#I've been on edge all month tbh

[boyapologist]

I really really don't wanna fly tomorrow

[trashytracktales]

Hey! Please do a lando x ex!reader. They break up after a lot of arguments due to being away from each other so much and then they meet a few months later and hook up. Like angst in the beginning then lots of smut.

If it's meant to fall apart | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I was actually planning to write something similar for so long. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it 🤍

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𐙚 summary ──── Surprisingly, months apart haven’t dulled the connection between them. After a night of passion and honesty on both sides, maybe there is a future where they can make all the right decisions, after all.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, lots of angst & back-and-forth, fluff & smut, teasing, praising, explicit language, unprotected sex, mention of alcohol and drinking, swearing, not the healthiest relationship I've ever written tbh (the toxicity is implicit tho), overstimulation, pussy-drunk Lando, Max F. & Ethan aka FEEFA cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 10.6k (Thank you to everyone who voted on this poll I posted the other day, I didn’t expect to see so many 🥺).

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 27, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys, look. I know it's A LOT 🥴 I kinda let myself run with this one because I haven't posted anything in like a week or so. I still have 2 requests I'm working on, so don't give up on me yet 🤞🏻

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SHE'S NOT ENTIRELY sure how long they’ve been dancing, but she hasn't finished her drink yet. Time feels like an illusion, blurring the edges of her vision with every new rhythm of the night. For the first time in months, she feels a little lighter, her friends’ energy pulling her out of her own head — and apartment, where she locked herself in after the break-up.

The club is packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a sea of drunken, sweaty chaos. Neon lights bounce off every surface, painting the room in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. It's not usually her style — not anymore — but she figured it won't hurt to let lose for a couple of hours.

It’s only when she steps away from the dance floor, her feet hurting and her head buzzing, that she spots him.

Why tonight, of all nights?

Why here, of all places?

Why him, of all people?

He’s leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, chatting with a few familiar faces. Faces that she can't help but miss.

She stopped talking to Max — well, Max stopped talking to her after ending things with Lando, too upset that she toyed with his best friend's heart for ‘no apparent reason’. Their friendship dissolved under pressure, fragile as a cheap plastic cup in the grip of sulfuric acid. But Max wasn't the only one who took it personally. That's why she needed to cut ties with everyone from her past. She needed new friends — her own friends —, she needed a new place and new clothes, and to rebrand herself from scratch. Which she did.

She thought she had made it through, but the past has its twisted ways of coming back when you least expect it.

Now, the sight of him, so vivid and real, makes her chest tighten.

She stops in place, hoping he doesn’t notice her, but then his eyes flick in her direction and, for a brief moment, neither of them blinks, the noise around them fading into a dull murmur.

He straightens slightly, his relaxed posture gone as his brows knit together. There’s something unreadable in his body language — surprise? Excitement? Confusion? Pain? She doesn’t know, but it mirrors the knot twisting in her stomach.

Her friends call out to her, pulling her attention briefly, and when she looks back, he’s still staring. Except now, he’s moving, weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Oh, hell no.

Her heart starts to race, a mix of adrenaline and something far more complicated than fear, as she rushes to walk away; she's fought for far too long, and now her instinct is to fly as soon as she senses danger.

Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

“Hey,” says Lando when he gets closer, his voice low but audible over the music.

Hearing him gives her goosebumps, hating the way her body is betraying her. It’s been months since she’s heard his voice, but it still hits her the same way: sharp and unrelenting.

She turns around, forcing a smile, “Hi, Lando,” she manages, her voice steadier than she feels, thinking she should try acting if she makes it out alive from this encounter.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his tone careful, yet extremely suggestive.

It makes her stomach twist again.

He used that line the very first night they met, his boyish grin lit by the dim, flickering lights of another club, in another city. Potentially another life, she's not sure. She remembers the way he had leaned in, so full of confidence and asked the same exact question with a mischievous glint in his eye.

It feels too deliberate now, too heavy with the weight of their past for her to ignore.

“All set,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended, as she raises her half-full glass in her hand. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re strangers meeting for the first time. Except they’re not, and their history is hanging heavily in the air between them.

Lando nods, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “How about this, let me join you for that drink?”

She takes a look to where her friends are dancing, then she turns back to him, “I'm here with my friends.”

It's a pathetic excuse, she knows that. But she has no time to think of something else. Not when her brain is suddenly all scrambled and can't form a single coherent thought.

Lando frowns, disappointed, but not willing to give up that easy. “Come on, just a quick catch-up and then you can go back to your friends. Mine won't mind,” he shrugs, pointing at the bar, where the others are following their every move like a bunch of curious minions.

She catches Max lifting his glass in her direction, and Ethan, waving frantically.

Against her better judgment, she nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “Let's catch up,” she spits the words, sounding a bit too sarcastic. Still, it makes Lando smile.

His shoulders relax slightly, relief softening the tension in his body. He gestures toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the pounding bass and the sea of bodies. His first instinct was to take her hand in his, but since that's over the line, Lando keeps looking back, making sure she follows him. And she does. Like a naive, lost puppy that hasn't learned a single thing in the past five months, apparently.

The crowd surges around them, chaotic and loud, and before she can react, someone stumbles into her, their elbow catching her arm. As a result, she's thrown off balance, her feet slipping on the slick floor. Gasping, she's bracing for the inevitable fall that… never comes.

Lando’s hand shoots out, catching her waist and pulling her upright. His grip is firm, grounding, and suddenly she’s pressed against him, her chest brushing his.

“Careful,” says Lando, his lips close enough to her ear for the voice to cut through the noise.

The spot where he's touching her is burning her skin. She looks up, speaking with a hesitant smile, “Thanks, I'm good.”

The club around them fades away, and all she can feel is the warmth of his hand on her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne — a smell she used to know so well. It is almost intoxicating, and it makes her mouth water. She realizes that's what she was missing the most.

Lando smiles faintly, his hand slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go. “Always got you.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, sensing the double meaning behind his affirmation. So, she nods and lets him guide her the rest of the way.

They find a small, semi-private booth near the exit, far enough from the main dance floor that the music dulls to a manageable volume. He gestures for her to sit first, then slides in across from her.

She fiddles with the edge of her glass, feeling his eyes on her.

“So,” she starts, leaning back against the booth, “You're here.”

Here, as in back home.

“For a week or so, yeah. Got a bit of a break between Brazil and Vegas.”

She nods, emptying the rest of her drink in one go, “How’ve you been?”

Lando shrugs slowly, “Alright. Busy with work and everything,” he trails off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment. “It’s not the same,” he continues, his smile fading away. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

She needs superhuman powers to stop herself from scoffing in his pretty face. It’s such a simple question, yet it feels loaded, heavy with all the things they haven’t said to each other in almost half a year.

“It's been… peaceful. I moved to another neighborhood. Kept busy, distracted.”

Lando hums, his expression unreadable for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. You look great, by the way,” he states it as a fact, his voice soft but unwavering.

She hesitates, then looks up at him, really looks at him. His face is the same and yet… not really. The boyishness is still there, but there’s a weariness in his eyes that's somehow new. Plus some facial hair she always begged him to try out. It tugs at something inside her, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face. Because it hurts. Because it annoys her. Because, after everything, she's still not over it.

“Cheers,” she replies, hoping he won't catch the blush in her cheeks. “I kind of hoped you would look like shit when I saw you again,” she admits. “You know, I'm talking no front teeth and severely balding. But, oh well. You too.”

Lando's smile widens, making everything infinitely worse for her.

He wears a black shirt that clings to his frame in a way that highlights the muscles in his arms. His black cap is pulled low, worn backwards in that signature way he always did, giving him that effortlessly cool vibe. His eyes are still the same, though. Dark, piercing, the same ones that could make her heart beat faster even after everything that’s happened.

“I thought about you a lot over these months, you know,” Lando finds himself saying, chewing on his lower lip.

She shoots him a surprised look.

As if, she thinks. His Instagram feed would say otherwise.

“You did?” she ends up asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, “Of course. I've missed you.”

She laughs dryly, “But it's been good for us, right? We just established we both look great, no constant fighting, no slamming doors, no smashed phones…” she says, looking at him intently.

He can't sustain that for long, so he looks down at his shoes, slightly ashamed, remembering how bad it used to get when the distance between them felt too much to handle. He remembers the frustration, and the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t reach her, because he couldn’t make things right. He did smash his phone once, in a fit of anger, because he couldn’t get ahold of her for hours — not his proudest moment, that's for sure.

Lando swallows hard, “Yeah, it has been nice to have some distance. I guess it makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Hmm,” she hums, letting her eyes travel across the room, scanning random faces and wondering how life would be if she were someone else, “I don't know about that.”

She knows, in fact. But the words pause in her throat, too tangled up in memories. When he finally looks up, she's holding his gaze for just a beat longer than she should, and she wonders if he can feel it too — that familiar pull, like gravity, drawing them back together once again.

“I know—” Lando begins, not sure from which angle to approach. “I know it was the right choice at the time, but I can't help but wonder what things could have been if I'd fought harder for you.”

“Come on, Lando,” she laughs, unamused, giving her head a shake, “We would've ended up in another vicious circle, no matter what. It's always like that with us, isn't it?”

A part of him knows she's right. Still, “We'll never know.”

“Well, maybe it's better that way,” she manages, her voice lacking conviction.

“Or maybe it’s not,” he contradicts her, his words carrying a weight that presses on both of them. “You never think about us?”

Another sharp, dry laugh — it's either this, or she'll start crying. “I am actively trying not to,” she admits, her tone tinged with exasperation. “What’s the point, Lan? Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened. You were always gone, and I couldn't spend my life following you around like a headless chicken. We had a good time, but it was never going to last,” she says the last part mostly as a reminder for herself. “Not in those circumstances.”

His jaw tightens. “You think it was easy for me? That it didn’t tear me up knowing I couldn’t be there for you the way you wanted me to?”

“I didn't say that,” her eyes snap to his, “We simply weren't working. We were too good at breaking each other.”

Lando leans back in his chair, frustration visible on his face. He hates that she's right, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest.

His jaw clenches, “I just… I don’t want to believe that’s all we were. Breaking each other.”

Her expression softens a little at his words, “Not all. But enough to make us miserable.”

For a while, the air between them feels heavier, the noise fading into the background. He wants to say something, anything, to counter her point, but all he can do is look at her and ask himself if they were, indeed, playing a losing game back then.

“Did you meet someone?” his question flies out of nowhere.

Lando looks at her with anticipation, sensing the hesitation.

“I did,” she replies, nodding slowly.

“And?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before looking away again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the table. “And we're happily married with twins on the way. What do you think? I just. Couldn’t.”

Lando's stomach drops, trying his best to remain calm, his hands clenching into fists. “You couldn’t what? Be with them?”

She shakes her head, her movements slow and deliberate, as if choosing her words carefully. “It was too soon.”

Her answer only leaves him with more questions. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means,” she rushes to say, her tone tinged with irritation. It’s clear she’s as unsure as he is, but that only makes it harder for Lando to process her reaction.

He runs a hand over his face, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I’m just trying to understand,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Because I've also tried.”

She looks directly at him now, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And?” she challenges in the same manner, her tone carrying just a hint of defiance.

“They weren't you,” says Lando, the truth of his statement hanging between them like a heavy anchor.

They remain silent after that.

She wants to ask him why — why he still cares, and why it hurts so much to be in the same space again after all they’ve been through. Nothing comes out, though; she already has the answer to that. They didn't break up because they stopped loving each other. They had both been too caught up in their own worlds to find any kind of balance. That broke them up.

He wants her to speak. He needs to hear her speak. To react. But when she says nothing in return, there is a brief second when he feels like giving up for good; he can't do anything if she's already made a decision. He knows how stubborn she is.

Lando nods to himself while getting up and start walking toward the exit, his thoughts all over the place.

The night air greets them with a quiet, cooling embrace as they step out of the club. Of course she follows, and she hates herself for that. But she can't help it — it's instinct. Like a magnetic force he's always had over her.

On the other hand, it's how they always communicated, through gestures and actions rather than words.

The soft click of her heels against the pavement gives Lando hope. He slows down so she can catch up, and then they walk side by side, without talking. The background noise of the city keeps them company, and by the time she decides to break the silence, he stops abruptly.

His voice sounds so small now, like a child asking his parents why can't he eat his chocolate bar before dinner.

“I know it feels so silly looking back,” says Lando, as though afraid to shatter the superficial peace between them. “We did so many things wrong, but I think we also did a lot of things right.”

She hesitates, her eyes dropping to the ground where a patch of light from a distant street light catches the edge of her shoe. Her arms fold tightly across her chest, while trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Yeah, breaking up was one of the right things,” she says thoughtfully, though her voice has a trace of bitterness behind it. “Before that, we tried so hard to make it work that we ended up burning each other alive.”

It's crazy how simple words can cause physical pain so quickly.

“Yet we're still here,” he reminds her. “Knowing what we know now, maybe we wouldn’t burn so fast this time. And isn’t it worth it, even if it only lasts for a little while? We were so happy at the start.”

That’s what he clings to. The laughter, the stolen moments, the way they fit together so effortlessly — she can’t argue with that. Their beginning was a beautiful dream, but it’s the nightmare that followed that keeps her guarded now, even though all she wants is to crack his ribcage open and slip inside him so they will never be apart again.

Her voice shakes as she tries her best to make him see her side, the memories spilling out like water breaking through a dam. “I had to put myself back together, Lando. Piece by piece. And I was all alone.” She forces herself to meet his gaze, finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Turns out, our friends were actually your friends, and I had to go through the worst breakup of my life with no one by my side. I had to move, I had to build an entire life from pretty much nothing. And I had to do everything alone, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost everything the moment I made you the center of my universe.”

Her words knock the air out of his lungs, guilt clawing at his insides. “Look, I know I should have been there,” says Lando, his voice barely steady. “Fuck me. I wasn’t supposed to let you go in the first place, alright? I should’ve been a better boyfriend, and I should’ve fought harder to make it work, using what we had then. But you did fuck with my head, and I thought being away would help.”

The first tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily, as if she could erase the vulnerability altogether.

“It did help,” she agrees. “I know I can live without it now.”

Lando freezes for a split second, then stepping dangerously closer to her. “So, you’ll be fine if we stay broken up?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

She nods, but it’s shaky. And when she takes a step back, trying to put distance between them, Lando decides he gave her enough space. Fuck that. He's not thinking anymore, not with his brain, at least. He closes the distance again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close in one swift motion.

It’s impulsive, desperate even. But he doesn’t care. The moment he feels her presence in his personal space, the fire he’s tried to smother for months, roars back to life, more powerful than ever. And just like that, everything it's right again. The way her body fits against his, the familiarity of it all, makes his heart race in his chest.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, baby,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “Why can’t we at least try, hm? You told me it was too soon for someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be me.”

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, at the rawness of his voice. She's unsure of what to do with her hands, until they hover awkwardly by his shoulders.

“You're not fair,” she whispers, her voice slightly trembling. “You can’t just accidentally waltz back into my life and say things like that.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about being fair,” he says, his voice firm. “I just want us back. Simple as that.”

Her tears blur the edges of Lando's face when she tries to push him away, but his grip won't let her. Not this time.

“It's not that simple, and you know it,” she says. “We’ll only end up hurting each other again.”

“Then we hurt, so what?” he counters, his voice soft but sure. “At least we’ll know we tried until there wasn't anything worth fighting for. I'm not done with you, baby. Are you?”

Her hands finally move, trembling as they brush against his cheeks. They're not as soft as they use to be, his little facial hair scratching slightly at the pads of her fingers. The connection sends a jolt through them both as her touch lingers, trailing up to his hair. She pulls at his cap with both hands, placing it on her own head with a weak smile.

“It’s longer than you used to wear it,” she notices, her tears catching the street lights.

Lando’s heart clenches, managing to shoot a small smile in return, “I thought maybe I’d try growing it out. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she admits as she tries to messily style his hair with her fingers. “It suits you.”

For a little while, they’re trapped in their own bubble. Her touch feels like home, and all Lando can think of is that he can't lose it again.

“I’m not asking you to decide now,” he finally says, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her waist. “I just need to know I’m not the only one still holding on.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they're stumbling into her apartment. She knows it's reckless, and she's basically throwing away five months of progress, but it wasn't going to last, anyway.

Addictions are very hard to keep under control, especially when they have curly, dark hair and give you bed eyes.

“This way,” she says, her lips swollen from kissing all the way to her door.

Lando doesn’t have time to adjust, his head already spinning with hundreds of scenarios that fly tirelessly through his mind. However, the only thing that captivates him at the moment is her, and the way her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans. She tugs him closer, her lips crashing onto his once again, their breaths blending in a frantic exchange of need and uncertainty.

He watches her fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her movements clumsy but determined. His heart reaches his throat, swallowing hard, as his hands move from her waist to his belt, blindly unbuckling it before tossing it carelessly aside. The sound of leather hitting the floor barely registers over the erratic, overlapping rhythm of them kissing.

Then, he sees it. The spark in her eyes she used to have when she looked at him — it catches him off guard, giving him hope. He follows her as she moves slowly, her back toward the bed, her movements precise, like a cat's. She lies down, propping herself up on her elbows, while he takes cautious steps closer, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest and toned abs.

But just as he leans forward, her high heel presses lightly against his chest, stopping him.

Lando freezes, his hands bracing on either side of her foot, tracing his palm up and down her leg, as his eyes dart up to meet hers.

“You can look,” she says, catching a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. “But for now, no touching.”

He frowns, clenching his jaw at her request. It would make sense for her to bring him to her place only to torture him, but she can't be that heartless. Right? The sight of her, stretched out on the bed with her foot holding him at bay, is almost too much to handle already.

“You're not fair,” he mutters under his breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don't give a flying fuck about being fair,” she repeats his words from earlier, her foot staying firm against his chest.

The power is in her hands, and she's planning on using them properly tonight.

“No touching,” she repeats, determined.

Lando's hands fall at his sides.

Slowly, she slides her foot down, letting it drag across his chest, making a quick stop on his lower abdomen before settling on the bed. Her gaze locks onto his, a daring glint in her eyes as she spreads her legs, revealing the black lace panties. The dress she's wearing lifts up her thighs of its own accord, leaving Lando chocking on air for a brief moment. His lips part as she trails her fingers down her own body, teasing herself the way she’s done countless nights before.

Nights when he wasn’t there.

Nights when she was alone, chasing a high only his touch could give her.

“Wanna see how I got through five months without you?” she asks, her hands traveling way down, hooking her fingers to pull at the soft material.

His breath hitches, the sight of her undressing before him so painfully slowly making his chest ache with longing and guilt.

“I thought of you,” she continues, letting a small whimper out when the soft lace peels off with a little resistance from her already soaked pussy. “Your hands, your mouth… the way you sound when you're turned on,” she discards the panties at the foot of the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she glances at him through her lashes. “Such a delicious combination between your sleepy voice and that low octave you hit when you're drunk.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to lean over and collect the material off the floor to stuff it into his pocket as a souvenir. He’s never felt so powerless and yet so utterly consumed by someone before.

“Will you let me?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s equally wicked and vulnerable, “Show you?”

Her name leaves Lando’s lips in a protest while he takes an instinctive step forward, but she stops him with her foot once again. It’s a punishment, and he knows it. She’s showing him exactly what he missed, and exactly how she wanted him for so long.

Lando's breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling as he watches her. Helpless. His every nerve is tuned to her, eyes following how her fingers slide so easily between her folds, spreading the wetness as she teases her hole. Of course she’s taking her time with it, only to make sure he registers every tiny detail, just in case he forgot.

Her head tilts to the side with a quiet gasp when she pushes slowly inside. The sound of her wet entrance is enough to make his knees weak, still, his body turns to stone.

On the other hand, his heart is a mess of pride and frustration — pride that she still feels comfortable to be this vulnerable and open in front of him, frustration that he has to see her like this, untouchable. That's why he's not even blinking, too afraid he'll miss a thing.

She starts to gently rock her hips against the bed, fucking her fingers in and out, her body trembling as her whimpers fill the room. It's too much for Lando, but luckily, she didn't say anything about moving. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, the sound of his breath ragged and uneven as he gets closer to her.

Yes, she's in charge — for now, at least — but he can't stop his words slipping out. Quiet, yet demanding.

“Slower,” he says, fixing his eyes on the way her fingers slide over her clit. “Don't rush it, please. I want to see all of you.”

Her gaze meets his, and for a moment, neither of them says anything else. She sees the vulnerability etched into his features, the way his body betrays him, shaking with restraint, completely at her mercy.

He looks like a man unmoored, defeated. So beautiful.

“Lando…” she breaths heavily, her back arching against her own hand, that flattered slightly at his words, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She hates how much he still affects her, obeying him without questioning his ways. Like no time has passed whatsoever.

When they make eye contact again, it's like they silently agree to go with it; whatever tonight will bring.

“That's is,” says Lando with satisfaction as she resumes her movements. “You gorgeous little thing. So beautiful when you listen, yeah?”

She nods, feeling him leaning forward just slightly, close enough that she can feel his warmth on her skin, without him touching her in any way. The air feels electric, her breath stuttering as she keeps fucking up her fingers under Lando's careful guidance. He watches every motion, his jaw tightening, ignoring the ache in his boxers the moment she finds her sweet spot, crying at how good it feels. She tries to muffle the moan, but Lando catches the hesitation, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

“No, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you,” he implores, exhaling sharply. “God, you're perfect. I could watch you forever.”

Lando can't help but notice how receptive she becomes at his words, her body tightening at the way he's praising her. As a result, she presses her fingers harder onto her clit, feeling the pressure building inside.

“Mhm, Lan…”

“I'm with you, baby. Keep going,” he encourages her, his gaze fixating on the slickness dripping between her legs. “Fucking hell. You're already so close, aren't you?”

It's like every word gets caught in her throat, and the only way she can reply to him is with a pathetic, desperate whimper.

In hindsight, she's never came from her fingers so quickly before, but the wave that’s hitting her from every direction right now is too intense to process right away.

It happens too fast, and the next thing she's aware of is Lando's voice, bringing her back.

“Please,” she hears him beg, managing to give him a slight nod of her head in return.

In that moment, the lights go out. Even so, Lando wants to be patient, as his index finger lightly brushes against her warmth. She exhales, giving up control, her gaze locked on him as if he is the only one that ever knew her. Meticulous, Lando traces his long, rough finger through her wetness, causing a shock to run through her whole body as it moves up and down her clit.

She thought she already crossed her limit, but then he leans down to press his mouth on her — deliberately, unapologetically, thirsty.

Lando lets out a deep, guttural groan that reverberates against her, causing her hips to twitch slightly. His tongue is wet and warm on her pulsating clit, leaving her breathless while he tastes her like it's the last time.

“My sweet, sweet baby,” he whispers, his voice intimate and personal, the words enveloping her in layers and layers of honey.

Feeling his warm breath on her center causes a surge of tension within her, making her walls tighten as his tongue explores within. He can't help but smile just as she leans into him, her body responding naturally, and he grips her thighs, closing the remaining gap between them. At that, she instantly buries her fingers in his curls, her hips mimicking his head movements.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales abruptly.

The rest is pure bliss — his tongue licking in deep strokes, his muffled moans between her thighs, and the way he can’t seem to let go of her, gripping her tightly because he’s been deprived of her taste for so long.

Just for a brief second, Lando raises his head and, as his gaze remains fixed on her eyes, his mouth sucks gently at her clit. She's never seen him so desperate before, the sight of him owning her like that covering her entire body in chills.

Gradually, his kisses become way too powerful, which forces her to quickly grab his messy curls and pull him closer, unable to control herself anymore.

Without any warning, she screams his name as her climax hits her like a tidal wave for the second time in a row.

His growling makes her thighs quiver in his grasp, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure as her body convulses with each new sensation, while Lando’s tongue continues licking her during every heartbeat and shiver.

Next time she looks at him, his lips shine, his cheeks are red, and his gaze so intense that it causes her heart to skip a beat, creating a connection that seems more profound than any physical sensation she's just experienced.

He didn’t try to give her the best she’s ever had, but attempt to remind her how well he knows her body — to show her she still belongs to him.

“You’re so pretty,” says Lando, keeping his eyes on her, while he presses one finger back inside her cunt to test how thight she is after her second orgasm.

“Lando,” she spits his name at the unexpected touch, still too sensitive, “What… are you doing?” she gasps softly, a mixture between a sigh and a moan, when Lando's finger pulls out and glides across her wet, delicate clit once again.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando murmurs against her thigh, his voice low and reverent.

He grins in her direction, while his thumb circles her clit with precise intention, like a wheel gripping the perfect racing line. Sure of himself, Lando continues his movements, realizing how overstimulated she is, as he gets up to hover above her. Her hips buck instinctively into his hand, a jolt of reaction she can’t control.

Seeing Lando on top makes her react on instinct, wrapping one arm around his neck, while the other hand travels down his chest. The heat pooling in her stomach rises fast, an apex she didn’t expect to reach so soon. It’s intoxicating, her body spiraling as her mind blanks out the world beyond him.

“Lan—” she gasps, her back arching as if trying to escape, though every fiber of her betrays that she wants more.

“Come on, baby,” he says, increasing the pace. “You can give me one more. You're doing so well, I know you can,” his voice is a blend of dominance and desire, while his fingers press into her, knowing exactly where to go and how to bend, “Like that, see? So easy for me to read you. I could fuck my fingers into your pretty hole all night long and you'd still come for me every single time, wouldn't you, baby?”

Shaking, she clings to his neck, crying out his name in spasms. He loops his free arm around her, gently kissing her cheek — a gesture so tender and innocent that makes her heart grow ten times in size.

She grips his shoulder with one hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. “I can’t—” she chokes, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

In an attempt to get her power back, she tries to push at his wrist, but his arm steadies her, determined.

“Of course you can, love,” says Lando, his voice a gentle command, the firmness in his tone like a driver refusing to lift his foot off the pedal, curious to see how far he can take it.

Her hand clenches around his arm as his thumb presses against her clit with ruthless precision. She reacts on instinct, muscles coiling tight as she bucks against his hand, not sure what controls her body anymore, since her brain got disconnected long ago. The slik rhythm of Lando's fingers becomes too much, and she knows she's close when he starts curling them inside at the perfect angle.

“La— Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” her voice is a high-pitched cry now, laced with desperation. “I’m going—”

“I know, baby. So pretty. Look at you, making such a mess for me,” he urges, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her body tightens as pleasure explodes within her, blinding and all-consumming — a full-throttle sensation, unrelenting in its intensity. She sobs his name as liquid warmth spills from her pussy, coating Lando’s fingers. He doesn’t stop there, though, his hand continuing its pace, coaxing every last wave of her climax as his arm holds her securely against him.

“God, I've missed you.”

When her breathing slows down, he falls down on top of her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her legs shake slightly, and her fingers curl weakly into his bare chest as he cradles her close.

Lando presses a tender kiss against her temple, his voice filling the quiet. “It wasn’t acciedntal,” he confesses.

She blinks rapidly, tilting her head to look at him, confused, “What?”

“Earlier,” Lando clarifies, “You said I was accidentally waltzing back into your life — it wasn’t accidental,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Lando places a few more kisses on the heated skin of her neck, sucking in a couple of bruises, the gesture meant to buy himself more time for the storm raging in his head to stop.

“Lando,” she pulls him out of it.

“Been trying to figure out how to do this for a while. I just… couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” he admits, looking up at her, his eyes pleading. “I had Max playing detective while I was away.”

She pushes him off her to sit up on the bed, pulling at the edges of her dress. “Seriously, what?” her tone is not defensive — at least not yet — but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts into him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to explain, “Look, I didn’t stalk you or anything. Nor Max,” he continues, getting up to stand next to her. “I didn’t even know where you lived until you brought me here. I swear.”

She wraps her arms around her own body, needing something to ground herself, “What did you do, Lando?” the girl asks, her voice quieter now.

He swallows, “I just asked him to check in on you. To see if you were okay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He saw you tagged in a pic on this girl's account, and then did some research on the people you were with, paid some dudes to find out if their records were clean—” he starts chuckling when her fist hits his shoulder, playfully, but still with intent.

“Don’t be a dick,” she warns, her smile giving away the fact that she’s still amused by his immature sense of humor.

“I just… didn’t want to simply appear out of nowhere if you were happy. If you’d moved on,” Lando continues, his tone more serious now. “But when he told me you seemed like you hadn’t, I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine. I'm really not.”

His honesty was always a breath of fresh air, but now it's suffocating. Hearing him admitting he's not okay, implying that she's the reason why, is simply heartbreaking.

Her arms drop slowly to her sides, her fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Why now, Lando? And why not text or call?”

He scoffs, “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you would have picked up if I called? Especially given how we left things?”

She cups Lando’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing him to look at her, “I'll always pick up if it's you.”

The admission makes his chest tighten.

Lando shakes his head, “I promise I’ve tried,” he says, “God, I’ve fucking tried. I threw myself into everything, and nothing worked. Racing, training, sim sessions, going out with the guys — no matter what I did, I was constantly thinking of you. Every night out felt wrong because I wasn’t coming home to you. And I know home is such a vague word for me, because I’m mostly away, but you made every single place feel like home, and that's why it didn't matter where I was at the time. I just needed… need you in ways I can't nor want to explain.”

His confession makes her head spin. The breakup had been difficult for her, but she hadn’t considered how Lando had handled the past five months. All along, she had assumed he wouldn’t miss her — that his life, always on the road and consumed by his own pursuits, was too busy to notice the absence of one small, insignificant detail: her.

She's now realizing how wrong she had been to think that way.

“So…?” she finally asks. “Do you think a few orgasms later can mend what was broken five months ago?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says firmly, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. “I swear, all I wanted to do tonight was talking to you. I didn’t plan on getting to this point, but I can’t say I’m mad about it,” says Lando, taking her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You still want me,” she shoots Lando a rapid look, studying his face, “Just like I want you. I see it, I feel it. Baby, I know it.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. She wants to be angry, to accuse him of being selfish, but the truth is, she isn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe him, but one thing Lando never did was lie to her. He did worse, yes, but he never lied.

“Lando...” she starts, but her voice trails off, wishing her head would stop spinning so she could think.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues, his voice softer now, “You hurt me. We hurt each other. But we're too good together not to find a way to make it work.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing with memories of their past — the good, especially the bad, and everything else in between. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her dress, her eyes flickering between his face and the floor. The room is heavy with silence and, just for a moment, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find each other again.

Otherwise, if it's meant to fall apart, then let it happen with them gasping for air, tangled together, connected in every way imaginable.

THE MORNING SUN filters shyly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the bed where Lando stirs awake. He’s all alone, the sheets around him rumpled from where she had slept. He blinks up at the ceiling, a little disoriented. Then, he hears the faint sound of running water and realizes she’s in the shower. It makes him feel like everything went back to normal, but he can't be sure of what's going to happen next. He can only speculate and hope, but nothing more than that.

The quiet is interrupted by the persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reaches for it, still groggy from sleep, scrolling through a handful of texts from last night — banter in the group chat, some Instagram notifications, a few missed calls; nothing too important to catch his eye. He places the phone back on the smooth surface carelessly, and his hand knocks over something solid in the process.

Frowning, he sits up to put it back in its place, and that’s when he sees it — a framed picture of them, taken during a rare quiet weekend in Monaco over a year ago, right at the beginning of their relationship. She looked so happy back then, caught mid-laugh as Lando was gazing at her with an expression so tender that it makes his chest ache now. The weight of the memory hits him harder than he expects, pulling him fully awake.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes him turn, and he puts the frame back quickly. However, it's enough for her to catch his sudden movement, her eyes flicking to the photo and back to him.

Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “I meant to put that away,” she rushes to say, pulling the towel tighter around her body like it might shield her from the embarrassment.

“Carlos took this one,” his voice is soft, as his eyes shift back to the frame. He picks it up again, turning it in his hands. “You asked me why didn't I call, but… why didn't you call?”

She laughs dryly, crossing the space to take the frame from his hand and placing it face down on the nightstand. She sits down next to him, shrugging.

“And tell you what, Lando? That I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you broke my heart?” she asks, shaking her head, the embarrassment turning into something closer to frustration. “It’s just a stupid picture, anyway. We barely knew each other when it was taken.”

“It’s not stupid,” he contradicts her vehemently. His hand reaches out tentatively, brushing against her soft forearm. “It's nice to know I wasn’t completely crazy for hoping you felt the same.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. The towel slips slightly, and she clutches it tighter, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his hungry eyes.

“Lando…”

“Leave it there, yeah?” he says, pointing at the picture. “Facing your side of the bed, preferably.”

Seeing her suddenly deep in thought, Lando grabs her wrist and gently pulls her onto his lap, his thumb lightly brushing against her silky skin.

She looks at him, her emotions warring on her face. “If it makes me look less pathetic, it was face down most of the time.”

Lando laughs, his hands finding her waist, then her hips, steadying her on his lap, “I love you,” he says it casually, but it still freezing the blood in her veins.

Her fingers fly towards his mouth to cover his lips, “Don't,” she warns.

“You know I do. I was serious last night. You don't have to decide anything right now, but I'm not going anywhere. It sucks we needed to hurt for a while, we're both at fault, but I never stopped loving you,” he repeats.

“You're so unfair.”

“Don't care, say it back,” he teases, digging his fingers into her skin to tickle her sides.

She starts giggling, “Don't you dare.”

His grin widens, “Or what?” he asks playfully as her hands fly to his, trying to fend him off.

“Lando, I'm serious. Stop it,” her laughter blends with his while he leans in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I need to hear it, baby. Please. Just say it back.”

“It back,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers tickling her so mercilessly that tears form in her eyes. Their laughter bubbles over, loud and uninhibited, until she collapses against him. “Okay, fine. Fine,” her breathy voice stops him in place, catching his attention. “I love you, Lando.”

A simple confession; he asked for it. But none of them expected it to hang that heavily between them. It's not a lie — not in the slightest — and Lando knows it.

“Enough to give us a second chance?” he asks.

Her breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, and before she can reply, his thumb traces her cheek gently.

“I'm so scared,” she admits, leaning into his touch.

Lando sighs, understanding too well where she's coming from, “I know, baby. But I'm even more afraid of losing us again. Losing this…”

His hand slides down her chest, tracing the curve of her breasts. With a gentle movement, he tugs at the corner of her towel, letting it drip smoothly down her body. Patiently, he runs his hands down her waist, moving back up to her chest as they leave goosebumps in their wake. Hungry, his hands rest on her breasts, squeezing them lightly until he feels her nipples in his palms, and she drops her head on his shoulder, whimpering softly.

Memories of last night make her body shudder, feeling the heat between her legs intensifying. Following his lead, her fingers start tugging at the waistband of his boxers, until they slip low on his hips.

Lando moves one hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. He groans against her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, before breaking their connection long enough to kick the boxers aside.

Skin on skin, their bodies align like two puzzle pieces.

She hovers over him, his hands on either side of her, “I wanna take care of you,” he speaks softly, closing his eyes when her forehead rests against his. “Please, let me take care of you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that twists something deep inside her. She's just learned how to be independent again. She can't throw all of it away. She can't let herself slip.

She can't.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Her answer is all that Lando needs to hear. His lips crash back onto hers as he swaps their positions, lowering her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, warm and solid. And so very real. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a promise, a vow that he won’t let her slip through his fingers again.

And then, Lando takes control — not the type of dominance he's used to when he steers his car. It's more like devotion; his hands map her body all over again, like a driver learning every twist and turn of a new circuit, his lips following the trail his fingers blaze.

She arches into his touch, responding to him in ways she thought she’d forgotten.

But the body remembers.

And the remembering is, oh, so good.

Last night was just the warm-up, she reckons — an act meant to remind both of them how well they fit together. Lando was gentle, kind, and patient. But now, she sees the shift in him.

His eyes are darker, filled with lust, his touch greedier. She can't help but smile when she realizes that the Lando she knows all too well — the one who’s needy, insatiable, and unrelenting in his desire for her — is still there, and so ready to show off.

Her skin tingles in anticipation as she watches him, knowing exactly what he wants. And for once, she wants it just as much. Maybe even more, considering how her body is acting independently from her brain.

She wants him to give her everything, to burn through her until she’s left gasping and wet and ruined, and she’s ready to meet his hunger with her own.

But before that, “We're not done talking,” she tells him, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“Yeah, we'll talk. Stay with me and we'll talk all you want, baby.”

She wants to protest, but her air gets knocked out of her lungs and her fingernails sink into his shoulders when Lando nudges the head of his cock up and down her slit to collect the wetness. With a gentle kiss on her jaw, she closes her eyes, tracing her fingers down his arms as he pushes inside.

They both exhale, relieved that they're back where they belong.

Talking can wait.

Lando's hands grip her waist just as he pulls out, only to push back in, all the way to the hilt in one slow, but hard thrust. The feeling is almost too much for her, which is ridiculous since he just started moving. But she feels so full, and the sounds he lets out only make her open up for him even more.

“Wait, wait,” she can barely recognize her own voice, stopping Lando when their hips touch together.

She can't explain it, but she needs it.

“What's wrong?”

She looks down between their bodies, confusing Lando even more. “I…,” she begins, but she's not sure how she's supposed to voice her need.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” he assures her, bringing his hand to cup her face in his palm, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

“I—need a second to feel you,” she explains, pushing his hand away only to trace her palms over her face.

Lando chuckles, “Baby, don't hide from me. You're driving me fucking mad when you're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing,” she contradicts him, raising her hips against his, her walls hugging him tighter with every move.

“No?” whispers Lando roughly as if he lost his voice. “God, you're perfect. So good, so fucking sweet and perfect around me, baby.”

Her legs tighten around his waist, keeping him inside, while one hand moves to his lower back to push him against her even more. There is no physical space left between them, but she still wants more. It only makes Lando's cock throb inside her pussy, giving her a few more seconds to adjust to his length before he pulls all the way out and slides back, searching for the perfect pace.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, burying her fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Lando, his eyes flicking over her face. His insides tighten at the sight of her parting her lips in pleasure, her breathing hot and irregular. “You're so beautiful from this angle.”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off, which makes Lando chuckle again.

“Why would I?” he asks, leaning closer to her ear, while thrusting a couple more times before pausing. “You look like a fucking goddess taking my cock so well.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice, low and raspy, rocking her hips to find that sweet friction against her walls again.

“Keep,” she whines, “Keep going, then. Let me have it.”

Lando presses his lips on hers at the same time he resumes his movements, his hands roaming all over her body.

“You can have my cock, baby,” he groans into her hair. “All yours.”

She nods, wrapping her fingers around his biceps, “Yeah?”

“Promise you,” says Lando.

After that, he picks up pace, both falling into an agonizing rhythm. All this time, she had thought that familiarity might dull the edge of being with Lando, that knowing his moves would make it predictable and boring, maybe even ordinary.

Somehow, it’s the exact opposite.

It’s because she knows him, and he knows her so well, that every touch feels ecstatic, every kiss charged with meaning. He doesn’t need to guess what she likes; he already knows how to unravel her, how to leave her trembling and breathless. And she knows exactly what will make his breath hitch, how to draw out that low, desperate groan that ignites her own fire.

In a way, every time feels like the first, but it's always much better, because they know how to make each other fall apart like no one else can.

“Please,” she gasps, breathing wetly in his shoulder. “Harder.”

One thing about Lando, he's always been good at listening. Without thinking twice, he tightens his grip on her hips, fucking his cock inside her harder and faster than before. In an instant, her ears are blessed with the way his moans sound.

“God, I've missed fucking my pretty girl like this,” says Lando, his hands moving on her thighs to spread her more so he can slide in faster. “It's never like this, baby, fuck.”

Being with Lando is chaos, the kind of beautiful, consuming chaos that leaves everything around them in shambles. They are loud and messy, and everything is sweaty and wet and sticky. He kisses her like he’s starving, touches her like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of her skin, and she matches his fervor, meeting him with the same wild energy that pulls them under. Together.

“Lando,” she spits his name out of her mouth in short spasms. “Lando, Lan… Lando.”

It's almost like a cry for help, but she doesn't need saving. Not when he's fucking her so good, slamming against her over and over again, until the outside world fades away and all she remembers is his name.

“Lando,” she whimpers again.

“Keep me in, love. Like that,” she can barely hear him over the sound of skin slapping on skin. “Fuck. You're taking me so well, I won't stop fucking you, baby. I won't—”

She sucks in a breath of air, her body buzzing with pleasure. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she can feel how hot and sweaty his chest is. She moves with him for a couple more thrusts before she lets go, the sound of Lando fucking in and out of her while she comes so obscene that it makes her eyes roll.

“I'll never get tired of seeing you coming like that,” says Lando, pinning her to the bed, his cock feeling so fucking good inside of her that it makes him see stars. “So fucking hot, baby.”

Her nails scratch the skin of his back as her pussy clenches around his length, forcing another hiss out of Lando's mouth.

“Don't stop,” she manages to say, even though she feels her throat raw.

“Ah, look at you, now. Being so good for me,” says Lando with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Letting me have my way with you when you're sore and spent. And so wet, baby, you're dripping all around my cock. Fucking hell.”

Lando's jaw clenches, a visible battle playing out in his face as his breath hitches. She feels him moving deeper, hitting the sweet spot inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her body with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck. Don't stop,” she repeats.

His eyes widen as he tries to hold on for as long as he can, but it's hard when he flashes his eyes in her direction and catches her already looking. It doesn't take long for him to realize there's a replica to her first orgasm. He nods, without saying anything else, bringing his hand up to her neck. She places hers on top of his, not to push it away, but to let it rest there as a sign that it's fine to claim her if that's what Lando needs.

And that's enough for him to lose it.

“Baby,” he breaths out, fucking her slopply, any sense of order dissolving under the weight of their eye contact.

She arches into him, her fingers trembling as they rise to cup his face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she demands, her voice a desperate need.

She pictured that face thousands of times in the past months, but nothing compares to this. Lando groans at the command, his hooded gaze staying on hers. The intensity of his expression nearly undoes her again — his pupils blown wide, lips parted as he lets out s string of cuss words.

“That's it, pretty boy,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over his cheek as he moves inside her, his pace faltering for just a moment before he snaps back into thay sloppy rhythm, chasing his release. “Want to see you when you let go.”

She barely finishes her sentence when his orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami; no one would be able to even tell where she begins and where he ends.

Lando looks so beautiful and wrecked, and she drinks in every second of his surrender.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

When his features soften, she sees how vulnerable he is, and it leaves her breathless.

Satisfied and content, her fingers still trace his face, wanting to remember the exact way he looks in this moment, when he is completely hers.

Unable to support his weight, Lando collapses on top of her, feeling his body as light as a feather, which is so far from the truth. But she doesn't mind; she loves the feeling, actually. She loves the heaviness, and the way he keeps his cock tucked deep inside her, wet and softening slowly, not allowing his cum to leak out of her.

Descending back down from their high, the only sounds in the room are their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. It's hard not to notice the weight of reality when it begins to creep in around the edges.

She lies beneath him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his back, but her mind is miles away.

“When are you leaving?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tenses for a moment, then shifts to lie beside her, propping his head on his hand to look at her. The vulnerability in her eyes twists something deep inside him.

She swallows hard, suddenly flooded by all the reasons they had fought, all the late nights filled with misunderstandings and misaligned priorities. She remembers all the reasons why they broke up, and thinking how bad of an idea this has been. Because, how can she let go of him again, without feeling like she'll be losing both her head and heart in the process.

“On Tuesday,” says Lando softly. “But not how you think.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she turns to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lando leans over, his hand caressing her cheek as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about us for months. Since you left, actually,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “I had a lot of time, and I managed to figure out why it didn’t work before, why I couldn’t give you what you deserved. So… I’ve talked to the team.”

She almost stops breathing, her eyes widening in his direction while she waits for him to continue. Months ago, she would've die to have this conversation, and now that it happens, she doesn't know how to behave.

“I'm working on a schedule. To have more time for us,” Lando explains.

Her heart skips a beat. “You’d do that?”

“For us,” he repeats, his voice firm. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you. I don't want to be okay without you, it's stupid. And I don’t want to keep coming back here, hoping for a second chance, only to mess it up again. I want to get it right this time.”

She stares at him, not knowing what to do with that information. This is not the Lando she knows. The recklessness and impulsivity got replaced by caution and planning the steps ahead. It's new, and exciting, and it makes her tear up.

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” she asks, her voice small.

He leans closer, his forehead touching hers. “It will.”

His tone is so definitive that she can't say anything else, letting the silence stretch between them as she searches Lando's face for any sign of hesitation.

There’s none.

“How... did you actually know where to find me last night?”

Lando smirks, studying her face with half-closed eyes, bringing his hand to her jaw. “That friend of yours posted on her story. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going to be there. But I hoped.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Stalker behavior.”

Lando shrugs nonchallantly, “I just happened to be nearby,” he chuckles.

“Lucky me,” she says, tracing the contour of his nose with her finger, stopping on his jaw.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, pulling her in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[lovincherries]

Corio's Pawn

a/n: first of all, I want to say hi! I know it's been a really long time since i've written anything and i wanted to say thank you for your patience. 2023 has easily been the hardest year of my life, and i am so grateful for all your messages and support. it has truly meant the world to me. hopefully you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. i love you guys! (p.s it's almost been a year since i have written anything, of course snow brought me out of my slump)

NOT PROOF READ! I AM LAZY

word count: 3,735

warnings: taking of virginity, dub con, breeding kink, just smut! corio being corio (bad), reader is curvy (idk actually, i think i only mention it once, but you could really skim those parts. it isn't central to the storyline tbh)

You had loved Corio long before he knew you existed. To you, he was everything you wanted, everything that you desired, everything that you longed for. To him, you were a shy girl, kind, sweet, but shy and rather unnoticeable, or you were unnoticeable. You don't know what did it, neither did he really. He didn't know if it was the harshness of district 12, or the uncertainty (and paranoia) that Lucy gray caused him that made him long for you when he arrived home, or if it were the fact that he really looked at you for the first time. You had the softness that he desired, and the look in your eyes that you would give up everything for him if he said the word. He desired that kind of relationship, one where he held the power and none of the vulnerability. With you, he had nothing to lose. There was no game you were playing, your eyes and quiet smiles held everything he needed to know.

Before he left for District 12, and before the 10th games, Corio considered love a waste of time and resources. After, he considered it a betting game that both sides were bound to lose. While he considered love a waste of time, his desires and needs were still prevalent and crowding his head with thoughts where plans and ideas should be. That's when you fell into his lap, his little rose. It didn't take him long to realize the hold that he had over you, and it took him even less time to put his charm to use.

He knew what you were, a good girl who came from good parents that raised her right. And while the whole world had long since passed the concept of purity, he knew it was something that your parents had taught to you. His little white rose. Except, he didn't want to keep you that way. He didn't have to ask if you were pure, it was something he could almost smell. Your innocence seeped out of your pores like a perfume he couldn't get enough of. Before, he never noticed you, now you were all he desired. He wanted to know all your curves and edges, wanted to fulfill your desires, he wanted to take you. Most of all, he desired to see your cheeks red, your eyes dark with desire, and his cum filling you up.

You and Corio had been seeing each other for a few months, and while you tried to pretend like it wasn't the most exciting thing to ever happen to you, it was. He was all you could think about, all you could talk about with your parents, and he was the only person you wanted to see. You were oblivious to his charm, blinded by everything that he promised to you. You were funnier and more interesting than he originally gave you credit for, he could actually relax around you and laugh, but he would never turn off the person he presented to be. He couldn't wait for much longer though, his composure was slipping, and all he could think about was being wrapped into your legs and diving into you. Your kisses were sweet and genuine, you kissed him with love, but he wanted something darker. He needed it. It was something you didn't intend to give to him though, not that you really knew what you were giving or not.

Your parents had long taught you that certain things were for married couples, after all, if you weren't pure you weren't going to be any good to them to marry off. Even to them you were a pawn, a piece that only furthered their own further interests and success. That being the reason why you were probably oblivious to the games Corio was playing with you. And you didn't know it, but tonight was the night Corio was going to win a game that you didn't know you were playing.

You were getting ready for bed, your light blue light gown skimmed mid-thigh as you sat down at your vanity brushing through your long hair. You examined your features as you did, humming a song that had been stuck in your head all day. You heard a soft knock at your window, turning your head to look for what made the sound, but you found nothing. You quickly brushed it off and went back to the task at hand, your mind getting lost in thought about a certain someone with blonde hair and blue eyes. It was almost like he never really left your mind at all, he was constantly grazing your thoughts. He seemed to appear everywhere that you went, in the color red, in roses, in the fallen snow on the ground. It wasn't till you heard another knock at your window, this one much harder than the last, that you actually went over to check what was making the noise.

When you looked you found your lover waiting for you, his nose and cheeks tinted pink from the cold wind that bite at his face outside. An instant smile flew to your face when you saw him, a white rose clutched in his hand, waiting for you. You quickly opened your window to let him in, he had never done this before. You quickly tried to fight the nervousness in your stomach while you lifted the window as you almost sang his name with excitement. The cold air bit at your nipples, making them hard in an instant as it flew in from the outside. You quickly shut the window after he made it inside, a smile so big on your face that your cheeks hurt from the strain. You were so excited to see him, that you didn't notice the darkness that clouded his eyes, or his gaze that kept falling down to your almost see through dress.

"Corio!" You sang again, your arms hugging around his broad shoulders, you stepped on your tip toes to be able to reach that high. You laughed gleefully, his arms wrapping around your waist. He lifted you up so your legs wrapped around his hips as you giggled in excitement, your night gown riding up to the point it almost exposed your white panties. Corio quickly put you down after the initial excitement, softly kissing your lips after your feet touched the floor.

"My rose!" He laughed purposefully, looking down at you. Your innocence and excitement gleaming up at him through your eyes, and all he could think about was taking it from you. Unbeknownst to you. Corio's height gave him an advantage to look down at your swollen breasts in your night gown. It caused his dick to strain in his pants, he wanted to audibly groan from the pain, but he knew that tonight he was going to get what he wanted.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your smile radiating through your words. He picked up the rose that had slightly gotten crushed in your big hug.

"I was thinking of you when I saw this, and I just had to come bring it to you," he said as he brought the rose to your hand. It was beautiful, even with some of the petals fallen onto the floor. Your heart melted at the thought of him thinking of you, if only you knew the ways he thought of you.

"Thank you, Corio, it's beautiful!" You gleamed as you took the rose, "I don't have anything to put it in here though," you quickly frowned. You knew that your parents would hear you if you began clattering about through your house looking for a vase. He brought his hand to smooth the lines of your worry, lifting your chin to look up at him.

"It's okay," he soothed. Even while he was comforting you, power radiated off of him, "I can always bring you more." You quickly set the rose on your vanity where you had sat moments before. You were so comfortable with him; it didn't even register in your mind what you were wearing and how inappropriate it might be.

Corio walked over to your bed and sat down, not bothering to ask for permission. He admired you from a distance, your curves prominent in the night gown. Your nipples poking through your dress, begging for his attention, begging for his lips. He would get down on his knees and beg now (something he would never admit to), if it meant that he could suck on them. You turned around fully to face him, looking at him with so much love and admiration.

"Come here, love," He stated, not giving you an option to say no. You did as he demanded, your hips swinging in an unknowingly alluring manner. He grabbed your hands when you were stood in front of him, pulling you onto his lap. You gasped at the action, attempting to pull away from the shock of the sudden closeness but his grip stayed firm. Your legs encased his hips, his hard dick pushing into your folds. You weren't necessarily used to this type of intimacy with Corio, but he had been getting you prepared for what was to come. Heated kisses whenever you two were alone, his fingers would always brush your most sensitive parts without getting too close. He knew how to make you long for things, without you even necessarily realizing what you were longing for. You didn't even really process what was poking into you know, all you knew was that it shot tingles up your spin.

"Corio!" You gasped again when he slightly pushed his hips into yours, an uncontrollable movement on his part, but he longed for a touch that he hadn't felt in so long. His head fell into the nape of your neck, landing soft kisses from your exposed collarbone to your jaw. You giggled at the ticklish feeling of his lips, but it also sent a familiar warmth through you.

"So beautiful," he murmured, still planting kisses on your neck. You brought your hands to his face and made him face you as you planted fast kisses all over his cheeks in face in a girlish manner, giggling softly. Corio smiled at the action, letting it warm his cold heart for only a minute. The guilt of what he was going to do tinged his thoughts for a second before he thought about what he wanted, what he needed. He knew he didn't love you, but you were something he wanted, something he possessed. He liked his possessions.

You both stared at each other for a minute, your hands still cupping his cheeks and his hands held your hips firmly. The light feeling from before replaced itself with something heavier, something you couldn't quite place, and you weren't sure if you wanted to. You saw Corio's eyes fall down to your lips, your hands fell from his face and landed on his chest as the tension weighed down on yours. Corio gripped your hips tighter, squeezing him impossibly closer to you as he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss started off sweet, his lips brushing against yours softly. This you were used to, you quickly fell into the groove of his lips. Finding your home in the way he touched you. There was something different this time though, something new. Corio quickly made the kiss faster, harder, and you tried your hardest to keep up. He licked your bottom lip, asking for permission. You parted your lips, trying your best to match his fast aggressive pace. His tongue edging yours. Your hands now gripped his face out of instinct and his right hand trailed to grab your breast. You gasped into the kiss; he had never done that before. He squeezed as he pushed his hips into yours, eliciting a moan from your lips as his dick pressed into your clit. You had never felt this way before.

Corio pressed himself harder into you, he could feel the wetness from your cotton underwear staining his red pressed trousers, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. All he wanted to find himself was deep into you, pounding into you, he wanted to feel you quiver around him. His lips were still attached to yours, the rhythm long gone, it was all teeth and tongue. He was surprised at your ability to keep up with him, but he noticed your hesitancy. He moved back from you, separating the kiss harshly. You gasped at the lack of contact, subconsciously pushing your hips into his. Longing for that pleasure that he was giving to you.

"Y/N," Corio said sternly, causing you to look at him. He could see the desire in your eyes, and he knew he had you right where he wanted you. "I need you." He said, with as much desperation he could allow himself. Corio wasn't above begging you for what he wanted, although he would never admit it.

"You have me," you said softly, attempting to smile at him. You leaned back into the kiss, attempting to regain the passion, but he stopped you.

"No, I need you," he emphasized the need, pushing his hips into yours. Your face held the confusion that you were thinking. That was another thing he liked about you, if you wouldn't say it, your face would. It made it extremely easy for him to understand you.

"I-I don't get what you mean," you stuttered, your lips making a slight o shape when he pushed into you again. He moved his hands down to your vagina, eliciting another gasp from your lips.

"I need you here," he said as he moved your dress to your hips and pushed your panties to the side. His fingers grazed your soaking folds, both of you looking down to find a dark wet spot on the crotch of his trousers. "It feels like you need me to, my rose," he said softly, as his fingers dived in between your folds. He quickly found your clit, pressing into it as he watched your sweet face change in pleasure.

"I don't understand still," your voice cried out in pleasure and confusion. He could almost hear the tears in your voice, it should have made him stop, should have made him quit, but it only made him want to take it further.

He used his spare hand to grab yours, he slowly pulled it over his hard chest. You felt the bumps and ridges of his ab muscles and then felt the hardness of his dick. He forced you to squeeze him with your hands, still circling your clit in a harsh manner.

"Y/N, I need you," he emphasized by pushing into your clit, causing you to throw your head back, "here." He said using your hand to squeeze his dick. You didn't respond, you couldn't from the shock waves his fingers were sending through your body.

Corio moved his pointer finger from your clit to your entrance, your wetness coating him even more. He didn't know a girl could get so wet, but God was he grateful for that. All he could think about was you encasing him, your heat squeezing him till he forgot all about District 12 and that Lucy Gray. He could imagine a life with you, a real life, one with happiness and love, but that thought quickly disappeared from his mind.

He could see a life with you though, maybe not a real one but a life. One where you were constantly swollen with his babies. The thought of that caused him to groan as he pushed his pointer finger into you. As he felt you squeeze his finger, all he could think about was how good you were going to feel.

"Please, Y/N," Corio begged, you had never heard such a neediness in his voice before, not that you were aware enough to pick up on it. All you could think about was his finger in you and his thumb grazing your clit.

"O-okay," you agreed. Not even exactly sure what you were agreeing to, but you had a feeling it wasn't necessarily good.

Corio let out a sigh of relief at your agreeance, as much as it shamed him to admit, he would've gotten on his knees for that affirmation. He quickly threw his shirt of his head and gripped your waist. He pulled you in for another kiss, pulling you down onto him once more. Your exposed folds felt even more of him. He quickly tossed you around, laying you on your back as he stood in front of you.

He sat you up, lifting you light blue dress over your head. Your swollen breasts now bare for his viewing, but not an ounce of insecurity ran through your head. You trusted him with everything you had in you. You truly believed he would never hurt you.

"God," he groaned as he looked at you. He couldn't waste another second not being inside of you, he quickly unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down his legs. You admired his muscular form, which only sent more waves of warmth down you. You gasped as he pulled his dick out from his pants, it looked terrifyingly huge for a moment. He laughed at your expression but swelled up with pride as you looked at him with amazement. He quickly pulled your white cotton underwear off of your legs, looking down at your glimmering heat. He needed to be inside of you.

He crawled on top of you, kissing his way from your torso to your breast. He licked at your nipple before fully enveloping it with his mouth and sucking on it. This caused you to let out a loud moan, the tingle that you felt from this sent shockwaves everywhere. He released it, but not before biting it harshly.

He then moved up more, bringing your legs around his waist and his dick in between your folds. You let out a sigh of relief from the contact and he kissed your lips. This time, much softer, gentler than before. He began to grind himself into you, properly getting himself coated in your wetness.

He guided the tip of his dick to your entrance, slowly poking himself in. He maintained control of himself in this moment, even when you moaned from the pleasurable contact. He just put the tip in and you already felt so full. Corio had to separate himself from the kiss and his head found its home in the nape of your neck. He was breathing heavily as he maintained control, slowly pushing into you. Even though, all he wanted to do was wreck you.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch. Stopping every few seconds to make sure you were okay, and not hurting. Before long, you were gasping at the fullness of him bottoming out into you. You two stayed like this for a long time before he lost control and started moving again.

"God damnit Y/N," he groaned, the sweat of losing control falling onto your skin. His words flew past you as the fullness was all that crowded your mind. "So fucking tight," he cursed as he drew himself out and back into you. He pivoted ever so slightly and was now making you see stars.

"Corio, corio, corio," you moaned as he now began to pound into you. Any sense of self control he had, was long gone as he heard you calling out his name with such need.

"So big," you moaned, drool coming out of your mouth as your grasped your breast with your hands. His hips stuttering inside of you as he watched you fondle yourself.

"Fuck, Y/N, fuck," he repeated, slamming into you harder. It should have hurt you, should have made you cry from the pressure, but it didn't. It drove you nearly as mad as he was. His words were lost on you, anything he said was tuned out by the feeling of being so full of him.

Your pussy let out squelching noises from how wet you were and hard he was pounding into you. Corio began to kiss to your ear and let out breathy whispers that you were too out of it to notice.

"Fucking hell, tightest pussy I've ever had," he murmured more to himself. Corio thought in his head he should have taken this from you long ago, you were handling yourself so well. He practically cursed himself out thinking of all the months he missed out on this feeling. You moans were fuel to his fire, your sweet soft voice paired with the debaucherous noises of your body colliding made him impossibly harder than he already was.

"Gonna fill you up," he moaned again, driving himself deeper into you. He was barely leaving you now, all he wanted was to be completely encased in you. "Wanna see you swell with my babies, want everyone to know that Coriolanus Snow was here," he talked in circles. One of his hands moving to press into your clit, this sent you into over drive. Your pussy began to squeeze him impossibly harder and your head was thrown back in the pleasure he was sending through you, you didn't know it but this was your very first orgasm.

Corio was trying his hardest to maintain his composure, to hold onto the feeling of driving himself inside of you like a mad man, but he quickly lost control when hearing your voice. "I love you, I love you, U love you," You repeated, pulling him closer to you with your legs. You squeezed him so tightly, he thought that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to leave your tight hole.

This only drove him further into you, and this is where he released his cum. His hips stuttered into yours for a solid minute, filling you up with everything he had been saving for you for the last few months. He came so much it began to spill out of you with him still inside of you. He looked down and saw how swollen your vagina was around him, the white semen leaking out around his dick, and for just a moment he wanted to say I love you too.

a/n: shit man. that took me two and a half hours.

[jedipoodoo]

The Other Woman (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: miscommunication Trope, Hunter is a Girl Dad™, single fatherhood is hot, how can you hate Omega?? Tbh this is kinda goofy lol.

"Ah, kriff."

Hunter glanced at the glow of his comm and leaped off the couch, running around your house to grab his jacket and his shoes.

"Hunter?" you paused the holo film as he put his shoe on the wrong foot, and quickly had to change it.

"What's wrong?"

He glanced between you and the glow of the holo screen, with his hands held out as if to placate you.

"I am so sorry, I gotta go, my girl's expecting me."

You blinked once. Twice. Then there was a rushing in your ears as your entire world crumpled around you.

"Your...girl?" you asked, fists digging into the cushions of your couch. You had spent months flirting with Hunter, agonizing over whether of not he might like you back. When he asked you if you'd like a date, your heart soared to the moons and beyond. For reasons beyond you, you had invited him into your house, cooked him dinner, only to crash back down to the ground and find out he had someone else.

Hunter was completely oblivious to your sudden moral panic as he started talking about "his girl".

"She's brilliant, kinder than anyone I've ever met, and smart as a whip."

"Glad she's such a catch," You snapped, getting up and marching over to the door.

Hunter finally recognized the anger, radiating off you in waves.

"Is everything alright?"

You barked a humorless laugh.

"Is everything alright? You tell me, Mr. Dark-and-broody! Being in a relationship with multiple people at the same time may have been simple enough during the war, but not here! Not with me!"

His face fell.

"Oh right! I forgot, they didn't teach you any of that on Kamino." It was a particularly cruel barb, but you didn't care. You wanted Hunter to feel as utterly humiliated as you did right now.

"I... I don't understand..." Hunter mumbled, wringing his jacket in his hands.

"Let me spell it out for you then, Sergeant," You slammed the release on your front door and it hissed open, "Get out. Your girl may be okay with this, but I won't play second fiddle to anyone, not in this kind of relationship."

The only sound was the chittering of the sea crickets, a mournful melody that echoed the crestfallen look on Hunter's face. When he didn't move, you pointed him emphatically out the door. The moment he crossed the threshold, you shut and locked the door.

Then you collapsed into a ball and cried.

Did it amuse the force to play with your love life like this? You'd never had the courage to say yes to a date before. You were the kind of kid that got asked out only for it to turn out to be a joke.

Hunter was different. Hunter was supposed to be different. Everyone in the marketplace would talk him up all the time, from his heroics during the war, to the hard work he put in to help rebuild the island. You couldn't believe your good fortune at last when he asked you out.

Of course it was too good to be true.

You cried, curled up at the edge of the doorway until your spine began to protest. Even with all the energy drained out of you so furiously, you knew your bed would be a much more comfortable place to cry on. And there was still ice cream left in the fridge.

You ended up sleeping in the next morning. You didn't mean to. You woke up with your alarm first, but every part of you was just so sore and you were so exhausted, you just had to close your eyes for a few minutes.

A few minutes turned into a few hours.

It was noon when you finally made it to your noodle stall in the Archium, right next to Pilate's ice cone stand.

"You're late," The older man chuckled good naturedly as you started a fresh batch of pasta, "Your gentleman friend was here early this morning, waiting for you."

You tried not to grimace at the mention of Hunter. Your eyes were still red, but a wide rimmed hat hid that fact from your neighbors.

"Is he still here?"

"No, he left about an hour ago, said something about meeting an Omega."

Ah, so that was her name. You dped the hot water into your drain, not caring that it splashed everywhere.

"Everything alright?" Pilate asked.

"Peachy."

When you refused to elaborate, Pilate stopped pushing. It was lunch hour, so you soon had a line of customers stretching out around the Archium. You plastered on your customer service face and thanked all of them for their patronage, despite the anger that you held in your chest. It was shockingly easy to pretend you were perfectly fine when you had so many emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

For starting your day late, you were making a pretty decent profit. After the first couple of hours, business slowed down, but it would be just as busy during the dinner hour, and you had a few regulars that would pop in for an afternoon snack from time to time.

Lyanna Hazard was one such regular. She skipped up to your stall hand-in-hand with a new friend you hadn't met before.

"Hello girls! How can I help you today?" you asked.

"Four shrimp dumplings, please!" Lyanna placed her pocket money on the counter.

"Coming right up!" You ladled the dumplings from fry pit into two bowls, and set them in front of the girls. As you reached for the chopsticks so that they could eat, Lyanna's friend grabbed one with her bare hand

"It's hot!" she yelped, tossing the dumpling from one hand to the other in surprise.

Lyanna giggled, "That's why you use chopsticks, silly!"

Lyanna demonstrated, and her friend watched her, fascinated. With the dumpling balanced precariously on her chopsticks, she tentativelytook a tiny bite.

"Mmm!" she declared. She ravenously finished her dumplings while you laughed, rolling out pasta dough to make more dumplings.

"It's always a pleasure to see someone enjoy my food," You told her.

"It's amazing! My brother told me you were a good cook, but this is even better than I could've imagined!" she said.

"Oh really, who's your brother?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but the universe answered for her.

"Omega!"

You couldn't help the glare that involuntarily tugged on your face when you heard his voice. You spotted the offender halfway across the Archium, looking around, but to your absolute horror, Lyanna's new friend began to wave him over.

"Over here, Hunter!" She called, one hand cupped around her mouth.

You saw his shoulders relax for a moment, and then tense up again. It was the same spooked, father-in-headlights look that he gave you last night when you kicked him out. You wanted to shrivel up and die.

Lyanna and Omega missed this completely, however, and kept waving at Hunter. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here, but he begrudgingly trudged across the marketplace to your stall.

"Heya kids," He said, not quite looking at you.

"Hunter, you gotta try the dumplings!" Omega said, showing him her empty bowl.

"I have," Hunter said. It was part of the meal you'd made for him the night before. You thought you saw him glance at you, but you couldn't be sure. You were determined to stay angry at him, but those gorgeous brown eyes of his were going to be the death of you.

"Well, I'll see you all around then."

You turned your back on them, going back to the filling for the dumplings. You heard Lyanna talking excitedly to Omega about a few more stalls where they could get more food, and when you heard their voices fade away you assumed that all three of them had left.

There were a few moments of blessed silence, but Hunter cleared his throat, and you jumped in surprise.

"I need to talk to you."

You glared at him.

"I have nothing to say to you." you snapped.

"Then don't say anything but just listen-"

"You're a glutton for punishment, aren't-"

"I don't have another partner!" He said quickly.

You blinked, surprised.

"Omega's my little sister. She's my girl. She's who I had to get back to that night." to prove it, he pulled up his comm, sliding it across the table towards you.

You stared at him, suspicious. But you looked at the screen anyway.

Omega: Hunter, when is your date done?

Hunter: we're finishing a movie, kid.

Omega: I can't fall asleep. And Wrecker doesn't sing the Purrgill song as good as you do :(

Hunter: I told you I'd be gone tonight. I'll come say goodnight when I get back.

Omega: :(

You sighed. Omega was very sweet, and you couldn't imagine trying to say no to her on a daily basis.

"I am... So sorry..." You couldn't look at him, sliding his comm back across the countertop.

Hunter said nothing, but placed a hand over yours, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. That should've been one of the first things I told you.

He sighed, "I guess... I'm just not used to sharing everything, especially with new people."

"You're not obligated to share everything with me, you have a right to your privacy."

"I've been a soldier my entire life, and now, I'm trying to figure out how to be anything but. I was talking with Phee and she gave me an earful about how if I'm trying to date or get close to someone, I gotta make my priorities clear."

Hunter looked over his shoulder at Omega. She and Lyanna were at Pilate's stall now, trying to see how many scoops of flavored ice they could stack in one bowl.

"Omega's a good kid, but she hasn't had much of an opportunity to be one. My brothers and I aren't exactly model parents, but we're trying our best to give her the life she deserves."

You nodded, "That's admirable of you."

If you felt humiliated last night, it was nothing compared to the embarrassment you felt now. You'd insulted Hunter when all he was trying to do was take care of his little sister, which, if you thought about it, made him even more attractive than the tattoo and the eyes already did.

"All this to say, your reaction is completely justified with the information you had, and if you're willing, I'd like to try again."

He held out a hand to you, "Let me take you out on a proper date, to make up for all this."

You felt heat rising in your cheeks, "I should be asking how I can make this up for you," You insisted.

"Nonsense, you cooked and cleaned and everything and I tried to cut it short. Let me sweep you off your feet."

You raised one eyebrow. That sounded almost nothing like what he'd usually say.

He winced, "Yeah, I realized it the moment I said it. Phee told me that's what I should do, though I have no idea how to."

You giggled, "That's okay, I'd like that, though."

Hunter's eyes went wide, and you could almost melt into the cobblestones. "That's a yes? You're saying yes?"

"Yes," You giggled some more, and stepped out of your stall to speak face to face.

"I'd love to be swept off my feet by you, so long as it means you forgive me for being a poodoo-head."

"You are not a poodoo-head." Hunter said, placing his hand on your cheek, "You're a brilliant person, and I'd like to get to know you much better than I do now."

You flushed, from his words or his touch, you weren't sure, but you didn't entirely mind it.

You coughed to clear your throat. "So, Mr. Hunter, when should I plan on you picking me up?"

Hunter glanced at your stall, and back to you, "How soon can you close up shop?"

You grinned. You might have gotten a late start, but he didn't need to know that. He could make up for it in his own way.

"For you, Hunter? Right away."

[its-opheliasgarden]

thanks so much for tagging me @bunnithechubs and @aheathen-conceivably for starting this tag! tagging @coolpuppy12, @m0ckest, @helloavocadooo, @etozheden, @budgie2budgie, @acuar-io, @gilded-ghosts, @giannascorner, and @obscurus-noctem to join in on the fun (optional, no pressure) and anyone else who wants to try!

📅 january - march: this is when i entered my regency era for 3 months. my main inspo came from mods by the talented @janesimsten. this kept me occupied while i waited for s3 of bridgerton. i've been on the fence about starting a historical simblr (wip name...the orangery). i do hope i can share more about the thistlewaite sisters in 2025...

📅 april - june: simblr was blessed with THE incredible silent pines save (@silentpinessave) which inspired me to start my gp, between the pines. very 90s/early 00s inspired so had fun trying to capture that style and aesthetic...i do miss them. i have this whole storyline in my head about them solving mysteries on their road trip to the bigger mystery that awaits them in silent pines...

📅 april - june: so sunflowers bloom east enters the chat. the gp was very much born from nostalgia and reconnecting with anime i grew up with (e.g., peach girl). building this save was fun esp. remaking newcrest. even making the subway for the cover shot, so proud of how it turned out. my 2025 goal is to get back into this gp because i love it so so much especially my girl, rieko...

📅 july - september: summer into fall, i got into a fine dining/restaurant drama binge (e.g., the bear, boiling point) so started my gp with khosi wambui called aftertaste. i had a lot of fun playing with the tool mod and recreating san myshuno. even made a culinary school?! also randomly started a spin off gp called frayed edges with zuri maartens, who owns the thrift shop, spice & stitches...

📅 october - december: i got inspired to create the (belated) simblreen gift called umbra boulevard after watching the new salem's lot movie. it's definitely one of favs especially the hidden secrets and lore i got to build in...it was hard only choosing a few screenshots from this build tbh...

📅 october - december: so you've already seen some of posts about the delgato's new home, but i had so much fun decorating it. still have photos i haven't released but the living room, kitchen, and evie's room are my favorites! also there's a big brindleton bay gp coming with this inspired by all the british thriller mysteries i've been binging. i've been spending (too much) time building out the save...

so overall theme is my simblr is highly influenced by whatever tv show i'm binging. thesis completed. cheers to more random tangents in 2025 and maybe sticking and finally completing a gp (maybe)...

-d.

[holrye]

A love she can't have

summary: a window into the sacred nights of a small island kingdoms queen and her lover

tags: plot divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, yearning, implied chubby reader (section is tiny)

a/n: ahhhh, so I'm super nervous to post this, lol. Im not the most confident in my writing, and I've been working on the idea for this for so long. tbh I don't know if I like how it turned out. I made so many different versions, and this is the only one that stuck. I hope you guys like it :)

One night, every six or seven months, the estate of this small island kingdom is empty.

No bustling of maids and butlers as they prepare meals and clean. The orange hue of the lights inside are dimmed and the sheer curtains are often drawn.

A tradition, some would call it. Others would say it's strange. What could the young ruler do all to her lonesome up in that immense estate? Does she force her staff to leave for nefarious reasons? What secrets could she be hiding? All fair questions that will go unanswered for as long as you live. 

Privacy as the ruler of a nation is somewhat expected to wane upon your coronation. The kings and queens before you knew this, and were mindful of it. But never has a ruler taken so many precautions as you on these particular nights. These nights were often random to the public as well, the only sign being when the staff are ushered from the large french doors at the estates entrance. 

What could the diligent leader be cooping herself up for?

Oh, if they only knew…

If your people only knew that their queen was hiding a scandalous affair, with a pirate no less. What would people think? They’d say you’d gone insane, and were seduced by some horrid marauder. You’d lose every ounce of power you gained and be left to fend for yourself. Not a thing to your name other than the clothes on your back, they’d raid the estate and denounce you. 

So, these nights are secret. Whispers between you and your midnight guest that never leave the halls of the estate.

Though the guest in question is far less worried about the conspicuousness of your meetings. Not because he lacks care for your reputation, but because some would say he's a bit obtuse. A fool in love with someone he should never associate with.

-

You only become aware of his visits hours before he arrives, leaving you little time to fruitfully convince your entire staff to leave. Though it sounds unchallenging, your estate employs hundreds of people. Gardeners, chefs, handmaids, every task you could do yourself is done for you, mostly at the behest of your late mother who ruled before you. 

There's only so many excuses you can use without sounding suspicious. You want them to spend the night with their families or you’d like the estate to yourself or you had an awful mark on your back you didn’t want anyone to see as you bathed (that last one only made your head maid look at you worried). 

By now, they’d chalked it up to your eccentricity. The queen is just a bit strange. It made you more likable to some, relatable. There was little judgment, at least to your face, though that too was likely because of your rank. You cared little, as long as they were all gone before he blew in. 

He usually arrived just before midnight, his boat tied just off shore. A small cove sat behind your estate, sharp boulders and thick shrubbery concealing it. This is where he hides his vessel, only doing so after it was nearly found the morning after by a gardener. 

You scolded him harshly in your letters through the following months.

You’d wait on your bedroom balcony, watching the bushes. Sitting at the small table, eagerly stirring your cup of tea and waiting. Your feet are bare, cold from the breeze and the stone underfoot. 

The chill of soft trepidation is a feeling you’ve come to know since you met him. An almost nauseous feeling in your stomach, stiff cold limbs, a heavy chest. The months worth of built up suspense that has you on the edge, tempting you to jump.

Only when a hint of tanned skin is seen through the leaves, does your chest tighten. The bush moves again and his body pushes through, nearly falling to the grass. He catches himself before looking up to your balcony.

A smile stretches his freckled cheeks, and his feet are moving again.

You stand, gulping the last drink from your cup before hastily fixing yourself. Crickets and his heavy breaths as he climbs up the balcony are the only noise throughout the garden. It seemingly makes your heart pound faster, anticipation building in your belly. 

With a few more pulls, the man hops over the banister and stands before you. A shallow and shaky breath leaves your nose. Months of letters, declarations of love and yearning built up to this meeting. It always feels like the first time, standing before him in your frilly nightgown. It's embarrassing and euphoric all at once.

“Long time, no see.” His voice is soft, smile apparent as he speaks.

You smile up at him, blush dusting your cheeks.

“Hello, my love.” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be. He moves a step closer, and you notice the small bundle of letters in his hand. They’re addressed to him and the handwriting is your soft cursive. You question his purpose in bringing them, but don’t ask. 

“Have you eaten?” You ask. It’s a silly question now that you think about it, the man is known for his appetite.

He nods, still smiling as he moves closer again. His hand meets your arm, slowly sliding up to lay against your neck. The movement is soft, his thumb caressing your jaw as he looks at you. 

Your arms move to his shoulders, broad and strong. They slip to the back of his neck, dark, wet hair matting to your hand. He smells of salt water and sweat. He likely had to snow to shore due to high tide, which completely engulfed the cove most nights.

His eyes droop, as he presses a hungry kiss to your lips. It has you curling into him, his full hand meeting your hip. His feet start to move you backward, against the cold stone wall behind you. His hand moves from your jaw to the space beside your head, stealing your breath as he kisses you. Your hands twist into his hair, keeping him there until you both break with a gasp. 

He moves his hand to your lower back, pulling you into him again only for you to press a palm to his mouth. His eyebrows twist as he looks at you.

“I have some things inside for you.” You say, cocking your head to the left.

“Of course you do.” He smiles at you again.

-

Your bedroom, a large rounded room with a bed much too big for one, is lit with hundreds of candles. Two bottles of champagne sit unopened on the table in the middle of the room with two glasses sat to the side. An array of cheeses, bread and fruit sit on a plate to the side as well.

The bedspread is soft below you, your eyes glued to the liquid in the flute as you listen to Ace read your writing. Your hand wrapped around his wrist and your head rests against his hip as his voice nearly soothes you to sleep. You want to make a bed out of his tambre and sleep in it forever.

“I fear the selfishness I feel when you aren’t in my company. I cower at the thought of it boiling over and taking hold of me, interfering in my daily work. I yearn so much for the day I can be with you, freely, without the need to veil our flirtation. To think, I rule a nation as a queen. I wield power most only dream of, and yet I feel powerless in your absence. It nearly sickens me.” He pauses, looking at you over the parchment. 

“A kiss would satiate me for the time being. I soft kiss that speaks your tenor and goes by your name. I look forward to when we meet again, my love. May that heavenly time come soon.” He ends it by saying your signature out loud. He folds that paper again, placing it back in its envelope. 

The look on your face is melancholic, thinking back to the sadness you felt writing those letters to him. How much you missed him and what you would’ve done to see him at the time. It's embarrassing, listening to the heart you poured into the paper for him out loud.

He looks at you again, hand moving to the top of your head. He plays with the hair there, the comfortable silence taking the place of his voice.

“Is Edward well? I heard his health started declining again.” You ask, sipping from your glass again.

He nods, smile fading slightly as he speaks again.

“Yeah, the old man shouldn’t work himself as hard as he does. It's catching up to him.” Whitebeard was an acquaintance of your father, often meeting him for peace treaty signings. Even as a pirate, he’d earned your fathers respect.

“Hardworking as ever.” You smile.

He smiles as you sit up, finishing your glass off and setting it upon the bedside table. 

“You're one to talk, your highness.” He chuckles, extending his arm for you to lay against his chest.

“Ruling a kingdom is a lot of work. I do what I have to do. You’d think being a pirate, he’d use more of his free time being…free.” You say. A soft laugh leaves his chest as he nods his head.

“You’d think.” His voice evens out again as he looks down at you.

Your hand moves to cup his cheek, holding it there for a moment. It’s warm. Everything about Ace is. Whether it be his devil fruit or his personality. He warms your heart in a way you’ve never felt before. It makes it harder when you have to watch him leave, his broad form disappearing in the bushes. You’d say goodbye to him with tears in your eyes as he kissed your lips and abandon that warmth until you saw him again.

“You're so beautiful.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, biting your lip when your mouth speaks before you catch yourself. His lips quirk, eyes half-massed as he gazes at you.

“I could say the same about you, sweetheart.” He chuckles.

The room goes quiet again.

He takes your hand in his, pressing your palm to his lips. It's soft and he keeps moving up your arm, to your shoulder. He pauses a moment before looking at you again. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, kissing your shoulder again. A blush brightens your cheeks. You know what he's asking.

With a dry swallow, you nod and he smiles for the millionth time tonight. He climbs on top of you, moving from your collar bone up to your neck. Your hands move to his head, grasping the hair there at the sensation. He kisses the section just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

A throaty chuckle falls from him as he starts his descent of your body. A kiss pressed to your collarbone, a kiss to your sternum, a kiss to your belly, it's all too much. His hands meet your hips, bunching the fabric of your dress slightly. He moves down, pressing soft kisses to the middle of your thighs.

“You're so soft.” He says, smiling into your sensitive skin. You sigh, wanting nothing more than for him to ravish you like he’s done so many times before. His hands bunch at the end of your skirt, slowly pulling it up inch by tantalizing inch. It's enough anticipation to make you sick. 

He raises the hem to your hips, your lacy undergarments showing. You sit up as he pulls it off of you, your breasts bouncing as they fall. He kisses your lips again, before laying you down on the bed again. Your knees press together, a familiar warmth swirling through your gut and into your core.

His hands land on your hips, softly squeezing the skin that lightly hangs over your panties. Your breath catches when he kneels at the edge of your bed, looping his fingers into your underwear and slipping them down your thighs.

He exhales loudly, seemingly holding his breath before. He takes your knees over his shoulders, nipping at the fat of your thighs. A long stripe from your inner thigh to your groin has you shaking. His hands move to yours scrunched up in the blankets, lacing your fingers together.

A slow lick to your clit leaves you breathless, eyes shutting as you squeeze his hands. 

“You taste so good.” it's muffled by your skin, but you understand him. He licks you again, softly sucking your clit into his mouth. 

His mouth is so warm and wet, it has you in a euphoric state. This feeling only he can give you, one that you want to feel forever. Making love to Ace felt otherworldly, no matter how many times you did it.

“Ace..ah-” Your voice is caught in your throat, his tongue moving down to your hole.

“Yes, my love?” His tone is mocking, as if demanding you answer him. Your lips are raw, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as you try to speak.

Words fail you, one of your hands moving from his, to his head. Leverage.

He hums into you, slipping his tongue in and out of you a few times before replacing it with his finger. His mouth moves back to your clit and your seeing stars, the blinding white matching the pace of the growing knot in your stomach.

“Ace-” You sigh as your muscles tense up. Your orgasm hits you in waves, leaving your thighs shaking around his face. He sucks the soft skin around your pussy as you come down, hands moving to your thighs.

“Mm, baby…” He says, his voice hoarse as he moves up to your face. Your skin is sticky, hair sticking to your face and palms sweating. He kisses you, the heady taste of yourself on his tongue. Your hands move to his face, draping your arms around his neck.

With little hesitation, he reaches for the buckle of his shorts, dropping them and climbing on top of you. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his hips. 

“You ready?” He asks, and you nuzzle your nose into his. With a huff, he’s pushing in and the both of you sigh loudly at the contact. His movements start slow, smooth.

His hips meet yours and your eyes go white. His hand rests next to your head, his thrusts making his bicep flex a bit. It makes you drool, pressing a kiss to his wrist as he evens out his pace.

“You feel so good…hah-” His breathing is erratic and his other hand moves to the fold of your knee. Your head falls back, moans leaving you otherwise speechless. It feels so good, you can’t move.

His pace picks up, quickening as both of you approach your highs. Your breathing is stunted and your eyes are clenched shut. Ace moves his face to the crook of your neck, licking a strip up to your chin. Everything is perfect.

“I love you.” You say, looking him in the eyes. You swear you feel his cock throb inside you.

“I love you too, your highness.” He smirks.

With two or three deep thrusts, he’s finishing inside you. You scream, voice breaking when you finally cum again. He thrusts a couple more times, only pulling out when his cock stops throbbing. Your pussy clenches around nothing, his cum dripping out of you onto the pristine sheets. 

He falls into the empty space next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you clench your thighs together again. The aftershocks leave you drowsy and you roll in to his chest, drifting to sleep.

-

You don’t wake again until the early morning the next day. Ace is awake, his warm hands brushing through your hair. Your eyes scrunch at the brightening horizon before looking back at him.

“You sleep ok?” He asks.

You nod, kissing his jaw before rising to stretch. He rubs a hand down your back and gets out of bed.

Mornings after he visits are melancholy, knowing the inevitable has come to pass yet again. He’ll leave you for another period of time unknown to him or you. Your letters will be the only form of communication you'll have for months. It’s all a bit too much to bear.

You rise, hugging him from behind as he puts his clothes back on. Freckles decorate his back and shoulders and you want to count every one of them.

Before you know it, you stand looking up at him on your balcony wrapped in a sheet. His kiss is as warm as ever, not wanting to leave. You hold him there for a while, tears nearly forming in your eyes already.

“I’ll see you soon.” You nearly whimper. He wipes your eyes with his thumbs, smiling at you. 

“I’ll keep you in my thoughts, my love.” He smiles and you remember your gift you still have to give him.

“Wait!” You say, scurrying inside and grabbing a small locket off of your vanity. You hand it to him, and he opens it.

“Keep it close to your heart.” You say. The picture inside is of you, and it warms his heart. A smile creases his eyes as kisses you again. He kisses your cheeks and your forehead as the sun starts to show over the horizon.

“I love you.” He says, slowly stepping back and over the banaster. You reach your hands out one last time, cupping his face and kissing him before he climbs down and runs through the garden. 

With one final wave and kiss to his palm, he disappears into the greenery.

-

No one knows why the queen hides herself away certain nights of the year. Maybe shes up to nefarious activities. Maybe she does have secrets. 

Maybe she's just in love with someone she can’t have.

[angstasff]

Remember Me Pt.1

🕸an: I'm backk, and what if I told you this came to be when speaking to a Peter Parker Ai Bot... anyways! Part 2 is in the works already, and tbh I don't know how many parts this may be. also gif creds to @mercurysstars

🕸Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

🕸Genre: ANGST, fluff (later)

🕸CW: parent death, no way home ending, kinda not exactlycanon I think

🕸Word Count: 2K

🕸Summary: After Dr. Strange did his memory erasing," the estranged daughter of Tony Stark, discovers she's the only one who remembers Peter Parker. In an attempt to restore their friend's memory of Peter, Peter and Y/n grow closer, but how long can her memory of him really last?

∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡

In the heart of New York City, amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life, there was a small diner tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was a place where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of sizzling bacon, and where the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation filled the air.

It was here, in this unassuming diner, that y/n had started working as a waitress, weaving her way through the crowded tables every weekend. She had started working there part-time, while in high school, to help pay for her hopeful future at MIT, taking orders and serving up plates of comfort food to the weary souls who found solace in the diner's welcoming embrace.

It was minutes before she could clock out, and y/n had been wiping down the counter, lost in her own thoughts when the door swung open and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Tony Stark, billionaire playboy and renowned inventor, sauntered into the diner with all the confidence and composure of a man who owned the world. He was clad in a sleek suit that cost more than most people's monthly rent, his dark hair tousled and his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n was confused and nervous. She had seen Tony Stark in the headlines countless times, his face plastered across magazine covers and news articles, but she had never imagined she would encounter him in person, let alone in a place like this.

Tony approached the counter with purposeful strides, his gaze fixed on y/n with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You must be Y/n," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "I've heard good things about you."

Y/n blinked in surprise, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

"I, uh, yes, that's me," y/n stammered, her cheeks flushing with heat. "What can I get for you, Mr. Stark?"

Tony flashed her a curt smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just Tony is fine," he said, leaning against the counter with casual ease. "I'm here on business, actually. I've been keeping an eye on you, y/n. You're smart, you're capable, and you've got a gift that most people can only dream of."

Y/n's brow furrowed in confusion, her mind racing to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Tony's smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve that sent a shiver down y/n's spine. "I want to offer you a job," he said, his voice low and intense. "A job at Stark Industries, working alongside some of the brightest minds in the world. You'll have access to resources and opportunities that most people can only dream of."

Y/n's eyes widened in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest. A job at Stark Industries? It was an offer she couldn't refuse, a chance to escape the drudgery of her mundane existence and step into a world of limitless possibilities. But what about MIT?

But as she stared into Tony's piercing gaze, a nagging thought tugged at the edges of her consciousness—a question she had been too afraid to ask, too afraid to confront.

"I have been saving up for months to be able to get into MIT, Why me, Why now?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Tony's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering behind his eyes. "Because you're special, Y/n," he said simply. "More special than you realize."

And with those words hanging in the air between them, Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, sealed with the emblem of Stark Industries. He placed it gently in y/n's outstretched hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"Think about it, Y/n," he said, his voice soft but firm. "And when you're ready, give me a call. I'll be waiting."

And with that, Tony Stark turned and strode out of the diner, leaving y/n standing there in stunned silence, clutching the envelope in her trembling hands.

When she got home later that night, when y/n was alone in her apartment, she mustered the courage to open the envelope and read the letter inside. And as she poured over the words on the page, her heart pounding with excitement and trepidation, she realized the truth that had been staring her in the face all along.

Tony Stark was her father.

The revelation hit her like a thunderbolt, shaking her to her core as she struggled to come to terms with the enormity of it all. Her born from accidental pregnancy? She had always wondered who her father was but could have never imagined she was the daughter of the legendary Tony Stark.

But as she stared down at the letter in her hands, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The strange sensations that had plagued her for years, the memories that seemed to linger just beyond the edges of her consciousness—they all made sense now.

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Y/n Stark stood before the towering window of her penthouse apartment, the panoramic view of New York City sprawled out before her like a glittering tapestry. The fading rays of the setting sun bathed the skyline in a warm, golden light, casting long shadows across the urban landscape. From her vantage point high above the bustling streets, y/n could see the city pulsating with life, the steady flow of traffic like blood coursing through the veins of a living organism. It has been two years since Tony died, and she is still left with so many questions about herself unanswered. 

Before Tony had died, he confessed to her, her real lineage. Her mother was not her mother. Her mother is dead and died when she was little. Tony revealed who your mother was. It was all too much. Of course, y/n believed him so he showed her. An image of her mother, and in an instant memories resurfaced.

In the faded image, y/n saw herself as a young child, cradled in the arms of a woman whose face was obscured by the passage of time. But it wasn't the identity of the woman that caught y/n's attention—it was the glint of recognition in her own eyes, a spark of familiarity that sent a shiver down her spine.

She remembered a time when she had been just a young girl, no older than five or six, playing alone in the sprawling gardens of the Stark mansion. The sun had been shining, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow across the lush greenery, and y/n had been lost in a world of her own imagination.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she had seen something—a flash of movement, a figure lurking in the shadows. Intrigued, she had followed the mysterious presence, her curiosity leading her deeper into the labyrinthine maze of hedges and shrubbery.

And that's when she had found her—her mother, standing amidst a grove of ancient trees, her hands outstretched toward the heavens as if invoking some unseen power. Y/n had watched in awe as her mother's form seemed to blur and shimmer as if she were weaving a spell of magic that transcended the boundaries of reality itself.

At that moment, y/n had felt a surge of energy course through her veins, a tingling sensation that left her feeling both exhilarated and afraid. It was as if her very essence had been infused with the power of the universe, awakening something dormant and long-forgotten within her soul.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the moment had passed. Her mother had turned to face her, her eyes shining with a mixture of love and sorrow, before fading away like a wisp of smoke on the wind.

But the memory had lingered, etched into the fabric of y/n's consciousness like a scar on her soul.

Hours were spent conducting experiments and research, exploring the limits of y/n's abilities, and pushing the boundaries of what was possible. But as the days turned into weeks, and Tony became increasingly preoccupied with other matters, their investigations were pushed to the side, left unfinished and unresolved.

And now, with Tony Stark gone and y/n left to grapple with the truth on her own, she was faced with more questions than answers. What was the true extent of her powers? How had she come to possess them in the first place? And what did it all mean for her future?

The truth is that it didn’t matter. Tony was gone, and she now was accepted into MIT, she had other things to worry about now. Well, at least that's what she thought until the “shift happened”.

It was morning, a week into winter break when she felt it—a strange, disorienting sensation that washed over her like a sudden gust of wind. It was as if the very air around her had shifted, leaving her feeling unmoored and adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

At first, y/n had dismissed it as nothing more than a trick of the mind, a fleeting moment of vertigo brought on by exhaustion or stress. But as days went by she knew something was terribly wrong. 

It all started when she turned on the TV and the channel "The Daily Fix" hosted by the nosy and annoying J. Jonah Jameson was on. Y/n didn’t care for the usual news but kept it on as she made her morning coffee. She was mid-coffee pour when she heard Jameson criticizing Spider-Man once again, claiming he was a coward for hiding his identity. But that didn’t make sense because he was just the one outing Peter Parker as Spider-Man, so how could his identity be hidden? It didn’t make sense, but honestly, she was too happy about her acceptance to look into it. In fact, that reminded her that she meant to gush to MJ about it.

Y/n called MJ, and they expressed their secret excitement for MIT.

"Ugh, the fall is going to be so fun, MJ. I literally can’t wait. Did you ever find out if Ned and Peter got in?"

"Oh yeah, Ned got in, but uh, who’s Peter?"

"Ha ha, very funny, MJ. Did you guys get in a fight or something?"

"No, what, Y/n?"

"Peter. Peter Parker. The nerdy guy you are like totally in love with…"

"Y/n, I don’t know what you are talking about, but I have to go. I’ll see you later. Be safe!"

"Uh, okay, bye, see you later."

Why is MJ acting like she doesn't know Peter? Y/n dialed Ned's number, her mind racing with questions and confusion. As the phone rang, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness.

"Hey, Y/n, what's up?" Ned's voice crackled over the line, filled with warmth and familiarity.

"Ned, it's me," Y/n began, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I just talked to MJ, and she acted like she didn't know who Peter was. She said she doesn't remember him at all. Do you know what's going on?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

“Peter?”

Y/n felt her heart drop.

“Ned, is this some kind of prank that you two are pulling on me? Cause it’s not funny, everything has been all weird lately and-”

“Y/n, I have no reason to prank you, I have no idea who Peter is.”

“Oh- Okay pretend I never asked, also congrats on MIT, I have to go but ill see you soon.”

“Okay see ya, I hope things get better!”

As y/n hung up the phone, her mind raced with a whirlwind of questions and confusion. Why did MJ and Ned act like they didn't know Peter? And what was going on with the strange shift she had felt in the air lately? The pieces of the puzzle refused to fit together, leaving her feeling more lost and bewildered than before. But amidst the chaos of her thoughts, one thing remained clear—she needed answers. And the only person who could provide them was Peter Parker himself.

∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩

[quantum1mmortality]

I NEED TO PEG THE HAT MAN

Can't tell if this is a request or not but yeah me too

Raiden or kung lao? The world may never know....

Tw/cw: pegging hcs, AFAB reader, both Raiden and Kung Lao hcs(separate), SHIVER ME FUCKIN TIMBERS BOYS THEYRE GETTING PEGGED TONIGHT, cursing, praise and both men being good boys, overstimulation they both cry

No beta I will trans my gender and DIE like a man

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kung Lao

More than likely was the one who wanted to try it tbh. He'd be telling you about how a mans gspot is in his ass and Kung Lao thought it would be hot if you pegged him

Foreplay would just consist of 69ing, said it once and I'll say it again, 69 is the only dinner for two

Instead of sucking him off tho it would just consist of you fingering him until he came

By the time he does cum hes ready to be pegged tho, and he will make it very obvious

Debating on if he'd prefer riding you or missionary for the first time

Would settle on missionary after a while tho

After more than enough lubricant being applied to both the strap on and his hole, you slowly entered him

And my. God. Was he whimpering.

Consistently at that.

You didn't even have to move for him to be begging

"(Y/n)- please- I've- been a good boy, right?"

He'd be whimpering so much it felt like he was gonna cry

And he did

Tears would be streaming down his face as he gripped at the sheets

Youd eventually decide to stroke his cock, letting a small amount of saliva gather as your thumb fiddled with his tip

That was more than enough to send him over the edge and he came seconds after

He only lasted like, 2 and a half minutes, but god was he spent

Cum would be all over both of your abdomens as he his his face in embarrassment

After a few minutes he's fine and wants to eat you out bc you did so well for him

He'd rate the experience a 7.5/10. He'd do it again, but sparingly. Maybe like once a month. Twice if he's feeling extra spicy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raiden

Only does it because you wanted to try it

It takes him a good while for him to consider it tho

His asshole is VERY sensitive. I'm talking if your saliva gets near it when you're blowing him he cums instantly

So he was really hesitant at first

Eventually he gives in, mainly because of curiosity

So he humors you and you guys buy a strap

Prepping him consisted of reassurance, fingering, and a shit ton of lube

By the time he actually came he was already extremely overstimulated

So when the tip of the strap entered him and you started pushing deeper, his cock was hard again and his back was arching

He'd beg for you to go slower even though you're going at a snails pace

"(Y/n)- 's too much~ too much!"

He's crying and his breathing becomes extremely heavy

If you even speed up a little his hands are flying to your waist and making you slow down

God forbid you jerk him off. Seriously, he'd cum as soon as your hand touches his cock

Would be entirely too tired and overstimulated to do anything else for the rest of the night

He kinda just lays where he is and sleeps like that

He'd rate the experience a 4/10. It was pleasurable, but if you wanted to do it again, you need a smaller strap. He can't handle allat girth

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: no further comment.

[swagsauce23]

i've never been in love before (now all at once it's you)

Pairing/s: Jirou Kyouka x jazz!Reader

Summary: Jirou finds the silence of the night unbearable to sleep through, Bakugo invites her to a place everyone in UA has apparently known about except her.

Content: 6.1k words, mild hurt w comfort, sad themes, fluff too tbh, bakugo uses gay as an insult jokingly, “im gon kms” jokes, they/them for reader, mentions of reader’s parents, takes place post-war arc, jirou+bakugo siblingship cuz i said so

A/N: chat not proofread + i have not written in months + and i havent touched mha in YEARS!!! soz cuz this is pretty long part 2 coming in as soon as i actually finish it LOL

The silence is deafening for Jirou.

She shuffles onto her right side, the bandage covering the (non-existing?) half of her left ear slightly stings as it’s exposed to the chilly air of the night. The sounds of blankets and pillows shifting against her right ear provides little comfort against the booming quiet.

She doesn’t hear the others downstairs cheering as Satou brings his homemade snacks for movie night. She doesn’t hear the shouts and video game noises across from Denki’s dorm. Doesn’t hear Mina gossiping in Hagakure’s room that’s down the hall. 

She doesn’t hear Midoriya training just outside the building, having been moved to a more safer facility in the school grounds for his injuries, nor does she hear Aoyama’s faint classical music in the floor below her, having refused to return to 1A since it’s been discovered that he’s— 

Jirou suddenly feels dizzy.

She sits up in her bed, hands gripping onto the blanket over her lap as burning chills suddenly appear through her one earphone jack. She pushes the blanket away, shivering as she stands up from her bed to make way outside of her dorm. 

She’s slightly surprised to see the kitchen lights turned on once she makes her way downstairs. Turning a corner, she looks and sees who’d be awake at the dead of night. 

With the kettle bubbling in the background, Bakugo has his elbows leaned against the counter, brows furrowed as he fiddles with what seems to be some sort of small device in his hands.

“Bakugo?” Jirou says, interrupting him from his deep trance. He snaps his head in her direction, a small sound of surprise coming out of him, eyes wide, startled, as if he didn’t seem to notice Jirou standing there, eye bags on her face as she uses one arm to steady herself against a kitchen wall.

“God, it’s just you.” He sighs, tiredness evident in his voice, turning his head back with his hand rubbing at his temple. “Why are you up?” She asks, taking a seat on one of the chairs near the kitchen island that’s between her and Bakugo as he tsks at the small device in his hand and pockets it in his jacket.

“It’s too fuckin’ loud.” He cryptically says and Jirou gives him a weird look. It’s been quiet all night even with the state of her ears. It’s too quiet, she thinks.

Jirou only hums, doesn’t push any more as the tiredness seems to suddenly seep in. She stares at the kettle beside him. “What are you making?” Jirou asks, following his eyes towards the boiling water machine. She feels normal again, asking Bakugo what he’s making.  

“It’s just for the noise.” He dryly answers, his eyes squinting as if in annoyance as the sounds from the kettle get quieter. Jirou’s eyes finally land on his attire, only noticing the unusual attire the blonde is wearing that one usually wouldn’t wear at this time of night. She thought that he’d be wearing full-on silk bed robes with how tired he also seemed to look.

“You’re goin’ somewhere?” Jirou asks again subconsciously, eyes focused on the kettle as silence quickly fills the air as the machine comes to a quiet. Bakugo turns to her with frustration. “Awfully curious, ay?” He snaps, with almost an edge to his voice. Jirou looks back at him and immediately puts on an apologetic look upon seeing the blonde’s face that’s littered with tired marks and scars. “Sorry.” She says, looking away and putting her focus on the marble island in front of her. 

“No, I— Ugh, fuckin’ hell.” Bakugo complains, guilt seeping in with the exhaustion in his tone. He roughly rubs his temple before leaning across the counter and turning the kettle on again. Turning back against the counter again, tense and stiff, heaving as he rubs his hands against the black coat he’s wearing. 

The reappearing noises of the kettle comfortingly takes up the space for the two young heroes. 

Beat. 

Beat.

“What about you?” He asks so quietly that Jirou barely catches it. “What?” She looks back up at him, “Why are you awake, dumbass.” He repeats with a familiar groan. Jirou snorts, “Can’t sleep, you know, it’s, I—” She starts before pausing when her hand comes up to lean up against the left side of her face. She pauses, not noticing Bakugo's empathetic look

“I’m goin’ out.” He says, interrupting her from her silence as she looks back up at him.

“To, meet someone.” What? 

“At this time?” She raises an eyebrow, “What are you— you doing drugs or something, dude?” She jokes, Bakugo scoffs, a small smile on his face. “Fuck you. No, I’m goin’ to the Midnight Lounge.” He retorts.

“Midnight Lounge? That sounds like a bar.” Jirou says, eyebrow raising higher at Bakugo. “That’s ‘cause it is, idiot.” He says, as if it’s common knowledge, up until he takes in the look of confusion and suspicion on Jirou’s face.

“You know we’re underaged, right?” She accuses with an amused smile.

“Not really a bar anymore since rebranding but,” Bakugo quickly comes to defend himself, “It’s a jazz bar, but don’t act stupid— Everyone knows it’s more of a diner than a bar, ears.”

Jirou ignores his nickname for her, still looking at him with a face of increased confusion. “..Have you not been there before?” Bakugo asks slowly, as if asking if someone knows how to breathe oxygen.

“This is like, my first time hearing of this, jazz-diner-bar, dude.”

Bakugo is taken aback. “You haven’t been to Midnight Lounge?” He asks again, as if it would change Jirou’s answer as she shakes her head no, “Used to be called Mighty Melodies?” Bakugo clarifies and Jirou continues to shake her head in confusion.

“You fuckin’ serious with me right now?” He asks again, and Jirou is concerned with how insistent he is with making sure that Jirou has absolutely never, ever heard or taken a foot inside this Midnight or Mighty Melodies Lounge place he’s talking about.

“Dude, what the hell are you on?” She asks jokingly, but not really. “What the hell are you on?” Bakugo retorts back before taking a good look at her with squinted eyes, like he’s trying to dissect what’s happening under Jirou’s brain.

“Come with me.” He says.

“What?” Jirou looks at him as if he chopped off her other earphone jack.

“Go back to your room and get dressed, idiot. Come with me.” He repeats, clearly annoyed.

“It’s late.” 

“Neither of us are goin’ back to sleep anytime soon, nerd. We’re old enough to skip bedtime.” He argues. “Seriously, go get a jacket or somethin’ and we’ll go.” He adds when he notices Jirou’s skeptical look.

“Hurry the fuck up before I throw my sweat at you and make you explode!” He threatens, raising his voice as he puts up one hand to make small sparks to add to the antic.

Jirou laughs before getting up and raising her hands in surrender, “Okay, okay! I’ll go!” She says before quickly making her way back up to her dorm.

Bakugo looks at her retreating form and lets out a small amused huff, shaking his head before letting his ears focus on the bubbling from the kettle.

-

The air is colder outside compared to Jirou’s room as she and Bakugo walk the streets of a small part of the city near the school, towards whatever place Bakugo was insistent on bringing Jirou along.

“What are you even doing in a place like that, Bakugo?” Jirou asks, mist coming out of her mouth as winter is just right around the corner. 

“Weren’t you listening? Told ‘ya I had someone to meet over there.” Bakugo replies, Jirou hums before tucking further into her purple and black striped scarf. “Gotta get somethin’ from ‘em. Shitty ear aid broke.” He adds. Jirou’s both surprised and in awe he seems okay with talking about what should be such a somewhat sensitive topic with her. 

“Might fuckin’ help you too or somethin’, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He mutters, more quietly than ever but Jirou manages to just catch it. Her boots pause with a dumbfounded look at her face but quickly go back to walking when Bakugo turns on a corner of the street. 

She walks beside him as they both stand in front of a tall, but humble building. Warm lights gleam from the inside as the sound of soft jazz fills the air. A wooden sign engraved with the words Midnight Lounge hangs above the entrance door.

Jirou stands there admiring the atmosphere, focusing on the music that’s flowing through and the details she’s trying so hard to pick apart. She snaps from her trance when a bell jingles over the door Bakugo opens.

Jirou and Bakugo enter the building, the former looks around the establishment as she trails behind the blonde as he leads them into a small booth in a corner near the front door. Jirou sees about 5 or 6 groups of people occupying the tables on the main floor, with several people on their own taking refuge near what seems to be the bar area, although the chalkboard menus filled with all sorts of dishes and drinks suggest otherwise.

“This is like, peak atmosphere.” Jirou comments as they sit down, her eyes finally landing on the big stage that’s placed on the far end of the establishment where a live band is playing. 

“It’s— just like, right around the corner too. How the hell have I not been here?” Jirou says, looking back at Bakugo who’s taking off his coat, revealing the warm orange sweater he’s wearing. “You fuckin’ tell me,” He starts, “Almost everyone in our class knows about this place, y’know.” 

Jirou looks at him with wide eyes, “For real? Didn’t know you guys hated me like that.” She jokes, “You said it, not me.” Bakugo snickers. “Ass.” Jirou lets out a small smile before turning her gaze back to the stage. “Nobody told the little runt about this, if that helps.” Bakugo adds.

“Little runt? Mineta? Jesus, Bakugo.” Jirou sighs while a small snort comes from Bakugo. She shakes her head, eyes observing the different musicians in the band, her eyes following the pianist who stands up from his instrument and onto the stage where the microphone is, “So where’s this friend that you’re supposed to meet?”  

“Can’t fuckin’ wait a little? Shut up, it’s ‘boutta start.” Jirou turns back to him to give him an unamused look when all of the sudden, the lights inside the building start to dim.

A spotlight is cast upon the stage, highlighting the pianist Jirou was just eyeing earlier. A man with slick-back brown hair, with an impressive moustache adjusts his bowtie before tapping the mic once, twice then three times.

“Good evening, folks. Welcome to the Midnight Lounge.” He starts, a smooth, buttery voice coming out of him that catches everyone’s attention in the room. “We’re about to start our last and final performance, with a special guest that I’m sure many of us admire!” A few people clap and whoop, “So sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the night.” The man goes back and takes his seat again on the piano and Jirou takes this opportunity to look back at Bakugo.

“Was that him? You looking for ways to grow a moustache?” Jirou jokes and Bakugo lightly shoves her to turn back to the stage, “Shut up, idiot. Watch the perfor—” Applauds and cheers from the rest of the establishment quickly cut Bakugo off as Jirou tries to look back to see who’s the special guest on stage—

A soft, delicate voice comes and cuts through the crowd, their cheers quiet down as the piano picks up and the drums softly blend into the singing voice. Jirou looks at the other patrons as they nod their head to the music, conversations stopped as some take the time to admire the singer on the stage. 

She sneaks a peek at Bakugo who’s completely entranced, his previously rigid and tight stance completely melted away. She knew by the way his eyes almost seem to share the same look every time he’d practice the drums every rehearsal during the sports festival. It looks like he’d fall asleep any moment now.

Her eyes are redirected to you. Words barely comprehended and processed as a  saxophone solo comes into the song, all she could do was sit mesmerized as you share smiles with the musicians on stage, sitting on a wooden stool that’s propped near the microphone. When your voice returns to sing, she thinks she'll be okay with staying in that moment forever. 

She can hear the hi-hats and the soft sounds of a brush against the drums, the different chords from the piano, each and every note from the saxophone rings so clearly in her ears. She can hear your voice so clearly, like light at the end of the tunnel. For a moment, it feels like she can finally have a good night’s rest.

A moment that passes too quickly for her liking. 

All of a sudden, the saxophone plays its last note, the piano softly blending back into silence, your voice lasts just a little bit longer, until that ends too. The silence that fills the space your voice once taken has never felt so comforting to Jirou before.

A small beat passes, before the patrons in the store all cheer. The lights slowly turn back on and shine a light of warmness across the room. You stand up from your chair and bow, dragging the other band members with you as well.

Jirou barely registers that the performance has ended until Bakugo snaps his fingers in front of her. “Oi, emo. Pay attention.” He says with a smug smirk on his face, the tight tension has returned to his body, but Jirou thinks it looks evidently more relaxed than before.

She looks at him, bewildered at what she just experienced. “What the hell was that?” She asks him as Bakugo only leans back against the cushioned booths with his smirk only growing bigger as if he’d done something groundbreaking. “That was my friend.” He says with pride.

“No way. Did you just hear their voice? That’s fucking crazy.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I’m not joking, that was literally the most euphoric thing I’ve ever experienced.”

He snickers at her, before looking back at where you were near the stage, greeting and thanking the patrons who were all talking to you. Jirou turns to see what he’s looking at, seeing you slowly approach their table. She quickly turns to Bakugo with a panicked look and he can only laugh at her stupid face.

-

A patron calls out your name and you turn your head, “Aye! Amazing show there, kid. Fantastic voice!” They say and you bow your head in thanks, “Thank you! Come again soon!” You say, heading off to another table to greet guests before a loud, boisterous laughter catches your attention.

Your ears lead you to a table with what seems like a purple-haired girl with her head clenched between her hands and a boy with spiky, blonde, hair with— “Katsuki?” You say out loud, unknowingly calling out his name as the two of you lock eyes. He stops laughing as he nods at you, raising his hand to call for you. “Oi! Come over here!” 

Jirou only stares at you as you make your way over to their table, barely registering anything as you and Bakugo interact. 

Bakugo quickly stands up from his table to greet you with a hesitant side hug, much to Jirou’s surprise. “You’re alive!” You say, quickly checking to see any wounds on him, your eyes landing on his very burnt ears. “No aid?” You ask softly, concern laced in your voice. 

“Of course I’m alive, I’m not a fuckin’ wimp.” He boasts first, making you roll your eyes. “And, yeah. I’m here for that.” He quickly taps his ear and you nod in understanding.

The feeling she got from you doesn’t waver one bit, your speaking voice entrances her just as much as you were singing. A passing thought comes to her with how comfortable Bakugo seems to be with you, it must be the tiredness, she reasons. Although she’d understand if it’s due to anything related to your demeanor that seems to fill everyone in the room with peace. 

“This is Jirou. Jirou Kyouka.” He says, turning to the purple-haired girl across the table. Your eyes widen, noticing the other party at the end of the table. A girl sits in one of your booths with tense shoulders and hands pocketed as she’s dressed in a gray-ish, purple coat, and what seems to be her scarf laid on the space beside her. Jirou Kyouka. You swear you’ve heard that name somewhere before. 

You hold out a hand for her to shake, introducing yourself, making Jirou snap back to your eyes. “Is Jirou okay?” You test the name on your lips, puzzle pieces connecting in your brain as you piece together who she is. She nods, eyes wide as she takes your hand. “Jirou Kyouka. I can’t believe it took us this long to meet.” A moment of silence passes when your fingers make contact, goosebumps running up your arms as your palms touch. Jirou’s brain blanks when you give her a small smile that she returns with a shaky one.

Bakugo sits back down from across her, and you quickly follow and sit beside him. Jirou’s hand is disconnected from yours as she raises her eyebrows, finally registering your question, “What do you mean?” She’s surprised that you seem to know who she is. 

You finally remember who she is, with her watered-down punk look that makes sense when you see smudges of eyeliner on her face and the endearing purple hairdo she has. “I’ve heard from the others in 1A all about you!” Jirou firmly believes that Denki has been here before and she wonders why he hasn’t told her about it. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. Although it does seem like this place wouldn’t be your type. ” You reason, taking a peek at the metallic bracelets adorned on her hand. “You did amazing at the sports festival earlier this year and my mom’s a big fan of your dad’s work.” It feels as if the cold from outside suddenly came in as Jirou flushed from the praise.

“That’s why I brought her here today. Idiot’s never been here.” Bakugo explains with disbelief in his voice. “Not that I knew anything about this place, since nobody told me.” She retaliates, sending the blonde a small glare as he laughs.

“She’s emo. She doesn’t listen to jazz.” Bakugo comments again, and you let out a laugh. “Rude.” Jirou says, “Erm, I actually do, mind you. But not as much with other genres. You’ve seen our sports festival performance?” She realizes what you just said and ends up being even more surprised that she’s only met you just now, especially when it seems like you’re well-acquainted with the rest of her class.

You quickly shake your head, “Not in person, unfortunately.” Jirou lets out a small ah, “I wish I had though, I would’ve done anything to see Bakugo over here kill the drums.” You nod over at the blonde as he glows at the praise, “Watching from the television was good enough to catch how amazing your voice was though. Do you take classes?” Jirou barely registers the compliment before answering, “When I was younger, yeah! You?”

“Oh, no! But gosh, I wish I could.” You say with a sheepish smile, “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone with such,” She racks through her brain for a word, but falls empty, inwardly cursing herself as she tries to get the lump out of her throat. “with such a voice.” Sweet Ethel Cain, I’m gonna kill myself after this, she thinks.

Your smile slowly falls at her words, you swear you just felt the hairs on your legs rise along with the ones on her arms. Her shy compliment makes the corners of your mouth turn up again.

“That’s ‘cause of their quirk.” Bakugo interrupts, almost boasting. Jirou’s eyes widened in curiosity, ignoring Bakugo. She sees you shaking your head amused but ultimately nodding in agreement, “Yes, what you’re talking about might be because of my quirk.” 

“Shittyhead over here has a calming quirk and shit.” Bakugo adds, roughly patting your shoulder, “That is indeed the gist of it.” You chuckle, shoving Bakugo’s hands away from your shoulder, taking notice of the bandages and the fresh burns on his skin. Jirou thinks it only makes sense that you have a quirk that alters your voice, there’d be no other reasonable reason that could explain why in the world your voice was so enticing.

“What does it do?” Jirou asks before she could help herself, and she panics when she realizes that it could be a little insensitive to ask someone like that, “You can’t just ask someone why someone’s skin is pink, Kaminari!” A memory flashes through her of when Denki and Mina first met at UA, of which her yellow-haired best friend quickly found out that Mina is not a force to be reckoned with. She’s about to apologize until you let out a small laugh at her.

“It’s called Siren, well, at least that’s what my dad calls it.” You start, Jirou hangs on every single word you say, while Bakugo taps the table with his fingers. “Which doesn’t really make sense, my voice acts as a calming agent for others. I can’t lure you in or ask you to do things for me like a siren-like quirk would typically do.” Jirou doesn’t fathom why anyone would deny you anything you ask. She surely would.

What?

“I’ve been told it apparently has a different feeling for each person. Some say it’s like being lulled to sleep, others feel like they got everything they need at that moment. I don’t really know much about it.” You let out a small laugh, rubbing a hand against your neck.

“But your quirk is crazy fucking useful.” Bakugo suddenly compliments as you and Jirou turn to him with surprise, “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t apply for a course at some hero school. Your viability even if your quirk isn’t necessarily powerful or potent is huge.” He says, turning to meet your gaze with a genuine look, before you shake your head.

“Somebody needs to run this place,” you start hesitantly and Jirou notices Bakugo’s face almost, shrinking, into what seems like disappointment. It’s obvious you’ve had this conversation more than once with the pushy blonde, she thinks. “I won’t be any good in that field. You won’t believe the ruckus this place got when you guys were handling that supervillain a couple weeks ago.” You deflect away from the topic and Bakugo lets out a small frown but doesn’t push any further.

“Also, are you guys even allowed to be here?” You worry, suddenly remembering the time of the night and the presence of two minors being far away from somewhere that’s safe, protected and where they’re supposed to be. 

Jirou puts on a nervous smile while Bakugo gives you a sheepish look. “Come on, we’ve been here before all the time.” He reasons and you shake your head. “It wasn’t the same before, not with everything that has happened, Bakugo. Being here, it’s not safe.” You berate softly, the blonde winces at the use of his last name.

Jirou lets out a small laugh as Bakugo raises his hands in surrender, before pulling out the small device she’s seen him fiddling with earlier as he hands it to you. “We’ll go our way as soon as possible.” He says as you inspect the device, looking at the blonde with a sad smile. He looks over at Jirou as she gives him a slightly bewildered look, before turning to you again, “Maybe another one.” You nod, standing from your seat and removing yourself from the booth.

You turn to Jirou, giving her a comforting smile, “I’ll just go in the back. I’ll have some people serve you guys.” Jirou nods in understanding, turning to the drummer across from her with a million questions in her head as you leave from earshot.

“I have tinnitus.” Bakugo states blankly and Jirou acknowledges the faint look of vulnerability he has. “Ringing in the ears, guess that’s what you fuckin’ get for givin’ a kid an explosion quirk growing up.” He jests in an uncannily soft manner that quickly passes when a server comes up to them with two cups of what looks like hot chocolate. 

It’s common knowledge in class 1A that several members have drawbacks to their quirks. She’s noticed Denki has been significantly forgetful shortly after the battle has ended. Mina has had frequent burns despite having built her resistance to her own quirk for years. She thinks she’s heard Dark Shadow being restless in Tokoyami’s room when she went back up to her room to change.

But no doubt in her mind, the most evident one is Izuku. Jirou recalls watching him break every single possible part of his body to win against his competition during the sports festival. She didn’t think there could be anything worse than having parts of your body break every time you use your quirk.

She thought wrong when the others had said something about the green hero losing his quirk after the war. She didn’t even think that was possible. 

A hand subconsciously comes up to brush the hair behind her left ear, the lacking presence of half her quirk suddenly becomes apparent. Maybe it’s not such a crazy concept to think about. She puts her hand through the handle of the mug in front of her.

“Annoys the shit out of me. Fuckin’ worse than when dunceface babbles on and on and on,” Bakugo admits, cutting Jirou from her train of thought. “But it’s been too quiet and at the same time, it’s just—” He pauses, eyeing the mug full of hot chocolate in her hand. Jirou can only stay quiet as she eyes him a look full of pity, before his own eyes land on her. 

God, he hates that look. 

“It’s been too fucking loud.” He spits out, forcing his gaze on his own mug. Jirou looks at his pinched blonde brows, his red eyes that have been significantly softer compared to their first few months together at UA. 

“I—” Jirou starts, trying to think of something to say to take the space between them before the silence does. “I don't think I’ve been hearing good.” She winces, cringing at the way she words it. A silence comes between them, a rare comforting one, knowing that they’re in strange solidarity with their situations.

She hears Bakugo’s loud snort, “No shit, sherlock. You got half your fuckin’ ear blown off.” He jokes with a wolfish grin, and Jirou can’t help but smile at his blunt statement, letting out a few laughs.

“So, you’re getting like, what? Cochlear implants or something?” Jirou asks, having done a significant amount of research once she finally got back from the war to help with her hearing. 

But those implants can be pricey, and if she’s constantly being on the battlegrounds in the future where villains know about your very specific hearing quirk, she can’t even begin to think about how she’ll be able to afford replacing them without aid from her parents. She’d hate to ask anything more from them.

How can Bakugo get such important implants from a friend in a jazz bar? 

“Somethin’ like that,” He shrugs, “Of course, I can fuckin’ afford ‘em, but nobody has the fuckin’ time to wait months for that shit.” Jirou nods, that makes more sense. It’s a long process to get those and if her quirk had affected that process too, it’d be even longer for her.

“Then what are you getting?”

“You know about Y/N’s quirk. It’s crazy fucking useful, my only fuckin’ complaint is that I can’t drag them with me all the time so they can get this stupid fucking ringing outta my ear.” He huffs and Jirou raises an eyebrow.

He gives her a pointed look, “Come on, you can’t tell me that voice isn’t as clear as fucking glass.” She shrugs, but nods, “I mean, yeah. But what does that have to do with anything?” 

“IEMs that play a loop of their voice. Glorified fucking earphones. Not any better than the real person, have to shove the thing down my ear, but it helps when I’m tryin’ to sleep.” Bakugo admits nonchalantly while Jirou looks at him with shock.

“So, you’re sleeping to the sound of their voice?” Jirou asks playfully but a part of her is genuinely curious.

Bakugo looks at her with a stunned look until it dawns upon him how else his words could be interpreted, “Okay, fuck you. You’re makin’ it sound gay.” He swats at the air in front of her while Jirou lets out a snort, backing away from him. “Don’t make it weird, you piece of shit. It’s not like that.” He defends.

“Whatever toots your horn, bakubro.” Jirou raises her hands in surrender, teasing him as Bakugo fake-spits at her. 

“But does it actually work, though?” The purple-haired girl asks.

“Does for me. I know the other shitfaces in class seek them out. Dunno if they ask for it.” He explains and Jirou can’t help but feel left out, not having known about you like the others did. “You’ll fuckin’ find out soon enough, I asked one for you too.” Jirou nods, unsure how to feel about sleeping to some stranger’s voice. 

But she remembers how she felt when you sang and she admits that all the comments about your quirk are very accurate. The concept of falling asleep to someone’s voice isn’t unfamiliar to her and if Bakugo’s doing it, it’s probably worth something good.

“How did you even meet them?” Jirou asks Bakugo, looking at the door where you disappeared to that’s on the far end of the establishment.

“Parents are friends with the folks. Mom loved jazz.” Bakugo says plainly, his hands tapping against the table becomes more rattled as his eyes nervously follow the musicians in the background, stopping and slowly packing their instruments one by one, the silence slowly yet surely filling the air.

“You listen to jazz?” Jirou adds, Bakugo doesn’t seem like the type to listen to anything remotely soft. He raises an eyebrow at her, “The brush techniques for the drums are good. What, you don’t think jazz is for everyone, shithead?” Bakugo pokes at her while Jirou pokes her tongue out at him. “I’m just curious.”

The blonde lets out a snort as he takes a sip from his mug, and Jirou does the same too. The bell above the door rings ever so often as the people in the room leave one by one, the cold air breezing in every time.

Both of their mugs are empty by the time you come back to their table. Your face shining that it almost blinds Jirou, complimented and highlighted by the lights, even though she swears the lights have dimmed. 

You quickly hand something to Bakugo and he nods at you in small thanks. Jirou observes the distressed look on your face before your head turns to look at the near-empty establishment. “It’s late. As much as I’d love to catch up, you guys need to go back to UA and sleep, alright?” A sigh comes out of you, “We’re about to close, anyways.”

Bakugo lets out a small huff before nodding, standing up from the booth to face you as Jirou stands up from her side as the two heroes let you guide them back outside the establishment.

It’s cold when Jirou is the first one to step out, she quickly brandishes her scarf around her neck, turning her head to see you and Bakugo exchange a quick hug with a few pats on the back, she finds herself warming at the rare sight.

“It’s been so good seeing you, Katsuki. I’m glad you guys are alright.” Jirou questions how the smile on your face shines so bright despite your back facing the lights from the building.

“I know the bar’s called the Midnight Club but that doesn’t mean you should always be coming here at the dead of night, alright?” The two students laugh, nodding. 

“We’ll come back soon, nerd. Expect that I’ll be eating all the wings on your menu.” Bakugo says, closing the last few buttons on his coat. Jirou nods, she definitely wants to come back. “The music, it was really awesome. I’m glad I got to meet you.” She shivers, whether it’s because of the cold or from your eyes on her, she doesn’t know.

Your smile widens at her words, “Me too. Seriously. I hope you come back.” Your ears pierce through her. Jirou flushes, it must be getting colder.

 Bakugo hums, “The two of you, I mean.” You clarify, turning to see Bakugo’s pondering face hidden by the scarf he’s put on again.

“Right.” He says, a small, mischievous grin on his face before he turns back and goes his way. “See you later, nerd.” He raises his hand as farewell and you chuckle.

Jirou looks at him going back to the street from where they came from before turning back to you, “I should go.” She sheepishly says.

You laugh, letting out a small breath, “Right.”

She smiles before quickly jogging to the blonde’s path, not before turning her head around one more time to see you. “Thank you for the drinks! Have a good night!” She manages to shout out, waving her hand goodbye, already half across the street.

You wave back, letting out an even louder laugh that she can hear despite the distance, “No problem! Take care!”  

Jirou watches your distancing figure waving as she walks towards Bakugo, before you eventually go back inside. The last few people going back out as you exchange your goodbyes with them.

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in, turning to Bakugo on her right, who’s looking at her with a knowing grin.

“What?”

“Nothing.” His eyes go back to focusing on the path in front of them.

-

The silence is comforting as the two make their way back to school, crickets chirping and leaves falling and it feels like it took no time to finally arrive back in the school dorms.

Bakugo takes off his scarf and sheds his coat, quickly going back to the kitchen to turn the kettle on. Jirou eyes him as she takes off her scarf.

“Not going to bed yet?”

“Makin’ more hot chocolate.” He says, Jirou hums before making her way back to the dorms— “Wait, Jirou.” Bakugo calls for her as she turns around confused.

Bakugo puts his hand out with a small device, reaching out for her to grab it. “Airpods?” Jirou eyes the device, taking it in her hands. “Works the same as one. Button on the side. It starts playing the shit.” Bakugo explains and Jirou nods in understanding.

“Thank you, Bakugo.” Jirou gives the tall blonde a smile.

He nods, “Don’t be fuckin’ loud.” Jirou snorts as the somewhat affectionate words, or as affectionate Bakugo could be, leaves out of his mouth before he turns back to the kitchen.

Jirou stares at his still figure for just a second before going back upstairs to her dorm.

-

The deafening silence returns as Jirou steps inside her room, taking off her boots to put aside as she eyes the belongings in the dorm she’ll need to be packing soon. 

Quickly changing back into her pajamas, she sits on the edge of the bed as she opens the small device, where two smaller devices sit. 

Taking them out of the case, she carefully places them in her ears, navigating the left one through the cotton bandages. 

She lies on her bed, uneasiness settling in her body before she presses one of the buttons on the side of her head.

Kyouka Jirou falls asleep to the sound of your voice that night.

[dovedewdrop]

The One That Got Away

In another life

I would be your girl / 1.7k

A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first fic! I've been super anxious to put this out but also itching to write something so here we are🤗 I hope you enjoy🩷

Also thank you to one of my besties @gracieispunk for being so supportive always🥹 she truly has a heart of gold and deserves the world💛 Happy 5 months of friendship🫶🏻👹

Warnings: Post-Outbreak. Mean!Joel. Just pure angst tbh. sad vibes.

---

The last time he had kissed you was the morning of the outbreak, long and passionate, his arm slung around your lower back, your hand on his chest. He’d done it to shut you up really, both you and Sarah on his case about how he was working late, on his birthday of all days, but you both knew why he had to, it was the same reason you picked up extra shifts at work too, you had a wedding to plan and weddings weren’t cheap no matter how low-key they were.

Now you sat at your kitchen table in Jackson in the house you shared with Tommy and Maria, your fingertips ghosting across your bottom lip as you reminisced on that morning. Soon those sweet memories that seemed to be coated in an orange hue were contrasted with shades of blue, Joel had changed, he became a man you didn’t recognise, a man who was cold towards you.

You knew deep down that he didn’t blame you for what had happened, but he had to be mad at someone. At first he just withdrew into himself, but it didn’t take long for him to become outwardly mean, you felt pathetic as you followed behind him up dirt paths and across fields and embarrassed when one day he’d stopped in his tracks, drew in a long breath, and muttered, “wish you’d just leave already,” stalking off up the hill and leaving Tommy to comfort you.

So that’s what you did, you and Tommy, you left with no idea where you’d end up and it killed you to turn around at the edge of the woods and see Joel sitting there on his own, snapping sticks in his hand as if it was your heart he was holding.

You wiped your tears away with the back of your hand and downed the rest of your coffee before placing the mug in the sink, grabbing a checked fleece from the hook on your way out the door. The air outside was biting, bringing a rosiness to your cheeks which you didn’t really mind, you’d be out of the cold and in the Bison soon enough. You took note of the patrol coming back in through the gates and smiled at some of the other families as you weaved your way through the crowds of people who had stopped in the streets.

“Tommy!” You stopped dead in your tracks. Tommy was a popular man around here; someone was always looking for him but there was no mistaking whose voice that was. When you turned ever so slightly they were embracing in a hug, it made your heart burst to see them together like that, how they used to be, how Joel used to be. He seemed a lot brighter, full if a bit more life. You scanned the horses and noticed a young girl amongst the patrollers, someone you hadn’t seen before, you wondered if she was his, if he’d met someone new after you, fallen in love again and decided to have another kid, you wondered if he was healed, if she’d healed him. 

When you turned your attention back to them he was already looking at you and for the first time in your life you couldn’t read him, his emotions had always been so strong, when he loved it was with his whole heart and as you came to find out, when he hated, that was with his whole heart too.

You tore your gaze away from his and headed towards the pub, clutching at your chest, you were grateful that you didn’t have to open for another hour as you slumped against the wooden cupboard behind the bar, trying your best to regulate your breathing, eyes closed and head pounding. As you’d finally calmed down and peeled your eyes open you noticed a head full of curls peaking over the bar, Tommy.

“You know he was coming?” You asked, with a slight shake evident in your voice.

“Nah, guys picked him and the girl up whilst out on patrol.” He began rounding the bar to sit on the floor with you.

“Is that his daughter?”

“Don’t think so, haven’t had chance to speak to him properly yet, ‘ad to come check on you.” He nudged your shoulder with his and gave you a sincere smile, one which you returned, he’d always looked out for you and now that Joel was back that wasn’t going to change. “Take the rest of the afternoon off, I’ve got it covered here.” 

“Thanks Tommy,” you pull him into a hug before standing up and heading home. 

You take a hot shower and try to drown out the recurring memories of how Joel fell out of love with you, of how when he looked at you his eyes no longer held warmth, how when you’d touch him he’d flinch and looked away. When you sat at your dresser your eyes fixed on your engagement ring that sat in a wooden box that the carpenter in Jackson had been kind enough to make, it wasn’t incredibly fancy, you weren’t into big sparkly rocks, but the green amethyst stone was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and it made your heart burst to know that he picked it. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been sat at the dresser but when you snap out of your trance you realise you don’t quite know what to do with the rest of your afternoon, perhaps you should’ve carried on with your shift, but you know there’s no arguing with Tommy. Eventually you decide on grabbing a book from the bookshelf and sitting outside on the porch with a cup of coffee. That’s when you see him again, or rather hear him. The door to the Bison swings and he storms out, jacket in hand, boots trudging through the sludgy remnants of snow until he stops in the middle of the street, he looks down and you watch, over the top of your book, as his body lets out a breath he seems to have been holding in for a long time. 

You try to hold your tongue but you’re not about to let him walk around in this town and ignore you. “Get into a fight with Tommy?” you question, placing your book down in your lap and pulling the blanket further up your legs. His head shoots up to look at you, his expression looks pained, like he knew this was coming but would prefer it to not be happening right now. 

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles as he slowly walks over to the house, treading lightly both figuratively and literally. 

“Ah, still the same Joel Miller, so elusive and cautious, so stony-faced,” he doesn’t answer you, just looks away to where the girl is talking to some other kids, “of course, he wasn’t always like that,” you mumble, more to yourself than him but he still catches it.

“Don’t” He snaps back.

“Don’t?” You scoff, “that’s rich, what? Can’t handle a bit of shit back?” Again, he doesn’t answer. “That your kid?” You ask, you make sure that you breathe when you ask but really, you’re suffocating inside, you want to fawn over him, you want to hug him and cradle his head in your hand, and you want him to rub soothing circles on your hips like he used to but you’re dealing with an entirely different man now.

“No.” There’s a pause, you notice his eyes flit down to your hands, presumably searching out your ring. “Just tryna get her somewhere.” You nod at his response before silence falls over you both, your eyes drifting over to the kid.

“What’s her name?”

“Ellie.” You nod your head once again. 

You can feel everything bubbling up inside you, emotions and words and if you’re not careful they’ll come bubbling out of you in a way that you can’t control. Every second spent in his presence goads you. “You… got a boyfriend?” he asks cautiously and you roll your eyes.

“Jheez Joel, no, how are ya?” He looks down at his fingers that are resting on the wooden railing, like a little boy that’s just been told off. You don’t even know how to respond, your brain trying to categorise your thoughts and feelings like your mind is a jumble sale. 

“What ya thinking about?” His voice is soft, his eyes feel as though they’re looking into your soul, like they used to do, he was looking at you like he did when you did something he adored, something that reminded him why he loved you so damn much.

When you let out a sigh instead of an answer, he tapped both hands on the railing and pushed himself off, a slight smile that quickly turned into a frown. “See ya around.”

He stopped walking as you began speaking and you were glad his back was to you because here comes the word vomit, 

“ Thinkin about how one day, probably sometime within the next five years, my kids are gonna come runnin up on this porch and my husband is gonna come home from his patrol shift, presumably with you, and he’s gonna tell me about his day and he’ll give that little of a shit that he won’t even notice that I’m not lookin directly at him, I’m lookin past him at you. About how, when I go to tuck my kids in at night I’ll get this stabbing in my chest and this gnawing feeling in my brain telling me that I’m a bad mother because sure, I’ll love them to absolute pieces but part of me can’t help but think I’d love them more if they were your kids. About how I’ll get into bed at night, with my husband who doesn’t so much as utter a “goodnight” to me, instead just rolls over and goes straight to sleep and I’ll cry and mull over what could have been and what I wanted more than anything in the world- until the exhaustion washes over me. Then I’ll wake up the next day and do it all over again. That’s what I’m thinking about Joel.”

He turns to face you at your admission and you can see the tears in his eyes, watching as he forces them out with a blink before wiping a stray one with the back of his flannel. “See ya around,” he repeats.

[sur-i-ki]

ok this one doesn't get a chapter title. I've spent a lot of time writing and re-writing this because of how much of it is from what I've experienced. but. it needs to happen. so imma js post it tbh.

14/20

You try not to go into his room. It’s still his room, though he’s been gone long enough for the world to expect you to call it something else. A storage space. A guest room. Anything but what it is—a shrine.

The mere thought of it used to paralyze you—the weight of what you’d see, of what you’d feel, too unbearable to entertain. But now, standing here in the doorway, you realize you didn’t choose this moment. It chose you, dragging you here on legs that don’t feel like yours, under a weight that has sat on your chest for days, weeks, months.

The door creaks when you push it open, and the sound slices through the silence like something alive. You flinch, but you don’t stop. Your breath comes shallow and fast as if your body already knows what your heart refuses to acknowledge: you’re not ready for this.

The room is the same as the day he left it. The air smells stale, untouched, yet faint traces of him linger like a ghost you can’t exorcise. That warm, earthy cologne he always used, the one you told him made him smell like sunlight. You breathe it in too deeply, and it punches through your lungs like a blade. Your heart clenches at the familiarity, at the cruel way it pulls you back to a time when he was still here, still laughing, still alive.

You step inside, each movement tentative, like the floor might crack open beneath your weight. The bed is unmade, the sheets twisted and pushed aside in a way that’s so him it hurts. He always hated making the bed. "What’s the point?" he used to say, grinning in that lopsided way that made you want to laugh and scream at the same time. The comforter is bunched at the corner where he kicked it off the last time he slept here. His shirt is draped over the chair in the corner, a crumpled thing that looks like him—slumped, careless, perfect. And the sneakers. You hate the sneakers. He left them by the door, one lying on its side like he rushed out, like he planned to come back.

Your knees buckle, and you sit down heavily on the edge of the mattress. The fabric is cold under your fingertips, no longer carrying the warmth of him. You press your hands into the sheets, gripping them as if they might anchor you, but all they do is remind you of the emptiness that’s replaced him.

Your eyes wander without permission, catching on the little things that used to be invisible in the background of your life. The sneakers by the door, one tipped over, the laces undone. There’s a mug on the desk, dried tea leaves clinging to the edges like a relic. You pick it up because you can’t help yourself, the ceramic warm in your memory though cold now, the handle shaped to fit his hand. You clutch it so tightly your fingers ache. If you let go, it will shatter. If you don’t, you will.

A jacket draped over the chair in the corner, sleeves dangling lifelessly. Each item feels like a tiny wound, slicing into you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

There’s a photo on the desk. You almost don’t want to look at it, but your gaze is drawn to it like a magnet. It’s the two of you, grinning, arms slung over each other’s shoulders like the world could never touch you. The frame is crooked, leaning slightly against a stack of books he never got around to reading. Your throat tightens, and your vision blurs as tears rise unbidden.

You feel them spilling down your cheeks, hot and relentless, like a dam has finally broken. You try to wipe them away, but it’s useless. They just keep coming, each drop carving a path down your face, each sob ripping through your chest like shards of glass.

The grief is suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight you can’t escape. It’s in the air, thick and cloying, sticking to your skin and filling your lungs until you can’t breathe. It’s in your head, a constant hum of what-ifs and should-haves that won’t leave you alone. It’s in your heart, a jagged, bleeding thing that refuses to heal.

You clutch the photo to your chest, curling into yourself like you can fold away the pain. But it doesn’t work. Nothing works. He’s everywhere in this room. In the things he left behind, in the silence that’s too loud, in the memories that play on a loop in your mind.

You remember the way he used to sit at that desk, scribbling notes or sketching ideas he’d never finish. The way he’d hum under his breath, always a little off-key but somehow perfect. The way he’d glance up at you, his eyes soft and full of something you didn’t realize you’d miss until it was gone.

You can almost hear his voice, the teasing lilt of it as he’d call your name, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a hug. You can almost feel his hand brushing against yours, a casual touch that felt anything but casual. You can almost see him, standing in the doorway with that smile that made the world seem brighter.

But it’s all in your head. He’s gone, and no amount of wishing will bring him back.

The tears slow eventually, leaving you feeling hollow and raw. Your chest aches, and your head pounds, but you don’t move. You can’t. The thought of leaving this room feels impossible, like walking away would mean letting him go for good.

Your fingers brush against the comforter, tracing the patterns he used to complain about. “Too busy,” he’d said, but he kept it anyway because it was your choice, and he always let you have your way in the end.

A shaky breath escapes you as you lean forward, resting your head in your hands. The grief is quieter now, but it’s no less sharp. It cuts through you in waves, each one leaving you more worn down than the last.

You think about all the things you’ll never get to say to him. All the moments you’ll never share. All the times you’ll have to face the world without him by your side.

The room is a graveyard of what once was, each object a headstone for a memory you can’t let go of. You want to gather them all up, to keep them close so you won’t forget, but you know that’s impossible. The memories will fade, no matter how tightly you hold on.

And that terrifies you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the ache of what you’ve lost. Time seems meaningless, stretching and twisting until it feels like you’ve been there forever.

Eventually, your body moves on its own, your fingers reaching out to touch the photo again. You trace his face with trembling hands, as if you can somehow bring him back to life through sheer willpower. But the glass is cold under your fingertips, a harsh reminder of the distance between you.

He’s everywhere, and he’s nowhere.

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the walls pressing closer, the air growing heavier. You stand abruptly, the motion making your head spin. You stumble toward the door, your legs shaky and unsteady.

You pause in the doorway, glancing back one last time. The room looks the same, but it feels different now. Or maybe you’re the one who’s different.

As you step into the hallway, the air feels cooler, lighter, but it doesn’t help. The weight of him follows you, clinging to your skin, your mind, your heart.

You don’t look back. You can’t.

Because if you do, you know you’ll never leave.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[oodlyenough]

apollo justice: ace attorney thoughts

over the weekend I finished playing AA4 so I wanted to try to put my thoughts in order. much to think about etc

spoilers for the whole game obv, but i haven't played AA5 or AA6 yet so any mention of those are speculation lol

I had heard some pretty mixed reactions to AA4 and I had a lot of reservations going in. It's also probably the AA game I've played that I've been the most spoiled for, which is a shame but probably an unavoidable consequence of waiting for the port while engaging with the fandom. I don't usually like being spoiled but I think knowing the broad strokes of what to expect actually helped here. I can imagine an AU where I blitzed through the first trilogy and onto 4 with no idea of what was coming and being... very upset and disappointed by the direction it took. Having several months to brace for things like Phoenix's disbarment, the 7 year gap, Trucy, etc definitely softened those blows and made me more amenable to them than I would've been otherwise.

Cases

For the most part I thought the puzzle solving was good and the pacing was solid. The puzzles were mostly challenging enough to be satisfying to solve but not so challenging as to be infuriating, and I don't think I needed a walkthrough at all. 4-1 is one of the best tutorial cases in the franchise so far (though I'd give the edge to 3-1) and 4-4 was a really cool finale. The middle two cases tbh I also found fairly charming, and there's usually a least one case in the middle that seems to drag forever, so that was a pleasant surprise. I played Investigations 1 right before this, and I thought both the puzzles and pacing in that game were frankly horrible, so AA4 won a lot of points just with that.

I did think Turnabout Corner and Serenade would be more relevant in the grand scheme of things. The half-spoilers I knew had me expecting a much bigger web of conspriacy than we ended up with -- I expected it to be more than coincidence that Phoenix got hit by a car, more than coincidence that the Borginian egg coccoons are related to poison etc ... like... I fully assumed this was going to tie into the atroquinine plot. But I guess not ... ? Lol

Characters

The new main cast are all very likable, despite my initial reluctance to have a new main cast to begin with. Klavier was an interesting change of pace as prosecutor, in that he wasn't particularly antagonistic outside of the court, nor was he particularly preoccupied with winning, but he was still fun and challenging enough to face off against. Trucy was fun and delightfully bonkers as all assistants should be. Apollo's longsuffering exasperation was hilarious. Ema is the BEST I loved having her as the detective I wish she was there all the time.

I loved Beanix, for the most part. I can see why he rubs some people the wrong way, and tbh I'm glad his last canon outing isn't ... this. But I didn't find him wildly out of character, or at least, when he was feeling "out of character" vs the trilogy it made sense given the intervening events. I also thought it was fun to see him from the outside and see what a galaxybrain 5d chess master he is. I do wish we'd gotten to see more genuine moments of him with Trucy.

Kristoph was fun as a villain, though I have to say fandom led me to believe he was much more of a mastermind puppeteer than he seemed to be in reality. I was expecting a whole decade worth of conspiracies! Instead he fucked up once and struggled to fix it for seven years, lol. I also found the Kristoph/Phoenix relationship a) very fascinating, b) not really what I'd been led to believe by fandom (shocker). I like the canon more though -- I like that instead of being a retread of the Dollie betrayal-from-someone-you-love it was two guys who hate each other being forced to play nice as part of their own schemes.

Criticism

I think it's fairly obvious AA4 was meant to be a soft reboot of the series, to pivot away from the trilogy cast and set up our new heroes in Apollo, Trucy, and I guess Klavier. I think this is probably the entire explanation behind Maya and Edgeworth (and others but lbr those are the big two)'s conspicuous absence... but that doesn't make their absence any less conspicuous. I can squint and forgive neither of them being there when Phoenix is accused of murder, even though I find that insane. I can squint around Maya maybe being off in Kurain during the Enigmar trial, even though I think they could've used a line of dialogue to explain it. But then we started playing past-Phoenix for huge portions of investigation and that started to fall apart for me. Sure, maybe he's pushing his friends away because he's depressed, or maybe he wants to keep Maya out of things because he thinks it's dangerous, or whatever -- you could at least throw in a line or two saying as much. Not mentioning them at all and setting AA4 so closely after AA3, where Phoenix fell through a bridge to save Maya and Edgeworth chartered a private jet, just feels ridiculous.

I also think, at the end of the day, the story here was focused on and pivoting around Phoenix. The core question of the game is "what the hell happened to/is up with Phoenix Wright?" I love Phoenix, so that alone isn't a negative -- except that I think it meant Apollo, Klavier and even Trucy felt underwritten. Trucy and Klavier have such personal stakes in the unfolding events with the Gramaryes and Kristoph, but we only spend a little time and hints on how that might influence Trucy, who mostly falls into the AA weird girl pattern of brushing off major trauma instantly. (Maya got this a lot too in the original trilogy.)

Klavier ... I like Klavier, but they did not do much with him. How did he feel about Kristoph going to jail? He doesn't seem to hold it against Apollo, which is uh, noble, but perhaps not believable. He says he values honesty and truth but do we know why?

Apollo, likable as he was, felt like a passenger in his "own" game, rather than a major character. He doesn't even solve much of the stuff happening in the big overarching mystery -- he is Phoenix's avatar in court, presenting evidence and clues Phoenix left for him. Unlike Trucy and Klavier, who I am pretty sure take a back seat from now on, I guess Apollo still has two more games to try and flesh himself out ... lol but I also know fan reception of those two is not great, so my expectations there are minimal.

Overall

A really solid game that I enjoyed playing, though I can see why it's controversial and not some people's favourite, if they really loved the trilogy. I think it's debatable whether this was the best/only way to continue the series after AA3. And I am excited to read and write a billion 7 year gap fics now.

[hinamie]

sorry if youve talked about this before, but do you have any tips relating to your coloring process? i ADOREE the way you render things and it looks soso cool and once i saw a post where you said your art typically only took a couple hours and i was in SHOCK. cuz ive been working on a yuji piece that has a similarish (not really but idk how to describe it…) coloring style and ive been working at it for. about a month now…sorry this is rambly i hope u have a good day!!!

hi!!! first of all thank you so much I'm happy you like the way I render! honestly it Is still the aspect of drawing that takes the longest for me, I've only recently started to come up with ways to streamline my process (mainly through keeping my layers/brushes limited and overall being less anal about details) . these days my average drawing does take about 2.5-4 hours I'd say, with Big Illustrations obviously being the exception

i wouldn't beat yourself up too much about taking longer to finish a drawing tho ! it took me. a While to learn how to speed up and honestly my biggest piece of advice is loosen up and let certain things look imperfect or unfinished ! and if you're like i was and want to work at getting faster then i would recommend practicing churning out sketchy/rough pieces and see what tricks and habits you can implement or adjust to save time

all that being said I realize haven't done an updated overview of my colouring/rendering process so I guess this can be that ! I'll put it under the cut because i too like to ramble and this Will get long

lineart and base colour/underpainting

my lineart is nearly Always on multiply. it helps the lines stand out less starkly against the colours and makes it so that I don't have to change the colour of as many sections of lines later on

the base colour layer is honestly completely optional, tbh i sometimes skip it so you don't Have to have one but i like it for a few reasons: - I like to keep all my colours on the same layer so if i'm going for a painterly style this serves as an underpaint layer of sorts . having this means that when i paint, whatever colour i have here will blend with all the other colours i use and help them look cohesive - even if I'm not painting, i still like to work with all my colours on the same layer and it helps me make sure I'm not missing any spots, which helps when it comes time to section individual areas off in the next steps

2. flats

lock transparency button my beloved . this makes it so that you're only able to paint on areas where there is Already colour (which is where having an underpaint layer comes in handy)

not much else to say about this step, just choosing colours rly !

3. shading

here's where the fun starts ! since i'm working all on one layer, i use the wand or lasso tool to section off whatever area I want to work on, then go in with (usually) one of the three brushes below: from left to right 1. my favourite dry brush that i use to cover large areas, it has an amazing dry paint stroke-y texture and i use it in everything. great for skin/clothes/hair/fur/organic material...she does it all 2. smaller, blendier/smoother brush that I use to soften out the rougher edges left by the first brush. I find it's really good for hair and small clothing creases 3. rough pen brush that I use to add little bits of flavour in the form of crosshatches or stray lines, usually to hint at individual hair strands! I also use it to line sometimes but I'm using it less for that recently

also, since the lineart layer is set to multiply, it's super easy to colour directly under the lines on my colour layer and use that as a way to make certain lines Darker . it's most obvious at the eyelashes and under the jaw but I do it everywhere

4. finishing touches and texture overlay

here I add another layer above the multiply/lineart layer and use it to add highlights and other details! this is also the layer i use to paint directly on top of any areas that got messy or need extra definition

my texture overlay of choice is just a rough monochrome static file that I got on the csp assets page but use whatever you'd like tbh ! set the layer mode to overlay and adjust the opacity to your liking (I also like to rasterize the layer to make it easier to work with but it's not too consequential if you skip that step since you're basically done by this point anyway)

And done ! slap a signature on that bad boy and send it <3

[calamari-inari]

I'm sorry if this seems like I'm complaining again. I'm suffering from severe imposter syndrome and self loathing, but I feel the need to write it out. Read on at your own risk

Tbh, I think it's the task of promoting my projects the past month that triggered a worsening of my existing depression. So much that I needed to block myself from using a few of my daily apps (twitter and discord). I've been promoting my projects for over a month. Anticipating sales, but having low conversion rate, and things don't go as you expect it to go, and I can't help but feel like a failure when few of the people I believe are closer to me care about it. I'm just so drained from feeling insufficient. Perhaps the social media algorithms are to blame

Recently, I also feel like all my friendships are distanced. I'm having a ton of insecurities because there's no one I can lean on right now for emotional support. Why would anyone want to talk to me when I'm in this state fr. But also, I'm so on edge and think negatively out of self defense. "They're only talking to me to get my help for their own advantage," or "They just care about having my attention and don't actually value me as a friend." Why am I like this and why do I need so much validation? It does not help when I have no friends irl. That's why my online friends mean so much and it hurts when the feelings aren't reciprocated. I get irrationally irritated and jealous when I hear mentions of my online friends having other friends to be around with in person because that's not something I have. I have one irl bestie that I rarely talk to now, but even she's an online friend due to our long distance and I had to move away after graduating uni. Work also hasn't treated me well with the one person I decided to befriend before I was "dumped." And what sucks is that we work in the same team so having to see him is a daily reminder that I'm not good enough. It probably all stems from my self-hatred and trauma. And it's not my current depression talking. I've felt this way about myself for as long as I remember. I'm the very definition of a lone wolf and I have very low hope for myself with my incapability to make and keep friendships.

Anyway, this is like the longest post regarding anything personal, so I'll stop here. If you made it this far, I congratulate you for putting up with my blathering

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

bonus - chapter eleven: he better lock it down*

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER TEN: I DON'T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND

warnings: smut(18+ PLEASE: thigh riding, one orgasm, dry humping, softdom!Bucky, praise(good girl), just soft smut tbh), feelings

word count: 3.5k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella @lalalalokii

A/N: my first time publishing smut I wrote lol...hope it's not too bad?? idk I've never had an orgasm bc im sexually dysfunctional (yay hormones!) so im sorry if its wrong? my source is literally other smut fics! hope u enjoy the bonus chapter!! so excited for you guys to read

“Buck, I’m being serious, get closer.” You’re already shivering in bed, and Bucky just won’t budge the way you need him to. He’s helped you put on fuzzy socks, got out the extra thick duvet and has stuck to you like a second skin, and you’re still freezing.

“Doll, I can’t physically do that.” At this point, the sun’s begun to rise, the both of you still wide awake after catching approximately one hour of sleep, and you feel like you’re beginning to annoy Bucky. He kisses your hair lovingly, chuckling at how cold you are, even when you’re tightly pressed with your back to his chest. You just grumble, the past few days leaving you overly exhausted, and the subzero temperature truly isn’t helping. You’d think, having lived all your life in England you’d get used to it.

But you fear there’s no force on Earth that could’ve prepared you for the New York cold. 

“I have one idea. Do you trust me, doll? I promise, I won’t do anything you don’t want.” You grab his forearm with your free hand, the other encased in his metal one, your head resting against its bicep. The near silent whirs are extremely calming, and you find yourself wishing and praying that all of your responsibilities disappear, just so you can lay here with him. 

“Of course, Buck. Go ahead.” 

“Can I touch you?” His voice is a near whisper, a brand new edge to it that you had been teased with a few hours ago, when his thumb has pressed against your teeth as he commanded you to moan for him. 

“Yes.” After a moment’s pause, your voice comes out more breathy than expected, your heart already racing. He misinterprets it.

“Hey, don’t worry doll. It’s just me.” He rubs at your hip, kissing the shell of your ear. 

“I know. I…please, Buck. Touch me. Make me feel warm.” You feel your eyes close at he gently traces his hand down your thigh and grabbing the inside of it, almost missing the way he groans at the touch of your soft skin. You’re wearing nothing but his oversized T-shirt he all but begged you to wear, along with your panties, and dear God he’s been trying his best to act like it’s not driving him crazy for the past couple of hours. His fingers are so warm, your entire body shivers at the change in temperature. 

“Spread your legs for me, pretty baby. That’s it, good girl.” You can’t stop the whine that slips past your lips as you comply. You don’t know how you’ve gotten here, but in this state of mind you would do anything he asks, anything at all. 

He slips his thigh between the both of your legs, pressing it against right where they meet, and you suppose that’s the benefit of being a super soldier. Bucky’s body is like a warm furnace that is now attached to more of you than ever before, and you let out a sigh of relief and let your body fully relax against the mattress.

“That feel better, pretty girl?” God, his voice is so sexy, you could listen to it for hours and hours on end. 

“Uh huh. Much. Thanks, Buck. I’m so sorry I kept you up so late, I’m sure you must have so much work to do and I just wasted all of your precious sleeping time.” You pout, even though he can’t see you. 

He kisses the back of your neck again. “Not a single moment with you is wasted, doll. Plus I have the day off. I have this really sexy nurse taking care of me, right now. And she’s advised me to take a break today because of all of my injuries.”

“Mm, I think she also has a holiday. The last few shifts have been…rough, to say the least.”

It’s quiet for a while, and so you let your eyes close, finally ready to give in to the temptress of sleep, whispering so sweetly against your eyelids to just give in. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hard, unsteady. Heavy with the burden of guilt.

“Hey, what are you apologising for? It’s not your fault I was whisked away on a mission and then had to work a double shift the second I came back because Denise suddenly got food poisoning. Unless…you didn’t feed her that chicken did you?”

“Oh, God no. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot barge pole with the way she’s treated you.” 

The both of you giggle at that, eyes still closed. You shuffle, ever so slightly to try and get more comfy against your personal radiator, and subconsciously grind your hips down. The friction is just right, and it makes you gasp. “S—Sorry, I’m just trying to—.”

“Do it again.” His voice is dark in a way that has your mouth parting, and your hips comply for you, before you can even think of a single word to move past your lips. You turn to bury your face in his arm, to stifle any noise you might make as you give in. Eager to please, eager to be pleased. 

He shudders, hand on your hip gripping tightly, almost making sure to leave a pretty bruise behind, a mark he was ever here, with you like this.

“Don’t hide your face baby. Let me hear you, let me hear all those pretty noises you make.” You’re already panting, eyes fluttering closed at his rough voice and sweet praise. 

“S—Sorry, I’m just a little shy, I think.” You don’t really know why you’re acting like this, so shy like you’ve never been touched. With a man who desires you as thoroughly as Bucky, it might as well be the case. You didn’t know that kissing him earlier tonight could feel like that, like the man is starved for your very soul. You didn’t know that even the slightest friction against where your legs meet could feel so delicious, leave you wide and aching for more. 

Even in such little touch and exploration, Bucky has made you feel a million times better that any previous partner ever could. At this point, you’re convinced he’s fucking magical, especially when he kisses the shell of your ear so sweetly, hand drifting to trace across your stomach. Fear temporarily seizes you, at the thought of what he might think as he touches you, and learns every nook and cranny of your body, the one that has been shunned and tolerated a million times over, so deeply ingrained that you almost can’t believe the next words to leave his lips.

“Don’t apologise for anything, beautiful. God, you feel so good under my hands, do you have any idea how long I’ve fucking waited to have you like this?” He ends the question with a rasp, the passion in his voice overtaking any rational thought he might want to have. His hands are practically shaking from holding back from you, knowing he wants to do nothing more than to turn you around and watch you as you make yourself cum all over his sweatpants, and finally find out which fantasies of his are true. 

“How long?” He guides your hips over his thigh yet again, and this time, your ass brushes up against something hard, and you can’t conceal the moan that tumbles out of your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut at the proof. That he wants this, that what he’s saying is true.

“Since the very first moment I saw you, balancing for dear life on that damn ladder.” He’s trying his best to control his own breath, but the sounds your making are just so beautiful, that he can barely contain himself. He’s heard these sounds before, through a paper thin wall and with heightened senses like a downright pervert, but to know that you trust him enough to lay with him, like this, and make those sounds right in front of him? He’s definitely losing his mind. Maybe he died on that last mission, maybe the Hydromanias had gotten to him and he’s dead. And somehow, somewhere, someone has granted him passage to heaven. His bed, with you.

He can’t bear it, he needs to look into your pretty eyes, to see your pupils dilate as you notice the lovestruck look on his face, to taste your moans and your lips just seconds after you’ve cum all over him. “Really?” Leaves you in a breath, as he turns the both of you around in a flash, so you’re facing him with his leg still pressed up against you.

“Yes. Why do you think I cooked you an entire meal to make sure you’d like me? If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t give a single shit.” Your hand reaches out, caressing his cheek as you stare into his eyes and wondering if another colour even exists aside from lust-hazed, love-tinged cobalt. There is no hesitation to his words, and you can’t help yourself. You shuffle in closer, your entire upper body pressed against his, and you kiss him. Softly, sweetly, like one would enjoy ice-cream on a scorching summer’s day. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve had a crush on you the second you didn’t let me fall off of it and break my arm.” You whisper against his lips and he closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of you. 

“It does. You have no idea.” He kisses you again, this time it’s more passionate. You wind your fingers into his hair, softly scratching the nape of it as he moans shamelessly into your mouth, spurring you on. Maybe you don’t have to be shy.

“Take what you want from me. Please doll, I can’t take it any more. Fuck, please.” He moans against your lips and your lower body moves again, grinding against his thigh. How can you deny him when he begs so prettily? When he’s so clearly desperate for a taste, a touch of you? He pulls you in closer, cementing your chests together as he helps guide you.

It doesn’t take more than a minute for you to struggle to kiss him back, mouth hanging open as you let out a litany of sounds he wants nothing more than to absorb, for it to be the only song he ever hears for the rest of your life.

“Bucky…” When his name slips past your lips, he groans.

“Look at me, gorgeous.” He asks you to open your eyes, and you comply, grinding your hips faster and faster as the pressure builds so perfectly against your clit. 

Luckily, you and Bucky are the only two people to inhabit your floor, and so you forget to be quiet, using your voice so that he knows who it’s all for, who’s making you feel like this.

But it isn’t enough. As the hot pressure builds in your stomach and you feel yourself so close to the edge you want to cry, you just can’t do it. He mutters praises and kisses every part of you he can reach as you continue your salacious ministrations against his adored sweatpants. But still, you can’t cum, something keeps pulling you back the very second you find yourself on the precipice. 

“Bucky…please help. Please make me cum, I can’t do it by myself. Please…” Your moans get louder and louder as he smirks, abandoning the bruises he was planning to leave on your neck.

“Yeah, pretty girl? Does my pretty baby need help to make her cum?” His grin has your eyes rolling in the back of your head, being tipped back at his very words. You nod, trying your best to speed up. 

“My poor baby, so worked up…so needy…” He snakes a hand between the both of you, gently tracing your clit over your underwear. And you are so worked up in a frenzy, you’d do anything to feel his bare skin on yours, giving and taking whatever the fuck he needs. Whatever the fuck he wants. 

“Yes, yeah, all for you Buck—Only for you.” He takes you in for a brief moment, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to your forehead, yet eyes feral with a lust for only him, in a way that makes him feel like the most perfect man in the entire world. And he doesn’t even know that’s exactly what he is to you, because you can’t push it past your bruised throat from his hungry teeth or swollen lips from the way he desires you. 

And then he acts, pushing your panties to the side and finally giving you what you need, and you let out the loudest moan you’ve probably ever mustered in your entire life, as your back arches, pressing those perfect tits he’s dreamed about against his chest, his dog tags. His vibranium hand is so cold as he touches your frenzied heat, but you can’t ask him to switch, not when it feels so good. You begin to rut against his hand instead, coating it thoroughly with your arousal as he draws the most perfect circles on your clit. Your eyes gaze downward, eager to watch him as he gives you everything you’ve ever needed, eager to watch the way your thigh nudges against his erection. 

“You want me to keep going, baby?”

“Yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop, it feels so good, James, please.” You’re too focused on the glimmering gold and black dancing between your legs in the moonlight to register what you’ve just called him. 

“Fuck, say my name again, and look me in the eye this time, pretty girl.” You immediately obey, eyes flitting up to his as he rests his forehead against yours. “Your hand feels so fucking good, James. Much better than anything I’ve ever—oh.” He rubs even harder and faster, eliciting the most filthy sounds you’ve ever heard from your cunt, a wet squelching that brings heat to your cheeks. God, how does he do it? 

You watch his pupils dilate, his breath quicken as he never slows, watching you give in to your desires, ones you’ve denied yourself of for the longest time, as he too can’t hold himself back from grinding against your thigh in turn, content with just the look on your face as you’re mere seconds away from coming undone. “That’s it, pretty baby. You look so beautiful riding my hand like this.” And that’s all it takes to send your hurtling over the edge, clamping down on his wrist and still never looking away from him as your orgasm washes over you, bathing you in the most pleasure you’ve ever experienced and leaving your entire body trembling with the aftershocks.

 Maybe it’s the intimacy of having him care, of having him look into your eyes, entranced by the sight, by the person staring back at him. He swears he’s never seen anything prettier, never seen anyone look as beautiful as you do in this moment. When you come back to, he’ll tell you. For now, he’ll enjoy the way you seek more of his touch and squirm away from it at the same time as everything becomes too sensitive, but never breaking eye contact once.

That’s all it takes for him to cum as well, repeating your name over and over again like it’s his favourite prayer, his flesh hand coming up to caress your cheek gently, as it’s now your turn to watch him lose himself, staring at you like you’re the reason he can’t help but cum in his pants like a goddamn teenager. Your opal eyes are all he can think of, joining you to him in the most intimate way. He’s dreamed about this for so long, it almost doesn’t feel real. 

When a dopey grin overtakes his features and his head slumps back against the pillow, you kiss him. Gently, sweetly, like you have all the time in the world.

“I liked that.” You don’t know what else to say, burying your face in his neck. He chuckles, tugging at your hair ever so gently, an attempt to get you to look at him. 

Your eyes take him in, from his sweat-mussed hair to his parted and swollen lips. He looks ethereal. How is he not a figment of your imagination? You run your hand along the curve of his jaw, as he turns to press breathless kisses to your palm. 

You must be dreaming.

“I liked it too, pretty girl. More than you know.” You’re staring at his mouth, unable to stop the question from flying past your lips as you swipe your thumb over his.

“What are we, now?” His eyes widen, unsure how you’ve managed to miss that you’re his everything and that he’d die for you. He’d kill for you.

“Whatever you want us to be, doll.” Your eyes drift back up to their familiar resting place and you offer him a gentle smile. His heart stops at the look in them, cumdrunk and lovestruck. It’s all he wants to see for the rest of his days, until they lower him into the ground. 

Bucky suddenly finds himself wishing he were an artist, just so he could paint you exactly the way you look in the darkest before dawn, with hot cheeks and a beautiful smile, and the promise of light coming to illuminate your figure at any moment. He would paint you a million times over, from memory, in every single medium that exists as a way of wordlessly expressing his love for you. And then, he would scribble I LOVE YOU in large red letters on every blank inch of canvas, to really drive the point home. But alas, he can barely remember how to hold something that isn’t a weapon. But he knows how to hold you, soft and warm underneath his callous hands, and that’s a start.

“I must admit…I’m quite a traditional woman, James. I like being taken out on dates and being publicly acknowledged, and respected and desired. If I feel something for you, I want you to be my boyfriend. I want to be your girlfriend, even if it might sound silly to say at our big age. But I want exclusive and absolute. If…If you want something casual, it’s best that we nip this whole thing in the bud. I can’t deal with the emotional fallout of that again, you—.”

His mouth claims yours, and you relax into him, forgoing the muscles that temporarily tightened at the thought of him not feeling the same. Oh, how quickly he quells the torrid fears that wrench your soul apart.

“I want that too. Absolutes, exclusivity, you. I want you, above all else. I’d die to have you, I’d kill to have you. I want you either way, even if tomorrow you wake up and tell me you’d rather spit on my grave than spend another single second in my presence. I want you, doll. Only you. I want to be your boyfriend, I want to take you on the most cliche dates, and I want to kiss you in the rain. I want to make you laugh at all of my lame jokes all night, and most of all, I want you to know that through it all, I am absolutely enamoured by you. I wouldn’t have it, have you any other way.” 

You kiss him again. And again and again, and you just can’t stop because his lips are so soft and his words are so sweet and his desires are so tangible, laid before you raw and awaiting. You hands find his wondrous hair again, pulling him closer to you, pulling him on top. 

Not in a sexual way, but you need his weight on you. You need to feel him close, skin to skin, no barriers, in a way that transcends sex and spirituality and religion, praying to the ideation of his affections and worshipping at the altar of his lips. Finding the sacred temple in the small dips in his back, reciting the familiar hymns of love and lust and everything in between. The sun is rising, yes, but you are so entirely lost in the devotion of him, of his mouth and soul, that when the light hits, you don’t even break apart. 

And the best part? He is searching right back, for the Holy Water laced in your fingers, washing him over in colours of purity and affection. You don’t know it, but he swears you’re God when you wrap your legs around his waist, an angel when you touch him and all of his scars without hesitancy or remorse. You are pulling him apart and stitching him back together, moulding him on top of you like you are Prometheus. He swears that you are ordained, sent to save him, to fill all of his cracks with molten gold and kiss it all better if it should ever burn.

He is passion, you are devotion.

He is on fire and you are the flames.

Nobody gets him like you.

Nobody gets you like him.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

BONUS PART

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

Finally got around to watching some post-embargo vids and I have some now updated Veilguard thoughts.

Stuff I liked:

Character creator is a standout as always. This has consistently been the strong point of Bioware's games in the last 10 years so no surprises there. The pronoun and other gender-related options are a welcome addition.

Companions all seem great. I'm sad we haven't got more Davrin or Bellara content yet, since those are the two I'm most interested in learning about. Their initial introduction in that terrible cinematic trailer didn't do these guys any favours, but seeing them in gameplay footage gives a much better impression of them. It's also exciting to see more companion-on-companion interactions and relationships.

I was put off by the voice acting in the 10 minute gameplay reveal months ago, but what I've heard so far has been much better.

Main menu looks pretty.

As an ME fan, I'm pro dialogue wheel; it's unfortunate that Inquisition turned that whole mechanic into a massive drip. This is less a thing I notice but something I hope, that this game's dialogue wheel will have a more DA2 or ME1 vibe.

Hngnggn vfjddjgfnbhn oooowowo o cloaks.

Stuff I didn't like:

The art style is not redeeming itself. Wolfheart made a very insightful point that it might be a holdover from when Veilguard was going to be a live service multiplayer game, and it definitely does give that impression. Everything is still incredibly smooth and it's clear there was a lot of effort put into making things "nice" looking. It's giving very "everyone's beautiful but no one is horny" to me. I'm on the haters' side with the Qunari; where are their textures?

On that note, oh my god. The UI and the VFX. This must have also been a result of live service elements. As someone who hates playing late-game mages in Origins because all of the VFX gives me a headache this game looks actively hostile. Does literally every single ability require flashing neon lights? Why does the UI look like a World of Warcraft meme? Why does every single interactive object glow? Wolfheart noted that even after turning everything off, a bunch of VFX elements were still present, which is tremendously disappointing. Bioware can miss me with this cocomelon for adults visual style; I just do not need all of these annoying tricks to try and keep my attention.

Also on the UI - idk man. Remember when fantasy games weren't embarrassed about looking fantasy? Remember when all of Origins menus opened up in a little book with parchment pages? Character selection took place in a little castle? I just don't get this Thing Bioware has had since 2 to make DA's game UI look cool and slick by taking all the fun out of its visual elements. I've heard it before but I've got to agree, Veilguard's UI looks like a mobile game. And again, it's so busy it's 100% gonna give me headaches.

The combat is.... I won't call it "bad". I just hate it. See above for one of the reasons why. I think I could write a whole essay on how discomfiting it is. The very very clear push (likely from EA) to have the game resemble big name titles like Breath of the Wild and God of War has taken the game in the direction of just kind of a generic hack and slash; at least DA2 married its action elements with its party mechanics and has its own unique voice. There's something in particular that sets my teeth on edge tbh. I'm watching gameplay of warriors and rogues in combat and they're pretty much indistinguishable from mages. Teleporting, fire and lightning flying about in basic attacks, just a ton of stuff that makes me cringe to look at. There's a complete lack of class fantasy there for me - why would I want to play a warrior that isn't just a big guy with a big sword? Is this a result of story elements? Why is my low level rogue demolishing entire groups of enemies ala Dynasty Warriors? In a world where the distinction between a magic person and a non-magic person is incredibly important, could cost you your life, watching a rogue shoot lightning out of their knives makes me groan. Are Bioware's efforts to make the player feel like the coolest specialist person that ever lived going to be addressed in-game? We'll have to see.

Lack of control over your own companions ala Mass Effect. I don't wanna talk about it it's too depressing.

I've noted this in the past but obviously the tonal departure from low/dark fantasy to classic high fantasy. The character backgrounds for the Rooks pretty much lock you into playing a good guy, which is a huge shame. Even if you want to pick a faction that is canonically shady or morally neutral AT BEST like the Crows, they make sure to tell you that the other Crows don't like you because you're just that good-hearted. In a faction like the Grey Wardens, notorious for taking in criminals of all stripes, you spend your background saving helpless villagers. What are the options going to be like for people who want to play morally grey or potentially evil Rooks? It's starting to look like Bioware isn't going to give you a much wiggle room to define your character out of what they need you to be.

Lip flap looks like a very mixed bag. Maybe it's just the footage but voices and mouths look out of sync.

Can't make a post without reminding everyone that Bioware isn't our friend; they've fired half the people who worked on this game and greedy producers like EA don't deserve our money.

Update: Only just came across this but phasing out inventory management? Yeah welcome back Mass Effect trilogy :/

Neutral opinions:

Other shit like the Darkspawn and overall mob designs have been a problem since DA2 so I don't see the point in rehashing it here, other than to say that I can't wait for the "DLC with the good Darkspawn designs in it" this time around.

Opening scene gives me huge Mass Effect vibes; the bar fight and the music in that scene felt very "Lair of the Shadow Broker", which I guess is a compliment.

Varric still not dead yet. Kill that old man!

Ultimately, I'm putting in prediction now that Veilguard is going to go the DA2 route of having a decent and well-loved story, but with massive issues regarding its gameplay and aesthetic that players will just have to get over in order to enjoy the game.

I'm not gonna be buying on release - first time that's been the case for a Dragon Age game since Origins; the current plan is to wait until the Christmas sales, which gives plenty of time for the fandom to either assuage my fears or implode cos the game is shit. Either that or the Solavellan content is so crisp and juicy I'll have to learn to pirate.