#THAT'S WHY THE WORLD IS THE WAY IT IS THE FIRST PLACE

[maskedbyghost]

Hallucinated Simon giving reader an orgasm would be something

anon is talking about this SMUT, MDNI, +18

You know what? Hell yeah.

Simon was MIA. They never found a body. Just his tags and some blood, enough to tell a story no one wanted to hear. You buried an empty casket, let the folded flag sit heavy in your arms, and listened to the eulogies spoken by people who didn’t know him like you did. And then you tried to move on.

Tried.

But his absence could be felt deep into your bones. Some nights, you swore you heard his footsteps in the hall. Other nights, you turned in bed, half asleep, expecting warmth beside you. Your hands found only cold sheets. Always cold sheets.

Until tonight.

A sharp pull in your stomach dragged you from sleep, your breath catching in your throat before you even knew why. The room was dark, but there was something—someone—between your legs, broad hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open.

The first stroke of a tongue had you gasping.

It felt real. Too real. The slow way he worked you open and that deep groan vibrating against your skin like he was savoring every second. Your fingers curled into the sheets, heart hammering. This wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t be.

But it had to be.

Because Simon was dead.

Your head spun, pleasure crashing into disbelief. “This isn’t real,” you whispered, voice shaky. “I’m hallucinating again.”

A rough chuckle. Lips dragged up your inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “Tha' so?”

That voice. His voice.

Your breath hitched, fingers moving on instinct to bury themselves in his short, unruly hair. He was warm; the scrape of stubble against your skin sent a shudder right through you.

“I—” The words turned into a whimper as he sucked bruises into your skin, his tongue pressing deep, working you over like he had all the time in the world.

It felt too good.

And right now, you didn’t care if it was real or not.

Your thighs trembled as pleasure was overwhelming, pulling you under until you shattered with a cry of his name. He didn’t stop, didn’t let go until you were boneless beneath him.

Then, slowly, he climbed up your body, pressing soft kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone. By the time his lips met yours, your hands were already gripping his face, desperate to keep him there.

And he let you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your face. His eyes, dark and endless, held you in place.

“I’m home, love,” he murmured. “Finally home.”

----------------------------------------------

i'm just gonna tag all of you that wanted me dead after part 1 <333

@daydreamerwoah @nightunite @dahighqueen @dao-shay @lay-z @grendolin @anythingneverythingnstuffs @massivescissorsthingperson @armycaratlover @fruitymoonbeams-blog @ghostslollipop @canyonmooncreations @sadl1lsunshine @maskfiend @holycowboytiger @postm0rt3m @goochfiddler99 @m33pl0v3 @lemonfreak97-blog @jasontoddsgirl81 @prettygirlwhoreadsatnite @acosmisted @fey-rouse @stillinracooncity @iwyzz @lialucis @skeletonsucker @kylies-love-letter @star-buck-barnes @lets-turn-and-burn

[spamblog-w]

that's why I love Red, white and royal blue because book was a piece of shit, sorry not sorry, and they created a masterpiece with a movie - it hardly ever happens but honestly... I can't stand how book was written and can't even believe someone could like it so much besides for an idea to make it appear on the screen

it's full of boring political facts, characters are overly sexualised without much depth and love factor, there is no symbolism that you can see in the film version, everything is out of place/logic/time to the point I didn't even catch when they fell for each other nor that they truly care so I'm super glad I've watched it first instead of reading and as soon I finished the book - I sold it

nobody has to agree with me but this movie means so much to me you can't even imagine! how the actors play, how they formed a good story out of chaotic scraps, how you showed things without telling them - it's everything including how much I relate to the prince himself

so...

yeah I totally agree with the fact that it's important to stick to the original in a way like I'd love to finally see War of the worlds that is what it should be or I miss some important things from books I've read that turn the whole movie into something else (I try to separate medias - treat them as similar yet different things even if they have the same title as I guess that's just a vision of a director and not everything can be showed the way a reader wishes nor even the author as it doesn't work this way) but still would love people to make it better if it's already crap if you know what I mean

also am one of those people who absolutely hate when characters don't look like on paper - I have aphantasia so it's hard for me to SEE them but still when I see a blonde guy who used to have black hair and was for sure shorter and with scars to make him prettier my eye starts to twitch

The real problem with books-turned-movies isn’t “omg they didn’t include every single word in the book” it’s “omg they completely overlooked the main theme, threw out any significant allegories, took away all the emotional pull, an turned it into a boring action movie with a love triangle in it”

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

CRUSH- D.GRAYSON

pairing: richboy! dick grayson x girly! innocent!fem! reader

part one here!

word count: 2.7k

summary: its the morning after your prince charming had swooped you off your feet, and somehow- dicks secret superpower is diminishing hangovers, by taking care of you.

warnings: sexual thoughts/ implications, kissing/ slight make-out session, pet names, mentions of masturbation, size kink implied, swearing, dick asks reader out on her first date and kinda acts like a sugar daddy lol, he's kinda a soft dom in a way...

Your head felt like a truck had run over it.

As if you had been tossed on the road, and a Ford F150 had slowly taken its time driving its tires over your head.

You woke up, still in your clothes from the night before, makeup smudged and jewellery tangled. Groaning, you slowly pulled each limb out of bed, feeling like a jello.

The clock hands ticked just past ten thirty, but it felt like you had got an hour of sleep, tops.

You were in definite need of a nap today, you thought to yourself as you slowly rocked up to your feet, tugging off your clothes from the previous night.

The fact you had worn outdoor club clothes in your bed… yeah, you’d need to wash your sheets today too.

You let the morning light that peaked through your thin curtains illuminate the path to your dresser, where you tugged on a new pair of panties and an oversized band tee. Kicking past skirts and thongs, you placed your head in your hands before you managed the courage to go out and brave the bathroom.

And the kitchen. But the thought of greasy bacon and eggs made you excited, just a little.

You creaked open your door, starting to walk to the bathroom before stopping in your tracks.

Oh fuck.

Dick Grayson lay sprawled on the couch, blanket covering practically nothing as he snoozed. His legs were spread, one out on the floor, the other over the arm of the couch.

And his abs… Oh god.

Here was this man- completely sprawled out in your living room- that you had completely forgotten about him staying- mind you. You didn't know why he stayed- the couch clearly was not suited for him- but you were glad he did.

You just needed to get things ready before he woke. And put pants on.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck…” you mumbled, feet pattering on the hardwood as you scurried to the bathroom.

What you didn't know of course, was the man was already awake- and had been for a while. He had learned to “pretend sleep”, so his roommates would leave him alone when they came home and he was in the living room.

You didn't even let the water warm up before you were scrubbing at your face frantically, like a mad woman before trying to fix your bedhead.

Soon he’d be awake, and you wanted to make him breakfast in bed (on the couch? You didn't know what the hell to call it).

It was the least you could do for him, for taking care of you. He was so sweet. It made your heart flutter, remembering how kind he was to you last night. And here he was on your uncomfortable ass sofa!

A true gentleman indeed.

You frantically rushed to the kitchen, seeing his body still splayed out as you darted to the kitchen, trying your best to be quiet.

“Fuck fuck okay make coffee, make him coffee and find eggs…” you whispered to yourself, making him smirk to himself. He cracked an eye open, shifting so he rested his head over the sofa, watching you silently.

You were in your own little world, trying to reach for a mug on the highest shelf.

“Need any help with that bun?”

You jumped, whipping around to face where he rested his arms and head over the couch back- a smirk on his face.

“You scared me! How long have you been awake for? I’m so sorry if I was loud-”

“A while. You werent loud sweetheart. Dont need to get yourself all worried about me, okay?”

He stood with a stretch, ruminging around on the ground before he found his target- tugging on his pants from last night. You quickly averted your gaze- covering your eyes with a hand as he tugged them on, pulling your fingers apart just a peak to try and get a glance.

You felt guilty but- oh well. You already saw him when he was “sleeping”. 

Heat spread throughout your body as he made his way over to you, trapping you in against the countertop- facing his chest as he reached up with ease to grab the mug you were after. You were frozen in place for what felt like forever, as if you were a statue, just marveling at the sight of him.

“T-thanks.” you managed to mutter out as he handed you the mug, cocky grin plastered across his face- knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

Oh but wait! Things get better! Your inner monologue shouted at you as his hand reached up to brush a stray eyelash of your cheek, rough thumb so gentle across your skin.

“You feeling okay?” he asked gently, knowing last night was… something.

“I’m okay. I have this throbbing in my head- like a drum. S’annoying.”

He snorted, grabbing another mug for himself.

“Yeah that’ll do it. Coffee will fix you up.”

“Do you not have a headache?” you asked, suddenly broken from your trance as he neared the coffee machine, reminding you of your duties before he decided to flip flop your heart around.

“Me? You’re cute.”

You frowned, forehead lines crinkling in a way that made him swoon. You were so adorable when you frowned. Like a little bunny, crinkling its nose.

“Thats not fair.”

“Sweetheart, one of us here is a lightweight, and one of us here is not. Thats the way it goes. Plus, I’m a lot bigger then you.”

You raised your eyebrow, flicking on the machine, the hot liquid beginning to trickle out into his mug.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. And stronger too.”

You swallowed, the distance between the two of you becoming smaller, and smaller. You’re apartment wasnt exactly a penthouse suite, but it wasnt super small either. Yet, your kitchen felt like it was crammed with him in it, the room turning hot, your cheeks filled with heat.

“I-I think your coffee is done Dickie.” you murmered, watching as he reached right past you, grabbing the cup and taking a sip.

He drank it black. Of course.

Whistling a little tune as he opened your fridge, craining down to dig around in your fridge, as if he had lived here for years. “Do you want some fruit?” he asked, pulling out a container of berries, and a carton of eggs.

“Please. God I need a strawberry in my system, or I’m gonna crash out.”

“What- you haven't already?”

You lunged at his remark, wacking his bicep lightly, making him laugh. “Make me eggs or I’ll crash out even more.” you smiled, snagging the milk out of the fridge door to pour in your own coffee, adding some sugar.

Popular opposites, it seemed.

He raised his hand to his forehead, giving you a stern salute. “You got it sweetheart.”

----------------------------------

It was the best hangover morning you’d ever had.

You didn't even know those existed, but with Dick Grayson- they did.

He made breakfast in your kitchen, like it was his house. Serving up perfect eggs and toast, with your fruit- it was as if it was gourmet.

Planting a soft kiss on the top of your head, before serving it to you was the cherry on top.

The two of you talked as the sun steadily filtered through the clouds, laughter and utensils clattering. He was just- you couldn't even put your finger on it. It was like he was your boyfriend- honestly.

You just met him the other night, and here he was, making you breakfast and laughing at your stupid jokes after staying the night on the couch- AFTER taking care of you.

There was no sex. No trade offs, no nothing.

It made your head spin, at the complete 180 he seemed to be from most college guys. He was older, yes, but not by much. A few years at most. But he carried himself as if he was matured, older and wise.

Like he could get anything he wanted, if he talked slickly enough- which he always did.

You were captivated under his spell, watching his blue eyes sparkle as he talked, and the ink black strands that would fall in front of them.

He was smart, he was funny and he was oh so sweet.

You wanted him to stay forever, just as company- in all honesty. He was amazing company. The silence was never awkward, when there was some that hung in the air. He’d just admire you from where you sat at the breakfast nook.

“You’re so pretty. You know that? The prettiest girl.”

It made your skin heat, always looking down at your hands fiddling in your lap, when his compliments became overwhelming (they all did).

But when the coffee grew cold, reality had set in, and he had to leave. As much as it pained you to let him go from your safe haven, you knew he had his own life to attend to- and you had yours. But that didn't stop you from trying to convince him, nonetheless.

”I think you should stay.” you teased as you opened the front door, leaving it swung open- as if to coax him back inside.

He groaned. “Bunny, you know I’d love to. But-”

His phone started to buzz, and he rolled his eyes, fishing it out of his pocket. Tim’s name flashed across the screen, a man you presumed was his friend.

“Speak of the devil. I gotta get back to help my roommates with something I promised them sadly, but I promise I’ll be back. Okay?”

You nodded, stepping out from where you were shielded by the door, body coming into full view. His eyes darkened, as he saw your thighs that poked out at him from your t-shirt in the dimmed hallway lighting.

“I’ll text you as soon as I can. Would you like to get dinner sometime this week?” he asked, stepping closer to you, so your breaths were practically intermingling.

You crained your head up to look at him with wide, doe eyes- and he nearly melted into a puddle. “I’d love that Dickie.”

“Yeah I know you would. Now cmere, I wanna kiss you. That okay?”

You licked your lips as he slowly backed you up against the doorframe, caging you in as his hand slipped up to grasp your jaw, holding it gentle- yet firm.

“I’d love that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah? This okay sweetheart?” he breathed, leaning down so his lips were almost touching yours.

Before you could answer, his lips were on yours, the sweet taste of him sending shocks up your spine- nerves coursing on fire at the sensation, as his tongue coaxed your lips to part, begging for entrance.

You moaned, muffled by his lips as he swallowed you whole, consuming you as he gripped your waist, tugging your hips closer to him, so your back was arched against the old wooden frame.

You felt dizzy, when the two of you finally parted, your lips feeling flushed and swollen, a dazed look in your eye as you just stared at him.

Was that the best kiss of your life? Yes.

Were you going to tell him that? Hell no.

You knew his ego did not to be inflated anymore.

He smiled mischievously, like a feline as he planted a kiss on your forehead, and then another, before he turned down the hall. Like he didn't just sweep you off your feet, leaving you dazed like some swooning princess who had just found her prince charming.

“I’ll call you sweetheart.” he called, waving without a second glance, before he disappeared down the stairs, and out the door- leaving no trace of him but your flushed skin and the door swinging on its hinges. 

--------------------------------

Dick was hounded the second his foot stepped in the door.

“So? When do we meet her?” Tim asked from the living room, perched beside the IKEA boxes of parts for the new couch he was supposed to help put up (even though they could easily do it without his help).

He slammed it behind him, hard. “Don't even start.”

Jason let out a little whistle, not even sparing Dick a glance, though he knew the look in his eye would set him off anyways. “He really likes this one Drake. Means he’s gonna get all possessive and not share her with any of us.”

He tossed Dick a wink, making Dick clench his fingers into fists. God they knew how to get under his skin.

“He’s scared she’ll decide she likes us better, don't worry Dickie, I get it.” Tim called, watching as Dick rolled his eyes, making his way over to the mess on the hardwood floor.

“When do we need this done by?” he ignored Tim, starting to pry open one of the boxes.

“Uhh I don't know, when do you want a couch for?”

“I don't know why we need a new couch. Our old one was fuckin fine.” Jason grumbled, flipping a screwdriver between his fingers, even though he was strong enough to probably just press the damn nails in.

“Because it was disgusting and I’m tired of breaking my ass on a spring whenever I watch a game.” Tim mumbled.

Dick was in his own world, tuning out anything that wasn't the thought of you. He already missed your presence. Your soft touch, your sweet smell, the little noises you made when he kissed you, pressing you firmly against the door.

So close he could feel your hardened nipples brush against his chest, skin hot to the touch.

He needed to see you, and soon. Where the hell did he want to take you for dinner?

Up on the East end?

No, not fancy enough.

He needed something spectacular for you. Ideally, he’d want you ending the bed in his bed, in his car- he didn't care where. He just wanted you again, your lips and your pretty little sounds that he would most definitely be imagining tonight when his hand was wrapped around his cock.

He’d take his time with you, unravelling you like a gift. Whether that was on leather seats or memory foam mattresses, he didn't care.

He’d needed this extra special for you.

He’d call in some favours.

---------------------------------- It was nearing the late evening when your phone buzzed, the only name you wanted to see popping up on it.

You were all ready for bed, facemask completed, everything shower done, soft pjs on, nails painted and candle lit. Seeing his name flash on the screen made your heart flutter, and you quickly opened his message, not even bothering to pause your show before responding.

Dick: Hey pretty. Does Tuesday work for dinner?

You: Hi :) Tuesday is perfect!

Even if you had plans that night- you’d push them aside.

Dick: Perfect. Be ready for 8pm, sharp ;)

You: Yes sir:)

You watched his message bubble up, before disappearing again. Then it popped up again, a notification alerting you that he had sent you money.

Your jaw dropped.

This man had just sent you $800 dollars.

Dick: You’re gonna accept this okay? Or I’m going to be very upset and I’ll find a way into your apartment and hand you the money myself. Get yourself something nice for Tuesday.

You were gobsmacked.

How the fuck were you supposed to accept this?

You: Dickie… I don't think I can accept this. And I don't even know what to wear.

Dick: You’ll accept it, and you’ll find something. Anything you pick will be beautiful, I promise bunny.

Your hands were shaking as you held your phone between twitching fingers, in a state of shock. You had known this man for two days, and he was splurging $800 on you? You didn't even know how to respond.

Although to him, you supposed- it probably was next to nothing.

Here he was, making you play dress up to some date planned- that you were unaware of. You had no theme to go off of, no idea of what was happening.

You bit your lip, fighting a little more, even begging for a clue or hint of what to wear- but he gave you nothing. Claiming he wanted you to be authentic, to wear whatever you wanted.

It was too much creative freedom.

Your head swarmed with thoughts of all the possibilities, $800 was a lot of money, and you didn't even know where to start. You let yourself have a mini freakout, and be overwhelmed, before you tucked yourself under the covers, pulling out your laptop to start browsing Pinterest.

You had no time to mess around.

You had a crush to impress.

--------------------------------------------------------

eek so dickie is gonna go all romantic and take reader on her first date? hmmm ;)

@gwyneveire <3 if anyone else wants to be tagged i can try and remember to add you in the future!

[checkeredflagggs]

Footnote of a Story

pairing: logan sargeant x famous!fem!singer

summary: Logan and his girlfriend have been together for over 10 years — people have posted about it 8 times

a/n: this is canon to the story of us story, just some backstory that probably won’t be talked about in the main story at all

a/n2: I fiddled about with the timeline of the Covid quarantine — namely that it was already happening by Valentine’s Day

a/n3: I also don’t know when Oscar and Lily started dating so here it’s when they’re 16

Masterlist | Taglist

10 Years Old

y/ns_mother

liked by sargeant1, l/n1, sargeant2, and 183 others

y/ns_mother: well it looks like y/n has a crush…she was very determined to make “the bestest card ever and make sure it’s the good candy mom!”

view all comments

sargeant1: logan was the same way…he nearly talked me into buying a bouquet bigger then is he for her

↳y/ns_mother: they’re so adorable

↳sargeant1: they really are

sargeant2: oh young love…

↳l/n1: i guess when you know you know…doesn’t matter the age…i guess

↳sargeant2: they are very cute together

randocousin: giving us all old timers a bad name 😹

↳drunkaunt: bah they won’t last…once they get to the real world…nothing ever lasts…

↳rudecousin: just cause your marriage failed doesn’t mean theirs will. You’re just a mean old drunk

↳randocousin: not this shit again…

not_y/n: not_logan I told you — I knew very young that you were the one for me

↳not_logan: I won’t doubt you again babe

↳not_y/n: I don’t know why you doubted me in the first place ngl liked by not_logan

not_oscar: oh so you guys have always been this grossly in love

↳not_y/n: booo you grinch liked by not_logan, not_lilyz

12 Years Old

y/n_mother

liked by l/n1, drunkaunt, weirduncle, sargeant3, 212 others

y/ns_mother: we might have a little baker on our hands…y/n was adamant that she had to cook these cookies all by herself

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l/n1: she didn’t even let me have one…

sargeant3: logan was beaming when he came home with these…

↳y/ns_mother: I’m not going to tell them of course…but we’ve started a little wedding fund for them

↳sargeant3: so have we. It’s very obvious where this is going to go

↳y/ns_mother: oh I can’t wait…

drunkaunt: their still together??

↳rudecousin: they’re*

↳rudecousin: and they are! Shockingly relationships can last longer then the hangover the next day

↳drunkaunt: do not start something with me…you weren’t they’re for it

↳rudecousin: there*

↳randocousin: must you rudecousin?

↳rudecousin: she makes it so easy!

↳drunkaunt: your a mean little man

↳randocousin: don’t

↳rudecousin: …you’re drunkaunt

not_logan: I didn’t know you baked those!

↳not_y/n: yeah that was the last time I attempted that

↳not_y/n: not pictured was my mom’s destroyed kitchen…liked by not_logan

14 Years Old

y/n privated a post

liked by y/ns_mother, sister, logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 469 others

tagged: logansargeant

y/n: 💜�� he got me a card!

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logansargeant: I always get you a card!

↳y/n: I know but now I can post it for everyone to see!

y/ns_mother: oh to see you guys now…4 years strong

↳y/n: moooooommm go be embarrassing on your own post

oscarpiastri: so you’re the reason he couldn’t stop looking at his phone?

↳y/n: I am! And you are?

↳logansargeant: y/n this is one of my friends from karting! Meet Oscar — he’s the Australian

↳y/n: hi Australian Oscar!

↳oscarpiastri: don’t you mean best friend logansargeant?

↳y/n: HE DOES NOT CAUSE THATS ME!!

↳logansargeant: my best karting friend but the best friend spot has always been hers liked by y/n

16 Years Old

not_logan

liked by not_y/n, not_oscar, not_lilyz, and 392 others

tagged: not_y/n

not_logan: a small day spent together before someone goes off on a national tour!

Congrats baby — I’m so fucking proud of you 🩵🩵

view all comments

not_y/n: thank you babe! For both the day and for the constant support you’ve given me over the years

↳not_logan: always!

not_oscar: congrats again on the tour y/n!

↳not_y/n: thanks osc! And lmk if you can make any of the dates — I’ll get you tickets

↳not_oscar: oh Logan already has it all planned out

↳not_y/n: awwww

y/ns_mother: oh I’m so proud of you two

↳not_y/n: mom please…

↳not_logan: thanks mum l/n!

↳not_y/n: don’t encourage her!

not_lilyz: oh you guys are so cute!

↳not_y/n: thanks Lily!

↳not_y/n: and thanks again for making a private account

↳not_lilyz: oh that’s not a problem — and is probably good planning for the future

↳not_oscar:😳😳

yoursister: haven’t heard from drunkaunt in a while…she ok?

↳rudecousin: still drunk and mean

↳not_y/n: it’s just neither Logan or I friended her — in fact I blocked her on this account 😂

↳yoursister: good call

18 Years Old

not_y/n

liked by not_logan, y/ns_mother, not_oscar, not_lilyz, and 273 others

tagged: not_logan

not_y/n: awwwweee… my baby surprised me back in Florida. Thank you for coming home to me for Valentine’s Day

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not_logan: glad I managed to catch you before you leave me again 😔

↳not_y/n: nooooo I’m so sorry baby

↳not_y/n: you say the word and I’ll pack you up in my suitcase and take you everywhere with me

↳not_logan: …I’m not there yet but I’ll let you know

y/ns_mother: oh I’m so glad you managed to catch her…with my handwriting I wasn’t sure if she left the 13th or the 18th…

↳not_logan: thanks for all your help mum l/n!

↳not_y/n: thanks for helping him surprise me mama

↳y/ns_mother: of course baby

not_oscar: I don’t think that’s part of your diet Logan…

↳not_lilyz: like you haven’t cheated on yours a hundred times in the last month…

↳not_oscar: 😑😑

↳not_y/n: have I mentioned I love you recently lily?? liked by not_lilyz

rudecousin: heads up — drunkaunt spotted this over my shoulder and started a rant while going for her keys

↳not_y/n: …I’m gonna go start my tour early…

↳not_logan: I’m gonna head back to England real fast

↳yoursister: cowards

↳not_y/n: yup

↳not_logan: absolutely

20 Years Old

not_logan

liked by not_y/n, not_oscar, not_lilyz, and 231 others

tagged: not_y/n

not_logan: fun activities to do while locked up during Valentine’s Day…

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not_y/n: we’re gonna be cooking champs by the time this ends 💪🏻

↳not_logan: I love you so much but I really hope we’re not locked up that long…

↳not_y/n: 🥺🥺🥺

↳not_logan: again I love you so much but we burned water yesterday…

↳not_y/n: ok that’s fair

↳not_oscar: how???

↳not_y/n: we’re simply that talented

↳not_logan: we got distracted 😉😉

↳not_oscar: ewww I don’t need to know that liked by not_y/n, not_logan

y/ns_mother: oh I hope you guys are doing ok…I’d be there for you if I could…love you guys…

↳not_y/n: we’re doing ok mama!!

↳not_logan: …we’re not dead yet but our lack of kitchen skills are becoming more evident…

↳y/ns_mother: oh no…don’t worry baby…I’ll get yoursister to help me video you…I’ll teach you to cook…

↳not_y/n: thank you mama 🙏🙏

not_lilyz: ok so I’m a little jealous…

↳not_y/n: awwww lily we miss you!

↳not_lilyz: miss you guys too

↳not_oscar: 🤨

↳not_lilyz: …their food looks so much better than yours

↳not_y/n: at least you guys can cook something — ours is just anything we could cut into a heart shape… liked by not_lilyz, not_oscar

bandmember: you guys are so cute…

↳not_y/n: thank you 😊

↳not_y/n: also check your mail…there might be something for you…😈😈😈

↳bandmember2: oh???????

sargeant4: how’s the weather over there?

↳not_logan: 😑🙄 cold and snowy

↳not_logan: not that we can see any of it…

↳not_y/n: it could be worse!

↳not_logan: how?

↳not_y/n: we could be stuck in your apartment and not my house

↳not_logan: …that’s true I guess

22 Years Old

logansargeant posted a story, not_y/n posted a story

[thank you to my girl! 🩵🩵🩵][oh Logan my love…an ocean apart and yet you spoil me so…]

user1 replied A GIRL?!? Logan Sargeant do you have a girlfriend!

user2 replied GIRLFRIEND???

georgerussell63 replied oh that’s cute!

oscarpiastri replied maybe I need to tag Lily in this…

↳logansargeant oh she’s already seen it

↳oscarpiastri 🫣😨

↳logansargeant didn’t know you wanted flowers and presents though…

↳oscarpiastri who doesn’t…

oscarpiastri replied you guys keep setting the bar high

↳not_y/n gotta get on my level osc

↳oscarpiastri 🙄

lilyzneimer replied brb going to make Oscar take notes…

↳not_y/n he said pretty much the same thing…

↳lilyzneimer 🤣🤣

yoursister replied you guys are literally the only reason I believe in love still

↳not_y/n awww babes it’ll happen for you soon

↳yoursister maybe sooner than you think…

↳not_y/n oh???

y/ns_mother replied oh your young love…

↳not_y/n he’s the one mama

↳y/ns_mother oh baby I know…I’ve known for over a decade now…

↳not_y/n 🥰🥰🥰

25 Years Old (after the Story of Us)

y/n

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer and 12,697,283 others

tagged: logansargeant

y/n: You can hear it in the silence, You can feel it on the way home, You are in love, true love

view all comments

user3: oh my god so lovely!

user4: Logan Sargeant I wasn’t familiar with your game…

lilymhe: oh my god did Logan get you all that?

↳y/n: he did! He’s a real romantic

↳lilymhe: awww 🥺

↳lilymhe: alex_albon take notes please

↳alex_albon: oh no

↳oscarpiastri: oh this is very common

↳oscarpiastri: get used to it. They’ve been like this since they were 10

↳user5: shut up that’s so cute

oscarpiastri: please stop

↳logansargeant: I will not.

↳y/n: you just gotta do better

↳oscarpiastri: I try but you guys keep raising the bar

↳y/n: skill issue

↳user6: you can tell you guys have been friends for a while…

↳y/n: about 10 years now!

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @Voidvannie @justaf1girl @theendofthematerialgworl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478

[ghost-proofbaby]

thinking about Eddie being so eager to kiss you all the time and he just gets a little too excited sometimes a little too rough and you bump into something and he cradles you while you giggle cause he can't stop smiling into his kisses

And sure maybe it's a little awkward and teeth knock against each other and he catches your lip in his teeth a little too hard but it's okay cause you're deliriously happy

And it's not about getting to the sex (not all the time anyways) but he's just so happy to have found a safe place to land and he's enthusiastic that he found someone who wants to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you

And this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big and he doesn't need to tone it down cause you're his person and he's yours

Okay bye ily

mouse. mouse get the fuck back here. MOUSE DONT LEAVE ME LIKE THIS

he's just so happy to have a safe place to land and this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big were daggers straight to my heart you come back here right now before i actually bleed out from needing this man so badly.

no but thats exactly it. eddie has spent so long jumping and toeing that line of either trying to cram himself into this bite-sized shape for the ones around him, and just exploding and pretending he doesn't give a fuck that he will never fit into anyone's cup of tea so he'll just make himself even larger, that when you enter his life he just doesnt know what to do about it.

because he starts with his regular tricks of being so over the top, so unbearable, and all you're doing is laughing and entertaining his antics. even playing along at times. and so he retracts a little, turning back into a quiet boy who will shrivel up until he's invisible or easy to love (whichever comes first). but then that doesn't work - and to be truthful, he doesn't even know what his mind's end goal is here because why is he trying to push you away so desperately? - and he's just at a loss. you want him on the thundering days, where he makes his grey clouds everyone's problem and all his lightning is blinding and sporadic. you want him on the quiet days, where the downpour is no longer a roar but a soft drizzle, a bit more silent and a bit more bearable but still there. and he can't tell if it's a joke - he can't decipher if your kisses amidst his rambles are sincere, if you're actually smiling at his jokes because you like him or you're too polite to break his heart. he can't see through those gentle hands you use to caress back his wild hair to be sure that the softest of touches are really just you, or some strange gloves of care that you're only simply wearing for now.

and then one morning, he wakes up, and you're still there, awake before he is and just watching him with so much love. feather-light fingers taking their time tracing over his tattoo on his chest and arms, not noticing he's awake yet as you smile so serenely at him. you're looking at him in a way that he's never really gotten to experience so vulnerably before - like he isn't a nuisance, isn't a mistake. like the universe has so intentionally dropped him into your palms, and you're so aware of how delicate he can be below the surface. and he just breaks.

"i love you"

he'd blurt it out, the first time he's ever said those words to you. it almost feels like the first time he's said those words, period.

he's said them to wayne, in their own way, both a bit stiff in expressing affection and skirting around those words whenever they can for a simply ruffle of hair or unexpected side hugs. he'd said them to his mom, a young boy with shining eyes despite it all, looking at her like she was the world because she was his world.

and... well. that's it. he can count the number of times he's said those words on one hand, and now he's said them to you, and all he can hope is you handle them with as much care as you've handled him.

he hopes you can feel the weight of his heart pressing down on them.

and he thinks you do, when you startle a little, looking up to his lips where those rough words had just fallen from in a cracking tone, and you take your time in awarding him with a smile that could save lives. cure cancer, cure sadness, cure the end of the world even. every cliche possible.

"yeah?" you'd whisper back, and his heart skips a beat, terrified that the next words you say won't be what he needs to hear so desperately. but they are. because of course they are. you wouldn't have been watching him sleep in that way if they hadn't been on the tip of your tongue, "i love you."

not a crash landing, but a soft-padded decent. a slow fall with a cushion to prevent broken bones and more invisible scars.

he kisses you then the way he was going to kiss you every day going forward: pushing forward recklessly, teeth and noses bumping a little, smiles making it nearly impossible. he kisses you like he's coming home after a long day, because he is.

he's home. no boxes in sight to fit into, no cups that'll overflow from all the fizzling feelings pouring out of his chest. you've got him, and he's got you.

[inkabelledesigns]

Okay, I have never witnessed this on BlueSky. For the most part our art communities are pretty nice places to be, at least the ones I'm in for doll photography and Bendy fan art. But this person...oh boy. I have thoughts. I get wanting to encourage people to use alt text, but this is not the way to do it. If anything, telling people you're adding them to a blocklist for a failure to make the choice you wanted them to make is a surefire way to make someone not want to do what you're saying they should do. Like, we deal with enough public shaming in the world, why add to it? It doesn't produce meaningful change, it produces resentment and makes you look like an asshole.

If people aren't adding alt text to their posts, and you think they should be, the first question you should ask yourself is why. Why do they not use alt text? It could be any number of reasons, and I'm fairly confident most of them should not be taken in bad faith. Maybe they don't know what alt text is or how it works. Maybe they don't know what kinds of things should be included in alt text. Maybe there's a limitation regarding time or internet connection, or there's a physical or mental disability in the mix. Maybe they don't know where to start in researching the topic and are paralyzed/intimidated. Because goodness knows, some parts of the internet can be cruel and unforgiving when you make mistakes, and it's impossible to learn things without making mistakes. Maybe it's any number of other things that you're simply not privy to that may be none of your business.

If your goal is truly to make the world a more inclusive and accessible place, then why not make some posts talking about how to effectively use the alt text feature? Make a guide for people that's easy and intuitive to use! Why not offer to help someone learn how to do it one on one? There are literally so many choices you could make to help people learn a new skill, and you chose to shame them and prey on their insecurities instead. That's uncool. That tells me this isn't about accessibility so much as it is controlling others, and I'm not into that.

For the people who are actually into accessibility, if you have any suggestions or resources for how to write alt text effectively, I would love to learn from you! This is something I'm inexperienced with. I know that the details I think are important in an image or art piece may not be the stuff other people need in their experience, and finding the balance to actually be inclusive and thoughtful of the people who would use this feature is something I could use some help with. Let's be productive and actually learn something.

observations

[dpspcehntr]

Love & Deepspace NSFW Headcannons Pt 3

Part One || Part Two

Paring: L&DS OT4 x Reader

Warnings: toys, fingering (f receiving), size description (if you squint), pubic hair, oral (m receiving), piercings, mutual masturbation, lingerie, bath/shower sex

A/N: Hello all! here’s some more headcanons to keep you fed while I take a little step back. The semester is getting intense so I don’t have as much time as I did. I’ll try to keep chugging away at those requests in the mean time! If you’re wondering why Caleb isn’t here, I explained it here. That’s all! Hope you enjoy and reblogs are deeply appreciated.

Zayne

The control he tries to keep is very thin and when he snaps……you better be ready

Perfect size and girth for you to need to take it easy the next day

Hair is trimmed neatly and is carefully maintained

Addicted to the way you feel on him, simply cannot get enough

Now that he no longer feels that he has to repress himself, just get ready

Xavier

Keeps a box of toys at his place for you and him to use (though he uses it on himself more)

What he doesn’t have in length he makes up for in girth, you’re more than happy to feel the stretch

Hair is trimmed neatly, though the maintenance sometimes gets away from him

Stamina is out of this world, we’re talking hours

He likes to be choked when you ride him

Rafayel

Won’t admit it, but loves when you take control

Perfect size and girth, he likes to bury it in your throat most

Completely hairless, not even stubble, you wonder how he keeps so clean

If your nipples are pierced, he finds them very hot and gets turned on when you wear the jewelry you picked (bonus points if it has chains)

Makes mutual masturbation a game, whoever cums first has to bottom

Sylus

Loves to keep you clench on his fingers and won’t fuck you until then

It’s big, both in length and girth, had to do a few sessions just for size training

Hair is neatly manicured and he even shared his grooming routine with you in detail

Loves to dress you up in lingerie and then ripping it off you (which you love too)

Often takes showers and baths with you just to make clean up easier (and sometimes he just likes pampering you after a long day)

[enviedear]

flirt!reader who has somewhat of a reputation in gotham—constantly in relationships—a chronic coquet. you’re fun, you’re interesting, and above all, you’re a lover. you’re just a romantic misunderstood by the press and general public…

…until you meet DICK GRAYSON. similarly monikered—a playboy, of the billionaire variety—he’s the first person in all of gotham to understand you. to pass zero judgement upon meeting your fourth date that month, to giggle with you as lead conversation at parties, and to match your frequent headlining romantic blunders.

though, that’s not what dick and you would call them. necessary evils, maybe, blunders—never. instead, the pair of you referred to all failed relationships as stepping stones. you learn from person to person, “gathering intel.” grayson will smile.

but sometimes—when gotham social events grow too taxing, bleary, or greedy—you’ve found yourselves pulling away from the crowds, your dates, security, drivers, and media. sometimes it’s a few drinks on a rooftop, other times it’s processed food and wine coolers at his place. it’s…sweet. in a way you’ve never tasted before, you almost crave it when he’s gone.

towing the line between reassurance and utter devotion to eachother is frequent within your friendship. you’re two reflecting pools of unprecedented levels of love, both searching relentlessly for the one. that one romance that’s gonna stick—it’s a strange religion to be subscribed to, but both of you are.

and that’s the pleasant part about it, that you’re not alone. that someone else in the world, in gotham, has the capacity to hunger for it the way you do.

but that’s also the most dangerous part. because the longer you orbit each other, the harder it becomes to ignore the way your worlds have begun to collide. the way your stepping stones are less about ‘gathering intel’ these days and more about passing time.

sometimes, you’ll be at a gala or a dimly lit lounge—seated beside your latest conquest—but you’ll catch dick’s eye from across the room. leaning into his date, flashing a signature grin, but his gaze flickers—just for a moment—to you. and in that split second, it’s like the whole room vanishes. like the two of you are the only ones who truly understand the strange script you’re acting out.

it’s intoxicating, this unspoken thing. this quiet knowledge that neither of you have voiced, because why would you? what you have is easy, comfortable. there’s no need to risk it for something it isn’t, something uncertain.

but then, in the quieter moments—when you’re sitting on his couch, legs tucked beneath you, half a wine cooler forgotten in your hand—he’ll say something that just about makes your breath catch. something about how maybe love is about timing, about knowing when to stop looking. and you’ll hum in agreement, staring at the way the light catches in his eyes, playing it off as expert listening.

because if you say it—if either of you acknowledges the real reason you keep coming back to eachother—then everything changes. and neither of you are quite ready for that. not yet.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ this idea has been plaguing my mind for weeks so i had to write a drabble. sue me. this dynamic is sweetly toxic and i love it and i love when dick grayson meets his match (it’s always yummy, we love two lovers being freaks about it) askbox open for more of this or any other thoughts! moodboard for this drabble here 🫂 !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (49/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Climbing up the mountain can be very freeing.

Warnings: angst (self-doubt, insecurities, mentions of abuse in a relationship, Charles is very insecure about himself), the end is a bit fluffy, but don't expect too much

Word Count: 4.1k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: I feel like this describes Charles well. I cried when writing this chapter. I hope you like it. feedback is appreciated.

It is the first time in years that Charles has no desire to climb the mountain on those stupid skis. 

His feet hurt, he is cold even though the jacket he is wearing is suitable for even colder temperatures, and his hands are so stiff from the frigid air that they painfully curl around his ski poles. 

The snow blinds him because of the bright sun, his bones feel heavy, somehow his mouth is so dry that he would like to rinse it with water every five meters.

But maybe that's just because he'd rather be at home in Monaco. Because that's where you are. And there is no place he would rather be right now. 

Closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in the apartment was incredibly difficult. He would have loved to put you in his bag and take you with him, but you would only have distracted him from training. 

And if he wants to be world champion one day, he can't afford to make any mistakes. 

It's been two days since he's seen you and heard your voice. In the morning, when he wakes up and gets ready for the day, you are still fast asleep, and during his training, Andrea has his phone so that Charles can collect his thoughts and stay focused. Only in the evening, when Charles is in bed, he manages to text you a few messages before falling asleep, cell phone in hand, completely exhausted. 

He misses you every second. 

Before he met you, he would never have imagined that he could miss someone he had only known for a few days so much. He had missed Annika from time to time, after all, he had definitely loved her at some point, but he had never longed for her or anyone else the way he did for you now. 

As soon as he has a moment to himself, whether it's in the shower or on the toilet or when Andrea isn't bothering him with calories or carbohydrates or protein for a moment, he misses you so much that he can almost feel the physical distance between you. 

But most of all, he misses you in the morning when he wakes up. When he is in that one second when he is neither sleeping nor fully awake. Snuggled up warm in the blanket and against the pillow, where in the evening he imagines it would be your body that he is snuggling up to. And in the morning, for a brief moment, it feels as if you are actually lying next to him, which is why the second he realizes that you are miles away from him hurts the most. 

“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, who has slowed down a little to run up the hill next to Charles. ”You're suspiciously quiet.”

Charles, who hasn't realized that he has slowed down at all, looks at his trainer in confusion. “Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

Andrea shrugs. ”Usually you're chattering away at me during training. That usually helps you to distract yourself from how exhausting it is.”

He has a point there. Charles pushes himself forward on his skis. “I don't know. This time I don't feel like you're torturing me up this mountain. It's still the same route we usually take, isn't it?” He looks around as if he can recognize the surroundings. 

Andrea raises his eyebrows and also picks up the pace. ‘We're in a completely different area, Charles.’ He points to another mountain with his gloved hand.

If his friend hadn't told him, the man from Monaco would never have noticed, so absorbed is he in his thoughts about you. The mountain Andrea is pointing to seems more familiar to him than the one in front of them. And a lot smaller. If they had taken the familiar route, they would have been at the summit long ago. 

“You asshole,” Charles curses and wipes his face. ‘Why did you choose a different mountain? And especially one that's higher?”

Andrea can't help but grin. ’You came in second in the championship this year. I'm hoping that if we increase your training, you'll come in first next season and...”

“And what?” Charles interrupts his trainer. "The whole thing is useless if my strategists and the whole team mess up so much during the race. I can train as much as I want. It won't work." He gets so caught up in it that he doesn't notice how quickly he pushes himself up the mountain on his skis. 

“Charles –”

“No, Andrea. This whole thing cost me the title. Wrong tires? Last-minute changes in the pit? What the hell?” he gets worked up. He knows that his anger is unfairly directed at the wrong person, after all Andrea is only there for Charles's well-being and not for what happens on the track, but it just comes spilling out. And he can't stop it. 

His ski poles dig deep into the white snow, which Charles barely notices. He only sees the summit in front of him and hears Andrea breathing loudly next to him as he continues to complain. 

“It's not right that I come in second because of such little things! If I had caused accidents, then at least it would have been my fault and I could have dealt with it more easily,” he says, annoyed. ”But what kind of stupid plans were these, anyway? Even a toddler could come up with a better strategy!”

Andrea, who knows full well that Charles needs to vent his anger, walks quietly beside him and lets the storm pass over him. It's not often that Charles gets this angry. And normally he blames himself, but he certainly doesn't take such serious mistakes on his head. 

Charles knows that making mistakes is an inevitable part of competition, and sometimes, they're the difference between standing at the top of the podium and finishing second. Being the runner-up in a championship can feel bittersweet – so close to victory, yet just short of it. 

Being second in the championship feels like a mix of pride and frustration. On one hand, Charles has achieved something incredible – outperforming almost everyone, proving his skill and showing that he deserves to sit in the red car with the horse on it. But on the other hand, there's that lingering thought inside of his head – he was so close. The tiniest mistakes, the small miscalculations in his strategies, or someone else having a slightly better day made the difference in the end. 

There's this ache inside of him, knowing he was almost the champion. The podium felt different when he looked up at Max Verstappen holding the trophy he desperately craved. Charles felt a lot of things in that moment – disappointment, regret and even anger – at himself, the situation, the team and at the margin that kept him from winning. 

“I could have won the title. Max will definitely win the next season too, as strong as Red Bull is. How will I ever live up to my reputation then?” He clenches his jaw. ”I feel like I'm stuck with what I'm doing now. And I'm doing my best, Andrea. I really am. But it's apparently not enough. Do you know how incredibly frustrating that is?”

Being second carries a unique weight – a strange middle ground between triumph and heartbreak. And hell, Charles heart broke with every race that put more distance between his and Max's points. He feels like a failure, like he failed his team, his family and friends. He failed his fans, that support him through every decision he makes on and off track, that defend him whenever he makes a mistake during races. 

And it haunts him. What if he had pushed just a little harder, made one less mistake, reacted a second faster? What if he made a different decision that would've outweighed the mistakes his team made? What if he became world champion in the famous red car he worked so hard to get into? The famous red car that his dad loved so much?

Disappointing his dad was the worst part of it all. It was a different kind of pain, heavy and crushing. It's not just about failing at something – Charles feels like he simply isn't good enough. Like he let someone down who believed in him. He could have been champion this year – he was so close to standing on top of the podium. What if he never gets this close to winning? What if he never holds the big trophy in his hands, dedicating it to his dad, who always wanted to see him drive in the Ferrari?

Charles' anger has been building up for so long that he doesn't know where to put it. If only he had concentrated more on the season and hadn't been so distracted by his personal problems - 

“And Annika. What a waste of time the whole thing was. I should never have gotten involved with her. I should have ended the relationship when I realized that she wasn't the one. When I realized that I couldn't give her the attention that a healthy relationship requires.”

Charles would never admit it, but Annika’s betrayal in their relationship cut deeper than expected. It’s not just about broken promises – it’s about broken trust, the foundation of any meaningful connection. It shook everything Charles believed to be true about Annika – or love in general. 

The worst part wasn’t the act itself or that he caught them right in the act, but the realization that someone he trusted with his heart made the choice to hurt him. After the break-up he questioned everything – was any of it real? Was Annika lying to him the whole time? Even after everything, the wounds linger. 

Some betrayals are survivable with time and effort, but others leave scars that never fully heal. They change people – it changed Charles. It hardened his heart, made love feel dangerous to him and made him create walls where there once was openness. 

He guarded himself like a survival instinct. At first, it was solely for protection – he told himself that if he didn’t let anyone in, nobody could hurt him. The walls became his shield, keeping out disappointment, rejection, and the risk of being vulnerable again. 

But over the course of the weeks, Charles noticed the walls he put up brick by brick didn’t just keep the pain out – they kept everything out. Love. Connection. The chance to feel something real. Hell, he didn’t even tell his Maman that he was back home in Monaco. He pushed his family away, his friends, acting cold and distant – not because he didn’t want love, but because he’s so scared of what happened when he let someone else in. 

It took Charles some time to figure out the truth, that the walls didn’t keep him safe and sound – they kept him stuck. They stopped him from healing, from growing, from experiencing the things that make life meaningful. But he was so scared of breaking them down when it took him so long to put them up, that he didn’t know what to do when he met you. 

It was terrifying, letting you in slowly and hesitantly. He’s spent so long guarding himself, convincing himself that no one except his close ones can be trusted, that it almost felt unnatural to let you in. At first, he resisted, kept his distance. But the fact that you didn’t even know who he was felt so good, made him feel safe to share his story with you and then – you stayed. You didn’t push too hard, but you didn’t walk away either. 

Surely, this friendship has had it’s ups and downs, but this is what happenes when two people, who protected themselves so much that they become too careful, too hesitant to let someone in fully. 

And instead of forcing your way through, you waited. You were there. You proved in small, consistent ways, that you’re not like the woman who made him built those walls in the first place. 

And then, without realizing it, he stopped expecting the worst. He let you see his wounds, his fears, his past, and instead of running, you stayed. You stayed with him through awkward dinner conversations about his ex, you stayed with him when he didn’t correct his family about your relationship status, you stayed when he overstepped the boundaries of your friendship. Your gentle touch, your honest conversations while burning Annika’s things. 

You stayed when he revealed to you who he really is. You see him – the real him – and don’t flinch at what you see. Little by little, cracks form in his defenses. He finds himself wanting to trust again, to love again, even though it scares him to death. 

When you look at him, it feels like sunlight creeping through the cracks in the fortress he thought were unbreakable. It was unsettling at first after being in the dark for some time. But you didn’t break down his walls in a dramatic, earth-shattering way. 

It was quiet. Subtle. It sneaked up to him in moments he didn’t even realize – they way you looked at him when he played your song on the piano in the bookshop, when you let him hold you while you cried like his arms were the safest place in the world, when you showed him that you want him for who he is. 

But even though you broke down most of his walls, he still can’t admit that you’re all he needs. 

He can’t let you in fully after what Annika did to him, he can’t let you touch him like he wants you to. He can’t let himself feel so much for you because what if those feelings he has for you – the feelings he swore he’d never harbour for anyone again – are not enough for you?

What if he gives you his all and you decide that it’s not enough? That he is not enough? He can’t tell you why he doesn’t want you to touch him, because what if you’ll see him differently? What if the things he wants, he needs, are different from what you want? 

He feels like he isn’t good enough. The scars Annika left on him made him question his worth, his value, his ability to be loved. There are moments where he feels too far gone, too damaged, not strong enough to break free from the fear of losing you that he’d rather keep you at arms length hurting himself than push you away and out of his life. 

He can’t let you touch him after Annika, because sex with her felt wrong, like he was broken because he wanted different things than her. Because he craved intimacy like his life depended on it, the safety that comes with it, but it always felt like he needed to deliver, even if he didn’t want to. It felt like a chore, no gentle touches or loving words, only demanding hands and lips and thighs and he swore to himself he’ll never let it happen again. 

If you don’t touch him at all, there’s no chance you could hurt him like that.

He’d rather give you all he’s able to give instead of letting you return anything.

“I could have waited for…”

“Charles.” Andreas‘ voice is gentle and soothing, in contrast to Charles’. When the man from Monaco looks at his friend, he smiles at him. ”We're here.”

The wind howls at the summit, biting and cold, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel it. He can’t feel anything except the weight that presses down on his chest. He stands there on top oft he world – and all the space in the world couldn’t quiet the chaos inside him. 

Andrea chose this route to help Charles clear his head, the mountain was supposed to be his escape, his victory. He climbed every inch of it, each slide of his skis pushing him further from the mess he feels inside. The view from the top is actually breathtaking: endless stretches of jagged peaks, skies that feel closer than ever. He should feel something – pride, accomplishment, freedom. But instead, there’s only the overwhelming silence that gnawed at him. 

For a moment, everything is still. He pulls his beanie and glasses from his head, closing his eyes and trying to ground himself in the beauty around him, but the images, the memories, everything – it all comes flooding back. The things he can’t outrun. The words that had been sad. The choices that had left him fractured and alone. 

A sob caught in his throat, sharp and unexpected and he falls to his knees in the white snow at his feet. The tries to fight it, but the tears come anyway – slow at first, then faster and harder. They burn against the cold wind, mixing with the salt of the sweat on his skin – and he can’t stop them. 

They stand for everything he hasn’t been able to say, everything he has be scared to face. He thought he could bury it, hide it behind the walls he built, behind the distance from it all. 

His hand tremble on his thighs, his chest tightening with every broken breath. His vision blurred, the edges oft he mountain fading into the background. It doesn’t matter that he’s at the top – he feels smaller than ever. The tears slip down his cheeks like a rush of a river too long dammed. 

„I’m not enough“, he whispered almost unaudibly. A confession only the mountains and his friend could hear. „I’m never going to be enough.“

The world stretched out before him, magnificent and indifferent, and in that moment, he realized that being on top oft he mountain didn’t mean escaping it all. He had climbed all this way, but he couldn’t outrun himself. The hurt, the mistakes, the weight of everything he’d buried deep inside. 

He doesnt flinch when he feels Andrea’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing and reassuring him that whatever he feels right now is okay. That the tears that fall down onto the snow have their right to exist after being bottled up for so long. 

The sobs faded, leaving him gasping for air in the stillness of the summit. He wiped his face, trying to wipe away the brokennes, but it lingered in his chest. His hands still trembling from the release, from the rawness that had bubbled to the surface. For a long moment, he just sits there, the wind biting at him, the emptiness inside him as a vast as the world stretched out before him. 

And then it hit him, like a sudden punch that knocked the breath from his lungs. 

You. 

Your laugh. Your smile. The way you always seem to know what he’s thinking, the way you care in the quietest ways – how you’ve been there for him, even when he pushed you away. How, despite everything, you stayed. 

He tried so hard to tell himself that he’s better off alone, that he doesn’t need anyone else to fill the empty spaces inside him. He thought he could bury his feelings, run from the truth. He has told himself that love was something to fear, something that could trap him, break him, leave him just as broken as he’d been before.

But now, sitting on top of the world, it all makes sense. 

He loves you. He always has. He can feel it in every part of him, the truth that has been there all along, buried under layers of fear and pride. It’s not something he can outrun, not anymore. He can’t ignore the way his heart always beats faster when you’re near, the way everything seems to fall into place when you smile at him, the way your presence has been the one thing that feels like home. 

The moment of realization hits him like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. It’s undeniable. 

He loves you.

Not in the casual, passing way he once tried to convice himself was enough for his relationship with Annika, but in a deeper, truer sense. It’s always been you – only you. Right from the start when the both of you stood in the small apartment. 

But the weight o fit, the sheer force of that truth, felt like it could crush him, especially when he realizes how long he’s been running from it. 

His heart races, pounding hard in his chest, but it isn’t the kind of excitement he thought would come with such a revelation. Instead, it is quiet terror. The terror of feeling too much. Of feeling anything at all. 

His breath comes in shallow gasps as the cold mountain air cuts through him. It isn’t the altitude or the wind that chills him – it’s the fear of being too vulnerable again. Of letting anyone close enough to hurt him. The thought of telling you, of exposing his raw, vulnerable part of himself, feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to climb back down. 

He stares out over the vast horizon, the world stretching out endlessly beneath him, and for a moment, he considers it. The possibility of going back, of telling you everything he has just realized. But the thought of your eyes on him, the weight of the words, the vulnerability—it‘s too much. Too raw. Too dangerous.

So, he stays silent. He stays with the truth, buried deep inside of him. The love he feels for you is now his secret, locked away like a fragile thing, too delicate to share. He can‘t find the courage to let it out—not now, not after everything that had happened.

But there is something about knowing, about feeling it — just knowing that he can love again — that makes the world feel a little less heavy. It isn’t perfect, and it doesn‘t fix everything, but it is enough. For the first time in a long time, he doesn‘t feel so broken. He isn’t empty. He is filled with something — something soft, something he thought was gone forever.

Maybe he isn’t ready to tell you. Maybe he will never be ready. But the knowledge that love still exists in him — that it can still find him, even after everything — is enough to hold onto for now. It isn’t a victory, not in the way he wants, but it is a beginning. And in that, there is a quiet peace. A peace that, despite all the fear and hesitation, he coul still feel, still hope.

And that, for the moment, is enough.

[theduck5]

its amazing what treating children like the small people they are can do for a kid. kids want attention, they can get it either negatively or positively. negative attention, if it is all they get, creates someone who does not know what to do in face of positive attention, nor how to gain it. so they do things to get attention, but negative attention(ie, getting yelled at, punished physically, etc)

but they aren't well rounded when they grow up. did you know babies die when not held? when not loved? we are social creatures, we desire attachment, connection, positive thoughts and emotions. but we are shaped by those around us. listening to children, our future, is so important. they want love, sometimes as simple as lighthearted astonishment, a nice smile, an attentive listener. someone who takes them seriously. they have big emotions, for they are so young, they may be feeling them for the first time, or do not understand their actions. but you can teach them, they'll understand.

why does the rule of not senselessly hurting people make sense? it is cruel, it hurts people. do they deserve to be hurt? why? they are only human, what gives one the right to decide who deserves to be hurt or not? we've gotten this far by helping each other.

children ask why why why because they do not know, they want want want because they do not understand sharing. but they can. we can tell them, explain in ways they understand. violence teaches fear, it does not teach respect. respect is garnered through deeds that others claim fair, reasonable. or hard ones, that they could not bear. you teach a child the feeling of pain when they cry, they will not cry. you teach a child the feeling of fear when they speak their truth, they will not speak. you punish a child for wanting to learn, they will not want to learn. children can understand cause and affect, they really do. they can empathize with unfairness, they can accept reasoning for actions taken or not. the reasons can just either be "crying and screaming makes me hurt," or "crying and screaming is unproductive, it does not get what i want, but there are other ways, like waiting."

explaining how the world works to a child gives the child information. "why cant we get candy?" "too much candy is not good for you." "why? its yummy" "the sugar can be bad for your teeth, so if you want candy you need to brush your teeth really well, and eat some vegetables, to balance it all out." "so i can have candy, but i have to do two things i dont want?" "yes" "mmm two candies for two actions" "alright, deal." this teaches a child how to be healthy, what is and isnt good for your body, and gives an understandable explanation of why not.

everything we know we've been taught. we know what anger is because we have felt it and had the feeling identified by another, or have been shown anger and connected the dots. we know what water is, because someone or something explained what liquid is. we know how to empathize, because we were taught how our actions affect others, and how this affects us. not everything we've been taught is necessarily by words, but by actions, connections of two different things, understanding of situations.

(sorry if this is all over the place i am So Tired but Incredibly Passionate about this subject)

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[kisssukuna33]

i feel like Bf Sukuna would be the type to always be nibbling or soft biting his gf in a cute way like he would kiss your cheek first and then he would bite it and then kiss it better, not only cheeks but every place he can get (everywhere)

"Sukuna that's enough" you said moving Sukuna's face away while running your fingers over the swollen spot on your cheek, a result of your bf nibbling at the same spot for so long.

"No" he said without a care in the world as he suddenly moved even closer, putting you in a headlock and making you lose your attention from the book for like 6th time again.

It's been an hour since you got into bed with the book you bought few weeks ago, hoping to finally read it instead of procrastinating. Well let's just say things didn't go according to plan as your boyfriend thought it was an invitation for cuddles too, safe to say you haven't made it past 4 pages in the book.

"Go play a game" you said in an annoyed tone, hoping to get rid of him once and for all. But that only made Sukuna hold you even tighter.

"Why the fuck would I? When you are literally right here" he said as he leaned into nibble your neck again, pressing soft kisses all over your skin.

"You are treating me as a dog would treat his bone"

"I'm your dog after all, what? Don't like having the scary dog privilege?" Sukuna smirked into your skin clearly enjoying the way he's teasing you.

"Last time I checked you don't piss on me to mark your territory" you answered with a scoff, not letting Sukuna win the conversation.

"I have other ways to mark what's mine and seems like someone needs a reminder again" he said letting out a chuckle as he grabbed your book and tossed it into the bedside table. He seized both of your wrists as he hovered above you. The audacity. "I'm more than happy to remind you again princess"

"What are you-"

"I can't be biased when it comes to my favorite bone now can I? Wouldn't be fair if I nibble on one spot for so long. Other parts might feel neglected" he taunted with his voice as he fixed you with a dangerous gleam in his bloodshot eyes.

This man is going to be the death of you.

[luvsferrariss]

˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ who said that I hate you? - OO2

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: Where Y/n, in an attempt to escape from Charles, her rival, fails because Charles keeps getting closer, and Y/n starts to like it.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Charles Leclerc x Female Reader! Red Bull Driver

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Warnings: Cute, Charles has improved from his foolishness, nothing too serious in this one, just fluff 🤍

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Notes: I didn’t really like this story, it feels like I couldn’t develop it very well, but I hope you like it! English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ part one here ! 🤍

You couldn’t deny how Charles’ proximity brought several consequences, like: the media. Everyone was speculating so many things that happened between you two, theories totally out of reality. You tried to avoid him as much as you could or push him away, but he was always there, and that irritated you.

When you thought the wave of bad luck had ended, the universe conspired against you again.

This time it wasn’t your fault. It was finally your chance to make it to the podium, you were in second place, and because of a mistake from your team, you ended up in sixteenth place. After the race, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, and everyone knew it.

Then you hear a knock on the door but completely ignore it.

“I know you’re in there,” Charles says, and you just ignore him again.

After a while, you hear another knock. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Go away, Leclerc,” you say straightforwardly.

After your response, there’s a deadly silence, then you just close your eyes and sigh. But within a few seconds, you get startled when your door opens.

Clearly, Charles hadn’t left, so he decides to check and see how you’re doing, then opens the unlocked door.

“Are you crazy, you idiot?” you say, irritated as he enters, still recovering from the shock. Charles smiles and leans against the doorframe.

“Before anything, I need to know. Are you going to break something? Because if you are, just let me know and I’ll leave,” Charles asks calmly, making your blood boil.

“I’ll break you, idiot!” you say, throwing a pillow at him, which he just catches.

“Look how bold you are,” Charles laughs, and you huff.

“Go to hell.” Your voice is quieter now. “What kind of idiot enters someone’s room uninvited?”

He ignores the provocation and gets closer, throwing himself on the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stressing yourself out alone won’t help anything, you know?” You squint your eyes at his words.

“Since when do you care about what I do?” He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, like he’s analyzing every expression.

“Since when did you stop hating me?” Charles says, and in that instant, you freeze.

And Charles notices.

His gaze locks on you for a second that’s too long, and for the first time, there’s something beyond rivalry there.

You look away, feeling your heart race in a way that annoys you deeply.

“Go screw yourself,” you say, still not looking at him, and Charles laughs softly.

“You’ve said that before, Y/n.”

He stands up and walks towards the door. But before leaving, he throws one last provocation:

“Try not to think too much about me, Y/n.”

And then, he leaves, leaving you even more confused and furious than before, not knowing what to respond.

( . . . )

The tension between you two grows to an unbearable point. Everything explodes in a tense practice, where Charles makes an aggressive move, and Y/n nearly hits the wall.

When you both get out of the cars, she goes straight to him in the pit lane, pushing him in the chest.

“What’s your problem?! You could’ve slammed me into the wall!”

Charles grabs her wrists, stopping her from pushing him again.

“You’re shaking. Are you scared, Y/n?” he asks, almost choking on the words.

You pull your arms forcefully, your face burning with anger.

“I will NEVER be afraid of you!”

He leans in slightly, closing the distance between them.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

You pale.

Charles smiles.

You’re so angry that you almost punch him right there. But instead, you just glare at him with hatred and walk away.

But, for the first time, that hatred doesn’t feel so simple.

( . . . )

After that fight, Charles pulls back a bit. He stops provoking her so much, but Y/n misses it. This deeply irritates her.

Until one night, before an important race, she finds him alone in the pits, sitting with his arms crossed, staring at the car.

Without thinking, you approach him.

“So, you think sometimes too. I thought you only talked nonsense.” You say, stopping beside him.

Charles smiles, but doesn’t make a joke.

“Hey, what’s up, idiot? You’re way too quiet.” Her question makes him sigh.

You frown.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be tough,” Charles murmurs.

She frowns.

“You always say that, and in the end, you go speeding like there’s no tomorrow.” You respond, rolling your eyes, stating the obvious.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his face.

“This time it’s weird. I’ve been feeling bad since yesterday, like I have a fever or something.” His words make you worry, but you don’t show it.

“What?”

“If they find out, they won’t let me race. So you’re the only one who knows, and if you tell anyone, you’re done.” He says jokingly, and you cross your arms, skeptical.

“So you’re gonna hide this until you pass out in the car? Great plan.”

Charles gives a slight smile.

“I thought you’d like the idea. If I pass out, you can finally get first place.” You roll your eyes, but inside, you feel a strange tightness in your chest. He was really sick. And still, he was there, ready to race.

You sigh. You didn’t understand why this feeling of worry, especially since, above all, you hated each other, right? Of course, you hated each other, and could never be friends.

“You’re an idiot. But a fast idiot.” Charles turns his face to Y/n, surprised by the concern.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Charles says sincerely, and you just roll your eyes as if you hadn’t said anything, but the truth was that you were really “kind,” and you didn’t understand why.

“Don’t get used to it,” you say bluntly.

But when you leave, you hate admitting that something between you two has changed.

And you didn’t know what it was.

( . . . )

The heat inside the car was suffocating, and Charles felt the sweat trickling down his neck as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. His body felt heavy, the fever draining his strength, but he couldn’t back down.

On the radio, the voice of the team sounded distant.

“Charles, how are the conditions?” The engineer asks, as usual.

He presses the radio button, trying to sound normal.

“Everything’s under control.”

Lie.

Nothing was under control, and Charles knew it, but he couldn’t admit it. The race seemed to last longer than expected, every corner demanding more from him than he was used to. His vision seemed blurry at times, but he was already here, and there was no way to quit.

A few laps later, Y/n had already noticed something was wrong. She saw Henrique in the rearview mirror, struggling more than usual to keep pace. He wasn’t driving with his usual aggression.

“Shit, he’s worse than he seemed yesterday,” you think to yourself, growing concern building up.

You grip the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. Why were you worrying about him?

On lap 38, a mistake. Small, but enough.

Charles brakes too late in a corner and ends up sliding, losing position to Y/n. You pass him, but, when glancing at the car beside you, you see his hand trembling on the steering wheel.

He won’t make it through the entire race.

Y/n’s engineer’s voice comes through the radio:

“Good job, P2 now. Keep pushing the leader.” Your engineer says happily, but you weren’t on the same level of happiness.

You should be satisfied. But, for the first time, you weren’t.

When the race ends, Charles can barely get out of the car. As soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs give out. The fever, the exhaustion… everything hit him at once. He stumbles a little, trying to hide it, but before he can fall, someone catches him.

You.

You hold his arm firmly, preventing him from collapsing right there.

“I knew you were gonna do this shit,” you say, irritated.

Charles lets out a weak laugh.

“And I knew you’d catch me if I fell.” Charles says, cocky, making you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go of his arm.

The journalists notice the scene and begin to approach with cameras and microphones, sniffing out an interesting moment.

Before anyone can ask anything, Y/n steps forward, blocking Charles from their view.

“No questions right now. He needs rest.” You say firmly, but the journalists don’t leave.

Charles looks at you, surprised by the attitude. He didn’t expect this from you, not really.

You look at him.

“Come on, before I regret helping you.” You say, helping him again, making his body lean against yours.

Charles smiles lightly, liking the idea of being close to you.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You sigh, impatient.

“I swear, if you say that again…” you say, impatient, but a slight blush creeping onto your face. Thankfully, you could say it was because of the race.

Charles laughs, but inside, he feels that something between you two has changed.

( . . . )

The deafening roar of the engines had faded, replaced by the cheers and applause of the crowd. You had won. Your first victory in Formula 1.

It was a dream come true, beyond just proving your ability and strength to everyone. You were radiant like never before, a genuine smile on your face.

You were on the podium, holding the trophy, champagne dripping through your fingers. Max and Lando, beside you, were smiling, but you could barely process anything. The world seemed like a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Your first victory after racing against rumors and trying to prove you were capable. And even more so, you were beside people you could trust and count on forever.

It was so rewarding.

The podium ceremony and trophy presentation, you couldn’t have been happier. Lando and Max, without excitement, sprayed champagne on you, celebrating.

When you were finally ready for interviews, you felt someone pull you by the wrist to a secluded spot.

You had seen this scene before, and your heart sank.

“Lando, please don’t tell me it’s another fake news about me,” you murmur sadly, and when you turn, you see Charles.

He says nothing. He just looks at you with an intensity that makes you forget all the confusion around you.

“You did it.” His voice is quieter than you imagined, but there’s a genuine smile on Charles’ face. You laugh, sighing.

“I did it, didn’t I? This is crazy. Doesn’t even feel real!” you say, like a child who just got a candy. You’re so happy, and it captivates your rival.

Charles hesitates for a second. You notice he wants to say something else, but at the last moment, he just smiles and pulls you into a tight, unexpected hug.

This time, you don’t resist and hug him back.

You both pull away from the hug, and the adrenaline runs through your body. Until you hear someone call your name, you quickly say a “see you later” to Charles and leave him there alone, thinking.

Charles’ heart hurt when he saw your fear that there might be more bad news about you.

It was clear Charles had been a jerk to you since he entered Formula 1, but he really didn’t understand why.

Maybe it was because pretending to hate you was easier than saying he loved you.

But he felt guilty instantly when he saw you broken, crying on Lando’s shoulder, when he saw you more vulnerable than ever.

He hated everyone who made you cry, and from that day on, he made a promise to himself: he didn’t want to be that kind of person.

The team decided to celebrate the win with a dinner. Everyone was there – the engineers, the drivers, even some members of the media. You were sitting next to Lando, listening to some nonsense joke he was telling, but you could feel a gaze on you.

When you looked up, there he was.

Charles, across the table, holding a glass, watching you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

His eyes didn’t shift, not even when you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say something.

And then, he smiled.

Small, discreet, but the kind of smile that made something inside you tremble.

You swallow hard and look away.

Damn it.

You turn back to Lando to hide it, but soon laugh at a completely absurd joke, laughing the same way Lando did at his own joke.

Later that night, you were outside the restaurant, enjoying the fresh air. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the muffled sound of the celebration still echoed from inside.

“Running away from your own party?” You jump, startled, as soon as you hear someone behind you.

But as soon as you recognize the familiar voice, your heart skips a beat. You slowly turn around, and Charles is there, hands in his pockets, that intense look again.

“I just needed a moment.” You reply, looking away from Charles, now staring at the ground.

He nods and steps closer, stopping beside you. The silence between you two feels different now. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not easy to ignore either. When you look up again and look at Charles beside you, your heart skips.

Then, he extends his hand and, without warning, brushes a strand of hair from your face.

Your body stiffens. The touch is brief, but the skin where he touched feels like it’s burning. You see when Charles notices. You see when he finally understands.

And then, he smiles again.

“This might be a problem,” Charles says, looking at you with a smile. You just breathe deeply and nod, now looking away at the view in front of you. You can feel Charles staring at you.

( . . . )

In the next race, everything seemed normal. Or at least, it should have been.

You were talking with Lando and Max in the paddock, laughing at some silly thing Lando had just said. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, until you felt that gaze again.

Charles.

He was just a few meters away, arms crossed, listening to an engineer speak, but clearly not paying attention. His gaze was fixed on you. You did everything to hide the nervousness he caused, but your cheeks flushed slightly, and once again, your heart was faltering. You tried to focus on the conversation between the two drivers in front of you, but you failed miserably.

When your eyes met, something shifted. Your breath stopped in your throat, and time seemed to slow down. The only thing you could hear was your heart racing.

He squinted his eyes, as if irritated, leaving you confused. You raised an eyebrow and turned back to your friends. After a few minutes, you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You turned around and saw the person you really wanted to avoid.

“Y/n, can we talk?” Charles said, sounding irritated. You were confused and choked on your own saliva. Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the interruption. Lando looked at you, puzzled, then looked at Max.

“Now?” You asked, suspicious.

“Now,” Charles said firmly, and you nodded, with no real option.

You said goodbye to the others and followed him to a more secluded spot. Charles took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but in the end, he just blurted out:

“What were you doing with them?” He said bluntly, and you blinked, surprised. You opened your mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say.

“Excuse me?” You responded, still in shock.

“What were you doing with them? Max and Lando,” Charles repeated, moving a little closer to make sure he heard you right. You laughed in disbelief.

“Talking? Laughing? Ever heard of that?” You said, obviously crossing your arms.

He didn’t laugh. He remained serious.

“With Max? With Lando?” He asked again, and you tilted your head, still a little lost in all of this.

“Yes. What’s the problem?” You said innocently, and Charles thought it was cute, but then remembered why he was there.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“The problem is that…” He stopped in the middle of the sentence, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, now with a determined glint.

“Forget it.” The driver in front of you took a step forward. Now, you were so close that you could smell him, a mix of fuel and expensive cologne. Charles turned around to leave, but you grabbed his wrist, freezing him in place.

“What’s wrong, Charles?” You whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

He hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.

Then he murmured:

“I don’t like seeing you with them, I don’t know.” Charles shrugged. Your heart raced.

And for the first time, you saw in his eyes what you had only suspected before.

And you stood there for a while, just looking at each other. You sighed, half enjoying the confession, but it made you even more lost.

Then, without warning, Charles stepped closer, and again, you smelled him. You were only a few centimeters apart.

“C-Charles?” You called him.

“Yes?”

“What is this?” You asked, but completely lost in the proximity.

He didn’t answer. He just took a step forward, closing the distance between you. His hand found your face, hesitant at first, but firm enough for you to feel the warmth against your skin.

And then, without waiting any longer, Charles kissed you.

It wasn’t a rushed or uncertain kiss. It was something intense, charged with everything that had been hanging in the air for so long—unspoken teasing, glances that lasted a little too long, words never said but always felt.

You kissed him back without thinking. One of your hands grabbed his shirt, as if you needed something to hold on to. The other found his neck, feeling how he leaned in even more toward you.

The world around you disappeared.

It was just him. Just the two of you.

And when you finally pulled away, your faces still close, your breaths mixing, Charles smiled. That crooked, teasing smile, but now it was different—there was something more there now.

“Now tell me… are you still going to pretend this means nothing?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you didn’t look away. With a small smile, he gently ran his thumb across your cheek before adding, almost like a whisper:

“Because I can’t, I can’t pretend and deny what I feel for you, Y/n.”

( . . . )

The tension between you two had only grown since that conversation, that kiss. You couldn’t deny your mood had undoubtedly improved.

Now, minutes before the race start, you were on the grid, mentally reviewing the strategy, trying to concentrate. But your mind kept drifting back to Charles.

Then, he appeared. The red suit, the determined eyes, but at the same time… different.

He approached without hesitation.

“Good luck, Y/n,” you loved the way he said your name.

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Do I need it?” You asked, laughing, and Charles smiled.

He shrugged.

“No. But I needed an excuse.”

You furrowed your brow.

“An excuse for what?” You asked innocently again, and Charles smiled.

And then, again, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Not a full kiss. Just a touch, a test.

But it was enough to take your breath away.

Before you could react, he was already pulling away, putting on his helmet, and heading to his car. He turned to you and winked.

You stood there, frozen.

Lando, who had seen everything, whistled. You looked at him, lost, your face turning as red as a tomato.

“That was interesting,” he said, crossing his arms. You hit his arm.

Lando laughed and raised an eyebrow. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what, Norris?” You said impatiently.

“That you two are… like this,” he pointed to you and then to Charles.

“Like what?”

“Like this!” Lando said, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Y/n, you used to hate each other, and now he comes and kisses you in front of everyone, not even embarrassed.”

You couldn’t respond, just shrugged.

Because, in that moment, one thing became absolutely clear.

This was no longer a game.

( . . . )

You won.

Again.

But this time, the only thing you wanted wasn’t to lift the trophy or spray champagne.

It was to find Charles.

And he knew that.

As soon as the ceremony ended, you felt a hand on your wrist. He pulled you into a corner, away from the cameras, the journalists, any distractions.

His eyes were shining, but it wasn’t just from the race.

“How many more times are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?” Your chest tightened because you knew exactly what he meant.

You exhaled, a small smile forming on your lips.

“I think it’s already enough, right? You kissed me in front of everyone, I don’t think we need to pretend anymore.” You said, smiling like a happy little girl.

His smile grew, full of something new—certainty.

“Good.” And this time, when he leaned in, there were no doubts, hesitations, or teasing.

This time, it was real. And you knew there was no turning back, so you continued.

Charles pulled back and kissed your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with love.

“I want to hear that from you.” Charles said, holding your hand.

“Hear what?” You said, pretending not to understand, and Charles groaned, throwing his head back.

“If we’re going to be like this, I’ll say it first. Before anything, I want to apologize for being such a jerk. I thought pretending to hate you was easier than telling you how much I like you.” Charles sighed, and you felt like you were floating. Your heart leaped with joy, and the only thing you could do was hug him, so you did.

“It’s okay, Charles. This can stay in the past.” You said, still hugging him. Charles let go of you and held your waist firmly. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And besides, I think I like you a little too.”

“A little?” He complained, pretending to be offended.

“Yes, just a little.” You said, showing with your fingers how small the amount was. Charles laughed and gave you a quick kiss.

“You’re going to be my downfall, Y/n.” Charles said, and you kissed him.

[blond3ang3l]

Hanging with plug! Connie

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

You and Connie knew each other for the last couple years. Having met him through your ex boyfriend since the two of them were homeboys, it was an unlikely friendship that grew between the two of you. People did tell him it was fucked to be hanging with the ex of a friend. He KNEW it was fucked up to his homeboy, but to be fair you were just more enjoyable to be around.

He felt like when he hung around other friends they always wanted something out of him or wanted to use him as a way to shoe off they were “down”. You were just chill and treated him like did everyone else, and that why he fucked with you. He didn’t mind doing shit for you even though you always objected. You were perfectly capable of doing and paying for you guys whenever yall went out but he always insisted.

When y’all first started to hang out one on one he expected it to be like how he was with everyone else. Just hanging in his car or his room and just smoking for hours. He was fried if he thought that all you would do is sit and smoke all day. Once in a while was whatever but you wanted to get out the house once in a while and having Connie go with you was a no brainer.

“Stay yo ass still nigga. You gonna have me fuck you up and then you gonna be mad.” Connie snorted in response while rolling his eyes. He had came over to our place at here in the morning because after arching. Few YouTube videos and tik toks you were convinced that you could cut, bleach, and dye hair. Now the dying his hair wasn’t the problem it was he cutting part, because you ad no clue what you were doing.

“Don’t fuck me up now. I don’t wanna walk around with damn bald spot or sumthin.” You snickered while taking the guard off the razor. Turning around you rubbed the mirror that laid on your nightstand to pass to him. “I think I did pretty damn good right Con?” Looking into the mirror he was surprised to see you actually did a really good job. You didn’t even know it but you were now about to be his personal barber. “ S’ alright.” “Alright??”

Connies arm wrapped around you waist to pull you in front of him while he laughed. I’m fuckin with you. you did good for a first time. Guess I’ll let you try again another time.” He took his phone out his pocket and pulled up Pinterest (which you got him addicted to) and pulled up his board of different styles of art for you to try after bleaching his hair.

“Now go through this and pick what you’re gonna do on me.” “Do I look like an artist to you?” He shrugged without a care in the world. “Well you gonna learn today.” You rolled your eyes but still happily made your way to your bathroom to get your hair dye…

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

[suguslve]

thinking about loser (perv) idia .ᐟ

♰ pairings. idia shroud x shy fem! reader

♰ warnings. suggestive content. loser! idia at first but then he becomes a pervert (yum). noncon (?). pantie sniffing and stealing. stalking. uhhh idk what else. mdni

♰ word count. 1.5k

♰ a/n. i was on idia brainrot these past few weeks and decided to whip a lil something up ;) enjoy reading and lmk your thoughts!

— loser! idia who kept his head down, ignoring everyone, why does crowley need ALL housewardens to attend to a stupid meeting in the first place? he was busy uttering curses in his mind when your sweet voice broke the ruckus. his head snapped up just slightly, just enough to steal a glance at you. w-wait were you stuttering?! and you weren’t just stuttering—you were anxiously fidgeting with your hands too!! are you nervous because of the meeting? because of someone? or—wait—what if you’re nervous because you hate crowds too?! oh god, did he just find a fellow social avoidance expert??

— loser! idia who actually wanted to approach and talk to you, but obviously he’s a coward. yeah, nope, definitely NOT happening. he’d literally rather fight a final boss solo with no revives than approach you right now. and so, as the meeting adjourns, he quickly and quietly leaves the room (with his heart racing wildly and his face burning). 

— loser! idia who desperately tried to avoid you at every turn—but it was like the universe had other plans. no matter where he tried to hide, there you were. his carefully scouted, ultra-secret, 1000% normie-free safe zones? infiltrated. by you. of all people. what kind of cruel RNG was this?! ugh, this was turning into a way bigger side quest than he signed up for. his usual gaming hideout behind the school? you were there, sitting on the steps, quietly reading. the abandoned hallway near the library? you showed up, looking just as startled to see him as he was to see you. EVEN THE ROOFTOP—his ultimate last resort—had somehow become your preferred quiet spot?! and the worst part is sometimes, he’d see you there… and instead of running, he’d hesitate. just for a second. because—ugh, he’d never say it out loud—but you weren’t loud like the other normies. you weren’t disruptive. you were just… there. quiet. fidgeting. existing in your own little world.

— loser! idia who finally gained the courage to approach you. oh but trust him, it wasn’t like he wanted to—he just… happened to be in the same spot as you (again), and instead of immediately running in the opposite direction like usual, he somehow convinced himself to stay. which, might have been a huge mistake because the second your eyes flickered up to meet his, his brain immediately started screaming. abort, abort, abort— but you’d already seen him. his escape route had been cut off. and he just stood there, shifting on his feet, pulling at the strings of his hoodie like it was a lifeline. his mouth opened. closed. opened again. say something, you coward! 

— loser! idia who mumbled the weakest, most pathetic greeting ever known. “u-uh…yo?” his voice cracked, and he wanted the ground to swallow him up whole there on the spot. that was so cringe!! seriously?! ‘yo’?! what am i a generic background delinquent?! while he was having a crisis, you chuckled softly before greeting him in return. idia.exe has stopped working.

— loser! idia who didn’t know how this “friendship” between you even started. at first he avoided you like the plague and the next thing he knew, you two were hanging out like it was normal. at first, he figured you were just another shy person suffering through NRC, but the more you talked, the more he realized—wait, you actually get him?! you didn’t just tolerate his rants about games, anime, and how normies were a blight upon existence—you joined in. he slowly let his guard down around you. he didn’t even mean to, but you were just… easy to talk to. there were no expectations, no forced small talk, no annoying social pressure. if you two sat in silence, it wasn’t awkward. if you talked, it wasn’t exhausting. before he knew it, he was complaining about gacha rates and actually making jokes without wanting to crawl into a hole and die afterward.

— loser! idia who slowly fell for you and your little quirks. but hey! it’s not like you can blame him. you were stupidly cute in ways that made his heart do dumb things. you matched his energy—avoiding crowds, hiding from normies, nerding out over random things. you got excited about the smallest details, and somehow, somehow, you even made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the biggest loser in existence.

— loser! idia who slowly became possessive and obsessive over you. it started as just worry, okay?! totally normal levels of concern. but then his mind started spiraling—what if something bad happened to you and he wasn’t around?! NRC was a literal villain academy, full of shady, power-hungry weirdos, you can’t trust any of the students here—well, aside from him and ortho but that’s besides the point! you—with your big doe eyes and painfully sweet personality—were basically walking around with a giant “EASY TARGET” sign on your back. you can be easily taken advantage of!

— loser! idia who swore to be your protector. it wasn’t even a choice at this point—it was a necessity. so what if he wasn’t exactly the heroic, sword-wielding, normie-approved protector type? he had brains. he had strategy. and most importantly—he had a highly advanced AI-powered little brother who could do background checks on anyone who so much as looked at you funny. he might be a loser, but if he notices someone teasing or making you uncomfortable, he’ll reluctantly step in. “H-hey, back off, normie… uh, I mean, don’t be rude, or whatever…” then he drags you away like a panicked introvert escaping a social interaction.

— loser perv! idia who set up cameras all over ramshackle dorm to “keep an eye out on you.” it wasn’t stalking! no no, this was just preventative security measures! NRC was dangerous, okay?! a totally defenseless, magicless, too-trusting person like you? living alone in a rundown, ghost-infested dorm? that was basically asking for trouble. anyone with half a brain would’ve done the same! (right?)

— loser perv! idia who watches you 24/7 watching everything. the way you got ready for bed. the way you sighed and stretched when you thought no one was looking. the way your shirt slipped off your shoulder sometimes. and oh god, when you absentmindedly played with the hem of your skirt or chewed on the end of your pen? yeah. he was so beyond saving. okay so maybe he checked the cameras a little too often. maybe he kept the feed open on one of his monitors at all times. maybe he watched you even when there was no actual danger. but it’s not like he was doing anything weird! just… making sure you weren’t lonely!

— loser perv! idia who became utterly obsessed with you. he’d watch you from afar, his eyes tracing every movement, every smile. his room was filled with pictures of you, some taken without your knowledge. his obsession grew darker, more twisted. his obsession became all-consuming. he hacked into your social media accounts, reading your private messages and learning more about you than you ever intended to share. he’d watch you through hidden cameras he installed in your room, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction as he invaded your privacy.

— loser perv! idia who snuck into your dorm one night as you were asleep. he watched you for hours, his heart racing with excitement and fear. oh how he wanted to touch you, to feel your skin against his. but he knew he couldn’t risk waking you up. instead, he roamed your room. touching your things, smelling the perfume you use, looking at the plushies you kept, but it wasn’t enough, so he made his way to your bathroom and went through all your dirty clothing. sniffing the clothes you wore, rummaging for ages until he found it. your soiled panties. he took them all, moaning as he smelt your scent on them. god he can feel himself growing hard right now. he took your underwear and kept them all on the pocket of his hoodie. but before he left he made sure to give you one look, and well maybe a peck on your cheek, but it’s not like you’d find out, right?

— loser perv! idia who rushed to his dorm room and locked it to make sure no one would disturb him. 

— loser perv! idia who watched various amounts of hentai that night, imagining it was you writhing and moaning under him. he pulled off his sweats and boxers and let his cock free. he hissed as the cold air hit his cock—then, he pulled your panties from where he had kept them. one hand sniffing it, and the other jerking himself off. he was so close, he could feel it, and so he took your underwear and jerked himself with it. oh fuck, he couldn’t take it anymore.

— loser perv! idia who couldn’t help himself from moaning your name over, and over until he came hard. his mind filled with dirty thoughts of defiling your innocence. god, he can’t wait to ruin you. he jerked himself faster, and faster until he came. his fluids soiling your panties. his breathing was labored, cheeks flushed. ah shit, this wasn’t gonna cut it, he needed more.

all rights reserved to © suguslve.

[kunareads]

get it over with

sukuna x reader

you break down, and he holds you together, no questions asked.

masterlist

wc: 1.6k

love letter to the emotionally stunted girlies <3

content: established relationship (sort of), hurt/comfort, nothing explicit, reader breaking down, he loves you so bad, soft sukuna

+++

i’m wondering why it keeps thundering

it’s late.

sukuna expects to find you in his bed, buried in his clothes, curled up like you always are. his apartment doesn’t feel right when you’re not here—when he doesn’t see the shape of you sprawled across his mattress, dreaming in the space that somehow became yours without either of you saying it out loud.

if you are awake, you’re waiting for him. lights dim, a movie playing, stretched out on the couch like you own the place. you always greet him the same way—some lazy remark about how long he took, how you almost fell asleep waiting, how he should be grateful you stayed.

(he never says it, but he is.)

but the apartment feels wrong tonight, like it’s holding its breath.

he almost trips over your bag, your shoes, abandoned in the entryway. the lights are off, the city casting long shadows through the windows.

he pauses in the doorway, gaze sweeping over the space, something tugging at his chest. at first, he doesn’t see you.

then he finds you. on the living room floor.

small, curled in on yourself, arms around your knees, head bowed low. your jacket is still on, halfway down your shoulders, like you meant to take it off but didn’t get that far.

he watches.

you’re never like this. you hold things together better than anyone he knows. you walk through hell without flinching, without showing anything but that sharp, steady ease you wear like armor. he’s seen you pissed, triumphant, reckless. he’s seen you exhausted, on the edge of something dangerous, close to breaking but never quite there.

but this is different.

he stands there, his arms loose at his sides, breath even. it’s not hesitation, just unfamiliar ground. he doesn’t know what to do with the way your shoulders shake, the way your whole body folds into itself like something’s crushing you from the inside.

(you look like you’re trying to erase yourself. he hates it.)

something heavy settles in his chest. it’s not pity. not discomfort. some other nameless thing.

without a word, he moves. he crosses the space, lowers himself to the ground beside you, and pulls you in. his arms slip around you, steady and certain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

won’t you just rain, and get it over with?

you don’t move.

your weight against him is hesitant at first, like you’re not sure if this is allowed. like you’re deciding if you can take this from him. he notices it in the way you hover, how your body stays tense, how you brace for something that never comes.

(you’ve never really asked sukuna for anything that matters. would you, if you knew he’d give you whatever you wanted?)

his arms stay firm around you, one hand resting at the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. it’s not cautious, not careful, just solid. like this is normal, even though it’s never happened before.

you smell like yourself, but also like the cold. like wind on skin, like you’ve been outside too long and the night air is still clinging to you. he knows you do that sometimes—wear yourself out on purpose, walking for hours, chasing exhaustion, outrunning whatever’s clawing at you.

it didn’t work.

because now you’re shaking, breath coming too fast, whole body trembling against him.

he feels it hit all at once. the sharp, shaky inhale you take before your body caves inward, the sudden weight of you collapsing against his chest, the way your fingers twist into his shirt, searching, clinging. like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

you’re sobbing. hard.

sukuna doesn’t know if you even realize it. he doesn’t know if you care. you never let yourself break like this, not in front of him, not in front of anyone.

he waits for it to pass. hoping it does.

when you exhale—shaky, uneven, tired—he presses you closer, fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket like you might slip through his grip if he doesn’t.

something in his chest loosens when you don’t pull away.

he exhales too, slow and steady, trying to regulate you, trying to get you to follow. breathe with me. he doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. you always match each other this way.

you do now, too.

without thinking, he nudges his chin against your temple. a small touch. nothing, really.

but you feel it. he knows because you react—just barely, a fraction of a shift, but enough that he notices. enough that it does something to him.

he leans back against the couch, pulling you with him, guiding you down until your weight is fully against him, your head burrowed in his chest, his arms holding you steady, no space left between the two of you.

(anyone else seeing this would think they were hallucinating. you, breaking. sukuna, holding you together. sukuna doesn’t care.)

you need him. he knows, even if you never admit it.

i see you rolling it, let’s get it over with

your breathing slows first.

it’s not steady, not even—just less broken. the sharp, gasping sobs soften, unraveling into something quieter, tired, worn down by their own force. your tears still soak through his shirt, warm and damp, but they come slower now.

your body follows.

slowly, gradually, exhaustion dragging at your limbs, pulling you under like a tide. it’s like your bones have gone heavy, like you fought it as long as you could. you’re sinking further into him without even realizing it.

(you’ve been holding your breath for years. he remembers when you started. he should’ve seen this coming.)

sukuna stays still, patient in a way no one would expect from him. he doesn’t move, doesn’t risk disturbing the way you’ve practically melted into him. just lets you stay, lets you breathe. lets himself hold you like this.

the room is silent except for your breathing, the occasional hiccup from your chest.

your body loses its tension, but his mind won’t stop running. it won’t stop cataloging everything—how small you feel, how he should’ve known, how he should’ve done something before it got this bad.

this is the first time you’ve ever let him see you like this. the first time you’ve let anyone see you like this. he wonders if you’ve ever been like this at all.

eventually, you sag against him fully, exhausted, the last of your resistance slipping away.

sukuna exhales too, low and steady.

something about it feels like a truce.

he doesn’t let you go.

even though your sobs have quieted and your breathing has evened out, even though the room has settled into silence. he keeps his arms around you. not tight, not restraining. just there.

he’s not good at this kind of thing.

he doesn’t know what people are supposed to say in moments like this. doesn’t know how to string together the right words to make any of it better. doesn’t know what you need.

so he leans down, murmuring against your hair, lips brushing your temple.

“’m here.” it’s not meant to comfort you, not exactly. just to ground you. to remind you.

you shift slightly, your face still against his chest, your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. when you finally move enough for him to see you, your face is flushed, eyes red and swollen, lips parted like you’re still catching your breath. his heart squeezes hard.

(he can see the wheels turning in your head. you’re already trying to stitch yourself back together. he wants to tell you not to bother.)

he doesn’t comment. doesn’t smirk, doesn’t mock. he just looks at you.

for once, he doesn’t have anything to say. for once, you don’t either.

it’s rare, this silence between you. he’s not sure if he likes it.

then, after a long moment, voice quiet—

”you done?”

a beat. room to say no.

it’s alright, we can roll in the clouds

you pull back first.

slowly, carefully, like you’re testing the movement. you sniff, avoiding his gaze, wiping your face with your sleeves.

sukuna lets you go, but not completely. his hands slide down your arms, slow and deliberate, settling at your wrists. his fingers don’t press, don’t hold. they just linger.

you clear your throat, shifting like you’re trying to find a normal that doesn’t exist here. “we can get up now.”

he doesn’t budge.

he just gives you this soft smile, looking way too comfortable, leaning back against the couch, watching you like he has all the time in the world.

“you first.”

silence.

neither of you move. you stare each other down for a moment.

you sigh, rolling your eyes, but you don’t pull away. instead, you settle back into him, easy, instinctive, like it’s nothing.

he feels it—the weight of you against him, the way your body relaxes back into place, the quiet trust in the way you let yourself stay.

it does something to him, the lack of hesitation.

you wouldn’t do this with anyone else. he knows that much.

(you let him hold you like this once. a lifetime ago. laughing against his throat, warm and careless and half-asleep, burrowing into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. he almost forgot what it felt like.)

he tilts his head down, presses a kiss to the top of yours and lingers there, breathing you in. he stays there longer than he means to. when he speaks, his voice is quiet, soft in a way he’d never admit.

“crybaby.”

“asshole.”

but you’re smiling now.

[nottriddlethis]

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Ravenclaw!reader

summary: Mattheo has always been annoying you. So since when did the things change?

warnings: smut, oral (male!receiving), dirty talk, language, 50/50 soft!Mattheo🤷🏻‍♀️, use of pronoun 'I'

author note: dedicated to all these tiktok creators, I love you with all my deepest💞🔥 Green - Mattheo, pink - you.

. ✦ 「 ✦ me ✦ 」 ✦

It always pissed me off how Mattheo Riddle could be so perfect without trying. No, the fact that he was related to a bloody villain who had practically built a new world on bones certainly cast a shadow on him, but he handled it masterfully. He was perfect at Quidditch: dexterous movements, strong back and arm muscles. (all these girls surely were delighted, and that made me even more irritable) And if only that! He had not only strong magic, but also a bloody sharp mind. I bet he would have been the best in grades if he had cared even a little bit about it. As a Ravenclaw, the squandering of such a gift infuriated me almost from our first meeting. And I probably would have let it slide over time, if he hadn't looked at me so condescendingly, so relaxed and so… his way. If he hadn't always inserted his idiotic phrases and smiled so annoyingly wide.

He's been around all the time, barbarically stealing my peace and thoughts.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Mattheo ✦ 」 ✦

Your name is the first thing that would come to my mind if I were asked about pleasure. The pleasure of seeing those brows drawn together in anger. The pleasure of making those lips purse in irritation. The pure pleasure squeezing my cock when you scream at me, your cheeks flushing and your chest heaving wildly. Up and down, up and down. Just like my hand, which would give me pleasure much later.

Because teasing you - is the sin I'm going to die with.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Potions project ✦ 」 ✦

"If you wink at that Gryffindor one more time, I'll brew you into an impotence potion," I whispered sharply, pressing the Potions book hard to the table. His arrogance is unbelievable.

Mattheo chuckled faintly and leaned back lazily in his chair. "Are you jealous, beauty?"

I swear, I've never rolled my eyes so hard before. "I'm annoyed. That's not the same thing."

Mattheo pretended to be deep in thought, tilting his head to the side.

"So, I annoy you?"

"Wow, how did you guess?"

I continued writing, not interested in the conversation anymore. Mattheo, of course, didn't let up. He lazily ran his fingers over the pages of the book. I glanced at how his arm muscles flexed at the motion. Big and strong. Big and strong? I slap myself out of these thoughts. Mattheo then leaned closer, as if he was about to say something really important.

"You know," - he lowered his voice a little, so that I felt the warmth of his breath on my fingers, and I even cocked up my ears, "I think you spend too much energy resisting my charm."

I looked at him from under my brows, my lips pursed involuntarily. “No, I'm just too smart to be seduced by you.”

Mattheo froze, looking at me, and then… smiled. Widely, slyly, with some strange, deep interest. I kept my gaze on him longer than usual because... I've seen him smile many times but now something hot spilled from my chest. The rest is required. Let’s finish this finally. I stood up, collecting the books and getting ready to put them back in their places.

“I know,” - he said quietly behind my back. “That's why I'm crazy about you.”

I felt the heat spread even more and blossomed in my cheeks. I was about to say something harsh, but for some reason… for some reason my lips trembled slightly in a smile. I walked further to the shelves to hide my confusion. Flawless bastard. I felt his self-confident grin behind me.

"Still," he yelled, leaning back in his chair, "Impotence potion won't break me, not after I've seen you."

The students turned to snicker at his shout, and I smacked him over the head with my Advanced Potions Course.

"Keep it up, Riddle, and I'll brew you something else."

"Like a love potion?"

"Oh, aren't you already in love with me?"

I rolled my eyes, but the lack of his usual humor gripped my heart in a vice.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Charms project ✦ 」 ✦

"Is it some kind of ancient curse bringing you to be my partner in every possible project?" you muttered, and as my own ritual, I was enjoying your narrowed eyes, the beautiful wrinkle on the bridge of your nose. Right up until the moment when you slammed your bag on the table and threw off your robe. Damn Merlin would have turned around in his grave. Pure Witch.

I overheard you mutter something like "barely made it after a shower" and deservedly praised the creator of muggle clothing. The blue top with wonderfully thin straps hugged your rounded breasts and outlined your waist. Do you think it's not enough for a rock hard cock? Think again.

You sat down at the table and the mounds of your breasts were almost next to my drool-filled mouth. Just an arm's length away. Bin-go.

"You know, you could work at Mungo's…", you looked up warily at my words, and I continued, "well, treat impotence, for example." "Mattheo…", here was a beautiful blush on your cheeks and liquid fury in your charming eyes. Pleasure when you always switch to my name when you are furious. I watched you leaned on the table and bent over. Breasts pressed against each other from the pressure. And my cock definitely felt it too. "So, judging by how much you mention this disease, it is something personal, right?"

"And will you help me?"

You demonstratively sat back and pulled out a parchment from your bag. This project will be just as long.

***

"… you still double-check my every word. So what's the point of writing?" I tore my gaze from your thin fingers clutching the quill and moved it to your eyes. Of course, stopping my gaze on the cleavage along the way. An absolute gorgeous.

"I just won't include your name in the work," you said seriously. And a smirk determined my next steps. One wave of my hand, and I leaned closer to inspect my work. Your quill, which had just been supposed to write down a list of counter-curses, wrote in my handwriting: Mattheo Riddle.

You frowned. Crossed out the name and tried again.

Mattheo Riddle.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you turned sharply to me. "You." How I missed your attention, beautiful.

"Me?"

"Stop it."

"Stop what" I leaned closer, looking at your scribbled sheet. "Oh, my. Apparently your body recognized me before your brain did."

And for about 10 minutes, you tried to disenchant the quill. With each unsuccessful - literally all - spell, the quill wagged its tip and its feathers slapped your cheek.

"If only you'd used half that power of yours to study…" you threw your hands up in indignation. I watched as your breasts jumped with the movement. How loudly would you scream if I bit them now? How deeply would you blush if I pulled that damn top down? How angry would you be if…

A sly smile spread across my face. I looked up, catching your movement. Just as your fingers closed around the quill, intending to break it, I jerked my hand, whispering a spell.

And I was ready to undo in my pants as soon as the tip of the quill rested against your round breasts. You froze, looking at it. It came letter after letter, and it felt like a measured jerking of my cock.

Mattheo Riddle.

Black on your breasts.

And the last thing I remember before I managed to run away from the rage in your eyes is your sweet open mouth, incredibly red cheeks and neck, and the most fucking hard nipples sticking out under the fabric of your top.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Astronomy project ✦ 」 ✦

I had washed off the ink long ago, but for the second week in a row, every time Mattheo Riddle looked at me, my chest burned and I felt every letter of his name. It burned in a way I would never admit, as behind the closed curtains of the bed, I ran my hand over my chest, shuddered, and went lower and lower. And only when I came silently on my hand - imagining his broad forearms, muscular back, and dirty whispers - did the burning calm down.

Tonight, the Astronomy project was separate for everyone and everyone finished closer to 1.30 am. We were sitting at low round tables with food, specially organized for late practices.

The damn feeling that Mattheo knew everything tickled me from the very beginning. He sat at the next table, constantly smiling at Blaise and completely ignoring me. Worse, his body was clinging to a single black T-shirt. And then, as if sensing my gaze, Mattheo stretched - invitingly, slowly - flexing his muscles, and exposing a strip of skin above his belt. For Merlin's sake! I turned away, but only to notice unpleasantly that I was not the only one who appreciated his actions. The girls were devouring him with their eyes. I pursed my lips. Don't you look at him. Just for a second I imagined if Matteo became tired of all these jokes for me, and one of these girls would capture his attention instead. Jealosy washed all of my feelings off.

I came to my senses when I was poked in the side and I heard Mattheo calling. He was looking at me attentively and holding a bowl in his hands. "What?" I whispered with my lips only and managed not to smile.

There were strawberries in the bowl. "Damn delicious. Just like you." Mattheo saluted me with the bowl and groped with his other hand on his desk. I felt the usual tension in my chest, my thighs moved together, my pussy clenched. But I didn't have time to answer him.

"And this is me," Mattheo raised his other hand and deliberately slowly poured thick white cream into the bowl. I watched without blinking as the viscous liquid dripped, came into contact with the pink strawberries, mixed and filled everything.

Gasps of surprise and confusion came from all around, and I could literally feel the girls staring at us.

So keep your eyes open then. I reached for the bowl and snatched it from Mattheo. I looked only at his eyes - blackened and insolent - and brought the bowl to my mouth and took a few sips. Pink drops ran down my chin from the edges of the wide bowl.

It was pure pleasure to watch his eyes open, devouring my movements. His mouth parted and a heavy breath escaped it. He couldn't help but understand my hint, as I did his. I would have given him 100 points for his clenched jaws, and all 1000 for the bulging veins on his tense hands.

Only one thought was troubling me at that moment - if only after the lesson there wouldn't be wet traces left on the fabric pouf under my panties.

. ✦ 「 ✦ - pre-quidditch? ✦ 」 ✦

The irritating tension of the final cup match almost reached the level of irritation at the lack of you. Malfoy doubled the training, Zabini scheduled free time to study strategy. Although the only strategy that worried me was 'how to finally get you'. Undoing three times in a row that night only because of the thick drops on your chin didn't seem enough. The cock throbbed to be inside your throat.

Two hours before the match the mood was furious. I last saw you at breakfast, talking to Nott about something. That's where the rage started. Well, that's pretty nice fuel for an important game, I decided, walking last to the team's locker room. The last thing I expected was to be suddenly pushed into a spare and dark room. The whisper of a locking spell reached for my ears. My cock recognized that whisper before I did and twitched. The whole world went off as I watched you go down on your knees. Am I already the winner?

. ✦ 「 ✦ - pre-quidditch. ✦ 」 ✦

I saw how Mattheo's eyes widened in surprise as I suddenly pulled him to the wall and sank to my knees before him. A light blush spread across his pale cheeks, highlighting his shock at my bold move. Perfect. Perfectly Mattheo Riddle in his tight quidditch uniform towered over me distracted and vulnerable. His breath hitched in his throat as my gaze met his, a flicker of desire mixed with confusion in his dark eyes.

"D..don't think I don't like it but now.., beauty?" he stammered, his usually confident demeanor cracking slightly. Despite his words, his hips twitched forward almost unconsciously, drawn to my proximity. I rolled my tongue over my gums in anticipation and studied him.

He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His hands hovered uncertainly at his sides, itching to reach out and touch but hesitant to some reason. The dim candlelight cast shadows across his toned chest and abs, visible through his partially unbuttoned team shirt. Merlin help me, he is so flawless. Puppy eyes for such an arrogant nature.

His eyes flicked down to my lips, then back up to meet my gaze. The air between us was charged with a new kind of tension, a mix of flirtation and vulnerability. I licked my lips slowly and almost approach them to his pants' zipper. Mattheo let out a heavy breath, his hands clenched into fists. I ghost the zipper outline with my lips, feeling his groin was already rock hard. I licked it with a tip of my tongue. All along.

His primal groan sent shivers down my spine right into the already soaking pussy. His hands flew up to grab me but..

"Touch me and I'll stop, Riddle"

"No, you bloody witch..." Mattheo pleaded but obeyed. His hands fell to his sides, and he closed his eyes to seek some control.

A pleasant choked moan escaped his swollen lips as I boldly undid his pants in few swift motions, freeing his hard, throbbing cock. Sweet, so fucking sweet finally. It sprang up, already leaking precum from the purplish head. He shuddered, seemed to fight the urge to guide my head down.

"Fuck, please, beauty... if you keep this up, you're going to be the death of me," he panted, his voice strained with desperation. His hips twitched with the need to thrust into hot mouth.

As my hand wrapped around his thick shaft and stroked him, Mattheo couldn't help but let out a loud, wanton moan. His cock pulsed and jumped in my grip, the veins along the underside throbbing with his racing heartbeat. Despite his desperate moaning his words still raw and seducing, "Ohhh fuck... ur fuckin little fingers feels s' good...but bet your little pink pussy is tight even for them."

My pussy clenched in responce, sending waves of pleasure throughout my body. "So think about how your cock will be tightly squeezed inside", i teased him.

His only answer was my groaned name.

That's when I reached forward and took him fully into my mouth at once. Mattheo threw his head back and let out a desperate, whining sound that echoed through the empty room. His cock hit the back of my throat, and he had to bite his lip hard to stop himself from rocking into this heat.

"Shit, ur mouth...'s every lustful thought I had," he panted, his hips rocking slightly as he tried to restrain himself. I loved how his moans are mixed with bold words, "Suck me just like that, you naughty little minx... Fuck, I want to touch you so badly, to grab your hair and fuck your pretty face until you choke on my cock... but I'll be good, I promise, don't stop beauty.."

I enjoyed. Enjoyed as...

Mattheo was practically sobbing with need, his voice a desperate wreck as he fought to obey my rule. "Please, I've been waitin so long for you girl.." The sounds of his moans and whimpers bounced off the walls, a lewd symphony in the dim light. He was utterly at my mercy, consumed by lust and craving my touch. So good, Merlin, so good. What took me so long to fall for him? So noisy, so desperate, so pleading.

So, I sucked him off so boldly and fast, taking him all for myself. Enjoying every inch of his arousal, touching his pelvis with my nose. Damn Mattheo Riddle was finally getting what he was crazy about. And it made me even more wet between my legs. I tortured him even more, gulping him fully far down. Then licking only his swollen head. Repeated that. Repeated. Mattheo's eyes rolled back in bliss as I focused my attention on the sensitive head, swirling my tongue around it and lapping up his leaking precum. The teasing was driving him absolutely mad with lust. "yes, beauty, 'es... just for once 'm gonna be a good one.."

Then I finally whispered those two magical words - "Touch me" - and Mattheo didn't hesitate. His hands flew to my hair, gripping it roughly as he finally allowed himself to thrust widely into my eager mouth. He set a fast, almost punishing pace, his heavy balls slapping against my chin with each pump of his hips.

"Hell yeah, fucking witch.. my little hussy," Mattheo growled, his voice ragged and desperate. He pulled my head up, forcing his cock deeper as he chased his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"'m gonna fuck ur mouth 'til you can't breathe, 'til all you can taste 's my cum. Drink it all down like the greedy hussy you are." And then his hands were more rough in my hair, his hips thrusting more wide.

I was suffocating. But it was nothing because I had not eaten anything since yesterday evening, I could now take him without any particular obstacles. I plot it enjoyably. The gag reflex perfectly bypassed his cock. The small room filled with the obscene sounds of his flesh slapping against mine, mixed with his guttural moans. Wild, desperate, whining my Mattheo. A few more furious thrusts later, Mattheo let out a long, low groan that seemed to come from the depths of his being. His cock pulsed and throbbed violently before he slammed deep into my throat and came abundantly. Sticky, warm, lovely seed flowed down my throat while he trembled and cursed non-stop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, ma beautiful chippy...fuckin long s' fuckin long 've been waitin for you" His voice, his body were shaking after orgasm, mouth spitting out unconscious links of words.

As the last spurts dribbled out, Mattheo collapsed down to the floor, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His grip on my hair loosened "Ohhhh fuck... only dreamt abou..." he stopped mid-word because I kissed him fiercely, licking and marking his lips. I was so horny, so needy for his touch but he had to win this match, so I pulled away and stood up.

His eyes watched as a thin, shiny thread of my juices hung from under my skirt to my knee. And he, still sitting on the floor, reached up and licked it off my knee with his hot tongue. The shiver of subsequent events after the match made me bite my lip.

"The winner will take all." His voice was low and confident. I knew - he would do both:

Win this match right now.

And take me then.