#I really really hope you like it thank you for your request!

[aleksatia]

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

[moonstruckme]

omgomg can i request wolfstar or any of the marauders (literally so excited j leave it up to u) with a reader who faints when she sees blood? I have severe blood phobia and i hate feeling lightheaded but it's kinda funny if u think about it... have a great day ❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood, fainting, Sirius on a power trip (everyone's worst nightmare I think)

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 968 words

You watch Remus look down on the onion with concentrated, dry eyes. “I don’t know how you can do that,” you say, mystified.

“He’s a freak of nature,” Sirius says. 

“Even when I cut along the lines, like you’re supposed to…” You brush a knuckle underneath your lashes, catching the residual wetness from when you’d attempted what Remus is doing so easily. “Maybe you are a freak of nature.” 

Remus is more than a little smug. “Maybe my eyes are just better than yours.” 

“No, that can’t be it…” 

“Cut your tomatoes, love,” he teases. “Those won’t hurt you.” 

You scoff, grabbing the serrated knife from the knife block. In the second your back is turned, you hear Remus’ knife hit the cutting board funny. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Bollocks.” 

“Ha!” Sirius cries triumphantly, though he moves closer to ensure Remus is okay. “Who’s the pro onion chopper now? What’d you do to yourself, let me see.” 

Remus rolls his eyes but gives his hand over to Sirius’ care. Your boyfriend coos, pulling him closer to the sink and turning on the tap. 

You hear more than see yourself stumble, your feet clumsy on the tile floor. Remus’ gaze snaps to you. You feel suddenly very warm. 

Remus says something, you think, but it’s lost to the rushing in your ears. Blood drips from his hand into the sink. You watch it turn pink as it swirls into the drain.

You stumble again. 

---

“What did you think shouting at her was going to do?” 

“I don’t know!” There’s a hand on your cheek, tapping insistently. “This is your fault anyway, get a plaster on that. Or just wrap it up for now, we’ll deal with it after.”  

“Your concern is touching.” 

A sigh. “I’ll kiss it better in a minute, darling, but I’m somewhat occupied right now.” More tapping. “Hey, open your eyes, baby. Come on, I can see you twitching.” 

“Did she hit her head?” 

“I don’t think so. Just give her a second, yeah?” 

With effort, you lift your weighted eyelids. Sirius stops tapping. His thumb strokes down your cheek instead. 

“Hey.” He smiles, concern lingering at the corners. “In the future, I think we’d all appreciate a bit of warning before you drop like a bag of rocks. Okay?” 

Your voice comes out quiet and wispy. “I’ll try.” 

Sirius’ grin widens. “Attagirl.” 

“I think you’re supposed to lift her legs,” Remus frets from somewhere you can’t see him. You try, but Sirius puts his hand under your chin, tilting your head back up. 

“You can lift them once you’re cleaned up,” he says lightly. “Eyes on me, sweetness. Rem needs to stop bleeding before you two can resume gazing lovingly at each other, I’m afraid.” 

“Are you okay?” you ask the ceiling. 

“Fine, love. It’s just a cut.” 

Your voice wavers. “It looked like it was bleeding a lot.” 

“It was, but it’s shallow,” Sirius reassures you. He gives you an easy smile, thumb stroking a short line from the corner of your mouth to your chin. “You know our Moony, he loves to make a spectacle of himself.” 

You manage a little smile. “Sounds like him.” 

Remus makes a sound like a laugh that’s trying to be a sigh. Your ankles lift up off the floor, and Sirius finally allows you to look down, where you find your boyfriend with a paper towel wrapped around his hand. 

“Why is it that even when I’m hurt, you’re both still ganging up on me?” he asks. “Does your head feel alright?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. You feel yourself frown as you look at his hand. Hoping you won’t see more blood, fearing you will, worry keeping your gaze trapped either way. “Are you hurt?” 

Remus visibly softens. “No. I’m fine, sweetheart. How do you feel?” 

“I’m okay, really. I think it just surprised me.” 

“Do you realize how full my hands are with the two of you?” Sirius asks, fondness obvious in his agitated tone. “You fainting, you bleeding all over the place—I mean, Christ, how’s a man to make supper?” 

You let your eyes shut for a moment. Truthfully, you still feel a bit odd. You know it’ll pass soon. “I’ll cut the onions next time,” you say. 

“That might be best,” he says. “I hate to do it to you, sweetness, but lesser of two evils and all that.” 

“I am still perfectly capable—” Remus tries to say, but Sirius cuts him off. 

“Hush, you. Go wait in the bathroom, I’ll come take care of you in a minute.” 

Remus does not go to the bathroom. He stages his rebellion silently, rolling his eyes as he stays put. 

“Do you really feel alright?” Sirius asks you. 

You hum. “Yeah. I mean, I’m…” You nod your head from side to side. “You know.” 

His eyebrows raise amusedly. Remus chuffs out a laugh. “Course I do, babe. I know exactly what you mean. Care to elaborate for Remus, though?” 

“I’m okay.” 

Sirius waits a moment for you to say more. When you don’t, he nods, taking this in stride. “Do you think if I help, you can get over to the couch to lie there for a while? Just until I finish tending to our wounded soldier over here.” 

“It’s just a scratch,” Remus insists, exasperated, but he lowers your feet back to the ground so Sirius can help you up. “I don’t need help with it, really, it—oh, bollocks.” 

Sirius shields your eyes with his hand before you can see what the fuss is about. “Get another towel and go wait in the bathroom,” he tells Remus firmly, helping you stand. He half drags you towards the couch as you hear Remus’ cursing move down the hall. “God, always the dramatics with the two of you. Honestly.” 

[sugusatosluut]

The Nanny?

Synopsis: Mark finally meets the nanny that Debbie won’t stop talking about.

A/N: I want to preface this by saying thank you all for your kind reblogs and the likes! Makes me so happy that these silly little fics give you guys some joy. Requests are open 🩷🩶💙

Mark finally had some free time to spend with his mother Debbie. He waited at their favorite coffe spot for his mom to arrive with Oliver so they could spend some quality time together. His mother had been mentioning something about special sitters or a daycare for children of supers. Whatever she was talking about, Mark had no time to hear about it, but he had time today. He wanted to know about this society of babysitters his mom believed in. Would Oliver be safe? Would his mother be safe? All valid questions he should have asked upon hearing about this for months.

Debbie finally arrived, Mark watched as she parked, got out of the front seat and scrambled possibly for Oliver in the back seat. To Mark’s surprise, Debbie entered the shop without Oliver in hand and a smile on her face. The gift in her hands was fairly small. She handed the box off silently while still smiling at Mark. She gave Mark a peck on his head and sat down in front of him.

“Hi honey, how are you today?” Debbie asked refreshed.

“Good—listen mom, where’s Oliver?” He asked pretty bluntly.

“Mark, I’ve tried to tell you about this new nanny for months, you gotta keep up with your family and stop spending all that time in space and with Cecil.” She sighed.

“Sorry mom.. what nanny? Can you start from the top?” He asked.

Debbie explained to mark that she interviewed twenty seven babysitters. Each was unique but she could always tell when they were sent by Cecil, or if they weren’t as qualified. Just when she’d given up hope, you walked in. The last interview of the day made her fear for her expectations, until you mentioned that you have a younger sibling who’s always been a super. You offered full time care, housekeeping duties, teaching Oliver and even offered overnight care if Debbie or Mark needed a break or couldn’t make it home. You ended up being the perfect pick. For months, you’d been staying at the Grayson’s caring for Oliver, cleaning and sleeping in Nolan’s old office which was made into a guest bedroom for you. You were practically Debbie’s saving grace.

Upon hearing how you basically saved his mother, Mark was a little skeptical about if you were really working for Cecil or if this was all just a lie. You were usually quiet so Mark would never know you were in his home. This was a but much for Mark to take in, especially because before coming to earth, Mark was Oliver’s sole caretaker. Who could do it better than him?

After lunch Debbie and Mark made it home. You were in the living room playing a memory game with Oliver when they walked into the living room. Mark was expecting Oliver to run to him, calling him “bra-bra” but instead, Oliver stayed focused on the memory game and you, the nanny, who sat taking turns with him matching cards.

“Good afternoon Debbie, Mark. Oliver’s been acing this memory game, you’ve got an Einstein.” You chuckled.

“Thank you y/n.” Debbie hugged you before setting her bags down.

“I’m grilling steak and making pasta tonight for dinner, so you can relax. Mark will you be staying for dinner?” You asked.

“Yeah, sure why not.”

Mark was in shock of how beautiful and kind you were. He was expecting some experienced lady well beyond her years but you? You’re the last thing he would have ever guessed. This didn’t change anything though. He needed to investigate further.

You grilled dinner for the Graysons. The table was set, Oliver’s high chair was prepared and the house was spotless. Mark still felt off. Maybe he was gaslighting himself to protect his family and himself? The fact of the matter is you’re too nice and he doesn’t know you that well. Everyone sat at the table as you buckled Oliver into his seat.you gave Oliver some steak, some applesauce and little cubes of cheese. The baby was growing fast, he was always wanting new things.

“Uhh- y/n, Oliver’s a baby, he can’t have steak.” Mark said.

“Oliver’s grown a lot the past few months Mark, he loves solid foods. Especially chewey foods.” You chuckled. Debbie chuckled handing Oliver a small piece of steak that you cut for him.

“Yummy!” Oliver exclaimed.

“It’s so great to finally meet you Mark. Your mom always tells me how busy you are, how were your last few fights?” You asked.

“Great, it’s hard to be in two places at once though. I wanna care for my family but the world needs protection too.” He said.

“I get that completely, you’re doing a great job. Oliver is so lucky to have you as his brother!” You smiled.

“So, you know Cecil Stedman?” He asked.

“I do. But I don’t work for him. I only know him because my younger brother works for him. Cecil’s not exactly my favorite person and I don’t quite like him that much either. That man is known for crossing boundaries and finding loopholes.” You scoffed.

Mark couldn’t disagree with you there.

“Seriously! The man is just so invasive. You ask him to leave you alone and then suddenly your whole family is getting spied on. This is the man that wants respect and for people to work with him?” Debbie laughed.

Mark hadn’t seen his mom laugh in forever, and it was great to see her finally relax and be happy. After dinner, you and Mark cleaned up the kitchen together. Debbie settled Oliver down for bed and went to go to bed herself. It was nice to be around this family compared to your own. You really never got to see them anymore. Your brother was off fighting some threat in another country while your parents tried to hold you to his standards and use you as the free help if they ever needed him taken care of. It’s probably why you’re so good at your job. You were so deep into your thoughts that you were staring out the window. You didn’t even realize you and Mark had finished cleaning the entire kitchen.

“Hey.. you okay?” Mark asked standing next to you.

“Hm? —oh yeah, sorry. Just a lot going on in my brain. I love being here, Oliver is a wonderful kid and your mom is amazing. I just wish I had this with my family.” You smiled at him. It really was no big deal.

“I’m sorry.. and I want to apologize for being kind of an ass. I was wrong about you. I didn’t say anything to my mom about it and I shouldn’t have come off so strong but I like you. It’s hard for me to trust people especially after my dad. You’re good with Oliver and my mom… and you’re good with me too.” Mark smiled.

He looked at you for quite sometime. Mark had an idea but he would have to wait until Debbie and Oliver were asleep. The night was still young. You showered, changed and prepared your bed for a long night’s sleep until Mark knocked on your cracked door.

“Knock knock” he said smiling. Mark wasn’t in his pajamas, he was in his suit, holding a very much awake Oliver.

“Oh, hey!” You whispered.

“Little man was wide awake in his crib. He wanted to see you.” Mark smiled as he held Oliver.

Oliver cooed, you waited for Mark to give him to you, but it seemed as if he was conflicted. If Mark wanted to put his brother back to sleep, you wouldn’t dare rob him of this time.

“Mark if you have to go fight crime or save the world I’d be happy to let Oliver sleep in my room unless you want to put him to sleep first.” You smiled.

Mark gave you a look of worry. He smiled to Oliver and then to himself.

“Stay awake, I’ll be back.” He said.

It took him a little while, but Mark finally put Oliver to sleep after getting some pointers from you about what Oliver needs for him to get tired.

Mark approached your room again, seeing that you were just barely awake, eyes starting to close as you sat at the edge of your bed. Mark made his presence known before coming to sit next to you.

“Wanna go on a joyride?” He asked.

“Hm? Oh I dunno Mark what about Debbie and Oliver?” You asked.

“They’ll be fine, we’ll be back in an hour.” He smiled at you.

Mark picked you up, you both traveled for a taste of the world’s greatest ice cream. You both bonded and got to know eachother much better before stopping back at the house. You and Mark were in his bedroom watching tv and hanging out.

“I hope I was able to make you more comfortable here in our home y/n. Oliver’s lucky to have a nanny like you and I’m lucky to have someone who cares so much about my family and I. That’s all I’ve been asking for and you do it perfectly.” He smiled at you.

You yawned, standing up and making your way towards Mark’s bedroom door.

“I’m here for you guys, I’m gonna go lay down. Thank you for tonight Mark, you’re too sweet and kind. I’ll see you in the morning.” You smiled at him.

Before leaving his room. Mark stood up and walked towards you. It compelled him, the way you were so kind and respectful. Internally he was conflicted, but externally he knew what he needed from you. So Mark stood close to you, holding your face in his hands and kissed you zealously. Your face was red from the contact. His lips were soft and warm, you wanted more but out of respect for Debbie and love for Oliver, this was your one freebie. Do not take advantage of this.

The next morning you and Mark awoke happily and eager to greet eachother in the morning. Debbie noticed the excitement and joined in hugging her son and you.

“Come on mark we’re gonna be late to the mixer!” She said as she grabbed her keys and rushed to the car.

You said goodbye to Debbie and mark as you waved goodbye with Oliver’s hands. They took off and Debbie took this opportunity to tease him as they entered the car together.

“So… the Nanny?” Debbie chuckled.

“Ugh—mom!” Mark shouted.

[katiascraft]

Hi!! Sorry to bother you with a request. Can you make some angsty with miscomunication with happy ending where lando and reader are best friends and kinda like a thing but at the same time he is kinda with magui and then after a while lando and reader start dating and then dts Its drop and she finds out that magui was there when she trough They were already over? Very specific he he and im not good at english im sorry and thank you!

hey anon! I loved this idea sooooo much. i was already thinking about something like this so thank you so very much for your request! and sorry it took this long for me to write it :( i hope you enjoy it <3 (pss your english is very good and your requests will never bother me, they make me happy!) (also I hope it makes sense)

﹙LN4﹚ ── ❝ almost, always ❞

summary: this chapter of y/n’s life is about how lando said there was nobody else for him but then she appeared.

warnings: i used reckless by madison beer to write this one and traitor by olivia rodrigo :( and cried a lot. very angsty. but a happy ending after all. cursing. cheating. insults. please use your imagination along the ride! not proofread.

blog masterlist

You and Lando have been the best of friends since forever. Your older brother, Dante, went to school with George Russell and he has always been really supportive of his driving career. Since you have memory you were playing around at the karting competitions in different places of england and then europe. All of your family was really close to George's family so no doubt you were going to be there for him when he started racing in F2. and that’s exactly when you and Lando met. He was a cute little guy. But a handsome teenager with the most contagious laugh and sparkly ocean blue eyes. You knew that since then, that very first day of competition, you were in love with him.  

And Lando knew it too. He knew the moment he saw your sweet and shy smile directed at him there was no coming back to where things were. You changed his life. You showed him how it was like to love someone. The sun was behind you and it made you look like an angel in his teenage eyes. You were the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. So he knew he didn't have a chance. He kept his feelings and thought that he should be thankful you even talk to him. But you didn’t just talk to him just for talking. You built this magical bond full of love, understanding, admiration. It was healthy. It was safe.

You were inseparable, unbreakable and above all, untouchable. Everyone could see the chemistry. The sparks coming out of you. You had the kind of bond that made people think ‘they must be something more than just friends’. But you both were too scared to do anything about it. You just enjoyed each other's company and it was beautiful that way.

Until it wasn’t anymore. 

Nowaday things between you two are completely different but you were more than sure that if there was a chance to travel back in time, you would. And you would change everything that ruined everything. All the wrong decisions. All the stupid feelings. Her. you would more than gladly erase her. And maybe even erase him too.

Because even though he brought so much joy and love in your life, he also brought a lot of pain and insecurity. He was once your safe place but now you want to be as far away from him as possible. You’re no longer on speaking terms anymore. 

situationships suck ᝰ.ᐟ

(beginning 2023 - middle 2024)

You had convinced yourself what you felt for him was normal. That your heart racing every time he was too close was normal. That the way he looked at your lips when he talked to you was also normal. That the way he looked for you in the crowd every podium was normal. That the way butterflies went in circles in your stomach was normal. That your happiness was coming from his happiness was normal. 

It must be because he has a girlfriend. Luisa. And you like her, right? 

His touch didn’t burn your skin. His fingers didn’t trace circles in them when he was anxious. He didn’t whisper in your ear everytime he was nervous. He didn't ask his team to specifically be allowed to be at the garage close to him. He didn’t introduce you to every single member of the team and everybody knew you. He didn ‘t do all of that when she wasn’t around… because she wasn’t around and you were. 

Lando didn’t know what to do with his feelings. She was his best friend, the girl who got him in and out, through and through. She knew everything about him. She listened. She smiled at him in the sweetest way and made him gifts. When she was around she was the only person that mattered. And sometimes he forgot he had a girlfriend whether she was around or not. It was her, always. But he was a coward and didn’t believe she liked him back that way. She was gorgeous and he was just a dude. He wasn’t special the way he thought she was.

For him, it has always been you. But fear was a cruel thing. He didn’t wanna lose you. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wouldn’t forgive himself. 

So he played along as the loving and caring boyfriend with luisa when you were the only thing in his head. He preferred to stay in your safe bubble of almosts and what ifs rather than fuck it up with you. 

Until that night. The night he knew he couldn’t keep pretending and lose you. He couldn’t keep on lying to luisa. She deserved better. But seeing you with that guy in that little black dress drove him almost insane. You were so close to him, flirting disgustingly. He was red with anger. He wanted to do something but his girlfriend was there and you were supposed to be just that friend of his. His best friend and that was it. He should be happy for you. But he wasn’t. 

So in between the conversation you turned around and saw him staring. Stone face. He was looking straight through you. For a moment you forgot how to breathe. The way his jawline was pressed in a way it made his muscles show even more. His shirt unbuttoned. The lights reflecting on his beautiful eyes. You almost panicked. You could feel he was feeling the same. You knew you weren’t crazy. 

He felt it too. 

You don’t remember how it happened but you ended up on his sheets that night. The way he kissed you so desperately. He broke up with luisa as if it was easy. You didn’t have time to process it at the moment. To see the red flags waving high in the sky. Desire and desperation made it easy to ignore them. He was all your brain could think. His skin against yours. You moaning his name. 

You have waited for that moment your whole life. And you didn’t remember feelings of ecstasy ever before. 

“It’s always been you, yaknow?” His voice was deep and low. He pressed a soft kiss on your neck sending shivers down your spine. His fingers are tracing patterns in your arm. He felt at ease under your scent. 

You remember that night as the most magical night of your life. But you didn’t know that to him it was just another story he would get bored of and throw away.

While you were together, life was the most exciting thing in the world. Road trips, dates at the beach, paddle matches and barbecue with friends, travelling to london to visit his family, party nights, sex, kisses, roses and diamonds. It was perfect. He was the sweetest guy in this world. But there was one thing you wouldn't do. And that was calling him ‘mine’ because he wasn’t yours. You were just ‘friends’. But friends shouldn’t know how you taste, right?

That made you feel so confused. He told you he loved you and made love to you as if it was a promise. But then you were his friend to his family and friends. Just y/n. It was you, yes but not the way you would’ve preferred to be called. 

But then, out of nowhere it seemed, he would flirt with girls at parties in your face. And that’s when everything started going to shit. You didn’t understand what was actually going on. Why was he doing that? If you were so important to him, why would he play with you this way? If he cared so much about you, why would he put you under so much shit? 

But the breaking point was her. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile to die for. She was nothing special, just a blonde girl. But I guess blondes always have more fun than the rest of us, and more with that angelic face of hers. That’s when you lost lando. He started talking about her ‘she is nice, you know? I think you would like her’. And then he would stop inviting you to dates, but she would go with him and watch the sunset at max’s yacht. And she started replacing you in every way she could. And you just watched it happen being unable to stop it. You started realizing he didn’t even care about you. You were just another girl on his list and probably never considered you an actual friend. If he did, he wouldn’t have played with you this way. But he did, and it hurt. 

And that’s when everything ended. 

just a friend ᝰ.ᐟ

(july 2024)

“She’s just a friend y/n” he said, fed up with your questioning. You can clearly see in his face that he was so done with this discussion. 

“Lando, for fucks sake, stop lying to me. She clearly isn't” you insisted on entering his room at his Monaco house. 

“I can’t keep up with this y/n. Just stop. I don’t know what else you want me to say” he was getting really annoyed. 

“The truth! Tell me the fucking truth! Was I a joke to you? You never cared, did you? You just wanted to laugh in my fucking face right?” your voice expressed how hurt you were. 

“You’re not a joke y/n” 

You laughed dryly “right, alright. Then what’s her? Max told me lando, you kissed her. And i know you fucked her multiple times, i just know it. Stop pretending you dont know what the fuck is going on when you know exactly what im talking about!” tears started to stream down your face “is this what you wanted? Did you ever care about our friendship? My fucking feelings? I feel so used, it's disgusting lando. I knew you were stupid but I never thought you would be this evil. If you didn’t love me then why did you do all of this?” 

“y/n, i love you” you could see in his face he was now scared. But you didn't care anymore. And didn’t want to know the reasons for it either. 

“No, you don’t lando! If you fucking did you wouldn’t have hurt me this way! I was there for you for fucks sake, i was fucking there for you all of this time! I gave you everything! Everything! And all you ever wanted was to fuck a fucking model?! I can’t believe I was so damn stupid to believe every lie you fed me! Oh god i hate myself so much” 

·y/n, please, calm down. We can talk this-” 

“Do you really are asking me to fucking calm down after what you did?! And you didn't even deny it! You’re so guilty of all of it. You knew! You knew what you were fucking doing and you didn’t care! I hate you, lando. I hate you with every gut i have left” 

“No, no, no. please, y/n. Let me explain. It’s not like that. I do care about you. I just thought you didn’t want to be with me. You became so close to Max I thought you wanted to be with him and…” 

You couldn’t believe your ears. You just couldn’t believe he would really use that as an excuse. “Shut up lando, max is a fucking friend. It was you. It has always been you. Holy shit! I have your fucking letters saying i was all you have ever wanted! How could you? You’re ashamed of me, that's it, right? I'm not as beautiful as I should be for you to call me yours. I'm not a model enough for you, am I? I can't believe it! I'm so stupid” 

“No, y/n is not that, believe me. she isn't you.” he was literally begging on his knees. 

“Don’t be pathetic lando, i won’t ever believe a fucking word you say. You’re a liar. You played me as a toy. Like I was nothing and now you want me to believe you? Hope you are fucking happy with her, and i hope she can make up for what i couldn’t for not being fucking good enough for you” you were so hurt you just had to run from that bedroom, from that house. 

“y/n! Wait! Please!” It was too late. You were already in your mclaren. “I don’t know what I did…” he was left talking alone. And not understanding what he even did. But he knew he already regretted it. 

she. isn't. you.

she must be perfect but I hope you both go to hell ᝰ.ᐟ

(august 2024)

After that day, I didn't leave my bed. The way it all happened so fast. The way he would still lie to you. You hated men. You hated him and everything about him. All you knew from that day was what you could see on social media even though you always put ‘dont show this content’ or ‘i'm not interested in this content’. He lied and told everyone at a fan meeting that he was single, when you knew from Max he already asked her out… unlike with you. 

She seemed nice. She was very beautiful. But you weren’t that evolved yet. You hated her. If she didn’t exist then he would be still yours. It would be you there on holiday in the alps. Oh god, you fucking wanted to be her. She was all you wanted to be. Skinny, blonde, flawless. You wanted everything she had. She was sunkissed, you felt like a vampire. She was shining and you were drowning. She took everything from you and left no crumbs. 

And the worst part is that he seemed to be happy. You are still friends with Pietra and she told you she was nice and that they got along pretty well. And that maybe if  you and lando want to fix it, you all can be a huge group of friends. You fucking hated that idea. It repulsed you. But you weren’t so sure if it was because of her or because of him no more. 

It should be you, it should be you, it should be you. 

You were driving yourself insane stalking her profile. Obsessing with the idea she was everything you were not. You wanted to burn her alive even though the real asshole was him. 

But you loved him first, right? That should matter… Did it matter? Did he think of you? Did he regret it? Did he talk to her about his fears and dreams? Did he share the same joke that was only yours? Did he talk to her in her ear the same way he used to do with you? Was he as obsessed with her as he was with you? Did he feel the same? Was he in love? 

All the questions weren’t letting you have a moment of peace and your brain was really good at torturing you. 

guess my friends were right (you might love her now but you loved me first) ᝰ.ᐟ

(from august 2024 to march 2025)

Life for Lando wasn’t that easy after seeing you walking away from his life. He knew he fucked it up. But he tried to play it cool. As if you were right about everything, because he thinks he deserves to suffer after what he has done. Yes, he was a masochist at this point. He was dating someone he didn’t like at all, he knew. But he couldn’t stop his torture because he simply believed he didn’t deserve to be happy. He saw your eyes, the saw the pain he caused for being such a coward. And stupid. And idiotic. And a fucking loser. He acted like a kid and lost the girl of his dreams. The girl who had been there for him since the beginning. The one that got him by just looking in her eyes. She knew. She knew all of him, the real him. All his fears and dreams and desires and mistakes. He had it all. He had her, all of her to himself but let it fall. He threw her against the floor and broke her into so many pieces. And instead of mending his faults, he just ran away crying. Like a little kid running away from the monster under his bed. 

Maggie was doing her makeup at the hotel room’s mirror. He watched her for a while trying to puzzle what he felt for her. But all he wanted to see was you. And he knew it was impossible for that to happen now. And probably like ever again. 

The fact he had to pretend every single minute of his life was starting to take a toll on him. He lost that spark he used to have. He lost that characteristic smile when he did well in a race. And his interviews just turned monotone and grey. Something was off people would comment. But he didn’t care. He deserved it. He fucking deserved it. 

Maggie always tried to cheer him up and he pretended it was just because he hated the media. And not because you used to be there with him, always. But now it is almost alone. 

It almost happened. It was almost you. It was almost the happy ending you deserved but he decided to ruin it. It was almost you and him against the world. But it was almost, though all he wanted was forever with you. 

At the beginning he was obsessed with maggi. The way her eyes looked at him, that cheeky smile  of hers. She was all he wanted as a fantasy. She was his fantasy in real life. He was so captivated by her looks and sweet voice. Almost like yours. But something drew him to her. He still doesn’t know what it was. Guess some things don't have an explanation. She was soft and shiny. He wanted to touch her everywhere, everytime. He forgot he had the love of his life waiting for him to watch a movie and eat burritos and kinders. He forgot the small things mattered more. He forgot what it was like to feel love during sex. But he was drunk. In her looks, in the way she talked to him. He forgot about you. He couldn't concentrate. 

But when you were gone, he pretended maggie was you as twisted as it sounds. He was convinced he became completely insane. People constantly telling him how awful he was to the poor girl. Your brother hates him. Dante didn’t say hi to him ever again since that day. 

He saw you at a couple of races at the Mercedes garage. You always pretended to have never known him in your life. He saw fans on twitter theorizising why you didn’t look at him anymore. They also believed it was his fault. And surely it was. 

That day you walked past him. He smelled your scent, still wearing the same perfume you adored so much and that made him fall in love the first time he saw you. You were laughing while talking with Carmen in Spanish, because you were the king of languages. You were really good at them and you enjoyed so much learning new stuff. He liked that about you, you are always driven to learn and learn and learn. He wanted to say hi, and even though you ignored him, Carmen looked at him in a really not inviting way. Everybody knew he fucked it up. He felt so ashamed of himself. 

said you’d never hurt me but here we are ᝰ.ᐟ

(australian grand prix, 2025)

You were so nervous to be back at the paddock and at the same time so excited for this new chapter for mercedes. You were longing for Lewis but at the same time you were very excited about kimi. Weather conditions were terrible and it in a really sarcastic way showed how you really felt about being there. You didn’t want to come at first but Carmen was a really good convincing person and you were no exception. Plus, you wanted to see your friends George and Alex. The two brits were your best friends since F2 back in 2018 when it all started. It was insane that so many years have passed already. All of the memories you cherished in your heart. They were so precious to you. 

Kym illman received you at the gates taking pictures of you, your brother, carmen and george coming into the paddock for race day. You always hated the media because their cameras made you look so bad, you thought. But it was part of your friend’s work so, it was what it was. You were already so wet you thought it was embarrassing. A super big mercedes hoodie covered your body as a dress and some rain boots on. And you called that outfit a day. It wasn’t glamorous at all, but it was so you for sure. 

Heading to the Mercedes hospitality, you saw Lando taking coffee with his parents at the McLaren hospitality. Your brother put on his best dog face and didn’t look at them. But for some reason you couldn’t do that to his parents even though you hated their son. Lando’s mom looked at you and waved happily to see you. “Hey!, y/N!” she said sweetly and smiled at her. They were always really good to you. So you got closer and said hi to them properly with a kiss on a cheek and a little hug for each. 

“Hi” , you only said to Lando, keeping your distance in a sad and shy smile. He half smiled as well.

“Hi” he said back to you the same way. 

“Darling you look so gorgeous, I love that haircut on you. You’re such a pretty girl” his mom said and made you blush immediately. 

“Oh, thank you so much… i gotta go… have  a great race, lando” you said a bit awkwardly and walked away to the mercedes hospitality to join your people. 

Lando was in awe of you. He kept the way you said his name on his head. It’s been the longest time without hearing your voice, that he realized he forgot how it sounded. And he also realized that it was your sweet voice, the only voice he wanted to listen to the rest of his life. He hated himself for that. But after all this time, he had made one thing right. He broke up with Maggi a week ago. He couldn’t keep pretending, he was done. 

“She looked really beautiful… it’s sad you don't talk anymore. We really liked her” his mother said and he shook his head a bit.

“i fucked it up, mom. But i will figure out a way to make it right again” he answered but more reassuring himself rather than his mother. 

She smiled looking proudly at her son “the good thing is to learn darling, you’re a good boy, let yourself be happy and fight for what makes you happy… you deserve it” she said sweetly sending lando all the energy he needed to go afloat. 

the only girl you’ve ever wanted in your life ᝰ.ᐟ 

Lando won. Lando won. Lando won. He did it. Of course you were happy for your friend who came out third and kimi fourth! What an amazing race though you were at the brink of suffering from a heart attack for two hours. After a lot of champagne was thrown to George, you were resting in the hospitality building waiting for your brother, Dante and George to come around. Carmen went to talk to alexandra for a bit and Lili was already at the hotel. So you decided to check on twitter all of the memes and opinions on this race. You saw a few people sharing your pics and commenting whether they were happy to see you or telling you looked disgusting as ever. It was hard to get used to this side of the sport but you always tried to brush it off.

You were so concentrated on your phone, you didn’t realize until the third time Lando cleared his throat that he was there standing in front of you in his casual clothes already, and freshly showered, smelling as good as you remembered him. 

“Hi,” he said again, sitting in front of you. You smiled a bit shocked that he is here in front of you after so many months of not even seeing pics of him. And he looked really nice in your opinion, but when did he not? 

“Hey” you said. He was nervous, he didn’t like the fact your hoodie wasn’t McLaren but you looked cute anyway. 

“It's been a long time,” he answered.

“Yup” you nodded. 

Silence. 

You stared at each other for a while. If someone walked past, they would think you were playing eyesight war but you were just analysing each other trying to think of what to say or where to begin. 

“I’m sorry” you both said in unison. You looked at each other in surprise now and then laughed it away. 

“Alright, that was a bit weird,” he said, giggling. “Guess, we still connected somehow…” his voice turning off as the sentence ends. 

“I guess in a way we are… I can't stop thinking about you and what happened…” you confessed even to your own surprise. 

He smiled a little, feeling his heart start to race “me neither to be honest… i feel terrible about it” you could see how honest he was being. Or at least to want to believe him. He felt different. You guessed that maybe he doesn't know why he lied that much either. 

“I miss you” you confessed even though you didn’t want to. But even after everything… you still loved him. 

His eyes showed a little spark. It wasn't there when he sat in front of me a few minutes ago. Now his smile got bigger showing his dimples. He was a pretty motherfucker, you thought.

“I miss you too,” he agreed. 

Was this the beginning of a second chance? Or maybe you're announced dead? 

Or maybe the happily ever after you have always dreamed about, but only time will tell.

THE ENDᝰ.ᐟ 

dont forget to reblog, like or comment if you liked it! and follow me so we can be friends <3 (and drink mate together)

[cookiecakecookie-cake]

Hi I really like your writing. I have a request. For cookies of your choice, let's say they had someone close to them (romantic or platonic) that pulled an Odysseus were the reader set out to the licorice sea, was presumed deceased, and came back years later all scarred up. Cookies and Epic have invades my brain. Thanks for reading.

No way.... odysseus..... like my blorbo outis limbus company that im soooso normalll abouttt... (i didnt make this video but god i wish i did) anyways, i hope you don't mind the fact that i took this and RAN with it. mwehehehe -cookie cake

No More Going Back

(Pre-corruption!Mystic Flour Cookie/Burning Spice Cookie/Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader)

Inspired in part by I'll Take You by @/brittle-doughie

cws: angst, lots of talk about death & war, shouting/arguments and brief descriptions of dead bodies.

War was on the edge of the horizon. Your gazed out at sea. Far off in the distance, there was a nation that intended to take all you sought dear. Then and there, you decided that there was no other choice. You were going to protect the ones you loved or die trying.

-----

"-And when I'm gone, I want you to take care of yourself, alright? I won't be around to get rid of overtly greedy cookies and I know everyone will be wanting a lot during these trying times. If you ever need help, know you can rely on-"

"My love, I am not a child."

You sigh, "I know but I worry." Wheat Flour Cookie was a cookie who often gave herself to others in surplus, leaving little left for herself. You didn't want anybody to use her because of that and she was more than aware of that fact.

"I'll ask the people of the temple for help if I need anything and I will keep in mind of my limits as to who I can and cannot help." She held your face in her hands as she spoke, making sure you caught every one of her words loud and clear.

"You promise?"

"I promise... That is, if you promise, in return, to come back safely." You smile, gently resting your forehead on hers. "I promise, my grace."

-----

CLANG!

Your spear clashed against the Red Spice Cookie's own parashu, sending sparks across the area. You hold that for a moment, before deflecting his attack, making the great force of his weapon crash uselessly against the ground. He tries to charge you again, but you manage to easily parry, sending his weapon hurtling across the room. You angle your spear at his throat.

"You loose." You state, very matter-of-factly.

"You really don't take any hostages, do you, dear?" He brushes the spear away with the back of his hand. You pull the spear away from him, walking to put it away.

"The only hostage I'd take is you, my ember."

You can't see him, but you can sense the fond eye roll from across the room.

You dock your weapon back in the rack you got it from. "... You were distracted. I can tell."

"You don't miss a single detail, either." He gets up, stretching his back. You can hear a couple bones pop. "... There's been a lot on my mind lately."

"You have a lot on your plate, I could only imagine." You walk back over to him, trying to assess if there were any injuries you should attend to. "Just... come back to me in one piece, alright? I'm going to be incredibly bored without my hearth." He grumbled, heating up at your careful observation.

"Of course. I can't keep you waiting for too long, can I?" You leave a sweet peck on his cheek.

-----

"... So, that's it then? You're just... going off without me?" Blueberry Milk Cookie stared, completely baffled. You tried to avoid his eyes as much as you could.

"You make it sound like I'm ending our relationship."

"Well, you might as well be!!"

The Fount of Knowledge was seen by all as a figure of intellectualism. Rationality. Yet, here he stood, clinging to your uniform with a look that you know you can't meet.

"This is important to me. To us. If I don't do something, we might loose everything."

"Have you considered loosing you may be even worse?!"

"... I have."

"Oh yeah! Sure! Uh-huh! Talk like you have eeeeverything under control, why don't you! Like everything's going to go well! Sure! Go off and play hero and DIE and leave me here with NOTHING!"

"Blueberry, I-"

"Oh no, nonono NO! You don't get to 'Blueberry' me, right now! Have you considered what this is going to be like for me?! I'll have to manage everything by myself and you KNOW those cookies are as blind as bats if they don't like the reality of what they're seeing! If you go off and DIE out there, what am I going to do, then, huh?! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!?" He held onto your shoulders with a desperation that you have never seen on his face before.

"I..."

"'I' WHAT?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" You finally looked him in the eyes. They were angry, yes, but they were also full of fear. His worry streamed down his perfect face. "I don't... know. And it's impossible for me to know, just as it's impossible for one cookie to know everything. But what I do know is that the lives of the cookies around us are at stake if this isn't handled with care."

"... And there's nobody else that can take your place? No one?" He tried one last time to stop you, to keep you safe, with him.

"Do you know anyone as smart as me when it comes to the battlefield?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes." It was time for him to try and dodge your gaze, looking away from you.

"I'm sorry, my love. I don't want this either. I'm left with no choice." You try to reach out to him, gently holding his face to look back at you. "But if I am to die out there, let me have one last request. Let's spend our remaining time together in happiness, so that you don't regret the fading hours."

He tried to stop himself from crying for a second, but it was a futile effort. He crumpled into your arms, chest heaving with his emotion.

"... Please come back soon."

"I will."

-----

You didn't die, no, but you might as well be. Lost at sea and prevented from seeing those you love for years on end, you'd almost gone mad. All you wanted was to see the ones you loved once again, but it seemed every force of nature planned against you and maybe they were.

When you finally return, broken and bettered, it was obvious that something was wrong. You knew that it'd been years since you'd last seen your home, but it didn't look like.... this.

You walked down the roads and alleyways of the once bustling city, without a single hint of any life. The houses and buildings were intact, but the only thing for miles was pure white flour.

A temple of gold and splendor was reduced to nothing but crumbs and rubble on the ground. The cookies weren't just dead, but ground to a fine powder that made the air taste overwhelmingly like spice.

Cookies hung from string that stretched far into the sky, presumably connected to some unseen controller. They talked of nonsense, if they even spoke at all. Some just looked at you with hollow eyes, were they dead or tired of all the lies? You couldn't tell anymore.

And when you found them, in the middle of it all? You wished you had died out there, so you didn't have to see the one who you once loved reduced to... this.

A monster.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS React to a Reader with a Skin Condition

Request: Anon- Would you be comfortable writing headcanons about how the boys would react to you having skin problems? Like acne and eczema. I get really self conscious about my skin and I just feel like they’d know just what to say.Whether or not you choose to write this thank you for taking the time to read this. I really appreciate all you do, you’re an incredibly talented writer and you’re such a wonderful part of this community. 💕

AN: Hi anon, thanks for requesting! As someone with psoriasis this is close to home. I hope you like this >< evil laughter because I changed the OG reaction order

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Ingredients: 90% comfort, 10% sulking

My Fav: None. I felt writer's block writing this :(

Caleb:

He’d seen you grow up with psoriasis.

He remembers the way you never let go of your long sleeves. The way your friends’ eyes lingered in the summer, glancing at your covered arms with quiet curiosity. The way your smile would dim when someone’s gaze lingered too long.

Hell, he was the one who held you when you sobbed, terrified before every new school year. The one who sat with you in silence while you rubbed at your sleeves until the fabric thinned.

But he had also seen you change. Watched as long sleeves were traded for shorter ones. Saw how you learned to love your skin through the endless cycle of steroids, topicals, and shots.

Flare-up or not, you were strong. You became more than the spots on your skin. And he was proud.

The person he once comforted no longer needed saving. You had learned to love yourself.

But even now, if you stumbled, if you slipped, he’d still be there. Not because you needed him. But because he never stopped wanting to stand beside you.

And when you catch him watching you, when you raise an eyebrow and say “What?” he just smiles.

"Nothing." He wraps his arms around you, his hands mapping your arms with utmost focus. He watches the way you don’t flinch anymore. The way you let him touch you without hesitation.

"You’re just beautiful."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush. He sees the quiet pleasure in the smile on your lips.

"I mean it." His pulls you closer, against his chest, burying his face in your shoulder.

Zayne:

He held your hands, applying the topical carefully. His fingers moved slowly, brushing over the irritated skin with quiet precision. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, skin red and peeling. It looked painful.

Just a night out had done this. The restaurant soap had reacted poorly.

And now here you both were.

"I'm sorry, Zayne. I was stupid." You whisper, trying to pull your hands back. "I ruined our plans."

His grip tightens slightly, keeping you from slipping away. His breath steadies as he rests his forehead against yours. Warm. Soft. Familiar.

"You have nothing to apologize for." His arms circle around you, pulling you carefully into his lap. His hand slides to your wrist, thumb brushing over the curve of your pulse.

He blows gently over the drying cream on your skin. His breath ghosts over your fingers, the warmth easing the sting.

"I prefer this." His lips brush your temple. "How else do I get to hold you like this?"

Your breath hitches. His mouth curves faintly against your cheek.

"And kiss you however much I want?"

You laugh weakly. "You’re ridiculous."

"Probably." His lips trail down the side of your face, soft and deliberate. His touch light and careful as he smooths over the cream.

"But you think too much." His forehead presses against yours. "You didn’t ruin anything."

"Zayne, it was your time off in so long, and we-"

His fingers lace between yours. His thumb strokes along your palm, calm, steady. "I’d rather be here with you, holding you, than anywhere else."

You close your eyes, breath slowing beneath the weight of him.

"So stop apologizing." His voice drops to a whisper. His mouth hovers over yours. "You’re already giving me exactly what I want."

Rafayel:

He finds you crouched in the closet. Crying. Clothes scattered around you in every direction.

"I look awful." You look at him tearfully. "Everything looks terrible with the breakout. I can't go to your exhibition, Rafayel."

Your face crumples, eyes red and swollen. Your period isn’t helping, it makes you even more susceptible to unwarranted emotional breakdowns every passing hour. You bury your face in a dress and sob like a kicked puppy.

Rafayel stands there for a second, his brow furrowing. Then he sighs and sinks down beside you, his knees brushing against yours.

His hands rise to your face, caressing your cheek with care. "My bodyguard always looks the most beautiful." He tilts your chin to kiss the tears away.

"Don't kiss me, I feel gross." You try to pull away. "And look at all this acne. How can you even...?"

"I'm not kissing the acne." Rafayel smiles faintly. His eyes soften as he takes in the sight in front of him. "I'm kissing you, you dummy."

"And right now?" His grin sharpens as he leans back slightly. "You look adorable."

"I can’t go to the exhibit, Rafayel." You whine annoyed by the sound of your own voice as overstimulation crowed your senses.

"Good." His voice is lazy, his arms sliding beneath your legs. Without warning, he lifts you effortlessly, adjusting you against his chest like you weigh nothing.

"Rafayel this is ridiculous." You bury your face in his chest.

"Shhh." He silences your protests with a peck to your lips. His arms tighten around you, carrying you toward the bed.

"You know how much I hate those things." His tone is light, but his hand slips beneath the curve of your knee, holding you securely. His mouth skims the side of your temple. "Honestly, you just gave me the best excuse to skip."

"But..."

"Nope." He sets you down on the bed, brushing your hair back from your face. "We’re staying in."

He slides in beside you, one arm looping beneath your shoulders. His hand splays low across your back, pulling you closer.

"If you feel awful, the least you can do is suffer with me." His mouth tilts against your temple. "And if you think this breakout makes you less beautiful, I guess I’m going to have to kiss you until you figure out how wrong you are."

"Starting now." He pulls you into an onslaught of kisses.

Sylus:

You drag another air purifier into the room, sneezing hard enough to make your head spin.

"God, this sucks." You flop onto the floor between the circle of purifiers, rubbing at the irritated skin of your neck. "How did natural selection fail this badly?"

Your breath hitches, throat burning. You close your eyes. Maybe if you just stay here, the purifiers will summon clean air or a new respiratory system.

That’s when you feel him.

"Did I interrupt your ritual, darling?"

You crack an eye open. Sylus stands above you, arms crossed, looking thoroughly amused.

"This is serious." You sniff, voice wrecked.

"Sure it is." He crouches down, invading your circle of air purifiers. "Should I sacrifice a goat or something?"

"You could bring me a tissue."

Sylus grins. "Or…" His hands slip beneath your arms, lifting you effortlessly. "I could just kidnap you and nurse you back to health myself."

"Sylus, what are you...?"

Without a word, he drops you onto the couch, pressing his hand against your forehead. His eyes narrow. "Hm. You might not survive the night."

"Stop it,"

"I’ll have to keep you in bed." His mouth curves wickedly. "For observation."

"Sylus!" You protest, trying to get up.

"No talking. Doctor’s orders."

His lips press against your burning cheek. His hand slides through your hair, nuzzling into you. His smile softens at the sound of your stuffy breath.

"Just relax." His voice lowers. "I’ve got you."

Xavier:

"You don’t have to stay." You reason trying to get your boyfriend out of your misery cave. "You’re tired. You’ve been running around all day."

"So?" His voice is quiet.

You glance at him through swollen eyes. Your skin is blotchy from the allergic reaction, red patches climbing up your neck and across your cheeks. You feel gross.

"So you don’t have to deal with this."

Xavier sinks down onto the floor beside you, resting his head on the bed where you lay draped. His gaze drops to the irritated skin on your throat.

"I’m not here because I have to." His hand lifts, hesitates, then curls gently around your hand. His thumb traces the tender skin of your palm.

"You look uncomfortable." You wince, voice thin.

"Yeah. I am." His smile is faint, almost fragile. "Because I hate seeing you like this."

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off.

"Not because of how you look." His hand rises to your neck, cupping it carefully. His thumb brushes over a reddened patch of skin. His eyes darken. "Because I hate not knowing how to make it better."

"It’s just allergies."

"I know." His breath steadies. His eyes soften. "But I still wish I could fix it."

"You’re not going to scare me off." His voice drops lower. "You don’t have to look perfect for me to stay."

"But I feel—"

"I know." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. His breath catches as your gaze meets his. "Stay with me anyway."

[cas-couture]

cas couture.

cas couture is an upcoming community-based sim magazine focused on fashion. what sets cas couture apart is that we will not allow permanently paywalled cc to be featured in the magazine and aim to highlight the numerous, talented cc creators in the community :)

we are looking for simblrs who would like their stories/cc/creations/sims/pretty-much-anything ADVERTISED (for free, this is not a cash grab) in the APRIL 2025 ISSUE!

as cas couture is community driven, we need YOUR participation!

( more info under the cut !!! )

we want to put the spotlight back on this community and appreciate active simblrs. we want to encourage blog interaction and actually make the community ~feel like a community!

what will advertising look like?

sponsoring might look different across different spreads, it might be an ad for a movie/ tv series (i.e., this would advertise a sim story), an ad for a product/ designer (i.e., this would advertise a CC creator) and so on.

we're pretty much open to advertising anything! :) if you have any ideas for how you would like your creation advertised, let us know!

what are the requirements to sponsor?

you must be 18+ to apply

this is for fun!!!! pls remember that :) and also pls don’t be zionists or trumpies or homophobes or racist or anything else awful because :( and that’ll be another reason why we can’t have nice things :(

submit this sponsorship form (set aside 10 mins to fill this out, if your sponsorship is accepted, have some pictures/content ready that you would like us to use!)

reblog this post so i know ur for real about wanting to advertise!!

you would reblog and boost and interact with the April issue when it releases on April 11 :) (this would run on an honor system because I'm not a weirdo, but........ like if not enough people do it, it probably won't be worth the effort of making all the ads if no one's going to read the first issue/ interact with it? the point of cas couture IS blog interaction!!!!)

deadline to submit a sponsorship form is April 1. if you are making your own advertisement, it is April 10.

faq

i'm an editor for the magazine already, can I apply to sponsor?

yes, you totally can! we would just request you still fill out the form and once we confirm your sponsorship, we would just ask you to make your own advertisement, as it would probably be the quickest method :)

can I make my own advertisement as a sponsor?

yes, you totally can! once you're accepted as a sponsor, we will send you more information on the canvas size and other regulations <3

how many advertisements are you accepting?

there is no set number, it's more like... how many advertisements we can crank out in time for April 11 :) if you are willing to create your own advertisement and submit it by April 10th, the chances are 99.999% that we would accept :)

why is reblogging this post a requirement in order to apply for sponsorship?

because it'll show that you're truly willing to ruin your impeccable feed with simblr community content! if you're not willing to do it now, you probably won't want to later :( cas couture can only fuel itself on my hopes and dreams for so long until it burns out :( the aim is for blog interaction, making (age-appropriate) friends and having a good time!!!!

thank you for supporting cas couture! you're helping fund the nepo babies'-- i mean, interns'-- matcha addictions-- i mean, education!

asking da community for some support <3

as this is totally a community project, i'm going to tag some community members who really helped the last post reach the masses (I'm sorry, I'm annoying for tagging!!!) and current editors (I'm going off the top of my head, I'm sorry if I miss anyone!!!) on the team for the April issue!!!! if you don't like to be tagged, I'm sorry!!!!! <3333

@householdbinary @jokiyo @simafrassx @olivetelfie @my-kwy @southernfriedsims-blog @ratwoman161 @harvestsims @mmonetsims @kdplayssss @liyahssims @fairytailtow @crazy-hazy-sims @aliengirl @strangegrapefruit @thebramblewood @thefoxburyinstitute @missatan

psst, we're still accepting editors for the April issue!!! learn more about the roles available here!

[giuli4nna]

BEEN AWAY

hamzah wants to take his time with you when he finally gets the chance. requested by this ask

a/n: thank you to all 329 of you who voted on my poll ! this one ended up winning, it’s kind of long but i hope you enjoy (: i’ll eventually post the others xoxo

“slow down,” hamzah chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he pries your fingers away from his body.

your hands were itching to touch him all night. you wanted to pounce on him the very instant you two arrived back to your apartment, but he insisted on holding back.

you were bubbling with anticipation to see him after several months of being apart. long distance was taking a toll on your emotional state; your separation lead to countless nights of missed calls and makeup texts — apologies for being too busy to respond that day. it was frustrating, but you two always manage to push through.

not to mention, it was even more frustrating for your sexual desires.

you could only send each other so many scandalous photos and videos as a distraction before you were left lonely and desperate for the feeling of real intimacy with your boyfriend.

but — of course, it wasn’t all about sex. you were overjoyed with the fact that he sacrificed time out of his break from youtube to come and visit you.

when you opened the door to see him standing proudly outside your apartment building’s entrance; leaning against his car, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, it was really tempting to just make him to cancel your dinner reservations and spend the whole evening in bed with him instead.

after showering you in kisses and compliments he treated you to a lengthy date at your favorite restaurant. of course you loved getting to spend time with him in person after being apart for so long.

except — hamzah really dragged it out.

“hamzah,” you’d groaned. “we’ve talked about everything possible and we finished dessert. don’t you think it’s time to go back home?”

“oh, c’mon. i’m just enjoying the first date we’ve had in months. now — this is important, if you were ice cream, what flavor would you be?” he smiled, adding on another silly question to the prolonged conversation.

even when the both of you were finally stumbling in through your door, he wasn’t quick to give in.

it was frustrating, to say the least. you’re not some sort of sex-crazed freak, but you’re on the verge of acting like one.

you had spent the last few months pining over him, and now that he’s within your reach, your top priority is to memorize every inch of him as fast as possible — for fear that you might forget all your favorite details of his body the second that he needs to return to toronto.

you barely get the door shut before you’re on him. your hands are in his hair, your lips are crashing onto his. you’re messy, frantic.

and of course, he slows you down. his hands settle on your waist, grounding you, his lips stilling against yours.

“mmh, slow down.” he softly protests. he meets your gaze, his eyes filled with love and adoration. on the other hand, yours are shrouded in desire and lust.

“m’sorry. just missed you,” you mumble, your tone slightly guilty.

“i know,” he says gently. “let’s just go slow, okay? we have plenty of time.”

you huff. “hamzah, seriously?”

a smirk tugs at hamzah’s lips, but his eyes are soft, soaking you in like he’s memorizing you all over again. “yes, seriously. just let me take care of you.” he says, his voice dropping to an entrancingly low tone.

you practically squirm under his gaze. “why are you messin’ with me?” you ask, sounding a little bit more pathetic than you intended.

“m’not tryin’ to,” he murmurs presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, then your neck, his lips soft and slow as if he’s committing each inch of your skin to memory. “just wanna make sure i feel you. really feel you.”

he always does this. he makes everything feel like more than just desperation, more than just a fleeting moment of heat. he’s trying to make up for every second spent apart.

your breath stutters as his lips trace a slow path down your neck, enough to make you shiver. you grab fistfuls of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he stays steady, his control unwavering.

“you’re not being fair,” you breathe out, basically pouting at this point.

he laughs, soft and warm against your skin. “you’re not either,” he says, his hands roaming lazily up and down your sides, feeling the fabric of your dress. “you’re tryin’ to rush me. that’s not very fair.”

“but i’m only rushing ‘cause i missed you.”

“and i missed you,” he dips his head lower, lips pressing just above your collarbone as he speaks with a frustratingly unbothered tone. “that’s why i want to take my time with you.”

“hamzah, you’re so f— ah!”

whatever annoyed phrase you were about to throw at him is instantly forgotten as hamzah sweeps you off your feet, literally. in one swift movement, he’s picked you up bridal style and started carrying you toward your bedroom.

“what was that?” he taunts with a grin, nudging the door open with his foot and practically tossing you down onto your bed.

“nothin’,” you mutter, your cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment as your eagerness rises once more. you wonder if he’s finally going to do something, anything.

you watch him, waiting for him to move first. to shove you back, to climb on top of you, to finally let go of all his patience and take what’s his.

he doesn’t.

instead, he stands between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs, warm and steady. his thumbs move in slow, lazy circles, like he has all the time in the world.

he doesn’t seem to notice how loud your body is internally screaming with need for him right now.

you exhale sharply, tilting your head back with a groan. “i think you’re killing me.”

hamzah laughs, quiet and deep. “you’ll be just fine.”

his fingers trace up, dragging along the hem of your dress, and you suck in a breath as he pushes it up — inch by inch, nothing hurried, nothing rushed.

every movement is deliberate, like he’s unwrapping something precious. and in his eyes, he is. you’re the most precious thing in his life.

you lift your arms, letting him undress you, your skin prickling at the loss of warmth. he’s quickly touching you again — his palms glide over your bare shoulders, down your arms, and across your ribs, like he’s learning your body all over again.

he leans in, finally, brushing his lips against your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. it’s soft, barely there.

“more,” you whisper.

hamzah’s lips hover over yours, close, but not close enough. “not yet.”

your hands slide up his chest, gripping at his shirt. “why?”

he smirks, kissing your jaw instead. “because i love watching you like this,” he says, quiet and teasing. “all desperate.”

your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, frustration curling in your stomach like a flow of lava.

he hums in amusement, his lips trailing lower, his fingers slipping under the thin straps of your bra. he toys with the fabric but never pushes further.

your breath catches in your throat when his mouth finally moves lower, leaving a warm path over your chest and your stomach. his hands ground you, steadying you against the mattress as you arch instinctively toward him.

just when you think he’s about to break, about to finally give in, he slows down again. his lips press soft kisses along the inside of your thigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin.

you whimper, tugging at his shirt in frustration. “hamzah, please.”

his grip on your hips tightens at the sound of your voice, and you don’t miss the way his breath stutters — like he’s just as affected by all this restraint as you are. his willpower is just now beginning to fade. yours is long gone.

“say that again,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

you swallow hard, meeting his gaze. his eyes are dark and burning with something you can’t quite put your finger on. your fingers reach down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip.

“please?” you whisper again, softer this time.

something snaps.

with one fluid motion, he tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, his hands quickly returning to your skin.

there’s no hesitation anymore, no patience. his lips crash on yours with pure heat and hunger, his body pressing flush against yours.

his hands roam, no longer teasing, no longer holding back. his fingers trace every curve, every dip of your body. it’s suddenly urgent, dripping with the kind of hunger that’s been building since the second you two walked through the door.

you gasp against his lips as he presses you further into the mattress, his weight settling over you in a way that makes you feel impossibly small beneath him. his hands slide beneath your thighs, spreading you, positioning you.

you can feel the way his control is slipping between his fingers like sand. you can feel it in the way his body moves against yours.

“hamzah,” you breathe, your voice breaking around the sound of his name.

he groans, low and rough, like hearing you say his name just like that is his undoing. his forehead presses against yours, his breath is warm and uneven as he rolls his hips against you, slowly and purposefully.

you moan, your fingers clawing at his back, pulling him closer. “i need—”

“i know,” he cuts in, voice thick with want. his lips brush against your cheek, then your jaw, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. “i’ve got you, baby.”

eventually, somewhere between messy kisses and frantic touches, your clothes have been shed along with his and hamzah’s body is now hovering over yours on the bed, heat radiating between the two of you.

you’re so deeply lost in him that any frustration has long since evaporated. all that remains is the intoxicating pulse of anticipation as he aligns himself with your entrance and finally — finally, he shifts, pushing forward, sinking his cock into you in one smooth, perfect motion.

your breath stutters, your body arching into him as he fills the space between you completely. a deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest as he stills for a second, his grip on your hip tightening dangerously.

he exhales sharply, pressing his forehead to yours. “you feel…” he trails off, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.

instead of trying to complete his thought, he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, devastating kiss as he finally starts to move. he presses deeper, slower, letting you — no, making you feel every inch of him. he groans at the sensation of your nails in his back, his body tensing up as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“hamzah,” you whine, your voice shaky and overwhelmed.

he shudders, his hands flexing against your waist before sliding upwards, cradling your face between his palms.

“look at me,” he murmurs.

the second your gazes lock, something in you shatters. your body? your mind? your soul, maybe?

there’s a melting pot of drastically different emotions swirling behind his eyes, you can’t even begin to describe the way it makes you feel.

“you’re everything,” he whispers, his voice rough, like he’s speaking the words without even thinking. “you know that, right?”

you nod, unable to speak, not with the way length is dragging in and out of you too slowly. he tilts your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours so softly it makes your stomach twist.

“say it,” he demands in a murmur against your mouth. he’s trying to break you, you think.

you fingers slide into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “i know.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“there’s my girl. so good for me, aren’t you?” he says with a small smirk, knowing the effect his words have on you. “can’t believe i spent so long without you.”

his lips crashing onto yours, raw and consuming, like he’s trying to pull you into him completely.

“hamzah — more,” you choke out breathlessly against his lips, your mind melting at the slow pace he’s set.

he chuckles lowly, but doesn’t protest this time. he knows he’s got you ruined already.

his hands slide beneath your thighs, shifting you just enough to deepen the angle, and when he moves again, it’s harder, needier. he’s finally pouring himself into you fully, dropping the ‘let’s take our time’ façade.

your chest heaves as desperate moans and choked whimpers escape your throat, the way he’s now snapping his hips into you — it makes your lose all remaining composure.

your head tilts back against the pillow, overwhelmed, and hamzah’s right there with you. “that’s it,” he breathes, voice shaking. “y’sound so pretty.. god, i love you,”

he drives into you harder, deeper, his pace growing erratic. the pure hunger in his eyes matches the frenzy building between your legs, a gnawing need that has you gasping with each stroke.

“mmh.. love y— love you too..” you force out, lips trembling.

“uh-huh..” hamzah breathes, his voice rough, practically growling as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “oh — fuck, baby, you’re taking me so well,”

you whine at his words, and you can feel the heat building in your stomach, the pressure mounting with each thrust. you’re almost there, your abdomen tenses as the pressure in your tummy builds.

“please.. harder, hamzah,” you beg, barely able to form the words as your body quakes beneath him.

his lips curl into a dark smirk. he drives into you with twice the effort, setting a punishing new pace.

a low growl vibrates in his chest, pleasure surging through both of you, turning your minds to mush. the way he’s moving, the way he fills you — each thrust is making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

“fuck,” you choke out, your voice cracking with need as you meet his pace. his strokes are relentless now, the pressure building at an unbearable pace. you can barely hold on, the sound of your frantic breaths and his skin slapping against yours filling the room.

hamzah watches your face, your lips parted in a silent plea, your chest rising and falling in desperation. he only moves faster, harder, like he’s chasing something just beyond reach. “c’mon,” he grunts. “get there for me, baby.”

you can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you completely, his every move making your body tremble, your senses on fire.

your legs tremble as you reach the edge, the world around you blurring. “hamzah, i — m’there, feels so..” you gasp, desperate for release, your voice raw with need.

he nods erratically, his hips stuttering as his sanity slips along with yours. “yeah, give it to me,” he moans, his voice rough yet on the verge of being whiny. “finish f’me, be the good girl that you are.”

with a final, deep thrust, everything breaks. your body convulses, and the pleasure washes over you in waves, almost too much to handle. your moans spill out breathlessly along other broken, incomplete sentences as you shudder beneath him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

hamzah closely follows you over the edge, his body shaking as he finally releases, spilling into you with a low, guttural growl. his body collapses on top of yours, both of you trying to catch your breath, the room now filled with nothing but the sound of your rapid breathing and the faint hum of your heartbeat in the aftermath.

for a long time, neither of you speak. there’s really nothing else to be said. your breathing falls in sync.

the heat between you is still buzzing, alive. his fingers trace lazy patterns along your hip, his lips brushing against your temple. his small, absentminded gestures feel just as intimate as everything else that just happened.

“you okay?” he eventually murmurs, voice still thick with exhaustion.

you nod weakly, your fingers threading through his hair, nails dragging gently along his scalp. “mhmm.”

he smirks, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before finally shifting, rolling onto his side but keeping you close, tangled up in him. “told you, going slow would be worth it.”

you scoff and roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. he just grins in response, knowing he’s right.

and he is right, he really is. it wouldn’t have been the same if he didn’t make you wait. after not seeing each other for so long, rushing — despite how badly you wanted to — wouldn’t have been nearly as romantic or special.

you huff, tucking yourself closer against his chest. hamzah’s arms tighten around you instinctively, like holding you is second nature, no matter how long you spend without each other.

xoxo giulia

[fairyhaos]

ও wen junhui as your college boyfriend

gn!reader, wc ~500 tags: requested by anon, college au, fluff, crack, est. rs., this is so cute omg i want a college bf!junhui now

he's honestly so adorable no matter what

so u can bet he's the cutest college bf ever too!!

memorised ur wholeee schedule on day one and sends YOU reminders about ur own classes every day

makes a point to eat lunch with u whenever possible

also whenever Not possible too

like he'll come SPRINTING across campus after his class just to have lunch with u if that's what it takes

sue him, he likes spending time with u :(((

he's also thee best comforter during exam season omg!!!

more than willing to stay up all night studying with you if it makes you feel better

he knows how u spiral into panic if you're left on ur own, so the closer it gets to exams, he starts showering u with even MOREE affection than before

and you know he'll be showering u with kisses once exams r FINALLY out of the way as a congratulations 😙

always leaves snacks in your bag and little post-its with cat faces drawn on them to reminder you to drink water bc he KNOWS that you're so bad at taking care of urself when you're fully locked in

"hey junnie, you know you can just text me, right?" / "are you saying you don't like my cat drawings :((" / "whAT NO I WOULD NEVER—"

also just bc he's a broke college student does nawwt mean you'll ever catch him slacking as ur bf !!

gives you little gifts whenever possible, is always showing up at ur dorm with flowers, buys you books + clothes + stationary + groceries + whatever he can to show he cares

one thing he won't do, though, is catch bugs for you.

nuh uh. that is a no-go.

who cares that he's literally 600000x bigger than the spider? the spider is still WAYY scarier than he'll EVER be so he is NOT touching that no thank you.

the two of you stay glued to one corner of the library till ur friend arrives and scares the spider off

but junhui makes up for his bug-related uselessness by being useful in literally every other area of ur life

hungry? he'll cook for you. sick? he'll take care of you. stuck on an essay? he'll help you, even if he's not studying anything remotely related to ur major

he could be in the throes of finishing his dissertation, bags under his eyes and the world on his shoulders but he'll still drop everything to help you

what can he say? he's in love with u.

and what makes it even better is he knows, he knows that you'd do the exact same thing for him too

you're so full of love, so kind and wonderful that he can't help but do all of this in return, just to try and give an ounce of that same love back

it's the least you deserve, he thinks.

(and don't tell anyone, but right after graduation, he's thinking of getting you a promise ring and taking u to visit china with him b4 u go to ur respective internships.)

(and then, further down the line... he's really hoping to marry you one day. you know. because he really does love you a lot. hopefully you love him just as much too.)

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery @aaa-sia

[maddie0101]

home ( d.w. drabble)

summary: dean never asked for his clothes back, maybe because he loved seeing you in them.

warnings: none! established relationship, pure fluff!

word count: 413

The first time you stole one of Dean’s shirts, you told yourself it was temporary.

You had been freezing, fresh out of the shower after a rough hunt, and your own clothes were still damp from the rain. Dean had tossed you a flannel without thinking twice, muttering something about how you’d catch pneumonia if you didn’t get warm soon.

That was weeks ago and yet somehow, that same flannel, along with a couple of his Henleys, one of his hoodies, and a well-worn Led Zeppelin T-shirt, had all mysteriously found their way into your duffel.

Dean never called you out on it. Not really. Sure, he’d shoot you a look whenever you wandered into the bunker’s kitchen in one of his shirts, sleeves hanging long over your hands, but he never asked for them back. If anything, he seemed like he actually loved it. Like the sight of you wrapped up in his clothes did something to him. And, if you were being honest, wearing them did something to you too.

It wasn’t just the warmth, though that was part of it. It was the way they smelled—like Dean, like gun oil and leather, like faded cologne and something that is just him. It calmed you, settled something deep inside you.

Tonight, after another long day, you pulled on his hoodie before slipping under the covers. It was ridiculously oversized, practically swallowing you whole, but that was the best part. It felt safe. Familiar. Like being wrapped in his arms even when he wasn’t there. You had just started drifting off when the bed dipped beside you.

Dean let out a soft chuckle as he pulled the blanket up over both of you. “Y’know, sweetheart, I think you officially own more of my clothes than I do.”

You smiled sleepily, snuggling deeper into the hoodie. “Not my fault they’re comfy.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, then tugged you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist. “So that’s all I am to you, huh? A walking closet?”

You tilted your head up just enough to meet his gaze. “Mmm… a very warm, very good-smelling closet.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but his grin gave him away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he just pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hold tightening around you.“Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”

And as you curled into him, wrapped in the scent and warmth of the man you loved, you knew—this was home.

author’s note:

I’ve honestly had this drabble sitting in my drafts for about two weeks now, lmfao. figured I’d go ahead and post it before I decide to delete it. I am working on the dean requests you guys have sent in but for now, I hope you enjoyed :)

special thank u to @bejeweledinterludes for motivating me to post this one!

— requests are open.ᐟᅟplease read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade (lmk if I missed anyone or if you’d like to be removed from the list)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[7ndipity]

Greedy

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi's craving your attention, but you're not there to help him out. Maybe your pillow will do instead?

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut, slight dom/sub dynamics, pillow humping, handjob, overstimulation, Yoongi’s a needy boi, reader’s a lil bit of a mean dom but not really, Yoongi’s called a slut but it’s in his own fantasy, swearing 

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! This has sat in my inbox for wayy too long, but I hope you still like it!

Masterlist

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It was late as Yoongi quietly entered your shared apartment, dropping his bag by the door and kicking his shoes off without much regard, his mind in a tired haze. He’d had a day that felt more like three days rolled into one, and the only thing on his mind was falling into your arms and going to bed.

However, as he padded through the house, he was slightly dismayed to find you nowhere in sight. He knew you had made plans fro that evening with a few of your friends, but he was hoping you would have been home by now.

Making his way to the bedroom, he settled wearily on the edge of the bed, glancing at the clock as he fished his phone out of his pocket, quickly tapping on your name in his recent messages.

‘Babyy, what time do you think you’ll be home?’ He typed out, silently praying you wouldn’t leave him on sent for long.

Much to his delight, you wrote back almost immediately,

‘Idk, probably another hour, maybe two.’ You replied. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah, just checking.’ He typed, hesitating for a moment before adding ‘I miss you’.

‘You miss me or are you just horny?’ You replied. He could practically hear the smirk in your reply. You knew him far too well.

Yoongi liked to believe that he was a person with a reasonable sense of willpower and self discipline, but when it came to you, all of that went flying out the window. With you, he was a needy, clingy mess, constantly craving your touch and attention in the most desperate and intimate ways.

During the earlier stages in your relationship, he’d been too shy and embarrassed to admit just how much of a hold you had over him, but over time, you had quickly caught on as it had begun to bleed through in his actions. It certainly didn’t take a genius to notice the way he seemed to compulsively touch you, especially whenever he was stressed or tired, or how quiet and whiney he got whenever you took a more dominant role over him in the bedroom. 

Which was why now, after having had as long and shitty of a day as he’d had, he felt the familiar desire to just let his brain shut off; no thoughts, no worries, just float away and let you take care of him.

The only problem with that plan being that you weren’t there, a fact that was becoming increasingly bothersome to Yoongi.

‘Both.’ He replied to your question honestly. ‘Is there any way I could convince you to come home sooner?’

‘We’re almost done baby, just be patient. I’ll be home soon enough.’ You replied. He could almost hear the knowing smirk as you typed, knowing fully well that he was in a needy mood and would be waiting impatiently for you to return.

He groaned, flopping back on the bed with a thump, his phone bouncing next to him on the mattress.

He sucked in a slow breath, trying to calm his tired mind. He knew it wasn’t a big deal, he could wait for you to get home, it was only a couple hours max, he wasn’t that desperate. Right? 

After a few minutes, he sat back up, deciding to at least make use of part of the time by showering and putting on some more comfortable clothes, knowing that washing off his awful day would help make him feel a bit better.

Once clean and dressed in pajamas, he returned to bed, falling back down against the softness of the mattress with a soft groan.

Feeling his eyelid growing heavy, he decided he would try to take a nap while he waited for you to come home, curling up on his side and wrapping his arms around your pillow in order to make himself comfortable. He’d grown accustomed to holding you while he slept, so if he couldn’t hug you, your pillow would have to do for now.

As his eyes drifted closed, his senses were filled with your comforting and familiar scent, causing his body to relax almost instinctively, and his mind to return to its earlier train of thought.

He imagined what you would be doing if you were here with him right now, the way you would softly kiss him and ghost your hands over his body, your touch always so gentle as if he were something precious and fragile. He imagined the way you would tease him, trailing your hands lower, narrowly avoiding the places he needed you the most, making him whiney and desperate under you…

His heart rate picked up, feeling his cock stirring in his shorts as he recalled the way you felt when he pulled you close, the way you fit in his arms, the sound of your breathless words in his ear as you finally gave him what he wanted and pushed the both of you towards release.

He shifted restlessly in the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position, accidentally grinding slightly against your pillow as he did, sending a shot of pleasure through his system and making him freeze for a second.

Curiously, he repeated the action, shifting the pillow lower so that it pressed against him more firmly, letting out a soft sigh of relief at the gentle, but delicious friction it created against his aching cock.

Letting his instincts take over, he slowly began to rut his hips steadily against the pillow, letting out quiet sighs and grunts of pleasure at the sensation. 

After a minute, he shoved off his pajama bottoms, shifting up onto his knees, positioning your pillow so that he was fully straddling it, imagining it was your soft warm body instead, your thick lush thighs, anything that helped push him closer towards that sweet relief he was aching for, grinding against it faster and harder now, letting out a few quiet moans and grunts of your name.

He could feel his cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment as he suddenly thought about what you would say or do if you saw him like this, so needy and desperate for you that he was humping your pillow like a dog in heat, but it just felt soo fucking good that he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

He imagined what you would do if you were there, if you caught him fucking you pillow, how you would call him such a desperate little slut for you, how you might punish him for not listening to your instruction.

He wasn’t even bothering to keep quiet now, groaning out loudly in pleasure as he gave a few particularly harsh thrusts against the pillow, feeling his orgasm quickly beginning to approach.

He was so lost in his own little fantasies that he didn’t realize just how close they were to coming true, not hearing as you let yourself into the apartment.

You had decided to excuse yourself a bit early from dinner and drinks with your friends, feeling a bit tired and realizing that you’d rather be at home helping out your poor, sweet, horny boyfriend.

The same boyfriend who you now found half naked on your bed, face screwed up in pleasure, eyes closed tight, fucking into your poor pillow like there was no tommorrow while he grunted and whined so pathetically it had heat pooling in you core almost immediately.

“Now just what do you think you’re doing. Baby?” You asked smoothly, the sudden sound of your voice making him jump in surprise, falling over himself as he halted his movements.

“Y-y/n!’ He stammered out, trying to cover himself in embarrassment. “I-I thought-, you said-”

“I know what I said” You shushed him, your smooth, low tone making a shiver go up his spine, sensing what’s to come. “You really couldn’t wait for me?”

You came over to sit on your side of the bed, eyeing him almost hungrily.

“Don’t stop now, baby.” You told him as you leaned back against the headboard, crossing your arms, not missing the way his cock twitched and leaked when he noticed your eyes on him.

He stared at you for a long moment, not sure if you were serious or not, before slowly beginning to rock his hips again, watching your face as he began to work himself back up, not holding back his sounds as he chased after his ruined orgasm, rutting against the material of your pillow with growing desperation.

You could tell he was getting close, watching the way his eyes fall shut and his voice hitched higher, losing himself in the pleasure.

Right as he could feel himself teetering on the edge, about to cum, he felt your hands on his hips, forcing him to stop 

“Wha-? Why?!?” He whined, yelping in surprise when you pinched his sensitive sides.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you get away that easily, did you?” You purred dangerously in his ear, making his heart leap.

You pushed him back on the bed, pushing his legs apart so you could sit comfortably between them, running your hands up his thighs teasingly.

“If you wanna cum, it’s gonna be on my terms.” You said, taking his leaking red cock in your hand, squeezing him tightly to earn another sharp whine from Yoongi before beginning to pump him, setting a harsh and merciless pace.

He let out an almost pained whine, hips twitching and bucking under your ministrations, but you paid him no mind, pushing him towards release at an unforgiving pace.

“Fuck, Y/n, I- ahh!” He came with a sharp cry of your name, body twitching and going stiff from the intensity of it.

You let him come down, sucking a deep breath as he tried to get his bearings, only to tighten your grip again, stroking his twitching, oversensitive length, making him jolt and curse.

“Fffuck Y/n, don’t, please!” He begged, hands scrambling to grip at your wrist to stop your movements.

You paused, looking up at him with mild concern.

“Safeword?” You asked cautiously, wanting to be clear on what he was feeling.

He hesitated for a moment, panting heavily before shaking his head, not wanting you to stop even in spite of his words.

Giving him no time to breathe, you resumed your previous actions, jerking him harshly as he twitched and whined beneath you.

He came almost alarmingly fast the second time, letting out a choked sob before falling limply against the sheets, breathing in harsh pants.

You wiped your hand off on his discarded shorts, watching the way he shuddered and gasped as he slowly came down, before crawling up the bed to lay next to him, pulling the covers up over the two of you as you drew him close, kissing his face and running your hands over his back and shoulders softly to help soothe him, speaking to him in a gentle tone as he recovered.

“There we are.” You cooed softly as he opened his eyes, running your fingers through his hair. “You did so well, my sweet boy.”

“Hmm…” He hummed, leaning into your touch weakly.

“Are you okay, love?” You asked softly.

“Mhm, ‘m great.” He said tiredly, letting his eyes drift back closed. “ ‘m sorry I couldn’t wait for you…”

“Shh, it’s okay.” You kissed his lips to quiet him. “Honestly, I like when you’re needy for me.”

“Mmh.” He nodded in agreement.

“Though the pillow was a new addition.” You commented, smirking down at him.

“Mmm, shuttup.” He groaned, hiding his face against you.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, my needy greedy boy.” You couldn’t help but tease him just a little, kissing his forehead. “Although, I can’t help but notice that you got to come twice, and I haven’t got to come at all.”

He blinked up at you, a sleepy smirk spreading across his face.

“Oh, I can fix that.” He said gruffly, eyes twinkling with mischief before he ducked his head under the covers.

It was gonna be a long night…

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[ipushhimback]

Hi!! I had an idea/request if you say.

Driver x Interviewer!Reader where the driver flirts a lot with them and makes their life slightly difficult but not bc they want to but bc they’ve been painfully in love with the reader for as long as they can remember. Ending is up to you!!

I wanted this to be based off RedBull!Sebastian Vettel like 2010-2011 but idk if you write for him. So any driver would be okay☺️

thanks @gguk-n for the request i really had so much fun writing this! i hope you like how i wrote it <3 but look!

pairing: franco colapinto warnings: none words: 1.3 k summary: you’re an f1 interviewer and franco has a crush on you…

You sprinted to the area where you would interview the drivers as you didn’t hear your alarm this morning - again - looking at your phone to read the notes your boss sent to you. The information contains which drivers you’ll be interviewing and what the most important questions to ask are.

”No fucking way!”, you exclaimed as you stopped in the middle of your little sprint. 

Franco Colapinto was on the list. He was going to drive this race weekend as Pierre broke his arm just about an hour again. 

It wasn’t as if Franco wasn’t a nice guy. He definitely was but he’s been flirting with you since the middle of the 2024 season when he stepped in for Logan at Williams and it has gotten extremely annoying when he started flirting with you in the cafeteria, at food trucks and even in interviews at some point!

You weren’t the only one he flirted with, you saw the interviews of other women being flirted with, and yeah, Franco was charming but when he flirted with you it was different. It didn’t seem like he just joked around. It seemed like he actually wanted to go on dates with you. You really appreciated it. Maybe it was even cute but after the fifth time rejecting him it just got annoying as fuck.

Shaking your head in disbelief you started running again. You couldn’t afford to be late to an interview if you didn’t want to be fired. 

“Y/N!!!!”, you heard a voice behind you. 

“Franco. What do you want? You’ll only be the third driver I’ll interview today…”

”Yes, I know. But look. I brought coffee for you. It is the one you always have. I guess. Wow your legs look so good in that dress with those shoes!.”

You just stared at him because that - bringing you your favorite coffee - was just adorable. But Franco must have seen your face, that was still grumpy thanks to the stress of overhearing your alarm, and immediately stressed. 

“Oh no. I brought you the wrong coffee, right? I am so so sorry. Should I get a new one? Which do you want? I can also bring tea or hot chocolate instead? Or alcohol?”, he said and you just got even more confused. Alcohol? It was only 10 in the morning…

You honestly didn’t have the energy for anything so you just turned around to walk away but stopped after only 3 steps and turned around. You walked back to Franco and grabbed the coffee he was still holding in his hand. Now you again turned around to walk away again. For real this time. 

The first drivers to be interviewed that day were Oscar Piastri, who was an amazing warm up thanks to his calm personality, and Lando Norris, who thank god was also still as tired as you so he was also calm and not like Franco, full of energy. 

Then it became serious. You saw Franco sprinting in your direction so you took a few deep breaths so you wouldn’t throw him in front of a bus. 

“Y/N!!! I am ready! Ask me anything! But first, I have another coffee. Did you like the coffee before? I also have a sandwich for you. But I didn’t make it myself. But I bought it myself. I saw you order it last time at the food truck.” 

Honestly you were really starting to believe that Franco was stalking you. This wasn’t normal. Someone who works with you shouldn’t know this much about your eating habits. Or drinking habits. Or any habits. And those compliments you got way too often from him? His record was seven compliments on a single day. And yes, you did count. 

“Uh… yeah… thanks… Let’s just start the interview, Franco”, you told him though he now looked a little sad while he was still holding the sandwich in his hand. You started feeling bad for him and you had to admit you really wanted to eat that sandwich so you grabbed the sandwich from him.

”Can we now start the interview?”, you repeated and you saw Franco’s face light up again.

”Ok. Just ask. I will answer it all”, he said enthusiastically as he took the mic you were handing to him. 

“So. Now that you are going to replace Pierre for at least the next five races, what are your goals for these?”, you asked him the first question.

”Definitely try to score points and proving I am a good driver so that I have good chances of getting into a team next year. And not just as a reserve driver”, Franco said and you couldn’t help that he was a little nervous as his accent, that got even stronger, gave him away. 

“Do you think you’ll get along with Jack well?”, was your next question for the two years younger driver.

”I certainly hope so. It is important to me and I think for him too. We will see. But yes I hope we will. Of course there is always somehow a rivalry. You want to beat the others to proof yourself but I think we will get along fine off the track”, the Argentine answered patiently, still grinning his signature grin. “You look really pretty today, by the way. Did you style your hair differently?”

“Ok.” You just said ignoring his compliment - you had to be professional - and just asked a couple more questions before the interview was over and Alex Albon, Franco’s former teammate, and Williams driver, was already waiting a few steps away, grinning like he had just won in the lottery. 

“Alex! What is going on? You got pole position for the race?”, you asked him, laughing. Alex has always been one of the drivers you got along best with. He never judged you when you came into F1 as an interwiewer at the age of 21. The last two years he has always supported you. 

“Nope. No pole position. Nothing going on”, he said but you didn’t quite believe him as he looked like he was trying not to laugh. You just hummed though and looked confused. After you turned back to grab a bite of your sandwich you looked even more confused as you saw Franco still standing there. 

“Franco? You can leave? The interview is finished”, you told him and sighed. 

“Oh… oh yeah. Sorry. I’ll leave”, Franco said running off as fast as he managed. 

You shook your head and turned back to Alex. 

“Come on, Albono. Your turn. Grab the mic.” 

Alex didn’t move. Not even a millimeter. 

”You really don’t realize it, do you?”, Alex said smirking. 

“Realize what? Can you just give me a little more information? I cannot read your mind yet. Haven’t learned that. If I had I wouldn’t be here asking y’all questions when you can’t even answer half of them”, you said somehow annoyed. 

“Y/N… I really love you but sometimes you are really an idiot. He brings you your favorite coffee. He brings you the sandwich you always order. He even makes sure you drink enough water!”

“Exactly! He can be so annoying! I just want to do my job and he is always there! It is as if he- oh…”, you stopped in the middle of the sentence. 

Alex just laughed and patted your head. 

“Looks like you finally used the thing in your head called brain.”

”I am such an idiot”, you said facepalming yourself. 

“Yeah sometimes you really are”, your friend just said. ”And now?”

”Now I don’t think he is a stalker anymore… All he did was just because he liked me! I guess I’ll have to talk to him. Tell him I am not interested.” 

***

An hour later you were finished with all the interviews and went to the Alpine garage where you found Franco almost immediately.

His face lit up and he grinned at you. 

In the end you didn’t walk out of the garage feeling sad because you rejected him but with a date in your calendar for the next day… 

a/n: i loved loved loved writing this it was so much fun! idk when i will manage to post next bc i have 4 exams plus the first part of my finals in the next 3 weeks so pls be patient! tags: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicqlivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r / @joannaln4 / @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy / @aleatorio1234 / @anayaverse / @htpssgavi

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely, how are you?? I hope you’re doing okay. First of all and most important I want to tell you how much I love your fics and your writing, they bring me so much comfort and you are truly a talent so ilysm. I wanted to ask you if you’d be up to write a poly!marauders x reader (I think request are open now but if I’m wrong dont mind this, sorry) where reader is just very overwhelmed and feels like everyone has a purpose in life (hobby, dream job etc) but reader feels like she hasn’t one, and she fears she will waste her life (if you think some of your others works are too similar then again dont worry :) ) anyway so sorry for the kinda long request (and not totally a rent, pfff…) I literally love you so much, have a great day/night🩷

Thanks for requesting angel <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Sirius can always be counted on for an unquestioning cuddle. You only had to enter the sitting room and lay yourself down on his lap, and he began playing with your hair as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Remus looked up from where he was reading in the chair next to you both, but ultimately he must have decided it was common enough behavior from you not to remark upon. 

It’s a nice day out. Sunny. James woke up and opened half the windows first thing, letting in the breeze and the smell of changing seasons. You were thinking earlier about finding an excuse to go lay about on some grass somewhere, but now you can’t be bothered. You turn your cheek to Sirius’ chest instead, soaking in the warmth that comes from him. 

“Darling,” he says after a while. 

“Yeah?” 

Sirius traces his pinkie finger along your hairline. “If we’re going to mope together, you’ve got to at least tell me what we’re moping about.” 

You very intentionally do not sigh. If you focus, you can feel his heart beating underneath your cheek. “We’re not moping.” 

“We’re not?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, good.” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone. You don’t dare look over to see if Remus is paying attention. “Let’s have a smile, then?” 

You’re reluctant to pick your head up, but you do, turning so Sirius can see you before stretching your lips until you feel your cheeks pushing up against your eyes. 

Sirius actually laughs. It’s so fond you can’t really hold it against him. 

He takes your face in his hands. “That’s good,” he says, kissing you right in the center of the stretch. “Really persuasive effort, lovely. Penny for your thoughts?” 

You hesitate. “I…” 

Sirius' grin fades as he realizes you’re serious. He keeps his eyes on yours, steady and encouraging. 

“I feel like I don’t really do much.” 

He frowns. “That’s not true.” 

“How do you mean, love?” Remus asks in a more considerate tone. He is paying attention, then. 

“Like…” Your face is still trapped in Sirius’ hands, but you find yourself looking away from him. “I just sort of go to work and come home, you know? I don’t have hobbies or…or aspirations or any of those things.” 

“All any of us do is go to work and come home,” Sirius argues. 

“No, you have other things. You have goals.” 

“You have goals. You were just saying you want to start stretching and become more flexible.” 

Your mouth tightens. “That’s not the same. That’s a small goal.” 

Sirius lets his hand drop from your face, stroking lightly down your arm. He looks genuinely perplexed. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“It’s not the same as having a purpose.” 

Your boyfriend’s eyebrows jump. “A purpose?” 

“Yeah,” you say. Your upset feels like it’s solidifying the more you put it into words. “I don’t do anything. My life doesn’t have any purpose.” 

“Well, hold on,” says Remus. He tents his book on the armrest of his chair, leaning forward to see you better. “That’s an awfully large leap to make.” 

“It’s true,” you say, embarrassment softening your voice halfway through. Both Remus and Sirius look displeased, but they don’t contradict you. You’re sitting in an elongated beat of silence when the front door opens. 

“I’ve brought juices!” 

It doesn’t quite make you smile, but something in you lightens as you and your boyfriends share a look. Ever since James got a membership to this new fancy gym, he can never leave without buying one of their overpriced wares. 

He’s stolen one of your headbands again. Sweaty hair pushed back from his face but flopping forward anyway as he bends to kiss Remus’ head, passing him a plastic cup of green juice. 

“Who wants the one with lots of ginger?” 

“I’ll take it,” you say, because you catch the face Sirius’ makes. James passes it to you. “Thanks.” 

“You know, I have a guest pass.” James slumps down beside you, sipping from his own juice. “If you still want to get more flexible, we could do a yoga class together sometime.” 

The ginger in your drink burns slightly as it goes down. How pathetic does it make you, that you mention one small goal to your boyfriends and suddenly that’s your whole life? How dull does it make you? 

“Jamie,” says Sirius, “what would you say your purpose in life is?” 

James nearly chokes on his juice. He coughs, Remus reaching over to pat him on the back. You feel culpable. 

“Sorry—that’s rather a lot for the morning, isn’t it? I usually keep my existential crises to the evenings.” 

Sirius grins wryly, nudging you where you sit between his legs. “Someone didn’t tell this one the rules.” 

“Oh.” When James realizes that the question has come from you and not as a result of some of Sirius’ mischievousness, he becomes more contemplative. “Hm. I suppose I usually tell myself that my purpose is to be happy, is that a good answer?” 

“I like that,” says Remus. He’s looking at James with a fond expression. “What about you, sweetheart, do you think that’s a good answer?” 

You shy at being put back on the spot. “Yeah,” you say. “It’s sweet. That’s a good one.” 

“I think it’s all we can do.” James shrugs. He’s obviously tired from the gym, sweat-damp clothes sticking to his skin, but with the light that comes in through the window shining on his face he does look like he’s fulfilling his purpose. His eyes are bright. “Try to enjoy life, I mean. Try to be happy, try to make other people happy, try to be good.” He smiles, cringing a bit at his own earnestness. “Why, what’ve you all been talking about?” 

Sirius and Remus are quiet. They’re letting you take the lead. You appreciate it and wish they wouldn’t at the same time, every word you try out too heavy on your tongue. 

“I’ve just been feeling like,” you say after a handful of moments, “I’m sort of wasting my life by not having some higher aspiration or something. Like, I don’t do very much, and I’m not unhappy, but I don’t want to just…never do anything with my life. I don’t know what I would do, though.” 

You keep making your boyfriends frown. James’ expression isn’t quite that, but he’s not smiling either. 

“I don’t think it’s fair to say you’re wasting your life,” he says. “You’re…we love you, and you love us, right? And there’s other people who you love and they love you back, too. That’s a good life purpose, isn’t it, to love? I don’t see how anything can be a waste if you have that.” 

Your throat constricts. Sirius gets his arm around your middle, squeezing. 

“That’s a good answer,” you admit. 

James’ cheek dimples. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius gives you a very thorough cuddle after that. You pretend to be neither embarrassed nor overly needy about it, though you’re both. James attempts to do the same to Remus, who only allows it for a minute before ushering James towards the shower. You finish your juice and then Sirius’ too. 

When James sees you looking contemplative again during your yoga class together the next week, he comes out of child’s pose to kiss you sweetly on your head and tell you he’s proud of you. You feel deeply loved.

[softtdaisy]

Heyyy congrats on the 2k 💌

I wanted to request charles leclerc with birds of a feather by billie eilish some sort of high school sweetheart thing if you could

Thank you 💞

summary. Five times Charles realized you were his soulmate; one time he told you.

words count. 2 954

song. birds of a feather by billie eolith

a/n. I really hope this is what you expected, I got inspired in a very soft and sweet way and I had a lot of fun writing it so hopefully you love it 🩷

PARTICIPATE IN MY 2K CELEBRATION

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

1. The celebration

Growing up with Charles, you always got the feeling you would spend the rest of your life with him. You couldn’t explain it. 

Sure, you didn’t want to imagine a life where you wouldn’t get to see your best friend every single day. Even if it was just for a brief phone call that lasted only two minutes. When you two started dating, it became more obvious that you wouldn’t want to have another lover than Charles. 

But more than that, it was like you two were made to be together. And the universe seemed to enjoy proving it to you with silly things. 

Charles was the first one to point it out.

The first time he noticed that you two seemed to get good news at the same moment was during his first F2 season. You followed him to Bahrain to watch the first race. Making sure to be there to celebrate when he won the sprint race for the very first time. The following Monday, you got a call from the company of your dreams asking for an interview.

The next race in Barcelona a month later, when Charles won his first feature race, the same company called back to announce they were hiring you. 

Charles didn’t say a thing. But he noticed how this kept happening every single time. And when it was something related to the both of you, you were always together to hear it. You learned you got the apartment of your dreams during a casual footing and got the adoption paper for your dog right when Charles walked through the door.

Until one day, years after his F2 season, he finally slipped it out. 

“Don’t you find it funny how we always celebrate good things happening to us at the same moment?” He asked you suddenly, having nothing to do with the precedent subject.  

Charles had invited you to a restaurant in Italy after he achieved another win at Monza. Something that happened right after your boss had praised you for something you’ve been working on for weeks now.

You laughed at the thought. “What’s your theory?” But he could tell from your look that you weren’t making fun of him but were simply amused by the situation. That was very much true, now that you thought about it. 

“I don’t know,” he started, drinking his wine. “I just guess we were meant to be.”

“Because you doubt it?”

Charles stayed silent for a second, just appreciating the view in front of him. You. You were the best view. You, always so happy by his side, you that seemed so perfectly made for him. Like two pieces of a puzzle that only worked together.

He leaned towards you, his hand moving to your face to cup your cheek. You loved how when he did that, his thumb was always caressing your skin. Every single time. A habit so natural for him. 

“Never,” he smiled before giving you the sweetest kiss. 

2. The text

“Tu te rends compte que t’es vraiment niais?” Pierre laughed at his friend.

Charles rolled his eyes at the remark. He might be a little silly or cheesy when it comes to you; he might even be proud of it. He had no reason not to be when he was so happy and in love with you.

The two have been hanging out in the hotel, looking for some calm after the qualifying day. Charles got the pole, and with Pierre in the top 3, the two have been asked absolutely everywhere. He didn’t have the time to call you.

You had a hard time following him everywhere this season but always managed to be there as much as possible in any other way. You didn’t want to make him feel less supported—even if it was something that could never cross his mind.

“Let me be in love, dude,” Charles replied with a laugh that only made Pierre laugh even harder. He put his hands up in a defensive way because he learned after all these years of seeing you together that there was something he could do to stop Charles from being a pure lover boy with you.

Charles had just hung up from a phone call with his mom, who called right when he arrived there. With the time difference, he waited for you to finish the lunch you had today. The thing was, Charles knew that if he sent you a text right when he was out of the circuit, you would have put everything aside for him. 

Sometimes you both fight about putting each other first. Most of these fights were silly; just each one of you wanted to prove you were the best at this. But you already argued about how this mustn't become toxic for either of you. You didn't want to reach a point where you loved each other so much you forgot about your own life. 

And so he waited a minute. One single minute. Before he sent his text.

“Tell me when you’re free so I can call you, honey.” 

And right when his message appeared on screen, yours did too.

“It’s over, mon amour; you can call when you want.” 

Charles’ cheek turned red at the sight.

It wasn’t the first time you both managed to send texts at the exact same time. Sometimes it made sense, like right now, because you were both waiting to call each other. But most of the time, it couldn’t be predicted. Charles could even remember how many times you both managed to send each other the sky from where you were, your food, or an “OMG, I need to tell you something!!” with a few seconds apart. 

He knew you screened most of them, finding it so funny. And he was glad that there was proof it wasn’t all in his head.

“No way, it happened again?” Pierre said, looking over at Charles' phone to see that indeed it happened again. “You two share the same brain at that point; there is no other explanation.” 

Charles got up, ready to dial your number. “I think we do, yes,” he replied with a soft smile. Because he loved the idea of being so similar. 

3. The crowd

Fratelli d'Italia was playing again in the circuit. Charles was having one of the best seasons in his career, but he would never ever get tired of hearing the Italian anthem playing. And mostly seeing the team, his friends, and his family singing it from the top of their lungs.

It hasn’t been an easy race, and multiple times, he really thought he would have to DNF. If he was in some silly romcom, he was so sure that it would have been the moment Fred would have asked you to give him some motivational words on the radio. But that wasn’t possible, and well, that was probably for the better because Charles wasn’t so sure how he would react to hearing your voice during the race.

Yet, the idea of you being in the circuit for one of the few races of the season you could come to was helpful. Sure, Charles never relied only on your presence here to do great results. But he would be lying if he said it was a plus to know that somewhere, you were there looking for him.

And that when he would win, you would be around to celebrate it with him.

The thing was, being such a massively appreciated driver, Charles didn’t really find the time to celebrate with you before going on the podium. All the mechanics ran to him; his teammate chatted with him until they both went to the podium. 

Some may have noticed he frowned during the anthem, just for one millisecond. 

Because there was one thing Charles was good at.

It was finding you in a crowd of thousands of people.

His hand was still on his heart while singing the anthem with everyone. Something you were doing too. But Charles never stopped looking at you. You were his anchor. 

When the anthem stopped, the applause started. Charles knew he had a window of only a few seconds to do what he wanted. And he took it.

“I love you,” he mouthed with a big smile on his face. You could see him on the screen. And so did the world. But it didn’t matter. 

Because this was one of his favorite moments. How the world seemed to stop. It was only you and him. 

And if Charles couldn’t really see it, he knew that you said it back. He could tell. Each one of your I love you's always went directly to his heart. And it never missed its shot. This one didn’t either.

Like in the end, your love was always meant to be directed to him in the first place. Just his was to you too. 

4. The trend

You weren’t the biggest fan of the “wag” thing. Sure, you were one. That was undeniable at that point. But since you started dating Charles before he was an F1 driver, you sometimes had a difficult time getting used to being treated like one.

The photographers who were running to get a picture of you when you arrived at the circuit, the fans asking for selfies, the edit made of you and Charles together. And that was without talking about all the comments and remarks, positive and negative, made about you. 

So most of the time, you were putting social media aside and trying to forget the world knew about you because of your couple.

But sometimes, you can't escape them. Especially when the trend was fun and you had a good time looking at it.

“Did you know we were compatible on so many levels?” you asked Charles from the bedroom. 

You were lying on your bed, wearing a too-big Ferrari merch shirt from last year that was perfect to chill—and to flirt with Charles, who could resist you even less when you were wearing his color. 

You looked up and laughed when he passed only his face through the bathroom door, his toothbrush still in his mouth. “What did you mean?” he mumbled. But he was quick to rush to the sink to rinse his mouth. 

So you waited until he sat back next to you, his head on your shoulder, to look at your phone to give him an explanation.

“The fans,” you started again, a hand falling on his naked thighs to caress his skin, “they used a trend that’s going on right now about showing how people are compatible on different levels.”

You put on a video that you saw earlier about you two. Charles watched as he saw what the fans used to prove you two were made to be together. Your astrological signs, your birth date, similar features you shared, a beauty mark you shared that you had no idea how people noticed in the first place. Some were funny; others were more serious.

But the global idea was that the whole world was convinced Charles and you were made to be together. 

One video even called you soulmate.

“At this point, I’m pretty sure we can’t break up or the universe will explode.” You laughed, watching yet another video about that.

But Charles was only looking at you. 

He was pretty sure that his universe would explode if he ever lost you.

5. The flirt

“Charles, I need you to meet someone!” he heard his agent say.

To say that Charles wasn’t that pleased to be at this party was an understatement. The season was more tiring, and he couldn’t wish for anything less than just a night of peace in his hotel room. He felt like everyone around here wanted a piece of him, and he couldn’t keep enough energy to have a chat with you these days.

He loved his job; he loved this championship, but how he wanted a break from all of this.

Yet, Charles kept a smile on his face when he turned around and saw the person his agent wanted him to meet so badly. He recognized her from god knows which campaign his sponsor did these past weeks. She was a model. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a very polite tone. He offered his hand, trying to keep some distance. Sadly, Charles knew that each one of his movements was analyzed, and he didn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.

He hated the moment when you weren’t there and haters started to think it was some proof you weren’t a thing anymore. Because as soon as he was pictured with anybody, especially women, they would become some love interest in a story that didn’t exist. 

It turned out it was Charles who was soon uncomfortable when the model kept his hand in hers and started to caress it. “It’s a real pleasure,” she whispered, like it was a secret.

But he didn’t want to share a secret with anyone but you.

When he moved his hand to get it free, the model groaned. Charles didn’t get it, because it would have been a very inappropriate reaction for simply releasing his hand. But then he noticed how she was rubbing her palm. “You pinched my skin with your ring.”

He looked down at his hand. And couldn’t contain the smile when he realized it wasn’t any ring that hurt her by accident. 

It was the one you offered him for your anniversary, a month ago. The last time you talked about getting engaged, you both agreed that this was too soon and you would rather wait for him to achieve his dream. So the whole wedding organization wouldn’t be impacted by the craziness of the season.

“I can marry you at 20, 30, 50, or 70; I don’t care, Charles. As long as I have you in my life forever.” You told him when you discussed it.

Yet, you loved the idea of him wearing a ring that proved he was yours. And he couldn’t blame you since he did it multiple times in the past already, always happy to spend his money on his love for you.

“Sorry,” he said in a hurry, already taking his phone in his hand to send you a text. 

Right when he sent you a “I won’t believe what just happened.” He received a “I hope your party is going well!”

You were there. All the time. Even when you weren’t. 

+1 

“Un discours, un discours!” You heard everyone sing in the room, asking your boyfriend to finally make the speech he promised he would do but still hasn’t.

You turned around to see him and watched as his cheeks turned a beautiful and very red color—how appropriate to celebrate his title with Ferrari. You put your hand on his shoulder to lean closer to him and couldn’t resist kissing his cheek, adding a new tint of red to it. But mostly, as you expected, to see him chill at your touch.

“Go ahead, mon amour; they are waiting for you.” You told him, still bringing your thumb to his skin to wipe away your lipstick. You loved teasing him, but you still weren’t the mark-your-territory type of girlfriend. “You won the championship; I’m sure you can make this speech.”

“You better be right on this one,” he laughed, still not sure he could do it. Especially not after the multiple champagne glasses he drank tonight. 

But still, Charles got up, smoothed his shirt, and put a kiss in your hair before walking to the center of the room. He gave his mother a genuine smile, but his eyes fell on you one last time. It was like the kiss you blew him at that moment went straight to his heart from the way he sighed and finally turned to his guests.

“We fucking did it, guys!” Charles said loudly in the microphone, causing everyone to scream and applaud at the memory that yes, finally, il predestinato gave Ferrari its title.

And so Charles started to thank everyone in the team, making sure to not forget a single person. Making sure everyone in this room knew how grateful he was that he had been so well looked after this past year. You watched as he took the time to look at the person he said the name to every time and how he was taking the time to say a nice word about them. 

You feel the tears growing in your eyes when he talks about his family. Reminding him of the old days back in Monaco and how far he had come to achieve his dream. 

And then you heard your name. 

“And you,” he started, landing his eyes on you. He waited a second, making sure he wasn’t the only one looking at you. Making sure the whole room knew who you were—even if it had become almost impossible for them to ignore you. “I would have never, ever, done half of this without you. Having you by my side all these years and these past months has been the biggest encouragement. I love you, mon amour.”

Everyone got up and started to applaud, you included. Because of this, most of them didn’t notice Charles open his mouth again. They missed the smile on his face, all the love that came from it, or the look he was giving you at that moment. And mostly, they missed the last sentence of his speech.

Or maybe that was his plan from the beginning. 

“You’re my soulmate.”

[ldydeath]

Last Night | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You and Jiyong go to a party but can’t remember the events of the night before. Word Count: 1.6k Warnings:  none! Author’s Note: this was requested from a prompt list found here! If there’s any others you see that you want done, feel free to send in a request.

Sunlight peaked in through the windows and you let out a groan as you placed a hand over your eyes. Everything hurt. How much had you drank the night before? You threw the blanket off you and moved your arm, hitting something hard. Confusion filled your brain and you turned your head, your brows crinkling in confusion as you spotted Jiyong laying next to you. What the fuck? Why was he in your bed? You pulled the blankets down slightly, relief pop washing over you as you saw him fully clothed.

“What are you doing?” He mumbled, eyes still closed as a small smirk spread across his face. 

“Nothing.” You moved your hand away from him, finally pushing yourself out of the bed. “What are you doing in my bed?” 

“Huh, dunno. Must’ve passed out here while I was fighting to get you to lay down.” Jiyong’s eyes popped open as he moved to sit up. “Nope, bad idea.” He shook his head plopping back down. 

“That was the last bigbang party I ever go to.” You rolled your eyes getting out of bed and making your way to the bathroom. 

Flipping on the light, you squinted your eyes, adjusting to the lights. Your makeup  was smudged across your face, your hair a mess and you rolled your eyes at yourself. Real fucking cute. 

After running  some water over your face, you smoothed out your hair before heading back into your room. 

You took a second to take in the sight of your best friend, sprawled out across your bed and your stomach flipped. You’d always found him attractive, who wouldn’t? But there was something so domestic about him being in your bed. You wouldn’t mind waking up next to him every day. 

“What happened last night?” You asked as you moved to sit next to him. 

“I really don’t remember much after Seunghyun started passing around the wine.” 

You groaned thinking back to how much you’d drank the night before. You were going to have to kill Seunghyun the next time you saw him.  Fishing around in your nightstand you pulled out a bottle of Tylenol and dumped four into your hand. 

“Here.” You gave two to Jiyong and downed yours, hoping the relief would come instantly. 

“Thanks.” He followed suit, finally moving to sit up. “There is something else that happened last night.”

“Oh?” You turned to face him. “What?” 

“Pretty sure we kissed.” He smirked, leaning his head against your headboard.

“What? No we didn’t.” But as the words left your lips the memories of then night before came flooding back. 

—-

The end of the Made Tour was being celebrated in style, everyone who was anyone was at the after party. This was the last time everyone would be together before Seunghyun’s enlistment started and everyone was trying to enjoy the night. 

It was no surprise that Jiyong and Seunghyun were partying the hardest, they always did. Even if the later couldn’t handle his liquor. You were standing in a small circle with Daesung and the girls from 2NE1 when you heard your name. 

“Hey hey, try this!” Jiyong’s bounced over to you, a cup in hand. 

“What is it?” You asked, taking the cup from him. He gave you a mischievous look but didn’t answer you.  You took a small sip and nearly spit it out. “That’s disgusting.” 

Jiyong let out a laugh before taking the cup back. “You were supposed to shoot it, see.” He downed the cup and walked off. 

“There’s something wrong with him.” You mumbled turning your attention back to the group. 

“You’re both so into each other.” Chaerin grinned at you and you shook your head.

“No. What? Come on, we’re just best friends.” You knew your words weren’t super convincing and you excused yourself from the group.

Was it really that obvious that you liked him? You’d been trying the entire tour to keep it under wraps. You both had so much to deal with, the last you needed was to be rejected by him on top of it. 

“Why the long face?” The deep voice of your other best friend cut through the noise and you looked up to see Seunghyun standing over you, drink in hand.

“Is that the nasty shot Jiyong just gave me?” He shook his head handing you the drink. 

You inspected it closely before taking a sip, relieved to find it was just wine and Seunghyun moved to sit next to you. You two sat silently together for awhile, watching the party happen around you as you sipped from your drinks. Every so often your eyes would find Jiyong amongst the crowd and you’d tear them away before he’d notice you staring. Seunghyun saw it everytime and smirked into his drink. 

“You should tell him how you feel.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mumbled into your cup. 

Seunghyun wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you closer and traded out your empty cup with his full one.

“I’m best friends with you both, it’s my job to know how you two feel. And I can assure you, he feels the same way. Kind of annoying how he doesn’t shut up about you.” He teased.

Your head was reeling at this news. You really were obvious about your feelings for him. You don’t even know when they changed, but one day you’d woken up and realized you were in love with him. And apparently he felt the same way. You downed the rest of your drink, your eyes finding Jiyong’s in the crowd.

“I gotta go.” You slurred as you stood up. 

You stumbled across the room, your eyes staying locked with Jiyong’s. He raised a brow at you as you came to stop in front of him. You stared at him for a moment, fully planning to tell him how you felt about him. Instead your head moved closer to him and before you knew it your lips were in his. 

Jiyong’s eyes widened before he closed them slowly, wrapping his arms around you to steady you. He knew he should stop you, but he’d been waiting so long for this moment, never quite finding the courage to tell you how he felt. Your lips parted and he moved to deepen the kiss, your tongue massaging his. 

As if remembering you were at a party, you finally came to your senses and pulled back, eyes opening slowly. You bit down on your lip as your eyes met Jiyong’s, you had no explanation for what you’d just done. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Jiyong nodded slowly, grabbed your hand and led you out of the party. 

——

“Fuck.” You whispered. Your fingers rubbing on your temples. 

“Hey, come on. From what I remember it was a pretty good kiss.”  Jiyong teased. He reached over to move your hand away from your face.

Your heart race increased as your felt his touch and you pulled your hand away from his as his eyes locked with yours. It had been a really good kiss and damn it if you didn’t want to do it again. As if on instinct you moved closer to him. Jiyong met you in the middle, his lips on yours hungrily. 

“Jiyong, wait.” You panted, pulling away from him. As he moved to sit back you licked your lips. “I just have something I need to say. Before we continue.” 

“Ok.” Jiyong nodded, looking at you intently.

“I kissed you last night because I’m uh…I’m in love with you. And I guess I was too drunk to say it then. I’m not no and I just really needed you to know that.” Jiyong slid his hand across the bed, resting it on top of yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m in love with you too, have been for a long time.” He grinned his signature grin at you and you were putty in his hands.

Your mouth latched back onto his, trying to show him just how much you loved him. In one swift movement. Jiyong’s hands ran down your legs before moving you to straddle his lap. Your hands moved to tangle in his hair and he broke the kiss, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down your neck before reconnecting with your mouth. You two stayed like that for what felt like forever, but your phones buzzed causing you to step back into reality. 

Sooo how was your night? 

It was a group text from Seunghyun to the two of you and Jiyong let out a chuckle, pulling you closer to him as he typed back a response. 

Fine? Nothing to report here. 

Oh? Huh. Thought after that kiss you two would’ve gone home together. 

Oh. We did. I slept on the couch though.  You giggled as you read the exchange. 

Oh ok. Whatever losers see you for dinner in a few.

You placed your phone down letting out a sigh, completely forgetting about the group dinner tonight. Jiyong was in no hurry to move, his arm staying around you, drawing lazy circles on your shoulder. 

“You wanna go with me tonight? As my girlfriend?” He chanced a look at you, suddenly feeling nervous, as if this question was harder to ask than admitting his feelings for you. 

“I would love to!” You grinned, turning to plant a soft kiss on his check. “We don’t tell Seunghyun until tomorrow.” Jiyong laughed, nodding his head.

“Agreed.” He let go of you, reluctantly and stood up from the bed. “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.” He held his hand out for you, which you took eagerly before following him into the bathroom. 

You two still had a few hours before the evening's activities started and Jiyong planned to show you just how much he loved you over and over again. He didn’t care if you made it to dinner at all, at this point. He just wanted to spend as much time with you as he possibly could.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @aloss-forjess-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren @eru-vande @sherrayyyyy @gdinthehouseee

[whosashan]

Hello, hi! Sorry for my bad english.

Can I request Jealous!MC where there’s a new colleague whom everyone respects (lets say shes only in Linkon for a week for a short mission) but MC sees how that colleague lowkey and subtly flirts with Xavier? (y’know how guys can be dense at times)

he sets boundaries though, it’s just “colleague” tries to push her luck— for the ending m not so sure, how about Xavier catches on and bluntly turns her down and makes it up for MC? :3

thank you!!!!!! you r very talented🫶🫶🫶

Me? Jealous?

PAIRING: Xavier x mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching your new coworker grow a little too familiar with your boyfriend sent a sharp, unwelcome heat curling in your chest—an emotion you’d never dare to name, let alone admit.

A/N: Thank you for the request. I twisted it a little, so hope you won't mind. I'm not really good at writing jealousy-related stuff, but I hope I'll get better with time!! Hope you enjoy!

Xavier - your sweet, devoted lover. A man of quiet strength and effortless charm, wrapped in an air of aloof detachment that only made people want to be closer to him.

Somehow, despite his reserved nature, he had a gravitational pull. Perhaps it was his unshaken confidence, the way he moved with the quiet assurance of a skilled hunter who had nothing to prove. Or maybe it was that face—carved with sharp angles and softened by golden strands that always seemed to fall just right. Whatever the reason, people wanted him close.

You never minded. In fact, you were proud. Admired, respected—a man like that was yours, after all. And Xavier was never one to indulge in unnecessary conversations or fleeting acquaintances. His world was small, intimate, built on a foundation of loyalty and shared trust. You had never been given a reason to worry.

Until now.

Standing next to Tara, your stomach twisted as your gaze locked onto the scene unfolding across the room.

A woman—tall, poised, exuding an effortless confidence—stood by Xavier’s desk, leaning in just enough to blur the lines between casual and intentional. She had the look of someone who had never been denied, her gaze slow and deliberate as it traced the sharp lines of his face before slipping lower, taking in every inch of him like he was something to be appraised.

Like he was something to be claimed.

Your jaw tightened.

She wasn’t subtle. Her eyes lingered, drinking him in like a fine wine, her expression betraying nothing but intrigue and unspoken intent. If you didn’t know any better, you would have mistaken her for a predator, circling its prey with the patience of something that had never known hunger.

“Who the hell is that?” Tara’s voice was low, hushed, but tinged with the same disbelief you felt.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

“She’s the hunter Jenna assigned for the new mission,” Simone’s voice cut in, her sudden presence making you jolt. “They say she’s one of the best in the field.”

Your lips parted slightly. “The captain of the aviation department?”

Simone nodded, watching your expression carefully.

She was young for such a high-ranking position, but that wasn’t what unsettled you. What unsettled you was the way she carried herself—like she already knew the outcome of a game you hadn’t even realized you were playing.

And the worst part? Xavier seemed oblivious.

His responses were polite, clipped, maintaining the professionalism expected of him when speaking to a superior. He didn’t return her lingering gaze, didn’t acknowledge the subtle shifts in her tone, the way her lips curved when he spoke.

And yet, it still made your blood simmer.

You hated it—the feeling curling in your chest, the way it coiled around your ribs like something dark and unspoken. You didn’t want to name it. Didn’t want to admit that, for the first time, you felt something dangerously close to threatened.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Xavier. Quite the opposite.

It was her.

"She’s supposed to be here for a week or so,” Simone added, eyeing you warily as if she had just glimpsed a side of you she wasn’t quite sure how to handle.

Tara shot her a nervous glance. You didn’t miss the way they exchanged looks, as if silently agreeing that this was unfamiliar territory—you were unfamiliar territory.

Finally, your feet moved before your mind had time to catch up.

You wove through the room with careful, measured steps, every movement precise, controlled. By the time you reached Xavier’s side, you had already tucked away the wildfire burning beneath your skin, smoothing out the edges of your expression into something unreadable.

Xavier turned at your approach, and in an instant, everything about him changed.

His guarded expression softened, his posture easing as that rare, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Warm. Familiar. Yours.

The woman noticed.

“Ah, Y/N.” Her voice was smooth, practiced. She straightened slightly, taking you in with an unreadable gaze. “I’ve heard about you.”

Your eyes met hers, searching, assessing.

“All good things, I hope?” Your words were polite, but there was something beneath them—something carefully measured, just shy of warning.

She didn’t answer. Not really. Instead, a slow smirk curled at her lips, her amusement flickering like the first embers of a fire.

She turned back to Xavier, dismissing you entirely.

“Well, Xavier,” she mused, her voice taking on a honeyed lilt, “I hope you’ll consider my proposition.”

And then she walked away, hips swaying just enough to make her intentions clear.

Your fingers curled at your sides.

“What was that about?” You turned to Xavier, making no effort to hide the edge in your voice.

He blinked, glancing between you and the retreating figure. “…She wanted to meet up to discuss something about the mission.”

Casual. Dismissive. Utterly oblivious.

Xavier reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin in that familiar, grounding way. It was instinctive, absentminded, as if he had done it a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again.

It was enough to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. Almost.

Because while you trusted Xavier implicitly, one thing was certain:

You were not about to let someone like her think she had a chance.

And with the welcome party set for later that week—a gathering meant to formally introduce the aviation captain to the association - it was the perfect moment to make sure she knows he's yours.

Yes. This was going to be fun.

...

Having heard about the party, you weren’t about to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. This was your chance to ensure the captain understood something crystal clear—Xavier was not, and never would be, one of her playthings.

With Tara and Simone’s help, you looked nothing short of lethal. Your makeup was flawless, enhancing every sharp edge and soft curve of your features, making you appear both untouchable and irresistibly tempting. Your hair was styled to perfection, cascading in a way that made you feel like a walking temptation, and your skin glowed with the scent of the perfume Xavier adored—the one that always seemed to awaken something predatory in him, darkening his gaze whenever you wore it.

And the pièce de résistance? A dress—the dress. Baby blue, the color of summer skies and lingering daydreams. It clung in all the right places, teasing with just enough skin to drive anyone who laid eyes on you to the brink of madness, yet leaving enough to the imagination to make them crave more. You knew the effect it had on Xavier. Knew the way his eyes darkened, how his hands twitched as if resisting the urge to pull you close and claim you on the spot.

And tonight, you planned on making sure everyone knew it too.

You had chosen to surprise him, arriving separately so he wouldn’t have a chance to drag you back to the safety of his arms before you had even stepped through the door.

The club was dimly lit, pulsing with the deep bass of music that thrummed beneath your skin. The scent of alcohol, expensive cologne, and faint traces of smoke clung to the air, mixing with the hum of conversation. Association members littered the room, some drinking, others caught in quiet discussions about missions and assignments.

And then you saw him.

Xavier was easy to spot—even in a crowded room, he stood out like something carved from myths, his golden hair catching the glow of the overhead lights. Dressed in his usual understated yet effortlessly attractive manner, he leaned against the bar, engaged in polite conversation.

But then his eyes found yours.

For a moment, he stilled.

And then—oh.

It was subtle at first. The slight parting of his lips, the way his grip on his drink tightened ever so slightly. His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, before snapping back to your face, sharp and hungry. If he had been holding a conversation, you wouldn’t have known—it was as if the world had ceased to exist around him, leaving only you.

Your lips curled into a knowing smile as you strode toward him, reveling in the way his pupils dilated, his usual composure slipping for just a fraction of a second.

You were used to catching Xavier’s attention. But tonight? Tonight, he was absolutely enthralled.

And of course—your lovely new colleague took notice.

She had dressed for the occasion as well, a deep crimson gown hugging her form, exuding confidence. Perhaps she had the same plan you did—to steal Xavier’s attention, to lure him in with beauty and presence.

But she had made one miscalculation.

Xavier’s attention wasn’t hers to steal.

You reached him just as she did, her voice silky as she tilted her head, a charming smile gracing her lips. “Xavier, I must say, you clean up well.”

Xavier, who had just barely managed to tear his gaze from you, turned toward her with his usual polite indifference. “Thank you, Captain.”

She placed a hand on the bar beside him, inching just a little too close, feigning casual conversation. “You know, I never did get a proper answer about my earlier proposal. A meeting—just the two of us. I think we could make an excellent team.”

Your blood simmered. The sheer audacity.

But before you could even open your mouth, Xavier did something that made your heart skip a beat.

He stepped back. Just enough to create space, his movements smooth yet unmistakably intentional.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice calm but firm, “but I’ll have to decline. I don’t mix work with anything that could be… misinterpreted.”

The captain faltered for a fraction of a second, clearly not expecting such a direct rejection.

Still, she recovered quickly, letting out a light laugh, as if amused rather than deterred. “Oh? And here I thought you’d at least consider it.”

Xavier’s gaze flickered toward you then—brief, knowing, filled with something warm and unshaken. And then, with the faintest hint of amusement lacing his voice, he spoke again.

“There’s nothing to consider.”

The words were final. A dismissal. A line drawn in stone.

The captain seemed to realize that any further attempts would be futile. With one last lingering glance, she lifted her drink to her lips, her expression unreadable, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

You exhaled, finally allowing yourself to breathe.

And then—Xavier’s hand was on your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him.

“Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, edged with something darker, something teasing.

You tilted your head up at him, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Maybe. Though, I was a little concerned for a second there.”

Xavier’s lips twitched, his free hand tracing idle circles against your lower back. “Oh?”

You smirked, eyes gleaming with something playful. “I mean, she’s confident, gorgeous, highly respected—”

Xavier cut you off with a quiet scoff, his thumb brushing over the exposed skin of your waist. “So are you.”

Your laughter was soft, but before you could say anything more, he leaned down, his lips ghosting just below your ear.

“I only see you,” he murmured. “I only want you.”

A slow shiver ran down your spine.

You turned to face him fully then, hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “Good.”

He smirked. “Good?”

You leaned in, your lips just barely brushing his before whispering, “Because you’re mine.”

Xavier’s breath hitched—just barely, just enough for you to catch it—before he let out a quiet chuckle, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I am.”

And with that, he kissed you—slow and deep, in a way that left no room for doubt.

A statement. A promise.

And a reminder to anyone who had dared to think otherwise.