the weight of your shared isolation pressing down on your hearts. the moonlight bathed you both in silver, and for a fleeting moment, the loneliness began to fade.

but even as his lips gently touched yours, soft and questioning, you both knew there was more to navigate—more pain to untangle before you could truly be together, in every sense of the word.

the distance wasn’t gone, but it was a little smaller. maybe that was enough—for now.

[mrsfancyferrari]

MASTERLIST - F1

🕊️┆Latanya ， 라타냐 — she ִ ࣪𖤐 ˖ ✦ › entj-t 𓂃 ★ @landonorris's 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹

Into It Chase Atlantic ♥︎ ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻ ⁰⁰'²⁵ ━━●─────── ⁰³'¹⁶

Lando Norris - "Little Lando"

More Kisses? - LN4 + “One kiss is just never enough.”

This Christmas - LN4 + “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Christmas alone.”

Want You - LN4 + "But I don't want them, I want you." 🥧🏈

I'm All Yours - You and Lando have been in the talking stage for some months now. After Lando's third win, he knows he's missing something important. You being his girlfriend.

My Type - where the reader thinks she isn’t Lando’s type

Our Love Is Strong - You weren't going to let your eating disorder destroy your relationship until it did.

Good Luck Kiss - Lando is a fully independent guy until you are around.

Oscar Piastri

Mistletoe Magic - OP81 + “What are you doing with that mistletoe– oh.”

Baby Fever - OP81 + babysitting a child

Max Verstappen - "Mad Max"

Teach Me - MV1 + “I never had any special tradition for the holidays while growing up,"

My Priority - MV1 + "You're my priority." 🍂🦃

Birthday Boy - It's getting to Max's birthday and you know what he wants for it.

Love Sick - You and Max have been together for a while and you knew he loved you but you didn't know to what extent.

Favourite Smell - a pilot with max and it ends up in smut like "I love your smell" +18

Timeless Desire - You had always been Mercedes fan since you were young and it didn't change when you became Max's best friend. Based on British Grand Prix.

Daniel Ricciardo - "Honey Badger"

Fragments of Hope - You had an argument with Daniel and you decided to leave him for a while. What you didn't know is that he can't live without you.

Birthday Boy - It's Daniel's birthday and you two are still oblivious to your feelings. Time for the grid's help.

Charles Leclerc - "Lord Perceval"

Winter Wonder - CL16 + Winter Power Outage

You Know Me Best - Charles has a bad day and you as his best friend always knows what he wants, but do you really? +18

Just One Kiss - You & Charles are just best friends but when he wins in his home for the first time, things might change

Carlos Sainz Jr. - "Chilli"

Christmas Ball - CS55 + fake dating for a Christmas party/ball

Happy Ever After - a Romeo and Juliet vibe

Golf Gurl - an AU where Carlos is attracted to the new receptionist at the golf course he and Papa Sainz frequent

Destiny's Will - You and Carlos were childhood friends until you two were separated before he got to F1. The next time they meet, they're enemies.

Lewis Hamilton - "Billion Dollar Man"

NY Kisses - LH44 + New Year Kisses

George Russell - "Mr. Saturday"

Start Something - GR63 + "Don't start something you can't finish." 🥧🏈

Franco Colapinto

Dancing on Ice - FC43 + “I can’t ice skate amor, I’ll break all my bones.”

Sleep Good - Charles/ Lewis/ Carlos (separately)

You could write a driver x reader where while they make love and the reader falls asleep because they work too much and the driver laughs. +18

Lando Norris - "Little Lando"

Our Doggie - Part 1 - Part 2

After McLaren let you watch your boyfriend interact with the animals from the Battersea. One dog found a clear interest in you instead.

Carlos Sainz Jr. - "Chilli"

Real Love - Part 1 - Part 2

You and Carlos were just supposed to be a PR couple for less than a year but someone decided to catch feelings.

Max Verstappen - "Mad Max"

Need Saving - Save You - We're Saved

You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.

Lewis Hamilton - "Billion Dollar Man"

Wild Imagination - Show You Domination

You were just an interviewer for the Met Gala when you were able to meet the Sir Lewis Hamilton

Source: cafekitsune

[tiramisuucakeee]

STRANGER ★

( reader x park sunghoon )

IN WHICH: park sunghoon feels like he’s drifting away from his girlfriend, but after one night, she’s a stranger again, or perhaps she has always been. even if they were relatively close, they were still very far.

read more !

silence enveloped the dark hot room, as thoughts were more than enough noise. park sunghoon laid next to you, above your blue bed cover, a hand resting under his head, as he turned to look at you.

his eyes felt like they were burning, but they weren’t warm enough to break through the barrier you had set up. in all honestly, you didn’t know why he still tried in the relationship, why was he still here?

“y/n…” he started, but you were quicker to turn him down.

you rolled over in your bed, in nothing but a shirt and underwear, your hair still managing to look neat, as if you had just gotten home. “i’m going to take a shower,” you let him know, as you opened your closet, taking out a small strapless dress and a pair of heels.

“you’re going out?” sunghoon furrowed his brows, sitting up, leaning on his two arms.

“yeah, i told you before. just because you’re here doesn’t mean i’m going to cancel my plans,” you laughed incredulously, glancing at your bed-side table, where a clock sat at, reading the time. “you should go.”

sunghoon then spoke again, stopping you from escaping to the bathroom, “can’t you just stay a few minutes with me?” he asked, more like begged. it’s all he had been doing lately, feeling as if you were escaping from his grasp.

“you wanted to come over sunghoon, if you want to stay here for the night or something… go ahead. i’m probably going to sleep somewhere else or get back in the morning,” you threw him a smile, and before he could say anything, you disappeared into the bathroom.

the shower head started running with water, as your dirty clothes dropped to the ground, that only made sunghoon wonder when had this all started, not your relationship, but your un-relationship, if you could call it that.

you were so loving at the start, so kind and accepting, in his opinion, everything was perfect. so what happened that made you pull away from him. was it something he did? something he said? he couldn’t recall any evil done from his part.

it al brought him back to the day you met him.

sunghoon entered the rooftop at school, away from his lousy friends, wanting to eat lunch in peace, not having a feral niki attacking him, or hearing heeseung and jake fighting over basketball.

as soon as the door closed behind him, he immediately regretted it. the rooftop was occupied by you, staring at the sky.

“sorry… for interrupting, i’ll leave,” sunghoon immediately spoke.

you didn’t even turn to look at him, as if he was nothing but a random passerby. but you opened your mouth before he could leave, “why do you always run away from me?”

in all truthness, sunghoon was in love, and he didn’t know why. you weren’t his type. you weren’t quiet, reserved, or dressed very nicely. but there was something about you, like you were someone important.

he noticed himself starting to fall in love when his friends asked who he looked for in the halls. he noticed he started to fall when he was interested in what types of treats and movies you liked.

everyday, it was like you were there. he saw you on the patio, when he looked out his window in class, outside the gym, near your locker, exiting your homeroom. you were always there, he saw you.

but you never once saw him as someone. you did notice a guy running away nervously everytime you were near, or making the impossible to not bump into you. and you knew more than anyone what it was about, still, his reaction was weird.

“come sit,” you said. you weren’t any kind of monster, not yet. so why did someone that liked you, ran away from you. never has someone had the guts to refuse you, if he did, he had to have a pretty good reason to.

“okay,” he muttered, slowly walking over, sitting down next to you. for the rest of the hour, not a single word was spoken.

he didn’t feel the need to say something, because you letting him sit there, was all the validation he needed, it was everything he craved for. but you, only kept him there because there was not a reason not to, he wasn’t lousy, he didn’t bother you, and he didn’t try anything weird.

and so, it was like a silent agreement that you two were always together. sunghoon would follow you around like a puppy, his bag slung over one shoulder, and a hand in his pocket. while you went about your day, not even speaking a word to him.

then when he asked you out, you accepted. maybe out of boredom and because your mother accepted him first or maybe because you could have felt something, there was still that tiny bit of chance that you did like him.

“ah, you’re still here, i thought you’d leave,” you came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, noticing he was sitting in the same position you left him, like a dog waiting for him owner. “sunghoon, you are allowed to leave, you know?” you raised a brow, and when you didn’t get a reply, you sighed, starting to change into your clothes.

sunghoon’s dark eyes followed your moves through the dimly lit room. even now, after years of ‘being together’, he was starting to realize that he knew all of you, but you didn’t know a bit of him. it was like he was always around for you, never the other way around. but what if he said something about it? would you finally get rid of him like he heard you’ve been wanting to?

“what do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” he asked. sunghoon didn’t give a damn if you wanted him out. he was going to fight for whatever relationship you have, because after all, he still loves you.

“uh, whatever i guess..” you muttered, putting on the heels, “okay, i’m done,” you stood up, clapping your hands, and turned to him. “so you’re staying after all right? can you receive an online order i got? it’s getting here tomorrow morning,” you asked, receiving a nod.

“okay then,” you confirmed he would do as said, and grabbed all your belongings, walking out of your room. right. when was the last time you ever said ‘love you’ or ‘goodbye’ to him. if something were to happen to him, would you feel bad? would you then start to appreciate him?

the silence hung in the air like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. sunghoon watched you leave without a second thought, as if he was nothing more than a background detail in the story of your life. the door clicked shut behind you with finality, and he exhaled, his chest tightening with a pain that had become too familiar.

he hated how the love he gave you, the constant attention, the patience, it all seemed so invisible to you. why was he so loved by everyone else except you? you didn’t care to know what he liked, dislike, what sunghoon did in his free time and so. it was like he was just your shadow.

“will you ever see me?” he murmured, his voice barely audible in the empty space. the words fell into the void, unanswered.

the phone rang, a harsh, intrusive sound in the middle of the night. sunghoon’s body jerked awake, disoriented, his heartbeat already racing as his eyes flicked to the clock. 4:03 AM. his hand shot out instinctively to grab the phone, the screen flashing your name, and for a split second, his mind was filled with nothing but relief.

maybe you realized that you’d actually want to be with him. it was something he wished for, though it was weird. you never called him. maybe you needed something, or maybe you just got confused and dialed the wrong number. still, it warmed his heart that you could have drink called him.

but when he answered, it wasn’t you. it was another voice. he was used to you hanging around other men and going out with them, but this voice would never do something like that.

“sunghoon, it’s jungwon, y-you need to get here now!” jungwon’s voice was ragged, barely holding itself together. "you need to come to the hospital. she’s going into surgery.” he informed. it was likely that jungwon was dropping off something for his father, who was a surgeon, and suddenly came upon this.

his pulse stuttered in his throat, the words not quite registering at first. his mind spun with confusion, scrambling to latch onto something solid. "what? what do you mean? what happened?" sunghoon’s voice cracked as he pushed himself up in bed, his body stiff with panic, every fiber of his being already alert, bracing for something.

it should have been wrong for him to care about you, cause you never once did for him. if sunghoon were to disappear tomorrow, you’d probably notice when someone asked. but he couldn’t bear to have you away, not like this, not so sudden.

jungwon’s voice faltered again, like he was struggling to find the right words, or maybe even the strength to say them, he was always empathetic with his friends. "she was in a car crash. it’s bad, sunghoon. really bad. the others… they didn’t make it. she’s the only one… but she’s unconscious, and-"

a sick, metallic taste rose in sunghoon's mouth. his heart felt like it was stopping, like time itself had frozen in that one endless second.

"is she…?" sunghoon’s voice broke again, barely more than a whisper, like he was afraid to even speak the possibility aloud. the fear gnawed at him, crawled up his spine, twisted his stomach into knots.

"she was alive when they got here, but then she passed out. i don’t know how long it’ll be… or what’s going to happen." jungwon’s voice cracked, as though he too were barely holding it together. "you need to come, sunghoon. now. she might not even wake up."

the words hit him like a punch to the gut.

not even wake up.

sunghoon’s mind went blank. his hand trembled as he clutched the phone, his grip tightening until his knuckles ached. his chest felt like it was being squeezed by invisible hands, the pressure unbearable. the thought of you, lying motionless in a sterile hospital bed, surrounded by machines that would keep you alive but never truly bring you back, it was too much to comprehend.

"i’m coming," sunghoon’s voice was steady, but it felt like a lie. he was scared. his body was moving before he even realized, stumbling out of bed, legs shaking as he forced himself to stand. his mind was reeling, spinning in circles as the details swirled around him. car crash. surgery. you. you.

as he rushed out of the apartment, the cool night air did nothing to calm the raging storm inside him. his heart was racing, but it wasn’t just fear that gripped him. it was an unbearable sense of guilt.

in that moment of desperation, he finally understood why he cared so much. sunghoon had always watched you from afar, you never had anyone apart from yourself. never a true friend. everyone was a passerby in your life, and perhaps he was one too, but he had been determined not to be. he wanted you to have something real, someone who you trusted, someone you could rely on.

how many times had he put his own feelings aside, his own love, only to be treated like an afterthought? hadn’t he given you everything? he had waited. he had waited for you to need him, to come to him, to want him in a way that was real. but all that time, all that patience, did it matter now? was it too late for him to matter?

the hospital felt like a nightmare. everything about it was wrong, bright fluorescent lights that felt too harsh, cold hallways that smelled of antiseptic and despair. sunghoon's feet carried him through the corridors almost mechanically, his mind still reeling from the call.

you’re alive. you are in surgery but alive. every step felt heavier than the last.

he found jungwon near the entrance, his face pale in despair, eyes hollowed with exhaustion and grief. he didn’t speak at first. he didn’t need to. the unspoken words hung between them like a thick, suffocating fog. jungwon was somehow similar to sunghoon, although he didn’t want to force you to be his friend, he thought you deserved someone who was close to you. but not in that way. he didn’t approve how you basically stomped on sunghoon’s heart for free.

"she’s in there," jungwon finally said, voice quiet, strained. "my father came out some minutes ago, they… they’re doing everything they can. but sunghoon… her chances aren’t good."

his eyes flicked to the door leading to the intensive care unit, and sunghoon felt a sickening twist in his stomach. he stepped forward, but then, for a fleeting moment, doubt clouded his mind.

he couldn’t afford to let it consume him. he had spent too long waiting, waiting for you to finally see him, to love him, to understand. he had given you everything. everything.

but now, as he stood in front of that door, staring at the sterile room beyond, he couldn’t help but wonder, would it matter?

sunghoon hadn’t left your side. he couldn’t, even as the hours bled into days, even as the doctors had whispered about the “long road ahead” and the uncertainty of your condition. every beep of the machine was a reminder that you were still here, but not the same. not you. it was a shell, waiting for your consciousness to come back.

and then, one morning, after days of waiting, after nights of restless pacing, you woke up.

sunghoon sat in the sterile hospital room, his body aching from the hours he had spent perched on the edge of your bed, his eyes never leaving your still form. the steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound, a constant reminder that you were alive. but in some ways, you had already slipped away. he held your hand, his thumb brushing over your cold skin as if he could transfer the warmth of his love into you through touch. but it never worked.

the harsh hospital lights felt like they were closing in on him, their cold glare a sharp contrast to the soft warmth that had settled between him and you over the years. your eyes fluttered open, blinking as though you were still trapped in the fog of sleep. at first, he thought it was just another moment of consciousness, another brief flicker of awareness before you slipped back into the darkness.

but then you looked at him.

then, you had blinked slowly, confused, your eyes drifting across the room. your gaze never settled on him with warmth. not with affection. you didn’t even seem to notice the familiar face sitting by your side, the hands that had held you for so long, through all the arguments, the rejections, the coldness that you had never apologized for.

your eyes remained dull, vacant, as if you were waking from some distant dream, only to realize you had no idea where you were, or who was standing at your side.

"hey, it’s me," sunghoon had whispered, his voice breaking, trembling. he had felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest, his hands shaking as he reached for yours, desperate to make you feel loved. "i’ve been here… i’ve always been here for you. the whole time.”

but when you looked at him, it was like you were looking at a stranger. your face was blank, your eyes empty. and then, just when his chest tightened with the growing weight of fear, you asked a question that shattered him entirely.

“where’s my mom?” you said, your voice soft, distant.

his heart stopped. the world around him blurred.

your mother. sunghoon’s throat went dry. his pulse sped up, panic seizing him. he could feel the world start to crumble around him, the pain swallowing him whole.

"where is she?" you asked again, your voice more insistent, the emptiness in your tone turning to something else now, something deeper. "are you a doctor? i want to see her. why isn’t she here? she has to know i’m okay, i don’t want her to worry." you spoke, urging him, not even asking why you were in a hospital bed.

it had been years. years since she died, right before your graduation. years since you stood in front of the casket, holding his hand, eyes brimming with tears. he had been there for you when your world had fallen apart, when the grief had swallowed you whole, even if you’d known him for such a small amount of time. that had been the only instance he had seen you let your emotions out around him. the only time he had seen you actually care for someone. and now, she was gone, for the second time.

sunghoon’s stomach dropped as he realized it.

you didn’t remember her death. you didn’t remember how hard you had cried that day, how the world had felt like it had fallen apart when you stood alone. now you were asking where she was as if she were just gone for the day. as if your whole heart hadn’t crumbled the day you lost her.

and the worst part? you were asking the question, but you weren’t asking him, the one person who had been there for you, to help you understand. you were asking him like he was a stranger, a figure in the background.

his heart squeezed painfully as his breath hitched in his throat. “y/n…” his voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue, his eyes welling with tears. "she’s gone. your mom… she’s been gone for so long. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, but she’s… she’s never coming back."

at that, something in you seemed to break.

something raw. your lips trembled as your gaze dropped, and your hands began to shake slightly. it was the second time he had seen any sign of emotion from you. your expression hardened for a moment, then softened, and before sunghoon could react, the first tear slipped from your eye.

he watched, in stunned silence, as the single drop fell, and then another followed, and another. and then, your body trembled, your chest heaving as a deep, broken sob escaped you. the sound broke him, cracked through the shell of numbness that had been surrounding you, and in an instant, you were crying, completely unraveling in front of him.

you didn’t remember the pain you’d gone through when she left you. but the truth of it, the horror of knowing your mother was gone, hit you with a brutal force now.

sunghoon stood frozen, his heart breaking in his chest as he watched you collapse into grief, your body shaking violently with sobs. the sight of it tore through him. the rawness of your sorrow was more real than anything.

you were grieving her all over again. you were grieving her, but this time, you were alone. even if you hadn’t cared about him, he was still there. now, he was a complete nobody to you.

sunghoon’s hand hovered, trembling, over your shoulder, desperate to offer some kind of comfort, some reassurance. but he hadn’t expected what happened next.

as his fingers brushed against your skin, you flinched violently, pulling away from him as though his touch burned. your body jerked in a sharp, panicked movement, your breath quickening as if he had just committed some unspeakable betrayal.

"don't fucking touch me!" you screamed, your voice raw, frantic, full of a sudden, terrifying rage that sunghoon wasn’t prepared for. "what did you do to her? what did you do to my mommy?!" you looked like a little kid, lost in a store, full of despair, alone, abandoned.

the words cut through the room like a blade, the accusation hanging in the air like a toxic cloud. sunghoon recoiled instinctively, the weight of your words crashing over him, leaving him stunned, speechless. he could barely process the intensity of your pain, the sheer volume of the fury radiating from you.

you were trembling, your eyes wide with fear, with anger, tears streaming down your face as you turned away from him, trying to scramble back in the bed, as though the very sight of him made your skin crawl.

"tell me what you did!" your voice cracked, jagged with despair and confusion. "what did you do to her? why did you, why did you let her go?!”

it was as though a switch had flipped inside you, a madness born from your trauma, your loss. you had lost your memories, but you were still trapped in the suffocating grief of a daughter who couldn't comprehend the finality of death. the very foundation of your identity was crumbling. and now, in this panic-stricken haze, sunghoon became the focal point of all your rage, all your hurt.

"why isn’t she here?" you clawed at the sheets, your hands shaking with the intensity of your breakdown. "where is she? i need her! now! what did you do?!”

your voice echoed in the sterile room, the frantic energy in your words tearing at the walls, until the room felt too small for the fury you unleashed. you were looking at him now, not with any recognition, but with venom, as if he had been the one to tear your world apart.

sunghoon stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest. it was a punch he hadn’t expected. the weight of your accusations landing on him with suffocating force. he opened his mouth to speak, to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. how could he explain that you didn’t even remember your mother’s death? how could he make you understand that he wasn’t the one who had taken her from you?

his eyes welled up with fresh tears, but he bit his lip to hold them back, shaking his head desperately. "y/n, please. i didn’t do anything. i’m not, i never hurt her," he said, his voice cracking with the weight of his own sorrow. he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to calm you, how to help you make sense of the pain that was consuming you.

but the words didn’t reach you. you weren’t listening anymore. the madness in your eyes was too much, too overwhelming, and your voice only grew louder, more frantic.

"you’re lying! you’re lying to me!" you screamed, pulling at your hair, your face contorted in anguish. "you’re trying to cover it up! you’re lying! you’re lying!"

the madness in your eyes was suffocating, and sunghoon felt helpless, absolutely powerless to do anything but watch as you spiraled, consumed by grief and fear. you don’t remember her, but you remember the pain. you remember the loss. and now you’re looking for someone to blame.

the room felt smaller, air thinner, suffocating. he wanted to reach for you again, to hold you, to tell you that he hadn’t done anything to hurt you or your mother, but you were too lost, too far gone in the grip of your overwhelming grief. he took a step forward, but before he could get any closer, the door to the room flew open.

several doctors rushed in, their voices immediately cutting through the madness.

"we need to sedate her," one of them said urgently, his face a mask of professional concern. it was jungwon’s father. "she’s going into a severe emotional breakdown. we need to calm her down now before she hurts herself."

"no!" you screamed, your voice cracking with pure terror as the doctors tried to gently restrain you, to keep you from thrashing about. "don’t touch me! don’t touch me! just being my mommy please! i need her! what’s happening?!" you begged, being ignored constantly.

the doctors moved quickly, efficiently, as they administered an injection to calm you down. you screamed for a moment longer, your body still writhing beneath their hold, but the sedative began to take effect almost immediately. your breathing slowed, your cries turned into soft sobs, and the frantic movements of your body slowed to a near-stillness.

sunghoon stood in the corner of the room, numb, his entire body frozen as he watched the scene unfold. his hands shook violently at his sides, his chest tight with a crushing weight of despair. you were no longer the girl he had once known. you were a stranger, lost in a storm of confusion and grief, and there was nothing he could do to bring you back.

the doctor turned to him then, their expression sympathetic, but firm. "she’s experiencing severe memory loss due to the trauma of the accident. we’ll need to run more tests, but she’s clearly in distress. she’s reliving her grief, and it’s manifesting in these violent outbursts. her mind is trying to make sense of what’s happened, but she can’t understand it. she’s lost."

sunghoon’s knees buckled, and he sank into the nearest chair, his head falling into his hands as fresh tears poured down his face.

you didn’t remember him. you didn’t remember your mother. if you didn’t remember both. there was no one else in your life. you were completely alone.

you were lost.

you were slipping away from him, piece by piece, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. because you would have never let him. he didn’t care if he was important enough to be remembered, that didn’t matter anymore.

the room had gone eerily silent, the only sounds the soft beeping of machines and the faint rustling of the doctors movements. sunghoon could barely breathe through the suffocating weight of the situation. he had always known that losing you would break him, but he hadn’t realized how completely it would shatter him until now.

his eyes were fixed on you, still lying in the bed, sedated now, but your face was a mask of innocence, frozen in that moment of pure loss. you looked so young, so fragile.

the doctors were still in the room, their voices quiet but filled with a clinical understanding that sunghoon could barely grasp.

“she’s in an acute state of dissociative amnesia,” doctor yang explained, looking at the chart in his hands, speaking to sunghoon but also to the team around them. “it’s not uncommon with traumatic injuries like the ones she sustained in the accident. but we’re also seeing something else.”

sunghoon’s gaze flickered to the familiar doctor, confused and lost in a fog of grief. his throat was tight, his mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. “what else?” he whispered hoarsely, his voice broken.

“the trauma to her brain has caused a significant regression,” the doctor continued, his voice softening slightly, as if trying to cushion the blow. “she’s reverted back to her mental state from when she was in her senior year possibly. she’s essentially lost a part of herself. emotionally and cognitively, she’s been pulled back to that time. before all of this. before everything that’s happened in the last few years.”

sunghoon felt his chest tighten at the words. senior year? back to senior year? the words felt like a cruel joke, a twisting knife in the very heart of his memory.

“how is that even possible?” he asked weakly, his voice trembling. “how could she… forget everything? how could she forget me?… scratch that, she doesn’t even remember her mother.”

doctor yang gave a slow nod, clearly understanding the pain in sunghoon’s voice. "it’s common in cases of severe trauma," he explained. "in some cases, the mind protects itself by essentially 'erasing' the time that feels too painful. for her, that means the death of her mother, and perhaps… everything that came after. it’s as if she’s rewound the clock, mentally returning to that phase in her life. the person she was when she was 17."

sunghoon couldn’t move. he couldn’t think. his world had just collapsed in on itself.

“her emotional development since that time is disconnected,” the doctor continued gently. “she’s essentially stuck in that version of herself. the girl she was before all the trauma, before the grief of losing her mother, before all the years you two have spent together. she may not even remember who you are, or if she does, it might be as some vague figure from her past, someone she used to know.”

the words felt like they were smothering sunghoon. his heart pounded in his chest as the doctor’s voice seemed to echo in his head. the girl she was when she was 17.

that girl, the one who had barely spoken to him beyond pleasantries, the one who had brushed him off time and time again, the one who didn’t seem to see him for the years he spent loving her. that girl who knew he would walked behind her every day.

a sudden coldness washed over him. there was a difference between you at this age, and you in high school. back when you were 17, you were an emotional wreck, everyone’s feelings were a game to you. and even if you still had some of those traits now, no amount of mean comments would take away the years he had been by your side.

“is there any chance she’ll come back?” sunghoon’s voice cracked with the question. the word ‘come back’ felt like the ultimate lie on his lips. come back from what? as if you were totally different to him.

the doctor looked at him with sad, tired eyes. "it’s difficult to say. memory loss from trauma like this is unpredictable. she may remember parts of her past, pieces of her life, or she may not. but it's important to understand that right now... she’s not the person she was. she’s stuck in a moment of her life that’s far behind, and all the years since then. your relationship, her grief, everything. are inaccessible to her. it’s like waking up from a dream and finding that nothing has changed, that you’re still in the same place you were before."

sunghoon’s stomach twisted painfully as the words settled in, cold and harsh. you didn’t remember anything. from the years that had passed. your mother’s death. your shared time together. your love, his love for you.

and now, you were a ghost from the past, frozen at the moment when everything had seemed relatively simpler, when your heart hadn’t yet been broken by life, when the world had yet to show you how much pain it could cause. the girl you had once been, so egoistic, so unknowing. and yet, somehow, so much more alive than the hollow shell of yourself that lay before him now.

sunghoon let his head fall into his hands, his whole body shaking with silent sobs. how did we get here? why is this happening? he had fought for you for so long. he had been there when no one else was. he had endured your coldness, your indifference, always telling himself that one day, you would realize.

but now, standing in this sterile room, staring at the broken version of you who couldn’t even remember her own mother, he wondered if he was even real to you anymore.

you were lost to him. and in so many ways, he had lost you long before the crash. but this was a pain unlike anything he had ever felt. you had always been distant, but now, you were gone entirely, unable to see him as the one who had loved you, as the one who had held you when you cried, as the one who had always been there.

"you don’t remember me," sunghoon whispered to himself, as if speaking the words would somehow make them less true. "you don’t remember anything. you’re just... gone."

the doctor’s words seemed to fade into the background as sunghoon stood there, overwhelmed by a wave of emotion so deep it almost consumed him. you had finally slipped away, and there was nothing left of the person he had loved so desperately.

and for the first time, he realized that even if you woke up, even if you remembered, even if you somehow found your way back to him. it wouldn’t change the fact that you never once felt love for him.

the sun was gentle, casting soft golden rays through the canopy of a massive tree. its branches reached wide, stretching into the sky as if welcoming the warmth of the spring day. the ground was dotted with delicate flowers, the air crisp with the scent of new life, the kind of serenity that only spring could offer. you were sitting underneath that tree, the soft breeze playing with the hem of your dress, your fingers grazing the grass beneath you. everything felt still, yet alive. an ethereal peace wrapped around you like a gentle hug.

your heart felt light, unburdened by the heaviness of the world, untouched by time. you had forgotten where you were or what had come before, but you felt a warmth that seemed to seep into your very bones. for a moment, everything made sense.

then, a rustling came from the tall, golden plants that stretched in a field before you. your breath caught in your throat.

the air shifted, the breeze growing stronger as you stood, your eyes scanning the distance. through the swaying plants, a figure emerged, small and bounding toward you. it was a dog, running full speed, its fur glistening like gold in the sunlight. a wave of joy crashed over you as you recognized him.

tudor.

your childhood dog, the one who had followed you everywhere when you were young, with his golden locks, warm eyes, and boundless love. he had always known how to make you feel safe, even when the world seemed too big, too overwhelming.

tudor reached you in a blur of motion. his paws landed gently on your chest as he jumped into your arms, licking your face with affection, as if greeting you after years of absence. tears welled in your eyes as you hugged him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. it had been so long, you had forgotten how his presence could make you feel so loved, so at home. though you had felt something similar to that love.

and then, another figure appeared.

a woman walked slowly toward you, her steps measured, graceful, as if the earth itself was cradling her. she had the same complexion as you, the same soft glow to her skin, but she was older, more radiant, as though she had lived many lives in her time. her eyes, those eyes, locked with yours, full of love, of understanding. she was so much like you, yet so different.

it was like looking into a mirror, yet seeing someone far more complete than you could ever feel. she was so full of life, so warm, so alive.

“mom?” the word slipped from your lips like a prayer, and she smiled, soft, peaceful, as though she had been waiting for this moment.

“mom!” you stepped toward her, your heart thundering, tears pooling in your eyes. it wasn’t just the joy of seeing her again, but the relief, the sense of home that flooded through you. you couldn’t stop yourself. you dropped to your knees and threw your arms around her, burying your face in her chest. she held you tight, her arms wrapping around you like the most familiar embrace. it was as though all the years of longing, of missing her, had vanished in that instant. you had finally come home.

you felt something delicate in her hands, and she gently placed a white rose in your hair. you giggled, the sound light and free, as though the burden of the world had been lifted from your shoulders. everything was perfect here, warmth, love, family.

but then, more figures appeared, joining the two of you. your father, grandparents, aunts, uncles. all there, gathered around you, their faces full of warmth, their eyes full of love. they surrounded you, welcoming you into something new, so full of love, full of peace, full of home.

you closed your eyes, the sense of belonging overwhelming you. this was where you were meant to be. this was the place you had always been searching for.

everything grew still. the warmth faded, replaced by the coldness of reality.

sunghoon was kneeling at a grave. his hands trembled as he placed a bouquet of white roses down on the ground, his eyes red from crying, his body heavy with grief. he didn’t understand why life had been so cruel to him. he had loved you, loved you with everything he had. but it had never been enough.

you hadn’t loved him. you had forgotten him, lost yourself to time and trauma. and then, when things seemed to be getting better, complications had taken you away from him, too soon, too violently. sunghoon stared at the gravestone, his fingers brushing the cold stone.

but then, he realized something, the weight of it crashing over him. he wasn’t angry. he wasn’t bitter. he was simply thankful.

you had found peace. you had found your mother again, found your way back to the ones who truly loved you. that was all that mattered. you were free of the pain. you could finally rest.

because after all this time, he will always love you more than you could yourself. that was his goal, and he was happy that he did his best to show you love.

and then, there was you. you were looking down at him. from wherever you were, you could see his grief, feel the weight of it in your chest. but more than that, you could feel the love. the love you had always felt for him, that you had always known was there. you loved him so much. more than you had ever known. he was enough for you, more than it.

but you had pushed him away. because you couldn’t bear to see him suffer as you had. you didn’t want him to be dragged down the path of destruction, not like you had. you didn’t want him to drown in the pain of loving someone who couldn’t show any emotion beyond anger back, who had been broken beyond repair.

you had to let him go. even if it tore you apart, you had to let him go. for his sake. because you did love him.

perhaps, one day, you would reunite. and when that time came, he wouldn’t be a stranger to you anymore. you would remember everything. the love, the pain, the mistakes, and the healing. and when that day came, you would hold him again, this time knowing how deeply you had always loved him.

and so, with a quiet sigh, you let yourself rest, knowing that he would be okay. because, somewhere in your heart, you knew that love would find its way back to you, whenever the time was right.

MASTERLIST.

BTW: um. so yeah….

[hockeytwittereats]

folklore to TTPD is the entire breakdown of a LTR

Home for the night and I have to share my realization that I had while running errands today. Poor @wavesoutbeingtossed got this dumped to her earlier.

folklore is about loss of youth, but also this great betrayal. It's the way that betrayal is shown in the teenaged love triangle, but also the key line in cardigan (imo) which is "I knew you'd come back to me". It is also, in my mind, the key to understanding hoax.

I might edit this tomorrow, but it is New Year's Eve and like two people follow me: I think the betrayal in hoax is JA questioning if they are going to go the distance and starting to back out of the Plans they had previously discussed. Okay.

The last two songs written for the album (on the same day) were: the 1 and hoax. Intriguing because the 1 is almost like "what would it be like if I was single" and hoax has "don't want no other blue but you/no sadness in the world would do". The 1 is contemplating things falling apart and hoax is deciding that this type of grief is the love she wants (the lakes is a lot like hoax with the grief).

hoax and the 1 segue beautifully into evermore which is really the negotiation of a relationship and all it has been through (see little evermore to understand why this relationship is worth fighting for). We see a broken engagement, we see another contemplation of how life can move on after losing what you think is forever. We see a breakdown of a fractured relationship. But it ends on hope imo (little evermore) and unlike with the lakes, it's time to go is sort of hopeful. Leaving doesn't have to destroy you. It can lead you to new, good things. But leaving is hard.

Pause for Renegade which gives us some insight into what was going on at the time. There's a desperation that this can still work. Yes, it is bad, but she can help. She's been there. JA helped her.

Midnights is the desperate negotiation of saving a relationship. I *think* the 3 am songs are a negotiation of outside things that can change you forever. WCS is the first act of love that damaged her in ways she didn't know at the time. BTTWS is unimaginable grief. TGW is something she thought was moved past, but still sits over her. Dear Reader is how abandoned and aimless she feels, how unseen she feels. High Infidelity is about a relationship that whenever it crops up seems to be unbelievably dark. Glitch is how none of this was supposed to happen except she's the Mastermind. What if she wasn't the Mastermind? Paris is a love song of an almost fantasy when you hear I Hate It Hear a couple years later.

Midnights as a whole is a desperate negotiation that moves off of what she already was looking at on evermore (sometimes with JA) and throws it into the spotlight: what could she change to change the course of it all. The 3 am is just showing that sometimes this stuff happened and it changed you. No negotiation can change that. The conclusion of Mastermind is "well, if I do everything/am everything this can last", but Dear Reader is begging to be seen, begging to be heard. The Reader is ostensibly the audience, but the reality is it is an audience of one. Because of the one that you love most doesn't See you anymore, what does that mean for you (both singular you and the you as a couple)?

Pause for YLM which si a scream to be seen, but she knows he doesn't see her anymore. Doesn't notice how sick she is. Doesn't feel how heavy everything is.

And TTPD is what happens when you cannot negotiation your relationship back to better waters. What happens when the ship sinks and you're left to pick up the pieces of something you never wanted to break. It is why loss of youth comes up, why this unimaginable grief comes up. We go back to what led to little evermore and the lakes and we learn that we can emerge alive (but scathed) from our worst, most dark experiences.

TTPD is the depths of grief over the loss of everything that comes with the end of a long-term relationship. But there is the gentleness of happiness found throughout. There is no out and out reading for filth of JA like there is for MH. Sure, he colours in every song, but so many of them have strokes of empathy throughout. Peter is a callback to Dancing With Our Hands Tied and what happens when it overwhelms someone. How was JA to know at 25 all that would happen?

And the glimmers of hope are stronger on TTPD than they are on any album from 2020 onwards. The Alchemy is what happens when you realize there is the chance of happiness after you. So High School is about reclaiming those feelings of youth and joy that crept out of everything for a while. TTPD and the Anthology is really a cumulation of Taylor seemingly noticing a crack and trying to fix it and once she realized it couldn't be fixed, trying to find what path she contemplated that would help her. I think she took a new path entirely, but one coloured by all the things she considered over the years.

[youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

AO3

Summary: Soren is cold because of the dark magic in his body, but he has a very warm boyfriend. Corvus can't help but wonder why his boyfriend is always so cold and has inexplicable scars.

Note: I was listening to my Sorvus playlist as I wrote, and Good Love by Aly & AJ came on and I realized it fit the vibes of this fic perfectly. I then played it on repeat for most of while I was writing. So, listen to that while reading if you want the full experience.

I honestly debated titling the piece after that song, but decided I couldn't pass up a good pun.

Inspired by @multifandom-nerds-blog's headcanons that Soren is cold and has scars because of the dark magic used on him in the past. Mix that with waking up cold every morning in the winter. Thus, a fic is born.

...

Soren couldn’t help it. He was almost always freezing. The dark magic in his veins guaranteed it. 

Except, somehow, right before bed. Even in the middle of winter, he’d have to take most of his layers off before laying down, because otherwise he’d never be able to fall asleep. 

Especially if he wanted to fall asleep cuddled into Corvus; he’d quickly get too warm. Even if they ended up on separate sides of the bed by the morning (because Soren couldn’t stay still in sleep, either), falling asleep in each other's arms helped to ward off the nightmares. Half the time he even woke up with all of his blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed because he’d kicked them off. Corvus was quickly learning to keep a death grip, even in sleep, on any blanket he actually wanted to keep on him.

So, on the night of the first freeze of the winter season in Katolis, Soren went through his usual nighttime routine of lavender scented skin and hair care products. He’d already put on his lightest pair of pajamas, not thinking about the weather; his only concern had been how quickly he could get out of his heavy armor and into Corvus’s waiting arms. It was Soren’s night to be the little spoon, and it had been a long day.

Soren stopped in the doorway to their bedroom and watched Corvus, mesmerized by the way the lamplight reflected on his skin. He was sitting in their bed, under the covers, working on perfecting his next cello piece.

“You look deep in thought,” Soren said, breaking Corvus’s concentration.

Corvus didn’t look up, but he couldn’t help his smile. “I’ve got a great muse.”

Soren’s face turned red.

Corvus let the words hang for a beat before he continued. “Yeah, you know, Pyrrah’s been really inspirational recently.”

Soren had been making his way across the room and stopped. He made the confused, deep-in-thought face that Corvus lovingly referred to as his “wait for it” expression. Then came the “realization” face.

“Was that… a joke?” Soren asked after a moment, Corvus’s dry sense of humor dawning on him.

Corvus put the papers on his bedside table with a wry grin. “It was! What did you think?”

Soren practically pounced on the man waiting for him in bed. Corvus let out an “oof” of air at Soren’s landing - like a big dog, sometimes Soren forgot how large he actually was.

 “It’s not funny when you joke about me,” he pouted into Corvus’s chest dramatically, words muffled by fabric and skin. On instinct, Corvus wrapped his arms around Soren.

“Soren, you know nothing compares to the awe you inspire in me.” Corvus ran his fingers through the silky blond hair tickling his chin. Now he’d also smell like lavender all night.

Soren’s head popped up with a grin. “That’s what I like to hear!”

Corvus rolled his eyes and tried not to smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched, unable to hide his amusement. Soren let Corvus’s hand on the back of his head guide him into a gentle kiss.

“Hi,” Soren breathed when they broke apart, forehead to forehead.

“Hi.”

Soren, abruptly breaking the quiet moment, rolled off of him and scrambled under the covers. “Okay, time for bed. Hold me!”

Corvus barked out a laugh. “Geez, aren’t you demanding this evening.”

Still, Corvus did just as Soren specifically requested, quickly snuffing out his lamp, laying down, and wrapping his arms around Soren from behind.

“Well, as Head Crownguard -”

“Don’t.”

“You know you love me,” Soren said, snuggling back into Corvus’s warmth. Soren tangled their hands together and brought Corvus’s free hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on whatever skin was nearest as he closed his eyes.

“I really do.”

…

Corvus was used to sleeping in the roughest of terrain. On the forest floor, in the mountains, in a tree - really, just about anywhere. He didn’t even need a tent or a sleeping mat because being a tracker meant being discreet and able to pack up quickly.

What was he not used to?

Waking up with his freezing boyfriend clinging to him for dear life on a cold winter morning.

“Soren…?” he asked groggily, eyes adjusting to the early rays of sunlight shining through their window. He turned his head and met icy blue eyes. “Are you okay? Did you just sneeze?”

Soren nodded minutely, digging his fingers deeper into Corvus’s side. “Yup. Because of the light. But I’m okay, just currently feeling a bit like an icicle.”

“Then why don’t you have a blanket on?”

“Too cold to move.”

Corvus rolled his eyes and sat up. Soren whined, but due to his grip on Corvus, sat up too. Corvus reached over to dislodge Soren’s hands from his side so he could stand up to get Soren another shirt and fix the blankets, but a small “Don’t go…” stopped him.

Corvus’s annoyance melted away as he felt his heart clench.

“Darling, I’m not going anywhere, I just want to help,” Corvus said, dropping a kiss on Soren’s forehead.

Soren vehemently shook his head, burying his head in the crook of Corvus’s neck and wrapping his legs around Corvus’s, forcing him to stay down. Corvus gasped at the shock of Soren’s freezing nose and cold toes against sensitive skin. He relented with a sigh, reaching towards the bottom of the bed for the mixture of sheets and blankets that Soren had crumpled there.

Corvus brought the blankets up, tucking them around Soren as best he could, and stretched towards his folded scarf on his bedside table, sending his papers scattering to the floor. He sighed. He’d have to pick all of those up later and put them back in order.

The things he did for this man.

“Soren, I will need you to extricate yourself from my body for a moment if you want to wear my scarf.”

Soren relented, loosening his grasp by a fraction. His eyes were bright. “It’s too early to figure out what ‘extra-kate’ means, but I heard the word scarf. I get to wear it?!”

Corvus nodded. Judging by Soren’s reaction, you’d think Corvus never let his partner borrow it, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Corvus loved seeing Soren in his scarf. It brought out his eyes and, honestly, a part of him loved knowing that people would see Soren in it and know they were together. That this goofy, fascinating man was his goofy, fascinating man. The man who balanced him out and inexplicably complemented his personality almost perfectly.

Corvus had also taken to leaving his scarf with Soren when either of them had a mission away. Soren, on the other hand, always sent Corvus with his favorite dragon plushie. Sometimes Soren would wear the scarf the whole trip. Or sometimes only at night, like how Corvus would sleep with Soren’s stuffed dragon beside him. It helped ease the ache of being apart.

Soren acted like this every time because he knew how important the scarf was to Corvus and treated each time he got to use it with reverence.

Soren finally released Corvus from his grasp, sitting up next to him, but kept their legs tangled together. Soren tried to keep his face serious, but Corvus still thought he looked like a kid about to get their birthday presents (to be fair, Soren also looked like that when he was about to get his birthday presents).

Corvus carefully looped the scarf around Soren’s neck, using adjusting it as an excuse to touch him. He couldn’t help but notice that the lightning-like scarring across Soren’s torso seemed to be more prominent than usual in the cold. He held his tongue, not wanting to ruin this moment that almost felt sacred.

But of course, Soren tracked Corvus’s eyes to his scars.

…

Most everybody knew Soren ran cold, but most did not know the reasoning. Not Corvus. Not even Ezran and Callum, who actually knew bits and pieces of the “why,” since they grew up together.

Not that he didn’t want to share it with Corvus. But his past and his family were so - ironically - cold and dark. Whereas what he had with Corvus was so good and bright and warm. He didn’t want to taint it by bringing up the past. Every other time Corvus had inquired about his scarring, he’d found a way to change the subject. Or distract Corvus with a kiss.

Of course, Corvus noticed him dodging the question, but he respected Soren’s need to reveal things in his own time. And he’d gladly be distracted by Soren’s mouth anytime.

The light filtering through the window made Soren feel… safe. Time felt like it was suspended, as if what happened now wouldn’t really count in the glaringly bright light of a winter’s day.

Which he knew was ridiculous. If this conversation was about to happen, it’s not like Corvus would somehow forget as soon as they officially woke up for the day.

But wrapped up in blankets, his boyfriend’s scarf, and with Corvus’s grounding presence next to him, Soren felt like maybe it was time.

Plus, Corvus was staring at his scars with that face he got when he was really committing things to memory. Usually he loved when Corvus looked at him with that face - it made him feel… wanted. Handsome. Precious. A thousand other feelings he didn’t have words for.

But this time, it just made him want to tell Corvus everything.

“Hey, I see you ogling my muscles,” Soren grinned, joking to try and psych himself up for what he wanted to talk about. “I’m just kidding. You can stare at them as much as you want.”

Soren followed up his statement with a dramatic flex of an arm and a wink, then a kiss to Corvus’s cheek. He could feel the heat from Corvus’s flushed face against his cool lips. 

“You know what ‘ogling’ means?” Corvus asked, raising an eyebrow once he’d managed to compose himself a bit.

“Of course I do,” he responded haughtily. “I read romance books.”

Corvus smiled softly, endlessly amused by his partner, which led Soren’s boisterous grin to turn into a genuine smile. Soren put a hand to Corvus’s right cheek and ran his thumb gently along his eyebrow scar. Corvus closed his eyes and nuzzled into the touch.

“Okay, but in all seriousness,” Soren started quietly. If he didn’t do this now, he feared he never would. “I can see the question in your eyes and I… I think I’m ready.”

Corvus nodded. He didn’t want to say anything and disturb the moment. They broke apart, and Corvus leaned back against the headboard, ready for Soren to continue when he was ready.

“So, you may or may not know that I was a pretty sickly child.”

Another nod in response. Soren and others around the castle had alluded to it previously, but he didn’t know much else.

“But what you don’t know is that… I wasn’t getting better. As a child, I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t play with Claudia without having a coughing fit or walk to the kitchen without wheezing. I was dying, Corvus.”

Soren heard his childhood mantra in his head. In through your nose, out through your mouth. He felt Corvus slip an arm around his shoulders and Soren leaned into the touch.

“But then, one day when I hadn’t been able to get out of bed for weeks… Poof. It was gone. I could breathe. I could run. I was like a new man - er, well, boy. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but that was the day these showed up,” he said, gesturing to his chest. “My being cold wasn’t as bad back then, when dark magic had only been used on me once.”

Soren heard Corvus’s intake of breath, fingers squeezing into Soren’s shoulder.

“Once?” Corvus asked, tentatively.

Soren nodded. “Yup. That was… that was the first time. But I didn’t realize what had saved me from my breathing sickness until the second time. Viren never told me how I got better, and I never thought to question it until I was grown and... and truly saw what he'd turned into.

“So, this next part you’ve definitely heard about. It was when I taunted Pyrrah in that town. When me and Clauds had you captured. While you were off being your gentlemanly self, saving the day and tracking the princes - or, well, king and prince, I guess - I was… taunting Pyrrah, yet again. We got into a bit of a fight and… well, let’s just say my armor couldn’t protect me from being thrown across a field and hitting my spine against a sharp rock.”

Corvus had indeed heard about it, but assumed the stories he’d heard about Soren’s injuries must have just been overly exaggerated. He was quickly learning that they were, in fact, not.

“I was paralyzed. Clauds tried everything she could, but nothing changed. I’d accepted it. That’s when I got the idea to reinvent myself as a poet, actually. But Claudia… she wouldn’t, couldn’t accept it. They kicked her out of the doctor’s office. I don’t know what she did while she was gone, but when she came back, she had this spell that made me start moving again.”

Soren unconsciously wiggled his fingers. Corvus took that as an invitation to grab his hand. When he felt how cold Soren’s hand was, he gave it a squeeze of encouragement and started rubbing the hand between his to help Soren warm up.

“That’s when her hair started going white,” Soren continued softly. “And that’s when the scars on my back showed up. I was cold to the touch from that day on. It took a little bit for me to put all the pieces together, but I eventually realized dark magic was inside me, and it had been that way for a while. I asked Viren as much when I was still on his side, and he confirmed it.”

Soren took a deep breath. He no longer felt like an icicle, and a weight was lifted from his shoulders. “So, yeah.” He met Corvus’s eyes. “Dark magic is the reason I’m alive today.”

…

Soren had ended up in Corvus’s arms as the story went on, and Corvus looked down at him, buried under blankets, in wonder. He’d joked the night before that Soren left him awestruck, but it was truer every day. The more Corvus learned about his partner and his past, the more he admired how strong he was to get up and start every day with a smile on his face.

No wonder Soren had such complex feelings surrounding magic as a whole. Dark magic had saved him and let him stay a member of the Crownguard, but it had also taken away his family and harmed so many.

Corvus couldn’t help but be selfishly grateful for it, since it meant Soren was around to lounge in bed with him like this. He couldn’t fathom a world without Soren’s vibrance in it.

“Soren, you never fail to astound me,” Corvus said, leaning in to kiss Soren’s no-longer-ice-cold nose.

“Aw, thanks babe. Back at you.” A moment of silence. “I think. What exactly does astound mean?”

“Amazing. Wondrous. Incredible.”

Soren’s cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink, and Corvus couldn’t help but give him a kiss. Soren shivered, and not because of the cold.

One kiss turned into multiple when Soren wrapped his arms around Corvus’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair, grasping at his back. Corvus tried to convey all of the love he felt for Soren, how glad he was that Soren was alive, into every touch of his hands, every brush of their lips.

“You know, I could think of some other ways you could help me stay warm…” Soren said once they broke apart, Corvus hovering over him. Soren followed up his statement with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

“Soren!” Corvus chided, shoving lightly at his shoulder. “We have work soon.”

 Soren shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

Corvus pressed a kiss to that same shoulder, snuggling into Soren as they laid back down to rest for a little while longer. “I didn’t say never. We have plenty more cold mornings in our future.”

“Yay!”

After that, they went quiet, enjoying each other's company. Corvus lay on top of Soren, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. That big, beautiful heart of his. It was strong and sure, even through the fabric of Soren’s pajamas. It was the most beautiful sound Corvus had ever heard.

Corvus waited so long to say anything, he thought Soren might have fallen back to sleep. 

“Darling?” he asked quietly, looking up at Soren’s face.

“Hmm?” came the groggy reply, eyes blearily blinking open.

���Thank you. For telling me. I know how difficult that was for you.”

“You make everything easier…” Soren said with a tender smile, sentence trailing off as his eyes closed once again. In moments, his breathing evened out.

Corvus brought the blankets up a little higher around them and closed his eyes.

...

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading!!

I tried to handle the topic of Soren being paralyzed as delicately as I could. I don't think he views it as a bad thing or that he was "saved" from it in the same way as his breathing sickness and I hope I portrayed that well.

Also, I personally imagine Soren's scarring to be kind of like Nora Valkyrie from RWBY after Volume 8!

My personal headcanon is that Corvus actually loves Soren’s little nicknames after they get together, but he just likes to keep them between them <3 and when Corvus is feeling especially affectionate he will also drop a pet name, which leaves Soren glowing for the rest of the day. And Corvus is almost always feeling especially affectionate when alone with Soren. Hence, multiple pet name drops this fic.

Also, Soren being a romance book reader is a headcanon originally thought up by the incredible jomipay on AO3/@halfofmysoulistrees on Tumblr. It's canon in my heart.

[bau-babes]

Let Your Warm Hands Break Right Through

This entire thing is fan service and I am said fan 😝. I blame my current hyper fixation with Smallville and ovulation week. I hope y’all enjoy!

WARNING:explicit sexual content, not proof read

“So if we carry the one here and make sure to show every step of the equation we should have no problem passing this final exam!” Reader says to Clark as they finally finish their last study question.

“That was literally the longest i’ve ever studied, I don’t even know what time it is.” Clark chuckled and looked down at his watch, his face fell as he realized it was already twelve o’clock at night. “You really should get home Reader it’s already twelve.”

You look to the window to see the expected dark night sky, but what you didn’t expect was the heavy rain fall and wind blowing every which way. “Oh my god! I can’t drive in this! I gotta call my dad I don’t know how i’m gonna get home.”

“It’ll be fine Reader just use the house phone and if I need to drive you I will.” You looked over at Clark and smiled his warm, kind eyes meeting yours. Every memory of your friendship started rushing back to you in that moment, you fought off the urge to hold the eye contact reminding yourself you’ve learned to suppress these feelings long ago and turn to dial your house number. “Hey dad, Clark and I got caught up studying and lost track of time, do you want me to just drive back home or crash here for the night because of the storm? Ok, Ok yeah, alright I’ll see you tomorrow, love you, bye.” Clark studied your mannerisms as you twirled the phone wire in your fingers, feeling his cheeks flush he couldn’t help but imagine what else your fingers have good use for.

“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me for the night Clark!” He chuckled snapping out of the trance you have him in so often lately, no matter what he can’t get every little detail of you out of his head but he knows if he said anything he could ruin your entire friendship. “Oh you know I’d never mind that.” You smirk at the smallest indication of flirting Clark lets slip, dreaming of a world where Clark Kent would even give you the time of day romantically.

“So i’ll sleep on the couch?” In a moment of pure strength and/or stupidity Clark can’t help but blurt out “No! Just sleep in my bed, no big deal i’ll sleep on the floor for the night.”

Your heart skipped a beat hearing those words. Did this mean something? Of course not, he’s your best friend, and come on now he likes girls like Lana, not a girl like you with round cheeks and an even curvier body. “Are you sure Clark? I don’t want to make you sleep on the floor that’s mean!” He takes a step forward and grasps at your shoulders looking at you deeply, a sincere look in his eyes. “I promise, I have no problem with sleeping on the floor, especially if it means you’ll be comfortable.” You smiled dipping your head to the ground unable to look into the blue eyes you knew were following your every movement and reaction. “That’s very sweet Clark, thank you.” “Of course Reader, anything for you.”

Those words rang in your ears, would he do anything for me? Would he if he knew how I really felt?

You both make your way up the stairs climbing each step until you stand inside Clark’s bedroom realizing another of the many dilemmas you’ve had tonight. “Umm… Clark do you have anything I could wear to bed?” your face fell as your mind raced with insecurity, you’ve seen this scene play out so many times, a boy giving the girl he likes clothes to wear that fit her five sizes too big. But that’s not what this is, you’re not that girl for him and his clothes definitely aren’t going to fit you like they would any other girl. “Oh yeah of course hold on a second.” He rummages through his dresser and you catch a glimpse of his biceps as he works his way through each drawer. “This should work.” He holds out his hand which carries a hoodie and plaid pajama pants. You reach for the clothes scared of what the outcome will be, but all of that falls away the second you feel the heat of his hand grazing yours. “Alright turn around Clark.” “yes ma’am”

He stares at the door hearing the shuffling of clothes behind him. He can’t help but let his mind wander to what the sight behind him must be, how beautiful the curves of your body look when they’re not covered by a sweater or a pair of jeans.His mind wanders further through his imagination to what would be underneath everything you’re wearing but he quickly refocuses his attention when he hears your voice from behind him. “Ok Mr.gentleman, you can turn back around.” His eyes rake the image of you in his clothes through his mind, wishing this moment, this entire night, could last forever. “You comfy?” He mentally facepalmed as those words left his mouth Really that’s the best you could think of Clark… “Yeah! Thanks so much again these are really comfortable.” you were so happy, realizing that his tall frame and broad shoulders caused his clothes to run bigger than you would expect, conveniently engulfing your body with a slightly oversized look.

You handed Clark the blanket at the foot of his bed and a pillow and got under the covers. “Good night Clark.” “Good night Reader.” He responded back with the slight twang of want in his voice, like there’s something he wasn’t saying. You flipped the light switch off and tossed and turned for a few minutes as the wind howled and the rain pounded against the window pane. Out of nowhere you see a huge lighting strike and quickly hear the loud thunder that followed, leaving the entire farm in complete darkness. “Shoot the power must of went out from the storm, you doing ok?” Clark said from the floor where he laid next to you. You spoke with a shake in your voice suddenly feeling a chill. “Yeah i’m ok, just feeling cold that’s all.” Clark heard the chatter of your teeth and spoke again. “Yeah the heater probably blew from the storm it’s ok i’ll ask my dad to look at it in the morning.” There was a long beat of silence until you spoke again, contemplating if the comment you were about to make would be too forward. “Clark, i’m cold so you must be freezing on the floor, just come sleep in the bed with me I don’t mind.” He was shocked by your words trying to piece together his own response. “You sure?”

“Of course Clark, you said it yourself you’d do anything for me, I feel the exact same it’s really no big deal.” He stood up and you could see his broad shoulders under the tight t-shirt he was wearing to bed. Scooting over you open the blanket to him and he crawls under placing the pillow under his head and spreading the blanket he had been sleeping with on the floor over both of your bodies. “Sorry it’s a bit of a tight fit.” You said trying to break the awkward silence you had never felt with him before. “it’s just for the night don’t worry too much over it.” Clark spoke so nonchalantly you began to be solidified in the fact he could never feel the same about you. That was however until he spoke again ten minutes later.

Hearing the chattering of your teeth and the slight shake of your body he spoke up. “You know we could cuddle… if you want obviously, I just noticed you were shaking is all, no pressure.” You chuckled to yourself at the dorky Clark you knew peaking back through making all of your nerves over sharing a bed with your crush melt away. “I have to be honest i’ve never cuddled with anyone before, but if it’ll make me warm I don’t mind.” You say lying straight through your teeth, you’ve wanted this for so long your body already begins to heat with anticipation, the thought of Clark’s body pressed against yours already giving you a rush throughout your limbs. He scooted closer and closer to you as you felt your heart rate skyrocket. “Is it ok if I show you how I usually do it?” The statement made you sad knowing that he had done this with other girls before, but you pushed past the thought and spoke up. “yeah, whatever’s comfortable for you, you’re the expert here.” He laughed and opened his arms. “Scoot really close to me, I know you usually like to sleep on your side so this’ll be comfortable,do you want to be the little spoon?” Your face flushed at the comment and you thanked God that the lights had gone out long ago. “Sure…i’ll be the little spoon.” He took your body and guided it next to his placing both of you on your sides, as he did this he pulled you closer almost effortlessly and began to wrap his arm around your body. You sank into the feeling of him pressed so closely to you and became entranced by it until you felt his arm wrap around your waist and fall to your stomach, palm flat against it. “Is everything ok did I make you feel uncomfortable? I could go back to the floor if you want! I-“ “No Clark! It’s fine, I just-“ The room felt silent and Clark spoke again, this time you became hyper aware of how close he was to you, how you could hear him whisper into your ear as he spoke. “Please Reader, you can tell me anything, you know that” He was so anxious thinking he let his emotions get the best of him as he waited for your response. “It’s just-Ididn’twantyoutofeelmystomachok?” It took Clark a moment to make out what you said but his heart broke when he heard you say it. “Reader, can I tell you something?”

The room stood still, Clark’s heart started racing more than he had heard yours race before. He gathered his words knowing there was no taking this back, here goes nothing… “I- I think you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever met and I know you don’t think about yourself that way but I do everything about you is so perfect to me and I don’t know how you can’t see it everytime I see you I just fall deeper and deeper in love with you and I don’t even know what to do with that at this point but I can’t have you lay here thinking you’re ugly because you’re the farthest thing from it.” He rambled for what felt like an hour to him, but a millisecond to you. You processed everything quickly needing more details, thinking this was some sick dream your mind conjured up. “You love me?” were the only words to fall from your lips. “Of course I do Reader, why else would I insist to study with just you, or make you sleep in my bed, or make sure to give you my favorite pair of pajamas? I’ve loved you for a very long time and I just couldn’t have you thinking I look at you with anything but admiration.”

“Clark, i’ve loved you for so long, I just don’t understand… why me? Why now?” Clark couldn’t believe what you had just said as he kept rambling in response to your questions. “You’re the most amazing person I know, you’re so kind, and smart, and loving, and everything about you from your head to your feet drives me crazy. I just- I couldn’t tell you because I was too scared, but having you here in my bed, feeling you against me, made me realize there was no better moment than right now. And don’t think I forgot what you said by the way, I think you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met and I’m going to prove that to you some way, somehow.” “Oh Clark-“ You spoke but he cut you off as he bluntly said “Can I kiss you? Please-“ The heat rose through your body again stronger and more rapidly as your heart rate rose even more than before. “Yes Clark, please i’ve wanted this for so long” He cupped your cheeks and pulled you towards him, lips slack with his as you felt the warmth of him all over you, the kiss was slow and sensual tasting him and feeling as though you were breathing him in completely. “Can I show you how you make me feel?” Your mind raced as he spoke those words. “Please Clark, it’s all I want.” he couldn’t believe this was real and decided to ride this high for as long as possible. taking your hand with his he traveled it down his body, under the covers, and to the large bulge present in his pants. “Clark I-“ He wined as he spoke “Please Reader you’re all I think about, I need you. You’re so beautiful.”

“Clark- i’ve never- i’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to do-“ He was so close to you and his hand interlocked with yours, “I can show you.” all you could muster up the courage to say was “ Please Clark, I want to learn.” He guided your hand under his boxers moving it up and down his impressive length. “Just move slowly up and down.” You continued the steady motion and then asked, “Please can I take it out I wanna see it.” Clark was engulfed in pleasure as he spoke again “Of course baby, anything you want.” You moved the blanket and his cock sprung from his pajama bottoms, he moved his hand with yours guiding it up and down the shaft. His breath grew shaky and you spoke once again, riding off the high of his pleasure. “Can I- can I lick it?” His eyes widened and head reeled with excitement but he quickly took the situation into account as he spoke to you. “You don’t have to do that, I know a lot of girls think that you have to do that but you don’t, I just want you to be comfortable.” “Clark, I may not have done this before but I know what I want, please let me do this for you.” He grew more shocked and turned on and quickly said “Oh- ok yeah please, taste me baby please” You knew you wouldn’t be able to take him fully in your mouth so you decided to gently start with sucking just the tip.As you did you looked up at him for comfort and approval, you locked eyes with him and let out a chuckle sending his head backwards in an open mouthed moan. “GOD, you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this oh my lord please keep going.” You licked and sucked his cock for a few seconds more but when you decided to lick up the long vein on the under side of his cock he lost it, letting out whimpers of your name as he came in your hand. “OH MY GOD you’re incredible, please kiss me again.” You sat up and began to kiss him more feverishly, mindlessly rocking your hips against his knee, still not sitting fully out of insecurity. He pulled away from the kiss and began to kiss down your neck and he made his way to your ear moving your hair out of the way. He spoke in a deep whisper, a voice you had never heard before slipped from his lips. “come on baby ride my thigh I wanna see the way you make yourself feel good.” He saw the hesitation in your face and pulled farther away for a moment. “Clark I want to, I REALLY want to but I don’t think it’ll be comfortable for you. I’m just too heavy.” He began to get angry now, cursing every bully, magazine, or friend that ever made you feel this way about yourself. “Stop talking like that or i’m gonna have to show you just how sexy you are.”

Your mind raced thinking of the possibilities and a smirk found its way to your lips. “Clark, please show me, I want to know.” He laughed knowing the game you were playing, the witty girl he had known all these years finally peaking through her insecurity and self doubt. He flipped you over effortlessly and you yelped with shock and confusion littering your face. He kissed your lips softly and began raking in the look of your body as he did earlier in the night now finally achieving his long awaited fantasies. He kissed down your body over every part you had commented on over the years, the jaw you said was too soft, the collarbones you were sad never showed, the stomach you thought was too prominent, the legs you always complained never had a gap between eachother, until he reached your mound. He moved even slower now meeting your eyes as he took his time exploring you. “Please Clark-“ You spoke with a moan rising from the depths of your throat. “I know baby, I know just wanna take this slow with you, okay?” You nodded your head furiously waiting for the inevitable next step. He parted your lips with the tips of his fingers still locking eyes with you as he let an exploratory finger find its way inside of you. He began to move his hand back and forth feeling for the soft spongy walls within, looking at every twitch and reaction littered across your face. He then began moving his head closer and closer as you bit your lip with this new found feeling, not knowing what was to come next. He couldn’t resist anymore as he dove into you licking a stripe all the way up to your clit circling it with his tongue as you reveled in the new sensations. He continued his newfound favorite act and looked back into your eyes with mischief you were confused by this but didn’t pay it any mind as you were too engulfed in the new found pleasure.

This was until Clark hugged your legs and flipped you over until you were hovering over his mouth. “I want you to ride my face baby, don’t hold back it’s all i’ve been thinking about lately.” OH so THIS is what he meant when he said he was going to show you how sexy you are. Your mind tried to catch up with your senses but you longed for his tongue on you again. You began to sink down slowly and shyly, scared of hurting him. He began licking into your pussy again until he noticed how far away you were. “If we’re gonna do this then we’re gonna do this right. I already told you that.” He parted your legs even more than they already are and pulled you down onto his mouth by your waist. Your head fell back and any bit of insecurity fell with it. you looked down to see his eyes happier than they had ever been before and you began to unravel your inhibitions, rocking back and forth against his mouth. As you got closer he let go of you with a loud pop lifting you effortlessly as you whined wanting the sensation back again. “Go crazy baby rock into me, use me please I want you to feel good, this is all for you.” He pulled you down once again and started speeding up his movements you began to rock back even more feverishly, focusing on Clark and his eyes closed in his own pleasure you reached forward feeling the build up reach its peak with in your stomach and tangle your fingers in his messy hair, with this he lets out a long moan sending vibrations up your spine and causing the band in your stomach to snap. Catching your breath as you came down from the high you rolled off of him laying under the covers once again. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything too wrapped up in your own little world. You found your way back to him and cuddled into his chest once again getting comfortable. With a chuckle he spoke out loud “That was one hell of a way to warm up huh?” You laughed hearing this dorky personality shining through the man who just made you fall in love with him all over again. You cleared your throat to speak, “Yeah, we might have to try something else though… I’m starting to feel a little chilly again.”

[valvesoftware]

breakups are so fucking weird. three years and just like that it's gone. huh

[medicinemane]

There's honestly... just so many people, just so so so so so many people in this world where I'm like... aren't you people tired of this fucking... you know, I was going to call them clowns but that's really disrespectful to clowns, these people could never get their face on an egg...

Anyway, aren't you tired of this childish jackass? Don't you just want to ignore them and never have to hear about them again? If we just ignored them they legitimately would go away... don't you want that?

And this applies to... just ungodly amounts of people, from jake paul to even elon musk (just... don't touch his shit, he'll run out of money eventually with how bad he is with it), to just... name an annoying famous person and you'll name someone I've literally forgotten right now that I could never have to hear about again if people would just ignore them (unless they committed crimes, investigators are welcome to pay attention while gathering a case)

Yet the answer's always "no, we're paying so much attention to them!" and I'm just like... why? Why would you watch jake paul box? I heard about that and was like "he's still doing that shit?", and yet I guess it made a lot of money yet again and it's just like... ignore him

These people could go away, and yet

[webism]

☆ gojo is so big that you have to go slow with taking him otherwise he will break you. and he loves that fact—he’s so cocky about it, about how every aspect of him is so overwhelming to you that you can’t take his cock without crying.

and they’re good tears, tears that taste good on his tongue when he licks them from your cheeks. tears that spring hot in your eyes with every inch he manages into you—he’s too much, though at the same time you can never get enough of him.

“gonna finally take all of me tonight, baby?” he mocks you, grins at the way your eyes squeeze shut as he rubs at your clit in hopes of relaxing you a tad. “you know, i could flip us over.. let gravity do the hard work.”

you accept because it sounds good in theory. gojo flips you both over and lays on his back as you find purchase with your fingers splayed over his heaving chest. but being like this, with satorus pulsing dick still barely half inside of you, you realise gravity hates you.

because although you're dropping just that little bit further down on his cock, your legs are trembling like it's an effort to keep you off of him. and gojo, being the cocky man he is, takes hold of your hips and works you even further downwards onto his length.

"fuck," is all you can manage, he's painful and narcotic all in the same stroke and so deep inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach. you shake your head, "i can't. you're too big, im sorry."

satoru shakes his head, looks up at you with those lust-blown eyes of his and smiles. "you want me to pull out?"

and as he tries to pull you up and off his length, slow as not to hurt you, there's a look on his face that you can't miss. he's so pretty when he's plotting, but you're only given a second to admire him, because just as he's about to pull the tip of his aching cock out of you, he lets go of your hips.

and your legs fail you, your body collapses downwards and you, in turn, are impaled on his prodigious length once again. you could cry, you think you do—your cheeks are wet when you fall forwards and your gasp of shock is swallowed by gojo, who kisses you hungrily. his fingers dig into your hips as he smiles against your kiss.

you feel his cock twitch inside of you, deeper than you've ever been able to take him before, and you realise you're practically at the base. you've never felt so full... so good... so stretched out and overwhelmed. and when your boyfriend tests the waters and fucks up into you just a little, a breathy moan is drawn straight from your lungs.

"toru—"

"shh," he snaps his hips up again to stall your words. "finally gonna cum inside of you, baby, not pulling out until you're left just as full as you are now."

and if your lover is anything at all, it's a man of his words. you'll have to call in sick tomorrow.

[dollfacefantasy]

MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡

pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)

a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.

Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.

It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.

Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.

"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.

At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.

"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"

The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.

"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 

Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.

"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.

He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.

"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.

Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.

It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.

His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.

"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.

"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.

But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.

"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.

"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."

"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.

"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.

His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.

Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.

But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.

"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.

"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.

"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."

And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.

"You wanna bet?"

You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."

And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.

You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.

As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.

You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 

Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.

"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.

"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.

Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.

Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.

The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.

Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.

He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.

With each passing hour, his frustration grew.

Today, it reaches its zenith.

The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.

The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.

Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.

In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.

He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.

Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.

All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.

But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.

You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.

Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.

Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.

"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.

He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.

"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.

"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.

"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.

"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.

He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.

"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.

That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."

He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.

"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."

"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.

He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.

It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.

The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.

You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.

Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.

He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.

Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.

He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.

Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"

His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.

"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.

He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.

You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.

He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.

It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.

A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.

He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."

That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 

"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."

He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.

"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.

Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."

He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.

The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?

To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.

"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."

He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.

You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.

The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.

"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.

"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.

"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.

"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.

With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."

You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.

"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.

This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.

He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.

Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.

"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.

A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.

"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.

"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.

"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.

Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.

"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.

His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.

You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 

It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.

"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."

"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.

"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.

His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.

Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.

"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."

You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.

"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.

"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.

A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.

He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.

"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.

"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."

Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.

"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."

"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"

Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."

"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."

"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.

Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.

With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."

Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.

He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.

A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.

When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.

His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.

You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.

He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

His head turns to meet your loving gaze.

"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.

You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.

Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.

All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.

Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 

"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.

Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.

"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 

"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."

"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.

"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.

"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."

"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.

"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."

Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.

"See you tomorrow, Scott."

"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.

[nochepsicodelica]

Perv Toji thoughts in the brain 😔 Fed you guys the fluffy pieces, now i'm thinking of the little weirdo in him.

Suggestive

Perv!Toji who slips his thumb past your lips when you start drooling after falling asleep on him. He wipes the drool that seeped out of the corner of your mouth before gently pushing down on the plush of your bottom lip and easing the digit into your slightly parted lips. His eyes remain lidded as he feels your soft, wet tongue with the pad of his thumb, and when you start to stir, he coos at you, soft murmurs of, "sleepy princess" and "I got you, baby". He's got the most satisfied look on his face when you don't question why his thumb is in your mouth, too tired to even bother.

Perv!Toji who cancels his gym membership and starts working out at home, because you said you wanted to join him in his workouts. He could never say no to something like that. This is just something else you can do together, but it'll have to be an at home thing, because he can't have people ogling you the way he does when he puts you to work. He won't make you do his exact intense routine, but he does push you to the point where you break a sweat. It's a must. He slowly walks around you, observing his favorite parts of your body as you do the warm ups he instructed you to do. Jumping jacks are one of his favorite things to watch you do. He likes watching your boobs and ass bounce, and because it's not just a simple set of ten or fifteen, you end up panting, a sound that sends his blood rushing down, down, down. When you get tired, he does the parts of his routine that he exempts you from. He has you sit on his lap while he does bench presses, he does his pushups, but he wants you wrapped around him as he does them, and so on. Everything is skin to skin because he's not gonna have you just sit there and watch when you have a better purpose.

Perv!Toji who can't hold consistent eye contact with you when you go braless and your nipples are poking through your shirt. He understands, from the many times you've said it out loud, that not all bras are comfortable. The prettiest ones, some of his favorites even, are usually the least comfortable to wear. They're a courtesy to the rest of the world, but when you're walking around at home, you free your chest from those constraints and he has absolutely no complaints about it. "Free those puppies" is a recurring line of his, and when you do get the bra off, your boobs instantly attract his attention, like they're magnets to his eyes. Sometimes his intrusive thoughts win and he'll reach out and grab a handful of tit. He's definitely not shy about it, either. He knows his hands are better than any bra you own. He can hold onto your tits and never get tired, he offers great support for your back when he's behind you, and massages are included <3

Perv!Toji who has the weirdest obsession with your tummy. He's constantly rubbing and pinching the soft flesh as a form of stress relief. The area is never clear of hickeys, there always has to be at least three on that part of you because he can't be gentle when he's kissing that area. I don't know, he's just internally feral about it and sometimes those feral feelings start to trickle out. Loves when you eat a good amount of food and you get a little belly. He's constantly thinking of putting a baby in you, so when your stomach protrudes that way with a food baby, it gives him the illusion of what you would look like in the early stages of carrying his baby.

That's all for now, buh-bye <3