#I can’t leave the house without her commenting

[yeonmuse]

── Its known that when an angel loses their wings heaven weeps for them, so why is she the one left crying ?

「. 성훈 , 재윤 」

𓍼 Her life takes a melancholic turn when she loses her mother, causing her to spiral completely. In a desperate attempt to numb herself she turns to parties, weed and alcohol which does nothing more than get her into trouble and tarnish her families reputation. Her inconsideration for others and irresponsibility earns her three new roommates, a father and two brothers — two brothers whom which she becomes the pawn of. Sim Jaeyun and his brother Sunghoon; the two are polar opposites, Jakes more into sports and books and Sunghoon is more into fast cars and nights out. Despite how different they are, they both have one thing in common — neither of them plan on losing this bet. Stakes are high as the first one to get her into their bed wins the others most prized possesion, but will either of them succeed?

ྀི park sunghoon x f!reader x sim jaeyun ── ɢenre.. melodrama, suggestive, non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ my 𝓁ibrary ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

💭 : this series is for a mature audience 18+ of course I know I can’t control who reads this though, you’ve been warned that there are mature topics involved such as the following , ─ mentions of death, alcohol, substance abuse, marijuana, sexual topics & etc

MISERY LOVES COMPANY.

CHAPTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

“I’m sorry what?’’ as if not fully comprehending the words that had left her grandmother's mouth she blinks rapidly, trying to figure out if she had really heard that or if her mind was playing tricks on her

“You didn’t think I would be leaving you all by yourself when I went back to italy did you?’’

“So you decide to leave me with a complete stranger.’’

“He’s not a stranger my god you younger generations really don’t remember anyone. He was friends with your parents they all owned the bookstore together and they took you there when you were younger.’’ Though she vaguely remembered the bookstore, many of her childhood memories had faded to the deepest parts of her mind.

“Um.’’

“It’s alright if you don’t remember you were only about six or seven at the time.’’ he suddenly chimes in momentarily, stealing her attention away from her grandmother.

“Him and his two sons will be staying here, until I know you can be trusted to stay here on your own they’ll be looking after you.’’

“Oh great more people to add onto my misery.’’ she sighs, shaking her head and rubbing at her forehead, suddenly feeling a headache coming on.

“Well misery loves company dear.’’ her grandma comments rubbing her shoulders.

In addition to the fact that she had just now lost her mother, having three complete strangers move into her house just for the sole purpose of babysitting her; it gave her an entirely new reason to not want to leave her room. While she stayed cooped up inside, hating her life more with every second ( with the company of Sunoo through facetime ) the mansion's new inhabitants were roaming around freely.

“You mean to tell me someone was living here all on their own? Without getting lost?’’ Jake whispers beneath his breath as he enters the house for the first time, taking in the art that stretched from the floor to the ceiling and the chandeliers that would blind you if you stared too long, and that had only been the foyer.

“Quit gawking, you’re acting like you’ve never been in a house before.’’ Sunghoon comments, bumping against Jake's shoulder as he went off to find the room given to him before they got there.

“I have just never one this big.’’ Jake responds, his voice fading off as he scanned the place, eventually moving from the foyer to explore other parts of the house that they were now able to call their own.

Eventually they had all settled in, everything having gotten done much quicker with the help of movers, in contrast to the 7 hours of moving done by just the three of them. When they had finally finished the two boys along with their father and her grandmother all gathered out in the garden.

“Well first off welcome,i hope you boys are all settled in and have explored the house a bit.’’ her grandma inquires with a smile on her face, setting her tea aside so she could discuss with them the matters of the home.

“Yes ma’am all settled in.’’ Jake responds followed by a half hearted “yup” from Sunghoon who simply wanted the conversation to be over already.

“I want to apologize for my grandaughters absence she’s not feeling the best at the moment but she’ll come down once she’s ready.’’ Mr Park. gives a nod of understanding already knowing the girl's current state without the topic itself having been brought up.

“As much as i’d like to say you’re simply here to enjoy your time here one of your main priorities is to look after her while i’m away. I’ve made sure to enroll your boys into the same university and yn they'll get the top education needed, full rides. As for your work I know you sacrificed a lot to be here so I did pull strings with that publishing company you were interested in and you’ll start in three days, they’re giving you time to get settled." The three simply nod along as she spoke, sunghoon barely showing much interest in any word spoken until money had been involved.

“Now I know that you said you don't want to accept any money for being here with her, but I'll be paying you and your boys 3 thousand a week for any expenses that may come about. A bonus thousand if you can actually keep her in line.’’ she adds on pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I’m sure they’ll use it all responsibly right guys.’’ their father gives the two of them a look they knew all too well, they both shoot a smile her way, followed up by a band of yeses.

“Perfect, I'll still be here until Monday, but the place is yours. The only thing I asked of you is that you stay out of the last room on the left wing of the house. That room is strictly forbidden to anyone other than yn.’’ Sunghoon and Jake share a glance with one another before shrugging it off.

Once every matter had finally been discussed Mr. park and Ms. Kang both dispersed into their own parts of the house leaving the two boys outside.

“You think she’s that bad?’’ Jake questions, laying back on the grass and watching as rain clouds came rolling in.

“Nah it’s totally normal to be twenty two years old and still need a babysitter.’’ Sunghoon responds sarcastically, making Jake roll his eyes.

“I don’t know just seems weird to have this much money and live in a place like this and you can’t even manage it.’’

“She’s probably just one of those spoiled rich types that takes it for granted or gets herself into deep shit so now she needs someone to tend to her like she’s a child. Simple as that.’’ Sunghoon responds, pushing himself up from his seat.

“Where are you going?’’ Jake questions, sitting up from his seat on the grassland resting on his palms.

“To mind my business, don’t worry about it.’’ Jake simply shrugs it off, going back to his cloud watching as Sunghoon disappears back inside. Making a beeline straight for the left wing of the house.

He had heard exactly what her grandmother said about this side of the house; he was just never one to listen, especially when his curiosity got the best of him. So now here he was creeping towards the end of the hallway doing the exact opposite of what she had told them not to do.

After hours of keeping herself caged up in her room her stomach had finally persuaded her to leave it, she had been halfway down the hall when she saw a head of hair zoom up the stairs and into the left wing of the house, the side where only three rooms remained two of them being entirely off limits. Momentarily putting her hunger aside she follows suit.

Sunghoon had only made it halfway to the door when he heard someone speak up behind him, annoyance laced in their tone. But It obviously hadn’t been their dad or jake or her Ms. Kang so that only left one option and slowly but surely he turned to find her standing there.

“What are you doing?’’ Sunghoons eyes smoothly scanned over her, giving her a once over until he came to the conclusion that she wasn’t as bad as he imagined she’d look.

“Uh hello jackass, I asked a question.’’ as annoying as that mouth of hers was to him in that moment it was also absolutely amusing. He was expecting her to be some propper and prissy rich bitch but to his surprise she swore like a sailor.

“Just looking for the library.’’ he lied with ease, unfortunately for him she wasn’t buying it.

“Right, the bigass room downstairs that can easily be found if you walk past the kitchen.’’

“Not asking you to believe me unlike you my house before this didn’t need to come with a map.’’Sunghoon responds snarkily, making her nose scrunch up in annoyance.

“Okay who are you?’’

“Sunghoon, one of your new babysitters sweetheart,’’ He responds, shooting her a cheeky grin.

“Oh this day just keeps getting worse.’’ She rolls her eyes, letting out a huff as she turns on her heels and walks away, Sunghoon suddenly feeling compelled to follow behind her.

“So have you always needed a babysitter or is this like a new thing for you.’’ Sunghoon continues on, finding delight in the annoyed expression on her face.

“Stop talking to me or i’m going to have one less babysitter walking around here.’’ she responds shuffling down the stairs letting out an annoyed huff as he continues to stalk behind her.

“Don’t think your grandma would be too happy about you y'know killing one of your babysitters. That is if you even had the balls to do it.’’ Sunghoon mocks, resting his elbows on the kitchen countertop and his head on his palm as he watches her open the fridge.

“Who are you talking to?’’ Jake interrupts, entering the kitchen with a towel on his head as he rubs his hair dry from the rain. Eventually he looks over to find her standing at the fridge and he freezes on the spot, in contrast to Sunghoons onceover his was more subtle and less judgemental.

“Oh great there's two of you what's this one's name.’’ her gaze then shifts to him, away from Sunghoon who had gotten bored of her already which resulted in him getting on his phone.

“Jake, and you’re yn right?’’

“No i’m actually the ghost that haunts this place when she’s asleep.’’ she responds sarcastically, earning a snicker from Sunghoon who eventually got up to leave. Not forgetting to whisper a quick ‘I told you so’ in his brother's direction before walking out.

“So i see you met my brother, and he’s already gotten on your nerves I assume.’’

“Unfortunately.” she responds grabbing a water from the fridge and closing it, suddenly having lost her appetite

“Yep that’s the usual reaction people have to meeting him.’’ Jake comments, taking a seat at the island counter.

“So if he’s the moody one that makes you?’’ she pauses as if waiting for him to fill in the rest of the sentence.

“The not so annoying one, you know the one that’s got actual charm.’’ Jake responds, making her squint her eyes and her lips press into a thin line.

“Right…i’m gonna go now, and hopefully when i wake up tomorrow this will all be a dream and you and your moody brother won’t actually be here.’’ grabbing her a water from the counter she bids him a goodbye before leaving him alone in the kitchen.

CHAPTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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[spocksgotemotions]

i gotta move out of this fuckin house

[afterglowsainz]

do i wanna know? | oscar piastri

pairing: female!reader x oscar piastri

summary: during a stream, your best friend lando casually says that you cannot physically listen to arctic monkeys because they remind you too much of your ex, so everyone is surprised when you get caught listening to them

fc: emily alyn lind

a/n: i know i’m a week late, but fic for the chinese grand prix winner (!!!!!) (also i know this man only listens to house music but i don’t like that genre so i kinda did whatever i wanted)

—

liked by f1gossip, f1wags and others

landonorrisupdates lando on his most recent stream saying his best friend y/n can’t listen to arctic monkeys without crying

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liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

yourusername a little quadrant bts 🎥🎾💋

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oscarpiastri’s instagram stories

[caption 1: 🎶 505 - arctic monkeys]

liked by oscarpiastri, pietra.pilao and others

yourusername plus vibe activity✨✨✨

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liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yourusername turns out monaco is a real place and not just a bad bunny song

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charles_leclerc 🤨

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oscarpiastri exploring (my new home) 🏡

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[caption 1: favorite romcom of all time💗]

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tagged oscarpiastri

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[beloveds-embrace]

Part two of the Lavender Marriage au! Considered adding smut to this but I chickened out lmao if the ending is abrupt it’s because of that 🙂‍↕️

The four men are fuming.

Since witnessing the lip-lock battle, they’ve been stewing in barely-contained anger. Every time they see you- on your porch in one of those sweet sundresses, humming to yourself as you water the flower boxes or hand them freshly-baked cookies- they’re consumed by a burning desire to tell you the “truth” about your cheating husband. But the ring on your finger, and your seemingly cheerful demeanor, stop them every time.

Still, they’re restless. It’s wrong to let you live in ignorance like this. But also, it’s not their business even if they want it- even if they want you. The thought of ruining your cozy life, despite your husband’s unfaithfulness, isn’t an easy one to swallow.

It becomes easier to think of admitting it all to you with each passing day, though.

“He’s walking around like he’s done nothing wrong! The bastard. How does she not see it?” Kyle grumbles, gesturing wildly with his tea mug. He grits his teeth, watching your husband saunter inside the house without offering to help you. He just puts down a plate of steak Kyle knows is too fucking cooked. Heathen. Bastard. Ughhh.

“She’s either blind or loyal to a fault,” Johnny agrees, sprawled out on the couch, looking far more despondent than usual. “Breaks ma bloody heart, lads. She’s makin’ us lemonade an’ cookies, an’ he’s aff canoodlin’ wiith some bloke under her roof.”

Simon grunts, his eyes narrowing as he joins Kyle’s side. “What kind of man cheats on her? She’s…” He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence, but everyone knows what he means: She’s perfect.

Meanwhile, John leans back in his chair, puffing thoughtfully on a cigar. He’s been unusually quiet, though it’s clear he’s just as agitated, fist clenching on his lap. Finally, he speaks, his tone commanding.

“We wait until he leaves,” he says, much to the others’ dismay. “We don’t meddle now. If she finds out on her own, we’ll be there for her. Until then, we keep our mouths shut.”

The others grumble, but they nod in agreement. For now.

You, meanwhile, are oblivious to the internal warfare raging next door. Your days are filled with your usual routine of pretending to be the dutiful wife, gossiping with the neighborhood ladies, sweetly cooing about your hardworking husband, and pretending you don’t know they will gosspi about you after you leave. On the way, you also deliver a basket of homemade muffins to your handsome neighbors.

Such good men; they didn’t even yet know they were your little kitchen rats to taste-test everything you make for the annual baking contest. This year, that bitch Beatrice will not win and you swore it.

“Oh, these look incredible,” Johnny says when you hand over the basket. He flashes you a cheeky grin, and you can’t help but smile back, cheeks warm. “Y’know, if yer husband does not appreciate all this, I might just have ta steal ye away, lass.”

You laugh, waving off the comment as a joke, but the other three men go rigid. “Not the time, mate.” Kyle mutters, elbowing Johnny, though you really don’t notice. Their house is coming along so nicely and so fast; the perks of having handy men as its owners, you suppose.

Later that day, while you’re trimming the hedges of your precious little garden , you spot Simon working on their roof. You catch him staring at you- not that you blame him, you are wearing your one of cutest skirt and top- and you give him a small wave. He almost falls off the roof even if he does wave back, so you decide to just focus on the damned hedges and hopefully avoid any more incidents.

They’re so distracted by your lovely self that they almost forget their rage toward your husband. Almost. Because just as Price and Johnny are helping you carry bags of groceries back to your house, your husband- traitorous bastard- walks out of the house all patient and whistling.

“Be back soon, honey! You know how long my business trips take.” your husband calls over his shoulder, giving you a quick wink before he hops into a car and drives off.

Unbelievable.

The tension is palpable. John glares. Johnny looks like he’s seconds from sprinting after the car. Simon mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath from where he and Kyle are watching from the window.

“Oh dear,” you sigh, though on the inside you are very happy. You know your husband’s boyfriend has a nice surprise picked for him- you helped get it, after all- and now you have the house all to yourself again. Perfect.

You turn to John, batting your lashes up at him and it is as if all his anger melts away. “Be my guests this evening, John? I’d be terribly lonely, all by myself in this big house.”

John really, truly, fucking hates your husband for doing this to a precious, lovely thing like you. But at least it means they’ll be the ones in your company.

“Alright, doll,” he nods, fond as he watches the grin stretch across your face. “Let me just go tell the muppets, then we’ll come by and help.”

“There’s no need-“

“I insist, sweetheart.”

That evening, as promised, the four of them come by to “keep you company” and help. You’re in your element, flitting around the kitchen in an apron as you serve drinks and chatter away, oblivious to the tension radiating from the group. You are practically glowing; your pretty flowers were complimented and the food looks so good you can’t wait to post it on your instagram.

Simon leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring daggers into the walls- into the portraits of you and your husband. Kyle is poking at one of the cookies you made like it’s done something to offend him, his mind adrift. Johnny’s chopping away at vegetables, muttering under his breath and wishing it was something else under his knife. And John? He’s nursing his whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. It might as well be. You talk so nicely about your husband and what he’s customized for you in the kitchen, still so unaware of the truth.

John contemplates just telling you right then and there, but then it happens.

The front door swings open, and in strolls your husband, laughing loudly with none other than his boyfriend- the one the group saw kissing. They’re holding hands, both grinning like idiots.

“Sorry we’re back so soon!” your husband calls out, completely unbothered by the fact that your house is now hosting four very large, very angry military men. “I forgot my wallet-”

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat when he notices the four men staring at him, expressions ranging from pure disbelief to murderous rage. His boyfriend freezes too, glancing nervously between you and the men like he’s walked into a firing squad.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Johnny practically shouts, pointing between the two men with the knife. “You’ve got the audacity to bring him here? Here?”

Kyle crushes the cookie when he slams his fist on the table, standing abruptly. “Under her roof? After all she’s done for you? Again?”

Simon doesn’t say a word because he truly doesn’t need to- he’s just staring, fists clenched, practically vibrating with barely-contained fury.

John finally speaks, his voice low and dangerous, pulling your surprised self against his side protectively. “You’ve got some confessing to do.”

Your husband just… blinks, then glances at you. “Wait, you didn’t tell them?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t think it would come up like this.”

“Tell us what?” John demands, his tone sharp. He is still glaring at your husband and the boyfriend

You wave your hand dismissively, like this is the most normal thing in the world with a soft sigh. “Oh, we’re not really married for love, John. It’s just for the benefits- y’know, keeping his parents off his back and mine off mine.”

The room falls silent. Dead silent.

“What?” Simon finally growls, his voice low and dangerous. All this time…

Your husband grins sheepishly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m gay. This is my boyfriend. He’s great, isn’t he?” He says, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek.

Johnny looks like he’s just been hit with the frying pan the vegetables he’d been chopping was meant to go in. “Yer what?”

Kyle stares at you, wide-eyed. “You knew? This whole time?”

You shrug, popping a cookie into your mouth. Ohh, Beatrice should count her fucking days. “Of course I knew. We planned the whole thing together. It’s not that complicated, really.”

Simon mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Anyways, we do have places to be,” your husband sighs. “I’ll just get my wallet and leave you all be to your date.” When he returns with his wallet a few minutes later, he kisses your forehead. “Bye, love. I snuck some of the cookies too- Beatrice is absolutely not winning this year, trust me.” And then he leaves at last.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You’re married but it’s just… out of necessity, and you’ve just been… pretending to love him?”

“Exactly!” you say brightly, clapping your hands together. “See? Not so hard to understand.”

The four men just stand there, utterly gobsmacked.

“You mean to tell me,” Johnny starts, pointing an accusatory finger at you after placing the knife down. “that we’ve been stewin’ for weeks over a cheatin’ husband that doesn’t even exist?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you reply with a giggle, pouring a drink. Your eyes widen then. “But you cannot tell anyone here, in this shitty town, about this!”

“We won’t, love, promise.” Kyle groans, slumping back into his chair. “I need a bloody drink.” And then he perks up when you slide him the drink you just made. “…fucking lifesaver you are, love. Thank you.”

Simon just shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” under his breath.

John sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey in one go. “You’re going to be the death of us, doll.”

You grin, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on, boys. It’s not that bad.”

The four of them exchange a look- one of disbelief, exasperation, and maybe just a hint of relief. Because as much as they’re reeling from the truth, one thing’s clear: you’re technically single. And that, at least, is something they can work with.

[meowdei]

if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did) — ft. sylus

synopsis: sylus is too causal with accepting pain. you don’t like seeing him hurt, so the best solution you can come up with is seeing him in pleasure

❤︎ word count: 2.4k words — it’s a miracle i kept it this short

❤︎ before you read: female hunter reader ; mature content. not suitable for minors ; not an established relationship but implied romantic connection. idk it’s complicated LOL ; injured sylus ; described blood and injuries ; evol inhibitors to make his injuries a bit more serious ; not proof read : hand jobs ; banter ; that’s pretty much it just wanted to write him cumming

❤︎ comments: i am posting this 3 mins before i need to leave for work this man has me hustling before my hustle rip

The safe house is quiet. Not including the sounds of Sylus’s low, pained grunts as you dress his wounds, it’s quiet. You’re quiet, and it’s unsettling—on a typical day, you’re more than half the noise.

(In a good way, of course. Sylus is not a liar by any means, and saying he doesn’t like the constant sound of your voice as you talk would be a ridiculously big lie. He values the truth in things.)

It means you’re brooding. Sulky, petulant brooding. He’ll just have to fix that, he thinks—and soon, too.

“I’ll have to trouble you a bit longer, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breaking the silence as he glances at his arm.

You glance up and stare at the damage: a stab wound to his abdomen, a gash on his arm, and ugly, unwelcome bruises littering across soft, slightly tanned skin.

You frown. It borders on a scowl. He watches as you carefully stitch the wound closed on his lower belly with precise fingers. (Faintly, his mind registers that you’re good at this. Too good at this. He doesn’t like the implications of that—not for his own case and especially not for yours.)

“Does it hurt?” You mumble, finally.

Sylus is not a liar by any means, so he hums, titling your chin up and forcing you to pause. “Yes,” he says truthfully. You’d never guess he was in pain just by the look on his face—but there are always signs if you look close enough.

Sticky, sweaty skin. Deep, labored breaths. Slumped posture that’s so far from his usual tall, towering stance. He looks just a bit tired, too. Like sleeping (something he rarely does enough to be considered healthy) would be his ideal course of action right now.

You frown at his admission. “I told you not to get so close,” you huff, “you never wait for me.”

He chuckles. Deep, slow. Every time Sylus laughs, you’re reminded how powerful he is. How even through the sound of his amusement alone, he sounds important. Wealthy, too, if you’re being honest—he laughs like the rich. But that’s always amused you more than it’s impressed.

“You seem rather distraught, love. Dare I say….you’re concerned?”

“You’re too smart to act this stupid,” you spit.

He grins. It’s large, wide, and all too smug for someone who’s under your hands as you mend back torn skin. Gently, he hums, “so the kitten bears her fangs. How cute.”

Your mood is getting increasingly worse. Sylus knows that—but sometimes, he’s a little selfish. Pushing you harder, cornering you against the wall with smart words and sly teasing is the only way to make you open up sometimes.

And, well, Sylus is no liar. He can’t say he hates getting under your skin entirely—it makes you look at him. And he likes your attention. But more than that, he likes knowing you care.

“You don’t think I’m capable,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes.

“And when did I say that, Miss Hunter?”

“You don’t have to say it, I just know. Otherwise, you’d listen when I tell you to wait,” comes your agitated reply.

Sylus does not wait for you. He jumps into a fight without letting you step foot onto the battlefield. Most times, it’s a minor form of irritation on your end when you’re itching to get in a good few hits. Sometimes, like now, it makes your emotions saturated in every form of distress.

Anger. Sadness. Regret. Panic. All of it simmers and simmers until you feel you’re overflowing with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

He pays the price today—one sloppy dodge of a blade, and it impales his lower abdomen with precision, lacing him with something. Something that evidently is rather good at repressing his evol—he can’t fight nearly as well let alone heal.

You can’t help but feel useless. More than anything, under appreciated. Maybe, if he’d waited just a moment so you could have covered him, then maybe your night would end with less blood on your hands and less pain on his.

“You’re also too bright to act this dim,” he says lowly, voice just a bit tight with pain. You tighten his stitches, and he doesn’t even grimace despite the clearly unpleasant sensation.

“Do tell me,” you glare, “just what am I being dim about?”

“If you think I don’t recognize your capabilities,” he drawls, studying the knife that once tore through his flesh slowly. It’ll be analyzed at the base. You’re certain he’ll figure out just what the blade was laced with and trace it back to its origins soon enough. He sets it down and meets your eyes—deep, rich crimson bleeding into your gaze. “Then maybe you’re not as good at seeing the bigger picture as I thought.”

“That you’re a smug bastard who likes to prove you’re better on your own?”

“That I care about you,” he says plainly. “I can handle it. It’s better you than me.”

“You could have died,” you hiss, “if I wasn’t there—”

“I’d have lived either way,” he says smugly. “Killing me is a rather difficult thing to do. Inflicting pain, on the other hand….well, at least it keeps things interesting.”

Your face drops. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so right. You can injure him all you want, but he heals fast enough that he’s here to stay. Like an annoying thorn that keeps pricking you as you pick roses. Like a weed that just keeps growing back the more you tear them from the ground. He comes back. Annoying as he is, he comes back. And you don’t mind that so much—you think you might even need it that way.

But it always hurts. He bleeds red just like any other person. Grimaces here and there despite how accustomed he is to the agony. Somewhere along the line, his pain became yours.

And you can’t help but be hyper aware of how much you despise it.

“I hate when you’re hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll live,” he soothes, cupping your cheek and swiping a stray tear with a large, callused thumb. You shiver, pouting slightly at the words. “I’ve had worse.”

“But you still feel the pain.”

“Can anyone really avoid that, sweetie?” He raises an amused brow.

Before he can open his mouth to add more, you lean closer, careful not to hurt his wound as you press against his chest and bury your head into his neck, pressing a light kiss to the skin.

His breath hitches, and you think you’ve finally gotten through that thick, stubborn front of his.

“If it hurts,” you murmur, “then I can make it feel good.”

He shivers—barely, of course. But he shivers. It’s a small win. “Oh?” He asks carefully, his good arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. “And how so?”

You press a lingering kiss to his jaw. Your lips are not strangers to Sylus. They know him as well as he knows them too, but you’ve always danced along the edge of more than friends and less than lovers. One second, you think you’ve crossed over the line with graceful steps, the next you fall ten steps back.

Right now, you think you don’t care. Line be damned and whether you’re just friends or lovers, you couldn’t be more unbothered.

“I don’t like when people touch you,” you admit, “not at all. But especially not so….rough.”

“Mmh, jealous are we? Don’t worry, you’re the only one I willingly let touch me,” he grins. You roll your eyes, watching as he shuffles back to lean against the couch and relax.

“I should be the only one who touches you,” you say with an air of petulance.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, placating your mood, “then show me something more gentle,” he whispers.

You smile. It’s the first one of the night, lips curling against the shell of his ear as you breathe, “oh I intend to.”

Just like that, your hand trails up his thigh, carefully tracing along the inner edge of his leg before your palm roams over his crotch. There’s a bulge forming as if on command. Your ego boosts just a little—for all his strength and endurance, one brief, mere little touch from you forces his body to react against his will.

“Is this really where you should be putting in all your effort?” His breath hitches, and the tips of his ears flush a pretty, soft little pink, “my arm still has an open wound, you know.”

“You’ve had worse,” you repeat his words back to him, “but let me show you better.”

It’s quick work, unblocking his belt and unzipping him just enough to gently pull out his half-hard cock. You glance down, smiling at the small bead of pre cum that leaks from the tip, forming a kind little opportunity for you to watch him squirm as your thumb grazes his cockhead to collect it.

You smear it along his length as you slowly stroke him to full hardness, and he offers you a shaky little huffed out, “fuck,” under his breath.

“Does that hurt, too?” You hum, nose pressing into his jaw as you kiss his neck.

“No,” he sighs, melting into you, “no it feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Do you see how nice it is when you just trust me?” You scold, “now apply this to the battlefield, too.”

He chuckles deeply at that, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to fuck his hips into your fist—his stitches are still fragile enough that he doesn’t want to risk tearing them. Instead, he has to trust that you’ll give him what he needs, all on your own.

“I’d rather get hurt and be spoiled like this,” he mumbles, “than risk anything happing to you. Seems like a better option if you ask me.”

“So stubborn,” you click your teeth.

Sylus is not a liar. You know that. If he says you’re capable, then you believe him—and if he says that he’d rather take the brunt of injuries and the pain that comes with them just to finish a fight before you can be involved, you know it’s not a lie. But you don’t always like the truth. You don’t like knowing he uses himself as a shield of sorts for you, as some wall between you and pain or maybe even death just because he can. Just because he heals. Just because he thinks he should.

You don’t always like the truth. Sometimes, you’d rather live in a lie.

So you tell yourself he thinks you’re less than him. That you’re lacking and beneath his approval and you have something to prove—so your hand tightens around his thick, reddened cock and you stroke fast. Quick and to the point.

Enough to have him groaning with an arm instinctively moving to cover his eyes as he throws his head back—only he hisses, feeling the stinging tug on his gash as he moves.

You hum, guiding his arm back down as you cup his cheek and murmur, “careful now. You’re hurt—I wonder whose fault that is.”

He rolls his eyes at the comment—but one swipe of your thumb through his slit has them rolling back in pleasure before he can glare at you. “You’re rather smug today,” he huffs, “do you like seeing me defenseless, sweetheart?”

“Not for the reasons you might think,” you say sweetly, grinning as you peck his cheek. Right where you cut him the first time you met. Right where you think you’ll always have to soothe so he knows you didn’t mean it.

Not anymore, at least.

“You’re far from the innocent kitten you seem to be,” he grins, huffing out a soft laugh as it tapers off into a light, breathy moan.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to make you forget the pain?”

“Oh yes,” he grins. Suddenly, a wave of red wraps around your hand and forces your grip to tighten. “I’ve forgotten I was injured at all.”

His evol, you realize—it’s back.

You stare at the gash on his arm—crimson on crimson as the flurry of his power replaces the blood, leaving behind soft, healthy skin. Not a scar left behind. Not a trace of pain. Not even a faint line of where torn flesh mended together and became new.

He’s had worse, you remember. And he comes back from it every damn time.

Still, you think—you’re going to give him better.

“I don’t want you hurting because of me,” you breathe, leaning into his chest and pressing your weight against him without worry, now. Your hand fists his shirt as his arms wrap around you and keep you close.

Your hand glides along his girth between your bodies, working him up slowly, slowly, slowly until it all feels like it’ll come crashing down all at once. His breath hitches as he lets out a light groan of your name.

It sounds pretty on his tongue. You’re more determined to pull nicer sounds from him, too, so you kiss under his ear lobe, sucking gently on the skin and feeling him let out a soft, labored gasp.

“Will you spoil me like this every time I’m hurt?” Sylus breathes.

You scowl and hiss, “no. Absolutely not. Then you’ll just get hurt more.”

He smiles smugly at the retort, biting his lip as you squeeze your fist around him tighter. “A smart little kitten, aren’t you? Sharpening your claws.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like me enough to worry. I think that says enough.”

“Asshole,” you glare.

He’s shameless, you think. Because the insult brings him to the edge, his mouth falling open to a beautiful face of bliss, body quivering under you in soft tremors of pleasure. Sylus is beautiful. Dark, rough around the edges, and uncut stone with sharp corners. Beautiful enough to want, dangerous enough to slice your fingers if you don’t know how to touch him properly.

You admire him as he spills into your hands, his lips desperately searching yours as he leans closer and pulls you into a kiss, heavy breaths pouring into your mouth as he gives himself to you.

“Good,” he pants, “you…you make me feel so good.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be here for,” you murmur, “so you don’t have to feel pain.”

You stroke him through his orgasm, until he’s soft and pliant and limp under your touch. Gently, you stroke his cheek with a thumb as you cup his face. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

“As capable as you are,” he says quietly, “I like the idea of you spending your energy in other fields of expertise. Sue me.”

“I should,” you purse your lips. “Sue you for all you’re worth.”

“It’ll be worth the troubles,” he says smugly, “you’ll get quite the sum if you manage to.”

And he’s not a liar, either—so you scoff at his smug, truth-telling grin before giving his curved lips a small peck.

Girl . Idk

[yoonjae20]

Danny deeply distrusts the Justice League

Based on the wonderful @saltymarshmall0w 's prompt.

I really feel like they aren't enough fanfics or prompts where Danny dislikes the Justice League — and continues to dislike them even after everything (Anti-Ecto Acts) is revealed and taken care of. (Or maybe I'm not looking in the right places — if you guys have any recommendations put them in the Tags or Comments!)

Read on ao3. Masterpost

After many years Danny has finally retired — sure he had to leave everything he loved and that was familiar to him behind for it, but it was worth it. He had a small little house that was his own, he would water his plants every morning and make small talk with his neighbors. Everything was fine. 

Everything turns not so fine, when there’s a sudden knock on his door. Expecting it to be one of his neighbors — for example needing eggs or flour (a neighbor’s kid had needed eggs to bake one of her parents a cake and Danny had been more than willing to spare the few she needed) — he opens the door without a second thought.

Only to almost immediately want to close it again. 

Because that’s the Justice League standing in front of his door. And that can mean nothing good.

Before Danny can slam the door closed, Superman‘s shoe slides in between the door frame, blocking his escape. The smile the man shoots him is probably meant to be reassuring, but the only thing Danny feels is dread. 

To most civilians the Justice League is seen as a beacon of hope — but to Danny? He knows the bitter truth. When he needed them the most they turned his back on him before chasing him across half the globe calling him a villain without even hearing his side of the story. They handed him over the GIW for Ancient’s Sake. He would have died if it weren’t for Tucker and Sam. (He may not have scars to show for it but he can still feel his chest burn when he thinks back to it.) Not that they can remember that though. He still doesn’t trust them. 

“You are Danny Fenton, correct?” Superman asks and Danny stiffens. 

Fenton — not Nightingale like he has changed his surname into to escape his parents influence and leave everything behind. 

“Yes,” he says warily — seeing no point in lying. Considering Batman is lingering behind Superman the Detective would figure it out instantly. 

“And you used to be Amity’s Park’s vigilante Phantom?”

Danny grips the door frame, knuckles white. What’s their point? Are they trying to intimidate him?

“Yes,” he grits out. 

“We were told that you are the one we should seek out in matters involving Ghosts and the Infinite Realms,” Superman continues, but Danny doesn’t let him finish.

“I’m retired,” he interrupts. “Find someone else.”  

“There’s a world-ending event,” Superman says like that would convince Danny. Like Danny hadn’t lived though so many of them — had to prevent them from happening without anyone’s help every single time. Guilt-tripping much? “Even if you don’t want to fight — we need you as an advisor.”

Danny snorts, shaking his head. 

“Go take up the matter with the Justice League Dark then.” 

Danny moves to close the door, but still Superman’s foot doesn’t budge. He could probably brute-force his way through this — but Danny’s tired and he’s not in the mood to explain to his neighbors why his door is broken and he needs to do repairs.

He glares at them and to his surprise Superman actually takes a step back — but still not enough to be able to close the door. 

Danny hasn’t transformed into Phantom since he left Amity Park. Had kept that part of himself locked away — would have separated his Ghost Self from himself if he didn’t know he would be selfish for that. Had ignored his Obsession even if it screamed at him — had pushed it away in his Human Form even if it muted all the colors around him and it meant that every breath was a painful wheeze.

Faced with this situation he almost wants to break the promise he made to himself — but he can’t.

There is no GIW anymore —  Danny had made sure of that. He had wiped all of their files and his parents published research with the help of Technus. He had dismantled both portals to the Ghost Zone and made sure no one would be able to replicate it. But Danny also knows the Justice League — knows how much Superman’s punches hurt, how it feels to get mind controlled — they could overpower him in an instant if he twitched as much as into the wrong direction.  

He really doesn’t have a choice here, doesn’t he? If he doesn’t go out of his free will — they will force him with any means necessary, of that much he is sure. 

His gaze trails to his neighbor’s house and the swing in their backyard. And if they are right and he turns them away — is he sure he won’t feel any guilt if something happens that he could have prevented? Sometimes Danny really hates his Martyr Complex. 

Danny sighs, defeated.

“What do you need my help for?”

They had liked their new neighbor despite the fact that he barely left his house other than to water his plants. They had known that the young man was sickly. He looked like death wormed him over and was weak on his feet— his ice-blue eyes dull. His smile barely held any warmth in it.

Still they invited them over after he had given their daughter eggs to bake the cake for their birthday. They learned that he was kind and had escaped to their small village to live a quiet life. 

When the young man came to tell them that he would be out of town for a few days and to please water his plants if they could, they were worried.

“Are you sure that you are fine, son?” they asked and touched the man’s forehead — but it was icily cold like the rest of their skin had always been. “You look even paler than usual.”

The young man had only given them a half-hearted smile and affirmed them that he was fine

Their daughter's excited steps had hurried behind them and she tugged on their pants after the man had left. 

“Was that Uncle Danny?” the girl asked. “Can I play with him?”

They gave their daughter a weak smile. 

“Uncle Danny is busy for a few days,” they explained. “Later, okay? How about you draw him a picture while we wait for him to come back? So he has something to look forward to?” 

Their daughter nodded and raced back to the living room, searching for supplies, while they continued looking out of the window. They can’t help but have a bad feeling about this.  

It’s unnerving how quiet the young man is. 

There are no easy smiles, sassy quips and puns like from the few shaky phone videos they had pulled from the internet about Phantom. 

He’s meticulous. Probably even more than Batman — and that is a statement. There had been a deep mistrust in the eyes when they had located him and asked him to help them. It’s evident in every step he makes. He double-, even triple-checks every single evidence, every single sentence, every single word they say. 

Nothing is left unturned as he works the way though the situation like if he is dealing with a case. He never stops moving, always doing something — reading through heavy leather-bound books or through their reports. His heart rate is so slow that Clark sometimes wonders if the boy is still breathing at all. 

When the young man had asked them if they spoke to the leader regarding the war declaration and the reasons behind them, he had clicked his tongue when they told him no.

He hadn’t let anyone help him when he drew out the summoning cycle — it looked even more intricate and complicated than they had seen from Zatanna or Constantine. When he had spoken the words for the spell,  his words had sounded ancient and undescribable — hushed whispers following every single word. He clasped his hands and only opened his eyes when he spoke the last word, his eyes burning a deep green. 

The cycle goes up in green fire before a form appears — Clark recognizes the Ghost from the declaration. 

The man’s cold gaze sweeps over the Justice League before it stops on Phantom. He smirks, bowing his head slightly.

“I greet the Prince of the Infinite Realms.”

“Cut the crap Fright Knight,” Phantom's voice is steel-hard. “We both know I refused that position.”

The man tilts his head but nods.

“Very well,” he says. “I greet Phantom, savior of the Infinite Realms.”

Phantom grits his teeth like he wants to refuse that title too before he shakes his head. He gestures to the Justice League.

“Explain.”

“We are just paying back what has been done to us,” Fright Knight claims. “Vita brevis, ars longa, occasio praeceps, experimentum periculosum, iudicium difficile.”

“Life is short, art is long, opportunity fleeting, experiment treacherous, judgment difficult,” Diana translates for them. 

“I see the Daughter of the Queen of the Amazons knows her arts,” the man’s voice has a hint of mockery. “Humanum genus est avidum nimis auricularum. Ignorantia legis non excusat:”

Diana’s eyebrows knit together as she listens. 

“Mankind is too greedy for lies. Ignorance of the law does not excuse,” her voice is almost a whisper. 

“I would have thought you would know of this Phantom,” Fright Knight addresses the young man again. “But now seeing your state, you probably didn’t feel the call for the announcement either. Is there a reason why you are starving yourself?”

Phantom doesn’t meet any of their eyes as he answers.

“That is unimportant to this situation.”

Fright Knight’s lips twitch back into a grin. 

“If the savior of the Infinite Dreams claims so, then I have no choice but to accept it.” He turns back to the Justice League. “Si vis pacem, para bellum.”

“If you want peace, prepare for war.”

“When have we been ignorant?” Batman finally steps in. 

Fright Knight huffs out a dark laugh.

“When has mankind not been ignorant?” Fright Knight questions. “When your government captured my brethren and tortured them, where were you? When they declared us as non-sentient and staged war against us, where were you? When they threatened to destroy our home, where were you?”

The man’s eyes seem to burn as he repeats himself.

“Where were you?”

Clark and the rest of the League are shocked to silence. 

“Now that the danger has passed, why should we just forgive you? Why should we forget?” Fright Knight continues. “If we are not worthy enough to be counted towards mankind that means we just have to rewrite the rules. And since we were never given the chance to negotiate, that means by force.”

“The Meta-Protection Acts-” 

“Only count towards those that are alive.” Fright Knight interrupts Batman. “After all, how can the dead feel any emotions such as pain? I’m sure if you ask your government they will hand you a lot of pretty reports on the biased experiments that prove so.” 

“But that’s-” Clark starts but Fright Knight doesn’t let him finish.

“Despicable? When has that ever stopped mankind?” Fright Knight asks. “We can talk if there isn't a law that states that we can be eradicated without any consequences.”

Before either of them can stop him, Fright Knight swishes his cape made out of purple fire and disappears. Clark faintly asks himself if that is how other people feel when Batman does that in front of their noses. 

Seeing no other option the entire League turns back to Phantom who hasn’t said a single word since the Ghost went on his tirade.

“Phantom-” Batman tries, but the young man’s eyes burn with so much hate that the normally stoic man stocks in his words. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Phantom seethes. “You heard him. Now finally do your jobs right for once.”

Then he leaves the room without a single glance back.

Clark gulps as they look at each other.

“I feel like we made a mistake.”

When the news declares the Anti-Ecto Acts as abolished, Danny feels nothing but exhaustion. The Justice League barely managed to avoid a large-scale — and very justified war. 

Danny leans back tiredly on his sofa. His eyes trail to the drawing his neighbor’s daughter had given him and the first genuine smile in months graces his lips.

“What I don’t do for mankind,” he sighs before he closes his eyes. 

[satoruan]

THINK I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABY w/Jujutsu Kaisen

( TW ) f!Reader, Breeding kink, unprotected sex, cream pie, cum inflation, hair pulling, sex toys, overstimulation, stepdad!Toji, daddy kink, overstimulation

Featuring: Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru & Choso Kamo

authors note: repost bc tumblr took it down for no reason...

☾ GOJO SATORU

“Fuck Love, you’re sucking me so good.” Satoru groans, struggling to not crash the car. During dinner, you two kept passing each other such heated looks that even your friends commented on the tension. Earlier today, you got a notification from your health app that you were ovulating. Satoru jumped on you as soon you told him, he wanted to stay in all day and fuck, but your guys’ friends blew up his phone reminding him of the promises you both made to them. After dinner you couldn't keep your hands off each other, you were desperate for his cum and Satoru was desperate to breed you. “Don’t cum ‘Toru.” You warn before sticking his cock back in your mouth. “Can’t help it Love, mouth too fuckin’ good,” he says, sighing in relief when he pulls onto your street, clicking the button in his car that opens the garage. He barely has the chance to take the keys out of the ignition before you pull him out of the car. “Don’t have time to make it up to the bed, just fuck me right here.” You demand, leaning over the car and presenting Satoru with your ass. Satoru pulls your dress up and shoves his cock into your pussy. He reaches over your hip to stimulate your clit. “‘Toru, just cum in me, I don't care ‘bout gettin’ off.” You move your ass in perfect sync with his hips. “You sure Love–” “Breed me ‘Toru!” You moan, feeling his cum fill you up. You drop your head to the still-warm hood of the car, finally able to catch your breath now that his load was deep in your cunt. “C’mon Love, let's finish this in the bedroom.” 

☾ TOJI FUSHIGURO  

You peak over the corner of the hallway, winking at Toji who was busy talking to your mother. ‘Come fuck me.’ Your mouth once you catch his attention before running back up the stairs, careful not to make any noises. You told your mom that you weren't feeling well, that during the drive back from college you must’ve caught something. In all honestly, you just wanted a chance to freely fuck your stepdad without your mother coming in and out of your room. Specifically, you wanted to be bred by him, and the best way to keep his cum in you was to use several pillows and put them under your ass so his cum didn’t spill out, hence why you didn't want your mom to barge into your room. Thank God she's a germaphobe. You strip out the Pj set you threw on and lay yourself face down, ass up. Your stepdad’s favorite position. As expected, you hear your stepdad softly shut the door a few minutes later. “Desperate now, are we?” He grips your hips. “Always desperate for you Daddy.” you mumble into the bed. “Huh,” he slaps your ass before pulling you up by the hair. “Didn’t hear you slut.” “Said ‘m always desperate for you Daddy, even prepared myself with the dildo you bought me.” You whimper. “Such a good girl,” He pulls his hard cock out of his slacks, gives it a few tugs before stuffing your cunt to the brim. “Now take this dick slut.” He pushes your head down into your lilac duvet. You try and fail to be silent when his dick hits that special spot every time he goes deep enough. “You okay in there, y/n?” You hear your mother's muffled voice through the door. You clench down on your daddy's dick in surprise, causing him to fuck you faster. “Y/n?” “Y-yes mom, I'm fine, just go away p-please.” You gasp out, throwing your head back into the bed in ecstasy when you hear her mumble and walk away. “Daddy, 'm cumming! Cum with me!” You whisper-yell. “Gonna fill this pussy, get you so full of my seed you can never leave this house again.” He grunts, slamming into you at a bruising pace. “Yes, please Daddy, fill me up!” You orgasm and Toji follows suit, filling you with so much cum it spills out.  

☾ GETO SUGURU 

“I'm so full Sugu.” You mumble, dazed. You fight the urge to close your eyes and fall back into Suguru’s big, warm chest. “Wake up sweet girl. ‘M not done yet.” He mumbles into your sweaty neck. “B-but Sugu–” “Shush Lovebug, one more time.” Suguru looks over your shoulder to see where you two are connected. He plugged you up good, but after so many loads a trickle of his cum slowly travels down his almost empty balls. “O-one more.” You grab his chin and kiss him sweetly. He rubs your noses together before grabbing your hips and moving you down the shaft of his cock. He pays close attention to not pull you over the tip of his cock. You hold onto your stomach, feeling it protrude slightly more than normal, Sugu’s cock and cum inflating you. You feel like a cum filled, flesh light as Sugu moves you to his liking. It’s hard to believe he has more cum in him. “Fuck Lovebug, you feel so warm and tight.” He mummers, giving you a few more neck kisses. You lean closer into him. Right now, you want to live in his skin. “Love you Sugu, can’t wait ta have your baby.” “I Love you too, can’t wait to see you carryin’ my child.” He grips your hips tighter at the thought.  “‘bout to fuck another load into you sweet girl, you wan’ it?” “Yes please, more than anything.” You rest your head back into his shoulder. He shrugs at your head until your mouth is close enough to kiss. He slams your hips down and cums as you two make out and whisper sweet nothings. 

☾ CHOSO KAMO

“Again, Baby.” Choso holds the vibrator to your clit. You arch your back and forget the fact that you have nipple clamps on. You scream when the clamps move. Your entire body is sensitive, Choso came up with the idea to simulate you to the max when you said you wanted to have his baby, that you wanted him to breed to and fill you to the brim with his cum. You readily agreed to his idea because you knew that the more orgasms you had the better chance you had to get pregnant, something about the virginal walls relaxing when women orgasm. Now though, you’re regretting it. Choso’s been holding the vibrator on your clit for the last hour and every time you think you’ve gone numb to the sensation; he finds a way to make you cum harder than the last. “N-no Choso, ‘m done down, I've cum as I can, wan’ you to fuckmenow!” You slur your words, the pleasure making you lightheaded. “One more Babygirl.” He soothes you, rubbing your stomach and imagining what you’d look like full of his cum. Beautiful, you’d look beautiful. “At least fuck me while you give me another orgasm!” You argue, staring at him with glossed-over puppy eyes. Choso gives in and situates himself between your legs, still holding the vibrator over your clit. You sigh happily when he sets the vibrator down and thrust his cock in you. You thought you were completely numb down there but the feeling of Choso thrusting into your hole that’s been contracting nothing felt godly. Adding that with the vibrator that he put back on your clit, you come immediately. “Choso!” You scream clenching around him so tight he can’t help cumming. “Fuck! ‘M filling you up so good baby!” 

[moonlightwritingf1]

Worthy of You | LN4

❄️ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando rented a cabin in France for Christmas but couldn’t enjoy it when Y/N suddenly left. Desperate, he flew back to England, where she admitted overhearing his doubts about being worthy of her. Lando confessed his love, and Y/N revealed she felt the same but feared rejection.

❄️ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❄️ word count ━━━━━━━ 4k

The cabin was nothing short of breathtaking. Nestled in the heart of the French Alps, it seemed straight out of a holiday movie—a sprawling chalet with rustic charm. The exterior was draped in a blanket of snow, the wooden beams of the house warmly contrasting the wintery landscape. Snow-dusted balconies framed sweeping views of the towering peaks outside, their jagged lines stark against the pale sky. Inside, the atmosphere was nothing less than luxurious: vaulted ceilings with exposed timber, a massive stone fireplace crackling with warmth, and furniture covered in soft faux fur throws. Twinkling fairy lights danced around the banisters, casting a soft glow, while the scent of fresh pine from the enormous Christmas tree filled the air, welcoming everyone into its festive embrace.

Lando had rented the cabin for the week leading up to Christmas, hoping to host a cozy retreat for his closest friends. It was supposed to be the perfect escape—a time to unwind, relax, and create new memories. But as he stood in the living room, with the warmth of the fire behind him and an unshakable emptiness in his chest, he felt anything but at ease.

Pacing back and forth, phone in hand, Lando’s jaw was tight with frustration. Y/N had left earlier that day, telling him that she needed to return to London for some "urgent" matter. The words didn’t sit right with him. Something was off, and he couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that she was hiding the real reason.

"She just... left," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his messy curls.

"You’re going to wear a hole in the floor," Max commented from the couch, watching Lando with an amused, yet concerned, expression.

Lando didn’t respond, his eyes glued to his phone. He had already called Y/N three times and sent two messages, all without any reply. Max raised an eyebrow, leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in hand.

"Still no word from her?" Max asked.

Lando shook his head, glancing at the phone in his hand as if it might magically ring with her name. "No. Nothing. She just said she had to leave and that was it."

Max frowned, clearly puzzled. "That doesn’t sound like her."

"Exactly," Lando agreed, frustration lacing his voice. "She was fine this morning—excited, helping decorate the tree and everything. Then out of nowhere, she says she has to go. It’s like she couldn’t wait to leave." He tossed his phone onto the coffee table with a huff, running a hand through his curls again.

Max shrugged, his expression neutral. "Maybe you should wait until she gets back to you instead of spiraling. She’s probably just busy."

But Lando wasn’t convinced. "I can’t wait. Something’s wrong. She looked at me before she left—like there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t. It’s not like her to just leave like that."

Max raised a brow, offering a pointed look. "You sure you didn’t say or do something to upset her?"

Lando scowled, shaking his head. "I didn’t even get a chance to talk to her. One minute everything’s fine, and the next... she’s gone."

Max didn’t press further. Instead, he simply sighed. "Well, maybe give her space. She’ll reach out when she’s ready."

But Lando couldn’t do that. He needed answers now. Without another word, he slipped out of the kitchen and onto the balcony, the chill of the evening air biting at his skin despite his thick coat. Leaning against the railing, he gazed out at the snow-covered mountains, his mind racing with unanswered questions. Y/N had been acting strange lately—distant, quieter than usual. The sudden departure was the final straw. Something didn’t add up.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Y/N sat alone in her London flat, the flickering lights from her modest Christmas tree casting a soft, warm glow in the otherwise quiet room. Outside, the city streets were slick with rain, the muted sounds of traffic filling the silence. Her fingers curled around a steaming mug of tea, but she barely noticed the warmth.

Her phone sat on the coffee table, buzzing intermittently with Lando’s name lighting up the screen. Each time, her heart clenched, and each time, she couldn’t bring herself to pick it up.

She sipped her tea, trying to quiet the storm in her mind, but the memory of that morning wouldn’t leave her. She had been standing in the hallway of the cabin, a box of ornaments in her arms, when she overheard Lando and Max talking in the living room. The words they spoke felt like a punch to her gut.

"I don’t know what to do, mate," Lando’s voice was low, tense.

"What are you talking about?" Max had asked, clearly confused.

"It’s Y/N," Lando admitted, and hearing her name made Y/N freeze, her breath catching in her throat.

"What about her?"

Lando sighed deeply, and Y/N could almost hear the weight of his thoughts. "I care about her more than I should. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. But I can’t tell her. She’d probably just laugh in my face or—worse—pity me."

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully in her chest.

"You really think she’d react like that?" Max asked, his voice skeptical.

‘’Wouldn’t you?" Lando responded bitterly. "She's amazing, Max. She deserves someone who's not... me. Someone who doesn’t come with all the problems of my life. I don’t know... it’s just complicated.’’

Y/N couldn’t bear it anymore. Hearing Lando doubt himself, and by extension, their connection, had hurt her more than she could explain. She dropped the box of ornaments where it stood and rushed to her room to pack her things, not bothering to tell anyone why she was leaving.

Now, in the solitude of her flat, Y/N replayed his words over and over, trying to make sense of her own emotions. Did she love him? She realized that the answer had been in her heart for months, but she’d been too afraid to face it.

Her phone buzzed again, pulling her from her thoughts. Lando’s name flashed across the screen once more. This time, her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating before she tapped it.

She read his message: Please, Y/N. Just let me know you’re okay.

Her heart ached as the words weighed heavily on her. She typed a reply but paused, her fingers trembling. After a deep breath, she hit send:

Y/N: I’m fine. I just needed some time to think.

On the other end, Lando’s phone buzzed once more, and he lunged for it, his heart leaping when he saw her name appear.

"She responded," he said quietly to Max, who gave him an encouraging nod.

Lando opened the message and read it quickly, his brow furrowing with confusion. "She’s fine?" he muttered, feeling unconvinced by her words.

Max leaned over to glance at the screen. "Sounds like she just needs some space."

But Lando wasn’t satisfied. He typed back immediately: Think about what? Did I do something to upset you? Please, Y/N, talk to me.

Back in London, Y/N stared at his message, her chest tightening. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she wasn’t ready to confront her feelings—his or hers. She needed more time.

Lando opened his mouth to argue, but then stopped short. He had spent months hiding his feelings for Y/N, terrified of scaring her off, of ruining the connection they shared. But now, her sudden departure was making him question everything.

"Do you think she knows?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Max frowned. "Knows what?"

"How I feel about her," Lando admitted, his gaze shifting away as if he were ashamed.

Max studied him for a moment before shrugging. "If she does, she hasn’t said anything to me. But maybe that’s the problem—you’ve been waiting for her to figure it out instead of telling her."

Lando’s jaw tightened at the suggestion. "And if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same?"

"Then at least you’ll know," Max said simply. "But honestly, I think you’re underestimating her."

The next day, Lando couldn’t take it anymore. The cabin, with all its festive decorations and roaring fire, felt too big and too empty without Y/N. With no more time to waste, he grabbed his coat and car keys.

"Where are you going?" Max asked, looking up from his phone.

"London," Lando replied with quiet determination.

It was late afternoon by the time Lando arrived at Y/N’s flat. The crisp winter air stung his skin as he knocked on her door, nervous energy bubbling inside him.

The door opened, and there she was—her expression a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"Lando," she said softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"You didn’t answer my calls," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "I needed to see you. I needed to know why you left."

She stepped aside, allowing him to enter. The warmth of her flat enveloped him, the scent of cinnamon and pine filling the air. They stood in the living room, the silence between them thick with unspoken words.

"Y/N, talk to me," Lando urged. "Did I do something? Did I say something?"

Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice trembled as she finally spoke. "I heard you, Lando. At the cabin, talking to Max."

His heart sank. "You... heard me?"

She nodded, her voice breaking. "You said you cared about me but couldn’t tell me because you thought I wouldn’t feel the same. That it was too complicated."

Lando closed his eyes in anguish. "Y/N, I didn’t mean for you to hear that."

"But you meant it," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his expression softening as he reached for her hands. "Of course I meant it. I care about you more than you know. But I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d pity me—or worse, push me away."

Y/N’s tears spilled over, and she wiped them away quickly. "Lando, I could never pity you. And I would never push you away."

His brows furrowed, searching her eyes for understanding. "Then why did you leave?"

"Because I didn’t know how to handle it," she admitted, her voice raw with emotion. "Hearing you doubt yourself—it scared me."

Lando gently took her hands in his, looking deeply into her eyes. "I’ve been scared, too. Scared of losing you, of ruining what we have. But I can’t keep hiding how I feel."

Her breath caught in her throat as his words sank in.

"I love you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ve loved you since the moment we met. And if you don’t feel the same, I’ll understand. But I couldn’t let you leave without telling you."

Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at him, her heart pounding. "I do feel the same," she whispered. "I’ve been in love with you, too. I just didn’t know how to say it."

A smile spread across his face as relief and joy flooded his chest. Without another word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that."

She smiled through her tears, resting her forehead against his. "I’m sorry for running. I should’ve just talked to you."

Lando held Y/N close, his heart racing as if it were a race day. For months, he’d rehearsed this moment in his mind, but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming relief and joy that came with hearing her say she loved him too.

"You don’t have to apologize," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I should’ve told you how I felt sooner. I was just too much of a coward to risk losing you."

Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his with a soft vulnerability. "You’re not a coward, Lando. You’ve been so patient with me, and I’m sorry if I ever made you think I didn’t care."

"You didn’t," he assured her. "I just... I got in my own head. I do that sometimes."

She smiled gently, the tension finally starting to ease. "We’re both pretty good at overthinking, huh?"

"Clearly," he replied with a chuckle, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand. "But maybe we can work on that together?"

Y/N nodded, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I’d like that."

The air between them shifted again, quieter now, but no less intense. Lando’s gaze flickered to her lips, and for a moment, he hesitated.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her response was immediate—a shy but confident nod as she leaned in. Their lips met, soft and tentative at first, but quickly deepened as weeks of unspoken feelings spilled into the kiss. Lando’s hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, while Y/N’s fingers tangled in his curls.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

"That was worth the wait," Lando said, his voice tinged with humor and awe.

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks still flushed. "Yeah, it was."

Lando glanced around her cozy flat, the Christmas lights casting a warm glow over everything. "As much as I love this place, it feels like we’re missing out on our cabin Christmas."

Y/N frowned slightly, guilt creeping back in. "I’m sorry for leaving. I ruined the trip for everyone."

"Hey," he said firmly, cupping her face with both hands. "Don’t do that. No one blames you, least of all me. Besides," he added with a teasing smirk, "I rented that ridiculously fancy cabin for selfish reasons."

Her brows furrowed. "Selfish reasons?"

"Yeah," he admitted, leaning in closer. "I was hoping I’d get some time alone with you."

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, and then she laughed, a sound that sent warmth flooding through him. "Well, I guess you got what you wanted in the end."

"Not quite everything," he said, his tone turning serious. "But I’m working on it."

By the following evening, they were back at the cabin. Y/N had been reluctant at first, but Lando insisted, saying he wanted to finish what they’d started.

As the car pulled up to the chalet, Y/N couldn’t help but gasp. Seeing it again, with its snow-covered roof and twinkling lights against the backdrop of the Alps, it felt like stepping into a postcard.

"It’s beautiful," she said softly.

Lando grinned as he grabbed their bags. "Wait until you see it at night."

Inside, the warmth of the fireplace welcomed them, and Y/N felt a wave of nostalgia for the short time she’d spent there.

"I didn’t unpack everything after you left," Lando admitted as he set her bag by the stairs. "Figured you’d be back."

Y/N turned to him, her heart aching at how much faith he’d had in her. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

"Never," he said simply, his eyes locking with hers.

They spent the evening decorating the tree, finishing what they’d started days ago. Lando playfully scolded Y/N for her questionable ornament placement, while she retaliated by draping tinsel over his head.

When the tree was finally done, they sat on the plush rug in front of the fire, a bottle of wine between them.

"This feels nice," Y/N said, her voice soft.

Lando leaned back on his hands, watching her intently. "It feels perfect."

Y/N glanced at him, her cheeks heating under his gaze. "You’re staring again."

"Can’t help it," he said with a small shrug. "You’re kind of my favorite thing to look at."

Her laughter was quiet but genuine. "You’re such a flirt."

"Only with you," he admitted, his tone earnest.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire filling the space. Y/N sipped her wine, her mind wandering back to the moment she overheard him at the cabin.

"Lando?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"When you said it was complicated... What did you mean?"

He exhaled deeply, setting his glass down. "I meant that my life is messy. The travel, the attention, the pressure—it’s not easy, and I didn’t want to drag you into all of that if you weren’t ready. But I realized something after you left."

"What?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That none of it matters if I don’t have you," he said, his eyes shining with sincerity. "You make everything better, Y/N. And I’m done letting fear get in the way of that."

Her chest tightened, and she reached out to take his hand. "I don’t care about the mess, Lando. I just want you."

His smile was soft but filled with relief. "You’ve got me, then."

And as the fire burned low and the snow fell gently outside, they sat together, finally at peace. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

As the evening drew on, the crackling warmth from the fire grew more comforting, and the glow of the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree made the cabin feel like a perfect little world of their own. Lando and Y/N had fallen into a comfortable silence, the soft clink of their wine glasses and the occasional laugh over a shared memory keeping the air light.

Y/N leaned back against the soft rug, feeling the warmth of the fire seeping into her body, and caught herself glancing over at Lando. His attention was on the flames, but there was something different in his expression tonight—a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. The weight of everything between them—the distance, the confusion, the undeniable connection—had been lifted, and what remained was something new. Something hopeful.

"Lando," she began, her voice just above a whisper, tentative, yet full of curiosity.

He turned toward her, his eyes still soft but intense, always making her heart beat a little faster. "Yeah?"

Y/N swallowed, the words feeling heavy on her tongue, unsure of how to articulate the depth of her thoughts. "I’ve been thinking about everything—the way things unfolded, the way I left, and how much I was running from us… from what was right in front of me."

Lando’s gaze softened even more, and he scooted closer to her, his hand brushing against hers before he stopped, as if asking for permission. She placed her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, the simple touch sending a jolt of warmth through her chest.

"You’re not the only one who was running," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "I think I’ve been too scared of what we could be. Of messing it up. But now… with you here, everything feels right. And I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t."

Her heart fluttered at his words. "I was scared, too," she admitted softly, gazing into his eyes. "Scared that maybe I was just a distraction for you. That maybe I was too much for you, or that you wouldn’t feel the same. But I don’t want to feel like that anymore."

He smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it was a smile that reached his eyes—gentle, warm, full of promise. "I feel everything for you, Y/N. I just didn’t know how to show it. How to tell you, especially when I thought you might not feel the same."

Y/N looked down at their intertwined hands, feeling a tightness in her chest at the realization of just how much they had both been holding back. "I’m sorry for leaving like I did," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn’t have run away. I just… I was so overwhelmed."

Lando lifted her chin gently with his fingers, his touch tender as he urged her to meet his gaze. "You don’t need to apologize," he said softly. "What matters now is that we’re here. Together. And we don’t have to hide from what we feel anymore."

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with the weight of everything they hadn’t said before. There was something sacred about this moment, as though time had slowed, giving them space to let everything they had kept buried come to the surface.

And then, without warning, Y/N felt the rush of emotions she had been holding back for so long. She leaned in slowly, her eyes never leaving his, as if testing the waters, seeing if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, he met her halfway, their lips brushing in a tentative kiss that was soft but filled with an intensity neither of them had expected. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of years of friendship, years of longing, of waiting for the right moment.

But when their lips finally met, it felt like the world had shifted. It wasn’t just about a kiss. It was about all the unspoken words, all the time they had spent pretending they didn’t care, when all along, they had been waiting for this very moment. The kiss deepened, slow and desperate, as though they were both trying to make up for lost time, to erase the doubt and the distance they had allowed to grow between them.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, and neither of them spoke for a while. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fire and the distant howling of the wind outside.

"Everything feels different now," Y/N whispered, her voice full of wonder.

Lando’s lips quirked up in a gentle smile. "Different in a good way?"

She nodded, her fingers tracing the lines of his palm. "In a way that makes everything else feel unimportant. Like nothing else matters but us."

"Yeah," he agreed, the weight of the words settling in. "I’ve spent so much time thinking about the future, about racing, about everything else. But in this moment, with you… I know what really matters. It’s you."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest, her heart swelling with affection. "I’ve been thinking the same thing," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I was scared. But now that we’re here, I’m not afraid anymore."

Lando tilted his head, studying her face with an intensity that sent a rush of heat through her. "So, no more running?"

She shook her head, her smile gentle but full of certainty. "No more running."

Lando leaned in again, his lips capturing hers in another kiss—this one slow, full of everything they had been holding back. There was a tenderness in it, a promise that they would take this slow, that they would learn to navigate whatever was to come together. But more than that, it was a kiss filled with the knowledge that they were finally on the same page, finally together in a way they had always been meant to be.

As they broke apart, Lando reached for the bottle of wine and poured them both another glass, the soft clink of the glasses a gentle reminder that they had come a long way.

Y/N glanced out the window at the snowflakes gently falling from the sky, each one unique and fleeting, just like the moment they were sharing. "It’s beautiful out there," she said softly.

Lando turned to look as well, and for a moment, they were silent again, watching the world outside. But then he turned back to her, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Not as beautiful as you, though," he said with a grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. "You’re such a flirt."

"Only with you," he replied, his voice low and teasing. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. "And I always will be."

Her heart raced at his words, her body feeling alive with the anticipation of everything that was unfolding between them. She leaned into him again, her lips brushing his, more sure of herself now than she had ever been.

And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of everything—the future, the love they had shared, and the love that was still waiting to be discovered between them.

[spider-stark]

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object. 

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?” 

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly mutters, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.” 

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head. 

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.” 

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop. 

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken. 

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm. 

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House. 

Grover said to send our best. 

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House? 

No one’s a better shot than her. 

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage. 

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived. 

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer. 

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs. 

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side. 

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?” 

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat. 

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders. 

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.” 

Your cousins fall silent. 

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.” 

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss. 

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.” 

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either. 

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?” 

Strange. 

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies. 

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red. 

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.” 

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really. 

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you. 

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters. 

And red—for House Blackwood. 

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.” 

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours. 

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists. 

Not red. 

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp. 

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart. 

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.” 

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side. 

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do. 

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away? 

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you. 

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.” 

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery. 

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.” 

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even. 

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.” 

Your spine turns to steel. 

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council. 

The Blacks and the Greens. 

The rightful heir and the first-born son. 

And the very reason your father had called you home. 

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.” 

A heartbeat passes. Then another. 

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands. 

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like. 

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong. 

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.” 

Your brow furrows. A hunt? 

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.” 

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air. 

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest.  “And when is this hunt to take place?” 

Elmo grins. “Now.” 

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts. 

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!” 

“It is already sunset!” 

“Is this a jest?” 

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done. 

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.” 

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise. 

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles. 

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord. 

“A hunt?!” 

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head. 

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?” 

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.” 

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?” 

“Who is who?” 

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.” 

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?” 

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!” 

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?” 

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.” 

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-” 

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–” 

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures. 

“Yes!’ 

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.” 

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass. 

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him. 

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir. 

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins. 

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?” 

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned. 

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe. 

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!” 

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji. 

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down. 

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.” 

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!” 

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.” 

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!” 

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not? 

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!” 

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.” 

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head. 

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers. 

Not Benji, though. 

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones. 

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!” 

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat. 

Red. 

“Is that a threat, Bracken?” 

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.” 

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand. 

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago. 

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?” 

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine. 

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge. 

“Stop.” 

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound. 

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver. 

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.” 

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear. 

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury. 

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered. 

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you. 

You could have killed him, you glare. 

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t. 

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–” 

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground. 

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.” 

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you. 

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that. 

But did he take pride in you? 

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her. 

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.” 

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates. 

“I don’t trust him,” he says. 

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you. 

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.” 

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too. 

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.” 

“And the New?” 

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot. 

Ignorant. To continue pushing— 

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.” 

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.” 

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners. 

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.” 

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too. 

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt. 

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails. 

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows. 

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary. 

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose. 

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though. 

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall. 

He’s just Benji. 

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier. 

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind. 

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. 

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer. 

A fool’s errand. An impossible task. 

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt. 

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely. 

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp. 

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience. 

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.” 

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.” 

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.” 

True. 

“Then we find one without sense, then.” 

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.” 

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.” 

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name. 

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there. 

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart. 

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–” 

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?” 

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–” 

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls. 

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away. 

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.” 

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–” 

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!” 

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling. 

—through-and-through. 

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?” 

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek. 

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it. 

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?” 

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house. 

—Take pride in that. 

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.” 

The birthright of a drunken craven. 

The betrayal of a beloved princess. 

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.” 

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense. 

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe. 

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his. 

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?” 

I don’t want to, you think. 

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.” 

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides. 

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally. 

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm. 

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut. 

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.” 

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword. 

Gold on your back. Red in your veins. 

A Bracken by name, but… 

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.” 

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it. 

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow. 

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes. 

But duty… 

That was something else entirely. 

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red. 

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable. 

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles. 

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour. 

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours. 

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.” 

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair. 

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red. 

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him. 

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you. 

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here. 

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.” 

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm 

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover. 

And you. 

The bridge to a great chasm. 

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity. 

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth. 

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.” 

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow. 

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you  slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees. 

There. 

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak. 

A single shot and you could go back to camp. 

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold. 

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack. 

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages

[norrisainz33]

Summer to Remember | MV33

☆ summary: in which Max surprises you during summer break 💍

☆ pairing: max verstappen x reader

☆ fc: none, pics from pinterest

☆ warnings: ever so slightly suggestive. you are responsible for the content you consume.

୨୧┈୨୧

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yourusername: strong first half of the season for my maxie! now its time to relax 🫶🏻🌊☀️

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user1: if you guys need another cat i can meow

user2: how he bagged such a baddie will always be beyond me

maxverstappen1: beach baby

yourusername: 🏝️🌊☀️

redbullracing: going to miss you for a couple weeks y/n!

yourusername: i’ll miss you too admin but dw ill dm you updates

redbullracing: 🫶🏻 my queen

user2: even the rbr admin is obsessed with her and honestly i get it

maxverstappen1 added to his private story

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danielricciardo: STAY CALM EVERYBODY STAY CALM YOU KNOW THE PROCEDURE

maxverstappen1: at least one of us is staying calm

danielricciardo: i’m so excited i could explode

landonorris: LETS GOOOOOOOOO

charlesleclerc: alex and i expect a call with updates directly after

maxverstappen1: don’t worry, i’m sure she’ll call alex before i’ve even finished asking her

martingarrix: ohhh it’s finally happening 🥹

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yourusername: i don’t think im ever going to leave this place 😫

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oscarpiastri: lily will miss you too much if you don’t come home

yourusername: you make a good point

maxverstappen1: you don’t have to leave, i told you we could get a condo here

yourusername: ok mr solves all my problems

user3: making my partner take notes

user4: nah bc wtf where’s my man who just offers to buy me a second house

user5: i’m sleeping on the highway

bestie: if you need company i’d happily visit 😉

maxverstappen1 added to his private story

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landonorris: the suspense is killing me can’t you do it right now

maxverstappen1: patience lando!

danielricciardo: i have a countdown set on my phone. 23 hours, 6 minutes and 23 seconds left!

maxverstappen1: danny 😂

schecoperez: so excited for you mi amigo

maxverstappen1: 💙

maxverstappen1 added to his private story

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danielricciardo: SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

alexandrasaintmleux: she looks so beautiful in white 🤍

charlesleclerc: good luck mate

landonorris: facetime me in rn

oscarpiastri: lily and i are sending our best 🧡

georgerussell63: go get that girl 💙

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maxverstappen1: she said yes! y/n thank you for completing me, supporting me and loving me. i don’t think i ever truly knew what love was until you came along. i can’t wait to make you my wife 🤍

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user12: who is cutting onions

user14: not me sobbing over an instragram post

schecoperez: unbelievably happy for you both

landonorris: successfully did not spill the beans!

maxverstappen1: i know that was hard for you. thanks for keeping the secret and for helping me plan 😉

yourusername: i’ll always be your biggest fan. i love you to the moon and back my fiancé 💙

maxverstappen1: fiancé has a nice ring to it

danielricciardo: i love you both so much this is everything and more

yourusername: we love you more danny

danielricciardo: NOT POSSIBLE

maxverstappen1: couldn’t have done it without you mate

charlesleclerc: leo has agreed to be the ring bearer 💍

yourusername: that is the best news

user17: LEO IN THE WEDDNG?! STOPPPP

user18: this is going to be the wedding of the century

user19: seeing max happy makes me so happy

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yourusername: I AM GOING TO BE A WIFE!! the easiest yes i’ve ever said! I can’t even begin to explain how much i love you max, these past few years with you have been nothing short of a dream come true. i can’t wait to be your mrs. verstappen 🤍

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user22: i just fell to my knees in this walmart parking lot

maxverstappen1: i’ll love you to the end of time mrs. verstappen

yourusername: promise?

maxverstappen1: promise

georgerussell63: finally!!

charlesleclerc: i am so happy for you both - congratulations 💙

user16: this is my version of the royal wedding

alexandrasaintmleux: you are going to make the most beautiful bride 🫶🏻

yourusername: and you’re going to make the most beautiful maid of honor 🤍

user33: so true love does exist huh

redbullracing: is it too early to talk about making the next world champion

user24: AINT NO WAY LMFAO

user23: admin said get to work

୨୧┈୨୧

☆ a/n: hope you enjoyed!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

୨୧┈୨୧

© norrisainz33: please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[genderkoolaid]

In 2014, the Gloucester county school board voted to ban Grimm, then 15, from using the boys’ bathrooms, even though he’d been living openly as a boy for months and using the restroom without incident. The policy turned deeply intimate facts of Grimm’s life into a media spectacle. With the ACLU, he sued to defend his rights to use facilities that matched his gender, launching a groundbreaking national case on bathroom access. Grimm became an LGBTQ+ icon, celebrated by Laverne Cox at the Grammys and interviewed by Whoopi Goldberg on The View. He eventually won a landmark federal decision asserting trans youth’s constitutional protections against discrimination. [...] And while Grimm became a civil rights trailblazer, the case did not secure him stability or financial security. The Pride parade invites have stopped coming, and like so many other marginalized trans people, Grimm has faced significant mental health challenges and struggles with poverty. He recently lost his housing, and is now facing homelessness. “I’m someone who has had worldwide visibility. I represent an outer crust of privilege most people will never see, and I cannot make ends meet no matter how hard I try,” he says. [...] Much of his family rejected him [after coming out], but many friends and teachers were supportive as he entered 10th grade as a boy and clearly more comfortable in his skin. He initially used a private nurse’s restroom, but it was inconveniently located; peers and staff noted his long bathroom breaks, leaving him alienated and humiliated. So the principal and guidance counselor agreed to let him use the boys’ restroom, and for two months, he had no issues. But gossip circulated outside school and on a community Facebook forum, where people posted vicious comments. Friends defending him online faced harassment. “It was the adults who made it a problem, because their mentality spread to their kids,” recalls Evelyn Hronec, another friend. “These were grown adults talking about a 16-year-old’s genitals. It was vile.” At school board meetings in 2014, speakers stood feet away from Grimm, misgendering him, asking questions about his body and transition, calling him names and demanding he be kept out of boys’ facilities in the name of “safety”. In one speech, Grimm pleaded for the opportunity to “use the restroom in peace”. When a man called him a “freak” and likened him to an animal, Deirdre lunged out of her seat, she recalls. “I was fighting for his life.” [...] In 2021, the supreme court allowed Grimm’s victory to stand, and the school board was ordered to pay $1.3m in attorney’s fees. Grimm, however, only got a symbolic $1. To secure damages, Grimm would’ve had to give the opposition’s lawyers access to his medical records to scrutinize the cause and extent of his emotional distress, a process he couldn’t stomach after years of fighting. The idea he’d have to prove his anguish was unbelievable to his mom, who can’t shake the memories of her son becoming suicidal. Grimm doesn’t regret moving on without damages. But he desperately could’ve used financial help – especially as the trauma of his childhood began to catch up with him.

[foreveradreamaway]

streaming- MV33/1

summary- a compilation of moments from maxs streams

i really loved writing this as i always have small idea that aren’t long enough to be their own post, if you have any small idea that goes with this or just in general then please comment it or send it to me and i will make a part two or another post similar <3

max loved to stream every now and then. he loved the interactions with fans and getting to play with his friends. you also loved when max streamed because it gave you some peace and quiet for a while, it also allowed you to do some house work without max following you like a lost puppy.

you had made numerous appearances in his streams and his fans loved it. probably enjoying seeing you both as actual humans and getting to see how you both live your daily lives together. some fans had made a compilation of the many times you made an appearance in one of maxs streams.

🏎️

max sat in his gaming chair immersed in whatever game he was playing. you needed something from the room he was in and it couldn’t wait.

you opened the door as slowly and quietly as possible and creeped over to the thing you needed. apparently you weren’t quiet enough and he heard you. he moved one side of his headset off his ear.

“sorry, i just needed to grab the end thing for the hoover.” you sheepishly smiled. he only grinned in return. you took this as the opportunity to walk up behind him so you were in the frame.

“what are you playing?” you questioned as your face finally came in shot.

“im playing cod with lando, charles and carlos”

“aww cute” you sent a quick wave to say hello to everyone that was on the other end of the camera. however your eyes were quickly caught by the top of maxs head.

“can they hear me?” you questioned, he nodded. “okay. hello everyone, it’s your favourite person in the world here and i just needed to show you something” max had a confused look on his face as he watched you through the camera, wondering what you were about to show.

your hands reached for each side of the head set that was on his head and slowly removed it and handed it to him. your hands then went to either side of his head and tilted it down.

“max gets really bad headset hair guys and it will literally stay like this for the rest of the day” max’s hands quickly went up to his hair to attempt to fix while you and the chat couldn’t help but laugh.

“shut up” he grumbled as he lifted the head set back onto his head. “love you baby!” you called over your shoulder as you left the room.

“i hate her”

“i heard that!”

🏎️

“mijn liefste, wil je zo pasta? Ik ben er nu een paar aan het maken” you can’t be seen as you poke your head round the door.

“Het gaat goed, dank je schat” he replies while not taking his eyes off the game but removing one side of his headset. “welke pasta ben je aan het maken?”

“i know i’m learning but im not that good yet max” you laugh.

“i said ‘what pasta are you making” he replies, suddenly feeling hunger bubble his stomach.

“i’m not sure yet. are you sure you don’t want any? i’ll surprise you” making food has always been one of your love languages, your mum had shown you to cook as soon as she could and you picked it up quick.

“yeah go on then” he finally turns to you and smiles as you walk away. when he finally turns back he sees the chat filled with questions and people telling him how cute you both are.

“yeah she is learning dutch. i’m teaching her” his face lights up as he talks about you. “it’s very easy for her though because she already knows other languages so she picks it up quickly” his smile never leaving his face.

🏎️

max is looking intensely at the chat in-front of him, reading everything is the chat. answering a couple questions. he does this until he sees a familiar name come up.

“‘answer your phone’ what?” he quickly picks up his phone to see that he has ten missed calls from you. he is quick to call you back.

“max stop putting your phone on do not disturb and silent” you scold. he always did when he was streaming, he always said it was because he didn’t want to be disturbed however sometimes it was important. like now.

“sorry schat.”

“do you want anything from the shop? i’ve already got your m&ms and tomato soup.” max had a soft spot for m&ms and everyone knows about this man’s love of tomato soup.

“no i’m okay thank you baby. what are we having for dinner” max had a massive smile on his face. half because he was talking to you and because he knew how much everyone watching would love the conversation.

“well you’ve got mean prep” you couldn’t help but laugh as max groaned loudly and threw his head back. he hated meal prep. don’t get me wrong he loved being healthy and eating nice food but sometimes he just craved your cooking. “and i’m having a stir fry.”

“ugh whatever. i want stir fry”

“i know baby. ill make you one as soon as your nutritionist will allow me too”

“okay fine. when will you be home?” max kept the phone close to his mic to make sure everyone would be able to hear you on the other end of the phone.

“not long, i took the ferrari so it won’t take me long to get home. i don’t have my keys so be ready to pick up your phone and open the door! okay, i love you bye” you ended the phone call quickly before he could say anything about you taking his car.

“i swear she prefers my cars over her own” he laughed as he read through the chat again.

🏎️

when you moved in with max you demanded that a sofa be put into his gaming/office room. he got you the cosiest sofa he could just to make sure you were comfy. max spent a lot of time in the room and you missed him when he was in there.

before you lived together, you tried to sit on the floor when you were round but you just weren’t comfortable enough so that’s when you demanded a sofa. if max was streaming or just had some admin stuff to do, you would just sit on the sofa and enjoy each-others company.

max was streaming, as per usual, while you sat all snuggled up on the sofa across the room. you had one the comfiest jumper of his that you could find, his joggers, a blanket covering your whole body and tucked under your chin and you glasses that sat on your nose.

max had specifically bought a pair of joggers that were too small for him. one day he came home to see you wearing a pair of his that were far to big for you and when he questioned you, you said that you just enjoy wearing his clothes. so the next day he went and bought a pair that were to small and placed them in his waldrobe. from then on they were yours.

you were also a secret iPad kid at heart. your iPad was literally your prized possession and you took it everywhere with you. now was no different as you sat there with your ipad resting on your legs as you watched tik tok.

“look” you turned the ipad around so that it was facing max, he leant on the arm rest of the chair to get a better view of what you were showing him. it was a cat.

“we should get sassy and jimmy one” he laughed as you nodded. he sat back into his chair and caught what the chat were saying. many people asking where you were.

he grabbed the camera from its holder and turned it to face you, showing you under the blanket. he got up out his chair and moved to sit next to you on the sofa.

“you are actually such an old man” you laughed as he struggled to hold the camera so that it would get a view of both of you. “give it to me” you took the camera from his hand and wrapped your other arm around his neck to bring him closer to you.

“hey guys, it’s your favourite person in the world here” the camera now had a perfect view of both of you as you put a quick peace sign up to the camera. you quickly nudged max and his fingers quickly went to the same position as yours. “i want to show you all my outfit, hold this baby” you handed the camera to max and threw the blanket onto him as you stood from your seat.

“max, show them my whole body my love” you laughed as he was only showing the camera your legs. “i’m trying Schat” you leant forward a bit and moved maxs hand so it faced where it should be.

“okay so my glasses are from specsavers, they are the only people i trust with my glasses. even if i need a new pair i would rather fly home than get a pair from anywhere else. because if they messed my glasses up i would just hear my mum in my ear saying ‘should have gone to specsavers’. my jumper is maxs- where is this jumper from?” you questioned him.

“umm its a zara one i think”

“okay so the jumper is from zara and these joggers are from nike. can i even say that? do they even sponsor you?” max’s laugh could be heard from behind the camera before he replies. “yeah it’s okay. i think” his face fell into a sheepish grin behind the camera.

“my socks are from god knows where. and the blanket is from also god knows where.” you gave the camera a big smile as you fell back into your previous position.

“you are the new version of maxplaining”

“shut up”

🏎️

“can we play fifa?” you were sat on the floor, cross legged, next to max while he sat in his gaming chair. “you only want to play fifa because you always beat me” he huffed.

“exactly” you grinned at him.

[quarterlifekitty]

heyyy

can I ask for a part 2 on fuckboy soap?

i want to know more about what happens with reader and simon

in my head, Simon HATES seeing Johnny treat the reader that way. i can envision Simon taking her out, treating her right and all but stealing away Johnny's toy.

So, I posted a part 2, but I have these asks about it and I’d hate for them to go to waste— so I thought I’ll do a little bit of expansion on the relationship. Some shite exposition.

Uhhhh I’m back from writing this now and I didn’t mean to do this but I kind of made this like a prequel or like a part 1.5 I didn’t mean to make it so long oops

Promethean: how to starve a beast

Simon does not involve himself, in any way, in the nasty hookup miasma that Soap is a part of. That most of the frat is a part of, honestly. Motherfucker doesn’t party. This man is on financial aid and has a part time job. He is studying because he’s the one paying for his schooling and for his living expenses.

He doesn’t care that Johnny fucks people under less than savory pretenses. People get played by him? Better they learn their lesson with some harmless douche with a mohawk than with someone who will actually do some damage. Ultimately, not his business. He’s seen plenty of people come and go across the hall, and he’s not fussed.

He doesn’t respond to the conquest stories from the other guys when they’re sharing takeout, or the occasional ‘family’ dinner. Really, the only reaction he gives, even internally, is when one of them comments on something some girl did that was gross, or something about them that wasn’t hot.

A complaint that her period started when she stayed the night. I’d like to fuck a girl while she’s on the rag. Bet it’s fucking warm and slick.

A complaint that she had cellulite. Way to out yourself as being a porn addict, mate.

A complaint that her nails dug too hard into his skin. I’d love for a girl to make me bleed when I fuck her.

He didn’t feel any sympathy. Just accumulated little, harmless fantasies.

Until Johnny started talking about you.

Simon didn’t know you. Had never met you. Seen you once or twice, maybe. Hadn’t learned to even recognize your face.

“Kept leanin’, think she wanted me t’kiss her.”

“So fockin’ bad at giving head. S’a bit cute, tae be honest.”

“Tried tae make a grab for my hand the other night. Can ye believe it? Tryin’ tae hold my hand while ah’m givin’ it tae her. Daft thing still doesnae get it.”

Then he starts to notice you when you leave Soap’s room. The way you very gently close his door as if you’re worried about bothering him. The way you pause, like there’s something you want to say, before you move on. The deep breath. The odd sniffle.

And then, when you show up. Yanked inside without so much as a kind word.

Simon has to strain and get close to the door if he wants to hear you. Soap’s loud as all fuck, but from what one can hear from the hall, he may as well be in there alone.

It’s like there’s an electric coil in his belly. Every time there’s something to do with you, the dial ticks over a notch. The current heats the metal. Every time Soap brags about what he’s done to you. Every time he sees you shake when you walk down the hall and out of the house. Every time Soap brags about what you, the stupid little thing he keeps for a fuckpet, really wants—

The coil is red hot. Even if he could figure out how to turn off the burner, the heat would stay. The metal would be hot to the touch. The heat radiates the very air in front of him, like a mirage. He thinks of you when you’re not even in the house. When no one’s talking about you. You’re a parasite that’s squirmed deep into his gut and you can’t be removed without pulling his organs out with you.

He feels like he’s gone mad. How can no one else see it the way he does? How can Johnny not see how privileged he is to have you even look at him? How can he not want the perfect devotion you’re so keen to give him? How can you not know that any man would thank god for your returned affection, if you’d only set your sights on one that wasn’t a complete and total fuckhead? How has no jealous classmate or longtime friend come by and set Johnny’s nose bloody and crooked for how he’s treated you, sensitive and dangerously endearing as you are?

Every time Johnny talked about you, he had no idea that it was another rusted staple under his best mate’s skin. Building your mythology. Making you a prize. No, that wasn’t right.

Making you seem utterly wasted. Shackled yourself to a mutt with no sense for what he had writhing and submissive beneath him.

Soap has the perfect thing, the finest yield of flesh, right between his teeth and he won’t bite down.

Content for you to rot in his maw.

Well, Simon isn’t.

[babydollslibrary]

QUESTION…? — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

published: February 4th, 2023

summary: in which Quinn and sunshiny good girl, y/n, have harbored feelings for each other for a while. but when they finally hookup, Quinn leaves in the middle of the night and let’s y/n believe maybe it was just a one night fling.

specific lyrics: “good girl, sad boy.” and “did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room and every single one of your friends was making fun of you but fifteen seconds later they were clapping too? then what did you do? did you leave her house in the middle of the night?”

warnings: kinda steamy but no NSFW. profanity.

not my gif

contrary to popular belief, i’m not oblivious to the irony of Quinn Hughes and i being best friends. the optimistic, always happy, constantly smiling hopeless romantic being best friends with the pessimistic, always looks miserable, rarely smiling hockey player? yeah, it’s baffled our other friends for years.

but when asked, i can’t really explain it. Quinn and i just click. we know what makes the other happy, or sad, or angry. it’s easy for us to be around each other. and we’re understanding of each other. i don’t push him to talk, and he’s one of the rare few who will just sit and listen to me ramble without asking me to shut up. as like all best friends we’re really close. we like to think we have no secrets. that we tell each other everything.

but, i have one.

i’m in love with my best friend.

i never meant for it to happen. when we became friends, i was actually glad to finally meet a guy that just wanted to be friends. no underlying motives, no moves being pulled. just friends. but eventually my feelings changed. it wasn’t all at once, like i read about in my romance novels. no. the changes were gradual. it started slowly, with me seeking him out more than my other friends. then it turned into getting butterflies in my stomach when we touched, no matter if we were holding hands, linked arms, or if i was just sitting close enough to him on the couch that our thighs touched. at first i chalked it up to him just being my best friend, but then the dreams started happening. dreams where he and i were dating. and eventually sleeping dreams turned into daydreams. and then i finally realized my true feelings. i’m in love with my best friend.

i’ve spent the better half of our four year friendship hiding my feelings from him, too scared that confessing might ruin our friendship. he’s never given me any reason to assume that he feels the same way, so i keep my feelings locked in a box in the back of my mind, only let free when i’m alone and daydreaming about what life would be like if we were more than friends.

i’ve since then gone on several dates with numerous guys, trying to find someone who makes me feel the way Quinn does, but it’s been a moot effort. every guy has been missing the spark that i feel between Quinn and i. and i always end up back to the beginning, spending my nights hanging out with my best friend and just hoping i’m strong enough not to spill my secret.

which brings us to now, where i’m mentally screaming over how good Quinn looks in his white button down shirt and black dress pants. it’s new year’s eve, and most of the Canucks team, their partners, and a few friends are lounged around Elias’s house. with five minutes until the new year, i’m sat on the couch clutching a glass of champagne, my sixth of the night, and animatedly chatting with Quinn, who looks like he would rather be anywhere else. but i’ve learned by now that that’s just his resting facial expression.

“alcohol makes you chatty, doesn’t it y/n?” Elias laughs from his spot in the chair a few feet away from us. i stop talking, letting out a weak chuckle. it’s not like i’m unused to comments like that, i’m often told that i talk a lot, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting a little.

“it does. but i like it. i like listening to her talk.” Quinn defends. my heart flutters in my chest at his words. a blush coating my cheeks. “now back to what you were saying, y/n.”

i blink a few times, just staring at my best friend in front of me before i begin to speak.

“oh. i was just saying that i think my parents want me to visit soon. but i was done speaking.” i shrug.

“no, you weren’t.” Quinn’s brows furrow and he wears a scowl. “you were still talking.”

“well, i was about done anyways. but i can keep talking.” Quinn’s lips quirk in a half smile and he nods for me to continue. “well, i do think the concept of new years is pretty weird. and some of the traditions that people have are weird as well. like-”

i’m cut off by the simultaneous chants of the people surrounding us. counting down from ten. i smile and my face lights up. i love this part of the holiday.

“SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!” i sigh as i watch couples pair off, ready to kiss their other half a happy new year, a longing look in my eye. i feel Quinn shift beside me, his thigh pressing closer into mine. but my eyes are locked on my friends all smiling at their significant others, so happy and in love. i want that.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” i’m snapped out of my thoughts by a hand grasping my chin. my face is turned and i’m able to catch a quick glimpse of Quinn’s eyes before my lips are covered by his. his hands move to cup my face, his lips moving over mine. it takes me a second of hesitation to realize what’s happening and my heart speeds up. i snap out of my trance in time to move my lips, locking us into a slow and passionate kiss.

“GO HUGGY! FINALLY!” i hear someone yell and everyone laughs, cracking jokes about how long it took for us to kiss. Quinn pulls back to lock eyes with me, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. he gives me a small smile before leaning in and capturing my lips with his once more. our friends start clapping and i smile into the kiss, making him pull away once again. this time he pulls away completely, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to him.

what did that mean? does he like me the way that i like him? or was it just a midnight kiss between friends? is this gonna change anything, or are we just going to move past this like it didn’t happen? does he realize how much this means to me? my head is swarmed with questions that i may never know the answers to.

i stay glued to his hip for the rest of the night, my head still reeling from the kiss. not long after midnight, everyone starts to head home, and i follow Quinn out to his car so he can give me a ride. he opens the passenger seat for me, helping me in before shutting it and jogging around the front of the car, slipping into the drivers seat. the drive is unusually quiet, my usual chattiness drifted away after our kiss. instead i’m stuck inside my own mind, still wondering what it meant. when he pulls up and parks in a spot outside my apartment complex, he turns to look at me, and i manage a smile.

“you okay?” he asks. “you’ve been quiet.”

“yeah, i’m fine. just figured i’d give you a reprieve.” i joke. his expression tells me he didn’t appreciate my attempt.

“don’t do that.” he says.

“do what?”

“don’t let what Elias said get into your head. i love that you never stop talking. i like seeing you happy.”

okay he needs to stop talking before i do something monumentally stupid. like kiss him again.

“don’t worry, Quinny. i’m not gonna go silent on you. i was just joking.” i smile. “who else can i talk about all my star wars theories with, without them calling me a nerd?”

he laughs and unbuckles his seatbelt.

“you wanna come in and drink some wine while i tell you about how i think Palpatine is actually Anakin’s father?” i ask, and he nods.

“what else would i do?” he jokes sarcastically.

we get out of the car and Quinn leads the way up to my apartment, having been here hundreds of times in the past four years. i unlock my door and call out to my cat that i’m home. within seconds she comes around the corner, and Quinn scoops her up in his arms, cradling her like a baby. i listen to him coo at her as i grab a bottle of wine off my kitchen counter and pour two glasses.

within a few minutes, Quinn and i are sat on my bed, drinking our wine as i lay my feet in his lap and talk to him about my theory. Quinn listens intently, as if he hasn’t already heard it a million times, and absentmindedly lays his hand on my ankle, sending a spark up my leg.

“anyways, enough about that.” i finish. “how’s your mom? i heard you on the phone with her earlier. I miss Ellen.”

he smiles, a rare genuine grin at the mention of his family.

“she’s good.” he nods. “she misses you too. keeps telling me to bring you to the lake house this summer.”

“we’ll if that’s your way of offering, then i accept.” i tell him before joking- “i miss my favorite Hughes brother.”

“there’s no way that Luke is your favorite. i call bullshit.”

“you call bullshit every time i say it, but i still remain adamant. he’s the sweetest.” i tease. “he told me last summer that if i ever decide that i like younger guys, he’ll take me out. maybe i’ll finally take him up on that offer.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow, tickling the inside of my ankles as he speaks.

“oh please. he wouldn’t know how to handle you.”

i bark out a laugh and nudge his thigh with my foot.

“and just what is that supposed to mean?” i ask.

“it means that whatever man you finally decide is good enough for you, needs to appreciate you. he needs to love how much you like to speak, and your hopeless romantic side. he needs to appreciate that you always look on the bright side of things, and find a silver lining in everything. he needs to remember that you’re a sunrise person, preferring the beginning of a new day rather than the end, so you prefer your dates as brunch or picnics or going to a museum rather than dinner or a movie. and Luke is not that guy.”

my heart melts at his words. the fact that he knows these things about me and believes that i deserve to find someone who won’t make me compromise those parts of myself.

and there i go, doing something monumentally stupid, because before i can take a second to think before i react, i lean over and press my mouth to his. his lips lock with mine, moving slowly. i open my mouth, letting his tongue roam freely over mine. Quinn grasps my hips, pulling me in closer so that i’m straddled over his lap, and i roll my hips, lightly grinding down onto him, making him let out a groan.

he tastes like red wine and mint, an odd combination, but not a bad one. his hands slip under my top, skimming my bare skin as he settles them at my waist and pulls me closer. my chest is flush against his now, every breath i take making my nipples brush against his chest, sending pleasure driven shivers down my body, straight to my core.

“please.” i whisper against his lips.

“please what, y/n?” his voice is raspy, laced with lust and seduction.

“please Quinn. please fuck me.” i whimper as he pulls me down to roll over his quickly hardening length.

“whatever you want, baby.”

**

my eyes squint against the light coming in from my bedroom windows as i finally come to. it takes me a couple seconds to remember why i’m naked. and when the memories of the night before flash in my mind, i smile, rolling over in my bed to face Quinn. but his spot is empty. i reach over to feel cold sheets. he’s been gone awhile.

when did he leave? why did he leave?

tears prick at the back of my eyes, but i blink them away. he could just be in the kitchen. rising from my bed, i throw on an oversized t-shirt and some underwear as i glance around my room. his clothes are gone, the only ones left scattered on my floor being my own, sending another sinking feeling in my gut.

i leave my room, walking to my kitchen only for it to be empty. i check my bathroom, my living room, and my guest room, only for all of them to come up empty as well.

he left.

i finally let my tears fall, collapsing on my couch. i thought maybe he liked me, but was last night just an easy fuck for him? did he not want me in the way that i want him? in a relationship sense?

**

it’s been four days since Quinn and i slept together, and we haven’t spoken or seen each other in those days. it’s not unusual for us to not talk or see each other for a few days, but after our night together, i wasn’t expecting the complete silence. i told myself i would confront him the next time i see him, but the thought makes me anxious.

with the Canucks having two nights off in a row, a lot of them are going out to a bar, and as a close friend of the team, i was invited. Andrei didn’t tell me who all is coming though, so as i walk into the bar right now, i worry over the possibility of being confronted with Quinn.

my eyes roam the bar, searching for my friends, and when i finally spot them, i feel both relieved and anxious. i don’t see Quinn. i make my way over to them, giving hugs and fist bumps as i say my hello’s.

“i’m gonna go order a drink.” i let them know, but as i turn around, i see Quinn, who seems to be returning from the restroom. we lock eyes and he veers course, coming to a stop in front of me.

“hey.” he greets me, pulling me into a quick hug. my arms stay glued to my sides.

“hey.” i say weakly. before i can lose my confidence i speak again. “can we talk?”

Quinn nods and tips his head over towards an empty booth across the room. i lead the way over to it, taking a seat on one side while he takes the seat across from me.

“what’s up?” he asks, and i take a second to study his expressionless face. does he really not know what this is about?

“can i ask you a question?” i ask.

“yeah, of course.” he replies. he lifts the hat off his head and sweeps a hand through his hair before replacing the hat. i swallow the lump in my throat and take a deep breath.

“why did you leave?” i manage to get out.

“what?”

“that night. why did you leave? i woke up the next morning and you were gone.” i explain. he opens his mouth but i continue speaking. “i just need to know. did it mean nothing to you? because that night meant everything to me. and i was under the impression that it may have meant something to you, but then you left without even saying goodbye and it made me feel…cheap. so i just want you to be honest with me Quinn, did it? mean anything to you?”

Quinn’s nostrils flare and he winces, as if my words were hard for him to hear.

“of course. it meant so much to me, y/n. but it all happened so fast and right after i said those nice things. so, i laid awake overthinking. and i got it into my head that maybe you were just overwhelmed with what i had said and acted on impulse. that maybe it was just one night for you. and i could take that, so i left. i thought maybe that’s what you wanted me to do.” his voice is soft, barely audible over the commotion of the bar, and his words only make me more upset.

“so you didn’t think to talk to me? you just left?” my words are sharp, my tone incredulous. “if you would’ve talked to me then you would’ve known that i really like you, Quinn. i’ve been in love with you for two years. i wanted that night to happen. it wasn’t just a night for me. was the decision impulsive? maybe. but i thought about that happening between us for years. i wanted it. i want you. not just for one night, but forever.”

his hand snakes across the table, clasping my own.

“i want you too. forever. god, y/n, i’ve been in love with you since i met you. but i knew how much you’d been through with past relationships and i didn’t want to push you. and then when i thought enough time had passed, i didn’t want to ruin our friendship, so i took you in any way i could have you. if that was just as your best friend, then so be it. but i don’t want to be your best friend anymore, y/n/n.”

my head reels with his words, thinking back over them. wait what?

“what?” i whisper, my voice shaky.

“if you can forgive me for being an idiot and jumping to conclusions, i’d really like to be your boyfriend.”

my heart races, and i look into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity.

“i’d really like that. but you can’t leave me like that again, Quinn.”

“i don’t think i ever want to leave you again.” he tells me. he stands, taking my hand in his and pulling me up so hard that i crash into his chest. he wraps his arms around my waist, leaning down and letting his lips graze mine, smiling. “my mom is gonna freak when i tell her we’re finally dating.”

my head drops back in a laugh before i tease-

“oh no, how am i gonna break this to Luke?”

[junkissed]

taste like gold

★ | member — bf!mingyu x bf!woozi x f reader ★ | genre — smut, established poly relationship ★ | word count — 2.8k

★ | synopsis — jihoon's favorite way to unwind? a shower. mingyu's favorite way? a shower with jihoon.

★ | warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, dom!jihoon, sub!mingyu, sorta sub!reader. shower sex (no piv), blowjob (m), masturbation (m), edging (m), kissing (reader x gyu), cum in mouth/on face, some praise, nicknames (gyu: puppy, boyfriend, baby / reader: darling, girlfriend, baby). this is a poly fic so all three of them are in a relationship ★ | notes — a very late birthday/very early xmas present for my wonderful @onlymingyus ! i've been teasing her with this for a while so i hope you like it <3 if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a poly mingyu bathroom smut fic for mars i'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but weird that it happened twice? this fic contains mxm themes. you are responsible for the content you consume: don't like, don't read. if you're not comfortable reading then this isn't for you. i wrote this for mars because she is poly; if you do like it, she writes a lot of poly fics so i highly recommend checking out her blog! as always: feedback, asks, and reblogs with comments are super super appreciated and help me keep writing :) merry yaoi-mas everybody

it’s been yet another long day for mingyu.

he spends his precious time running around, errand after errand, phone calls and emails and meetings, and he despises it all. he has a better place to be: at home, with the two people he loves more than anything in the world. he hates being away, because every second spent away from you and jihoon is a second wasted. 

every day it gets harder and harder to leave in the morning knowing he has another tiresome, monotonous schedule ahead, with the only reprieve the promise of returning home to both of you in the evening.

he tosses his coat over the back of the couch and flips on the kitchen light, the warm yellow glow spilling into the hallway. it’s been a longer day than usual, so he’s not surprised that dinner was eaten without him. without even having to check the refrigerator he already knows you’ve saved him the leftovers: the same worn red tupperware container and a sticky note on top with a sweet message, because that’s what you always do for him. he makes a mental note to update the calendar on the fridge with his dinner reservation for three this weekend, because that’s what he always does for you.

the next things he notices are the bedroom light on, the glow coming from the crack in the doorway, and then the hum of the shower running. he know better by now than to think he’d come home to a quiet house. no matter how many times he tells you not to, even after he protests and pouts because he wants his wonderful boyfriend and girlfriend to get their beauty sleep, he always find at least one of you still awake, patiently waiting for him to join you in bed.

he wanders down the hall, gently tapping on the bedroom door before he creaks it open. you look up from your laptop in bed, and your smile when you see him lights up the room far more than the lamp in the corner.

“jihoon’s in the shower,” you let him know, and he bites his lip, leaning against the doorframe. he doesn’t miss the way your eyes wander over his body, the tight black t-shirt he always wears when he wants your attention, the one he knows makes you jealous even though you swear it doesn’t.

“should we join him?”

jihoon runs his hands through his hair, pushing the long blond strands of his bangs backwards out of his face. his shower at the end of every day is what he looks forward to most, a time to de-stress and prepare himself for another busy day. he’s never been the type of person to enjoy morning showers, but he can’t lie and say that’s the only reason he takes them at night; at night, there’s a better chance that you or mingyu will be home. and although he loves the time alone to think, company never makes it worse.

steam fills the room, surrounding his body in heat and fogging up the mirror. it’s been too long since he’s had you and mingyu all to himself, and the bathroom feels too quiet. it’s hard to coordinate schedules, but he misses the warmth of your voice filling his ears and the bubbly tone of mingyu’s giggles. he needs more than the cold, apathetic sound of water hitting tile.

but then, as if he’d conjured you from a dream, the door suddenly opens and he lifts his head at the noise. his dark eyes settle on your figure as you stand next to mingyu, dwarfed by his larger one.

droplets of water collect in jihoon’s eyelashes as he stares at you, his expression kept neutral as he tries to hold back a smirk. he knew mingyu was working later than usual tonight, so like every other night he wasn’t expecting much. but the sight of you both standing there is a welcome surprise, one that he will never turn down, and he can tell exactly what you’re asking without saying a word.

it’s silent for several seconds as his gaze locks with yours and mingyu’s, as if he’s tempting you to break the eye contact and walk away, to wait for him to cuddle you to sleep like he always does. neither of you do.

“coming?” he finally addresses you both, unable to hold back a grin in anticipation. the look on your faces is almost adorable, how blatantly eager you both are.

you’re the first to respond. you slip off your clothes and let them fall, collecting in a pile on the floor as jihoon slides back the glass door to welcome you in. your movement spurs mingyu into action, and his clothes join yours piece by piece as he strips bare, nearly stumbling over himself in his eagerness to follow you into the shower.

jihoon moves out of the way so mingyu can stand under the stream of water, sandwiching you in between them. your heart races as mingyu draws you in, rivulets of water trickling down his toned chest as his eyes silently roam over your body, and you can’t help but study him in return. 

your gaze drifts again to jihoon, who’s now standing in the corner of the shower looking pleased. you can see the flash of lust in his eyes as mingyu grips you tightly, pulling you closer until you’re standing flush against his body, and the proximity sends a shiver of desire down your spine at the knowledge that jihoon is watching.

“why don’t you take care of him, baby? i’m sure he’s had such a long day.” his tone is low and smooth as he turns his attention to mingyu, who’s been awkwardly pouring soap on a loofah but freezes at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. jihoon’s head is tilted downwards, his eyes lifted to look up at him through his eyelashes, and even though it’s not directed at you it still makes you shiver with how powerful the look is. “haven’t you, gyu?”

mingyu whimpers at the attention, unable to find the words to responds, and it only confirms in jihoon’s mind how badly he needs this. he glances back at you, your eyes so focused on mingyu that it almost makes jihoon laugh— you need this, too, just as much if not more.

you feel jihoon’s gaze on you, and you manage to pull yourself away from staring at mingyu long enough to catch his nod. you start to reach for him, your hand trailing down the defined muscles of his abdomen, but jihoon tsks out a disapproving noise before your hand can find mingyu’s cock, holding in a bated breath as you wait for instructions.

“you can do better than that, darling. don’t be shy. let him use your mouth.”

you look up at mingyu for confirmation as he nods quickly, unafraid to let his eagerness show, and without another word you drop to your knees in front of him. his eyes widen a little bit in excitement as you position yourself on the floor of the shower. his body blocks the stream of water from the shower, keeping you mostly dry as you watch trails of water race down his thighs.

mingyu reaches down in front of you and uses his hand to pump his cock to full hardness, although he was more than half hard already. jihoon just continues to smile from his spot at the other end of the shower, letting you get situated the way you like.

“go on,” he says once you’re both finally ready, two needy sets of eyes pleading at him and waiting patiently. “make yourself useful, baby. show him how much you love him.”

you turn your gaze back to mingyu with a grin, taking him in your hand as you begin to guide him into your mouth. his cock is thick, so much that you can barely wrap your hand around him, and you have to open your jaw wide to fit his tip inside your mouth. gently, gradually, you sink down further and further on his length, pausing every few seconds to inhale shakily through your nose.

you haven’t even started moving yet but mingyu’s already panting, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists as he struggles to adjust to the warm, tight feeling of your throat around his cock. after a second of turmoil he puts one hand on your head, tangling his fingers in your wet hair with a gentleness that seems out of place compared to his size. he’s always gentle with you, sometimes a little too gentle, but it only takes a word from jihoon to have him roughing you up the way you love.

behind you jihoon lets out a sigh, his gaze fixed on the scene in front of him. he takes his own cock into his hand, his fingers loosely gripping his length as you bob your head over and over again down his boyfriend’s shaft. as much as he likes to actively participate, he’s also content to just watching the two of you please each other, going round after round while he keeps control, relishing in the way both of you hang on his every word. 

you’re both so good to him, and he tightens his hand as he watches you gag around mingyu’s cock, half pretending that it’s your mouth on him instead. but he doesn’t need this as much as mingyu seems to, and to him, watching is more than half the fun. besides, there’s plenty of time for himself later, after you’ve taken care of gyu. next time, maybe he’ll bury himself deep in your pussy and make mingyu watch instead. or maybe he’ll let him take you too, because your moans always sound so much sweeter when both your boyfriends are inside of you at once.

mingyu thrusts his hips once, shallowly, experimentally, and you open your mouth wider to let him slide between your lips with ease. you reach up to put your hands on his thigh and squeeze a little, giving him a signal to continue. the veins in his biceps bulge as he squeezes his fingers around your hair, a constant stream of whines pouring from his lips like the shower water that pours down his back. 

“look at him,” jihoon commands, almost in amusement, and you swallow and crane your neck up so you can lift your eyes. the image above you is truly a sight to see, and you can’t help but preen at the sight of mingyu's fucked out expression, his eyes closed and his brows furrowed deeply in concentration as he bucks his hips into you faster.

“he loves your sweet little mouth, doesn’t he?” jihoon urges you on. your fingers dig into mingyu's thick thighs harder in an attempt to stop him from moving so much, but you're useless against him. he's practically fucking your throat, panting out breaths with both hands firmly tangled in your hair to hold your head in place. “whose mouth do you think is better, puppy? mine, or hers?”

“fuck—” mingyu stutters, and you feel his grip on your hair tighten as he struggles to concentrate enough to organize his thoughts. “both. fucking love this mouth, god… hoonie, please—”

“please what?” jihoon says, his voice dominant yet still calm as he watches. “tell her what you want, baby. use that pretty head of yours, hm? use your words, you can do it.”

mingyu groans and scrunches his nose, trying to focus. “wanna— ah, please can i cum? can i cum in your mouth? shit, baby, i'm so close…”

you hum out a sound of acknowledgement around his cock as you glance up at jihoon, but it only makes mingyu groan louder as he feels the vibrations from your throat surrounding his sensitive, aching length. he loves the way you’re both so obedient for him, always asking permission, always being so well-behaved when he’s in charge.

jihoon stays quiet for as long as possible, drawing out the moment until mingyu looks like he's about to cry from the effort of holding back, but he finally breaks and nods. “go ahead, puppy, fill up her mouth. you've earned it. you've been such a good boy for us, love.”

at his words you let out a moan simultaneously as mingyu does, snapping his hips into your mouth a few more times as he chases the high. you try to swallow the spit that’s pooled in your mouth, but the sudden tightening of your throat is what finally sends mingyu over the edge. he pushes his cock as deep into your mouth as he can, gasping and groaning and grunting praises scattered in between cries of your name and jihoon’s.

you can feel his tip throbbing on your tongue with each rope he releases down your throat, filling your mouth until you’re forced to pull away to breathe. the rest of his cum ends up on your face as you lick your lips and swallow the thick substance in your mouth, letting out a gasp of your own as you finally inhale a full breath.

mingyu’s hands in your hair tighten for just a second before he releases you to let you sit back, bracing himself with one large palm flat against the shower wall and the other gripping your shoulder. his neck rolls backwards as he stares up at the ceiling, letting out a whine that reverberates off the tiled walls of the shower and fills the room.

as he leans to the side his body moves from the shower spray, and you shiver as the warm water hits your lower half. drops of water trickle down your neck and between the valley of your breasts, but it’s hard to tell if it’s only from the shower or if it’s sweat.

jihoon releases his length with a wince, letting out a shaky exhale as he offers you his hand. his cock twitches in sensitivity, still fully hard and now aching at the release he denied himself. but he knows you’re not done, and he knows it’ll be well worth it later. mingyu pulls you the rest of the way up, helping you balance against him after kneeling on the hard shower floor for so long.

with barely a second to let you breathe, mingyu leans forward to capture your lips, his deep voice groaning out your name as his arms slide down to sit firmly around your waist. you melt into him, automatically moaning into the kiss, and he greedily swallows your noises until it feels like he’s going to suck the breath right out of your lungs.

he kisses you harder, one hand falling to your hip while the other reaches up to cup your jaw and guide your mouth further into him, his tongue prodding between your lips in a way that makes you feel warm from the inside out. he can taste the remnants of salty bitterness on your tongue, and it only makes him whimper into your mouth in delight.

his eyes are hazy when you finally pull away from the kiss. he pulls you into his chest and holds you tight, your cheek pressed against his warm skin as you feel his heart pounding. his arms are strong around you, his thick muscles sliding around you easily from the water and sweat, one hand holding the back of your head to keep you against him.

mingyu waves his arm and then you feel jihoon behind you, brushing your wet hair off your back so he can leave kisses across your shoulder before moving in closer. jihoon’s hands glide between your bodies, cupping your breasts as he holds you between him and mingyu.

you can feel how hard he still is pressed against your ass, but before you have a chance to say anything, jihoon reaches to flip the water off with a flick of his wrist. the temperature in the bathroom instantly falls at the loss of the hot water, but with the two men around you it’s barely even noticeable.

jihoon is the first to let go, sliding back the glass door and stepping onto the bath mat to start handing out towels, and mingyu is suddenly very, very grateful that he doesn’t have work tomorrow because it’s clear that none of you will be getting any sleep until dawn. but there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be right now, clean and comfortable and happy with the two people he loves more than anything.

© junkissed 2024. do not repost or translate. ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 want to be notified when i post new fics? join my taglist!

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, please reblog or leave a comment or an ask! it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into my writing, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!

taglist — located in the replies

[itsnesss]

how about a jun ho smut fic? :) where he stops reader cuz she’s not wearing a helmet and she flirts with him to not give her a ticket but the second time this happens she tries to do the same thing but he wants more? :)) lets just say that they take their little adventure to reader’s house and they literally just fuck

tyy <333

𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | smut, explicit content, evade the law?, sexual tension, consensual sex, power dynamics, oral sex, p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The roar of your motorcycle engine reverberates against the buildings as you glide through the streets of Seoul. The wind brushes your face and messes up your hair, but you don’t wear a helmet. You hate how it ruins your style, even though you know it’s foolish. Despite that, you feel an unparalleled freedom, as if you could escape everything.

But your momentary euphoria comes to a screeching halt when you see red and blue lights reflected in the side mirrors. You curse under your breath as you slow down and park by the curb. A police officer approaches slowly.

He’s tall, with perfectly combed dark hair and a face straight out of a K-drama. His deep, serious eyes lock onto yours with a mix of disapproval and authority, forcing you to look away for a second.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asks, his voice firm but not hostile.

You know perfectly well, but you decide to play innocent. “For an excess of style?” you reply, flashing a coquettish smile.

He doesn’t smile. He takes out his ticket book and starts writing.

“For not wearing a helmet. It’s dangerous for you and others.”

You lean slightly toward him, letting your leather jacket slide a bit to reveal your collarbone. You look at him with eyes full of feigned innocence.

“Come on, officer, it’s not that serious. I promise I’ll wear a helmet next time. Do we really need to do this?”

Hwang Jun-ho, according to the name on his badge, sighs and shakes his head.

“It’s not going to work.” He hands you the ticket, ignoring your blatant attempts.

Your smile fades. You take the ticket, feigning a pout as you start your motorcycle again. Before leaving, you cast him one last glance. “What a waste,” you think as you ride away.

A few days later, fate plays another cruel trick on you. You’re speeding through downtown, once again without a helmet, when you see those familiar lights behind you.

You sigh and pull over, already knowing who it is. And there he is, wearing the same serious expression, as if he’s tired of you but also entertained by your brazenness.

“Again?” he says, crossing his arms over his uniform.

You step off the bike, letting your boots make a deliberate noise against the pavement. You walk toward him, this time with more confidence.

“I guess I just can’t help running into you, Officer Hwang. Maybe it’s destiny.”

He doesn’t respond, but you notice his jaw tighten slightly. You lean in, letting yourself invade his personal space.

“You should let me off this time. You already gave me a ticket, remember?” Your fingers lightly brush the edge of his badge.

This time, something in his gaze shifts. It’s not quite a smile, but his lips curve slightly.

“Do you really think flirting with me is going to get you out of this?”

“Maybe.” You bite your lower lip, knowing you’re playing with fire.

Jun-ho puts away his ticket book. It surprises you, but before you can celebrate your small victory, he leans toward you. His face is dangerously close, and his voice drops to a near whisper.

“If you’re going to play, make sure you know the rules.”

Your heart races as you try to figure out if he’s joking or as serious as always. You decide to take your chances.

“And what are the rules, officer?”

His smile widens, but he says nothing. Instead, he hands you a card with his phone number.

“Call me if you decide you’re ready to play for real.”

Before you can respond, he walks away, leaving you frozen on the sidewalk.

That same night, you can’t get his face out of your head. You decide to text him. You don’t have much to lose.

You: “What kind of game did you have in mind, officer?”

The reply comes minutes later.

Jun-ho: “Are you home?”

Your stomach flips.

You: “Yes. Why?”

Jun-ho: “I’m coming over.”

Your heart pounds as you rush to tidy up your apartment. You have no idea what you’re doing, but there’s something about him that intrigues you too much to stop.

When you hear a knock at the door, your breath catches. You open it, and there he is, still partially in uniform, but without the jacket and with his tie slightly loosened.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” you say, trying to keep your composure.

“You texted me first.” He closes the door behind him, his eyes scanning you from head to toe.

There’s a palpable tension in the air, and as you step toward him, you both know neither of you plans to stop.

He leans in, his lips meeting yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hands, strong and assured, find your waist and pull you closer. You feel the heat of his body against yours as he guides you toward the couch.

“Is this part of the rules?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.

Jun-ho smiles against your neck, his voice low and full of desire.

“We make the rules. What matters is that we both agree".

You smile, but you no longer have the composure to joke. Your body responds to his presence, desiring him more with each passing moment.

You slide your hands over his torso, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. He grunts as he removes his shirt, his eyes shining with desire when he sees you already naked in his arms.

His fingers move closer to your chest, playing with your nipples and making them harden. You moan, leaning towards him and desperately seeking his mouth. He gives you a stronger kiss, their tongues intertwining as he caresses you.

A second later, your pants fall to your feet, and your boots hit the floor. Jun-ho slides down, kissing every inch of your skin with a perfect combination of tenderness and desire.

He reaches for your black panties and pulls them down with an expert motion. He tosses them aside, bringing his face closer to your pussy.

"I want to see you," he says, his black eyes shining.

You don't know what to expect, but then he starts licking you with small flicks of his tongue. You moan when his mouth meets your clitoris, his lips surrounding it. Your breathing becomes irregular as you melt in his arms, your hands in his hair as he licks you more and more. Your stomach beats hard, the tension in your body growing with each second until you explode in his mouth, a torrent of pleasure that leaves you trembling.

But he doesn't stop there. He gets up, his fingers slipping two of them into your pussy while he licks you, your body reacting once more, the tension inside you growing until you're about to come for the second time.

"Do you like it?" he says, looking at you with his dark and bright eyes, his voice full of confidence as he sits on your couch.

You moan as you straddle him. You see him lower his pants, his cock hard and ready for you. You touch it, feeling its thickness and warmth in your fingers. He sighs, his eyes closing for a second before looking at you with more passion than before.

"Put it inside," he says, his voice a plea.

You obey, lowering yourself onto his cock and feeling it make its way into your pussy. Your breath catches for a moment as you adjust to him, but soon you're moving, his thighs between yours as you rock back and forth on his member.

His mouth finds yours, a desperate kiss while he caresses you. His fingers play with your nipples, making them harden while he fucks you, your breath quick and shallow.

His arms wrap around your body, pulling you tighter to him as he fucks you harder and faster, your pussy adjusting to his thickness.

"You are so fucking hot" he says, growling in your ear. "So fucking sexy".

You laugh as you speed up, your breath hitching as you feel the pleasure grow in your body. Jun-ho moans, his fingers gripping your hips and pulling you down once more.

"Jun-ho..." you say, your voice a moan, pleasure a torrent within you.

He kisses you, his eyes meeting yours in a moment of passion and connection. You feel yourself falling onto him once more, the tension building until you explode, your muscles contracting around his cock.

He moans, his body trembling beneath you. You have the impression that it's not what he expected, but he can't stop either. A second later, he comes inside you, his fingers digging into your skin as he gasps against your face.

You are sitting on him for a moment, wrapping your arms around his body while you wait for him to calm down. Finally, you slide to the side, his fingers caressing your breasts with a gentle and slow touch.

"I think I should never wear a helmet again," you say, smiling against his chest.

Jun-ho laughs, his arms wrapping around you with a warmth that makes you feel safe and calm.

"No, of course not, you will use it" he says, stroking your hair.

You laugh in turn, knowing that perhaps, after all, the freedom you have always been looking for was there, waiting for you on a street in Seoul.