#I like it fine I have nothing against it I just really like them as friends

[russellbee]

I MIGHT SAY SOMETHING STUPID (MV1)

max verstappen x driver!reader (team & gender are ambiguous) summary. you've never been good at talking to people. you can never form the right words, hold eye contact, or in worst cases, think before you speak. so truthfully, you're not really surprised when you end up confusing max with your spontaneous confession. unbeknownst to both of you, lando brings you back together. (writing, texts, + a bit of smau) (3.3k) warnings. for self-hate & mentions of hate comments, mentions of anxiety(!!!), everyone is confused and oblivious (except lando!), george and max rivalry is very present, mentions of alcohol & intoxication, use of y/n, reader has parents (and is close-ish with them), sorry if your name is spencer (the name is used for a friend), george doesn't have a gf(!!!), mentions of sex (but it’s really nothing), and cursing. andi's note!! inspired by my beautiful adhd brain 😍😍 (and my max obsession, ofc!) the title is from 'i might say something stupid' by charli xcx but the song doesn't have anything to do with the fic!

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You've seen multiple media outlets say that your mouth is disconnected from your brain with the amount of (accidental) out of pocket things you've said. Your first post-race interview in F1 ended with you severely embarrassed because you tried to make a joke but the way you worded it made it sound rude. You had backtracked as soon as you realized how it came off (honestly, it took too long) but you still had the comments you'd seen online stuck in your head.

Every season in F1 you get increasingly more nervous to talk in interviews or to the other drivers; the comments and articles gnawing at your self esteem. But with Max it's always been different. He can laugh off an unintentional brash remark or just raise an eyebrow and in a snap you'll realize what went wrong. So, because of how easy it is to talk to Max you've become close.

You're in Abu Dhabi, the season's ended and George Russell is getting on your nerves. He's in your sight, talking to Lando and Alex; laughing. You don't dislike George, he's always been nice to you but your love for Max trumps your like for George. Love?

You're just a little tipsy. It's fine.

As long as George doesn't go near you maybe you won't open your mouth. It's always hard to stop talking the second you get alcohol in your system; not a single word is filtered, it all just comes out.

Someone is staring at you, it better not be George because he knows what you'd do for—

"Are you alright?" Max sits down next to you, gin & tonic in hand. He's so— warm. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his body through his jeans. (It's not really warm enough for shorts but you couldn't remember the weather from last year, so you're stuck in a pair of shorts you brought to Qatar.)

"Huh?" What he said comes back to you and you stammer, "Oh, sorry. I'm fine just thinking. I guess."

"Thinking?"

"Yeah, y'know." You really are thinking; thinking about how good his cologne smells and wondering if it clings to him night and day. Does he always smell this great? How have you never noticed this?

"What are you thinking— Do you ever feel like, really obsessed with someone? Like you see them and you want them. Bad." You cut through his question with your own (stupid) question. Neither of you are looking at each other. You're too focused on not looking at him, actually. Why do you always do this? Did you never learn how to talk to people?

You're so busy panicking that you don't notice your eyes are still on George, and Max has noticed; his lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Had he been reading things wrong?

You're waiting at your gate when you get the text. You feel your phone buzz against your thigh and you hope, and hope that it's Max. You're terrified to message him first, worried he heard the meaning of your question and didn't want to acknowledge it. He hadn't said anything last night. Maybe he's finally sick of you. Can't even let him speak, or think before you talk with a single drop of alcohol in your body. You squeeze your eyes tight and will your brain to stop talking. Then, after a deep breath you open Whatsapp and see it's from Alex.

alex albon

did you tell max to apologise to george?

You blink. What? Never in your life would you think Max would apologize to George. You wouldn't tell him to either. What had gotten into him? Who would be able to change his mind like that?

alex albon

y/nnn

you have read receipts on ik you saw this

You sigh, trying to slow down your brain so you can make your thoughts coherent for Alex.

you

sorry i was thinking

didn't tell him to do that

idk why he would, it's not like him

alex albon

alright thanks 👍

i think we're all confused rn haha

Your boarding group is called and you feel a little bit of annoyance bubble in you. This is gonna be stuck in your mind for the entire flight.

the best rookies

lando

i think y/n likes george

or that's what max thinks at least

alex

and how did you come to this conclusion?

george

That makes no sense

Y/n and I don't talk that often

lando

i saw them together b4 y/n left

they were staring at us

prob george tho

considering everything

george

Many people stare at us, Lando

lando

you don't getttt it

max looked like

mad but confused?? he was very focused on you

and y/n looked like they wanted the earth to swallow them

v embarrassed yknow

alex

y/n probably just said smth wrong

can't really see them liking george

george

If anything, Y/n likes Max

lando

max doesn't care when they do that tho

ik y/n likes max thats like super obvious

ugh u guys dont get it at all 😒

You had practiced your speech for the awards, had repeated it over and over in your head. P3 in the championship, a first for you. Then you made a fool of yourself, stumbled over your words. People had laughed a bit, but in the back of your mind you acknowledge it had nothing to do with the jokes you attempted. At least you didn't have to take any more photos.

Lando finds you as you're about to leave, wiping the tears off of your cheeks and steadying your breathing. "You weren't that bad you know?" Lando teases and you let out a breathy laugh. "Fuck off." He laughs and you both start to leave the venue.

You make meaningless small talk. Lando is going to ski with friends and you'll be visiting a childhood friend, Spencer, in London. You're both anticipating a better season. The valets go to retrieve your cars, and you're both left standing on the sidewalk. It's a little humid, but not enough to make you want to blast the AC.

"Did you see George's post on Insta?" Lando asks after the silence has settled. Your face scrunches up, "Sorry?" You would've been fine to stay quiet until one of your cars arrived and you'd say goodbye. Lando had other plans, apparently.

"His post saying goodbye to Lewis. The last picture was nice, wasn't it?" You feel like there's something Lando's searching for but you can't put the pieces together. "I don't follow George on Insta. I— It's not like I don't like him, it's just. We're not really close?" Lando raises a brow, and it's not like when Max does it. It's something else, and you don't understand. You want to ask why, what he's thinking, but the valet parks your car in front of the sidewalk before you can.

Lando moves forward when the valet gets out, holding the driver's side door open for you. What is going on? You look at Lando, questions floating in your head and then hesitantly get into your car. "Have a nice off-season." Lando's grin is triumphant. Not like when he's at the top of a podium, something different and unfamiliar, yet kind.

"Yeah, thanks." Maybe you just don't know him well enough.

Lando double checks everything. He looks through his and George's mutuals and looks through the likes on George's end-of-season posts. He's never been more determined to prove Alex and George wrong. (And getting you and Max together, of course!)

Oscar looks at him weird 'cause he's grinning at his phone, then teases him, asks him if he's got a girlfriend. Lando laughs it off, because how is he supposed to say that he's investigating into some grid drama? That he's trying to understand what happened after Abu Dhabi, with you and Max? George has been ruled out as a player in this game, none of you are that close.

In London, you facetime your parents. They show you everything in their little villa that you rented out for them, the sandy beaches and the bright ocean. They tell you that they miss you and you repeat the sentiment. A part of you misses Max more, and you try to push that down.

Spencer orders pizza, and you both relax on the couch as you wait for it to arrive. They make a noise, a bit contemplative but unsurprised, and you look up from your own phone. Spencer's looking at you with a wolfish grin. "Oh, no."

"Have you seen this?" Their voice is teasing as they hand you their phone. It's opened to a post on the F1 Instagram account, the caption reads: Celebrating Max's 4th WDC with pictures of the best friendship on the grid 🏆. You gape slightly at the first picture; it's of you and Max in Zandvoort '23 on the podium. You both have bright smiles, your focus is on drenching Max with your champagne. He's laughing, accepting the spray. You don't bother to look at the rest, a sick feeling building in your stomach that you've begun to associate with Max. You know what it means, but you can't acknowledge it now. You haven't talked in over 2 weeks.

The pizza arrives and Spencer makes you pay. You can't get yourself to eat a lot, too stuck in your mind to acknowledge your hunger. When you lay in bed later that night, you feel sick. You know it's not the food, you know what it is. In the back of your mind you wonder if you'll ever be able to accept your feelings or if you'll just have to get over it.

lando norris has made a groupchat

monaco dinner 😁😁 (alex albon, george russell, max 🏆, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, you)

lando norris

alright everyone. need to know when you're all returning to monaco

"You're up to something," Oscar says from beside Lando. Lando raises a brow, a teasing grin on his lips. "Whatever do you mean, Osc?" His teammate rolls his eyes before scanning the table, landing at the empty seat next to George. Everyone is here, except you. Lando pretended he got a text from you saying that you'd be late, when in reality that's not the case. He told you the reservation was for twenty minutes later than he told everyone else. His plan needed to work and he didn't want you arriving earlier than intended.

"Y/n, someone who is always scared of coming late they come fifteen minutes early, isn't here. I'm assuming you have nothing to do with this?" Lando's grin grows wider. "Mate."

"Just wait."

You arrive at the restaurant 5 minutes early, since you had to walk and that led you to being noticed by some fans. When you go up to reception and say who you'll be sitting with, the host raises a brow before directing you to a table in the far back of the restaurant. Everyone is already there, drinks on the table. Worried, you look at your watch to see it isn't even the time Lando sent. You're early.

The only seat open is at the end of the table, to the right of George. It's also right across from Max. He looks surprised to see you, putting away his phone as you sit down. George says hi and asks you how your break has been so far. You make pleasant, friendly conversation with him. When Charles asks you a question you turn your attention to him, and notice that Max's mood has visibly soured. He must notice you looking, because he inserts himself into Alex and Carlos' conversation. You bite your cheek, trying not to seem annoyed or disappointed. You still haven't talked, and it's been seven weeks. He's liked your posts; the one from your trip to London, a set of gym photos your team took, and your photos from your other trip. No comments, just likes.

He doesn't talk to you for the rest of the dinner, instead he watches you make conversation with your other drivers. You stumble over your words, make mistakes and try to laugh it off. It's nice to talk to them, it just requires more energy. With Max, you don't have to worry about your never-ending rambling or your stories that tend to not make sense. It's easy. You miss it.

Dinner ends, you all split the check and go your separate ways. After getting your card back you head to the bathroom, just standing in silence for a few seconds. You need a break, especially if you run into some fans on your way home. The more you talk and force your brain to try, the more exhausted you get. The easier it is to snap or say something completely wrong. No one deserves to be on the receiving end of that.

You scrub your hands over your face, trying to wake yourself up. In your pocket your phone buzzes once. Then twice.

max 🏆

Are you still here?

I didn't see you leave.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you make yourself type slowly. Your hands are shaking. You need to get a grip.

you

yeah, haven't left yet

you're still here then?

max 🏆

Yep. Meet you at the entrance?

you

sure

As you leave the bathroom your brain has fired up again, what the fuck, repeating in your head consistently. Because, what the fuck? Why has Max all of a sudden decided to talk to you? What changed his mind?

He's standing in the waiting area, his plain white t-shirt covered by a jacket you recognize from the Alphatauri website. The corner of your lip twitches, as you fight back a smile. He's so predictable.

"Hey." His voice is quiet, like he was scared that you were lying. Like you'd hide in the bathroom till he left. Even though you're mad at him, you can't see yourself doing that, ever.

"Hi. Um, nice break so far? We haven't talked a lot," You let out an awkward laugh, cringing internally. Why did you bring that up? And in the first sentence too?

"I'm sorry about that, I've been busy," Max's smile is weak and your heart deflates a bit because you know when he's lying. He doesn't do it often, so it's easy to tell. "I meant to text you, really." But that isn't a lie. Huh. You stare at him for a second trying to make sense of what's going on.

"Did you drive here?"

"No, didn't have time to get gas. I mean— I did, I just forgot because I've been doing other stuff." Max smiles and everything feels almost normal again. The seven weeks of silence still looms over the conversation, like it's preparing to end your friendship forever. "I'll drive you. You didn't move, right?" He has a smile on his face, the one when he's trying to be funny. You feel that sick feeling building, and your skin warms.

"No, I should though. Apparently my neighbor almost set the complex on fire, and the one across from me she— she did something weird, I can't remember. But I know it caused a meeting for the building about some policy and everyone was really mad at her," You ramble, voice picking up as you get that giddy feeling, when you know you're really being listened to. Max leads you to his car and you get into the passenger seat. On the drive to your building, you finally remember the reason why your neighbor got in trouble.

"She got in trouble because she had sex on her balcony or something, and then someone saw and reported it. Holy shit, I can't believe I forgot that!" You laugh, face scrunching with your smile.

"Your neighbor?"

"Yes!" It feels really good to talk to Max again, to feel a true connection when you talk to him.

lando norris

hey mate

how's y/n?

max

Good?

Do you not have her number?

lando norris

no haha sorry

thought you guys were dating

things seemed off just wanted to make sure

max

Right.

We're fine

lando norris

but not dating? (max has reacted with 👍)

Everything has been good with Max. It's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders now that you can talk to him again. You flew with him to Bahrain and now Australia. Media day is tomorrow, and Lando has texted you asking if you want to go explore, like neither of you have ever been to Melbourne. You say yes, anyway.

You're in the elevator going down to the lobby, when it stops at another floor. George is standing on the other side of the doors, and he smiles at you as he walks in. "Hanging out with Max?" He asks as the doors slide shut.

"No, Lando invited me out. He said he wanted to explore, which I don't really understand because he's been to Melbourne multiple times. Also, Oscar's his teammate so, I don't—," You stop yourself. "It'll probably be fun though, it's Lando."

"Lando invited you out?"

"Uh— Yeah? Why?"

"He invited me out as well, that's all." Oh.

Is he trying to set you and George up? The thought hits you like a truck and your nose scrunches up involuntarily. First, the questions about his Instagram and then making you sit next to him at dinner. You feel warm, anger building inside you. Is Lando oblivious?

↳ user since when are they friends????

↳ user you left out the part that lando was with them 💀

You and George walk back together, an awkward silence hanging over you. It was a fun day. You took pictures, ate good food. You had fun. It was just awkward because it seemed both you and George knew what Lando was trying to do.

You're waiting for the elevator when George turns toward you. You shift your eyes toward him, trying to make sense about what he's about to do. "Do you like me?"

Your eyes widen and for a moment all you can do is stare at George. "No, I— I don't know where Lando got the idea that I like you, but I don't." You're trying to be nice in case George does actually like you, but he lets out a breath of relief.

"I'm really sorry, Lando is..."

"He's Lando, I know." The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You both walk in and George hits the button for your floors. "You do like Max though, right?" Once again you find yourself speechless. George laughs, cheeks turning red.

"Sorry, it's— It's really obvious, I don't know how Lando missed it." You're burning with embarrassment when you look away from George and mutter, "It's not that obvious." He cracks up, and you feel yourself growing warmer.

Thankfully for you, George gets off soon enough and it's just you. When you step off the elevator, you notice someone leaning against the wall by your door, scrolling on their phone. They look up when you come to a stop. It's Max, in another plain t-shirt and skinny jeans. You may hate the skinny jeans but they really show off his thighs, so it's not that bad. "Hi."

Max walks over to you, stopping so there's only a few inches between you. You can smell his cologne, see how blue his eyes are, and how his hair is a little out of place. He opens his mouth to speak but you speak before he can. "You look good, I mean—," You cut yourself off to prevent the inevitable ramble about how good he looks; your friends have heard it numerous times. Max blinks, the beginning of a smile on his face before he leans in and kisses you.

You make a little noise in surprise before you reciprocate, you reach for him blindly, grabbing onto his shoulder. It's easy kissing Max. You've been waiting for this, the soft press of his lips against yours, the heat of his hand against your face. The same sick feeling rests in your stomach, and you feel it; the way your heart speeds up when he's near and the hot flush that builds on your skin when he touches you. You never want it to end.

yourusername close friends story

[caption: @.maxverstappen1 🤍]

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lando OMG DID IT FINALLY HAPPEN??

yourusername yes...? lando oh thank god my plan worked i was so close to locking you two in a closet yourusername HUH????

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; “YJ packs up and gets pupped”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You are presenting, and you have chosen to do it in the base,” Red Tornado says. “Presumably you chose to do that because Project Cadmus lacked something you require for the process.” 

“I . . .” Kon hesitates again, biting the inside of his lip. “I just–I just didn’t wanna do it there, okay? That’s–s’all.” 

Red Tornado looks at him. Kon really wishes the guy had a scent that he could read. Or like–at least a fucking expression or something. Like just–literally anything, right now. 

“You appear to be nesting,” Red Tornado observes. “Are you an omega, then?” 

“. . . I guess,” Kon mumbles, swallowing roughly. And it feels–it feels weird, saying it to someone. Even after saying it to himself and the Super-Cycle already. 

Red Tornado can tell him what he thinks about him saying that to him, is the thing. And whatever he thinks, it’s not going to be what Kon thinks himself.

Like–obviously it’s not, yeah. 

“You are in possession of sufficient nesting material, then?” Red Tornado asks, and Kon tries not to bristle. It’s–it’s just a question, maybe. Probably. Not one he knows why Red Tornado’s asking, but–just a question. 

Unless it’s a trap, anyway. 

“I just–borrowed some stuff,” he says without saying anything about–about just what he’s really “borrowing”, and he maybe sounds a little bit too defensive about it, but . . . but that’s all he did, dammit. He didn’t do anything–bad or anything. “S’all. I’ll scent-scrub all the pheromones and shit off when I’m done, alright? I’m not messin’ anything up or anything, it’s fine.” 

They wouldn’t care, he tries to say, but he doesn’t know–he doesn’t actually know that. Doesn’t actually know if . . . if they’d care. If they’d–mind.

Would they be mad, if they found out he came to the base to present and then tracked down and took all their scents? Like–without asking, or . . . 

They’re not a pack. And the others all have packs. And in all their heads he’s just, like, the stupid bruiser teammate who’s only barely a friend that none of them trust to be in charge of the team even though he’s literally the only one who actually has been in charge of a team before and who they probably all think’s an alpha anyway and–and– 

“Yes,” Red Tornado says. “But is ‘some stuff’ sufficient for your nest?” 

“I . . .” Kon–falters, kinda, and maybe sinks in on himself a little again. Does–does it look that bad? He knows he didn’t get much stuff for it, but–but if it looks that bad . . . 

“Kathy prefers to layer her nests with multiple fabrics and cushioning,” Red Tornado says. “And Traya and her friends line theirs with plush toys when engaging in playing ‘house’ together. I am otherwise unfamiliar with the necessary components of their construction.” 

“. . . oh,” Kon realizes, and feels a little less–a little less embarrassed, at least. At least if Red Tornado doesn’t really know how it’s supposed to go either . . . well, he can’t think it looks that bad, if he doesn’t really know. Right? “Uh–I don’t . . . I dunno. I never . . . did it, before.” 

Red Tornado tilts his head. Kon represses a cringe, trying not to bristle. Well–he wasn’t presented before, so . . . so why would he have? 

“I was under the impression that most omega pups experience a compulsion to nest even before their presentation,” Red Tornado says. 

“Well, I didn’t,” Kon snaps at him, digging his fingers into Cassie’s folded-up shirt and–and not-really-on-purposely pinning it against his chest. 

Hugging it against his . . . against his . . . 

He’d just–he’d just . . . thought about it, a couple times. But he . . . he hadn’t felt any stupid compulsions or . . . 

Kon thinks about how many times he’d thought about nesting, and how many times he’d thrown all his blankets in the corner and made himself sleep on a half-stripped bed and nothing else, and how many times he’d thrown every blanket he could find on his bed and slept under them all at once, and how he’d always . . . always folded his jacket into a pillow, when he was . . . when he was . . . sleeping somewhere else, like on the road or on shoots or in the field or . . . 

He thinks about how many times he’d wanted to . . . wanted to watch one of those nesting videos, but–hadn’t. 

Then he thinks about crying, maybe. 

“I thought I was gonna be an alpha,” he croaks, trying to figure out if–if this makes him a bad omega after all, or–or something. If he didn’t . . . didn’t nest before, or . . . “I thought I . . . thought I . . .”

I thought I HAD to be an alpha, Kon doesn’t say, but it’s all he can think.

[cupidbedsy]

୨୧ unpredictable ; cb98

➪ summary: chicago weather is unpredictable, but connor and y/n always make the best of it.

➪ warnings: none !

➪ word count: 0.8k

➪ cupid's notes: it has been way too long since i've written something for connor and i am so grateful that a nonnie sent me this idea i was able to write a small little blurb for him. and yes, it is totally fucking freezing in here, please save us

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

Early mornings with Connor were always her favorite thing. Soft sunlight streamed through the cracked-open curtains, the radiator hummed softly, and Connor’s arm thrown across her stomach as he buried his head into her shoulder. 

The peaceful bliss the two were both encompassed in was soon disrupted by her phone's blaring ringtone. She blinked her eyes open slowly, raising her hand to her face to wipe the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached over, clicking accept on her call as she brought it to her ear, “Hello?”

Connor groaned from beside, trying to shove his head further into her to escape the muffled voices. 

Soon enough, her hand was running through his hair and her phone was thrown back on the nightstand. He let out a soft sigh in content, pushing his head into her hand as she spoke, “I’m off today. No school, no work.”

“Like I would’ve let you go in sub-zero weather.” 

She said nothing, settling back into the comfort of the bed and continuing to play with his hair. However, the sleep Connor desperately wanted to fall back into left him and now his eyes were wide and his mind was awake. 

He scooted down the bed just far enough so he could rest his chin against her stomach, causing her to look at him curiously, “What’re you doing?”

“Cuddling you,” Connor stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world as he wrapped his arms around her torso and rested his head flat against her belly. 

She couldn’t help that escaped her mouth, returning her fingers to his hair and going on her phone, most likely starting her doom scrolling of the day. 

It was a few minutes later when he spoke again, his words murmured from his current position, “What do you want to do today?”

“I do have a few things to finish for class but other than that, whatever.”

He shoots her a grin, one that’s both comforting and filled with mischief that makes her stomach queasy, “What?”

“What?” He replies coyly, sitting up and pushing himself back so he’s resting against the heels of his feet, towering over her slightly. 

She takes the opportunity to climb off the bed and head towards the closet where she’s left things in case something like this ever happened, Chicago weather was always unpredictable. 

It doesn’t take Connor long to come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him so her back is flushed with his chest. He watches as she picks out a shirt, one that they both know is actually his, before she moves on to pluck a pair of sweatpants from the drawer.

“Connie?”

He hums in response but he’s too busy pressing kisses along her shoulder and up her neck to pay attention to what she was saying. She sighs, both of pleasure and annoyance, as she sinks back into his warmth, letting her hands find his.

He reluctantly pulls away when he recognizes the silence she’s taken on is tainted with the slightest bit of irritation. He spins her around, smirking when her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “What is it baby?”

“I really need to finish this thing for class and then I promise I’m all yours. Why don’t you go make breakfast?”

And how could he say no to the adorable, innocent eyes she was giving him? He sighed, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead and cheek, before finally planting one on her lips before murmuring, “Fine.”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Both breakfast and her assignment didn’t take long to finish up which left the two of them snuggling up on the couch as they watched Desperate Housewives, a show the two had accidentally stumbled upon after a late night of searching high and low for something to watch. 

“I feel like I need to restart this because if I’m totally honest I don’t remember anything that happened in the first season.”

Connor’s eyes flicked over to y/n, “Good because me too. It’s been so long since we’ve actually had time to do this.”

She smiled, curling into him. His left arm wrapped around her shoulders, bringing her closer to his side, her head against his chest and hand absentmindedly tracing shapes across his lower torso. He took the remote from her other hand, navigating his way to the Disney+ app so he could put the show on, “I’ve missed this.”

“I’ve missed this too,” she peered up at him, kissing his jaw before settling back against him as the first episode played across the TV.

Chicago weather was unpredictable, but whether it was cold or hot, it seemed to work out in their favor.

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[logansbelt]

౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧ I need to cry in Logan’s arms, that’s all I want—nothing more. Maybe I’m depending on fiction too much or dealing with father issues, wait …

who said that? I have wrote similar prompts floating around, but I didn’t bother rereading them. It’s simple really do I want him to manhandle me or take care of me?౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧

I’m going to sleep now goodnight 🤍

Knees pulled to your chest, staring at the wall without really seeing it. The ache in your chest had been building all day, suffocating and relentless, until it finally broke through, leaving you raw and trembling.

Logan was quiet in the doorway, watching you. He’d noticed the shift in you earlier, the way your laughter had been forced, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were good at hiding it—too good—but Logan had been around long enough to see through it.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice gravelly but gentle.

You flinched at the sound of his voice, your arms tightening around your knees. You didn’t look at him, afraid that if you did, the floodgates would open completely.

Logan stepped closer, his heavy footsteps muffled against the carpet. He crouched in front of you, his rough hands resting on your knees as he tried to meet your gaze.j

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone softer now. “Talk to me. What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

Your throat tightened, and tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. “I’m fine,” you whispered, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Don’t do that,” Logan said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Don’t shut me out.”

The dam broke then, a sob tearing from your throat as you buried your face in your hands. The weight of everything you’d been holding back—the fear, the doubt, the pain—came crashing down all at once.

Logan didn’t say a word. He simply wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His grip was strong and steady, his presence grounding as he held you close.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let it out.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as sobs wracked your body. The sound of your cries filled the room, and Logan just held you tighter, one hand running soothingly up and down your back.

“I’m scared,” you finally choked out, your voice trembling.

Logan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His rough hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he met your gaze.

“Scared of what, honey’?” he asked gently.

“Of you leaving,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of… of you deciding I’m too much, or that I’m not enough. Everyone leaves, Logan. Everyone.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might get angry. But then his expression softened, his eyes filled with something so tender it made your chest ache.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. You hear me? I’m not like those fuckers.”

You tried to look away, but he held your face firmly, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I know you’ve been hurt,” he continued, his voice softer now. “I know you’ve been let down, left behind. But I ain’t them. I’m here, and I’m stayin’ here. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.”

“You promise?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Logan leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “I promise,” he said firmly. “I’ll fight anyone or anything that tries to take me away from you. You don’t have to be scared of that.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the knot in your chest loosened just a little.

Logan pulled you back into his arms, holding you close as you let out a shaky breath. His hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through it gently as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re not too much,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re more than enough. Don’t you ever doubt that.”

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in his arms, your head resting against his chest as his heartbeat steadied you. The storm inside you wasn’t gone, but it felt a little quieter now, a little more manageable with him by your side.

And as Logan held you, whispering soft reassurances into your ear, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you could believe him. Because Logan wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t going anywhere.

You’d been crying for what felt like an eternity, your sobs quieting to sniffles and shaky breaths as exhaustion began to creep in. His shirt was damp where your face had been buried, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was keeping you close, holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart.

“I’m not leavin’, darlin’,” Logan murmured against the crown of your head, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Not now, not ever. You hear me?”

You didn’t respond, too drained to speak, but you nuzzled closer to him, your fingers clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart breaking at how small and fragile you felt in his arms.

Minutes turned into an hour, the weight of your pain slowly easing as his warmth surrounded you. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulled you into a fragile sense of safety.

Eventually, your breathing evened out, and your grip on his shirt loosened. Logan glanced down to find you asleep, your face soft and peaceful despite the tear stains on your cheeks.

He adjusted you carefully, tucking a blanket around you while keeping you snug against him. His calloused hand continued to stroke your back in slow circles, even though you were already lost to sleep.

“Rest easy, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. “I’ll be right here.”

[ghostinripley]

Later

a short little Jhea fic

Jey uso x Rhea ripley

warnings: fluff, Implied smut, making out

Rhea was in the medical room waiting for the doctor to come in and check her over. she was still trying to catch her breath after her encounter with Nia Jax before she got into the arena.

As Rhea was waiting, the door flew open and in walked Jey with a bloody lip, he made eye contact with her and Rhea immediately got up to go to him. She walked up to him and cupped his face.

“He got you good huh ?” She asked him before using her thumb to wipe some blood off his lip. Jey chuckled and closed the door. “nah I got his ass, you good ma?I saw what happened with you and Nia” Jey asks checking to make sure she's alright.

"yeah I'm fine nothing hurts too bad so I should be fine I just have to wait to see what the doctor says." she says before going to get him a rag for his lip. "here," She says handing the cloth to him to put over his lip. Jey puts his hand over hers keeping it close to his face, rhea smiles at him.

"Y'know you looked really good with the title tonight." Rhea says closing the gap between them. Jey smirks and places his hand on her waist. "i know and when I win on Saturday we gone have matching belts." he says before leaning in and pecking her lips. "mmm I like the sound of that" she says and Jey kisses her again.

Rhea's hands instinctively went to Jey's neck to bring him closer. Jey didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss.Rhea moaned into the kiss causing Jey to smile into it before breaking the kiss to trail kisses down her neck and collarbone.

Before Rhea could get lost in the moment she quickly remembered where they were and pulled away. "Not here the doctor will be here any minute." she says breathlessly.

"We can lock the door,” Jey says kissing up to her jawline. "Jey I'm serious, what if someone hears us." Rhea says with a chuckle before pulling away again.

"we'll just have to be quiet," he says with a smirk and Rhea gives him a look. "Alright baby I'll behave, but we're finishing this later," he says before pressing one last kiss to her lips. "later" she hums against his lips.

[atzhrts]

what are some things you think give dom riize butterflies in bed 😋

includes: mentions of corruption but not actually (shotaro) dacryphilia, mentions of sex with the others around & squirting (eunseok), size training kind of (sungchan), pussy eating (seunghan), choking (sohee)

shotaro

he loves whenever you get this random burst of confidence, pushing him on his back and straddling him before looking at him like ‘what now’. is very into the fact that you want guidance from him (also corruption kink), sure you were feeling like a big girl just know, thinking you can just do your thing but now you’re asking him to take over again. definitely tells you no and that you started this and need to go though with it. (manly because he enjoys seeing you struggle to ride his dick)

eunseok

when you cry. there’s just something about you showing such raw emotions that seem like they’re so misplaced. it also gives him such an ego boost, because of course he knows you are not faking your moans - otherwise you wouldn’t let them slip out around his members when you’re riding him during movie nights. and he’s pretty sure you’re not faking your orgasms either because he hasn’t found an explanation for how you could fake your juices spraying against his abdomen and bedsheets but adding the vision of you crying just from his dick is doing wonders for him.

sungchan

the very moment when he first pushes into you and he watches your eyes flutter as both of you let out a synchronized moan. sungchan knows you always struggle a bit with taking his length, even if he prepares you throughly most of the times (heavy on the most). gentle finger running through your wetness before he pushes the first one in, pressing little kisses against your clit as he adds a second one. he loves listening to your sweet gasps and pants as he moves them in scissoring motion inside of you, eyes fixed on the way your pussy pulses around his digits. he knows he’s big but he loves to see the physical reminder on your face everztime his tip enters your tightness.

wonbin

as i said before, praising and that in all possible ways. i don’t think wonbin is very insecure, he knows he’s fine and he’s secure enough in your relationship to trust you would tell him directly if he’s not pleasing you. but something about you stuttering out praise without him having to ask for anything or even doing much always gives him this warm fuzzy feeling in his belly. whether it be you actually telling him how good he is doing and that he makes you feel so good, or combined with your touches. your shaky hands running down his arms “you’re so pretty binnie” he feels your pussy tighten around his length and knows the desperation is speaking out of you “your dick is so good”

seunghan

when your brush his hair out of his face as he’s eating you out. we all agree he’s a certified muncher right? that man can spend hours between your legs and not get bored. im fact he tried, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you, tongue abusing your swollen clit as his fingers massage your insides. he smiles into your pussy as he notices the way your legs start to shake around his head before threatening to close, thighs pressing against his ears tightly. your hand however is the exact opposite brushing his hair out of his face ever so gently. he loves the fact that even being lost in your pleasure you still take your time to make sure you can properly see your lovers face.

sohee

he’s into choking i just know it. nothing too extreme till the point he can’t breath anymore but a warm hand against his throat just weirdly reassures him. like this is really happening, he’s really dating the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on and he really has her at his mercy. that being said he doesn’t mind a gentle squeeze every now and then. like when he hits that special spot inside of you or uses a particularly harsh thrust he just knows he’ll be rewarded with your fingers tightening around his neck. he lets out the sweetest high pitched moans, something about the power dynamics just get him. you trashing around and whimpering underneath him as he thrusts into you harshly and even if he has the dominance ver you he’s still in such a vulnerable position with your hand wrapped around his sensitive neck

anton

jerking him off whenever you put the condom on him. he’s a grown man he’s perfectly capable of putting a condom on by himself but he absolutely loves it when you do it. opening the package with his teeth, mindlessly spitting the trash to the side before he places it over his tip, eyes meeting yours when your hands cover his hands. “let me do it” you look up at him “please” and who is he to deny his baby? + he really enjoys the tightness of your hand as you roll the latex down his length, throwing his head back when you squeeze the base. the first time you done this he nearly came in your hand as he watched you jerk him off lazily before he gets the real deal.

[glasvera]

Golden Morphine

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader

Description: You're checking in with Adam to make sure your injuries are healing well... and this time, his healing has an altogether different effect on you.

Warnings: Spicy but no smut (yet)

A/N: I'm in my Adam Warlock era. My Golden Boy Arc. I am so down bad for this man it is insane. I'm writing nasty things about him instead of getting him to Lord proficiency on Marvel Rivals. I need professional help.

... and yes I have a Part 2 planned.

Word Count: 2.2k

“You are sure this is alright?” he asks tentatively while his hands hover just millimeters above your skin. His palms glow with a faint golden light.

A lilting giggle sounds in your throat as you nod, perhaps, for the tenth time in the past five minutes. His concern was endearing, but he really needn't ask quite so frequently. 

You had asked him to check up on some recovering injuries you had to make sure everything was alright; after all, you had broken several bones, and you definitely didn't let them rest as much as you probably should have. Unfortunately for the flustered man standing behind you, many of those bones included ribs and you had some nasty contusions on your back. Perhaps he could have just snapped his fingers and healed you good as new, but the two of you had fallen into a rhythm of intimate understanding. You had thought nothing of it when you had approached him before, and you thought nothing of it this time as well.

He had come to enjoy watching your wounds close and mend beneath his ministrations, and you had come to enjoy the feeling of it. When those golden tendrils pour into you, you're filled with a surge of what can only be described as euphoria. Golden morphine.

It was delicious. It was addictive.

So, here you sit with your back to him, having lifted your shirt up so that it hangs loosely around your neck and over your chest. This was the reason for his constant requests for reassurance. Seeing your skin bared before him like this, the warmth emanating beneath his touch, felt like the ultimate sin. And with the way you sigh with each healing wave… he could feel the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. If only you knew what you did to him.

“It's fine, Adam. Besides, I thought you liked to watch?” you teased gently, shooting him a cheeky grin over your shoulder.

You could have sworn his cheeks had turned a darker shade of gold… or bronze, perhaps? He certainly couldn't seem to look you in the eye.

“Forgive me, it's just…”

“What? Is it that bad? How many different shades of purple are there back there?” you tease again, shaking your head slightly.

“N-No! I simply feel as if I… as if I shouldn't look,” he admits meekly.

That’s what’s bothering him? You nearly roll your eyes. With no small amount of discomfort and a few grunts, you scoot yourself around to better face him. Bad idea. He immediately covers his face to avoid looking upon your chest, even if it is mostly covered by your rolled up shirt. 

“Please! I do not-!”

“Adam! How many times have you healed me? How many times have you seen my skin?” you interrupt him, at this point slightly annoyed both by his chivalrous stubbornness and the pain you'd suffered to face him properly. You pout with your bottom lip jutting out towards him.

“But you are-!”

He gestures broadly to your bare top half with his free hand, still doing his best not to look at you directly. You catch that hand mid-movement and lock his fingers with your own.

“Adam,” you begin again, this time softer, and he can't help but pause his worries to hang onto your every word. You give his hand a squeeze. “Feel that? It's just skin. And this…”

You guide his hand to rest on your waist, and you could have sworn he stopped breathing. For a brief moment, you admire the contrast of his golden flesh against yours.

“...is just more skin,” you finish, your voice soft and airy. Even you have to admit that your mouth feels a bit dry at the touch despite being the one to initiate it.

One of his white gold eyes peeks between his fingers and stares intently at where your hands lay. His breathing is ragged now, and you can feel the way his hand trembles beneath yours. Long moments pass in silence between the two of you. Languid strokes of your thumb soothe the back of his hand, and finally, the trembling lessens. But it does little to lessen the sparks igniting in this moment.

“Soft…” he breathes out. It brings an almost relieved smile to your lips and a warmth to your cheeks.

“But still skin. And I promise I don't mind you looking at me, or touching me for that matter. It's just a part of the healing process, right?” you say reassuringly. There's something so tender in your words, and his hand falls from his face as his gaze returns to your face. Those chiseled features soften. Inwardly, he curses himself for being so easily affected by so much as a glance from you.

“O-Of course. Forgive me,” he murmurs bashfully. Then, his brows knit together in confusion, and he chews pensively on his lip.

“You… like this?” he asks, blinking before those milky white orbs meet your gaze. “It radiates off of you. A warmth. An affection.”

Oh. Your blush deepens, though it was no secret in the end, you suppose.

“I do,” you affirm. “I like being with you. And I like being taken care of, I suppose,” you add with a soft titter.

You both avoid each other’s gazes then, and an even thicker silence pervades the space around you. For a moment, you fear you've said too much. Have you finally gone too far? It's always been different with Adam; you can't deny that. But true feelings are so often felt and so rarely spoken between you. You worry that you've broken some unspoken pact, ruined the intimacy you've allowed yourselves this long.

“That is… good,” he states simply, finally, taking a deep breath between words.

Now it’s your turn to be surprised as your eyes flash up to meet his.

“It is…?” you ask hesitantly, the words a mere whisper on your lips.

Adam’s head tilts to the side, puzzled by you once more. A few locks of golden hair droop unceremoniously onto his forehead. 

“Should it not be?”

You blink a few times and study his face, searching for any hint of uncertainty. Instead, you only find his apprehensive gaze as he waits for you to answer. The corner of your lip twitches into a smile, and you exhale a small huff through your nose.

“No, no, it’s fine. I was just surprised,” you respond with a hint of relief in your voice. Your hand travels up his arm, leaving his on your waist as your fingertips dance along his bicep. His eyes flicker down to watch, seemingly enraptured. His lips part in anticipation as you lean in closer.

“Now, do you mind finishing what you started…?” you breathe as your hand comes to rest on his chest, tracing the delicate lines that seemed to be engraved into his skin.

An audible gulp sounds in his throat as his eyes continue to follow your hand. Finally, they look back up to yours. “What… what I started?”

You hadn’t intended to tease him, not really, but the way he gazes at you with bated breath makes it quite the tempting prospect. Another time, perhaps.

“Healing me, silly,” you answer with a chortle. “Even if I do like being with you, I did come here for a reason.”

He straightens up then, suddenly, and clears his throat. You definitely recognize that deep copper shade to be a blush on his cheeks now, and it has your stomach doing flips. The perfect man, truly.

“R-Right, yes,” he says, trying so desperately to hide the embarrassment in his voice. It’s difficult now for him to focus with whatever… this was developing between you two, but somehow he manages. The perfect being, and all that.

He starts where his hand rests upon your waist. You’re not sure if it’s his lack of focus, or if there was something more in his intent now, but it’s strong. It catches you off guard as you feel that golden energy pour through you, healing the last of your bruises and delicately setting your cracked ribs into place. But more than that, it sends a tingling sensation coursing through your entire being. It’s so sudden that you can’t stop the sound that escapes your lips.

You can’t stop the broken, breathless moan that cracks in your throat. Thank goodness your hand was already braced on his chest. Your fingers curl against the skin there, and your body nearly convulses with the strength of it.

Forget golden morphine. His healing was like an aphrodisiac to you now.

He pulls away from you in an instant. Of course he does. His face is the picture of horror, and he stares down at his hands for a moment before he takes you by the shoulders.

“Y/N!” His voice is exasperated as he looks you over. “I am so sorry! What have I done?”

It takes you a second to catch your breath, and your cheeks are flushed. That golden energy lingers and sends shocks of pleasure straight to your core. You grip the mantle of his cape in both of your fists and pull him closer. 

“Fuck, Adam…” you curse, and you can't help but laugh breathlessly when he peers down at you in utter confusion. “N-nothing bad, I assure you.”

Your eyes are half-lidded, and your grip shows no sign of weakening. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you or your words, but this is truly unlike anything he has ever witnessed. Adam takes the time to study you, noticing the warmth radiating off of you and… something else he doesn't recognize. A need? 

Curious as he is, he composes himself once more and places his hand at your ribs, just inches underneath your breast. You barely have time to process it before he's sending out another wave of energy. It leaves you panting, clamping your thighs together, and trembling. Your toes curl in your boots and your head falls to rest on his chest while you catch your breath. 

Oh.

He's catching on. Slowly. Slower than the tightness forming in his pants, at least. 

“It… feels good?” he asks, his voice taking on a low huskiness. When all you do is nod, his hand begins to travel up your side to cup your cheek. “Y/N… allow me to see your face.”

There was no way you could deny him now, and your head rises so that you might meet his pearlescent gaze. He finds your pupils blown and your lips parted ever so sweetly… His thumb traces your bottom lip and he sends the tiniest whisper of energy to that spot. Your eyes shut tight as a whine catches in your throat.

It draws a shuddery exhale from him. He doesn’t understand why, but some part of him needs to hear more of these noises from you. He speaks before he even realizes what he asks.

“Please,” he begins, a soft quiver in his voice, “Please let me kiss you.”

It’s not your voice that answers, but your lips. They crash into his; it’s messy, needy, utterly stealing the breath from his lungs. Your hands leave the mantle of his cape to slide into those silky golden locks at the nape of his neck, determined to make the same mess out of him that he’s made of you. He gasps into your mouth before both of his hands are cupping your face. It’s clear who has more experience in this field, but you certainly don’t mind taking the lead. Your legs part and wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly close as he stumbles slightly to steady himself. Nipping and tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth draws a whimper from him that leaves him bucking his hips into yours, and you can’t help but let out a low moan at the way his evident desire grinds against you.

He breaks the kiss then, clearly a bit overwhelmed with his flushed face and swollen lips, but shows no signs of letting you go. His chest rises and falls with the force of his breaths.

“I… I do not know what it is you do to me, but…” he finally murmurs, his breath fanning across your face. “I know that I like it. I want to hear more of you. Feel more of you.” The back of his hand brushes soothingly along your cheek before brushing through your hair, and his reverent gaze melts you in an instant. Then his touches travel lower, and his golden fingers toy with the bunched up fabric of your shirt. “...That is, if you will allow me?”

You must be dreaming. Sure, you had just kissed him, and gods know you’ve wanted to do that for ages, but for him to want to continue? It feels like something out of your fantasies.

So when your hands fall from his neck, when your fingers find the edge of his cape and slowly push it off of him and he lets you, you’re still not sure it’s real. But you’re not going to give up the chance to live out this dream of yours regardless.

“Only if you let me do the same,” you respond airily, occupying your fingers with tracing those delicate lines across his chest and shoulders. 

“I-I…” he starts, clearly distracted by your touches. “Yes. Please.”

[princessleechan]

special treatment (m) - chapter 17 Written Chapter 18+

Chapter list

🖊️Chapter tags: MDNI, mentions of drinking, office au, secretary au, misunderstandings, mentions of insecurity and harrassment, virgin!mingyu, one sided rivalry, grump x sunshine, grump!reader, shy sunshine!mingyu, SMUT [dry humping, nipple play (giv. & rec.), pet names (baby)], (w.c 4.5k), minor conflict, confessions

🖊️Tag list: @tomodachiii @humankimbap @aaniag @odevote118 @minwonwoozi @ateez-atiny380 @chisskaa @ninigyuuu @sarcasticsweetlara @bemybabiibish @blaycke @lirtha97 @kwanisms @nebulousbookshelf @gyubakeries @btsdomination @gyuguys @okiedokrie-main @jrinbb @lexyraeworld @armycarat2612 @cherrylita @jhornytrash @alyssa19123456 @chanichanvhan @minhosprettywife @jeon1w @perfectiondazesworld @skittlez-area512 @bmo-bri @blvked19 @leechansprincess @livixcore @jihoonsbbygirl @darlingz99

Mingyu’s eyes snapped open to be enveloped in darkness. Immediately, he sat up, only to whine to himself under his breath about feeling a sudden head rush, facing the well-deserved consequences of the late night of indulgence in bittersweet spirits. The moment he was able to adjust the ache, he looked over at your side of the bed to notice no pillow wall and saw you sound asleep with help from the sliver of moonlight bleeding from the blinds casting over you. You looked peaceful, at ease in your dreamland as Mingyu once had the pleasure of witnessing before, meanwhile, he was mentally spiraling. Last night, something had to have happened; nothing could confirm it with the crunk goggles he had on.

Had he dreamt it all? Was he some pervert? An HR nightmare?

Amid his contemplation, you stirred in your sleep, softly mumbling incoherently before sitting up on the bed. You rubbed your eyes to adjust to the barely visible lighting, hardly making out the dark, shadowy silhouette beside you in bed. “Mingyu?” You croaked.

He gazed over at you apologetically. “Hey. Sorry for waking you up.”

You shook your head, giving him a vision of only a dark, shadowy mop of hair shaking excitedly in front of him, forming a small smile on his face. “Hmm. It’s ok. I’m just glad you’re okay,” you reassured.

“Did something happen?” He asked cautiously.

You tilted your head to the side, musing at his shadow. “What do you remember?”

“I remember us doing…something together.”

“Something like what?” You chuckled, rubbing your eyes, finding bits of sleep still stuck in them.

Mingyu was usually a smart guy. He usually made the right decisions, but as he’s learned, you made him say and behave sometimes in the most unbearably pathetic and occasionally humiliating ways, at least to him. There were a million and one ways he could’ve responded to you, and he possibly answered in the most unslick, unsuave way ever. “I don’t wanna get in trouble if I mistook it for a dream—not that I had an inappropriate dream about us two! I just…damn it.”

You stifled a laugh, grateful he could not see you in the dark. “Mingyu, I think you remember just fine.”

“So, that all really happened? We really kissed?”

You felt your cheeks subtly flush at the thought of the passing memory. “To put it lightly? Yes.”

He groaned, ruffling his hands in his hair. His frustration was clear as day. “Why can’t I remember anything after that? How did I end up falling asleep?”

“Well…I think you may have overwhelmed yourself to the point of exhaustion because you knocked out the second I got on top of you.”

Like an oncoming train, the memories were all coming back to him now, rushing back, coloring his thoughts with images and sensations. One minute, it was just you and him, mouths connecting and reconnecting over and over again, bodies flushed against one another until there was nothing but heat between them. The room felt as though it was spinning and at the same time had come to life, simply all because he did what he had been scared to do before: make the first move. 

And in that moment when you held gazes, all he could think about was kissing you. His coworker. The person on his mind since he’s started his job. The person he had recently realized he’d been falling for. The person that solidified being the object of his desire during this trip the more he’s been in proximity with you. The person he soon learned had lips so wonderfully soft and a body so warm and plush that he swooned and literally…fell out of consciousness out of pure, utter ecstasy. Of course, he did. He couldn’t go a day without embarrassing himself, could he?

He squeezed his eyes shut, recoiling in horror as he flared his nostrils out of view, making inaudible screams in the darkness as he buried his face in his hands. The sheer mortification eventually subsided before he returned his attention to you. “Well, this will be going on the worst moments of my life list.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you kindly assured, “You were pretty drunk and used up a lot of energy. I don’t blame you if you needed the sleep.”

He sighed, a soft whine squeaking out his throat. He folded himself to press his chin to his knees, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, that is not how I wanted that to go.”

“Please, don’t be. In the afternoon, we have checkout, and after that, our flight. Let’s just—“

“No!” He quickly replied, balling the sheets into fists beneath him before slowly releasing. He fixed his posture and he tried to settle down his nerves, feeling his heart run a million miles a minute. “Sorry. I was not entirely there and…I apologize for putting you in that situation. I’m so embarrassed; I assure you I’m not usually like that.”

“It’s okay, but maybe it’s for the best.”

His eyes shot up at you, full of dismay, and although you couldn’t see them past the darkness, you could hear it in his shift in tone. “Is that what you really think?”

“There was a moment, and we both had a little to drink. I think we should leave it at that.” It was then that he heard the ruffling of pillows and the shuffling of the bed, sounds of readjusting into bed. He was quick to recognize your intent, your tactic of remedying the situation with evasion, ignoring it happened entirely. “Let's get some sleep, hmm?”

Mingyu’s hands quickly found your forearm in the darkness. Within seconds, light spread throughout the room as he flicked on the bedside lamp, revealing you in your sleepwear for the evening. Unlike the previous night, this one was slightly more revealing, with a low neckline and thin straps hardly holding up the fabric attached. It exposed your arms, shoulders, and the skin he remembered he ached to touch—the skin he still ached to touch even now.

He took a deep breath, clearing his thoughts. Sitting parallel to you with crossed legs, you were forced to face him, catching every deviation in his expression whether you wanted to or not. “…You said I shouldn’t feel safe around you.”

You glanced at him, remembering how he still wore the black dress shirt and slacks from last night, making you think about how devastatingly gorgeous he still looked hours later. You would’ve helped him change if you didn’t feel utterly repulsed by your own impure thoughts. “I did.”

“Do you feel that way still?”

“Yes,” you answered earnestly, crossing your arms.

“Even after…I kissed you?”

You tugged the covers closer to you, establishing physical boundaries to retain even a little bit of sanity you had left in you. His zeal to push your buttons not meant to be pushed never ceased to amaze you. “I think you should feel more worried about being around me.”

“And if I don’t?” He challenged, eyes blazed with fire, testing your patience. “Besides passing out, I don’t regret a single thing that happened tonight.”

You shook your head, denying him or yourself; you didn’t know. All you knew was the moment you looked into his eyes, you lost control of who you decided to be. You never had that issue until now; Mingyu was the anomaly that disturbed your peace and you couldn’t let it continue.

“We work together. Right across from each other every hour of every day. It’s not something you want to experiment with.”

“Who said anything about experimenting?”

You softly scoffed, despite knowing the sincerity behind his words. Your fingers tensed over the hems of the covers, and underneath you, you anxiously rubbed your thighs. “I’m being serious.”

He inched closer, respectfully keeping his hands in his lap. “So am I. I’m serious when I tell you that last night confirmed something for me that I was too scared to admit, and it’s that I like you. More than I realized.”

You sighed, feeling your heart tighten and stomach coiling at his confession, confirming your own feelings as well. 

“Mingyu, I like you too.” You said, finally meeting his hopeful eyes only to see their light dim with the words that followed. “You’re a good secretary and colleague. I don’t want the company to lose someone like you. You’ve improved too much at your job to throw it all away.”

It was his turn to scoff, shaking his head in disbelief as his hair fell over his face. “Why are you acting like you didn’t kiss me back?” He mumbled glumly.

Your heart ached the longer the moment prolonged. “It was a mistake, a moment of weakness.”

He lifted his head, giving a thousand-mile stare behind your head. “Still, you shouldn't have kissed me back like that.”

“…And it was wrong of me. I should’ve—“

“Save it,” He cut off, swallowing a lump in his throat. He turned to the opposite side of the edge of the bed and faced the wall, his back completely towards you. “I get it. I just thought…I’m sorry. I’m the one who ended up making things weird now.”

Fuck.

“Mingyu, you…” You ran a palm over your face, softly groaning. “You were honest with me, so I’ll be honest with you. I…I do find you attractive, okay? And that’s the problem.”

His shoulders visibly tensed before slowly dropping, silence following, which you took as a sign to continue speaking. Only you weren’t sure how to start. Maybe the beginning was the best, but you couldn’t exactly pinpoint when that was either. All you knew now was that he needed to know why you’ve been behaving the way you have and why you’re so insistent on carrying on this attitude around him as if it was his fault when you should’ve taken responsibility. You’ve been avoiding it, and it was time that had to change.

“Ever since that company dinner, maybe before that, I had been feeling something weird, and I can’t even begin to explain it. I saw things in my sleep that I definitely shouldn’t have about you, and I—I couldn’t look at you. It was awful because we had just begun getting close and creating this camaraderie, and I didn’t want to ruin that, but I guess I did anyway by avoiding you. I just couldn’t be in the same room with you thinking about you in that way or feeling guilty about it. It came to a point where I couldn’t even focus at work, and I just—fuck. I’m not making any sense. You are just…”

“Just what?” He asked in the softest of tones. His eyes sparked with a new sense of conviction and fondness as he turned his head, watching you speak the most you’ve ever spoken to him in all the time they’ve ever worked together.

You tried to reassume a look of composure, conjuring the poker face you’ve always held up at meetings, press conferences, bad first dates, and with Mr. Kim when he tells a bad joke. “In summary, you’re a distraction. I’m sure what I’m feeling will eventually pass, and for now we need to be vigilant and stay professional if we want to sustain the healthy relationship we had.”

He spun back to face you, dipping his weight on the bed so that it squeaked similarly to the way it did last night, heating your cheeks and catching you off guard as he moved in closer, sitting on his knees just a foot away from you.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he pointed out, curling a strand behind your ear and burning the tip, earning him a stern glare to which he returned with a small grin.

“You know work is important to me,” you tried reasoning, voice gradually softening. “It should be important to you.”

He inched even closer, lowering his body so your knees touched with the covers as a barrier. “I do, and it is, but I don’t know how I’ll work alongside you knowing… I’m not alone in my feelings for you. I can’t do nothing.”

“…I know, but you have to realize this has already screwed with me before anything has even happened, so once something actually does and it ends badly—”

His hand crept over your face, cupping your cheek, letting the cool palm of his hand soothe the heat of your face, cutting you off. “I want to give us a try, even if it’s just for the night…but only if you want it too, and maybe neither of us will ever have to wonder if this is a mistake or not.”

He adjusted his weight on the mattress and creaked the foundation of the bed. His upper body leaned forward, looming over you, close enough to have the tip of his nose graze with yours, your bated breaths mingled, and your eyes met in an unspoken way like that night: intense and undeniable. Leaving you to be utterly putty in his hands. Just like you were scared you’d be.

“Is that okay?” he quietly asked.

You didn’t move, basking in the subtle, lingering smell of whiskey with the sweetest notes of apple on his breath as it wafted into your nose, feeling it tear down your defenses. Eyes glued to his lips, quivering as they were, atoms away from yours, and all your hope of going back to the way things were before the kiss—the relatively normal things, if there were any—seemed lost. Yet, you couldn’t find a single ounce of remorse as your chest heaved, instead thinking about all the ways that night might’ve gone had he not lost consciousness.

With the lingering self-preservation you had, you had one thing left to ask him, hoping it would direct him in the logical path that you weren’t willing to take on your own volition. “You’re still a little buzzed, aren’t you?”

His hand reached toward you to thumb over your features and landed on your mouth, gently brushing the corner of your lips, showing dry residuals of drool, showing proof of good sleep. “No. I couldn’t be more sober,” he softly answered, and he closed the gap.

Mingyu relived the details of that night as every little nerve of his body twitched with recognition, claiming you with every fiber of his being and rejoicing as you reciprocated, letting your mouths move in sync. The softness of your hair, the plushness of your lips, the scent of your skin. He wanted to etch you to every part of his body so he could fear you even if you weren’t near. You felt that amazing.

In a brief moment of clarity, you tugged him off by his collar, looking at him through an intoxicated, half-lidded gaze. “We can’t go back to the way things were before this,” you warned weakly.

“I don't want it to,” he replied, reconnecting your lips hungrily.

Your hands clasped over his face, mouths stopping just in front of each other and breathing each other's air. “I’ll be extra strict and mean to you at work to make up for all of this,” you warned, breathlessly.

He smiled against your lips. “I’ll survive.”

Warmth pooled in your stomach as you chased after his pace, pulling him flush back against you. His hands trailed down your body, claiming your waist before startling you as he had you straddle him while he leaned against the headboard. You momentarily broke apart with a gasp, adjusting to the rush of adrenaline before seeing you share a smile and close the distance again.

His hands felt for the silk of your top, smoothing over your backside, and melted at the sweetest sounds leaving your lips, sensing how warm they made his ears. Addicted to the cacophony, he found his lips peppering kisses over your collarbone, seeking more as he nipped at your skin, and pleased hearing your voice grow louder in his ears as he trailed up your neck to mouth over your throat.

As moans slipped through your swollen lips, you ran your hands beneath his shirt to feel his skin burn against your palms like a furnace, clawing against his taut frame. Soon, your path fell south, letting your digits undress the same shirt you helped dress that evening and set it on the bed, letting his sweltering, bare upper body embrace you as you traced every line and curve of him until you could draw him from memory. You started to slowly grind on his lap, feeling his groin brush against you as his bulge grew in response. 

He let out a throaty moan, savoring the fervor of your hips enthusiastically using him for your pleasure, swelling his heart with pride as the arousal in his pants strained against the seams. His eyes fluttered in and out of focus. Licking his lips, he filled his hands with your hips, guiding them over his bulging size, listening to the mewls ebbing out of your lips as he harshly pressed you into him, letting the friction send you on an addictive high.

You dug the pads of your fingers into his shoulders, your breath tickling his ears. “Gyu…”

His jaw slowly dropped, propping his legs to kneel you closer. “Oh my gosh, never stop calling that; I’ll make it my ringtone.”

“You’re so cute…”

Finding his hands, you took them under your shirt, letting him touch your lower back before they crawled up your sides and cupped the underside of your breasts. You guided him to rub against you, letting the balls of his palms perk up your tight peaks before he regained control and decided to flick his thumbs over them, reeling at how you jumped at the sensation. Softly giggling, he looked up at you through his lashes before helping the shirt off your head, exposing your torso, and sighed in awe. “Damn.”

“Shut up,” you quietly laughed, combing through his hair and watching him lower his head. 

His lips wrapped around one stiff bud, sucking and coating it with the inside of his mouth and tracing it in circles while giving the other tasteful pinches, lewdly looking at you for approval and was pleased to feel the twitches in his lap as much as he was to hear the whines entering his ears. His hips were softly pistoned up inside you as his presence just grew bigger, rubbing against your slit and pressing against your clit, making him impossible to ignore. There wasn’t a single thing otherwise telling you that you should have him right here right now.

“I need you. Do you have a condom?”

He froze, visibly swallowing before shaking his head. 

“It’s okay. I should have one.” Just as you were about to reach for it in your purse, he held onto you, and you sensed some extent of hesitation, something clearly on his mind. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I’ve been close maybe as many times as I can count on a single hand, but I’ve never had sex up until now,” he quietly admitted.

You’re slightly shocked, as expected, but not thrown off by the new information. Instead, you drew closer, holding him by the nape of his neck reassuringly, and softly kissed up his jaw. “Did you want to avoid that today and keep doing this? I don’t mind.”

He shook his head, grinning, halting your kisses by cupping your face in his hands. “God, no, just…I don’t know if I’m not as talented as previous people you’ve been with.”

“Gyu,” you said softly nuzzling into his palm, making him overtly melt, “I’m not expecting perfect; sex hardly ever is—”

“But I’m trying to prove I’m not a mistake, aren’t I?” He asked, tenderly caressing your chin. “I don’t know if I’m as talented as them, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure there’s a smile on your face in the end.”

You nodded, grinning, kissing your forehead against his. “Okay. Give me all you got.”

Slowly, every article of clothing that remained was disposed of like its predecessors, lingering elsewhere as you joined together harmoniously, filling gaps with the contours of your bodies. You nestled his thigh between your legs, grinding against him, causing the juices of your core to coat his taut muscle. Wedged between you was his cock, standing at attention and pressing against your stomach as you stroked him from the base, feeling him growing firmer in your grasp.

“So hard…” you said, gazing back up at him.

“Because of you…” He earnestly admitted with flushed cheeks.

You softly chuckled, “You spoil me, baby.”

You gently pushed him until he’d settled on his back, resting his head on the headboard as you threw your leg to bracket his sides and claim his lap, grinning in a reminder of the night before. “Feeling sleepy yet?”

He whined, taking your hand as you sat on top of his thighs. “I’m not. I promise you.”

“Okay,” you replied softly, thumbing over the slit on the tip. “I think I can confirm you’re awake.”

“How long are you going to tease me?” he pouted, caressing your sides.

You leaned down to meet his lips in a slow, sensual lip lock, undulating his shaft harshly and thumbing over a thick vein, hearing him take a sharp inhale. “Until I stop finding you cute.”

“Never?” He resounded playfully with wide eyes to only steal another kiss, your answer now wrapped around his tongue as it pressed against yours.

You softly chuckled, pushing him away to tear the wrapper open before pulling the rubber over him and securing it in place, seeing his pupils shake back at you with anticipation. “Are you feeling okay about this?” You quietly asked.

A wide smile stretched over his cheeks. “I've never been more sure of anything than I am of you.”

Hovering over him, tracing the curve over your slit, feeling your heart fluttering at his overt adoration, gushing at his blind devotion towards you, making your core throb at the sight. “Why are you so sweet all the time?” You softly cooed.

Feet planted against the bed, you sank down on him before he could answer, feeling him fill you up as your slick walls squeezed around his girth. Your jaw dropped as you had to adjust to his size, leveraging the tautness of his abdomen to hold you up and control your intake as you slowly eased down, tension coiling in your stomach.

“You’re big like I thought you’d be, but fuck,” You leaned forward, backing into him as only a fraction of him penetrated you, gasping as you felt him stretch you out even more, the deeper you pushed him inside. “Shit, Mingyu…”

“Am I hurting you?” He asked in concern, holding you up by your waist.

“A little, but it’s still manageable, just making me fuller than I’m used to,” you chuckled, pressing your hands over his chest. “Didn’t get all of you yet, though, fuck.”

He stroked over your sides, gently massaging over your hips. “Take it slow; we’re in no rush, but I just want to say… You feel so good right now, holy shit.”

“Yeah? I haven’t even done anything yet.” You teased, pressing a thumb over a stiff bud, feeling his thighs twitch slightly in response. 

“It’s just… you’re naked on top of me, while I’m inside you, and now you’re touching me. Kind of a fucking dream.”

“Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth, Gyu,” you teased in a breath of a moan, easing lower, “tell me more about this dream, and don’t leave out any details.”

He softly sighed, his eyes gently drooping as your fingers played with his nipples, rolling them between your thumb and index finger, and you rolled your hips. “Just like this, the way you’re riding me, teasing me…looking at me like you might eat me.”

Licking your lips, you tweaked them harder, listening to his moans grow louder as you sank down deeper, clenching tighter around him as your lips dropped in a low groan. “Like that baby? ” Or—"you bent down to drag your tongue between a smile and against his erect buds, drawing circles, “like that?”

You felt him tremble under you, unearthing a sharp thrust from below that steals your gasp, “Fuck, yes,” he managed to garble, “Like that. Mmm, suck on them for me, please.” 

Curling your lips, you drew them in your mouth, alternating between both as you bounced harder on his lap. Then, without warning, skin clashed in rough slams as his thrust came in conflict, pounding up into you in full bursts. Vision falling back to your head, your tongue dangled out of your mouth as a ribbon of saliva fell from your lips to his buds, feeling his brush against your depths, releasing an immeasurable pain that would dissolve pure ecstasy, so pure that it’d ceased your words.

“Oh my god, Gyu…” Well, almost all your words.

Pulling his bottom lip through his teeth, Mingyu pushed you up straight and puppeted you on his lap by your hips into a gentle bounce, watching the curve of your breasts fall with him and gravity. At the same time, his thrusts found their rhythm, taking your blossoming walls and meeting them halfway, pistoning in you as you bounced on his cock, prolonging that sensation and hitting it over and over again.

“God, you’re beautiful.” 

You gave him a drunken smile, letting your hand fall limp over his chest. You felt your body close to giving out from the way he used you, slowly draining every ounce of energy left in you as your cheeks stung from the impact of his slams. You were in bliss. You never wanted it to end. “Mingyu, baby—“

It was then he squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipples between his knuckles as he softly rolled up into you, ebbing your pretty whines and writhing thighs as your legs gave out, falling limp as your knees pushed into the mattress and grinded your clit against his groin.

“Fuck…when you call me that.” His hips hastened, bucking up into sharper snaps as they grew more desperate and needy. The sounds of your ache left your lips in a clipped echo while you dug your nails into his sides to adhere yourself to him, bracing for impact. “I’m so close, shit, not right now…” He groaned.

“Baby—”

“Fuck, why do you do this to me—“ You crashed your lips together, letting his gripe die on them as you traced the inside of his mouth and let yourselves get lost in the heat of oncoming fire kindling between your bodies. 

The rest of the night ended when you tired yourselves to the point of fatigue. Voices blended, hands joined, bodies trembled, and hearts intertwined like they were meant to. And much like how the night Mingyu drank his inhibitions away, how the sex ended was also a blur, but the emotions tying them all together weren’t. 

It wasn’t something either of you could ignore anymore, and you realized that the way you felt for one another was more than what could be said for two coworkers. So, after having sex to the point of exhaustion, you both agreed things would have to change, but how they’d change would be decided for another day. And soon, sleep took over you both, and unconsciously you waited for the sun to rise in the morning in the comfort of the disarranged hotel sheets and each other's arms.

Chapter 18 posting an hour after this is posted !!!

[ninatheelf]

perfection can keep you from persisting :

“once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.” -ralph waldo emerson

some motivation for any perfectionists / over-thinkers!

— — — — — — — — ✿ — — — — — — — —

this kind of ties into one of my other posts about embracing the parts of shifting that we don’t understand. we can’t really grasp the “how” of it all- and by that i mean how exactly our thoughts reflect from the 4d and manifest in the physical plane.

and what’s really nice is that we don’t have to worry about how it all works. in fact, not worrying about how it happens is what allows the manifestation to occur.

before i learned about loa, i had a blockage regarding the logistics of my dr. i was stressed out about my backstory making sense, or about accidentally creating a butterfly effect that would make things end up not going the way i wanted them to. i thought that i had to script everything to be “perfect.” i thought i had to have it all planned out and control every little aspect in order to make sure nothing occurred that i didn’t want to in my dr. and in doing that, i was holding myself back. 

there’s an element of trust one must place in the universe in order to let things happen. when one is constantly obsessing over how it’ll all work out, it doesn’t, because that questioning and distrust is breaking the persistence part of loa.

the “how” is doing all of the heavy lifting. the “how” is adjusting the logic of your dr to make it make sense and have it be natural. the “how” does it all for you. you don’t need to stress yourself out by trying to do all of this yourself. 

this is why that one woman on shifttok frustrated me when she talked about how if you script that you have no body hair and don’t sweat, that means you’ll have some sort of disease that causes those things. when that video came out, i was just staring to study loa, and i knew immediately that she didn’t understand what she was talking about.

the universe isn’t plotting against you like that. there’s no “careful what you wish for” moment when it comes to scripting different aspects about your dr and dr self. if you script something like that out of conveniency’s sake, your subconscious understands that and the logic of your dr is going to change to make the fact that you don’t have body hair or sweat perfectly normal for you. how? we don’t have to know, and it literally does not matter.  a hogwarts dr is a great example of this. that reality contains magic that goes against our cr's biology and the law of gravity (mythical creatures, potions, levitation, etc.) and yet the reality doesn’t descend into chaos with all of these crazy consequences, because the logic of that reality is set in a way where the creatures and potions and floating objects make sense. 

anyways, that woman’s take is what i’m talking about with the over-thinker, butterfly effect, distrusting mindset. you do not need to consider the consequences for things you script that are like that. if you believe that you will be fine and safe and healthy with new characteristics, then you will be fine and safe and healthy.

i’ll always say this (and i don’t care if people get annoyed because repetition is important for the subconscious!!) as long as you stay truly grounded and persistent in your assumption, it will always manifest. and in order to do that, you have to trust that what you want to receive will work out in your favor, and trust that you don’t have to worry about controlling every little aspect to make changes seem understandable. that is the “how” / universe’s job. 

give up some control to the universe, and that’s when it’ll happen. maybe it’ll make sense how it happened after the fact, and maybe it won’t. but either way, you got what you wanted!

— — — — — — — — ✿ — — — — — — — —

as a control freak, i’ve found a lot of relief in giving up some control to the universe lol- in my experience it’s really quickened my manifestations and just made the process much easier. since the universe is a part of you, it is always working in your favor. 𝜗𝜚

[luvashli]

Synopsis -> you are pulled into a mysterious mansion where seven men are bound by a dark pact. As you navigates their secrets, desires, and emotional turmoil, you must decide whether to break free or embrace your dangerous connection with them all, uncovering love and sacrifice along the way.

08 -> Whispers of the Past

The days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next. You began to notice things—small, strange things that didn’t add up. Like how none of them ever seemed to eat, or how their movements were almost too smooth, too precise.

And then there were the nights. The mansion seemed to come alive after dark, the air thick with an energy you couldn’t explain. You heard whispers in the hallways, saw shadows move where no one stood.

You told yourself you were imagining things, but deep down, you knew better.

One night, you found yourself standing outside the door to Heeseung’s study. You hadn’t meant to end up there, but something had drawn you to it, an invisible pull you couldn’t resist.

The door creaked open as you pushed it, revealing Heeseung sitting at his desk, his head bowed as he stared at a piece of paper in his hands.

He didn’t look up when you stepped inside. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

He finally looked at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You should leave.”

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped closer, your gaze falling on the paper in his hands. It was old, the edges frayed and yellowed with age.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.” He folded it quickly, tucking it into a drawer before you could get a better look.

You frowned. “You’re hiding something.”

“We’re all hiding something.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to back down. “What are you so afraid of?”

Heeseung stood then, his height and presence towering over you. “I’m not afraid. But you should be.”

The next morning, you woke up to find a note slipped under your door.

Meet me in the garden. Midnight.

There was no name, but you didn’t need one. You recognized the handwriting instantly—it was Jay’s.

The garden was bathed in silver moonlight when you arrived, the air cool and crisp against your skin. Jay was waiting for you near the fountain, his figure silhouetted against the glowing water.

“You came,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“You didn’t really give me a choice,” you replied, crossing your arms.

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Fair enough.”

You waited for him to speak, but he just stood there, his gaze fixed on the fountain.

“Are you going to tell me why you brought me here, or are we just going to stand around all night?”

Jay sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

He turned to face you then, his expression serious. “You want answers? Fine. But you might not like what you hear.”

“Try me.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if trying to decide how much to say. Finally, he spoke.

“We made a pact,” he said, his voice low. “A long time ago. And it changed everything.”

“What kind of pact?”

“The kind that doesn’t come without a price.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. “What does that have to do with me?”

Jay hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “You’re part of it now. Whether you like it or not.”

You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “that you’re not leaving.”

Jay’s words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and ominous. You felt your stomach twist, unease crawling up your spine. The idea of being tied to something so dark—and to them—was overwhelming.

“What do you mean I’m not leaving?” you asked, your voice faltering despite your best effort to sound steady.

Jay’s gaze softened as he stepped closer, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by something quieter, almost tender. “It’s complicated,” he said, his voice low. “You’re… bound to us now. To the pact. It’s not something you can walk away from, even if you wanted to.”

Your mind was racing. Bound? To all of them? The thought was as confusing as it was terrifying. And yet, when Jay took another step forward, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the crisp night air, your pulse quickened in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

“I didn’t choose this,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I didn’t choose any of this.”

Jay stopped inches away from you, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the moonlight. He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a gesture that was more comforting than you expected. “I know,” he murmured. “None of us did either. But here we are.”

You looked up at him, and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes that you hadn’t before—vulnerability. Jay, with his cocky smiles and sharp words, looked just as lost as you felt.

“What happens now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His hand lingered on yours, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “Now,” he said, his voice low and intimate, “we figure it out. Together.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribs. Being with all seven of them—each one so different, so intense—was already starting to take a toll on you. They were impossible to ignore, their presence as overwhelming as the pact itself. And worse, you didn’t even know what you felt anymore.

“I… I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “About any of this. About you. About them.”

Jay’s gaze softened even further, and he took a step closer, his hand now fully holding yours. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice soothing. “That’s part of the pact too. It’s meant to make you feel this way—confused, conflicted. Drawn to all of us. It’s how it works.”

You blinked, trying to process his words. “You’re saying the pact is making me feel this way? About… about all of you?”

Jay nodded, his thumb still grazing your knuckles. “Yeah. It’s not just you, though. It’s us too. We’re all connected in ways we can’t explain, can’t control.”

The idea left you reeling. But as much as you wanted to argue, to deny it, you couldn’t ignore the truth. You were drawn to them—each one of them, in ways that didn’t make sense. Sunghoon’s intensity, Heeseung’s calm strength, Jake’s warmth, Sunoo’s lightness, Sunghoon’s perfectionism, Ni-ki’s unpredictability, and now, Jay’s quiet vulnerability. It was all there, pulling at you, consuming you.

“I don’t know if I can handle this,” you confessed, your voice cracking.

Jay tilted his head, studying you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “You can,” he said softly. “And you will. You’re stronger than you think, Y/N.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost your undoing. Before you could respond, Jay leaned in, his free hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

“If it gets too much,” he murmured, his lips so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath, “just remember: we’re in this together. No matter what.”

You didn’t know who moved first—whether it was you or him—but suddenly, his lips were on yours, soft and slow and filled with something you didn’t quite understand. The kiss wasn’t desperate like Sunghoon’s had been, but it wasn’t hesitant either. It was steady, grounding, like Jay was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You’re not alone in this,” he whispered. “You never were.”

And for the first time since this all began, you felt a flicker of hope. Even if everything else was falling apart, at least you had this—had them. Whether it was the pact or something more, you didn’t know. But for now, you let yourself believe it might be enough.

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[thelilylav]

Ohhh I can get on this train.

So I know a lot of people say Alice got stuck in Wonderland where she then had Alistair, but in Kitty's diary she seems at least old enough when leaving Wonderland to realise what's going on, so I like to think that Bunny and Alistair knew each other pre-curse and/or Alistair was actually about to start his story when the curse happened (so his mom wouldn't have been there or she would have come back after the story already played out - you could also argue that the Jabberwocky exists so the idea of her returning in Through the Looking Glass would as well, which might have opened opportunities to come visit, but timelines with Wonderland always get tricky in this show). That being said...

With them spending all the time in Wonderland because of the curse, I like to imagine that's what finally gets Bunny to start opening up. The curse doesn't seem like it's ever going to end, and life may be a living nightmare in many ways, but Alistair's not leaving anymore! She starts to open up, little by little, letting all his declarations of love finally get to her, and starts to think that she might be okay with them going somewhere.

That is, until they find the Storybook of Legends. Because now, this discovery means the portal is open again, and the future where she loses him comes rushing back. And Bunny and Alistair are nothing if not good people, so they won't let this discovery remain a mystery forever. Of course they'll bring it back.

This would be a really good explanation for why they keep denying that they're dating once they get to Ever After. Alistair knows why Bunny doesn't want them to become official, and he won't push her on this because he doesn't want to hurt her, but pretending that they're nothing is hurting them both, and nobody really gets why they're so upset. After all, the book has been gone and they can choose whether to follow their destinies, so why would these two be so upset?

Here's where things get really fun. Alistair is pretty vocal in the series about liking adventure and wanting to follow his destiny, and Bunny has been seen to be pretty fond of her destiny as well. Kitty and Maddie may not care about destiny, and would be fine with the two running off and forsaking their stories, but there's also the question of Lizzie. Lizzie, who misses home so badly she spends all her time in the Wonderland grove just to get the briefest reminder of home. Lizzie, who's dreamed of being the Queen of Hearts her whole life. So we get a fun little dilemma for Alistair and Bunny. They could go against their destinies to be together, which would mean neither fulfilling the role they've dreamed about their whole lives and potentially robbing one of their best friends of her only chance to go home and live the life she's been dreaming of since childhood as well, or they could go through with their destinies and fulfill their roles, but ultimately lose each other.

And while, sure, running away together might seem more logical, this is Alistair and Bunny we're talking about. These two practically advertise their need to people please. It would kill them to cause the kind of upset that going against their destinies would result in.

So was there really any choice for them at all?

bunnistair's been said by some to be kinda bland, a little too predictable, too boring. and while i kinda agree, i think the best way to make a ship more interesting is to give it a bit more angst. consider this: in the original story, alice always leaves wonderland. she wakes up from her dream, unsure if wonderland, with all its nonsense, was ever real or if it was just a figment of her imagination. in the eah world, of course it's real, but alice still has to leave. though she did fall in love with wonderland's wonder and magic and charm and riddles, she still had to climb back up that rabbit hole. because she had her family to go back to, her life to return to.

with this, alistair knows that he has to leave wonderland one day too. so he approaches his crush with bunny with so much gusto. he wants to spend all his time with her and confess his love before he has to leave. he wants to dive in 100%. but bunny approaches her own crush the total opposite way. she's hesitant to confront her love for allister because she knows how the story ends. alistair would have to leave and she doesn't know if she can deal with the heartbreak of him being gone from her life. she's convinces herself to never love at all instead of experiencing a love so great and wonderful and then losing it.

[scoutofmymind]

Mama scout mi Reina! Would you be open to writing an AU of Luigi? A little supernatural ish perhaps 👀

Saw You in a Dream — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: NSFW— MINORS DNI dream-kissing lol, yearning, some pining I suppose, reader is an uninspired artist, Luigi is a figment of her imagination.

Wc: 4,153

Notes: ONEIRIX™ is a dream enhancement supplement designed to intensify and prolong REM sleep experiences.

AN: I DO plan on continuing this if requests for it are abundant. I have many, many ideas for how this story could go, but I will tell you, it’s a lil…. Twisted hehe. Also, my darling anon, I know this isn’t really “supernatural” but in hopes of not writing 10k again and learning when to stop, I must note that more supernatural elements will be tied in if this is requested enough for a continuation. Love you xox

"What's wrong with old-fashioned, regular dreams?" You stare across the table at Bailey, who leans forward with an almost evangelical intensity, her blue eyes gleaming with the same fervor as when she pitched her start-up ideas or insisted everyone try CrossFit. "Is nothing sacred anymore? Do we have to optimize and upgrade every last human experience?"

"No," Bailey says, drumming her fingers against the table, her half-eaten omelette growing cold. She keeps shaking her head as if your resistance personally offends her. "These are revolutionary — they're going to change the way we think, bitch." The words come out with practiced casualness, like everything else about her these days.

She flicks a small pink baggie across the table, four obsidian-black pills rattling inside like tiny meteorites hurtling straight toward your earth.

"No." You slide the baggie back with a single finger, as if even touching it too long might leave a stain. "I don't need another vice."

"It's non-addictive." Bailey leans in, her voice dropping to that silky-smooth pitch she used to use selling timeshares in Miami. Despite her earlier promise that she wasn't working for them, you catch that familiar gleam in her eye — the one that surfaced with every pyramid scheme and side hustle she'd dragged you into. "I just need you to experience it. Just once."

The baggie sits between you like a dare, its pink sheen catching the diner's fluorescent lights, making the black pills inside gleam like wet ink.

"It could really inspire your art." She slides a journal across the table — black, unmarked, expensive-looking. "I've filled this thing with ideas already. It’s only been a week.”

She's found your weak spot now.

Those late-night calls, the wine-soaked confessions about your creative drought, the mounting pressure from your agent — it's all ammunition. "This could be your saving grace," she adds, and the words sink their hooks in deep. Your fingers twitch toward the baggie, career desperation beginning to outweigh your better judgment. “I’m dead serious.”

"Fine." You snatch the baggie and shove it deep into your purse, somewhere between old receipts and forgotten lipliner, secretly hoping it'll vanish into that void where hair ties and spare change go to die. "Give me the pamphlet. You clearly don't need it." You thrust out your hand, and Bailey practically glows as she slides over the sleek Oneirix packet, its metallic lettering catching the light like a sign you're choosing to ignore.

The pills had disappeared into your purse's black hole until Bailey's FaceTime lit up your phone the next afternoon. There she was, sleep mask pushed up like a crown, her face dewy with her latest hundred-dollar moisturizer. "So, did you try it?" Her grin was expectant, eager — the same look she'd worn pushing juice cleanses and crystal healing.

You glance at your desk, where half-finished canvases gather dust and untouched notebooks mock your creative drought.

Last night had been your usual routine; an hour-long shower where you'd solved all of life's problems and remembered none of them, three episodes of that show you're still trying to convince yourself you enjoy, and quality time with your artistic inadequacy.

"Not yet." You mumble around a spoonful of ice cream, your attention split between Bailey's glowing face and whatever's playing on Netflix — neither getting your full focus.

"Girl," she clicks her tongue, and you can hear the judgment dripping through your phone speaker. "Go get them — are you scared?" The question hangs there, pointed and precise, like she's daring you.

You hate how well she knows you, how easily she can press that particular button.

Being called scared has always been your kryptonite, ever since she first met you at that high school gallery opening where you'd been too anxious to mingle.

"No." Your face twists into a scowl at her accusation. "I just forgot." You hit pause, abandoning both your show and melting ice cream to dig through your purse.

You find the baggie too easily, the pamphlet's glossy surface catching the light as you unfold it, its clinical text stark against the dark background.

ONEIRIX

DREAM ENHANCEMENT SUPPLEMENT

FOR INTENSIFIED & PROLONGED REM SLEEP EXPERIENCES

The instructions read like any over-the-counter medication.

One tablet, 30 minutes before bed, standard warnings about machinery and other medications.

"Okay." The pamphlet lands on your counter, its unread warnings fanning out like discarded playing cards. "Will it make me tired, or do I already have to be—"

"Oh, it knocks your ass out." Bailey's voice drifts from your abandoned phone, tinny and distant. You wrestle with the baggie's seal, the plastic refusing to cooperate until it suddenly gives, spilling one glossy black pill into your palm. "It works a hell of a lot faster than thirty minutes, too," she adds through a yawn.

You swallow the pill, and before you can even contemplate moving from the kitchen to your bed, a heaviness seeps into your limbs like honey dripping down glass.

Bailey's already drifted off on FaceTime, her gentle snores creating a strange duet with your own as consciousness slips away once you make it to the couch faster than falling.

The transition is jarring — not the usual soft fade into nonsensical dreams, but a sharp snap into awareness. You know you're dreaming, the way you know your own name, the way you know the sky is blue. It's like someone's turned up the saturation on reality, made everything clearer and brighter than it has any right to be.

This isn't the usual dream-fog where your brain accepts that your childhood home has suddenly sprouted wings or that your teeth are falling out at a gallery show.

This is different.

This is aware.

You wiggle your toes in the grass — actual, individual blades tickling your feet, not the vague suggestion of grass that usually populates dreams. Your manicure catches the sunlight, that specific shade of dusty rose you picked last Tuesday, tiny chips and all.

The rings on your fingers still catch when you twist them, that familiar nervous habit following you even here. Everything about you is preserved with photograph precision, dropped into this impossible elsewhere.

"Jesus," escapes your lips, the word carried away by a breeze that feels too perfectly warm to be real. The butterflies dance overhead like confetti caught in reverse, their wings painted in colors that might not exist in the waking world. You watch one land on a nearby flower, and you can see every detail of its wings, every tiny pattern — the kind of detail your sleeping mind has never bothered with before. "This is fucking-"

“Hey.”

The voice cuts through your wonder, and you spin, heart somehow racing in this dream-that's-not-quite-a-dream.

He's there, solid as the ground beneath your feet — no dream-logic shimmer or fade around the edges. Tall, with shoulders that could carry atlas's burden, and features that seem carved rather than grown. His smile plays at the corners of his mouth like he knows a secret you don't, but it's not threatening. If anything, it pulls at something in your chest, a curiosity that feels dangerous in its intensity.

"Hey," you echo, the word coming out softer than intended. Your eyes sweep the meadow, searching for other dreamers or figures or whatever they might be called here. But it's just him, just you, just this perfect pocket of perpetual summer afternoon stretching out in all directions.

"S'just me." His hand extends between you like a bridge, and you notice how the sunlight catches on his knuckles, creating shadows you could count. No name follows, just that smile deepening into dimples.

"Your name?” You tilt your chin down, adopting the pose of someone who's seen too many crime documentaries to trust a nameless stranger, even in a dream. Your eyebrows arch high enough to feel the stretch — another impossible sensation that feels too real.

"Seems you haven't decided yet."

"I haven't decided?"

He shrugs, the gesture rippling across those shoulders like a wave, and something flickers in his expression - like a TV losing signal for just a moment. "Yeah." He blinks, and you can see him searching his own mind, coming up empty. "Haven't decided yet."

Your eyes travel his form like you're memorizing a sculpture. The elegant taper from broad shoulders to narrow waist, the careful strength in his forearms, the way he holds himself — somehow both completely at ease and coiled with potential energy. His eyes meet yours with that puppy-dog hopefulness that seems at odds with his imposing frame, that half-smile still playing on his lips.

"Lu—ee-" The sound stretches between you, and you can taste the wrongness of it. Your head tilts, and suddenly it clicks. "Luigi."

Luigi nods, a slow, knowing motion, and reaches behind him. The wallet arcs through the air, and when you catch it, the leather feels warm, like it's been sitting in summer sunshine. It falls open in your hands, and there it is — Luigi Mangione, printed in stark bureaucratic certainty. "I thought you'd say that."

The urge to gasp, to stumble back in shock, rises and falls like a wave. Reality — or whatever version of it this is — reasserts itself with the gentle persistence of tide coming in. Of course you knew his name. Of course you did. Just like you knew the exact shade of his eyes, the precise angle of his jaw, the way his right dimple is slightly deeper than his left.

There’s a reason he feels familiar.

You made him.

"Well, Luigi," The name feels like syrup on your tongue as you pivot, bare feet finding their path through grass as the sun drapes over your shoulders like a tailored shawl, warming without burning, perfect in that way only dreams can manage. "I'm sure you know who I am."

Luigi falls into step beside you, a flag leaf dancing between his lips as he walks.

His presence feels as natural as your shadow, a complement to your movement rather than an intrusion. "Of course," he says, and his voice carries the same gentle warmth as the sunlight, the same easy invitation as the wind that plays with your hair.

The grass gives way to reveal a pond that looks like liquid mercury in the sunlight. "I've been waiting awhile for you — seemed to have run out of ways to pass the time."

You stand at the water's edge, watching swans carve elegant paths across the surface, their reflections perfect mirrors in the still water, and in the distance, ducks conduct their quiet conversations. "Are you saying you're bored of everything here?"

"No," Luigi's fingers brush your sleeve, gentle but insistent, like a breeze that knows where it's going. As he steps forward, wildflowers burst into existence beneath his feet — first violets, then daisies, then flowers you've never seen before, in colors that shouldn't exist. "I'm saying it gets lonely doing the same thing everyday on your own."

Luigi continues forward, leaving his galaxy of flowers behind, but you find yourself frozen, watching the way the light catches his silhouette.

"How many times?" The question escapes before you can catch it. "How many times have I been here and left?"

He pauses mid-step, and for a moment, the whole dreamscape seems to hold its breath — the swans pause their gliding, the breeze stills, even the wildflowers stop their eager blooming. When he turns to face you, his smile carries a gentleness that makes your chest ache.

"It’s been so long, but — " he pauses, and somehow the words don't sound like an accusation. "Sometimes for seconds, sometimes for hours. Sometimes you remember me, sometimes you don't. But you always come back eventually. And I'm always here."

You swallow, “How long has it been?"

His laugh drifts through the air, light and melodic. "Long enough that I've watched these trees grow from saplings." His bare feet shift in the grass, toes curling against the earth. "Long enough that I've named every swan on this pond, then named their children, and then their children's children."

The wildflowers continue once again their blooming beneath his steps — first soft pinks, then deep purples, then blues that seem to glow from within. Each petal unfolds with deliberate precision, creating a trail that marks his path across the meadow.

You notice how he holds himself, the way his shoulders stay perfectly squared, his posture too fluid, too precise for someone who's supposed to be just a figment of your dreams. "So I looked different last time?" you wonder, trailing behind him again, catching the slight nod.

"We were both younger then." Luigi turns back to you and grins, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’ve really missed you."

His voice carries the warmth of old sunlight, that rare sincerity that can't be fabricated — something in his presence that felt secure, anchoring, his nature as gentle as summer rain.

But the look in his eyes betrayed what his smile tried to hide — he knew you didn't remember him, and that knowledge lived somewhere deep and wounded inside him.

You could see it now, in the careful way he held himself back, how his initial greeting carried just enough warmth to be kind but not enough to overwhelm. Your memory of him had been burning away like lit matches with each passing year, while he'd been trapped here, holding onto every detail of who you used to be.

Luigi lead you further into the meadow, another pond materializing somewhere further into the deep but Luigi seemed far too familiar with this terrain, and you trusted each turn, “Have I given you different names?”

He shakes his head with a laugh, soft and bittersweet, almost as if he couldn't imagine wearing any other name than your Luigi. "No." He scrunches his nose, a gesture so achingly familiar it feels like déjà vu. "One time I almost thought you were going to, but — nope. Always some variation of Luigi."

The questions dance at the edges of your consciousness like autumn leaves in a wind, but somehow the answers are already there, settled in your bones like old truths. Why he lets you choose, how he knows when recognition lights your eyes and when they stay dark with forgetting — it's all written in a language your mind has forgotten but your heart still speaks fluently.

"I saw you for a minute somewhere near the streams last winter." His voice softens, eyes distant as if watching memories drift past like leaves on water. "It was only for a split moment — but I knew it was you, even though you'd changed."

Your heart twists with a horrible dread, sharp and cold as winter frost, weighed down by the certainty that he'll slip through your fingers like morning mist the moment you wake. "How do I make myself remember?" The words fall soft as prayer between you both, your knees brushing as you sit beside him.

He turns to you with that gentle patience that speaks of having heard this same desperate question from your lips a hundred times before, in a hundred different dreams.

He draws your hand into his lap with practiced ease, his fingertips ghosting over yours like butterfly wings — a gesture so deeply ingrained it speaks of countless similar moments, his soul remembering the map of your hands better than your own mind does. It doesn't feel strange to fall back into these rhythms with Luigi; everything has felt as natural as breathing since you landed here, like slipping into a dance your feet never truly forgot. "I know parts of me remember you," you whisper into the space between heartbeats, watching his fingers trace invisible patterns across your skin. "I know you feel familiar.”

Luigi nods slowly, pressing your palm to his cheek with a gentle sigh that carries the weight of a thousand forgotten moments. "We never learned how to make you remember," he murmurs, his voice wrapped in forced lightness that can't quite mask the undertow of grief beneath. "Always a toss up."

You swing your feet from the mossy ledge where Luigi sits, the ancient stone cool beneath you both.

He leans back on his palms, wearing a smile that's equal parts joy and resignation — a man who's learned to find peace in fleeting moments.

There's something heartbreaking in how he's already accepted that this too will slip through the sieve of your memory, but still treasures your presence like water in a desert, grateful just to have you here at all.

"I'll remember this time." The words spill out like a vow, fragile as spun glass but burning with conviction. Even as you speak them, you know they might shatter come morning, but something feels different here — each detail crystalline and alive, from the whisper of wind in the leaves to the warmth of his shoulder against yours.

This doesn't feel like the usual gossamer threads of dreams; it feels like stepping through a door into somewhere achingly real.

"Mm." Luigi's shoulder brushes yours, a gentle pendulum of contact, and though his hum carries years of gentle disbelief, he can't suppress the smile that softens his features. "All that matters is that you're here now, I think."

You nod slowly, watching your legs paint pendulum shadows against the water below. "Is there anyone else here?" The whisper slips out conspiratorial and soft, your eyes scanning the peaceful landscape as if its emptiness might be deceiving.

"No." Luigi shrugs, tossing a stone into the pond where it breaks the surface in perfect ripples. "You thought up a couple weird little-“ he scrunches his nose, lost in the memory of your previous creations — specifically those tiny Trojan warriors you'd accidentally willed into existence, who'd turned the peaceful fields into their own private battlefield. "It's just never worked out." He turns to you with a glimmer of fond exasperation, pressing a knuckle into your thigh. "You've got a rather dangerous imagination."

You swallow the question rising in your throat, deciding some doors are better left closed — for the sake of whatever fragments of sanity you still possess.

If there are any left to guard.

"Dangerous," you echo in a whisper, fighting back a bubble of laughter that threatens to spill over. "Well, scratch that, then.”

"It's always been you and me here." Luigi nods slowly, his voice taking on that particular texture of someone guarding something precious. "Outsiders make me nervous."

From that careful admission, you piece together a history of well-intentioned mistakes — multiple attempts at populating this sanctuary that ended in ways that left shadows in Luigi's voice. Each failure seems etched in the spaces between his words, a collection of experiments gone wrong. "That's fair," you murmur, reaching for his hand with gentle curiosity. He surrenders it without hesitation, letting you trace the lines of his palm like a map of all your shared disasters.

There's something profoundly real in the way his skin warms yours, in the faint calluses and subtle creases — too detailed, too imperfect to be mere imagination, yet too perfect in its imperfection to be anything else.

"How is the gallery stuff going?" His question floats between you, and for a heartbeat, confusion sparks — how could he know about the gallery?

But the answer settles over you like dawn breaking.

Of course he knows.

He knows the way your hands shake before each opening, the doubt that pools in your stomach when you face a blank canvas, the elation of a perfect brushstroke. He knows your fears dressed in their Sunday best and your dreams in their rawest form.

You made him.

Crafted him from stardust and loneliness, shaped him from the clay of your subconscious until he became more real than reality itself — your most perfect creation, yet the one you can never quite remember come morning.

"I haven't been inspired in — god," you trail off, turning to truly see him, and the dormant artist in you awakens with a sudden, fierce hunger. The sunlight plays architect with his features, gilding each detail you'd unconsciously perfected; those midnight curls catching light like cut obsidian, the almost-symmetrical beauty marks dotting his cheeks like carefully placed stars, the classical slope of his nose that Renaissance masters would have wept to capture.

Your fingers twitch with phantom muscle memory, aching to translate him from this dream-reality to paper, to make permanent what feels so ethereal. "So long." The words fall soft and wondering, as if you've suddenly remembered how to speak a forgotten language — the language of creation, of beauty, of art itself.

Luigi hums softly, nuzzling your shoulder with a familiarity that sends your thoughts spiraling backward through time. "Well, let's get you inspired," he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck, and suddenly you're wrestling with questions you've been too afraid to examine.

The intimacy of the gesture opens a door to memories of your teenage self — those raw, lonely years when you were all sharp edges and desperate yearning, underwhelmed by fumbling high school romances and overwhelmed by feelings.

You created him then, in those twilight hours between childhood and adulthood. A friend first, undoubtedly — a sanctuary in human form when the real world felt too abrasive to bear.

But now, feeling the casual tenderness of his touch, you wonder about the blurred lines in your shared history. If perhaps you'd written more than friendship into his DNA during those hormone-soaked nights, those moments when loneliness wore your resistance thin.

You melt into his warmth, drawn by a gravity as familiar as breathing, like a desperate moth to a flame you've danced with a thousand times before. "How do we do that?" The question hangs deliberately innocent, though electricity already hums beneath your skin with anticipated answers.

Luigi's response is immediate and devastating — the warm, wet slide of his tongue painting a deliberate path up your neck. Time stretches as he savors you, the gesture somehow both predatory and reverent.

"Maybe we could jog your memory, too." His voice drops to that particular octave that makes your bones liquid, left hand claiming your chin while his right arm becomes a band of heat around your waist, orchestrating your body until you're straddling his lap. "I remember exactly the things you like the most," teeth graze your pulse point as his hands span your back, fingertips pressing into your spine like he's playing music only he knows the notes to, "and the things you hate."

"How do you know those things haven't changed, Lu?" Your fingers find sanctuary in his curls, each strand impossibly soft, and the breeze carries the essence of August - sun-warmed grass, distant thunderstorms, ripening fruit. The scent of endless summer, bottled in this perfect moment.

"I guess there's only one way to find out, don't you think?" The question unfolds like a flower between you as Luigi tilts his head back, studying you through heavy-lidded eyes.

His lips part, pink and promising, an unspoken dare wrapped in velvet invitation. And you — you who have always been more poet than pragmatist — surrender to the gravitational pull of him. You lean in like a sunset chasing the horizon, drawn to the heat of his mouth, the shared breath between you becoming sacred thing.

His tongue moves against yours with practiced poetry, his lips a tender geography you're rediscovering. Every nip of teeth is precisely timed, a choreography written in muscle memory and want. Just as his hands find the warm skin beneath your shirt, reality fractures — a void tears through the dream like ink spilled across a watercolor.

The darkness swallows everything, sudden and absolute.

You jolt awake with violence, heart thundering against your ribs. The familiar couch cushions press against your cheek, mundane and mocking. The real world crashes back into focus with brutal clarity; the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the wall clock, the morning light cutting through back scatter.

Each detail feels like a betrayal, a reminder that Luigi exists only in that liminal space between sleeping and waking, where longing takes shape and wears a face you crafted from starlight and need.

"No." The word escapes as a soft, desperate plea. Your hand reaches for the sketchbook and pen with the urgency of someone grasping at smoke, at fragments of a dream determined to dissolve.

And there he is — Luigi materializing before you like a miracle answering desperate prayers, your artist's eye already translating the divine geometry of his face onto paper before memory can steal him away.

You are the faithful at the altar, he the vision you're determined to make tangible.

The alarm screams again, reality's insistent hammer against your temple. "Fuck off!" you snarl, jabbing at the screen with unnecessary force, brows knitted with the particular fury reserved for things that dare interrupt worship.

The real world can wait.

Right now, there are curves of ink to capture, beauty marks to map, and the precise angle of summer sunlight in black curls to remember.

Hey, I think you were right about the pills

You text Bailey after lunch.

Holy shit

[lyricalt]

[tf2 minific] hot goss

Note: playing around with some backstories for longer future fics, but really this is just me slapping things on the wall for practice. and more jokes.

sniperspy (R!Sniper/R!spy) - rated M for nsfw talk

+++

Sniper gets seven seconds of Spy’s blissed out silence before Spy suddenly sits up in the bunk.

“I don’t believe you utilize my skillsets enough,” Spy says, wiggling around for a cloth to wipe himself off. 

Sniper becomes wedged in the corner. It’s hard not to bristle. Sure, it’d been the old reliable doggy styles and nothing elaborate, but he’s fucked Spy thoroughly into the mattress, as proven by the seven seconds of silence. If it’d been bad, he would never hear the end of it.

“What’re you on about?” he grumbles, urging Spy to use the corner of the bedsheet instead. He’ll change them out after. “This better not be some stupid metaphor for getting my back stabbed.”

Spy doesn’t take it. Rather have his arse leaking than put anything with less than a 200 thread count between the cheeks, apparently. 

“Have you considered that I can be anyone?” Spy asks, reaching for his disguise kit. Instead of his usual cigarette, he reveals a stack of paper masks, fanning them out like a hand of playing cards. “Man. Woman. In-betweens. Any celebrity. You know, most people would be thrilled to experiment with something like this, and I’m willing.”

Sniper gives the paper masks a polite look. He shrugs. “Eh. Nah. You’ll do.” 

Spy snaps the disguise kit shut with a sigh.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he says, even though Sniper is sure he did not mean to flatter him at all. Spy looks disappointed by Sniper’s lack of adventurous spirit. “Surely you have thought of changing things up. I quite like to play pretend as well.”

“Oh. Like some kinda roleplay,” Sniper says, more thoughtful.

“Yes,” Spy says, picking up on the crumb of interest. “So? Have anyone in mind?”

“Yea,” Sniper says, drawing out the word for the drama of it all. He curls against him, rubbing his face into Spy’s damp chest. “BLU Spy.”

Spy stares at him. There is an icy silence.

“Haha, just fucking with you, mate,” Sniper says, patting Spy’s chest. “You grub. Oh. C’mon. Don’t be fussed about a bloody joke when you’re the one asking. Come back.” He attempts to reel Spy back into the bunk by grabbing a fistful of his open shirt, but Spy isn’t deterred. “Wait! Fine. You win. I’m just all barro about fessin’ shit like that, you know this. I’ll tell you, just come back. Please.”

At the sound of ‘please’, Spy turns around. When Sniper throws him an additional pleading look, he reluctantly puts one foot back on the stepladder and lets Sniper place a hand around the back of his neck, drawing him in. 

Sniper licks his dry lips. He takes a breath and leans close to Spy’s ear.

”The Administrator,” he whispers, voice cracking at the last syllable when he can’t keep a straight face.

Spy jerks away, but only to start climbing back onto the buck with raised fists and a cold deadly look in his eye. “I am going to beat you senseless. Respawn won't know where to start.”

“Hah! I'll get you on the private radio channel and you can whisper sultry overtime announcements in me ear while I—heh, heh, heh—wank off, haha! C’mon, let’s hear your best impression-” and Sniper has to stop a moment when Spy’s hands go around his neck, “Argh, mate, ohh noo, not my top four sex fantasy-” which does the trick of getting Spy to quickly release him, “Ahaha, fuck.” Sniper wipes his eyes and flops back down into the bunk. “Christ… heh. Where you going? Off to fetch the PA mic, I hope?”

Spy is getting dressed in that huffy kind of way that Sniper assumes is an empty threat. If Spy really means to leave he’d just cloak out of the camper, dressed or no.

“Perhaps the BLU sniper will be more appreciative of my talents,” Spy says calmly. He pulls up his trousers and makes the mistake of forgetting the leftover wetness between his thighs. With much more dignity than he can afford, he slides his trousers back off and grabs the hand towel off the sink.

“Aw, don't piss on the poor thing.” Sniper says, rolling on his side to get comfy. Watching Spy clean and dress is always fun to observe in a satisfying kind of way, like watching the mess of him disappear. “He's a decent bloke, no matter what you say ‘bout his brain size.”

“Small brain, big feet, as they say,” Spy says, now sufficiently wiped down, and gives another go with the trousers.

“No one says that. That ain’t a thing anyone says.” Sniper rolls his eyes. “His feet are reasonably endowed, might I add.”

“You would know,” Spy mutters, evidently out of comebacks while he attempts to find his tie.

“Spot on. Regular arse bandit, that man is. Puts me to shame.” 

Spy accidentally drops the tie back on the floor. He hastily picks it up again, glancing at Sniper with a furrowed brow. Sniper lets the silence sit for a bit before chuckling.

Spy stares at him. “...Is it common for you snipers to be easy?”

“Huh? You think I’m easy?” Sniper raises an eyebrow.

Now it’s Spy’s turn to shrug. “I had meant to say slutty, but thought it’d be rude.”

“Nah, yeah. Strong verbage there, mate, but I suppose so? Not much to fuck in the Outback.”

“The kangaroos,” Spy says without missing a beat.

“Ooh, it’s been three hours since I’ve been called a roo shagger. Bleu’s beat you to it.”

Spy’s shoulders roll with the hint of a defeated sigh in his breath. The man can’t resist personal gossip or potential blackmail material, especially against BLU Sniper. Sniper doubts the bit of info will amount to anything, and he suspects Bluey wouldn’t be much fussed about it either. He’s actually surprised Spy hadn’t already known in some way.

“You two have slept together?” Spy asks, edging closer, like wary cat after a treat.

“Well, yeah. We got handsy once during a con. Way before our contracts here. Was fun,” Sniper says. He smiles. “‘Fraid I can’t give you a letter of reference if you wanna shoot your shot. Last I heard, he’s spoken for.”

Spy’s mildly interested expression immediately turns into a sneer of disdain. “Shoot my shot? With that filthy, piss-throwing, dehydrated-”

“Big feet.”

“-big footed, foul, unmoisturized, carcass-stuffing bushman? Non. I would sooner eat my own suit.”

“Why don’t you ever come on to me like this?” Sniper says dryly, rolling onto his back. 

He hears three footsteps pattering over the floor before Spy’s face suddenly hovers over him. The bunk creaks in protest as Spy leans over the edge. 

“You’re much worse,” Spy says. 

“I’m much worse,” Sniper agrees happily.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Season 2 Part 7: ~

Hit the Road, Caz:

Here we go. It's time for a cross-country trip across the UK. I had to do some research for this one, including certain roads, motorways, and time it takes to get to London from Scotland, and the answer is 9ish hours.

The trucks arrived at 10 pm, and Addair wasn't happy about that. He might have said he was fine waiting until morning, but the entire night, he tossed and turned in the barn. He mindlessly picked at the hay and continued to look at the pictures. The thought of Tommy's accident polluted his mind, and Caz's. The poor man, who was a lighthouse to the infected, could somehow picture Addair's thoughts as if they were his own. He didn't blame Addair for it, but it was a good thing he didn't have a drivers licence. Sleep quickly went out the window, but hugging Suze was worth it. Her sweet smell and soft skin were perfect.

'Right-o,' Roy said as he held up a map of Scotland with Innes against one of the vans. Cadal's drivers would be joining them on this trip since no one from Beria had a licence, but they'll keep to themselves. Thankfully, they were the same duo who brought them here. 'We'll head to Aberdeen, then cross through Glasgow to drop some people off. Then we join the M6, and it's a straight drive from there.'

'Sounds easy enough,' Trots muttered.

'Aww, you're leaving me in that dump all alone?' Simon playfully groaned as he hugged Trots from behind and rested his head on his man's shoulder.

'I'll be back, I promise.'

Innes watched the couple before looking over at Muir, who was on the phone with his family. Seeing him made him feel light, and that lost happiness he craved for years return, but he didn't know what to do. He had so many plans but he didn't know where to start. Maybe, some advice?

'Hey, Simon. Can we talk in private, please?'

'Sure.' The pair wandered into the garage, away from any pair of pricked ears. 'You okay?'

'Can I ask you something?' Simon just responded with a shrug and a nod. 'How do you make Trots happy?'

'Well, I listen to him. Make him feel special when he gets home.' Simon chuckled. 'He's always grumpy when he gets back.' Innes noticed the loving look in Simon's eyes as he focused his attention back to Trots. He watched his man help Irene put her luggage away, like he was a fallen angel. That loving look in his eye. Innes was jealous of it. He knew he could never make that expression. 'So, I cook him a good meal. Pasta is his favourite.' A pause lingered. Innes looked to the floor with crossed arms. When Simon noticed the lack of a response, he turned back to the blonde deckhand. 'You're struggling with Muir, aren't you?'

'Not struggling,' Innes replied. 'I love Muir, I really do - heck, I admitted my feelings first - but, what do I do now? I haven't been in a relationship for over a decade, and on the spur of the moment, I finally tell him what he has been waiting for since he met me.'

'Find an interest he has and share it.' Simon was quick with his words but soft in tone. 'What does he like?'

'Music. He would sneak a harmonica on Beria and wake me up at all ungodly hours of the night to tease me.' But Innes never resented Muir for it. As tired as he was the following day, he couldn't be mad.

'Do you have it?'

'Yeah.'

'Then learn it. You don't have to be an expert, but he'd love to see that you care about something he's passionate about.' Now, Innes felt like an idiot for not knowing something so obvious, but he felt better knowing he was worried for nothing.

'Thanks, Simon. Now, I just have to learn how to cook.'

'Did Muir do that?'

'No, we both can't cook for shit.' The pair shared a laugh.

'Right, let's get out of here.' Caz didn't sound enthusiastic. He was so tired and was hopefully going to sleep away the entire trip. He and Addair shared a quick, knowing glance before he climbed into one of the trucks, joining Rennick and, yes, his robin Ruby too. Addair wasn't an animal lover. Always thought a pet would be too much work and too expensive to care for. But, if Tommy was able to wake up, he'll make sure to get him a dog. Maybe a staffy. Big but loyal.

'Are you sure you're okay watching the farm for me?' Muir asked O'Connor and Mary. 'Ma said Angus will be home in a few hours. We can pay you both for this.'

'Nae bother, Muir,' O'Connor replied. 'I just can't take off on another adventure again.'

'Why, will your heart explode?'

'Maybe. Just bring me a fridge magnet.'

'Fair enough. Innes left the schedule by the back door.'

'Thanks.' O'Connor got a quick glimpse of Addair. He hated the man with a burning passion, but here, he felt sorry for him. He and Mary never had children, but he could feel his heartache. Like a stone sinking into the depths of a lake. This didn't change anything. Still a cunt in his eyes. Now just wasn't the time to feel the usual hate. It will come back, eventually...

The McLeary family bundled up in the first truck whilst Roy, Simon, Jack, and Irene took the second housing, Muir, Gibbo, and Trots. A tight squeeze on the bench seats, but they'll manage. Caz, who was sat by the door, rolled the window down and gave a thumbs up. And with a roar of the engines that rattled the trucks, followed by a final wave from O'Connor, the team drove down the drive and carefully turned for the village.

'What's London like?' The idea of going somewhere knew left Cait bouncing in her seat as her mind was filled with questions.

'Big,' Addair said. He seemed happy to be on the road now. His gravelled voice that rivalled Roy's was light, which the men have heard before, but that wasn't malice to it. For once, the Londoner was genuine. He even let out a small, nostalgic chuckle to himself. 'Lots of history. Busy streets, parks for as far as the eye could see. You'd love riding a red bus. You always have to do that in London.'

'Is there a zoo?'

'Yep.'

Oh no...

Cait gasped and turned to Caz with a pleading look. Her father was always the weaker one to her puppy eyes. He tried not to look at her and kept his attention to the country road. Maybe now was a good time to pretend to be asleep? However, he couldn't resist, and his eyes glanced to his eldest daughter.

'Can we-'

'No,' Suze sternly said, saving the day as she always did. 'We're going home.'

'But, I want to go to London with dad.'

'Well, you've got school next week, and what dad's going to London for is too adult for you.'

'Edinburgh is better anyway,' Rennick boasted through the small hatch, causing Caz to laugh, which was more of a cackle. 'What?!'

'Nothihg. Nothing.' Caz snickered and wiped his eyes. 'I've never been, Davey, but why's it better?'

'Really, my flat. You could see the entire city from the window.'

'But, you don't have an Edinburgh accent.'

'Aye. I was born and raised in Fife. Moved to the Captial about fifteen years ago.'

'Fife's better..."

'Fife didn't have job opportunities.'

'What will happen to your home now?' Suze pondered.

'Who knows. I guess I could sell it, but why would I need money now?'

'Can Mr. Rennick, come and live with us, Daddy?' Maidie's innocent voice and imagination didn't consider that they lived in a 3rd story of a 10 story flat with no garden to call their own. Cait nodded in agreement. Rennick and Suze chuckled. Addair was silently amused. And Caz, as surprised as he was at the thought of his boss sitting in their front room, had to be logical.

'Maybe,' he said with a fake smile. He reached over and held Suze's hand, who tightened her grip in return. 'Let's just get you weans home first.' One day left. Caz could feel reality coming for him, and as much as he wanted to run again, his family anchored his body and cleared his mind. Suze leaned and rested her head on his shoulders. Caz kissed the crown of her head and rested his own on her. He peered to the window next to the driver, where the first buildings of the village passed by. This was it. Was Caz scared? Yes. He was terrified. But he had to be strong for his own sake of mind.

Soon, they were on the empty motorway of the A93 for Aberdeen. Then Glasgow.

[divine-misfortune]

Alright Miasma encouraged me to post the message from dms soooo...Wall of text below the cut, nothing outright nsfw just being weird : )

I am such a fucking freak for making Phantom naive and having someone take advantage of it i cannot help it

Bonus points if they're out at a bar, cause he just sees drunk people around them and that's what alcohol does to you, right? So he starts acting like the people around him. There's a woman at the far end of the room getting ditzy and handsy. Cuddly and giggly, leaning on swiss' shoulder, playing with his hand in his lap, practically purring through his glamor which swiss really should scold him for but it's so damn cute.

The second bottle is gone and Swiss hums that maybe he should swap over to soda for the rest of the night. Little thing like him surely can't hold his "alcohol" - and Phantom whines because "Well dew can drink as much as he likes!! He's lil!!" And yeah, he is, but Dew's got a tolerance for these things (smthn smthn fire ghouls burn alcohol faster like when you cook food w wine in it idk it doesn't matter much).

Huffs and puffs cause he's not a light weight and he's fine, barely feels anything, he likes it, cmon just one more? Swiss chuckles and shakes his head, gives him a little kiss on the temple and mumbles that "I'll learn to say no to you one of these days yknow." Gets a little happy chirp and a smug little "mhm 'course."

Cirrus gives him a look when he saddles up to the bar between her and Cumulus, asks if hes taking care of the little bug. It's his first time out after all. Swiss smiles innocently because of course he is, he'll always take good care of him, never let aaaanything happen to him. Just helping him have fun, feel good. Both ghoulettes know that tone in his voice but he's walking off with bottles in hands before either can call him on it - and besides, their tables aaaall the way over there, and Cirrus gets distracted by Cumulus eating the cherry out of her drink (and then tying the stem in a knot with her tongue).

Swiss tells him to pace himself and Phantom huffs he knows how to drink and yeah. Sure you do.

The level of the bottle goes down and Swiss' hand just keeps moving. From fingers being laced with his to squeezing his knee, drifting, petting his thigh slowly. Not super high up but enough he knows Phantom is watching and holding his breath for it.

Phantom mumbles something about feeling funny while staring at his hand, holding the bottle tight in both of his own, mouth of the bottle resting against his lower lip. He looks fixated. A little entranced by the motion. Swiss feels the ache of desire in his teeth, the same desire the wolf is driven by to chase the little stumbling baby deer.

"Think I wanna go back."

"Aw, already? We haven't been here that long baby."

"'M tired…"

"Poor baby, couldn't handle your drinks. Told you so."

"Noooo! Just tired, barely feel anything." Cute when he argues.

"Well its dangerous to go walking off on your own if youre drunk, but…If you're just tired, then you don't need me to walk you back then, do ya bug?"

He almost looks a little disappointed but tells him that no, he can make it home just fine."im not helpless or anything."

"Of course you're not."

And yeah it's only a few blocks!! It's not a long walk at all, but Swiss and that silver tongue have convinced him hes tipsy. And yeah, his body /is/ tired after all the travel.

But its a city he doesn't know. It's late and dark and the streets are so empty. Swiss doesn't know how he doesn't see the shadows and how they start to lurk, or note that the streetlights flicker as he passes. He forgot how much he loved to stalk. Especially when it's someone who doesn't know his dirty tricks.

Swiss giving Aeon a nonalcoholic beer one night without telling him, and being absolutely delighted when the little lightweight starts acting silly after half a bottle. Encouraging him to finish the bottle and cracking the lid on another as Aeon gets more and more "drunk", absolutely delighted at how easily influenced the new kid is.

Hope he doesn't take advantage when Aeon starts getting clingy and rubbing up against him.

That would be just terrible...

[buttercupshands]

just some LoV sitting in the long lost bar in Ultra Impact in clothes that they didn't wear yet