#(QUITE A FEW FANS especially more casual fans)

[koushirouizumi]

{H.O.L.I.C R.E.I} ~ Ch. 08 v.s. {K.O.B.A.T.O} + FRAMING ~ WATANUKIs {+K.O.B.A.T.Os} A P A R T M E N T (originally also of) {C.H.O.B.I.T.S} HIDEKI's

"Its THE N E X T ONE {O V E R}, Isn't it?"

"...Just as I thought, an {E M P T Y} R O O M." - WATANUKI

"Why do you think so?" - Domeki, (Pointed)

"There's NO S I G N of P E O P L E Coming in OR out, but..." - Watanuki

"Yet there's a {T E L E V I S I O N} Set..."

{Cap by Me} (Please ASK to Use)

B O N U S:

{"T.y.r.o.l" ("Chiroru") is a place in C.H.O.B.I.T.S}

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Fine Line Between Hate and Desire | LN4

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, a journalist covering a charity golf event, clashes with Formula 1 star Lando Norris, whose playful arrogance sparks heated banter. As the day progresses, their tension shifts into undeniable attraction, leaving Y/N torn between resisting his charm and surrendering to the unexpected connection.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.1k

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), mean Lando?

Based on this request.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the pristine greens of the Monaco Golf Club. Y/N adjusted her sunglasses, squinting against the glare as she scanned the crowd. This wasn’t her idea of an exciting assignment—covering a charity golf event featuring Formula 1’s golden boy, Lando Norris. She sighed, gripping her iPad. She was here to focus on the event’s charitable aspect, but she could already feel her patience waning.

She spotted him at the first tee, surrounded by fans, sponsors, and fellow golfers. Lando was unmistakable in a bright orange polo that clashed loudly with his McLaren cap and white shorts. He radiated confidence, his grin wide as he chatted and waved to the crowd. Typical, she thought, marching toward him while adjusting her press badge.

As if sensing her approach, Lando turned and locked eyes with her, his smirk growing. “Ah, the press is here! And who do we have? Y/N, right?”

She nodded curtly. “Mr. Norris,” she replied, her tone clipped. “Ready to lose gracefully today?”

He leaned casually on his driver, the epitome of unbothered. “Oh, I don’t lose. Especially not to journalists.”

A few onlookers chuckled, and Y/N felt her cheeks warm, but she refused to back down. “We’ll see about that. Just try not to embarrass yourself. Wouldn’t want another viral video of you missing a putt.”

Lando laughed, clearly relishing the exchange. “Careful, love. You keep talking like that, and I might think you enjoy my company.”

“In your dreams,” she shot back, her tone sharp.

Unfazed, Lando strolled to the tee, tipping an imaginary hat to the crowd before taking his shot. The ball soared effortlessly, landing perfectly on the fairway. Applause erupted, and Lando turned to her with a wink. “Another perfect shot. Impressed yet?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, pretending to jot something in her notes on her iPad. “I’m sure it’s easy when the only thing on your mind is yourself.”

“Ouch.” He feigned offense, his smirk widening. “I like a bit of bite, though.”

She ignored him and stepped back, but he followed, leaning closer as he lowered his voice. “You could just admit you’re impressed. Everyone is.”

Y/N glared, stepping out of his proximity. “Impressed? By your ego, maybe. I’ve seen better swings from amateurs.”

His chuckle was low and rich, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Flirting already? You’re full of surprises.”

“Flirting?” she scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Norris.”

Lando grinned, his confidence unwavering. “We’ll see about that.”

Despite herself, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something—was it intrigue or annoyance? Either way, she pushed it aside, determined to stay focused on her work, even if Lando seemed equally determined to test her resolve.

--

The day dragged on, and the tension between them only grew. Every time Y/N thought she’d managed to avoid him, Lando seemed to materialize out of nowhere, always with some snarky comment or playful jab. By the time they reached the ninth hole, she was ready to strangle him with his own club.

She was standing off to the side, jotting down notes on her iPad, when he appeared beside her. “You know,” he said, his voice low and annoyingly smooth, “you’re even more beautiful when you’re annoyed.”

Y/N froze, her fingers hovering over the screen. She turned to glare at him, but the intensity in his gaze caught her off guard. There was something there—something she couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Curiosity? Or… something else?

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Norris,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness.

He tilted his head, studying her. “Who says I’m flattering you? Maybe I’m just stating a fact.” He took a step closer, and suddenly the air between them felt charged, electric. “Or maybe,” he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I’m just trying to figure out why you hate me so much.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Damn him. Why did he have to be so infuriatingly charming?

--

The day dragged on, each hole bringing more of Lando’s infuriating charm and Y/N’s biting comebacks. By the time the tournament wrapped up, the tension between them was palpable. They found themselves alone near the clubhouse, the late afternoon sun bathing everything in a warm, amber light.

“Still not impressed?” Lando asked, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His white polo clung to his torso, revealing the defined muscles beneath. Y/N hated how good he looked.

“Not even close,” she replied, though her voice wavered slightly. She hated that too.

Lando pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them in a few strides. He stopped just inches away, his blue- green eyes locking with hers. “You’re lying,” he said softly, his tone dripping with confidence. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Y/N tried to step back, but her heel caught on the edge of the pavement. She stumbled, and Lando’s hand shot out, catching her by the waist. His grip was firm, almost possessive, and it sent a jolt through her.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Wouldn’t want you falling for me too quickly.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. His proximity was overwhelming, his cologne filling her senses. She hated how he made her feel—confused, flustered, weak.

Lando tilted his head, studying her. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do get awfully quiet when I’m this close.”

“I don’t—” she started, but he cut her off with a laugh.

“Yes, you do. And you know what? I think you like it.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to regain her composure. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” His hand slid up her side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “Then why hasn’t slapped me yet?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing. She wanted to push him away, to tell him off, but her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

Lando’s smirk returned, triumphant. “That’s what I thought.”

Before she could protest, he closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. It was demanding, dominant, and entirely unexpected. Y/N froze for a moment, then let out a soft moan as his tongue brushed against hers. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as if they had a mind of their own.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. Lando’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Told you,” he whispered, his voice husky. “You’re mine now.”

Y/N tried to argue, but he silenced her with another kiss, deeper this time. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve as if memorizing her. She should’ve stopped him, but the way he touched her—with such confidence, such control—made her melt.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. Lando looked at her, his eyes dark with desire. “Come with me,” he said, his voice rough.

She hesitated, but only for a second. Then she nodded, letting him lead her away from the crowd, toward somewhere more private. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but one thought kept repeating itself: What am I doing?

--

They ended up in a secluded corner of the clubhouse, hidden from prying eyes. Lando pressed her against the wall, his hands roaming hungrily over her body.

Lando’s hands didn’t stop moving, his fingers trailing up the curve of her waist, skimming the edge of her blouse. His breath was warm against her ear as he murmured, “You talk so much shit during the day, but look at you now. Can’t even form a sentence.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but all that came out was a shaky exhale as his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below her jawline. Her body betrayed her, pressing closer despite the voice in her head screaming to pull away.

“Admit it,” he growled, his tone low and commanding. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you? All those sarcastic little comments—just your way of trying to convince yourself you don’t want me.”

Her cheeks burned. She wanted to deny it, to push him off and walk away with her pride intact, but the way he looked at her—like he already knew every secret she’d ever kept—made it impossible. His confidence was infuriating, intoxicating.

“I don’t—” she started, but he cut her off with a sharp, possessive kiss that left her dizzy.

“Don’t lie to me,” Lando said, pulling back just enough to let his words sink in. His thumb traced her bottom lip, his eyes locked on hers. “You can pretend all you want, but I see right through you. You want this.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, every nerve in her body alight. She hated how easily he could unravel her, how quickly he’d turned their banter into something electric. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop him.

His hands slid down to her hips, gripping tightly as he pressed her harder against the wall. The roughness of his touch sent a shockwave of arousal through her, and she bit her lip to stifle a gasp.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Her eyes widened, her stomach flipping at the intensity in his gaze. “What?”

“You heard me.” There was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, smug and self-assured. “On. Your. Knees.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her mind racing. This wasn’t her. She didn’t do things like this. But then his hand tightened on her hip, and something inside her shattered.

Slowly, she sank to her knees, her skirt pooling around her thighs. The air between them felt charged, thick with tension as she stared up at him. He loomed above her, his blue-green eyes dark with hunger, and she felt impossibly small under his scrutiny.

“Good girl,” he purred, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from her face. The praise sent a shiver down her spine, and she hated how much it affected her. “Now, let’s see if that sharp mouth of yours is good for anything else.”

Lando’s fingers tightened in her hair, pulling just enough to make her gasp. His other hand traced the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip as he gazed down at her with a smug smirk. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “All that fire earlier, and now you’re kneeling for me like the good little girl I knew you could be.”

Y/N’s chest heaved as she glared up at him, but the heat in her eyes was tinged with something else—something raw and undeniable. She hated how much his dominance thrilled her, how the way he looked at her made her pulse race. “I’m not—” she started, but he cut her off with a sharp tug on her hair.

“Oh, you are,” he interrupted, his tone laced with amusement. “You can pretend all you want, but we both know you love this. Love being under my control.” He tilted her head back further, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’ve been thinking about it all day, haven’t you? Imagining what it would feel like to have me put you in your place.”

Her cheeks burned, but she couldn’t deny it. Every sarcastic remark, every heated glance—it had all been leading to this moment. And now, here she was, completely at his mercy.

Lando let go of her hair long enough to unbutton his pants, the sound of his zipper lowering sending a shiver down her spine. He pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself, and Y/N’s breath caught at the sight of him. Thick, already hard, and practically begging for her attention. He gripped himself, giving a slow stroke as he watched her reaction. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Touch me. Feel what you’ve been driving me crazy over all day.”

Reluctantly, she reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against him. The warmth of his skin, the hardness beneath her touch—it sent a jolt through her, and she quickly pulled her hand back. But Lando wasn’t having it. He grabbed her wrist, guiding her hand back to him. “Don’t be shy,” he teased, his smirk widening. “You wanted this as much as I did. Now show me how bad you want it.”

His grip on her wrist tightened, forcing her to wrap her fingers around him. He groaned softly as she hesitantly began to move her hand, her strokes tentative at first but growing bolder as she felt him twitch in response. “That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rougher now. “Just like that.”

But Lando wasn’t content with just her hand. He released her wrist, only to thread his fingers through her hair again, guiding her closer. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. When she hesitated, he tugged sharply on her hair, making her wince. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

Swallowing hard, she obeyed, parting her lips as he brought himself to her mouth. He didn’t give her time to adjust, pressing forward until the tip of him brushed against her tongue. “Suck,” he commanded, his voice firm.

She took him into her mouth, the taste of him overwhelming her senses as he slid deeper. He groaned, his hips jerking forward as he pushed himself further, until she felt him hit the back of her throat. Her eyes watered, and she gagged slightly, but Lando’s grip on her hair kept her in place. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed, his voice strained. “You look so good like this, choking on my cock.”

He started to move, thrusting shallowly as she struggled to take him. Each time he pushed deeper, she gagged again, tears welling in her eyes. But instead of stopping, Lando only seemed to grow more turned on by her discomfort. “That’s it,” he growled, his hips picking up speed. “Take it like a good girl. You wanted to play games with me all day? Well, this is what you get.”

Her hands clung to his thighs for support as he continued to use her mouth, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared the edge. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered, his breathing ragged. “Can’t believe how easily you folded for me. All that attitude, and now here you are, on your knees, gagging on my dick like the slut I always knew you were.”

His words should’ve made her angry, but instead, they only fueled the fire burning inside her. She moaned around him, the vibrations drawing a loud groan from his lips. “Shit, Y/N,” he hissed, his grip on her hair tightening almost painfully. “You’re going to make me come if you keep that up.”

He pulled back abruptly, leaving her gasping for air as he stroked himself furiously. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his voice dark and commanding. “Tell me how much you want me to finish in your pretty little mouth.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She was too overwhelmed, too lost in the haze of desire and humiliation to form a coherent thought. Lando’s smirk returned, and he gave her a knowing look. “Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his tone mocking. “You’ve already come this far. Don’t tell me you’re going to chicken out now.”

Something in his tone snapped her out of her daze, and she glared up at him, her defiance returning despite the situation. “Fuck you,” she spat, her voice hoarse.

But Lando only laughed, low and deep. “Oh, I think you’re the one getting fucked here,” he shot back, gripping her chin tightly. “Now stop being stubborn and beg. Or do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

She hesitated, torn between her pride and the undeniable thrill of submitting to him. Finally, she gave in, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please, Lando. I want it.”

His grin widened, triumphant and utterly arrogant. “Louder,” he urged, his tone teasing. “Let me hear how much you need it.”

“Please,” she repeated, louder this time, her cheeks burning with shame. “I want you to come in my mouth. Please, Lando.”

His groan sent a bolt of heat straight through her, and he guided himself back to her lips. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “Now swallow everything I give you.”

Her lips wrapped around him once more, the heat of his arousal filling her mouth as she took him deeper, her tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes. His hands gripped her hair tightly, guiding her movements with a firmness that left no room for hesitation. She could feel him throbbing against her tongue, his heavy breaths echoing above her as he watched her with those piercing blue-green eyes.

“That’s it,” Lando murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Take all of me. Show me how much you want this.”

“Look at you,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension and something darker, more possessive. “Kneeling there like you were made for it. Tell me, Y/N, did you think about this when you were writing all those biting remarks about me? Did you imagine me bending you to my will?”

She whimpered softly, the sound muffled by his length filling her mouth. Her pride was long gone, replaced by a strange mix of shame and desire that only fueled her actions. Her hands, which had been resting limply at her sides, moved almost instinctively to his hips, her fingers brushing against the taut muscles there. He smirked down at her, his confidence radiating like a forcefield.

“Go on,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Feel me. Isn’t this what you wanted? To see what I’m made of?”

Her fingers trembled as they trailed up his abdomen, feeling the hard ridges of his abs beneath his shirt. She hated how much she wanted to touch him, how badly she needed to prove to herself that he was just as flawless as he claimed to be. And he was—every inch of him was sculpted perfection, from the defined lines of his chest to the strength in his thighs. She bit back a moan as her hands explored him, her mouth still working him fervently.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “Take it all. Show me how much you want it.”

She obeyed, her tongue swirling around him, her lips pressing tightly as she worked him with a skill that surprised even herself. Lando’s head fell back, a moan slipping past his lips as he watched her with half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You’re so fucking good at this. All that attitude, all that sass… and now this. Who would’ve thought?”

She couldn’t deny it, not with the way her body responded to him, not with the wet heat pooling between her own legs as she knelt before him. Her pride screamed at her to stop, to pull away and tell him exactly where he could shove his arrogance, but her body betrayed her. She wanted this—wanted him—more than she cared to admit.

The humiliation burned in her chest, but so did something else—something hotter, wilder. She sucked harder, her hands gripping his thighs for balance as she took him deeper, her throat relaxing around him. His groans grew louder, more desperate, and she felt a thrill of power knowing she was unraveling him just as much as he had undone her.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hips thrusting shallowly into her mouth. “All that fight, all that bullshit… and look at you now. On your knees, swallowing me like a good girl.”

Her nails dug into his thighs, but she didn’t stop. If anything, she doubled down, her movements becoming frantic, hungry. She wanted to hear him lose control, wanted to feel him come undone because of her.

Lando chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the power he held over her. “You’re so fucking easy,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “All it took was a little push, and here you are, on your knees for me. Tell me, darling—how does it feel to know I could have you anytime I want?”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she took him deeper, her throat relaxing as she swallowed him whole. His breath hitched, and his grip on her hair tightened, pulling her closer. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice trembling for the first time since this began. “You’re good at this. Better than I expected.”

The praise sent a thrill through her, and she doubled her efforts, her tongue swirling around him as she sucked him harder, faster. His groans grew louder, more desperate, and she knew he was close. She could feel it in the way his body tensed, in the way his hips began to thrust ever so slightly into her mouth.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “Keep going. Fucking swallow it all when I come.”

She obeyed without hesitation, her moans vibrating against him as she felt him swell in her mouth. He cursed under his breath, and then he was spilling himself down her throat, his release hot and thick as she drank every drop. She didn’t dare pull away, not even when he shuddered violently above her, his hands tightening painfully in her hair.

When he finally stilled, she leaned back slightly, letting him slip from her lips. She opened her mouth, showing him the evidence of his release still coating her tongue. His eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry, and he let out a low, appreciative laugh.

“Good girl,” he purred, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip. “Didn’t think you had it in you, but you proved me wrong. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her heart racing as she looked up at him. His expression was unreadable now, a mix of satisfaction and something else—something softer, almost tender. But then the moment passed, and the familiar cocky grin returned to his face.

“Bet you never thought you’d end up like this, huh?” he said, running a hand through his messy hair. “On your knees for some arrogant arsehole you claim to hate. Admit it—you like this. You like being my little plaything.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, but the words caught in her throat. Because deep down, she knew he was right. She hated him, yes, but there was no denying the thrill that coursed through her every time he looked at her like that, every time he touched her with that possessive roughness.

His smirk widened, as if he could read her thoughts. “See? I told you. You’re mine now, whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, her voice husky despite her best efforts. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Lando laughed, the sound rich and warm, and she hated how much she liked it. “Keep telling yourself that, love,” he said, his hand catching her chin and tilting her face to meet his gaze. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “But we both know the truth—you’re mine now.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was far gentler than she would have expected from him. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough to leave her reeling, her mind struggling to reconcile the man before her with the arrogant prick she thought she knew.

And then he pulled away, his grin returning as he offered her a hand to help her up. “Come on,” he said, his tone light now, almost playful. “Let’s get out of here before someone catches us.”

She hesitated, torn between pride and the undeniable pull he had on her. Finally, she slipped her hand into his, allowing him to help her up. With effortless ease, he draped an arm over her shoulders, drawing her closer as they strolled away. His warmth radiated through her, a quiet comfort she hadn’t expected.

Glancing down at her, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know,” he began, his tone light and teasing, “I might just keep you around. You’re too much fun to let go.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Norris. This doesn’t mean I like you.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Sure, darling. Keep telling yourself that. But we both know the truth.”

His fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “And I can’t wait to prove it to you again.”

[mydearestbeloved]

Imagine #1

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: Implied Yandere (If you squint), mild grotesque imaginary of killing a magic beast

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

This is now officially a series! You can check "Trial Player AU" here: [Masterlist🦋✨️]

You never imagined your life would take such a drastic turn. One moment, you were typing away on your laptop, and the next, you found yourself in a universe where Hunters, dungeons, and magic were the norm.

As a casual fan of the manhwa, you were more than familiar with the storyline and its characters. But this was real, painfully real, and your heart raced in your chest as you tried to make sense of it all.

Isekai'd into the world of Solo Leveling was unexpected, but this?

This was even more bizarre.

___

Isekai stories were meant to be fun. A fresh start in a different world with cool powers and thrilling adventures, right?

[Congratulations!

You have been selected by the System for an exclusive test run.]

The first time you saw that message, you had no idea what it meant. But after receiving a few more cryptic messages and nearly dying in a lower-rank dungeon?

You would be foolish if continue that thought.

You weren’t just dropped into this world—you were the 'Trial Player'. A glitch, a test subject for the system before it latched onto its true player.

It sounded like a game, a brief test before things returned to normal.

Except now you’re stuck.

___

You didn’t want to interfere, to change the storyline you knew too well.

The system gave you powers once you started leveling up.

Since you weren’t a fighter by nature, learning how to defend yourself have been a whole other story. Healing however, had come to you almost too naturally. You were rather fortunate (or is it unfortunate?) in that regard, as you discovered early on that your specialized ability was more… versatile, than it seemed.

Simply put, they were dual-edged.

Healing and harming were two sides of the same coin—just a matter of intent.

You could heal yourself and allies just fine, but with enemies? The same touch that mended could also cause harm.

A giant serpent once learned that the hard way.

___

The cold wind brushed against your face as you stared down at the monstrous serpent writhing in its final throes. You hadn’t meant to do it that way—honestly, it was an accident.

You had only wanted to defend yourself, yet in an act of panic, you had somehow amplified the beast's venom glands, forcing it to produce venom at an uncontrollable rate to the point of overloading its own internal organs.

The monster literally drowned in its own deadly concoction.

As the hissing faded, you watched with wide eyes as the giant serpent collapsed, dead. A familiar notification dinged in the corner of your vision.

[Congratulations!

You have successfully defeated a C-Rank Venom Serpent!]

The cheerful tone that rang in your ears was far too enthusiastic for your liking.

[System will now place Blue Venom-Fanged Kasaka in its place.]

You let out a shaky breath, still in shock.

[You have just proven yourself to be quite entertaining,

Trial Player (Name)_

Shall we continue with more interesting challenges?]

What the hell just happened?

___

From the start, you’d made the decision to stay under the radar.

At first, it was overwhelming.

The system's notifications, the power you gained with each step, and the dangerous world you were thrust into were enough to make anyone completely lost their mind.

But, despite the insanity of your new reality, you had to admit you’d adapted rather well.

From that day forward, the system acted more like a mischievous partner than a mere overseer.

In fact, the system had seemed delighted by your attempts to remain discreet, since it was more than willing to help you falsify your ranking, allowing you to masquerade as a mere C-rank. Not that you cared much about rankings, but blending in was important, especially since you knew what was coming. You didn't want to stand out when the real chaos began.

The system had its reasons, no doubt, but you didn’t question it. As long as it kept your secret and allowed you to survive without drawing too much attention, you were content.

With your knowledge of the Solo Leveling storyline—albeit you still need to fill in some gaps in your memory here and there—you avoided changing the narrative too much. However, when it came to the protagonist, you found it difficult to completely stay away.

As a fan, you already knew what hardships awaited him, and as much as you tried not to interfere, your heart ached terribly seeing him suffer through his early days as an E-rank hunter.

Even knowing he’d become the world’s strongest eventually, you still found yourself lessening his burden.

You weren’t trying to change anything significant—just minor things. Healing him faster when he was injured and unconscious after dangerous raids, anonymously covering some of his mother's medical bills, leaving useful items at his doorstep. All of it was done behind the curtain, leaving no trace.

You kept your distance; each act was a silent tribute to a hero you believed deserved better.

Or maybe, it was because you saw something in him that reminded you of your own struggle—your own loneliness in this strange world.

After all, this wasn’t your story. It was his.

___

You vowed not to meddle in the timeline.

That was to say, you had no intention of getting involved in the main storyline.

So, when the time came for him to finally accept the system’s offer and became the player, the trial period for you ended.

The screens pop-ups ceased.

The missions vanished.

The system had gone silent.

You could finally step back, let him take the reins. You could enjoy the world for yourself, live your life in this reality.

Or so you thought.

___

It was supposed to be a quiet day, just like any other.

You found yourself wandering through a familiar street in Seoul, lost in thought.

You weren’t sure what it was that tipped you off—the weight of someone’s gaze on your back, perhaps—but when you turned around, your breath hitched.

Gaze locked in with sharp, glowing blue.

And a familiar chirp in your mind, as smug as ever.

[Fancy meeting you here,

Trial Player (Name)_ ]

Damnit, you sly—!

"‘Trial Player’, huh?"

You clenched your fists and bit your lip as his voice cut through your inner turmoil.

Stormy hues, and ebony locks that looked too fluffy not to touch.

Taller, and his voice deeper than the last time you heard him.

There was no way you could mistake him for someone else.

There was no way you could forget him.

Sung Jinwoo

The system hummed in amusement behind him, oddly pleased with itself.

A screen flickered in your periphery.

[Dear Trial Player, (Name)_

Be careful not to spill your secret to Player Sung Jinwoo,

else you may find the penalty quite costly.]

Playful, yet the warning echoed in your mind.

You had no idea what the system’s penalty might be, and you weren’t eager to find out.

“I’ve been wondering about the mysterious healer who’s been helping me. I guess I have my answer now.”

Calm, that tone of his was way too calm, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt your stomach drop. How much did he know? How long had he suspected—

“Don’t look so surprised,” Jinwoo continued with a chuckle, a small, dangerous tilt playing on his lips, “The system can be… revealing at times.”

The insufferable chirps like giggles in your ear following his statement made it clear—there was no escape now.

Sung Jinwoo knew, or at least, he knew enough.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Jinwoo said, stepping closer.

You instinctively took a step back.

"Join my party."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat instead.

“What?"

“I want you to join me,”

Jinwoo repeated with the same exact tone, as if that one sentence was enough for your mind to grasp at—whatever situation this had spiral to be.

Your brain scrambled for an answer. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. “I prefer staying out of the spotlight,” you muttered, trying to avoid his gaze.

Jinwoo leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think I’m going to let that happen.”

The system pinged again.

[Player Sung Jinwoo has extended a party invitation.]

“I didn’t agree to—”

The screen popped up again.

[Trial Player cannot refuse this invitation.]

You blinked at the screen, then at him.

Jinwoo kept his eyes on you—glowing in that beautiful, beautiful blue—practically daring you to refuse.

You felt trapped.

___

And that was how you found yourself reluctantly dragged into Sung Jinwoo’s (formerly solo) party.

You were supposed to be a background character at most, but now you were standing beside the future strongest hunter, going on raids, facing dungeon bosses, and… spending far too much time with him outside of said raids.

You don’t know why, but outside of dungeons were even worse. Jinwoo seemed to find excuses to be around you, despite your best efforts to avoid him. Whether it was casual visits to the same cafés you frequented or crossing paths in the market, he always seemed to be there at every turn. It was unsettling how often his gaze lingered on you, as if he was trying to unravel the very essence that made you, you.

Persistent, relentless, and far too observant for your liking. Jinwoo followed you, making sure you never slipped away, sticking close like your own personal shadow.

You might have laughed at the irony, if you were not the center of his attention.

Sung Jinwoo refused to leave you alone.

You weren't sure how he'd managed to pull you into his orbit, but he had, and now you were stuck in the very story you were trying to avoid.

A soft laugh; a rare sound that made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, My Healer.”

___

"Oh, what have I gotten myself into..." you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of the situation crash down on you.

The system chimed in, always and without fail, far too gleeful for your liking.

[What indeed, Trial Player?

What indeed.]

You really, really, want to kick this damned system to space.

End Note:

Finally, I can sleep now...

Every related imagines I post after this WILL NOT follow any particular/chronological order.

[wosoloml]

through the lens of love II katie mccabe x interview! reader

summary: Coming out of a heartbreak, Katie never expected to catch feelings for the new girl on Arsenal's media team.

warnings: none just fluff, mentioning of ruesha, maybe she (katie) falls first but reader falls harder, different POV's, kinda slow burn idk

a/n: please leave feedback about the different pov's if you like it or not. ive thought i could do something new maybe

wc: 1,6k

8:00 AM. It’s not my first day at Arsenal’s media team, but I’m still feeling nervous. Moving from Germany to England for a new job two weeks ago was the best decision I’ve ever made.

At first, I worked on a few interviews with Lotte, especially after her goal against City. She’s been a Gunner since day one and is such a ray of sunshine—I love working with her.

“Hey, Y/N! You look amazing today. How are you?”

My smile widens as I recognize her voice from afar.

“Hello, Lotte, my girl! I’m good, what about you?”

She gives the best hugs, no doubt about it

After shooting a few short clips for Arenals Social Media Team Im done with Lotte.

"Do you know whos coming next?" She asked me quiet suspecious

"Lemme Check" i grab my phone "I think its Katie. Ive never worked with her before"

Lottes eyes widened. "Good Luck with her. Since she broke up with her girfriend her moodswings are horrible" Wow she always knows how to make me feel good

-----

I’ve done countless interviews throughout my career—always answering the same questions about leading Ireland, my physical style of play, my streak of yellow cards, and being a fan favorite at Arsenal.

But nothing could have prepared me for this moment.

"Come in," I hear a soft voice from inside the room as I gently push the door open.

I hesitate for a moment, a bit confused. "Oh, I was expecting Tamara to be here. Am I wrong?"

The girl chuckles at my words. "No, it's fine. She's working with the men's team today. I've been here for two weeks now—I'm new."

"Yeah, of course," I reply with a casual shrug. But the moment I look up, a strange feeling stirs in my stomach.

I've never felt anything like this before.

There was something about her—the way her lips curved into a subtle smile, the focused look in her eyes as she watched me. Maybe I held eye contact a little longer than necessary.

"I'm Y/N. Thank you for taking the time today," she said, extending her hand.

"Katie," I managed to reply, the only word I could get out. Her skin was impossibly soft, and her voice carried a professionalism laced with a warmth that caught me off guard.

--

The moment Katie took my hand, I could feel it—she was nervous, holding something back. It surprised me; I never would have pegged Katie McCabe as the shy type, especially around new people. But I had to admit, I liked it.

The slight press of her fingers against mine sent an unexpected wave of comfort through me, a feeling I had never quite experienced before.

As Katie sat down, I grabbed my papers, preparing to start the interview like any other. But from the moment she walked into the room, something about her unsettled me in the best way possible. Maybe it was the effortless confidence in her stride or the way her sharp eyes locked onto mine, holding the gaze just a second longer than necessary.

I asked Katie about Arsenal’s season, her role as a leader, and what playing for Ireland meant to her. She answered effortlessly, naturally slipping in a few jokes along the way.

She made me laugh so easily, and I had to admit that liked it. Before long, we had fallen into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing as if we had known each other for much longer.

But as the interview went on, something between us shifted. The air felt different, charged with an unspoken tension. And I could only hope I wasn’t the only one noticing it.

--

The more she spoke, the harder it became to ignore the way my pulse quickened whenever she laughed—I loved making her laugh. It was the prettiest sound I had ever heard. And then there was the way her eyes flickered to my lips when I spoke, as if she was just as caught up in whatever was happening between us as I was.

"I'm pretty much done with the basic questions, but I have one more," she said, tilting her head slightly. "What is Katie McCabe like when she’s not on the pitch, being physical with defenders?"

God. The way my name fell from her lips—it needed to be studied. It was so damn sexy.

I smirked, leaning back in my chair, playing it cool.

--

I asked her what Katie McCabe was like when she wasn’t being physical on the pitch. Maybe I asked out of pure curiosity, or maybe it was something more—I just knew I wanted to learn about her beyond the game.

She smirked, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Actually, I’m pretty boring. I love going for walks or exploring new coffee shops."

The thought of her strolling through London, coffee in hand, completely at ease—it filled me with a warmth I wasn’t expecting.

"That sounds nice," I replied, smiling softly.

Katie tilted her head, smirking. "Depends on who I’m with, actually."

There it was again—that subtle shift in the air between us. The unspoken tension lingering just beneath the surface. She had to know she was flirting. She had to know what she was doing to me.

For a brief moment, I forgot about the cameras, the blinking recording light, the fact that this was supposed to be just another interview.

It was just the two of us.

And I could only hope I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

---

It was just the two of us. I realized I was flirting with her—something I hadn’t planned, yet it felt entirely natural and effortless.

As she continued with the interview, an undeniable energy, a tension, hung in the air. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it.

Y/N offered me a polite smile as the interview wrapped up. “Thank you for your time, Katie. This was great,” she said. My heart skipped a beat at her words, hopefully, she hadn’t noticed. I smirked and stretched, replying, “Wasn’t too bad.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she grinned.

I wanted to say more, but I was lost for words. Instead, I asked if she was coming to this week’s match. “Yeah, I’ll be covering it,” she replied, and a smile spread across my face at her answer.

I knew I had to seize the moment before it slipped away. “Maybe... maybe we can grab a coffee afterwards?” I ventured. There was a pause, and Y/N blinked in surprise.

--

Her words were casual, but the way she said them - like she was teasing me made my heart go crazy. I just smiled at her, playing it cool "Maybe we can"

As she walked away, i released a breath i hadnt realized i was holding.

What the hell just happened here?

I spent the last few weeks telling myself that whatever i felt in that interview was just a moment of weakness - nothing serious. It was just some Starstrucked feeling that would fade once i got to know Katie properly.

I was so wrong.

We had fallen into a rhythm. Coffee Dates after matches, late night phone calls that stretched longer than they should, lingering glances secretly at each other.

Of course this has to happen the second i let myself into Katie Mccabe.

--

At first, I thought it was just friendly—just the two of us getting along, enjoying each other’s company. But deep down, I knew the truth. The way my heart stopped every time I made her laugh, the way I caught myself looking forward to seeing Y/N, the way my eyes instinctively searched for her in every room. none of it was casual.

Even my teammates had started to notice. After our last game, Lotte came up to me with a smirk. “Have you spotted Y/N in the crowd yet? Pretty sure she’s wearing your name on the back of her Arsenal shirt.”

The way my eyes lit up at her words completely betrayed me.

--

One evening, after an Arsenal win, we found ourselves in a quiet café, like we always did.

"You were amazing today," I said, smiling as I absentmindedly stirred my coffee, lost in thought.

Katie smirked, taking a sip from her cup. "Not bad, huh?" There was a slight teasing tone in her voice, and I couldn’t help but grin.

"Are you kidding? You were on fire. It feels like you love football more than anything else in the world."

She studied me for a moment, leaning forward slightly. "You think so?"

I nodded. "The way you light up when you talk about it... It’s really inspiring."

She hesitated for a second before smiling. "There’s a lot to love about it."

My gaze didn’t waver. "Is there anything—or anyone—you love more?"

I felt bold asking the question, teasing her just a little. But as soon as the words left my lips, my pulse spiked. I wasn’t sure I was ready for her answer.

Katie’s expression shifted, her voice quieter than before. "Maybe. Depends on who's asking."

Something in me softened at her words. In that moment, I knew I could be vulnerable with her. I had never trusted anyone the way I trusted Katie.

Slowly, carefully, she reached across the table, her fingers brushing against my hand. The warmth of her touch sent a spark through me, like fire beneath my skin.

I didn’t pull away.

She was the first to break the silence, a small, nervous smile playing on her lips. "Well," she murmured, "guess I’m not just in love with football after all."

For a moment, the world outside blurred, and the space between us disappeared.

“

[nylauninterrupted]

CL16 x Reader [The Vampire who Enjoyed Brownies]

before reading: I'm getting back into writing, so this might lack depth, please be patient with me<3 As for requests, you can still send them in, I'm just slow at working through them! Love, Nyla

summary: A handsome man moved in next door. After he introduced himself you two clicked, to the point where you'd often hang out after work. One evening you brought him brownies and came across a teacup with bloody residue in his sink...

content warnings: vampire!Charles, biting, descriptions of anatomy, mentions of blood, blowjob, smut smut smut, unprotected sex, dom!Charles, non proofread

word count: 3672

We've all heard of vampires. Vile, stealthy creatures, lurking in the shadows, craving, yearning for the blood of innocent humans. Their claws are sharp and twisted, making them perfect to ravage the human body. Their teeth are rotten and yellow, their fangs make them unable to close their mouth fully.

They (very conveniently) only come out at night, providing the best solution to children's curiosity, causing them to be scared to come out from under the covers, until dawn. At least in my day it worked, making the girls from the countryside frightened of even taking a step out the door after midnight.

Well, actual vampires are slightly different, from the tales we have been told before bed for centuries. They certainly do come out during the day. Their nails aren't exactly claw-like, most of them actually take care of them very well. Their teeth is like any other, the fangs appearing only when they feel the need to feed.

Vampires are more subtle than stories say, ravaging people's bodies by sinking their hands in their guts is a bit too messy for them. Not every vampire's goal is to kill the victim. Some are actually quite tame, choosing to find a lover that will understand their nature and feeding on them occasionally.

Animal blood is the trend right now, as morality and awareness of human emotion increased over the years.

It's a common misconception that vampires feed on blood only. In reality, they need different kinds of nutrition just like we do, just accompanied by a bit of hemoglobin. My boyfriend for example is a fan of brownies.

When a guy moved into the apartment next to yours, the one that had been empty for at least a couple of months, you didn't think much about it. Why would you, really?

You just got off work when he knocked on your door and introduced himself. His stance was a bit awkward and looked uncomfortable. It took a few minutes of chatting before his shoulders relaxed.

His name was Charles, and he was a bit older. He looked about twenty-seven, dressed in an elegant way, almost old-fashioned; you've only seen him wearing a hoodie once. Otherwise, his casual was most men's elegant. Which you appreciated, really; the turtlenecks, coats, and occasional necklaces complemented his beauty well.

You exchanged numbers, and all was well. The texts you sent to him were always sweet and polite. His responses were always punctuated, yet still quite charming.

Everything worked out fine between the two of you; you were a bit surprised to have a neighbour who took time to get to know you and wanted to spend time with you. You didn't mind really, especially considering your way to destress—whenever you felt on edge, you'd whip up some baked goods or some kind of dish.

It became your routine to send a quick text to Charles, proposing to have a bite. Although now, thinking about it, your choice of words was quite ironic.

So there you were, on a quiet and rainy Tuesday evening, knocking on your now favourite neighbour's door.

"I'll be right there!" His soft voice sounded from behind the door. You smiled to yourself, biting the inside of your lip a little. You found him very charming and felt comfortable around him, to the point where you looked forward to spending some time with him after work.

He opened the door, standing in front of you in some simple jeans paired with a white shirt and a long-sleeve beige polo over it. It looked simple, yet he wore it so well.

"Hi," he spoke, his smile audible in his voice. He enjoyed the evenings spent with you as well. More than you knew.

"Hi," you replied in the same manner, a smile forming on your face. "I made brownies."

His face lit up visibly as he looked at the plate of freshly baked brownies that you were holding. He smiled and looked back at your face, admiring it for a second or two.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked, taking the opportunity to spend more time with you and get to know you better. He grew quite fond of you over these past few weeks.

"I'd really like that." You smiled and walked in. He closed the door behind her while you went to the kitchen and set the brownies down on the counter.

He clearly didn't expect a visit tonight; his apartment was a bit more messy than usual. You didn't mind, though; you smiled a bit at some unfinished work sitting on the table next to his laptop.

Just as Charles walked into the kitchen, you turned towards the sink. Seeing your movement, his eyes widened. He sped up, trying to take your attention away from it.

"No, wait..." he started, his voice filled with sudden desperation, just as you looked down into it. You saw a pretty teacup with some dark residue at the very bottom of it.

"Don't worry, your kitchen is not that messy," you replied reassuringly, thinking that he is just worried that you might judge him for the mess.

Just as he worried, you leaned a bit towards the sink, intending to wash the cup and help him out a little, when a metallic scent hit you. It was weirdly familiar, and something in your mind clicked as your fingertips locked on the teacup's rim.

You looked back at Charles and saw something close to fright in his expression. There was sheer anxiety present in his green eyes, making them seem darker than usual. He didn't try to stop you anymore; it was too late; you both knew that.

You brought the teacup closer to your nose, taking a whiff, to make sure that was the source of the smell. It was easy to identify the remnants of the liquid in it as blood. You couldn't mistake it for anything else.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm down. He half expected you to run by the time he opened them again. He didn't dare to hope for anything besides fear from you. But once he did open them, he found you still there, standing in his kitchen, with a teacup in your hand.

"It's animal blood," he spoke quietly, with a soft pleading to it. "I promise you. I can explain."

You turned around and started washing the teacup for him, without saying anything just yet. You didn't know what to say after all. It was hard to believe that your neighbour would drink blood. He wasn't a psycho, you knew that, which is why there was only one possible explanation for it.

"I'm... I need blood to survive." Charles admitted, watching you as you moved in his kitchen, "I am a vampire. I'm sorry."

You paused and turned back to look at him. You still didn't understand the situation; maybe you just couldn't comprehend it. But despite a reasonable weariness you felt, you also trusted your own instinct. And your instinct was that Charles isn't a bad person.

"Why are you sorry?" You asked, "It's not like it's your fault, no? I mean, I didn't find you sucking someone dry or anything; it's... It's just a teacup. With animal blood."

Charles looked at you with surprise, disbelief almost. He never would have expected this level of understanding from anyone. Anyone. Even though he considered you a friend and a good neighbour, he couldn't even imagine that you would be okay with what he was.

"You're... I didn't expect you to be... Okay with it. Not just like that." He spoke, looking at you with a newfound kind of fondness. Sure, you were cute before and your personality was great, but this... This sort of behaviour just made him like you more.

"So... do you only like blood and accept the brownies out of politeness, or are they actually enjoyable?" you asked, in an attempt to put him at ease

He read your intentions correctly and smirked a little, letting out a breathy, amused laugh, with slight relief in it as well.

"They are absolutely spectacular. I promise." Charles smiled, tilting his head at you, taking in the view. He couldn't get enough of you. Your smiles, words, all of it. To him, you were as beautiful and as important as the sun was to the moon.

"I expected you to run," he admitted, his eyes softening a bit as he kept looking in your eyes, while his shoulders began to relax slowly, the anxiety finally leaving his body.

"I like spending time with you too much to pass up on it just because of vampirism." You made a joke without much thinking, not realising how... intimate your words might have sounded.

"Oh, really?" Charles asked, a smirk appearing on his face once more. "You like me that much?" 

You hesitated, looking away for a moment. You just found out that Charles, your handsome, sweet neighbour who you grew so fond of, also happened to be a vampire. And strangely enough, you didn't mind it.

'To hell with' it'—you thought.

"More than you know," you answered, your voice growing more serious and genuine, as you gazed back into his eyes again. Charles's expression changed in a similar way as yours; he understood what you were getting at.

"Do you have something to tell me?" He asked in a low, soft voice, taking a couple of slow, careful steps towards you, as if testing the waters for now.

"I don't know," you replied, taking a small step towards him as well. "How would you react if I did?"

Charles's eyes never left yours, not even for a second. It was as if you were the only thing that ever existed. Everything else just didn't matter in that moment.

"I'd be thrilled," he responded shamelessly, getting closer, their bodies very close to one another. He was now looking down at you, the height difference being more obvious, as you were in close proximity.

"Would you like to have a proper date with me?" you asked, deciding not to beat around the bush. You wanted him. You wanted him badly. "With the possibility of a relationship in mind."

Charles's face lit up as well as he took one last step closer to you, completely erasing the gap between you. He placed his hands on your arms, looking deep into your eyes.

"I would love that," he answered, smiling at you, "And can I kiss you?"

"Just kiss me?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, as you used a hair clip to put your hair up. You gave him a knowing smile, making him a bit surprised. He didn't expect you to be that confident.

"While I would love to have you, I don't have any condoms at hand. I didn't exactly prepare for this." He murmured, walking closer and nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

"I was asking in case you would like to bite me," you laughed quietly, "but I guess sleeping together wouldn't be so bad either. I'm on the pill."

Charles opened his eyes and leaned away to take a closer look at you. His olive skin flushed just slightly; he looked embarrassed.

"Ah. Sorry, I didn't mean to..." He started speaking, not wanting to make you feel like all he wanted with you was sex.

"I know, Charlie," you interrupted him firmly. "I'm not worried about that. Besides... I wouldn't tell you about the pill if I didn't want to entertain your idea."

"Aren't you uncomfortable though? Having sex with a vampire, who could very well only want your body and blood..." Charles spoke, knowing how most people would perceive this situation.

"I know that is not the case. Besides... Even if it was, who says you'd be the only one getting something out of it?" You whispered, smiling faintly as you reached out to touch his arm. You began rubbing small circles on it, your eyes focused on him entirely.

"You're..." he began, eyeing your fingers for a second. "More confident than I imagined. I can't say it isn't a turn-on."

Your eyes were like little firecrackers, shining in the dimly lit kitchen. Your lips had a shade of raspberries from a lip tint you applied right before knocking on his door. You were simply breathtaking.

"Uh-huh." You smirked, getting even closer, almost touching his chest. "What else about me turns you on, then?"

Despite your bold words, your voice remained ever so gentle and soft, melodic almost. It was soothing and comfortable, a stark contrast to what was slowly turning into dirty talk.

"Your eyes are nice." Charles whispered, making the move to finally make your bodies touch. "So pretty... And so deep... I could get lost in them."

His touch grew confident as his fingers slipped under your shirt, and his large warm hands began massaging the slightly cold skin on your back, making you shiver.

"Don't get me started on your face," he continued in a low, husky voice. "Such a pretty little thing... So young, yet it feels like your beauty is eternal... I wonder what it would look like, twisted in pleasure..."

"You could always find out," you replied cheekily, playing with his small silver necklace. "I don't mind." 

Charles eyed your fingers wrapped around the chain around his neck and gently grabbed your wrist before putting it close to his lips. Conveniently, your blouse had bell sleeves, so he had immediate access to your skin. He kept looking at you as he began planting small kisses, from your palm to your arm, getting closer and closer to you. 

As his lips inched closer and closer to your neck, his hands found their way on your back again, only this time Charles swiftly untied your corset blouse before carefully sliding it off you, leaving your torso in only a bra.

"You smell delicious," he murmured, burying his head in your neck again. "So delicious... Is that vanilla I smell?"

"Yeah," she replied, and before she could say anything else, she let out a moan as Charles started leaving small bites on her, being careful not to go too far over her cleavage.

He wasn't about to make you walk around with a bloody neck, not to mention the damage he could potentially cause if he got too excited.

"Why... Why don't you bite me properly?" She whispered breathily, making him look up from her neckline.

"I have never bitten a human before," Charles answered calmly. "It can have some... side effects, you see."

"What... kind of side effects?"

"The kind that will make you beg me to fuck you. If I get too excited, my body will release an aphrodisiac," he replied, looking at you with slightly darkened eyes.

"Well... We did kind of seal the deal already, no? I'm curious how it'd feel, and I am sure you are as well."

"It's... We don't know each other well; I do not want to force you to have sex with me." Charles exhaled.

"Charlie, you have my consent before anything happens. You didn't bite me yet, and I am fully aware of the consequences of it. Don't you want to, just a little bit?"

Charles felt his restraints crumbling. He tried to resist, knowing how powerful the aphrodisiac was. But having your eager consent, thinking about the way it'd feel to sink his fangs into you... It was just too much for him.

He felt your blood calling, whispering to him. Your veins seemed to be pulsing. You didn't only smell delicious; you looked like it. Charles closed his eyes, feeling the faint scent of vanilla again.

Without saying anything else, he got closer to you, gently grabbing your shoulders to keep you in place. You did not move, standing there in anticipation as he examined your neck, pinpointing where your jugular veins were.

If he would bite any of your arteries, his healing saliva would not be able to stop the bleeding, killing you instantly. But he was attached to you and didn't want to cause you any harm, so he focused on finding the veins instead.

Charles took his time, examining your neck, before leaning in more and placing his mouth directly on it. Without holding back anymore, he sinks his teeth into your skin, causing a sharp but pleasant pain to shoot through your body, making you whimper in pleasure.

He took small sips of your blood, careful not to overwhelm you with the amount he is taking. After all, he was feeding on animal blood, and he did not require much more. As the warm liquid filled his mouth, he couldn't help but let out a satisfied hum, gripping your shoulders a bit harder.

With every sip, his fangs releasedthe aphrodisiac directly to your veins. You felt your body gradually get hotter, making you want to take off the rest of your clothes.

Charles thoroughly cleaned your neck from excess blood, healing it partially in the process, with his saliva. He looked at you and immediately noticed the change in your eyes.

"Take off my bra, Charlie," you whispered, looking at him with your slightly widened shiny eyes. "Don't be shy."

"Trust me, darling, I am not being shy," he murmured, unclasping your bra with more ease than you would yourself. "Do you want to do it in the kitchen, or would you prefer my bedroom?"

"We will probably be more comfortable on a bed," you giggled, playing with his shirt. Before you said anything else, Charles gave you a nudge, guiding you to his bedroom. He pushed you on the bed, sliding his polo off his body, followed by the white shirt.

You stared shamelessly at his stomach and bare shoulders, admiring them. He let out a light-hearted scoff and looked at you with a smirk. He unbuttoned your jeans and was about to get his trousers off as well when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Let me," you whispered, unbuttoning his trousers and sliding them off while biting your lip a little at the sight of the prominent bulge in his pants.

You finally took off your unclasped bra completely, letting your breasts out of the squishing undergarment. You did not take your eyes off him while taking his pants off as well, exposing his member entirely.

He watched you as you took it in your hands and examined it. You looked up into his eyes as you began massaging it, making him hiss slightly. You smiled and took it in your mouth, sucking on its tip, making Charles throw his head back in pleasure and grip your hair.

He could not help but push into your mouth, wanting to envelop his cock whole with your warmth. And you let him, relaxing your throat. Before he could come, he pulled out, panting slightly.

"Not yet." Charles whispered, stroking your face, "Should I make you scream, sugar?"

Before you could respond, he pushed you back on the bed and crawled on top of you, looking down at you as if you were his prey. His large hands massaged your sides as he gazed at you tenderly.

"Please, Charlie," you answered quietly, "I need you right now."

"You sound beautiful like that." Charles grinned, "Asking me so nicely..."

His hands reached down and grabbed your panties, snatching them off you, though he was careful enough not to rip them.

He began rubbing the outside of your pussy, building up the tension in your whole body. You started to whine, which was a sign for him to put his finger in.

Finally, he dipped it inside, massaging your clit, before adding another one. He brought you to a climax in a couple of moments with his skilled fingers.

You panted, looking up at him, as he loomed over your shaking body. Charles smirked again and leaned in, kissing your lips, nibbling on your lip a bit.

"Do you enjoy this?" he whispered. "The thought of a blood-drinking monster, ravaging you, taking whatever he wants?"

You whined breathily, squirming underneath him, desperate for more of the bliss he could provide her.

"Use your words, Sugar," he whispered. "What is it that you crave?"

"You," you whined, trying to catch your breath. "Only you. I need you to make me feel good."

Charles kept looking you in the eye, his orbs practically gleaming with satisfaction.

"I'll make you feel good." he spoke "I can't bear seeing you beg for too long. You're just such a sweet little thing..."

His voice trailed off as he positioned himself directly at your entrance. You shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the sensation you were about to experience. You did not doubt his ability to make you feel good. In fact, a part of you was wondering if you could even take it.

You found your answer when he began thrusting into you, before he picked up on the speed, practically pounding into your clit.

Your whimpers got louder; he let out a couple of breathy moans as well. You couldn't help but enjoy the way his low, melodic voice could twist into such pretty sounds.

As the last moan escaped his mouth and you both finished, Charles pulled out of you, looking down at you tiredly. Before he could say anything, you pulled him down on top of you, burying your head in his neck.

You both remained silent for a while, simply enjoying each other's presence.

"Did you try the brownies?" you whispered, making him grin.

"That's a funny question to ask, right after we've had sex." Charles responded, looking down at you with his little grin, "I did; they were delicious. Maybe we could have some for breakfast tomorrow?"

"You want me to stay?" you asked, almost surprised.

"Darling, if I could, I would never let you go," he responded, pulling you into a warm hug, as he buried his face in your hair and breathed in your scent once more.

[fratttymatty]

Nathan's Parked

(All characters are 18+)

Nathan Parker had never quite fit in at Westbrook High. He was the kind of guy who spent his lunch breaks huddled in the back corner of the library, buried in books about superheroes or playing online games. He had thick glasses, messy brown hair that he never quite knew what to do with, and an awkward way of talking that made him stand out in the worst possible way. He didn’t have many friends, and his idea of a "good time" was usually just scrolling through fan fiction on his phone or studying for tests he didn't care much about. Nathan had long accepted that he would always be the geeky loner.

And then there was the secret he kept hidden from everyone: Nathan was gay, and while he didn’t mind the solitude, it would have been nice to share his feelings with someone.

But that was a far-off dream, something he'd shoved into the deepest parts of his heart. Who would want someone like him? Especially at a school where the jocks and cheerleaders ruled the social hierarchy, and someone like him was just… invisible.

One afternoon, after a grueling chemistry class, Nathan found himself wandering the aisles of the local drugstore, searching for something—anything—that might make him feel a little less out of place. He was heading to the deodorant section when something unusual caught his eye.

It was a sleek, black can of deodorant sitting alone on a shelf. Eclipse™ it was called, with the tagline: "Unleash your potential."

Nathan chuckled at the marketing slogan. "Sure, right," he muttered. He had no reason to believe that some fancy deodorant could change his life, but he figured it was worth a try. After all, he was desperate enough to give anything a shot.

As he sprayed the deodorant under his arms, a strange tingling sensation washed over him. Nathan shook his head, laughing at himself. Maybe it was some sort of psychological thing, he thought—his imagination running wild. He glanced at himself in the mirror and froze.

His reflection was… different.

His hair—messy and unkempt just moments ago—was now styled into a perfect wavy middle part, dark brown strands flowing effortlessly in a way that seemed entirely new. His face was sharper, more defined, and somehow more… masculine. His eyes no longer looked tired and worn-out but bright and confident. And his posture—his shoulders were broader, his chest fuller—he stood taller, more at ease.

Nathan blinked. Was this some kind of weird trick of the lighting? He reached up to touch his hair, but his fingers only confirmed what he feared: it wasn’t just his imagination. He was different. His clothes had changed too—gone was his oversized graphic tee and cargo shorts. Now, he wore a tight black compression shirt that showed off a toned chest, a sleek grey hoodie, a pair of jeans that fit him perfectly, and a letterman jacket draped casually over his shoulders. His shoes—new white trainers—looked like something right out of a sports magazine.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, "what the hell is going on?"

A sudden movement caught his eye, and when he turned, he saw a group of cheerleaders walking toward him. A few of them—Liana, Amanda, and Jenna—had been in his chemistry class earlier. But they'd never looked his way before. Now, as they approached, their eyes lit up with recognition. Or maybe it was something else… admiration?

"Hey there, Nathan," Liana said with a playful smile. "Wow, you look… different."

Nathan opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was deeper now, smoother, more self-assured. "Yeah, I guess I’ve… changed a little."

Amanda giggled, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Changed? You look like you’ve had a total makeover or something. I mean, you used to hide behind those glasses and all that—what are you doing now, hitting the gym?"

Nathan tried to think of a reply, but his mind was a little foggy. He didn’t recognize himself anymore, but he couldn’t help but feel good about the attention. He could feel his chest puffing out, his muscles subtly flexing under the tight shirt, as though his body was responding to the change.

"Yeah," he said with a grin that felt more natural than he expected. "I’ve been hitting the gym… working on a few things."

Liana stepped closer, her eyes glinting with interest. "Well, whatever you're doing, it's working. You should come hang out with us at the game this weekend. We’ve got a big pep rally, and it could be fun. You’d fit right in with the team now."

Nathan blinked. Hang out with them? The cheerleaders? He was just a nerdy kid who kept to himself. But the idea of being part of their world—their confident, carefree world—was suddenly too tempting to ignore. He felt a surge of something that felt like excitement. And… pride? A new sense of self-confidence he couldn’t quite explain.

"I’d like that," he said without hesitation, the words coming out effortlessly. "I’ll be there."

The days that followed felt like a whirlwind for Nathan. In a matter of days, he’d gone from being the awkward, socially-inept loner to one of the most talked-about guys at Westbrook High. His new look and newfound swagger made him the center of attention. The cheerleaders treated him like one of their own, and he soon found himself hanging out with them after school, practicing football moves with the jocks, and getting invited to parties where people actually wanted him around.

But the more Nathan embraced his new persona, the more he realized how much he was changing—not just physically, but mentally. He wasn’t the shy, introverted guy anymore. He was Max Hunter, the popular, athletic jock with a cocky attitude to match. His confidence quickly turned to arrogance, and before long, he was acting like the kind of guy he used to despise.

"Yo, check this out," Max said one afternoon, tossing a football up and down in front of his football buddies, Blake and Trevor. "This is how it’s done, alright?" He spun the ball effortlessly in his hands before tossing it across the field, landing it perfectly in Blake’s arms.

Blake threw him a high-five. "Damn, Max, you’ve been killing it lately. You're the new king around here."

Max grinned, his eyes flashing with arrogance. "Damn straight. It’s all about putting in the work and looking good while doing it. Don't know why I wasted all that time reading comics before."

Trevor chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, you’ve changed. But in a good way."

Max gave a half-smirk. "Of course I’ve changed. I’m Max now. I’m not some nerdy little nobody anymore." He ran a hand through his hair, letting the group admire his perfect waves. "And it’s about time the world noticed."

As the week went on, Max’s new life was in full swing. He’d been casually hooking up with pretty much every cheerleader in school. It started with Liana, of course. She was beautiful, confident, and everyone’s idea of the "perfect girl." Max had charmed her with his cocky smile and athletic physique, and within days, they were seeing each other.

But as Max quickly realized, he was no longer someone who got tied down. As soon as Liana wasn’t around, he started flirting with other girls—cheerleaders, mostly—and eventually found himself in a casual, yet thrilling, rotation of hookups. He’d dated and slept with Amanda, Jenna, and even a few girls from rival schools, all while keeping up the pretense of being in a committed relationship with Liana.

The funny thing? They didn’t care. It didn’t matter how many times Max cheated on them—he was Max Hunter, and somehow, that made everything excusable. Each cheerleader, knowing full well about the others, would still smile whenever he showed up to practice, each one thinking she was the one who had his true attention. And Max let them believe it. He was the star of the show, and they were just happy to be along for the ride.

After all, when you looked like he did—when you had the physique, the style, and the swagger—you didn’t need to commit. They all wanted a piece of him, and he was more than happy to oblige.

But as Max looked in the mirror again, something clicked. He wasn’t just Nathan anymore. The person staring back at him—confident, athletic, popular—wasn’t Nathan Parker at all.

He had a new name.

"Max," he whispered, testing the name on his tongue. It felt right. Max Hunter. Strong. Powerful. The kind of guy who everyone knew, and who everyone wanted to know. A jock. The kind of guy who got the girl, the attention, and the respect.

As Max adjusted his letterman jacket and ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, he realized something: this wasn’t just a new look. It was a new life.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the person he was always meant to be.

[zot3-flopped]

Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

[0omillo0]

Keep it secret | Jeongin x Reader

Even tho your relationship is secret, Jeongin asks you to come with him at the milano fashion week. You have to try your best to perfectly fake being a manager.

a/n: you can tell I LOVE fashion shows!

⋆ ˚｡♡𝜗𝜚˚

The chaos of fashion week was palpable from the moment you touched down in Milan. The air buzzed with anticipation, a hum of energy that clung to the cobbled streets, and the world’s finest designers and most iconic models seemed to glide over it effortlessly. You had to remind yourself to keep your cool, though it was easier said than done when you were walking into one of the biggest events of the year — the Bottega Veneta fashion show. Not as an ordinary attendee, though. No, this time, you were walking into it as the secret girlfriend of Yang Jeongin.

Jeongin, with his signature charm and confident smile, was as much a part of the event as the models, yet your heart still fluttered when you saw him, even after months of keeping your relationship under wraps. Every stolen glance, every subtle touch shared away from the limelight, had built an intimacy that you treasured, but hiding it was becoming increasingly difficult. Especially now.

You could still hear his soft voice from this morning in your head. He had smiled at you over the breakfast table, his eyes dancing with mischief, as he casually dropped the bomb.

“I want you to come with me,” he had said, his lips quirking into a smile.

“To Milan?” you had asked, nearly choking on your coffee.

“To the Bottega Veneta show at fashion week. I’ll get you in as a manager, and no one will suspect a thing.” His eyes twinkled with excitement, but you knew better. The man could have been a professional poker player with how well he masked his emotions in public, but you could tell by the way his fingers had tapped the table lightly that he was nervous.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you there — quite the opposite. He wanted nothing more than to walk arm in arm with you, to show the world that you were his. But, as one of the rising stars in the K-pop scene, there were pressures and expectations, fans and media that scrutinized every single move.

You had agreed, of course, but as you sat in the limousine that was slowly crawling toward the venue, the gravity of the situation weighed down on you. You could feel your heart thudding against your chest. Jeongin sat across from you, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, his hair styled to perfection, his features sharp and striking. It wasn’t fair how effortlessly he looked like he belonged at these events, while you, draped in an elegant dress that he’d handpicked for you, felt like an imposter.

“You look stunning,” he said softly, as though reading your mind.

You blushed, glancing out the window to avoid his gaze. “Don’t say that. You’ll make it harder for me to act like your manager.”

His chuckle was low, barely audible, but it warmed you nonetheless. He leaned in, his fingers brushing yours ever so slightly. The gesture was small, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You’ll do great,” he whispered. “Just… don’t let them catch us.”

---

The fashion show was a dazzling blur of lights, music, and beautifully crafted designs. The moment you stepped onto the plush carpet leading into the venue, cameras flashed in every direction, capturing every movement of the celebrities and fashion icons in attendance. You kept your distance from Jeongin, trailing behind as any good manager would, though your heart tugged with every step that separated you.

Every now and then, you felt his eyes on you — a fleeting glance here, a brief brush of hands there — all while pretending you were nothing more than a member of his team. He greeted the designers, smiled for the cameras, and even posed with a few celebrities, his face lighting up in that way only he could manage.

You tried to focus on your role, to blend into the background as you observed the crowd. But every time your fingers accidentally brushed against his, or your shoulders bumped as you navigated the tight spaces, a spark ignited. It was intoxicating, the way the most innocent of touches held so much weight. The world may not have known, but between the two of you, every glance, every whisper was charged with a secret.

At one point during the show, when the lights dimmed for a brief intermission, Jeongin leaned over. His voice was barely a murmur, his lips just inches from your ear. “You’re handling this better than I thought.”

You smiled, trying to suppress the warmth that spread across your cheeks. “You’re not making it easy.”

He chuckled softly. “I know. But I can’t help it.”

The fabric of his hand brushed against yours once again, but before either of you could react, a photographer’s flash went off close by, reminding you both of where you were. Jeongin quickly pulled back, his expression shifting into one of professionalism as if the moment had never happened.

But it had, and you felt the lingering effect long after.

---

The after-party was another test in patience. The music was loud, the champagne flowing freely as models and designers mingled with guests in an opulent ballroom that overlooked the city. Jeongin had kept his distance for most of the evening, busy making the rounds and schmoozing with industry insiders. Every now and then, he would send you a discreet smile or a playful wink, but it was never more than that.

You couldn’t wait for the night to be over. The tension between you two was almost unbearable, a tight string that threatened to snap at any moment. And when it finally did, it wasn’t in the way you expected.

As the party began to wind down and people started to trickle out, Jeongin found his way back to you. His hand grazed yours briefly before pulling back, a reminder that you still had to be careful. "Ready to leave?" he asked quietly, his eyes scanning the room.

"More than ready," you replied, your voice barely audible over the music.

Together, you slipped out of the venue, avoiding the main exit where paparazzi were camped out, waiting for a glimpse of any celebrity they could get. Instead, you followed Jeongin through a quieter side exit, where a limousine was waiting. The driver opened the door for you both, and as soon as it shut behind you, the pretense of professionalism dissolved.

The moment you were out of sight, Jeongin’s hand found yours again, but this time he didn’t pull away. His fingers intertwined with yours, and he let out a sigh, his body relaxing into the seat.

“That was torture,” he admitted, turning to face you.

You laughed, leaning your head against the back of the seat. “You’re telling me. I think I nearly forgot how to breathe back there.”

He smiled, his eyes softening as they roamed your face. “But you did amazing.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” you teased, though your voice was softer now, more intimate.

Jeongin shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, his hand now resting fully on your thigh. “I hated every second of pretending you weren’t mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and before you knew it, you were leaning in, closing the distance between you. The kiss was soft at first, slow, like the two of you were still testing the waters even though you had kissed a hundred times before. But it didn’t stay that way for long.

The tension that had built up throughout the night — the stolen glances, the brief touches, the whispered words — all came crashing down as your lips met his. The kiss deepened, your hands sliding up his chest and into his hair, pulling him closer. Jeongin groaned softly against your lips, his hands slipping to your waist as he tugged you into him.

The limousine felt smaller by the second as you struggled to get as close to him as possible, the weight of the evening melting away with every kiss, every touch. His hand slid up the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips never leaving yours.

“I missed this,” he murmured between kisses, his voice breathless. “Missed you.”

You smiled against his lips. “We were together all night.”

“Not like this,” he whispered, his thumb brushing against your jaw as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“No,” you agreed softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Not like this.”

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, just held each other close, basking in the warmth of the moment. The city lights outside flickered by, casting fleeting shadows across the inside of the limo, but in this space — in this quiet, stolen moment — it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

As the car rolled on through the streets of Milan, Jeongin’s arms wrapped tighter around you, pulling you close to his chest as he kissed your forehead. "One day," he murmured against your skin, his voice barely a whisper. "One day, we won’t have to hide anymore."

You smiled, closing your eyes and sinking into his embrace, content with the secret world you had carved out for yourselves, even if just for tonight.

"One day…" you whispered back.

[factcheckingmclennon]

pyramus & thisbe, the cats: fact or fiction?

starting this blog off on a positive note because when i deep dived & found out this was real i was floored because it does genuinely sound like fanfiction but...

"did paul mccartney really have cats named pyramus & thisbe after the lovers him and john played?"

and let's go to a read more for the source/deep dive!

so this is one that floats around a lot un-sourced. in fact, when doing this deep dive, i found quite a few fan forums INSISTING it was fake because they only ever see mclennon shippers saying it. but lo and behold........

in this interview from Animals' Agenda, 1999:

P: Oh, I’d love to tell you about the animals. I personally never had a pet growing up, because my mom and dad both worked. And even the day we saw free puppies going and my brother and I thought, “Definite, we’ll get one,” we couldn’t have one. So my first pet was when I was living alone as one of the Beatles and I got an Old English sheepdog called Martha, and I loved her dearly, she was beautiful, she was really good for me; we were good for each other. I remember John Lennon coming ’round and saying, “God, I’ve never seen you with an animal before.” I was being so affectionate it took him aback, he’d not seen that side of my character. Because you don’t do that with humans-not as obviously anyway. And then I had two cats called Pyramus and Thisbe, which showed my literate bent, and then I had three-they all had to be cool names, of course-that were called Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And then as a family, Linda and I, after Martha died, we then got another Old English sheepdog and we eventually had a litter by the one after her. We kept two of the puppies, so that meant we’ve got three now. I have four dogs at home, three English sheepdogs and Stella’s dog, the mutt. She’d hate me to say that!

(source)

now... did he gift john pyramus?

i can't find a source on that one that isn't a mclennon blog/forum. however there's just not enough to prove it one way or the other & it's not out of the realm of possibility that he would've given pyramus to john, especially since there don't seem to be any photos of paul & pyramus even though he mentions the cat as one that he owned. also, i do feel like i've seen some quote from john where he just casually mentions the cat by name floating around? but i can't find it, so if anyone wants to add it, go ahead! for now, that part of this is getting rated....

[justlemmeadoreyou]

Can I request for an blurb?? Never requested to anyone but I have this idea!!

So like H nd reader is in a relationship but H being famous nd all so because of that media nd his fans doesn't know he is in relationship nd to hide that thing he had to do PR relationship with someone else!! Nd he doesn't acknowledge that he had being ignoring reader nd spending more time with that pr girl!! So one day H came home nd reader was crying nd saying to H "do you love me?? Nd saying please don't leave me" nd H assure her she is it nd in few months he proposed the reader by saying how she is the only girl for him nd to never doubt his love for her!!

Ahh so sorry for such a lengthy request!! Nd it's okay if you don't wanna write!!:)

words: 4k (sorry!!!)

warnings: angst, lots of it. a fake pr, crying, some smut too. happy ending.

i changed this a bit, especially the ending. hope you don't hate this!

***

"I miss you," you whispered into the dark emptiness of your bedroom, clutching Harry's pillow tight. Another restless night alone while he was off being pictured with that pretty model for their fake relationship.

When would this torment end? Your heart ached constantly from the secrecy and lies shredding your real romance with Harry. All you wanted was to be open about your love...

It had started off so blissfully a year ago when you literally crashed into Harry outside of a coffee shop. You'd been rushing out the door, distracted and clumsy as always, when you rammed straight into a solid wall of human. Your face went bright red as you scrambled to pick up your scattered belongings.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I'm such a disaster, I seriously need to watch where I'm going..." you babbled, finally looking up into the kindest pair of green eyes you'd ever seen.

The man was watching you with an amused tilt to his soft lips. Something about his tousled chestnut hair and casual style felt vaguely familiar, though you couldn't quite place him. 

"No worries at all, it's my fault. Are you alright?" He asked in a deep, sumptuous voice that made you shiver.

As realization dawned, your mortified expression deepened. "Oh wow...you're...I just headbutted Harry Styles in the stomach."

He laughed easily, dimples flashing as he bent to help gather your dropped papers. "Very impressive ab attack there. Been taking self-defense classes?"

You flushed again at his playful teasing, finding yourself surprisingly flustered by this international superstar's carefree charm. Most celebrities seemed to carry an air of inflated ego, but Harry radiated a humble warmth.

"Do you, er, come to this cafe often?" He asked curiously as you both stood. "I don't think I've seen you around before."

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear shyly, you shook your head. "No, I don't. I was just stopping in for a coffee on my way to work."

"I see." His gem-green eyes slowly traced over your features, as if admiring a fine work of art. The intensity of his gaze sent a tendril of heated awareness washing through you.

Before you could think better of it, you blurted out the first thing on your mind. "Would you...maybe want to get coffee? With me, I mean? Right now?"

Harry's full lips curved in an amused smile. "I'd love that, actually."

You could scarcely believe this was reality as you led him back inside the cafe, trying not to visibly swoon at the casual brush of his fingertips against the small of your back. For the next hour you talked and laughed more freely than you had in ages, feeling utterly intoxicated by Harry's mere presence. Everything about him radiated authenticity and vulnerability, a creative wildness simmering beneath his polished exterior. You felt like you could be yourself with him instead of carefully cultivating persona upon persona as you did with most people.

By the time you forced yourself to reluctantly leave for work, exchanging numbers with Harry, you were positively giddy. Dancing through your day in a euphoric bubble, you hardly noticed the pitying looks from coworkers.

"You know he's just gonna ghost you, right?" Julie the receptionist said flatly when you told her about your morning coffee date. "Have you seen how many girls fall all over themselves trying to get Harry Styles' attention? You're out of your league, sweetie."

You frowned at her harsh dose of reality. As if you weren't well aware of your lack of impressiveness compared to supermodels and actresses in Harry's orbit. Still, you couldn't shake the magnetic connection you'd felt with him, the bone-deep certainty that he was someone truly special. 

Much to everyone's shock, Harry didn't ghost you. In fact, a simple text from him that evening asking how your day was led to a rapid-fire exchange of messages stretching long into the night. Over the next few weeks, your life revolved around hushed phone calls, secret rendezvous at out-of-the-way cafes and restaurants, and marathon conversations revealing every layer of one another.

Harry was purely intoxicating - a whirlwind of brooding intensity balanced with vivid spontaneity and an excellent sense of humor. He seemed utterly fascinated by every small detail you revealed about your life, respectful in a way that made him feel like a wonderful dream. And you fell harder and harder for Harry with each passing day. Something about his quiet attentiveness and insatiable curiosity about you made you feel cherished in a way you'd never experienced before. Gone were the shallow, vapid interactions you were accustomed to in the dating world. With Harry, you could truly be yourself - he somehow coaxed out your authentic self that you typically kept heavily guarded. 

At the same time, you were in absolute awe of the whirlwind of depth and experiences that defined Harry's life. His stories of touring the globe, writing deeply personal lyrics, collaborating with musical icons - they all painted a vivid portrait of an artistic soul soaring to brilliant creative heights. You drank in every glimpse into his inner world like a lifeline to another realm of existence.

Yet whenever you'd express feeling unworthy of his profound love and admiration, Harry was quick to sweetly rebuff you.

"Y/N, you dazzle me more than anything I've experienced in this mad career of mine," he insisted one evening over a cozy home-cooked meal you'd prepared. Catching your hand across the table, his green gaze pinned you in place. "Don't you see? Your warmth, your light, your way of finding detailed beauty in such seemingly ordinary moments - that's what enchants me. You make me want to shed all the superficial trappings of fame and just...be."

You felt yourself falling deeper and deeper, tumbling into an intimacy more profound than you'd ever imagined. If Harry hadn't told you himself that he'd only had a few relatively tame celebrity girlfriends in the past, you'd never have believed his immense experience from the way he worshiped you.

"So responsive, so gorgeous," he rasped against your swollen lips, calloused fingers stroking delirious patterns over your sensitized skin. "God, I could spend eternity between your legs”

Those stolen passionate encounters, tangled up and gasping one another's names with wild abandon, only added to your lovestruck infatuation. You felt deeply seen and cherished on a soul level, like you were both puzzle pieces finally slotting seamlessly together.

In the dreamy, lust-addled haze of new love, you almost didn't notice the growing tension in Harry's manner as typical relationship pressures began encroaching. Paparazzi grew increasingly aggressive in tracking his day-to-day movements whenever out in public. Well-meaning friends expressed concerns about the obvious strain he was under from lack of a romantic life in the public eye. And perhaps most troubling, his management team forcefully "suggested" it was time for him to embark on a high-profile PR romance to capitalize on album promotion and touring.

Harry had looked utterly fed up that evening when he broke the news, pacing in your living room.

You watched him apprehensively. "They want you to do...what? You mean...go along with a staged relationship? Like have a beard or something?"

"No! Absolutely not, I won't do it. I won't treat you like some secret, and I refuse to fake anything in my private life for publicity."

"Harry..." you tried to soothe him, rising to your feet and rubbing his tense shoulders. "I understand the pressures you're under-"

"No, you don't!" He rounded on you with surprising intensity. "You don't get it, Y/N. You are the best, most precious thing in my world - my safe harbor from all the bullshit fake expectations. I won't sully what we have with PR lies. I just...won't."

His words were at once incredibly romantic and terribly naive. As much as you longed to stay cocooned in the warm, intimate bubble of your relationship, you knew the real world would inevitably intrude. Harry was a public figure on a massive scale, his romantic life constantly scrutinized. For the sake of his livelihood, he might not have any choice but to bend to the publicity machine's demands.

***

Those first seeds of conflict only blossomed further over the following weeks as the PR relationship issue remained unresolved. You did your best to stay supportive and understanding, but it was a challenge keeping your own hurt and insecurities at bay.

"I just don't see what the big deal is," Harry groused one evening over a tense dinner. "So what if they want me to go out a few times with some model or actress, let the paps get pictures? It doesn't mean anything to me."

You poked at your food sullenly. "It's not that simple though, is it? Couldn't something like that, even if fake, seriously complicate things for us?"

He reached across to squeeze your hand. "Baby, you know you're the only person who matters to me. A little PR sham doesn't change how utterly mad I am about you."

But it did change things, whether Harry wanted to admit it or not. The striking difference in how he treated you, his real partner behind closed doors, compared to how he'd have to pretend with someone else for public consumption - it stung deep.

One night shortly after, you were cuddled up watching a movie when Harry's phone started incessantly buzzing. Pulling it out with a furrow in his brow, he quickly scanned a series of messages and emailed photos. An unmistakable look of chagrin crossed his face.

"What is it?" You asked, unable to ignore the sinking feeling in your gut.

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. "Looks like the publicity team is really pushing ahead. They've, uh, they've arranged for me to be caught having dinner with Kendall Jenner tomorrow night."

Your heart plummeted as an uneasy feeling settled over you. This was really happening - right before your eyes, your private intimacy was being infiltrated with PR lies.

"So you're...going to be going out with her? In public, on a fake date, while the whole world watches?" You tried and failed to keep the hurt out of your voice.

"Not a date!" Harry was quick to insist, shifting closer to pull you into his arms. "Y/N, you have to understand this doesn't mean anything. It's all just smoke and mirrors, love. You're my world, I promise."

You wanted so desperately to believe him. But the lingering ache still took root somewhere deep inside as you watched the paparazzi frenzy ignite over Harry's "outing" with Kendall. Photos of the two models laughing intimately over drinks and dinner plastered every gossip rag and website for weeks. 

It soon became a narrative that followed Harry everywhere - probing reporters shouting questions about whether he and Kendall were officially an item now. Rabid fans prying him online, trying to get every new shred of detail on the new, perfect couple.

"Hey, come here," Harry murmured soothingly whenever he saw the sadness and uncertainty cloud your eyes. He'd pull you into his chest, peppering kisses over your face. "I'm yours, baby, only yours. None of that bloody circus matters to me, I hope you know that."

You wanted to have his quiet confidence, truly. The way Harry could compartmentalize the fake PR relationship and his very real feelings for you with such clear separation. But it didn't stop the anxiety slowly gnawing away at your trust and security.

Increasingly, special romantic gestures from Harry felt like overcompensation for all the public affection he was faking with Kendall. When he'd surprise you with extravagant getaways to exotic locales, you couldn't fully relax into the pampering without wondering how much of it was just hiding guilt. And his constant reaffirmations of his love and devotion started ringing hollow amidst the growing circus his life was becoming.

The worst of it came at one of his first concerts after the publicity whirlwind began. You'd been so looking forward to experiencing the screaming crowds in a whole new light as Harry's actual partner, not just a casual fan. But the huge video screens kept flashing candid photos and fake couple shots of Harry holding hands and hugging Kendall, selling their phony romance to the fans.

You couldn't hold back the tears slipping down your cheeks as Harry serenaded the arena full of thousands, having no choice but to play along with the charade on the world stage. He caught your eye for just a second during the encore, and his smile instantly morphed into a look of sheer sorrow and guilt, looking at your tear-ridden face. He knew you, even if he stood so much away from you.  But there was nothing he could do then except push forward with the manufactured story.

That night after the concert, an emotional Harry fell into your arms the moment you were alone in his dressing room. He clung to you desperately, peppering apologies across your tear-stained and defeated face.

"God, Y/N, I'm so sorry," he rasped, emerald eyes awash with remorse and frustration. "Seeing you hurting like that because of this bloody sham...it killed me. You have to know how madly in love I am with only you."

You nodded, finding it hard to speak past the lump in your throat. Of course you knew, deep down, that Harry loved you wholly. His attentiveness, the intense spark of intimacy and passion between you, the emotional connection - it was all achingly real. This PR relationship was merely a toxic byproduct of his celebrity, something massively unfortunate but not defining your actual bond.

And yet...Harry couldn't deny the growing chaos enveloping his personal life. The fake romance was now Priority One to his team, staged and milked for every ounce of publicity. Constant video calls and strategy sessions mapped out each calculated move - where Harry and Kendall would stage a coffee run for the paps, when they should be papped holding hands emerging from a nightclub, how often they should update their couple-y Instagram shots together.

Harry grew increasingly sullen and withdrawn the more deeply engrossed he became in maintaining the facade. And you couldn't ignore the mounting jealousy and hurt rapidly corroding, chipping away your self-esteem and faith in the relationship.

***

"Maybe...maybe we should take a break," you finally broached one afternoon after an especially grueling set of publicity demands. Harry's head whipped up from where he was moodily going over plans for an upcoming awards show appearance.

"What? Why would you say that?" There was an edge of panic in his tone. He looked shocked, but you knew it was a long time coming.

You shrugged. "Harry, can you honestly tell me you don't resent me at all for the toll this whole – charade has taken? That some part of you doesn't wish you could just live your life freely without me holding you back from giving publicity stunts like this your full effort?"

He immediately rushed to gather you into his arms. "No! Never, Y/N. You're my world, my everything. Without you, all this would mean nothing!”

Burying your face into the strength of his shoulder, you wished you could cling to his words and find comfort there once more. But the turmoil swirling around you was rapidly becoming too overpowering.

"I'm just...I'm so tired of feeling like an afterthought, Harry. Of being the dirty little secret you have to hide away while flaunting someone else to the world. I can't keep living like this, sinking into doubt and jealousy constantly."

Harry's arms tightened around you convulsively. "Don't say that, my love. You could never be an afterthought to me. I need you here, by my side, to keep me grounded and remind me of what's truly real."

Though his words warmed your heart, you found yourself pulling back to gaze at him searchingly. "Then prove it. Enough with the grand romantic gestures, the desperate promises. I need you to actually fight for me, for us, instead of just going along with everything. Either that, or–” the lump in your throat deepend, “ –you can let me go”

Harry was taken aback by your words. But still, there was a part of him that didn;t fully understand what you were going through.  "You know it's not that simple, Y/N. One wrong move that tanks this publicity team's plans and my entire career could crater."

"So what?" you challenged, tilting your chin defiantly. Harry wasn't the only one being forced to make impossible choices. "Is the career really more important than your actual life, your happiness in a real relationship? Because I love you with everything, but I can't keep sacrificing my sense of self-worth and spinning out into reckless jealousy every waking moment just so you can have the best of both worlds."

"I...you have to understand, none of this publicity shite actually matters to me. Not really. It's all a smokescreen that will fade away eventually. But you, us - this love is my truth, my be all and end all. Don't give up on me, baby. I'll fix this, I swear it."

You wanted so badly to believe the desperation in Harry's voice. But the ache of sadness and insecurity had burrowed too deeply. What once would have swept you up in romantic adulation now just hollowed you out further.

"I really hope you can, Harry," you rasped, pulling away with immense reluctance. "Because I can't keep holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop much longer. This half-life just isn't enough anymore.I can't, Harry.I can't keep living like this."

Harry looked hurt now. He knew it was only a while before it all came shattering down, but the thought of Y/N walking away felt like a shard of glass lodged in his heart. 

"From this moment on, things change," he rasped. "No more bowing to bloody publicists and image managers. My truth, our bond, comes before anything else. You're about to become my permanent bloody shadow, love."

A smile curved your lips at his words. Reaching up to trace the sharp edge of his chiseled jaw, you felt a wave of relief and renewed hope. "Well, I do make a devilishly charming shadow, if I say so myself."

Harry's gaze drank you in like a man rewarded with an infinite oasis after years of directionless wandering. "That you do, baby. No more hiding that radiant light of yours, yeah? "

He sealed the vow with a kiss that seared straight through to your bones. You clung to him, every brush of his hands and velvet tongue rekindling the deepest intimacy between you two. 

When you finally pulled apart, chasing oxygen, Harry made an immediate move to sweep you up into his arms like a blushing bride. "Come on, love. Let's go remind the world of who they're dealing with, shall we?"

You looped your arms around his neck with a giddy laugh as he strode through the penthouse with you cradled protectively to his chest. Despite his determination, his hold was soft, cherishing. Like you were something infinitely precious to be handled with utmost care, or you would break.

Without explanation, Harry marched you both out and down to where a sleek black car was out front, the doorman quickly ushering you inside the backseat. Once the privacy partition rolled up, Harry immediately turned to you.

"I mean it, every word," he stated plainly. "No more deceptions or hiding our connection. From here it's full transparency and only the truth."

you felt overcome by tenderness and awe. "So...does that mean an end to the fake relationship with Kendall then?"

"Among other things," Harry confirmed without hesitation. To your surprise, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone and thumbed it open to the camera app, situating you both in the frame. "We're going to document and share every moment of us, the real us. Let my supporters and fans see who truly holds my heart before all others."

You blinked in astonishment as he looped an arm around your waist, pulling your bodies flush as the camera captured. Was this really happening? After all your heartbreak and insecurity brought on by that disastrous PR relationship, was Harry truly throwing it all to the wind?

That was clearly his intention as he leaned in to nuzzle your cheek dotingly, snapping pic after sweet pic of shameless embraces and intimate caresses being exchanged between you. Each time the shutter clicked he murmured loving adorations, his focus immovable.

"Gorgeous girl...my forever woman...heart and soul of my entire world..."

You blinked back tears. When was the last time you'd felt this elevated by Harry's worshiping? Your shaky exhales intermingled hotly as he maneuvered you fully into his lap, slanting his mouth hungrily across yours.

"My everything," he growled against your lips before kissing you breathless.

"Harry..." you finally managed to gasp out as you pulled apart, "what are you doing? If you post those shots, then-"

"Then the whole world will know I'm mad for you, and only you," he said, with nothing but seriousness and devotion in his voice,  "No more closeting my actual partner away like a mistress to be hidden from disapproving eyes. You're the only romantic relationship fully grounded in truth that the world needs to be focused on."

You shivered at the assurance in his tone. This was really it - the definitive line in the sand. And with Harry looking at you the way he was, you couldn't find it in yourself to argue or question further. You simply melted into his heat, losing yourself in the incredible feeling of being staked as his claim.

With a few taps, Harry posted the first of intimate photos and captions that set the internet instantly ablaze. Breathy confessions of forever love intermingled with searing makeout shots - it was a rush of letting go of months of pent-up passion and adoration for the world to finally bear witness.

All the while, Harry refused to tear his stare from worshiping every inch of your body. His broad palms trailing over the exposed curves of your hips, waist, the swell of your breasts - anchoring you fully into the present.

Your social media was immediately swamped by a plethora of comments, tags and speculation over the tsunami wave of intimate reveals. Harry's fanbase seemed to have divided between celebration and outrage over their beloved idol being so thoroughly claimed by an average nobody. 

More jarring, however, was the media/PR teams' explosive reactions. Both your phones blew up with frantic calls and enraged messages demanding explanations and emergency meetings. As expected, the team working to orchestrate Harry's fake relationship with Kendall were melting down over the sheer negligence of you both, and damage control now being initiated.

For a long while, you both simply ignored it, too immersed in devouring the rebirth of your connection to spare any attention elsewhere. You reveled in being subjected to Harry's fervent, undivided worshipping as his fingertips and lips swept across every velvet hollow and slope. His sensual assault was purposefully overwhelming, etching his permanent claim over your quivering form.

"They'll keep the noise up for a while, try spreading all sorts of misinformation and manipulation to regain control of the narrative," Harry finally mumbled without breaking the rhythm of stripping you bare and lavishing undivided attention over each exposed new expanse of satin flesh.

You shivered beneath him, and he tilted your chin up with a knuckle to capture your gaze, "But none of that shite matters now, okay? All that matters is that I’m all yours now. Only yours.:

And you were never letting him go.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this!

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli

@tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely

@whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge @harryhitties

@mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld   @chesthairrry

@becauseheartsgetbroken-hs   @hisparentsgallerryy @storyschanging   @selluequestrian   @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

[humanitys-strongest-brat]

Kintsugi - ch.4

Pairing: Coach!Levi x Injured fem!Reader

CW: themes of injury, depression, and hopelessness. 18+ minors and ageless blogs dni.

wc: 3.5k

a/n: You all know the drill, thank you @tobbi-loves-levi for going over this chapter with me and helping me make it everything I wanted 💗

previous / masterlist / dividers

An inviting herbal scent fills the air in Levi’s office, complemented nicely with a warm room temperature. While outside it’s quite hot around this time of June, the center is pretty consistently freezing; especially the ice rink. The printer whirls behind Levi’s office chair while he leans back with his arms stretched out to catch the papers as they slide out. He gathers them together, tapping them once on the desk before flipping open your file and placing them at the back. The start of your fifth week means you’re more than halfway through your estimated treatment plan with Levi. 

Levi spins the folder around so it’s facing you and scoots his chair in to lean over it, using his pen to point out specific milestones you have reached. “I think we should change our Wednesdays to off ice days for the remainder of our sessions.” He mentions as he flips through the pages. “Keep Mondays and Fridays as our rink days. Sound alright?” You nod in agreement, following Levi's pen as he goes through a loose schedule of goals he wants to reach over the next couple of weeks. 

“Sign here, then we can head down.” He double taps the signature line. “Oh, and you might want to think about reaching out to Tarasov again if you’re serious about getting involved once skating season begins.” 

You hadn’t considered how fast the time has gone by. Skating season starts in July and your sessions with Levi are on route to wrap up in just a few weeks. You should be happy, everything you worked for is starting to pay off and soon enough you’ll be working on getting back into competitions. Bit by bit all of your goals are being met, so why does your heart ache for more time? 

“You coming, or did you want to spend today’s session staring at my desk?” Levi asks. You’re not sure how long you went without responding to him. 

Your mind is elsewhere for the beginning of today’s session while you did your warm up basics, up until you had no choice but to put all of your mental energy into your target goal for today. Levi has you do Waltz jumps until you could do them with your eyes closed. By the time you move onto spins for the rest of your time, you think if you had to do another waltz you’d pull the hair out of your head. That’s the thing about Levi, he understands when something’s too much to handle but once he’s sure you can do it he’s not so easy on you. Funnily enough it’s one of your favorite things about him, and one of the leading reasons you can say you're making progress. He won't let you give up. 

***

On Wednesday you show up early again to watch Levi skate. Even though you know you won't be on the ice today, it’s still nice to be around it. Your fear of being turned away fades when he sees you standing at the boards and continues on with his routine anyways. Erwin shows up shortly after you and stands to your left. You can't help but be curious about him. He and Levi seem close, in fact you’ve never really seen Levi talk to anyone casually outside of erwin. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to start talking, neither of you taking your eyes off Levi. You learn that Erwin is a personal trainer based in the basketball wing of Sina, though he takes clients of any sport. He met Levi seven years ago when he first started working here because surprisingly enough, he’s a huge fan of ice sports. Soon you come to find that Erwin and Levi are a lot closer than you originally assumed. They even hangout outside of work too, though as Erwin put it, “it took some convincing.” With how reluctant Levi is to open up, you believe that. 

Levi finishes off with three consecutive jumps before gliding off towards the rink’s exit to get out of his skates.

“He adds one member to the audience and suddenly pulls out the big moves. Show off.” Erwin huffs out a laugh and thanks you for the pleasant conversation before turning and heading off.

Off-ice starts off as it usually would, stretches, ankle exercises, balance board, and spinners. Somewhere down the line you and Levi were practicing throws again. You don't know how it happened but you don’t care. It’s productive because it still helps you build back the skill of landing on your ankle and get used to the feeling of air time again. You slowly work on adding more rotations before landing and eventually Levi feels more comfortable throwing you higher. 

You dont think you’ll ever get tired of the feeling of Levi’s hands on you. It feels safe, he makes you feel light. No matter what, you're confident Levi would never put you at risk for another injury. There's no wiggle room in competitive figure skating. Everything has its order, but it doesn't feel that way with him. In a way you almost feel like he sets you free from that mindset. Even if it’s only for a small chunk of time each session. The following week, it’s now just an unspoken part of your routine.

***

You quickly learn that time is not a generous thing, the whole next week of sessions goes by much faster than you expected. You blame this on the fact that the more you worked with Levi the better you were getting. Once you started to get a handle on skating again after so much time off the ice it started to become more fun rather than something you needed to do to heal.

Every day that week, you showed up to watch Levi skate before your sessions. When you weren’t completely mesmerized by him, you took the opportunity to watch his form in real time rather than how he would present it to you during therapy. You think that helped you get things down as quickly as you are. 

This week marks the beginning of your last two weeks with Levi, and it’s all that you think about. That’s only six more sessions, two of which aren’t even on the ice. It’s not that you didn't think you were ready, no, you know you are. Levi has talked enough sense into you the last couple weeks to have you sure of that, paired with your progress he showed you in your file. It’s clear that you are recovering and building your skill back to how it was before your accident. It was scary to think about doing this without Levi, you still haven’t taken his advice on reaching out to your old coach. The second you do that it will just feel that much more real. You know how irresponsible it is to put off too, which only made it worse. 

Monday you show up to watch Levi skate as usual, quickly noticing that Erwin isn’t here. When he sees you he skates over to the board to greet you, which he usually doesn’t do. When he meets you at the boards he’s quiet for a moment, you can’t quite read the subtle expression on his face. 

“Do you want to come out here with me?” He asks, his question throwing you off a little.

“What, like early?” You ask. 

“No,” he pauses, brows furrowed lightly. Is he nervous? “To skate.” 

“You want me to skate with you?” 

“That’s what I said. Hurry up before I change my mind.” He says, pushing off the boards and skating off. That’s all you needed to hear. You pick up your bag and rush over to the bench to put your skates on, triple checking the laces before going out onto the ice with him. 

Levi meets up with you in the middle of the rink where you stand. “What should I do?” you ask, feeling lost without your usual directions. 

“Whatever you want.” Levi says “Don’t you ever skate for fun?”

You think about it, and you can honestly say that you don't. You haven’t since your accident and even before you can’t think of the last time you went ice skating for anything other than to maintain or improve your skill. “No.” You shake your head lightly. 

“Ah,” Levi hums “explains why you’re so damn hard on yourself. You know you should kind of enjoy this right?” His words sink deep, he’s right. You watch him as he zips off, all you can think to do is bits of your program from Nationals. You take out more of the extreme moves knowing Levi wouldn’t want you doing anything you haven’t worked much on during your sessions together. 

It’s slow, it’s choppy, but you landed everything you attempted. You stayed balanced on your ankle every time you tried, but it’s so hard to be reminded that it’s not the same. Thoughts creep in swiftly. How could you ever compete again? Especially when even after all the improvement you couldn’t even stitch together a smooth program. 

“It’s almost like you don’t need me anymore.” Levi comments as he meets back up with you. You wouldn’t say it outloud to him, but it only made you feel worse. It seems like Levi knows you more than you give him credit for. He doesn’t expand on that thought, but instead he asks if you want to try one with him. 

You agree, it would make it fun just like the throws you practice. Levi gives you a sequence that’s easy to follow and of course only includes two of the simpler jumps the two of you have worked on together as of recently. Essentially this is a pairs program, which is entirely new to you. 

Levi counts the two of you down to start off together, pushing off in sync you go through the motions with him. He starts off with his hand hovering over your lower back behind you, making sure you stay in line with him. Only when he’s sure you can stay in your path does he pull his hand back, allowing the two of you to go off into your first harmonized spin and jump combo.

After going through the routine two more times it’s almost flawless, even you could tell. You lean over with your hands on your knees “Do you want to try that throw?” You asked through labored breaths, though you were half joking. Levi won’t even entertain it. 

“Absolutely not. You need a break anyways.” You catch your breath by the boards with Levi standing across from you, seemingly unphased by the repeated routine the two of you just did. 

“Have you ever had Erwin come out here with you?” 

“Tried. He says he doesn’t want to become one of my clients.” 

You laugh before taking a drink from your water bottle and setting it back down on the ledge. You find yourself thinking over your routine with Levi again, and his words from earlier. You should be having fun skating and it was clear Levi did so you wonder.

“Do you ever miss competing?” You ask him, nervous that he may not appreciate the question.

“Every day.” His answer was not hesitant this time.

“You should get back into it.” You say softly.

“I can’t.” He replies and you can see by the look on his face it’s hard for him to talk about this. He’s being short, but not unwilling. 

“Are you kidding? Levi, you’re incredible out there.” Your expression softens as you try to be hopeful, maybe he just needs to hear it from someone. 

“That’s not my life anymore.” Out of all the weeks you’ve known him, you’ve never heard him sound so sad. Levi anxiously pulls at the hem of his sleeve before pulling it up and checking his watch “It’s time to start our session.” 

You ease off it, watching as he moves to skate towards the center of the rink. For the first time you don’t look forward to your session, the more you complete the more it dawns on you; your time with Levi is almost up.

That’s when it hits you

An idea.

***

Nervous is an understatement. Honestly, you felt like you were driving yourself crazy. When you came up with this idea, you thought it through a million times. It’s the scariest thing because if it doesn’t work out you’re screwed. You couldn’t keep it to yourself, you needed advice, and who better to ask than your best friend. 

Mikasa shows up around seven, prepared for your agreed upon sleepover plans made on Monday night with a set of comfy clothes and carry out from your favorite restaurant for dinner. When she let you know Friday night works for her you were thankful the weeks were going by so fast. You let her in and head straight to the couch, where you enjoy the meal while you start the first episode of a new series. 

“Well,” Mikasa hums when the two of you mutually decide to take a break from the show. “you’ve been awfully quiet about how it’s going in therapy.” 

You smile over at her, turning your body to face her. “Honestly? It was tough at first, I’m not going to lie. It’s a lot better now.” 

“So Levi didn’t scare you off then?” She jokes. “He won’t tell me anything, says you’re a client like any other so,” she trails off. 

“The opposite actually. He's,” You pause for a moment, breaking your eye contact with Mikasa. “He’s amazing. There’s no way I could have made any of the progress I have without him.” You tell her everything. Your progress in physical therapy, the clever ways Levi challenged your anxiety, even the throws and skating together before your sessions; another thing that became an unspoken addition to your routines with Levi. 

“He even opened up a little bit here and there about some of the things he struggled with after his injury.” You mention, and Mikasa’s eyes shoot open. Genuine shock taking over her expression. 

“Really?” She breathes.

“Just a little.” You say, shrugging. “I don’t know much, just that it seemed hard. I can’t even imagine.” 

Mikasa takes a minute to think about how to respond. “We didn’t see him for over a year. He skipped birthdays, holidays. His mom was sick over it for so long.” Mikasa gets quiet again. “He wasn’t the same for a long time, to this day he won’t speak about it.” It was difficult to hear, but made you wonder why Levi was so different around you. Why would he be more willing to answer your questions over his own family? You were scared more than ever now to bring up the idea you’ve been holding in the whole night.

“It sounds like he really likes you.” Mikasa says. “Seems like he found a friend in you.” It sounds silly, even coming from Mikasa. At the end of the day you aren’t oblivious to the fact that you’re a client of Levi’s, not a friend. As much as you wanted to push back you had more pressing matters on your mind. 

“Can I ask you something?” You brace yourself for the words that are about to come out of your mouth. 

“Sure,” Mikasa says softly.

“It might sound crazy,” You begin nervously. “I was thinking about asking him to be my coach after therapy is finished. It’s a shot in the dark, but I know I can do it with him.” You can’t help but feel like along with advice, you’re also asking for her blessing.

“I think that’s a great idea.” A warm smile spreads across Mikasa’s face, her eyes lighting up.

***

A long sigh escaped your lips as you plop down on the bench, your whole body surging with ache. Levi had chosen the last week of sessions to work on the more advanced jumps and spins. It was more so to make sure he could send you off to your coach confident that you knew what you were doing, and that you would be able to build your skill back up while training for competitions. 

Levi approaches you after he takes his own skates off, bumping your skate with his shoe to get your attention “What’s going on with you.” His tone laced with concern. 

“Huh?” You pick your head up, your confusion painted clearly across your face. 

“Something’s on your mind. This isn’t the week to lose focus.” He says plainly. 

You shake your head, turning your gaze back down and directing your attention back on getting your skates off so there was no chance for him to read your facial expression. Proving him right. “Everything’s fine Levi,” You try to assure him. The truth is, you were trying to wait until the last day to ask him. That way if it went badly you’d never have to face him again. Part of you didn’t even know why you were so worried about it. You set your skate on your lap, dragging a cloth across the blade to dry it before putting it away.

“The past four sessions you’ve been somewhere else. Today you barely even spoke.” His words cut through your chest, you forget how observant he is sometimes. “This is the most important part, I can’t release you unprepared.” 

“I didn’t fall once today.” You point out, in fact your session today felt a lot like your regular training. Just practicing to maintain. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Levi says. “Don’t tell me you’re second guessing about getting back into competitive skating.” 

You zip your bag up after dropping your other skate inside, whipping your attention back up at Levi. “No! Of course not.” You assure. Just looking at him hurts a little, you start to doubt your plan. It would uplift his whole career to take you under his wing, it almost felt selfish. You should be able to do this with Tarasov. Hell, she got you to Worlds the first time. You know reaching out to her this late would earn you being scolded for waiting until the last second. 

Levi’s knit eyebrows relax and he drops his shoulders, visibly relieved. He stands there for a moment before letting out a sigh and giving up. “Fine, come back on Wednesday more sharp.” He turns around and heads off towards the door, picking up his own skate bag as he walks past it. Panic rises to the surface, you wish you could yell out to him, tell him you don’t want to have to do this with anyone other than him. In an instant you decide that you can do just that. You stand up and grab your bag, haphazardly stuffing your feet into your shoes before taking off after him. Your bag swishes behind you every time your shoes hit the ground 

“Levi!” You don’t mean to shout so close behind him. He flinches when you grab his shoulder to stop him, causing him to turn and face you. “I lied, sorry.” you start. 

“Alright. So what is it?” Levi says, one eyebrow raised as he tenses up slightly under your light grasp. 

“Hear me out, okay?” You bite your lip, waiting for his confirmation and continuing when he tilts his head slightly. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot- the whole week actually. I think I’ve made so much progress with you, and I know this is our last week,” You aren’t holding back, and no matter how much your body screams to do so you don’t look away from him. “And I don’t need an answer right away, it’s sort of a big deal so-“ 

“Spit it out.” He cuts you off, his puzzled look now replaced with one of nervousness, eyes wide as he looks directly into your eyes. 

“Levi, please will you be my coach?” You say it, finally able to catch your breath from the combination of sprinting after Levi and rambling with no breaths in between. “Like my real coach, after we finish therapy.” 

Levi stares at you, his jaw slack. He almost looked.. appalled? You wish you knew exactly what’s going through his mind. 

“I know it’s a huge request, like I said. Think about it.” You try. “I think we could take gold, really-“ 

“No.” Levi turns his head, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. Like he is physically unable to look at you. Time stands still, this is by far the worst case scenario that you feared. 

“Wait..” You say in a hushed tone. 

“The answer’s no.” He confirms, lips parted slightly like he wants to say more but nothing comes out. He takes a step back. “Just..I’ll see you Wednesday.” With that he turns completely and walks out, leaving you behind.

Taglist: @amywritesthings @littlerequiem @humanitys-strongest-bamf @hideandgopeep 

@thechaoticarchivist @sixpennydame @saccharine-nectarine @martins-rx 

@levisbrat25 

[linkemon]

Joker [Ren Amamiya/Akira Kurusu](selfship)

Selfship made for for Raven4004. I assumed Ren Amamiya like in the anime but in the game there is no canonical name and surname.

You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested. Other selfships can be found here.

+ You met Ren at Leblanc when he was learning how to make coffee. You were his first customer, the one he served while Sojiro was away. The drink wasn't great but you figured the sight of Amamiya made up for the inconvenience.

+ Then you came back a few more times and exchanged casual information on trivial topics like the weather. In time, you started talking about school, where you learned some uninteresting information about Shujin Academy. The fact that he had a criminal record surprised you a lot. You found out about it from his guardian by accident but you didn't pursue the subject. However, it gave you the courage to tell him about your problem.

+ When you found a part-time job at a ramen shop, you felt like you had won the lottery. The stakes were high and the tips were big. Over time, however, it turned out to be just a front for another, less moral business. You wanted to leave but your employer made it difficult for you, and soon his true nature was revealed. He threatened to send out suggestive-looking photos taken secretly when a customer sat you on his lap.

+ Ren was surprised that you trusted him so much. Usually, he had to find out about such things from people himself or it happened by accident. He tried his best to comfort you. He brewed some lemon balm, ran for some tissues and sat Morgana on your lap. When you started crying in earnest, he rubbed your back soothingly, assuring you that everything would be okay.

+ At first, you thought these were nice but empty words. That's why you were so surprised when they became reality some time later. Especially since you accidentally fell into the Metaverse. The amount of new, fascinating information was extraordinary to you. It also allowed you to get to know Amamiya a little better from a completely different side. You awakened your persona by trying to save him, even though he didn't need it at all. In the process, you managed to change your boss's heart together.

+ After all that action, you made a lot of new friends. The Phantom Thieves group had a new member and it became common to spend time together. That's why you started to miss being alone with Ren. It slipped out when you were walking through Mementos one day. Joker smiled and asked if you wanted to go to the movies. You agreed and went to get a few drinks.

+ The previous sentence describes your relationship quite well. Sometimes you don't have time for everything, so you have to juggle different responsibilities. Whether it's investigating changes of heart or making coffee together in Leblanc. There aren't many moments left for typical dates, so these are especially important to you.

+ Joker is much more of a flirt when he shows his persona. You don't hold him back. He often kisses your hand or unexpectedly grabs you by the waist to sneak over the enemy. In the ordinary world, you are much more subdued. People see you as a quiet, in-love couple of busy teenagers.

+ Sojiro and Morgana are your biggest fans. Ren's guardian keeps inviting you to the coffee shop, saying you're a good influence on his ward. He also gives great advice when you're arguing (and makes much better coffee than your boyfriend but you'd rather not bring that up...).

+ You are not overly protective of each other. You usually know that the other is strong enough to cope. That doesn't mean that you leave each other in need but you usually just don't need it.

+ You eat curry. Lots of curry. All the time. You bought Ren a big pot as a present so he could make even better versions of the dish. He bought you a gun. For the Phantom Thieves' purposes, of course but you were very happy. Much more than you were over the bracelet for your last birthday.

+ If you ask him hard enough, he lets you wear his black coat but only for a moment. He doesn't mind when you take off his glasses to try them on and give him a kiss on the nose in return.

+ You're interesting. You share secrets that the world doesn't know, although you feel like your boyfriend still has a few more secrets. You hope to learn them all in time.

[itadores]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

synopsis: you like buying little gifts for your boyfriend. it only makes sense for you to buy him a photo-card of his favorite idol when you come across it in a JPOP store.

note: my silly guy <3 haven’t written in ages so i’m a bit rusty

pairing: tōdō aoi x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k

tags: gender neutral reader, fluff, established relationship, petnames (tōdō calls reader babe, reader calls him baby), reader’s love language is gift giving, tōdō is bit of an overdramatic crybaby (affectionate)

You happen across the store as you’re walking through the shopping center that you typically frequent. It’s a new shop if the banner with the words “Grand Opening!” printed in bold block letters was anything to go by. However, the banner is not what originally caught your eye as you were passing through. It’s the name of the place itself that did: JPOPTOWN. Admittedly, you’re not an avid fan of JPOP, moreso a casual enjoyer, but your partner on the other hand…is a very big fan. Very. Honestly, Tōdō is the main reason why you know what you do about JPOP.

You make the quick decision to enter the store, simply out of curiosity for what it may hold within its walls. Maybe, you can find something to buy for your boyfriend. As soon as the door slides open, a catchy tune croons out from the speakers scattered throughout the store. You recognize it as one of the top trending JPOP songs at the moment, having heard it numerous times over the radio or in other shops. Your eyes rove over the walls and shelves of the store, unsure of where to start your journey now that you’re inside. There’s simply so much merchandise of various JPOP artists lining every space of the store that you’re a bit overwhelmed at first.

However, once your gaze lands on an idol more than familiar to you, you immediately gravitate towards the section, your feet leading you to the area solely dedicated to your boyfriend’s favorite idol: Takada-chan. You idly peruse the numerous shelves full of her merchandise, looking over what sort of items they carry. A lot of what the store offers are items that your boyfriend already owns, which makes you deflate a bit.

You were excited to see what this store held within once you had gotten a glimpse of its name in hopes that you could buy a little something to surprise your boyfriend with. Not for any sort of special occasion, but you enjoy surprising Tōdō with little things when you could. His reaction whenever you present him with some trinket or snack is one of your favorite things in the world, especially since he’s always so animated. You would think he’s playing it up to boost your ego with how overdramatic he can be, but you know that your boyfriend is simply like that.

You feel nearly defeated, ready to leave the store empty handed until you see something in your peripheral vision that makes you instantly perk up. There’s a plain binder propped open in the midst of a sea of Takada-chan merch, displaying an array of photo-cards of her.

Tōdō already has quite a few of her photo-cards, even carrying one in his wallet alongside a picture of you, but his collection of her photo-cards is small in comparison to the rest of her other merchandise that he's amassed throughout the years. You only hope that you can find a photo-card that he doesn't already have and doesn't break the bank for you.

You carefully flip through the plastic sleeves containing the photo-cards. You'd hate to accidentally damage them in any way. Tōdō was too rough once, too excited at the prospect of purchasing a Takada-chan photo-card, that he accidentally damaged a whole sleeve full of them. The amount he had to pay in damages that day makes you shudder just thinking about it.

Your eyes scan over the photo-cards as you try and recall which photo-cards Tōdō already has in his possession.

He already has this one, already has that one, already has this one too…

Your eyes light up when they land on one that you know he doesn't have yet, and if you're remembering correctly, he mentioned wanting this one as well. You're pretty sure he shoved his phone in your face to show you how another photo-card collector had it in their possession, but wasn't willing to trade or sell it to him no matter how much he flooded their DMs with vague threats. He ended up blocked after that.

You’re even more delighted when you read the little white sticker with the price in the corner of the plastic sleeve and realize the photo-card is well-within your budget for a little gift for your boyfriend. With the utmost caution, you gently slip the photo-card out of its slot from within the binder, cradling it carefully in your palm. Once you’re sure the photo-card is safely in your possession, you lift your head up, craning your neck around as you search for the photo-card holder area of the store.

As soon as you spot it, you make your way over. Presented with so many options, you’re now faced with the difficult decision of what photo-card holder you should buy for Tōdō. He’ll be pleased with anything you get him, but you want him to like what you get him, not because it simply came from me, but because he genuinely likes it. That means you need to find something that you (and Tōdō) will find cute but not overwhelmingly so.

You stand there for awhile, mentally comparing and contrasting photo-card holder versus photo-card holder until you finally decide on one that you think will suffice. You pluck your chosen photo-card holder from where it's hanging on the wall, turning it over and over in your hand, inspecting to make sure it's in perfect condition. It's a soft plastic photo-card holder with black stars of varying sizes covering the front's borders and the entirety of the back. It's simplistic enough, but still cute, meaning that Tōdō will (hopefully) like it.

After making sure once more that the photo-card holder and the photo-card itself are in pristine condition, you make your way over to the cashier, paying once it's your turn to check out and then exiting the store, more than satisfied with your unexpected purchase. Giddiness floods your system as the door to the shop closes behind you. You can't wait to surprise Tōdō.

With your free hand, you dig your phone out of your pocket, opening the messaging app to shoot your boyfriend a quick text, asking if you can swing by his place in an hour. You don't even have a chance to exit out of the application before you receive a response from him.

aoi ♡ : Is that even a question? You're free to come over always.

You huff. Of course your boyfriend would say something like that. If it was up to Tōdō, you would probably never leave his place. You quickly reply back, informing him that it’s polite to ask and that you’ll be over soon before closing the app and slipping your phone back into your pocket. You readjust your grip on the bag containing the goodies for your boyfriend. A small smile graces your lips.

Time for you to make your way to Tōdō’s now.

The commute to Tōdō’s place doesn’t take long, and sooner than you know it, you’re at his front door. You raise a fist to knock, startling when the door swings open right before your fist can make contact. You place a hand over your chest, willing your racing heart to slow before tossing a glare at the offender standing in the doorway.

“Aoi, you scared me half to death!”

“Sorry,” he responds, entirely non-apologetic as a grin spreads across his face. He takes a step towards you, bundling you up in his arms in one easy swoop. You make an undignified sound at the sudden action, but you quickly relax in Tōdō’s hold. The familiar and comforting scent of his cologne infiltrates your senses, and you can’t help but squeeze him a little tighter. “I missed you babe.”

You laugh lightly, pulling away so you can look at Tōdō, who still has a wide grin on his face. “We just saw each other earlier this week, Aoi.”

“And? I can’t miss you when you’re not around?” The corner of his lips pull into a frown, prompting you to playfully roll your eyes.

You sympathetically pat him on the bicep. “Of course you can.”

When you’re met with nothing but an expectant look, you squeeze Tōdō’s bicep and huff in slight amusement. “And I obviously missed you as well. How could I not miss my lovely boyfriend after spending so much time apart?” Your hand glides up from Tōdō’s bicep to gently caress his cheek, which he leans into. Your lips curl into a small smile.

You may be teasing Tōdō, but you did truly miss him as well. The two of you stand there for a bit just enjoying the moment.

“Now, are you going to invite me in or are we going to spend all day out on your doorstep?”

Your words quickly spur Tōdō into action. He grabs the hand resting on his face and entwines it with his own, dragging you inside his place. You stumble a bit (Tōdō sometimes forgets his own strength), but you manage to regain your balance as the door closes behind you both.

Much to Tōdō’s dismay, you let go of his hand to take off your shoes, placing them on the shoe rack before sliding on the slippers designated as yours. They’re of a silly pattern, but Tōdō insisted on getting matching pairs, and well. Who are you to deny him?

“What’s in the bag?” Tōdō questions, pointing a finger at the bag in your hand as he follows you into the living room area of his apartment.

You plop down onto the couch, tucking your feet beneath you before patting the cushion right beside you. Tōdō sits down next to you, his thigh pressing against yours and an arm around the back of the couch.

“A surprise,” you simply say.

His eyes light up.

“For me?”

You huff. You consider teasing Tōdō, but you nod, replying “Yes, for you, baby.”

He crowds into your space, nearly squishing you against the arm of the couch. His eyes shine brightly with unbridled excitement. “Can I open it right now?”

You hold the bag up between you. “Go ahead, baby.” Before Tōdō can grab the bag from your hand, you warn him, “It’s nothing too big, so don’t get too excited.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes the bag from you. “I’ll cherish anything you get me no matter how big nor how small it may be.”

“Okay Romeo, go ahead and open your gift then.” You wave your hand, urging him to open the bag. Although you did give Tōdō a warning that you didn’t get him anything too big, you have a strong feeling that he’ll like what you got him.

It doesn’t take Tōdō long to open the bag. As soon as his eyes land on its contents and his brain processes what he’s looking at, he makes a noise that sounds almost like a squeal. His hands are shaking as he carefully takes out the Takada-chan photo-card and the accompanying photo-card holder out of the bag. The plastic bag drifts to the floor, now forgotten.

When Tōdō finally tears his eyes away from the photo-card that he’s cradling oh so gently to look at you, his eyes are shiny with wetness. His lower lip wobbles.

“Babe, have I told you that I love you and that you’re the best partner a man could ever ask for?”

You smile, reaching out to place a hand around the back of Tōdō’s neck. “I’m glad you like your little gift, Aoi.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “Babe, I love it. Are you kidding me? I’ve been trying to trade or buy this photo-card for so long now. I can’t believe you found it.”

Tōdō carefully places the photo-card and the photo-card holder you’ve bought for him on the table in front of the couch before turning back towards you to engulf you in a tight hug. You yelp as you're suddenly pushed back onto the couch. Your hands cling to Tōdō's shoulders as he slides a hand behind your head to make sure you don't bump it against the arm of the couch.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he repeats over and over, littering kisses wherever he can on your bare skin. He presses his lips to your neck in chaste kisses before moving onto your face, kissing your forehead, nose, and cheeks over and over before he finally presses a kiss to your lips.

"Thanks, babe." He says once more, pressing another kiss to your lips. You slide your arms from his shoulders to wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Tōdō bends to your will, but is careful to not crush you beneath his weight.

You lean up to kiss him this time, and he chases your lips when you pull away, making you giggle lightly.

"Anything for you, Aoi," you softly say. You're sure that you have a terribly lovesick expression on your face, but Tōdō isn't faring much better. A small smile tugs at your lips.

You'll gladly buy Tōdō little gifts for the rest of your lives if it means you'll get a reaction like this from him every time.

[kathlare]

a gift for both

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando and Amelie take on a luxurious shopping spree in Monaco, where they navigate the glamorous streets and boutiques. While Lando plays the role of the supportive boyfriend, carrying bags and offering his opinions, Amelie’s playful and confident energy shines through, leading to some lighthearted moments and a few surprises.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

January 8th, 2025 - Monte Carlo, Monaco

As Lando and Amelie strolled down the glamorous streets of Monaco, the air was crisp, the city’s charm shining in the early afternoon sunlight. The familiar blend of luxury shops, sleek cars, and flashing camera lights greeted them as they walked hand in hand, the couple enjoying the quiet hum of the world around them.

It had been a few days since their return from Los Angeles, but Monaco’s timeless elegance had a way of making everything feel like home. Today, Amelie had dragged Lando on a shopping spree. It wasn’t exactly a hardship for him, but the idea of being her personal assistant—carrying bags, offering opinions, and helping her pick out clothes—wasn’t something he’d ever shy away from, especially when the reward was seeing her smile.

Lando, with his casual British charm, carried her designer purse slung over his shoulder, the weight of it nothing compared to the joy of being near her. Amelie, on the other hand, was dressed in a fitted black leather jacket, her signature style, with a pair of oversized sunglasses perched atop her head. She looked effortlessly chic as she bounced from store to store, her playful energy radiating from her.

As they walked into the first boutique, a trendy, high-end fashion store that was one of Amelie’s favorites in Monaco, Lando caught the gaze of a few passersby who recognized the couple immediately. A few whispered excitedly, and the flash of a camera snapped in the distance. He didn't mind. He’d gotten used to it by now—the attention, the curiosity of fans and photographers. But every time, he always made sure to keep Amelie close, offering her a smile as she playfully waved to the fans who called her name.

—You know, I think they’re taking more photos of you than me,— Lando joked, glancing back at Amelie as they stepped inside the boutique.

Amelie, however, wasn’t quite as at ease with the spotlight. As the cameras clicked and flashes went off from a distance, she instinctively shrank back, pulling her sunglasses lower to shield her eyes from the attention. She didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself, and the constant stares and photos were something she’d never fully gotten comfortable with, despite being in the public eye for years.

Lando noticed immediately. He slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her gently into his side, offering her the quiet comfort of his presence.

—Don’t worry, Ames, I’ve got you,— he murmured, his voice low and reassuring.

She glanced up at him, her lips curling into a grateful but tired smile. —I know. It’s just… It’s always a bit much, you know?—

—Yeah, I get it,— Lando replied, his thumb rubbing over the small of her back. —But you’re stunning. Let them take their photos. You deserve to be seen.—

Amelie chuckled softly, shaking her head. —You’re too sweet, Lan. But let’s get inside before they all mob us, yeah?—

—After you, love,— he said, opening the door to the boutique and letting her step through first.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled of expensive perfumes, and the soft hum of music played in the background. The space was filled with high-end clothing and accessories that made Amelie’s eyes sparkle with excitement. Lando followed her around, picking up bags, chatting with the staff, and offering his opinions on the outfits she tried on.

Amelie knew Lando was playing the perfect boyfriend role, but she loved every second of it. He always made sure she felt special, and he did it in such a laid-back, natural way that it never felt forced.

As Amelie browsed through racks of clothes, Lando leaned against a display, his gaze fixed on her as she sifted through fabric and colors, clearly in her element. His eyes softened whenever she glanced at him, her smile lighting up the entire room. There was something about her confidence that always took him by surprise. She had a way of owning every room she stepped into, whether it was with her undeniable beauty or the sheer presence she carried.

She held up a shimmering black dress, the kind of piece that would turn heads in any room, and looked back at him. ���What do you think, Lan?—

He grinned, pushing off the display to walk over. —You could wear a garbage bag and still look incredible, but that one… I think it’ll melt everyone’s faces off. Try it on.—

Amelie chuckled, tossing it into her shopping pile before slipping into the changing room. As she disappeared behind the curtain, Lando casually glanced around, picking up her purse from the counter and adjusting it over his shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked at the bags he was already carrying. It was second nature now—he’d be the one to spoil her, to carry whatever she needed, and to make sure she had everything she wanted.

—Fuck me, you look unreal,— he muttered under his breath, before quickly adding, —Not that I didn’t already know that, obviously.—

She smirked, enjoying his reaction. —You like it?—

After a few more rounds of trying on dresses and collecting a small fortune in shopping bags, Amelie suddenly tugged on Lando’s hand, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

—Come on, lover boy. One more stop, and I promise it’ll be worth it.—

Lando raised a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. —Worth it? Ames, I’ve been your personal assistant all day. How much more worth it can it get?—

Amelie just grinned, pulling him down the cobblestone street with a bounce in her step. —Trust me. You’ll thank me later.—

When they stopped in front of an elegant lingerie boutique, Lando’s teasing smirk faltered for a second, replaced by a flicker of surprise���and interest. The store’s window was tastefully arranged, with soft lace and silk pieces displayed on mannequins.

—Oh,— he said, his voice suddenly lower, his eyes trailing over the storefront before landing on her. —So that’s what you’re up to.—

Amelie turned to him, her grin coy as she tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. —What can I say? You’ve been so patient today, carrying my bags and telling me I’m beautiful. I figured it’s only fair to reward you.—

Lando’s lips curved into a crooked smile, his fingers tightening slightly around hers. —I like where this is going.—

—Good. Because you’re picking the pieces,— she said matter-of-factly, tugging him toward the door.

Lando paused, letting the words sink in. —Wait, hold on. I’m… choosing?—

She nodded, pushing the door open and pulling him inside. —You are. You’re the only one who gets to see me in them… and the only one who gets to take them off.—

His jaw slackened slightly, his cheeks flushing as he let out a low laugh. —Jesus Christ, Ames. You’re going to kill me.—

—That’s the plan, Lan,— she teased, stepping into the softly lit boutique. The air inside was warm, filled with the scent of vanilla and lavender. The racks and displays were lined with delicate lace, satin, and silk, all in shades that ranged from soft pastels to sultry blacks and reds.

Lando followed her like a man in a daze, his eyes scanning the room. He wasn’t exactly shy, but this wasn’t the kind of shopping trip he’d ever expected to be on. Amelie, on the other hand, moved with purpose, her fingers brushing over the delicate fabrics as she glanced back at him.

—So, what do you like, Mr. Norris? Black? Red? Something soft and sweet? Or maybe…— She held up a pale pink lace set, her brow arched. —…this?—

Lando swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. —You’re really making me pick?—

—Absolutely,— she said, grinning. —And don’t be shy. Think of it as… a gift for both of us.—

He laughed, shaking his head as he stepped closer to the racks. —Alright. Let’s see.— His fingers brushed over a few pieces, his gaze lingering on a deep emerald green set that caught his eye. —This one. Definitely this one.—

Amelie took it from him, examining it with an approving nod. —Good choice. Anything else?—

—You’re not going to make me pick everything, are you?— he asked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice.

She shrugged, smirking. —Maybe. Depends on how well you’re doing.—

By the time they finished, Lando had chosen three sets, each one more stunning than the last. Amelie carried them into the fitting room, turning to glance over her shoulder as she pulled the curtain halfway closed.

—Stay right there. I’ll need your opinion.—

Lando leaned against the wall outside, his hands shoved into his pockets as he waited. The boutique wasn’t crowded, and the staff didn’t seem fazed by the couple’s playful banter. He could hear the soft rustle of fabric behind the curtain, followed by Amelie’s voice.

—Alright, first one. Ready?—

—Always,— he replied, his voice low.

The curtain slid open slightly, and Amelie stepped out just far enough for him to see. She was wearing the emerald green set he’d picked, the satin and lace hugging her figure perfectly. She looked… breathtaking. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and the confident tilt of her head only made her more irresistible.

Lando’s mouth went dry as he stared at her, his gaze traveling slowly from her bare shoulders to her long legs. —Fuck me,— he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. —You look… insane.—

Amelie laughed softly, turning slightly to show off the delicate straps and lace detailing. —You like it?—

—Like it? Ames, I’m not even sure I can form a coherent sentence right now.—

She grinned, stepping closer and lowering her voice. —Good. That’s the reaction I was going for.—

The teasing continued as she modeled the other sets, each one earning more stunned compliments and flustered remarks from Lando. By the time she slipped back into her regular clothes, he was leaning against the wall, his head tilted back as he let out a slow exhale.

—You’re actually trying to kill me,— he said as she stepped out, her shopping bag in hand.

—Well, you survived. Barely,— she teased, looping her arm through his as they walked toward the counter.

As they left the boutique, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the streets of Monaco, Lando pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple.

—You’re trouble, you know that?— he murmured.

—You love it,— she replied, her smile soft but mischievous.

—Yeah, I do,— he admitted, his voice full of affection. —More than anything.—

[contentloadingandstuff]

Oral Headcanons - Kujou Sara, Hu Tao & Shenhe

A/N: Happy New Year! Here's to many new quality posts in 2024 🥂 CW: Male!Reader, every form of oral.

Her experience in the matter was… none. Just none. She came into the relationship with zero knowledge regarding sex, beyond the basic what-should-go-where, meaning she relied on your guidance at first. 

Being a giving personality type, Sara prefers to serve you rather than be eaten out, though she doesn’t completely rule out the second. If you offer her the chance, she won’t refuse it, even if receiving oral isn’t the hottest of things in her books. She still enjoys a thorough licking every now and then to mix up the usual, vanilla sex.

Sara has a strange relationship with rimjobs. On one hand, they seem quite… inappropriate. Licking her womanhood is understandable, and so is pleasuring your penis, but that? So why, on the other hand, does it feel so good? Sara indulges her desires from time to time, but she’d rather keep it strictly inside the bedroom, even if it’s the two of you. 

When Sara got the hang of things and stopped grazing you with her teeth each time you tried oral, she came to enjoy it more than she expected. Your taste, your warmth, your moans and throbs turn her on without fail, making her very diligent when it comes to making you feel good with her mouth. 

Sara isn’t a fan of rough play. She would much rather not have her hair pulled or her face fucked, and instead get to go at her own pace. Making head deep or sloppy doesn’t sound hot for her either - Sara tends to enjoy a more casual and gentle approach in bed. 

These preferences don’t mean you will come out of the bedroom unsatisfied - it will be quite the contrary. Sara keeps your pleasure as the priority, which, on top of her keeping an eye on your reactions, makes every blowjob feel heavenly. 

Her favourite way to go about sucking you off is having you lie down on your back, spread your legs and let her get comfy between them. She's not opposed to getting on her knees either, but she'd rather do some with you sitting down. It's just more comfortable this way and doesn't force her to angle her head straight up if she wants to look you in the eyes while feasting on your length. 

Dirty talking doesn't come easy to Sara, especially when she's in such a submissive position. Being the bottom takes away a lot of her confidence, makes her blushy and flustered, and leads to a fair bit of awkwardness each time she tries to say something hot. Thus, Sara keeps quiet, with a few words of shy praise sprinkled here and there. She does enjoy pleasuring you and she wants you to hear it, but the words just don’t fall easily out of her mouth. The least she can do is suck harder. 

Her usual techniques consist of rubbing your frenulum with the flat of her tongue while sucking on your head, on top of gently massaging your nuts to help get that cum out. When either of you needs a little break, she’ll fill the downtime with long licks along the shaft of your penis, never getting her eyes away from yours. Sara uses her tongue lightly but firmly, ensuring you get to enjoy her mouth thoroughly.

Between spitting and swallowing, Sara would rather do neither. She doesn’t enjoy eating your seed, but she doesn’t feel like spitting it out would be an enjoyable sight for you either. Getting your hot cum on her lips, breasts or face is quite hot in her opinion, so why not do just that? She can satisfy you both while not having to swallow the cum, the taste of which she finds gross (in a bad way). 

But… Could you try to aim well? Even if she wipes the cum off her clothes the smell - and the vivid memory - persist for quite a while, and end up being a flustering distraction for the poor Tengu. 

Experience? Not even a contest with Hu Tao. With how much sex you two are having, she could probably get a master’s degree in handling your cock. Her every hole knows the feeling of a good, thorough fucking and has likely adjusted perfectly to your dick, but Hu Tao wants more. 

Fucking is always the main dish, but some appetiser goes a long way too. Or some nice breakfast. Waking you up by taking care of your morning wood with her cute mouth is the least a wonderful man like you deserves. She likes when you use your tongue to get her off or let her ride your face, sure, but that’s quite the way from the hottest thing in the bedroom for her. What’s far more interesting than getting her cunt eaten is getting some alone time with just her, you, and your shaft. 

Every opportunity to get her hands on your shaft is not one she is willing to pass up on. That’s just the curse of being a hopeless nymphomaniac with endless libido, but the thing you’re carrying between your legs plays a big part too. It’s such a perfect cock for all purposes - for sucking, licking, fucking and breeding. And Hu Tao is not going to stop herself from appreciating it without restraint. 

Cock worship is the way Hu Tao walks with prideful steps. She doesn’t bother to follow any specific routine of pleasuring your manhood. Pure lust is what she’s running on when appreciating you, and it’s precisely that what makes her blowjobs so unique. Each one is a whole new experience - some are rough throatfucking sessions with lots of spit, gagging and choking while some are slow, gentle and focused on using her tongue to tease the cum out of you. She’ll be more than happy to take requests though!

Speaking of choking, that’s what gets Hu Tao the wettest. Is her throat so tight or is your dick so massive? Maybe both? Who cares - what matters is that your length and girth makes her gag and whine, which Hu Tao thinks is a better compliment than any words she could think of. But worry not - you’ll hear plenty of verbal affirmation too. 

Hu Tao is quite the talented girl with her words, not only on paper, but also in the bedroom. She’ll make sure you know how wonderful, tasty, warm, thick, hard and virile your penis is each time she gets her mouth close to it. A happy and regularly satisfied girl like her needs to show some gratitude, no? Her many hanpais written while she was away from you, dedicated to you and your body certainly prove both her poetic talent and notorious horniness. 

Some people say Hu Tao gives off a gremlin vibe. But she doesn’t agree - she’d rather say she has goblin energy. Cause she’s gobblin’ on these balls! They are the source of your masculinity (and your delicious cum, of course!), so they deserve just as much worship and adoration. While your cock gives her pleasure beyond words and keeps her on her best behaviour, your balls make sure you have the energy to indulge her and make her a mommy in the future. Hu Tao will gladly fondle, lick and suck them when the opportunity presents itself, always with a respectful gentleness.

Spit? Swallow? Why not both? Hu Tao will gladly open her cute mouth for a filling or let you douse her in your seed wherever you like. Make no mistake though - when you do the latter, she will lick everything up and give your dick a nice cleaning too. Good girls always swallow, and Hu Tao wants to be the perfect little slut for you. It doesn’t matter if it tastes a bit off - the look of lust in your eyes as you watch her enjoying your milk is more than worth it. 

Rimjobs are fun! Hu Tao has no problem with being a bit adventurous, especially if the reward is the chance to hear your deep moans as she works her magic, never leaving your shaft cold and alone, outside the firm grip of her hand. And when it comes to her? Well, when you flip her up and spread her cheeks, she can’t help but giggle in joy. That’s all there needs to be said. 

Getting eaten out is quite fun too. Sometimes the condoms run out and she needs just that little bit more pleasure to end the day off on, or the toys run out of battery, or she was a naughty girl and needs to make up with you for her mischief. Don’t expect her to be able to control herself when your rough tongue is lapping so well at her wet folds. You’ll always end up with a drenched face and a very horny Hu Tao on your hands. It might be a whole workout for her body with all the orgasms you bring, but her soul can be pleased only with your rock hard dick.  

Completely clueless. The most knowledge she had prior to getting on that level of intimacy with you was that sex makes babies and… that’s basically it. How does one go about it? How does it feel? Is it healthy? She wasn’t told, and her interest in the topic wasn’t extensive either. Shenhe just assumed she wouldn’t have the chance to put the knowledge in practice, as her life was her training, and her training was for a life of banishing evil. 

She did get to read a few smuttier books, but these were hardly a sex guide. With just a very general image of sex as a whole, Shenhe just let you do things to her while she just laid there and took it, occasionally asking a question or two in the act. Was this, combined with her general lack of noise making during sex a turnoff at first? Yes, obviously. There was some disappointment you couldn’t hide, and Shenhe picked it up right away. She didn’t want to see you sad because of her obliviousness, so she took to learning how to sex. 

Oral was a wholly foreign concept to the woman before you introduced it to her. She had a hard time grasping the point at first.

“Y/N?” “Yes, Shenhe?” “Why do you lick me down there?” “Well, to make you feel good, obviously.” “To ultimately make me orgasm, correct?” “Mhm.” “Then why will you not penetrate me instead? It brings me to orgasm faster, and is pleasurable for both of us.” “Do you not like when I please you with my tongue, dear?” “No, I enjoy it. But I don’t understand why we restrain ourselves from vaginal sex, which is more efficient at bringing pleasure.” “Sexuality is not about being efficient, Shenhe. It’s about exploring what we like, and enjoying it thoroughly. Also, oral sex helps bring some variety to our alone time.” “I do not understand. Are the many positions you can take me in not satisfactory for you?” “Wait! No, that’s not what I mean.” “Then why, if you want to cause me as much pleasure as possible, do you choose the less effective way?” “I mean, it’s a different sensation, no?” “Yes, it is. But there are better methods.” “Yes, there are, however-” “Why not use them then, if you desire to bring me to orgasm as many times as possible?” “You’re hopeless, Shenhe.” 

After many conversations and explaining, some more difficult than others, Shenhe understood the point. It is a different way to feel good, which although not as good as regular sex is also enjoyable. Understanding this made her enjoy cunnilingus from time to time, as long as it wasn’t facesitting. Shenhe doesn’t feel comfortable depriving you of air, even if it makes her feel good. Besides, why would she ever not want to see your face when you eat her out? Your head gliding up and down between her legs and your eyes, focused on hers yet locked in a trance-like state make her very wet, unable to resist the instinct to rock her hips to help you get deeper in with your tongue. 

Despite coming to enjoy this, Shenhe did develop a certain mindset of equality. You are taking the time and depriving yourself of pleasure to pleasure her instead, thus she should return the favour. Even when you explained to Shenhe that you love licking her and it brings you satisfaction, she insisted on giving you a blowjob after each dining session. The beginnings were rough, as expected, but she’s a quick learner and caught the jist of things in no time. You showed her how to make you cum, showed her where to touch and lick, and Shenhe memorised every word. While you constantly encourage her to feel free and explore different techniques, she always includes a few elements you told her about in the exact same form. Is her sucking still quite routinous at times? Yes, but it’s progress!

Your balls get a bit of play, but aren’t in Shenhe’s centre of attention by far. She uses some tried-and-true techniques, using them to help bring you up to the edge, push you through an orgasm or add a bit of light pain to make things interesting.  

Shenhe doesn’t swallow, mainly because she doesn’t like the taste. Semen is salty, thick, gooey and hard to gulp down. It also smells, which Shenhe doesn’t really find exciting. Despite not being into eating it, she does enjoy playing with it. Sometimes Shenhe gathers it in her hands and uses it as lubricant for a handjob or anal, sometimes she just feels it in her hands and sometimes she spreads it across her chest and stomach. It’s smelly and nasty, but in a good way. It helps her get into a more carefree and unrestrained mood. These things aren’t a problem either, as sex of any sort with Shenhe is always followed by a shower sooner or later. 

Giving you a rimjob is okay with Shenhe - sadly, you can’t enjoy the same variety of pleasure she can with her pussy, so any new way to make you enjoy yourself is welcome. But when it comes to receiving one, she’s more anxious than aroused. There are so, so many things that can potentially go wrong and break the experience, so she would rather not take the risk. In addition, Shenhe would prefer having her slit eaten, please.

Thanks for reading!

[parkerloves]

THE SWIFT THEOREM || JMM21 x Teammate!GN!Reader

paring: pepe marti x teammate!gn!reader

type: fluff

request?: yess based on this one

summary: Campos decides to test if his two Formula 2 drivers are able to distinguish between Taylor Swift and Shakespeare and after seeing the horrible knowledge that your teammate has about your favorite singer you decide to take him to one of her concerts to educate him a little bit

word count: 1.3 K

fc; n/a

warnings: bullying towards pepe because he doesn't what he's saying, some spanish and nickname, it turns romantic after y/n post

[masterlist]

Campos had not long ago decided to join the small trend of putting their drivers to do different challenges so that the fans could see more of them even outside the track.

That day it was you and Pepe's turn, you two arrived at the filming set talking casually and without having any idea about what you were going to have to do that day, so after taking over the large chair in the room, you looked at the camera.

“So what are we doing today?” you asked as Pepe sat down on the chair next to you after bringing it close enough for his knee to gently bump into you. 

“You're going to have to guess whether these quotes we're giving you are from a Taylor Swift song or a Shakespeare play” Your pr manager explained, laughing softly as she saw your excitement at the mention on behalf of the British singer. 

“That's not fair! Y/n is like Taylor's biggest fan!”

“Say it right, it's called being a swiftie” You corrected him simply to annoy him, causing him to stick his tongue out at you like a little kid to which you did the same laughing.

It didn't take long for the crew to nag you to get serious and start shooting the video, but they had gotten themselves into it by getting you to shoot together, after all you had been inseparable since the beginning of the season.

When they finally got you to focus on the day's task, they gave you a few seconds before letting you know you could talk.

“Hi guys, welcome to a new Youtube video! I'm Y/n Y/l/n” You introduced yourself as you did every time it was your turn to record.

“And I'm Pepe Marti” The boy followed you almost immediately. "And today we're going to play Shakespeare or Taylor Swift” He said, holding up the small papers he had in his hand.

“Basically in these cards there are some lyrics or words and we have to guess if it’s from Taylor o Shakespeare”

“I think it's going to be quite easy” Pepe said, reading the first card to himself “So first one... Give me no compasses, gave me no signs.”

You quickly identified that it was from a Taylor song, but let your partner give his opinion first.

“So any guesses?” 

“It sounds old, especially the word compasses... So Shakespeare?” he guessed tilting his head to the side before looking to know your verdict.

“Nope, that's from invisible string, definitely.”

Pepe just nodded slowly as he always did when he really didn't understand what you were saying.

“It's from the album Folklore” You tried to explain although you knew from his face that he still didn't know what you were talking about '“Let's go with the next one” You took the next piece of paper from him reading it out loud “They say she was seen on occasion, Pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea” You looked at him waiting for his opinion on this lyrics

“Okay now that has to be shakespeare, it's way too long to be a line of a song” He stated with his own deduction, though seeing your frown he quickly changed his mind “I mean is definitely Taylor”

“So as you can see they're making me work with a cheater” You said looking at the camera after giving him a little whack on the head with the papers.

“sush you love me” He blew you a kiss to which you rolled your eyes as he took the next sentence out of your hands '“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind” He read again, and very slowly, as if that would help him understand the phrase better “love equals Taylor, definitely”.

“Nah that's Shakespeare, I don't recognize that”

“This doesn't make sense like at all” He wrinkled his nose looking at the other one of paper, tossing it aside

“Stop crying come on” You pushed him gently laughing before reading the next “I do love nothing in the world so well as you.”

“If that's not Shakespeare i'm quitting”

“As far as i now...” You spoke to give a little mystery to the subject “That's correct?” You said looking at the people behind the camera, and when they confirmed yes you couldn't help laughing at Pepe's celebration.

“Now i'm on fire, give me the next one” Pepe took the rest of the papers from you.

“You just got one ri-”

“Shhh” He covered your mouth before clearing his throat so he could continue with the video ‘Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be’ He decided to play it cool and pretend to think about it ‘This is my friend Shakespeare again’ He said a little too confidently 

“Pretty sure that's Tortured Poets Department”

“Wasn't that film called Dead Poets algo?” You had no choice but to judge him with your eyes before you scolded him.

“You're talking about something else, what i told you is one of Taylor's albums” You denied to which Pepe gave you a little sneer before you threatened him with your eyes.

“ Okay sorry sorry, don't kill me” He laughed raising both hands.

“Next one,Though she be but little, she is fierce.” You read out loud looking at him for him to answer first as usual.

“That gives me Taylor vibes, the fierce part at least.”

“I don't remember that song”

“Really? I thought i had it, god sake” He jerked back in the most dramatic way possible making you laugh once again.

You threw the next piece of paper in his face to get him to concentrate again on what you were doing.

“Free of women with madness, their men and bad habits” He recited still lying down and as he slowly sat up ”Yeah this is not coming from a man in th s. xix”

For that comment it didn't take long for him to be scolded while you laughed at his screw up next to him, knowing that clip wouldn't make it into the video.

“I mean” He cleared his throat as you went back to recording ”That sounds like Shakespeare because…” He got a menacing look from his manager again “I say so”

“Wow, two out of seven” You said with a little chuckle ”You completely suck"

You took the last part so you could finish the video at once.

“And finally” You did a drum roll on your teammate's leg which besides giving you the opportunity to beat him up for the barbarities he had said throughout the video ”The course of true love never did run smooth.”

“Please tell me that's Taylor”

“Sorry darling, wrong again” You laughed softly before looking at the camera in case you had gotten confused, but confirming that you hadn't, you proceeded to say goodbye ”Well here ends this constant stab for me, because i thought i had taught him better”

“I wasn't that bad”

“Yeah it was, but don't worry people, i'll teach him properly”

A few days passed since the publication of that video, and the joke was still quite present between the two of you, and especially among your fans, so your new publication during the summer break, despite catching you by surprise, was very welcome.

yourusername has posted!

liked by pepemartiofficial, yourbff and 10,754,475

yourusername: he's learing the hard way now

tagged: pepemartiofficial

pepemartioffical: dios, thanks for making her not let this go

user1: WE NEEDED THIS, SHUT UPP user2: my fav duo stoppp user3: i just love themmm

camposracing: love seeing more pepy/n content!!

user4: same here admin, same here

yourbff: just kiss already

user5: listen to themm!!!

Pepe as soon as he saw you with the phone he took it out of your hands, after all he was there for you, and to avoid you to start complaining, he silenced anything you could say kissing you, which used to be his secret weapon, the problem is that you still could not say that you were together, so he had to endure all your criticism in his direction, although it was not so bad to see how you laughed at his expense if he could see you happy.

"will you stop bullying me?"

"maybe" you chuckled against his lips "don't think so tho"

tag list!

@iheartmonaco