#THEY JUST FLAT OUT HAD A BREAK UP SCENE???

[xxsquiddkiddxx]

Viktor x Reader Headcanons

Pronouns for reader: Gender neutral, AFAB undertones if you squint

Relationship type: Platonic to Romantic

General Idea: Some silly little headcanons I have for Viktor because he's still my silly little princess. Even after the whole glorious evolution thing.

Content Warnings: S1 Viktor, no S2 spoilers, But there as little bit of s2 viktor's mindset, I'm projecting a little bit (a lot) but it's fine.

~☆~

I honestly see Viktor as asexual with light aromantic undertones (kinda like demiromantic, I guess??). He rarely ever developes romantic feelings. Like its a once in a blue moon thing.

Like... he has to know you for YEARS before something in his head is like "Oh... hey they kinda cute?"

However, when he DOES develop feelings that go beyond friendship, Viktor HEAVILY struggles with coming to terms with them. Not in like a "I don't DO feelings" type way, but more in a "Well... no... it could be this" type of way.

Oh, his heart rate speeds up a little bit when you two accidently brush hands? It must just be his nerves.

When he does realize that he has feelings for someone, it's kind of like that scene in Gravity Falls where Dipper is like "It's not like I stay awake at night thinking about Wendy" and it cuts to him laying awake thinking about Wendy XD

If he likes someone romantically, he talks about them a lot. Like as if trying to bring them up as much as he can. Like "Oh (Y/N) mentioned something about that book, said they really liked it" Or "(Y/N) actually said something similar about that topic" If he could yap about you for hours, he probably would.

Even if you're being PAINFULLY obvious about your romantic feelings towards Viktor, he will firmly believe you're just being friendly.

Why he does it is a mix between two things: one is that he's just not awesome with people. And second is that he firmly believes someone like you could never love someone like him back.

One night, Viktor had been constantly working without break, so you practically dragged him to his room by his ear and forced him to get some rest.

Viktor has a strong habit of having his workspace FILLED with old mugs, sometimes days old. He doesn't really mean to, just too wrapped up in Hextech to really notice.

He also struggles with meals too. Just like above, because he literally just gets too wrapped up in his work.

If Viktor actually confesses feelings, it's such an interesting experience. Because he doesn't just flat out say "Hey I have feelings for you". He stumbles over his words and rambles about something random in the middle of it. So you gotta help him out a little bit.

Viktor's love language is quality time. He'll make sure his seat is next to you when it can, he always yaps about what he's uncovered about Hextech.

Speaking of Hextech, if you just sit there and watch him work? He'd about die of happiness on the spot. If you, someone he really loved, took an interest to something he truly loved DOING? Perfect.

He used to get really flustered about physical affection. Like you held his hand one time and he about combusted. He was red in the face for hours. He got better with it overtime, of course. But for the first few months, he was pretty much bright red the whole time.

Dates are rare, neither of you have the time for it. But when you two do have dates of some kind, they're mostly stay at home type things.

You know that thing kids do? Like playing their own separate things together? Parallel play, I think it's called? Yeah you two do that a lot.

Viktor will be reading some papers and you'll be reading a book, your feet in his lap.

Speaking of, Viktor is such a reader omg He doesn't read a lot anymore due to his constant workload, but when he does, he reads a lot of like... old books. The ones with yellowing pages and smell nice? Yeah... those ones!

If you two slept in the same bed, he'd be all like... giggly and nervous the first few times. Just like affection, he'd get used to it. But it's still cute.

When you two are cuddling, run your fingers in his hair. He'll melt right into you regardless of the situation. It's like an instant relax button for him.

Him laying his head on your chest, and you running your fingers through his hair? Something about it just... works. It calms him down a lot and makes him feel at peace.

His favorite place to kiss is the crook of your neck. Especially if you're around his height (he's like... between 5'7 and 5'10. I don't remember exactly).

Or your temples. It's simple, it doesn't attract a lot of attention. And let's be real, it's underrated as hell.

He's not big on PDA, but he'll hold your hand in public. He likes holding onto just one of your fingers, like your pinkie or something like that. It, just like temple kisses, is simple and discreet.

He doesn't often say "I love you". He feels bad about it, but you don't mind. He often says I love you without saying it. Things like holding you while you sleep, kissing your forehead as you two read in each other's arms, weaving your fingers with his while he works.

He gets self-conscious a lot. He thinks you could do a lot better than him and that he's not perfect.

Please kiss this poor boy all over and tell him he's perfect as is 😭😭

~☆~

A/N:The Arcane brainrot has gotten to me... This is how I'm coping with the finale. But I've wanted to write Viktor or Sevika stuff for a HOT minute now. I've been in the Arcane fandom for YEARS (a fanfic writer even longer) but this is my first Arcane fic... wild XD

For more fics: my masterlist!

~Squeed

[vitalverstappen]

Cassandra - C. Leclerc

summary: when everyone believes you, what's that like?

pairing: Charles Leclerc x platonic teammate! reader

warnings: Mattia Binotto, swearing, some sexist comments

word count: 3k

a/n: in honor of max winning the WDC, i figured i'd post something. in honor of charles finally losing his shit on the team radio, i figured i'd post this. also it takes place during the 2022 season

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

2022 was supposed to be your year. You broke onto the F1 scene in 2020 with Haas after working your way up through F3 and F2, championing both levels of racing with ease. You proved yourself time and time again by consistently placing within the points in a less than superior car. 

That’s how you got the attention of Ferrari. They offered you a one year deal, and you couldn’t turn it down. You were okay with being the second driver, because you were racing for the most historic team in F1. 

Things started out great. The car was a major upgrade from the tractor you were driving with Haas, and the team actively listened to your input and took having a woman in the car seriously.

You and Charles also clicked instantly, which led to some amazing content for the social teams. 

“Anything you need, or feel needs changed, let us know. We’re a family here” Mattia said as he gave you the tour of the Ferrari factory.

You couldn’t have drawn up the first two races any better. Both you and Charles were on the podium and it looked like you two were going to give Max and Red Bull a run for their money in the championship races. 

The downward spiral started in Australia. From the moment you hit the track for the first time, something felt off. The car was sluggish, it took all of your strength to accelerate and brake properly. 

“There’s something wrong with the car.” you told the team, your frustration mounting. “It takes forever to accelerate and then when I do, I can’t break”

“Have you tried leg day?” Mattia asked, a smirk forming on his face, causing you to storm away and find your mechanics. 

The Australian Grand Prix ended up being a disaster. You struggled through the laps, barely able to keep up with the field. The car was just too much of a handful. Thirteen laps in, you hand no choice but to retire from the race. The speed was gone, and your confidence was shot. 

“I cannot believe he looked me in the eyes and said ‘try leg day’” You fumed as you barged into Charles’ driver room. The frustration was evident in every word, your anger still fresh from the weekend’s events. 

Charles looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow at your entrance. “Well hello to you too” he said with a small chuckle. “What’s going on?” 

You let out a deep sigh and recounted the car troubles and the interaction with Mattia. “He actually said ‘try leg day’ to me, like it’s some kind of joke. What happened to ‘if you need anything, let me know’?”

Charles listened intently, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “Hopefully it was just an assembly issue” he said, trying to ease your frustration. ”Imola should go smoothly for the two of us. We both know you’re a hell of a driver.” 

Imola was next, and that was somehow even worse than Australia. Instead of acceleration and braking problems, the new issue was the engine. It had to be replaced between practice 3 and qualifying, only for the new one to fail during the race in Imola. 

“I have the utmost trust in my team.” You said during your press interviews “We’ve tried upgrades, but they’ve fallen flat. Hopefully Miami provides some better results” 

For Miami, the team had reverted your car back to the original set up, the one it had when the season started. The difference was night and day. The car felt responsive, alive in ways it hadn’t in the past few races. As you flew through all three practice sessions and qualifynig, you could feel the weight lift from your shoulders. You had been pushing the limits all weekend, and it had paid off - P2, only behind Charles. Things were looking up. 

The problem now was the strategy. As the number two driver, you knew your strategies were mostly going to be defend defend defend but you didn’t realize how badly Ferrari’s lack of adaptability would come into play 

The race was shaping up to be intense. Charles had led most of it, with Max behind him. You were right behind Max, keeping a steady pace, but always aware of the massive pressure from the drivers behind. Then, when Charles pitted, you thought, for sure, you’d get the green light to battle Max for the lead. After all, you were right there, in prime position.

Instead, the radio crackled to life. 

“Y/n keep defending. Leclerc will be back up there in no time.” Your engineer said

You blinked, incredulous. “I’m sorry what?” You couldn’t believe what you just heard. 

“Defend Max. Charles will be back up there to take over. Hold your position” he repeated as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Are you fucking serious?” you barked back, your grip tightening on your steering wheel. “I can overtake him for the lead and you want me to defend?!” 

Before your engineer could respond, Mattia’s voice boomed over your radio “Defend y/n. Team orders.” 

You could feel your irritation building, but there was no choice. Ferrari had spoken. You stayed behind Max, holding position, and waiting for Charles to catch up. Sure enough, Charles had soon found his way back to you, but by that point, Max was far enough ahead that any shot at victory was all but lost. 

Later, in the media pen, you stood with the press surrounding you, microphones, shoved in your face. They asked you the usual questions, but you were still stewing over what had happened. 

“Yeah, I mean the car felt great” You started, trying to keep your tone even. “We reverted back to the original, pre-upgrades and the car showed it’s worth”

The reporter pressed further. “Now even though the car was great, why do you think you couldn’t pull off the win? You were less than a second behind Max, and chose to defend your position instead of attacking.”

A disappointed sigh escaped your lips. You were tired of repeating the same frustrations. “If it was up to me, I would have attacked. I know we would’ve gotten a different result on the podium today. If we had a different strategy, then we would have gotten many more points.” 

“How do you think this result is going to impact the championships?” another reporter asked 

You paused, considering the question. “It could make or break it. There’s a large jump of points between one, two and three, and one thrown away strategy can make or break a shot at either championship. I’m just hoping they don’t mess up Charles’ strategies like they have mine.” 

As you finished your media duties, you made your way back to the garage, expecting to be alone with your thoughts. But to your surprise, Charles was waiting for you.  

“What are you doing here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached

“I, uh, wanted to congratulate you on P3. You had a good race out there” He said sheepishly, his hands shoved in his pockets.

You shrugged, the weight of the day still on you. “I could have won if my strategy wasn’t total shit.” you muttered, your tone flat.

Charles let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it. P1 and P2 would have been great, but strategy isn’t Ferrari’s strong suit” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with a shared understanding.

“So I’ve learned.” you replied dryly. “I just hope it isn’t bad enough to fuck up winning either championship” 

He nodded, a look of quiet concern in his eyes. “So do I. I’m terrified my shot at a driver’s championship is gonna slip away” 

Before you knew it, your interview was trending all over social media. Clips of you talking about the strategy missteps were circulating, and the Tifosi and general F1 fans alike were all over it. They didn’t believe you. They thought you were complaining, too bitter about the loss, and some even accused you of undermining the team. The backlash was stiff.

User1: there’s no way they’re going to mess up the golden boy’s strategy. Mattia cares too much about winning to do that

User2: y/n doesn’t know racing. She’s obviously going to get the shit strategy - she’s not charles 

User3: Ferrari needs to get rid of her. She doesn’t belong here #burnthebitch

Before media day in Spain, you got called into Mattia’s office. 

“Thank you for joining me on such quick notice y/n” Mattia said with a smile as you walked in 

You gave him a polite smile as you sat across from his desk “Of course. Why did you call me in?” 

The smile on his face instantly hardened “We need to talk about how you approach the media. You embarrassed myself, along with the rest of the Ferrari staff during Miami.” 

You found yourself fixing your posture and dropping the smile you had previously, prepared to go toe to toe with your principal. “I would say I told the truth on how the race was handled. We could have left Miami with eleven more points, had we gone P1 and P2”

Mattia sighed “That may be true, but we know you couldn’t have battled Max safely. Regardless, that was two weeks ago. We need to focus on Spain now.” 

“Whatever” You mutter “ If we provide sufficient results, I’ll give you praise. If we don’t, I’ll keep mentioning what needs to be done better. Simple as that” 

Spain turned out better for you than it did for Charles. You had finished P4, while Charles was forced to retire. Another blow for Ferrari. 

Both of you managed to score points in Monaco. The car felt good and it seemed like the team was back to how they were at the start of the season. That is until Baku. 

The start of the race seemed like it was going well. The practices and qualifying went well. Charles was on pole and you were not far behind him at P4. But that’s when the good luck ended. Just like the Australian Grand Prix, your brakes were faulty, and this time your clutch wasn’t working. 

“Check the hydraulics - brakes aren’t working again and clutch is out.” You voiced over the radio, concern filling your words 

After a few moments of silence, your engineer’s voice filled your ears. “Seems we have a uh hydraulic problem. You need to retire the car.” 

You muttered a curse as you found a spot to pull your car off. If it wasn’t a strategy issue, it was the car. If it wasn’t the car, it was something else. Something always had to go wrong. 

It was only lap eight and Charles was still driving. You had some hope he could get points for the team and for his championship. 

Throwing on a spare headset in the Ferrari garage, you watched as Charles battled through the streets of Baku. Just as quick as he was driving, the problems with his car also began to show. He had to retire only a handful of laps later with a power problem. 

While Ferrari’s golden boy wouldn’t have a negative thing to say about them during the pressers, you had much less of a filter. 

“You can mark my words that we aren’t winning a championship this year. As much as I want to put faith into our team and our strategies, we’ve shown time and time again we come up short.” 

Instead of your remarks being pushed aside by everyone, you found yourself in the spotlight. All eyes were on you as you walked into the paddock for the British Grand Prix. You acknowledged your team out of respect, and they greeted you back, but you could tell there was tension. 

“Mattia wanted me to tell you that the strategy for today is the same as usual: protect Charles.” Your engineer told you as the two of you sat down for lunch

You furrowed your eyebrows “Why couldn’t Mattia tell me that himself?” 

“He doesn’t think you deserve his time and energy” He said, rolling his eyes 

A scoff left your lips “That’s ridiculous. We’re both adults. He needs to act like it.” 

“You’re telling me” Your engineer muttered 

Before you knew it, it was lights out at Silverstone. The race was a disaster for everyone. While a scary crash had been cleaned up, leading to a restart, another safety car was put out for a stopped car. 

“Y/n box box” Your engineer spoke through your earbuds 

Under the safety car, you were able to pit and get fresh soft tires. When the race resumed, you quickly found yourself behind Charles. 

“Am I defending again?” You asked 

“You are free to overtake, but you must give up the position once Charles gets back up after pitting” 

“You mean Charles didn’t box under the safety car?” 

“Correct.” 

“Fucking idiots” You sighed, but did as you were told. 

Charles easily gave up the front position to you as he headed to the pit lane. You expected him to make a quick comeback in the next few laps, but as the laps ticked by, the gap remained. The radio crackled with instructions from your engineer, and you kept your focus, pushing through. 

And just like that, you crossed the finish line. Your first Grand Prix victory. 

The celebrations were a blur - the podium, the champagne, the flashing cameras. As the trophy was handed to you, you felt a surge of pride, but the weight of the race still hung in the air. Charles had been a force throughout the race, and even though you had won, it felt wrong that he hadn’t been able to capitalize on his pace. 

After the post-race formalities wrapped up, you found yourself in Charles’ room, finally able to breathe. He greeted you with a grin, the kind that only someone who experienced a dramatic race could wear.

“Congratulations! First win!” Charles said, his voice full of enthusiasm 

“You should have fucking won that and we both know it.” You said as you tossed him a Gatorade 

Charles caught the bottle with a small chuckle, cracking it open “You’re fucking telling me.” he said, taking a long swing. “At least Mattia didn’t chastise you on national TV.” 

You leaned against the wall, your arms crossed. “Maybe we’ll both be off speaking terms with him by the end of the season,” you joked, but there was no humor in the situation. “But seriously, what did he say?” 

Charles groaned, clearly not looking forward to recounting the conversation “Basically that I needed to listen to team orders. He was pissed that I was pissed that I didn’t win the thing. Said I needed to trust that the team knows what they’re doing.”

“They know what they’re doing?” You raised an eyebrow “Because the last time I checked, they’ve messed up both of our races this season” 

“Tell me about it” His tone shifted, frustration building, “I need him out.” 

A small grin tugged at the corner of your mouth “Twenty bucks he’s out of his job by the end of the season” 

Charles hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand “Deal” 

The rest of the season trudged along, with highs and lows in the car, the strategy, and the relationship between Mattia and his drivers. There were some days he would be all over their radios encouraging them, while others he would avoid them like the plague. 

And sure enough, once Abu Dhabi came, Charles and Ferrari were so far behind Max and Red Bull that it was impossible to catch up to them in either championship. Mattia announced that he would be stepping down at the end of the season, and you had repaired your rocky relationship with your team, allowing you to renew your contract with Ferrari. 

It was the final time in the media pen this season, and it felt much different. The usual questions about the ups and downs of the season were there, but now they came with a certain respect - respect for the struggles you had endured and for the candidness with which you handled it all. Your honest take on Ferrari’s performance had earned its fair share of criticism, but it had also sparked conversations, both within the paddock and among fans. 

The final question from the reporter hit differently. The interviewer’s tone wasn’t mocking, but rather filled with a certain curiosity. “How does it feel to know that you had called it earlier in the season, that Ferrari weren’t going to win either championship this year?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as you processed it. The emotions of the entire season flashed through your mind: the excitement of the podiums early on, the disappointment after races like Miami and Baku, the frustrations with the strategies, and the battles you fought on and off the track. It had been a rollercoaster, and while it hadn’t turned out the way you had hoped, you were still standing. 

You cracked a smile as you spoke, a mix of pride and exhaustion “Oh, so you guys believe me now?” you said, your voice light but laced with the weight of everything that had happened. “Have a good winter break. I’ll see you in Bahrain” 

It was the moment of closure you needed. The reporter thanked you for your time, before wishing you a good break as well. As you walked away from the media pen with Charles by your side, the season’s tension finally seemed to release, at least for a moment. 

Charles, sensing the mood, nudged you. “That was… honestly, impressive. You know, calling it before anyone else.” 

You let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess I had a feeling.” you said, shrugging. “At least I wasn’t wrong.”

Charles smirked, clearly tired but also relieved that the season was over. “Let’s just hope next year’s a little less… chaotic, yeah?”

“Agreed.”

[kastighur]

← back. ᝰ.ᐟ i’ll wait for you.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 homicipher. mr. crawling. angst ( i tried ). gn! reader // wc : 681

standing in front of the elevator doors, the human turned towards the crawling entity. staring at him with a solemn gaze as they knew what was bound to happen. though it didn’t look like he did.

“ thank you. “

you told him with a smile, one that was trying to hide the ever growing pain that spread throughout your chest.

“ …you go ? “

he asked and you confirmed it.

“ go together ! “

mr. crawling eagerly replied, moving slightly closer in preparation to enter the elevator with you.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to follow you, in fact, his presence would brighten up your lonely lifestyle in that dull apartment. but there were factors that needed to be considered.

firstly, how were you supposed to provide for both of you ? your space was barely enough for one, and if a 8ft ghost was added it was surely going to cramp up the area.

secondly, could he even survive in your world ? what would happen if other humans saw him ? if someone called the cops they would definitely find out about the late night activities you’ve been committing. plus if someone saw that he had skin for eyes….

of course, there were other problems at play but it would take too long to list them all.

with a heavy sigh, you kneeled down.

“ me go, one. “

his smile slowly disappeared.

“ one…? “

his typical bubbly booming tone in his voice now soft and flat.

“ me sad. “

to say your heart hurt was an understatement. it was the kind of pain that made you understand what a heartbreak truly felt like.

“ me wait for you ! “

he offered, beaming once again. he understood that you had a life before landing here. since the beginning he had been helping you find this very exit, and you made it ! he was happy for you but he didn’t understand that you would be gone forever. in his mind you would go through those doors and appear at that same spot where he found you.

“ you go ! me wait ! “

it’s been a while since you’ve felt that sting in your eyes.

“ oh mr. crawling.. “

you whispered in your own language, he tilted his head in confusion but he knew that you’d called him. having heard those two words a few times.

“ hurt ? pain ? “

he quickly asked, reaching out to check your head for injuries and doing a quick scan over your body.

you had to leave before your heart told you to stay. so you stood up and forced a smile.

“ thank you, goodbye. “

mr. crawling stared, then smiled, holding a hand up in an attempt to wave.

“ goodbye. “

the elevator doors opened, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in. you caught one last glimpse of mr. crawling before the doors whirred and finally closed.

mr. crawling waited and waited. he would just sit there and stare at those elevator doors which he last saw you. every few hours he would make his way back to where he found you first.

out of desperation he would search around. inside boxes, behind walls and such. maybe you were hiding just like last time.

every whir and creak that emitted would cause him to snap his head up filling him with hope. mr. silvair saw him smiling at the lift once and asked why, mr. crawling replied that you were finally coming back... but hours and hours passed and nothing happened.

usually, he would find a cramped area that he could squeeze into for comfort when he’s upset ( like a little meow meow ). now, he couldn’t bring himself to leave his spot. afraid that if he left and you returned, you would leave again, upset because he broke his promise of waiting for you.

mr. hood stumbled upon the scene once, seeing an ever growing collection of crowbars, wedding dresses, raincoats and…ears..? scattered across the ground.

a long time would pass before mr. crawling would finally break. his whines and whimpers echoing the quiet halls, at one point even trying to pry open the elevator doors.

“ miss you… come back… please. “

> wanted to try angst, but i lowk hate this one. maybe pt.2 where you come back ? idk.

© @kastighur

[hikarry]

I...I think I just spent 13 hours processing my newest trauma through Aziraphale and ended up writing the most serious and fucking real break up scene between Aziraphale and Crowley I've ever even considered writing

I...Fucking hell

Just-

I sat here, tears in my eyes, and I chose them to help me procress and I just wrote the most real thing that ever came out of my lil fingertips

I will not throw this away. I will figure out a way to write a story around this scene alone, but I'm just going to leave it here for now. Cause, fuck.

It's still not refined, mind you. I just wrote this and felt like posting it here, so nevermind the mistakes and whatnot

Crowley awoke to sunlight spilling over him, casting a warm glow that he immediately tried to escape. He groaned, pulling the blankets over his head, desperate to keep the world out a little longer. But as he tugged the covers, he noticed a strange weight to them—not quite right, somehow softer, smelling faintly of old books and tea. The dissonance nagged at his half-dreaming mind, until the realization hit him, sharp and sudden.

This wasn’t his bed. This was Aziraphale’s.

Memories surged, each one a jolt to his drowsy senses. Aziraphale collapsing into his arms, Raphael’s sombre warning about the angel’s deteriorating core, the fear that it might devour him from within. Crowley recalled their painful conversation—Aziraphale pressing his pinky ring into his hand and giving him an ancient box, packed with letters, photographs and sketches. Each drawing was of Crowley—his eyes, his smile, his hands—captured in Aziraphale’s tender, attentive gaze. They were relics, moments preserved over centuries, a farewell gift for Crowley to remember him by if…

Then he remembered the new attack at night. Aziraphale’s body trembling, his essence struggling against itself, and Crowley, desperately holding him close, trying to soothe the angel through the worst of it, following Raphael’s advice as best he could.

Finally, exhausted, Aziraphale had drifted off, leaving Crowley to watch over him until sleep claimed him too.

Crowley reached across the bed, expecting the familiar warmth beside him, only to feel the cold emptiness of the sheets. Panic surged through him, flooding his senses and banishing any lingering sleep. His heart pounded as he sat up, scanning the room with wild, searching eyes.

“Aziraphale!” he called out, his voice hoarse, thick with fear. He pushed himself out of bed, stumbling, as he searched the flat in a frenzy.

He dashed down the stairs, heart racing with every step, calling Aziraphale’s name. His voice echoed through the stillness of the bookshop, each unanswered call intensifying his dread.

Then, he spotted him.

Aziraphale sat at his desk, removing his reading glasses with that calm, familiar gesture, looking up at Crowley with a mildly perplexed expression, as though yesterday’s horrors were nothing but a forgotten dream. He was impeccably dressed, the picture of serene composure, as if-.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, achingly gentle, piercing through Crowley’s panic and grounding him in a way only the angel’s presence ever could.

Crowley freezes, his breath catching in his throat as a rush of disbelief floods through him, quickly followed by an overwhelming tide of relief that he barely knows how to process. His heart is a frantic drumbeat in his chest, each thud like a battering ram against his ribs. The word escapes him in a choked whisper, almost too quiet to hear. “Aziraphale…” His name sounds foreign on his lips, trembling, as if he’s afraid speaking it too loudly might shatter this fragile moment. Without thinking, he takes a step, then another, his feet moving quicker than his mind can catch up.

Aziraphale watches him, his expression a study in calm, but there’s a subtle sorrow hidden behind those soft eyes. He sets his book aside with deliberate slowness, as if aware of the weight of the moment, as if he understands how badly Crowley needs him to be real, to *be here.* When Crowley reaches him, he stops, every inch of his body tense, his eyes scanning Aziraphale’s face like a desperate search for any crack, any fracture, anything that would suggest the angel is not whole. He’s afraid to blink, afraid that when his eyes open again, Aziraphale might disappear.

“I-I thought…” Crowley starts, the words stumbling from his lips, each syllable trembling as if the very act of speaking could unravel everything. His breath is shallow, the air thick with an almost suffocating fear. His chest is tight, constricted, and his heart thunders in his ears as he struggles to form a thought that makes any sense at all. But the fear that clings to him like a shadow has no words, no logic. All that remains is this raw, pulsing panic, the lingering horror of something worse just out of reach.

Aziraphale’s eyes soften, a glimmer of understanding passing through them. He steps closer, slowly, deliberately, as if every movement is meant to reassure, to calm. His hands rise, gentle, placing themselves on Crowley’s shoulders with a touch that feels both familiar and distant. It’s cold. The coolness of Aziraphale’s fingers seeps into Crowley’s skin, a stark contrast to the warmth he craves, and something inside him snaps. He’s here, yes, but there’s something wrong. Something’s missing.

“Forgive me, my dear,” Aziraphale says, his voice gentle but carrying a depth of sorrow, as though he, too, feels the weight of the unspoken words between them. “I woke hours ago and couldn’t bear to disturb your rest.” His hand moves up, his fingers brushing a lock of Crowley’s hair away from his forehead with such tenderness that it almost aches. But the coldness of that touch, too, is an unforgivable reminder of the fragility of this moment, of how close they came to losing everything. Yesterday lingers between them, a tangible thing, and Crowley can almost taste the terror that still clings to the edges of his mind.

Crowley’s breath shudders in his chest, his hands moving on their own to grab Aziraphale’s wrists, the action almost frantic, his fingers trembling with an urgency he can’t control. He holds on as if the simple act of touch can anchor him to this reality, to the feeling of Aziraphale being alive, being here. “You… you scared me, angel,” Crowley breathes, his voice hoarse, cracking under the weight of the emotions he’s barely able to express. “I thought…” He falters, unable to finish the sentence, unable to voice the horror that still simmers in the pit of his stomach. His pulse races, but the relief he should be feeling is tangled with something darker, something deeper that refuses to let go.

Aziraphaletakes hold of Crowley’s hands, his fingers cold, trembling—just as they were yesterday. The coldness isn’t just the absence of warmth, it’s something else, something more. A coldness that seeps into Crowley’s bones, that gnaws at his soul. The tremors in Aziraphale’s touch are like a faint echo of the nightmare they just survived, a reminder that whatever they’ve survived—whatever they’ve won—isn’t over. Not yet.

“Take a deep breath, my dear,” Aziraphale murmurs, his voice low and soothing, yet edged with something brittle, something that tells Crowley this calm is fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter it. Aziraphale’s thumb traces circles on Crowley’s knuckles, slow, deliberate, trying to steady him. But the touch is faint, delicate, like the fluttering wings of a moth in the dark, and Crowley feels the tremors of Aziraphale’s fingers under his own, an unmistakable sign that the danger still looms over them. The same cold fear claws at Crowley’s insides, pulling him down into a place he doesn’t want to go, a place where he can’t save Aziraphale, can’t stop whatever is coming.

Crowley inhales sharply, the breath caught in his chest, but it does little to calm the panic roiling inside him. He squeezes Aziraphale’s hands harder, his knuckles white with the effort, trying to hold on to something, anything, that might give him control over this suffocating fear. “How can you stay so calm?” His voice cracks, thick with emotion, the words escaping like a ragged plea. “How can you act like nothing’s wrong when you…” He can’t finish the sentence. It’s too much. The thought hangs in the air, suffocating him, a silent terror too vast to voice.

Aziraphale’s lips form a smile—gentle, almost pitying—but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a smile that feels like a lie. He lifts Crowley’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it with the same chilling coldness that’s invaded every inch of their world. The touch is wrong. So wrong. Crowley feels it deep in his bones, the absence of warmth, the emptiness where something vital should be. Aziraphale’s warmth has always been his anchor, but now it feels like a lie, like something pretending to be real.

Aziraphale pulls back slightly, his gaze meeting Crowley’s with an intensity that sends a shiver down his spine. “We said what we had to say yesterday, remember?” he whispers, his voice soft, but the words heavy with unspoken truths. “It’s done, my dear.” He kisses Crowley’s hand again, the coldness like a knife to Crowley’s heart. “Now we just have to keep going and see what happens.”

Crowley feels his heart twist at the words. Keep going? The question hangs between them like a stone. How could he go on, knowing that at any moment, the coldness might take over, that Aziraphale’s life might slip away, like sand through his fingers? How could he keep living in a world where any breath might be the last?

“Keep going?” Crowley repeats, his voice raw with emotion. “You want me to just go on, knowing I could lose you at any second? That any moment might be your last?” His hands tighten around Aziraphale’s, his fingers pressing into the cold skin, trying to hold on, trying to do something—anything—that might stop the inevitable.

Aziraphale gazes at him, soft and steady, though Crowley sees the weariness in his eyes, the fragility beneath the calm. “I’m here now, Crowley,” he whispers, his voice carrying a quiet, almost tragic certainty. “I’m still here.”

“But for how long?” Crowley’s voice cracks, the words slipping from him like sand through a sieve. He can’t stop the tremor in his voice, the panic that tightens around his chest. “How much longer before…” He can’t finish, his breath catching in his throat, his chest constricting under the weight of the unspoken. His grip on Aziraphale’s hands tightens, desperate, as though holding on tighter could keep the inevitable at bay.

“Remember what I told you yesterday,” Aziraphale says softly, his voice imbued with a quiet strength that Crowley can’t quite reconcile with the coldness in his touch. His eyes are gentle, but there’s a firm resolve there, the kind of determination that makes Crowley feel both comforted and frustrated. “Let’s make the most of the time we have left. Worrying won’t change anything right now.” His words are like a balm, meant to soothe, but they sting, too, because Crowley knows the truth buried in them—their time is slipping away, and there’s nothing either of them can do to stop it.

With a fluid motion, Aziraphale gives Crowley’s hand a tug, a silent invitation to follow, and Crowley moves almost automatically, his feet dragging slightly as though his body’s trying to delay the inevitable. Aziraphale leads him into the kitchen, the familiar hum of the backroom falling away as the warm, homely space embraces them in its quiet comfort. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, but it does little to erase the heavy, anxious weight that still clings to Crowley’s chest.

“Come now. Sit down. Just breathe, okay?” Aziraphale’s voice is still calm, still that gentle pull to something more grounded, more present. It’s almost maddening—the way he seems to accept everything with such grace, such peace when all Crowley can think of is the clock ticking away, each second closer to the end. Aziraphale releases his hand, and Crowley’s eyes linger on his retreating form as the angel moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, opening cupboards and retrieving mugs as if this is just another morning as if the world isn’t crumbling in slow motion around them.

“Coffee?” Aziraphale asks, his back turned as he busies himself with the preparations.

Crowley nods, but the action feels hollow, the sound of it a thin echo in the stillness. He can’t tear his eyes away from Aziraphale, the fluidity of his movements unsettling in its normalcy. It’s so strange, so disorienting, to see the angel functioning as though nothing is wrong when everything feels so terribly, undeniably wrong. The sense of detachment gnaws at him—like he’s floating, disconnected, watching this moment unfold from a distance.

“I can’t just…” Crowley’s voice breaks the silence, raw and jagged. His words feel like they’re being pulled from somewhere deep inside, something ugly and vulnerable. “Sit here and enjoy our time together, knowing…” His throat tightens, the words strangled with an emotion that refuses to settle. “Knowing that every moment could be our last.”

The words hang in the air between them, thick with fear and pain, but Aziraphale doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t turn away. Instead, he finishes making the coffee with the same unhurried precision, then carries the steaming cup over to Crowley, setting it gently in front of him. The warmth of the cup contrasts sharply with the chill that still lingers in Crowley’s veins, the tension that hasn’t yet loosened its grip.

Aziraphale pulls out a chair and sits down beside him, the movement smooth, almost comforting. For a moment, they’re both silent, the weight of everything unspoken pressing on them like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Then Aziraphale speaks again, his voice soft but unshakable. “The more you focus on that fear, the less you’ll appreciate the time we have.”

His words cut through the silence, and they settle into Crowley’s mind like stones dropped into water, sending ripples through the chaos in his chest. It’s not what Crowley wants to hear—not at all—but there’s something about the way Aziraphale says it, with that same quiet conviction that has always grounded Crowley in a way he’s not sure he understands, that makes him stop and think.

Crowley looks down at the cup in front of him, the steam rising in delicate tendrils, and for a moment, he allows himself to inhale deeply, the rich scent of the coffee filling his lungs, pulling him away from the frantic, spiraling thoughts. The world feels still, as if time has bent around them, waiting, uncertain. But no matter how much he tries to center himself in the present, the fear lingers, clawing at the edges of his mind. Every moment could be their last.

“You don’t understand,” Crowley mutters, the words barely above a whisper. He takes a sip of the coffee, the bitter warmth hitting his tongue like a small comfort, a brief distraction. But it doesn’t change the heaviness in his chest, the pit of dread that refuses to let go. “I can’t just forget about it. I can’t just…” He trails off, his voice faltering, before adding, softer, “I can’t lose you.”

Aziraphale doesn’t say anything at first, his eyes searching Crowley’s face, reading the depth of the fear that lingers there. His fingers move to rest lightly on Crowley’s hand, the touch tender but insistent. There’s a stillness in him that Crowley can’t quite understand, a quiet acceptance that doesn’t sit right with the storm of panic inside him.

“Then don’t,” Aziraphale finally says, his voice low, a thread of sadness woven through his words. “Don’t lose me. Not yet. Not here.”

Crowley wraps his hands around the cup, the warmth of it almost mocking as his fingers tremble around the edges. The heat is a stark contrast to the chill gnawing at his insides, and he presses it to his lips, taking a sip without truly tasting it. The burn on his tongue barely registers—his mind is too consumed with the weight of everything else to care about something so trivial.

As he lowers the cup, his eyes find Aziraphale, and in that moment, the frustration he's been holding back finally boils over. He doesn’t even try to hide the sharpness in his voice, the edge that has been growing with each passing second. “You can’t just expect me not to worry,” he spits out, his chest tightening with the sting of helplessness. “You can’t be so… accepting of your own fucking death. It’s… it’s not fair.”

Aziraphale doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away from the heat in Crowley’s words. Instead, he places his hand on Crowley’s forearm, the coolness of his touch seeping through the fabric of his shirt, sharp and unmistakable. The contrast of it hits Crowley like a punch to the gut, a reminder that nothing is normal, nothing is safe. The weight of Aziraphale’s touch is gentle, but there’s a certain finality to it that makes Crowley want to recoil.

“What else can I do?” Aziraphale murmurs softly, his voice as calm and steady as ever, almost too calm. His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles on Crowley’s arm, as though the gesture alone can somehow fix everything. “I’d rather focus on living—on cherishing you while I still can, reading the books I still can read—than worry over what may or may not come.”

The words fall over Crowley like cold water, and for a moment, they don’t make sense. He watches Aziraphale, still not entirely grasping the serene acceptance that emanates from him, the angel so resigned to a fate Crowley can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. He wants to scream, to shake Aziraphale, to make him see reason, to make him *fight*. But the words that come out instead are hoarse and raw, brittle with frustration. “You could… try. You could look for some way to fix this, to—”

He falters, the rest of the sentence dying on his tongue. The weight of Aziraphale’s cold hand on his arm pulls him under, like sinking into the deepest part of the ocean. He can barely breathe as he looks at Aziraphale, really looks at him, and for the first time in a long while, something like doubt, something sharp and ugly, pricks at his heart.

Aziraphale’s expression is unreadable as he stares back, that familiar calm still settling around him, but Crowley can see it now—the faintest tremor in the angel’s eyes, a flicker of something deeper, something resigned. It’s that same quiet acceptance, but now it feels different. It feels like… giving up.

Crowley feels his chest tighten with something dark and unbearable. His breath catches in his throat. “But you’ve already… given up, haven’t you?” His voice cracks on the words, the realization settling on him like a weight he’s been carrying for far too long. He doesn't want to admit it, but he knows it now, deep in his bones. He knows that Aziraphale isn’t fighting anymore. And that thought, that cruel truth, makes his stomach churn with helplessness.

Aziraphale doesn’t look away. His hand lingers on Crowley’s arm, but it’s colder than it should be, colder than Crowley remembers. “No,” Aziraphale says softly, his voice steady despite the weight of Crowley’s words. “I haven’t given up. I’ve simply chosen to live as fully as I can for however long I have left.” His gaze doesn’t waver, and Crowley feels the weight of that look, like the angel is daring him to understand, to accept it. But all Crowley can think about is the absence of hope in those eyes, the stillness that has settled in Aziraphale’s soul. It cuts deeper than anything he could say. Aziraphale shakes his head slowly, almost as though trying to rid himself of the weight of Crowley’s words. His voice is softer this time, but the strength in it is undeniable. “I haven’t given up, Crowley. I’m still waiting for the right moment to meet with Raphael—to finally get concrete answers about what's happening to my core, my True Form…” He takes a slow, steadying breath, as if gathering every last bit of strength. His grip on Crowley’s forearm tightens ever so slightly, a silent anchor. “But… the risk of it all… It’s real. I can’t just live my life in fear.”

The words hit Crowley like a stone sinking in his gut. His chest tightens painfully, the breath in his lungs becoming thick, difficult. He sets his mug down with a soft clink, the sound somehow more jarring than it should be. The porcelain seems too delicate in his hands, too fragile for the weight of what Aziraphale is saying. “So, we’re just… waiting?” he asks, his voice rough. “Waiting for this thing inside you to slowly eat away at you until… until everything is completely gone?”

He reaches out for Aziraphale’s hand, his fingers trembling, but he grips it firmly, unwilling to let go. His touch is desperate, as though holding on to this one moment, this one piece of Aziraphale, might somehow stop the inevitable.

Aziraphale’s hand trembles beneath his grip, and the sight of it breaks something in Crowley. He swallows hard, forcing down the bitterness rising in his throat. “We wait… until Raphael can get me to Heaven and do a thorough examination,” Aziraphale says quietly, the words almost a whisper, as though speaking them aloud makes them too real to bear.

Crowley’s knuckles whiten with the intensity of his grip, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “And if he finds there’s no cure?” he forces out, his voice cracking as he dares to ask the question he’s been too terrified to face. “If he tells you that your core is… is set on destroying you?”

Aziraphale meets his gaze without flinching, the sorrow in his eyes as clear as the day itself. “Then… we’ll have to accept it.” His voice is steady, but Crowley can hear the hesitation, the barely contained fear beneath it. He leans in closer, his forehead almost touching Crowley’s. “That’s why we need to cherish this time we have now, Crowley.”

But the words only make Crowley’s chest tighten even more, as though an invisible weight is pressing down on him, squeezing the air out of his lungs. “You say that like it’s easy,” he rasps, his voice breaking with the rawness of his emotions. “Like I can just… sit here and enjoy each second, knowing it might be your last. That… that at any moment you could be gone.”

Aziraphale raises his cold hand, gently cupping Crowley’s chin, his fingers sending an icy shock through him. The touch is tender, almost too tender, and yet it leaves Crowley feeling more alone than ever. “If it comes to that, you’ll regret not making the most of the time we had,” Aziraphale murmurs, his voice soft but filled with a quiet urgency, as though he’s begging Crowley to understand.

Crowley’s heart aches at the angel’s words, the raw pain in his chest spreading like wildfire. He stares into Aziraphale’s eyes, searching for the warmth he’s always known, but all he can see is that cold acceptance. The thought of losing him is like a jagged knife twisting in his soul. His voice is hoarse as he finally speaks, his words trembling with emotion. “Enjoy what, angel?” he whispers. “Living each moment terrified it might be the last? Knowing you could… disappear, just… just like that?”

His voice catches, and he swallows hard, fighting to keep himself together. The ache in his chest is unbearable, and yet it pales in comparison to the crushing fear that threatens to swallow him whole.

Aziraphale brushes his cool thumb over Crowley’s lower lip, the touch soft, almost tender, but it feels like a cruel reminder of everything they stand to lose. “That’s why you have to push those fears aside. Live in the moment.” He gives Crowley a sad smile, his gaze searching the demon’s face as though trying to piece together a way to make him understand. “I’m here right now. I don’t want you looking at me and already seeing a memory… while I’m still right here.”

Crowley’s heart aches at those words, a heavy, suffocating ache that feels like it might split him open. He closes his eyes, a fresh wave of tears threatening to break free, but he keeps them at bay. The thought of Aziraphale slipping away, of losing him before he’s even had the chance to truly *live* with him, is more than Crowley can bear.

“How am I supposed to do that, angel?” he whispers, his voice cracking with the weight of it all. “How can I just act like everything’s normal when I know it’s… it’s not?”

Aziraphale leans in, his lips pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, and then another, gentle and lingering, on his cheek. The kiss is cold—so painfully cold— the warmth of Aziraphale’s breath against his skin is the only warmth left in him. “Why?” Aziraphale asks softly, his voice almost a plea. “Why do you look at me here, right next to you, and already think I’m gone?”

Crowley’s eyes remain closed, but a fresh wave of emotion surges up from deep within him, breaking free in a burst of frustration. “Because I’m terrified!” he snaps, his voice a harsh rasp. “Because the thought of losing you… it’s unbearable. And I feel so… so helpless, knowing I can’t stop it.”

The words come crashing out of him, raw and unfiltered, and as soon as they’re spoken, he feels them settle in the air between them like a weight neither of them can escape. Aziraphale doesn’t pull away, doesn’t recoil from the outburst. Instead, he just stays there, his cool hand still cradling Crowley’s cheek, as though trying to hold him together even when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

Crowley opens his eyes, and the sight of Aziraphale, with his eyes wide and sad, feels like a cold slap. There’s anguish in his gaze, a raw, unrestrained dread clinging to every feature. His heart aches, and his words catch in his throat, the simple act of breathing becoming a struggle. “Seeing you like this—feeling how cold you are…” he begins, his voice shaking. He swallows hard, and when he speaks again, the words come out in a ragged whisper. “It’s like you’re already slipping away from me.”

Aziraphale steps back just slightly, and with the gentleness that only he can muster, he reaches up and wipes away Crowley’s tears with his cold fingertips, the chill of his touch cutting through the rawness of the moment. His eyes are tender but laced with sorrow. “You’re grieving me before I’m even gone, Crowley,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, almost too soft. “This is why I didn’t want you to know.”

The weight of Aziraphale’s words presses down on Crowley, settling deep into his chest like lead. His throat tightens, making it hard to breathe, hard to speak. Aziraphale’s voice drops to a whisper, laced with something deeper, a sadness that feels almost like resignation. “You’re looking at me, but you’re not really seeing me anymore, are you? In your mind, I’m already dead, aren't I?”

Crowley feels a sharp ache slice through him, a twisting pain that threatens to overwhelm him. He tries to form words, tries to push through the suffocating knot in his chest, but they come out cracked and broken. “I see you, angel. I do.” His voice falters, and his eyes begin to burn. “But I can’t forget that you’re… that you’re not well. That you’re not…” He trails off, his voice a mere breath, as if he’s afraid to even say the words.

He looks at Aziraphale, really looks at him—searching, searching through every inch of that familiar face, the one he’s known for over six thousand years. But now, those features seem different. Fragile. Temporary. Like they could vanish in a blink. Like they’ve never been more precious, and yet so delicate.

Aziraphale gently runs his fingers down Crowley’s jawline, as if touching him like he would one of his most treasured books—careful, reverential, and full of a quiet, unspoken sadness. “I may be the one who’s sick,” Aziraphale says softly, his thumb brushing over Crowley’s skin, “but you’re the one leaving me before I’m even gone.”

Crowley’s heart gives a painful lurch, the air catching in his chest. He fights to breathe, but it feels like there’s too much weight pressing on his lungs, too much hurt lodged in his ribs. “I can’t help it, all right?” he spits out, his voice cracking like shattered glass. He grips Aziraphale’s wrists, holding on like a lifeline, the coldness of the angel’s skin sinking deep into him, grounding him in the unbearable reality of it all. “Every time I look at you, it feels like I’m standing at the edge of an abyss, just waiting to fall.”

Aziraphale’s gaze drops to where Crowley’s hands are clenched around his wrists, his breathing shaky now, like he’s caught between something painful and something beyond his control. “Crowley…” His voice is hesitant, breaking in places, though his words are measured. “You can’t go on like this.” He pulls back, just enough that the space between them feels unbearably large. “You’re torturing yourself by staying with me. Every time you look at me, all you see is what’s coming—and that’s going to destroy you too. I won’t let you do that to yourself.”

Crowley’s chest tightens painfully as Aziraphale carefully, deliberately pulls his wrists free from his grasp. The loss of that contact—the absence of the only thing that’s felt real in this moment—almost knocks the air from him. Aziraphale takes another step back, and the space between them seems to stretch, pulling Crowley’s heart with it.

“You should go.” Aziraphale’s voice is soft, but there’s no mistaking the finality in it. The words strike Crowley like a blow, the weight of them enough to shatter him entirely. Every instinct in him screams to hold on, to keep fighting, to do whatever it takes to stop this. But Aziraphale’s eyes—those kind, eternal eyes—hold his gaze, and for the first time in forever, Crowley isn’t sure whether he’s staring at the angel he’s loved for millennia, or the ghost of the man he’s losing.

Crowley stands frozen, his mind struggling to make sense of the situation, his heart beating erratically in his chest. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, can’t comprehend the words that just came out of Aziraphale’s mouth. The ground beneath him feels like it’s slipping away, pulling him into a void he doesn’t know how to escape from. His voice trembles as he whispers, barely managing to get the words out. “What..? You… you’re telling me to leave?”

Aziraphale doesn’t turn to face him, but Crowley can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a thousand-pound stone. He swallows hard, his throat dry. “You can’t be serious. You’re asking me to leave you now, when you’re… when you’re like this?”

The silence between them is deafening, broken only by the sound of Aziraphale’s slow, measured breaths. Finally, Aziraphale stands, his posture stiff and fragile, as though each movement is costing him something precious. His heart is pounding in his chest, every beat a reminder of the pain he’s trying to keep buried. The sound of it echoes in Crowley’s mind like a ticking clock. He can see the anguish in Aziraphale’s eyes even without looking directly at him. “I can’t watch you tear yourself apart like this, Crowley,” Aziraphale says quietly, his voice a little too controlled, too careful. “I can’t keep looking into your eyes and seeing you staring past me, into a future that hasn’t even happened yet.”

He walks toward the sink, taking Crowley’s empty mug and placing it with mechanical precision in the basin, as though it’s the only thing he has control over right now. “Go.”

Crowley stumbles, his body aching as he tries to steady himself, his legs weak, unsteady. He feels as though the floor is slipping out from beneath him. “No,” he says, his voice rough, desperate, and it cracks at the end like a dying breath. “No, angel. You can’t… you can’t tell me to leave. I can’t just walk away, knowing you might…”

His voice trails off, his chest tight with fear, with a dread that he can’t push away. “I won’t leave you, angel. I can’t.”

Aziraphale doesn’t turn to him. His voice comes cold and distant, like an echo from a faraway place. “Why?” he asks, his eyes never leaving the sink, his voice as measured and distant as a thought long past. “Is it because you love me, or because you’re feeling guilty?”

Crowley feels the words hit him like a slap, the coldness of them sinking deep into his skin. His heart clenches painfully at the accusation, at the ice in Aziraphale’s tone.

“Both,” he admits, his voice cracking, rough with the weight of the truth. “Of course, both. I love you. I’m in love with you, and I can’t bear the thought of losing you.” He takes a step forward, though the space between them feels impossibly wide, like a chasm he could never cross. “Sitting here, absolutely powerless, is driving me fucking insane, Aziraphale.”

But Aziraphale doesn’t move. He remains still, picking up a dish towel and methodically drying the mug as if the act of cleaning is the only thing keeping him grounded. His voice, when it comes, is soft but unyielding. “Leave.” He dries the mug with a slow, deliberate motion. “If you truly love me, come back when you can look at me without seeing my True Form being destroyed. Come back when you can see me.”

Aziraphale turns then, his face streaked with tears, and Crowley’s chest constricts painfully at the sight. “The angel who’s still here,” Aziraphale says, his voice catching. “Not just an empty shell.”

Before Crowley can say a word, Aziraphale turns again, his movements precise, almost mechanical as he places the mug back in the cupboard. “But if you realize your reason for coming back is just fear and guilt—not love—then don’t return.” His voice remains steady, but there’s a subtle break, like a crack in glass, that Crowley can barely hear. Still, Aziraphale doesn’t look at him. He closes the cupboard door with a soft click, and the sound echoes in the stillness of the room.

Crowley stands there, his heart a tangled mess of emotions, his chest tight, suffocating. He wants to argue, to fight, to deny everything Aziraphale just said. He wants to scream, to tell him that this isn’t right, that he can’t leave him like this. But deep down, he knows Aziraphale is right—his love, tangled as it is with fear and guilt, isn’t enough to change the inevitable. He isn’t strong enough to fix what’s broken.

Aziraphale brushes past him then, moving toward the hall. For a brief moment, Crowley catches sight of the tears streaming down Aziraphale’s face, streaking down his cheeks, disappearing into the collar of his coat. The sight of it sends a knife of pain through Crowley’s chest. He wants to reach out, to pull Aziraphale close, to tell him that none of this is fair—that he can’t lose him—but his limbs feel as if they’re weighed down with lead. His heart is an anchor, pulling him deeper into the darkness of helplessness.

Aziraphale’s figure is distant, slipping away, and Crowley feels that cold void widening between them. And in that moment, despite every instinct screaming at him to reach out, to fight for them, he feels the weight of a loss that hasn’t even happened yet.

Crowley stands frozen in the middle of the kitchen, the weight of Aziraphale’s departure pressing down on him. He watches the angel’s retreating figure, each step a reminder of the growing chasm between them, an abyss he feels powerless to cross. The silence in the room is deafening, and every breath Crowley takes seems to echo louder in the emptiness

A faint metallic sound slices through the quiet, drawing Crowley’s attention downward. His eyes fall on the Bentley’s keys, lying innocently on the kitchen table. Aziraphale must have miracled them there—another sign of the angel’s quiet control, even in the midst of his own heartache. The keys glint in the dim light, a small, seemingly insignificant object that suddenly feels like everything.

Crowley feels a wave of emotions crash over him, each one more overwhelming than the last: a searing anger, raw and unjust, directed at Aziraphale for pushing him away; a deep confusion, questioning everything that’s brought them to this point; a heart-wrenching hurt, knowing that Aziraphale is slipping away, piece by piece; and a sorrow so profound, it makes the air feel thicker, harder to breathe. But there’s one feeling that cuts through it all—a deep, hollow acceptance. He knows this is the way it ends. He knows he can’t stop it, no matter how much he wants to.

He picks up the keys, clutching them tightly in his hand, feeling their cool weight anchor him to the present. Without a second thought, he snaps his fingers, summoning the pair of shades from Aziraphale’s nightstand. He places them on his face, the familiar, dark lenses a mask he can hide behind. The world outside the shop suddenly feels sharper, colder, and yet somehow farther away. The door swings open with a heavy, final sound, and he steps outside into the crisp November air.

The cold cuts through him, biting at his skin, but he doesn’t feel it. He’s numb, each step feeling like it’s dragging him through quicksand. His mind is consumed with Aziraphale—his face, his words, the unspoken pain that lingers between them. But the more he thinks about it, the more it all becomes a blur. His mind is spinning, trapped in a vortex of grief and helplessness.

When he reaches the Bentley, his hands shake as he fumbles with the keys, his fingers betraying him, too unsteady to get the door open. He grits his teeth, frustration rising in him like a storm, but finally, the door clicks open. He slides into the driver’s seat, the familiar leather creaking under him, and the cold touch of the steering wheel does nothing to ground him. His fingers wrap around it, gripping it too tightly, as though trying to hold onto something that’s slipping through his fingers.

The engine rumbles to life, a low growl beneath him, but it feels distant, hollow. He pulls away from the curb, his foot heavy on the gas. The city stretches out before him, its lights blurring in the rearview mirror, but everything feels like a dream—too surreal to grasp, too far away to hold onto.

Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Crowley willingly lets them fall, his vision a mess of blurry streetlights and the endless dark of the road ahead. The tears come in waves—familiar, aching, unstoppable. There’s no destination. No plan. No reason for driving, except to escape the suffocating weight of what’s left unsaid, of what’s been broken beyond repair.

The city blurs past him, its sounds muffled and distant, as he drives aimlessly through the night, trying, and failing, to outrun the heavy, suffocating grief pressing down on him.

[tanjamikaelson]

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 10

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 10: | MADNESS |

The air was thick with the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, disbelief gripping your chest like a vice. The scene in front of you was nightmarish as if time had warped around you, distorting the reality of what you were witnessing. Sheriff Peterkin lay bleeding on the ground, her breaths labored, and the horrifying truth of what Rafe had done slowly sank in.

“Rafe, what have you done?” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. Your whole body was shaking, a coldness seeping into your bones. You took a hesitant step forward, your gaze locked onto his, desperate to reach him through the haze of madness you could see creeping into his expression.

For a brief moment, his eyes met yours. In that fleeting second, something flickered there—maybe recognition, maybe regret. You weren't sure. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by a chilling, blank stare that made your blood run cold. It was as if the Rafe you knew, the Rafe you loved, had been swallowed by something darker, something unrecognizable.

“Go back to the car,” he ordered, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth you were used to. It was like he wasn’t speaking to you at all like you were just another person caught in the crossfire of his unraveling world.

“Rafe, please,” you begged, your voice breaking under the weight of the fear and desperation building inside you. You didn’t even know what you were asking for—maybe for him to snap out of this, to see the horror in what he had done. You just couldn’t leave him like this.

Before you could say more, John B rushed toward Sheriff Peterkin, trying to help her, his hands frantically attempting to stop the bleeding. Panic surged through you as Rafe, still holding the gun, pointed it directly at John B.

“Hey!” Rafe shouted, his voice harsh and jagged, filled with adrenaline-fueled aggression as John B took the sheriff’s radio in his hand.

“Rafe, no!” you cried, your heart seizing with fear. You were terrified he would pull the trigger again. “Please, don’t!”

“Don’t try it, asshole,” Rafe warned John B, his voice venomous, the threat clear in every word.

“John B, give me the radio.” Ward told him.

John B didn’t flinch, gripping the radio tightly, his face set with determination. "No," he replied, his defiance standing stark against the chaos unfolding around him.

Ward crouched down beside John B, his voice deceptively calm as he tried to de-escalate the situation. “Come on, give me the radio. The damn radio.”

In a trance of horror, you watched Sheriff Peterkin, who was struggling to breathe, blood pooling beneath her. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, making it hard to even think clearly.

You glanced at Sarah, who was on her knees, crying uncontrollably, her face pale with shock.

Rafe’s gun was still pointed at John B, his paranoia making him see threats everywhere. “Please, put the gun down,” you pleaded again, your voice thick with emotion.

He didn’t budge, his knuckles white as his grip tightened around the handle of the gun. His eyes were dark, swirling with emotions you couldn’t read—fear, rage, confusion. Ward, seeing the situation spiraling, stepped in between you all. “Rafe, listen to her. Put the gun down,” Ward urged, showing him the radio in his hand, trying to calm him. “I’ve got him. Calm down.”

But it was like Rafe couldn’t hear him, his mind trapped in a loop of panic and desperation. His gaze flicked back to you, and for the first time, you felt true, bone-deep fear. This wasn’t the Rafe you had been with just hours ago. This was someone dangerous, someone whose mind had snapped under the pressure.

Ward, seeing no other choice, stepped forward and gently but firmly pulled Rafe’s arm down, forcing the gun away. “He can’t do anything,” Ward said, trying to soothe Rafe’s nerves. “I got you. You’re okay.”

The situation was unraveling too quickly, and suddenly, John B stood up, trying to move toward Sarah again. It was like a switch flipped in Rafe’s mind. “Where are you going, huh?” he shouted, lunging toward John B.

Sarah screamed for John B to run as you and Ward tried to hold Rafe back. His strength, fueled by his fury, was overwhelming, and he slipped out of your grasp. Without thinking, Rafe lifted the gun and started firing wildly in the direction of John B, the sound of bullets ripping through the air made you scream in fear.

Ward grabbed Rafe from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around him, trying to stop him. “Rafe, no! Wait! Rafe, please!” Ward’s voice was filled with a desperation you had never heard before.

Rafe struggled against his father’s hold, screaming in frustration when John B got away. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his mind still racing from the adrenaline, the chaos.

“I was trying—” Rafe stuttered, his words a jumble of emotions as he tried to explain himself.

But Ward wasn’t listening anymore. His focus had shifted, his mind already racing to the next steps.

“Shut up,” Ward snapped, before turning his attention to Sarah, who was still on the ground, crying next to Sheriff Peterkin. He knelt beside her, his voice suddenly calm and commanding, “Get up.”

Sarah was barely able to hold herself together.

Ward stood and walked back over to Rafe, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. “Take your sister and Y/N home. Get them home.”

Rafe blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “What?” he muttered, glancing between Sarah and his father.

“Get them home. Take them home,” Ward repeated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But Sarah wasn’t having it. “I’m not going until the medics come!” she argued, her voice shaky but resolute. She couldn’t leave the sheriff like this, bleeding out on the tarmac.

Rafe’s frustration surged again, and without warning, he grabbed Sarah roughly by the arm, pulling her away from the sheriff. “Get your hands off me! No!” Sarah screamed, fighting against him.

You were frozen, your heart pounding as you watched the scene unfold, unsure of what to do or how to feel. Everything was happening too fast, spiraling further and further out of control.

Ward showed Sarah the radio, trying to calm her, but Rafe was already shoving her toward the car. You followed, your legs feeling like lead as you moved toward the vehicle. The world around you felt surreal, and distant, like you were moving through a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

“Don’t move!” Rafe yelled as he shoved Sarah into the car, slamming the door shut behind her.

Then, as he walked around to the driver’s seat, his eyes met yours. For a brief moment, his expression softened, a flicker of something human in his gaze. But behind it, you saw the regret, the shame. He didn’t have to say it; you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his hands trembled ever so slightly.

“Are you coming?” Rafe asked, his voice flat, almost hollow.

You nodded silently, your throat too tight with emotion to speak. You opened the back door and slid into the seat, your body feeling heavy with the weight of everything that had just happened.

Rafe started the car without another word, driving the three of you away from the airstrip, leaving the chaos and blood behind. But the image of Rafe, gun in hand, standing over Sheriff Peterkin, was seared into your mind, and no matter how far you drove, you knew you couldn’t escape it. Not now. Not ever.

•°•°•°•°•°•

As Rafe drove down the road, the tension in the car was unbearable, thick like a storm cloud hanging overhead. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his voice strained as he tried to explain himself, his words coming out in rapid bursts. "She had the hammer back. You know that, right?"

“No,” Sarah replied immediately, her voice filled with disbelief and shock.

“She was gonna blow his head off,” Rafe insisted, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his voice growing more desperate as if he were trying to convince himself as much as her.

“No, she was arresting him, Rafe!” Sarah’s voice broke with emotion, raw and full of anger. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at her brother, horrified by what had happened.

“Okay, I couldn’t sit there and let it happen, okay?” Rafe’s voice cracked, and you could hear the panic creeping in, his breathing growing shallow and erratic. “She was gonna kill him. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, she was gonna kill him.”

His breathing hitched, and he started to hyperventilate, a single tear rolling down his cheek, glistening in the dim light as it fell. You could see the guilt and fear swirling in his eyes, but it was clouded by the delusion he had built up, a desperate attempt to justify what he had done.

Sarah stared at him, her expression filled with disbelief and anguish. It was like she couldn’t process what was happening, couldn’t reconcile the brother she grew up with and the man sitting next to her now, who had just shot someone. Her breath quickened, and in a sudden, frantic movement, she reached for the door handle, trying to open it and jump out of the moving car.

"Sarah!" you screamed, your heart lurching in your chest as fear shot through you. You couldn’t believe she was actually trying to jump out. Panic surged inside you as you leaned forward, trying to grab her arm.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Rafe shouted, his voice sharp and frantic as he reached over, yanking her back into the seat with more force than necessary. Sarah yelped in pain and surprise as she was pulled back, her body jerking from the impact. “Get back in,” Rafe commanded, his voice strained, his hand gripping her arm tightly.

“No! Ow!” Sarah screamed, her voice breaking as she shoved his hand away. “What are you doing?!”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, frustration boiling over. “Swear to God, all right! I’ve had it with your bullshit, Sarah, okay?” His eyes flicked between her and the road, his anger barely contained. “You need to focus. You understand me?”

Sarah’s voice shook as she asked, “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Rafe's gaze snapped back to her, his eyes wet with tears, his voice cracking as he responded, "I saved Dad." His tone was desperate, as if that explanation could make everything better, could erase the horror of what he’d done. He started to cry again, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looked at her, searching for some kind of understanding. “What was I supposed to do, okay? Sit there, hope for the best? All right?”

He pointed a trembling finger at himself, his emotions spiraling out of control. "Listen, I'm a proactive type of person," he said, his voice pitching higher with each word. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of Sarah’s neck, his grip firm as he tried to get through to her. She protested, her body twisting in discomfort, but he didn’t let go. “Sarah, I’m a proactive type of person.”

“Get off of me. Don’t you dare touch me!” Sarah spat, her voice filled with disgust and anger.

“Hope is not a strategy, okay?” Rafe insisted, his voice frantic, desperate for her to understand his twisted logic. He was unraveling, and the weight of everything that had happened was crashing down on him.

You saw the danger before he did. "Rafe, watch out!" you screamed from the backseat, your eyes widening in horror as a car swerved toward you, honking its horn. Rafe had drifted into the wrong lane, his focus lost in his emotional spiral.

Rafe’s head snapped back to the road, and he jerked the wheel hard to the right, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision. The car swerved violently, your body slamming against the seat as the vehicle jolted back into the correct lane.

Panting, Rafe tried to regain control of both the car and himself, his voice rising again as if trying to convince everyone, including himself, that he was in control. “I’m the problem solver in this family, okay?” His voice cracked with a mix of desperation and frustration. “Okay?” When Sarah didn’t respond immediately, his voice escalated. “Okay?!”

“Okay!” Sarah finally panted, her voice filled with exhaustion and fear. The weight of the situation was pressing down on her, on all of you, like a suffocating blanket.

•°•°•°•°•°•

As the car pulled up in front of Tannyhill, the tension in the air was thick, almost unbearable. You barely had time to catch your breath before you were met by Rose, who was watering her flowers with the hose, a glass of wine in her free hand.

She looked sharp and disapproving, “Hey! Your dad is not gonna like that you’re back home,” she said sharply, her eyes fixed on Rafe, her tone accusatory.

Rafe’s face was a mask of frustration as he replied, “He told me I could come here.”

Rose’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, she looked even more displeased. “Well, he didn’t tell me,” she shot back, her voice filled with suspicion. She glanced at Sarah, her eyes narrowing. “Why aren’t you on the plane?”

Sarah didn’t even bother to look at Rose as she replied flatly, “Ask Rafe.”

The tension between them was palpable, a silent storm brewing just beneath the surface. Sarah was done—emotionally drained, too angry, and heartbroken to deal with any more of it. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed into the house, her movements stiff with rage.

You followed behind her, feeling the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on your shoulders. The door slammed behind you, right in Rafe’s face, shutting him out, both literally and figuratively. It was a moment that hung in the air like a final blow, the crack of the door echoing through the stillness of the house.

You felt torn. You had followed Sarah inside, but your heart ached for Rafe, who was standing just outside, his world falling apart around him. You glanced back over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of him through the glass—a boy who was lost, broken, and spiraling out of control.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @thepopcultureaddict @deeznuggetsbebussin

[ganondoodle]

couldnt fall asleep for at least 2 full hours bc i kept thinking about it, so ... more (i hope this is the last time)

what was the point of adding isha? no i mean it! i started to like her in act 2 bc i liked mute characters and her with vanderwick where pretty cute.. those episodes are still my favorite, but shes so?? she gets dropped into jinxs lap quite literally (WHY where cross's goons (the chembaron) even chasing her?? i thought thered be some reveal or soemthign or backstory idk but no she just came out of nowhere and got chased for no reason other than to end up falling on jinx and seeing her shoot the goons) and then is given some cutesy time with em only to die horribly for literally nothing except make jinx .... suicidal ... which SHE ALREADY WAS, the entire vi and jinx fight scene at the start of the season is about her wanting vi to kill her- using isha like that is such a waste and so cheap, it served no purpose other than to give jinx and the viewer i guess the hope that things could be better even after everything only to rip it all away again and make it all even worse, but it already was so bad that it falls incredibly flat, and aside from jinx being worse than ever mentally no one seems to really mind? (ALSO feels slimy bc she was mute, mute kid chaarcter only gets used as a cheap way to make mentally unwell character even more mentally unwell)

magma vanderwick ... how ... what was that then? i thought it was either singed who was left alone in the greenhouse with vanderwick using that serum on him that supposedly .. does something to prevent viktor from bringing vanders mind fully back (no other information on that?) or it was viktor 'dying' that made all other cult people flop over and get taken/into stasis, and bc vanderwick was such a strange creature it took vander or part of him but not the beast- but then in act 3 ..... singed uses that serum THERE, so it wasnt him doing anything and him standing ominously in the broken greenhouse was jsut to .. show singed was still alive bc that fucker cant ever die- AND when stupid viktor turns people into fugly robots (im pretty sure, unless im mixing up what mind erased him) you see his memories being burned, so hollowed out .. which means that he was still himself? so it wasnt that viktors 'death' erased vander and left the beast bc it was still both at that point .... what the fuck was up with him then at the end of act2??? why did he go all volcano??

AND then at the end with the weird vi getting emotional over fugly robo vanderwick scene the beast i guess is STILL there .. but when you get turned like that you just turn into a robot and your mind ceases to exist, he already had vander erased, but then gets taken and turned robo so the beast should be gone too?? no`??? even if i remember it wrong and it was viktor who mind erased just vander- again problem as before, why did he go volcano then?? AND why did he slump over dead eyed after it? shouldnt the beast take over immediately when vanders gone??

....did jinx even interact at all with sevika after the scene in stillwater?? i dont think so, what a joke honestly, sevika was pretty much part of the team, then she gets isha out and then next time its jinx isha and vi going to search for vanderwick, the fuck has she been doing until the last episode where she doesnt say or really do a single thing???

im sorry lesbians but that sex scene was rather missplaced, not agaisnt it in general but the timing?? (any sex scene there at that time would be missplaced imo) jinx pretty clearly told vi that she will kill herself "you wont have to worry about me anymore" "im breaking the cycle" HELLO??? and while we dont know how long it took for cait to find vi down there (whereever that prison even is? not stillwater thats for sure) shouldnt vi burst out the prison and go chase after jinx the second she was freed???? i get she says soemthign like losing hope of getting through to her BUT JINX IS GOING TO KILL HERSELF?????????? and then cait and vi make out and fuck in the LITERAL SAME CELL THAT JINX WAS JSUT IN?????????? and even after that doesnt go to check on her?? you CANNOT tell me vi just gave up on her and accepted she killed herself like that

ALSO did no one know what signed was doing with vanderwick (who was still alive .. so isha kinda died uselessly, if he died then as well at least it would mess up the plan .. the stupid plan, i hate viktor cocoon hivemind shit)? they had to get vi out of there so ?? and vi also didnt like .. check if idk vanderwick was really fully dead or just go there again? even if it was secured or soemthign i dont remember her askign anything about him just jinx ... bc there she still cared at least a little bit about her i guess

jayce ... why did act2 make him out to be all mad and like he was given a mission by ekko and heimer (bc he says "i wont fail them" THEM) but then its revealed it was old future viktor who send him back/gave him the mission- ALSO why was he so extreme and mad in act2 when .. yes in act 3 you see him go through that torture in the cavern but when he climbs up hes relatively calm and collected and ignores the weird crawly monsters and has a somewhat normal conversation with old viktor .. and then he returns and is suddendly all mad and going after present viktor- WHICH ONLY MAKES IT SO IT ENDS UP LIKE THE STUPID TIMELOOP??? did i miss something or does that makes no sense?? the only reason it not ending up like that being ekkos intervention- but jayce before that seems to just .. do all that like he wants it to end like in the loop .. i thought he was trying to stop it .. what was the point?

did no one question where the heck salo went? even if he fell from grace .. it feels weird to put him to viktor, make it clear on him how viktor isnt just healing people but taking their minds bc that wasnt salo anymore and no one seems to care?

kinda similar with mel bc her being taken only really matters to ambessa (and when they reunite i expected ambessa to break tbh ...) and one comment from salo and anyone else? who cares? wasnt she in charge? i mean yeah cait took over in a sense but it still feels weird; plus on the whole mel business .. she went from big important power figure of the enterity of piltover to uh .. mage lady in black body suit so quickly? political power figure to weeee blasting vaguely gold magic stuff all over yippiiiie (but in general all political stuff just went out the window with those last episodes)

i said before how i didnt like the whole getting put into other dimension bs with ekko even if the setting was somewhat neat, but similar how weird jayces end speech to viktor felt idk .. ekko having to see, interact and .. make out with a jinx/powder that was 'normal' to see that jinx in his time still had value felt slimy to me also he conveniently gets put right there when jinx is about to kill herself (bc neither sevika nor VI went after her??or did he find her? when did he show up again? idk tbh?) and then uses the z-drive just to try and say the right thing to not make her do it and at the end to through it in viktors face ....................... and jinx showing up at the end barely changes anythign except give her another outfit/look and put her up there in order to do her 'sacrifice' .............idk it all felt so cheap

also maddie evil reveal was so .... was that really needed, like that especially? just so ambessa can tell caitlyn 'told you lol' ?

caitlyn knowing that jinx isnt gone and keeping it a secret is played as if thats a cool thing bc jinx isnt dead yippiiee but to me it makes it even worse (aside from the whole 'our story isnt over' bleurgh ouch eughgnen line of teasing more bc big corpo likes to leaves things open in case they make more expensives shows to serve nothing but the world most overblown champion and skin trailers and in case they dont well who cares) bc its just so ... slimy, am i supposed to see it as a happy end or win for vi bc she gets to be with caitlyn?? bc that is more important than her SISTER THE RELATIONSHIP TO WHICH THE ENTIRE SHOW WAS BUILT AROUND?????? adding the trope i hate 'group of people splitting up at the end bc thats clearly the best for them' FUCK THAT! Vi should have joined jinx and sevika (add isha and non robo vanderwick best case scenario, also ekko and they all get cool jinx outfits and everything, let jinx be a hero instead of a lil crazy footnote in viktors god complex) and get caitlyn on her side to fight piltover to free zaun (maybe with ambessa taking over piltover, mel returning and joining the forces of zaun forcing her to fight her even though it breaks ambessa bc she cares too much about mel or soemthing and jayce and viktor can battle it out gay boi style somewhere else or later interupting the main revolution fight idk im jsut yelling but this whole viktor god thing and robo war and whatever really went so off the rails and out of propoertion i hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh also vanderwick should get to kill singed)

..........and the line of Vi calling herself the dirt under caitlyns fingernails? ... what a line to end this stupid episode with, what a line, a zaunite calling herself dirt under her noble piltover lovers fingernails

(so ... in the end ... what was 'the arcane'? its not the void? its not jsut magic? its something fucked they created when trying to create magic but ... what was it? what where those creepy crawling things? why does it work like that? taking peoples minds? healing their bodies with metal parts but also hiveminding them? what was the hexcore in the end? what the hell was all that? where did the crystals even come from? skarners lore got erased so not there? did i just forget that? and also mages exist but also seem like a very unknown thing in the show? and then mel just is that? and the black rose? like??? what was the point??? it all just feels so pointless? what was this all for? a cheeasy happy ending where they fuck with time more to fix it all would have been satisfying to me than this ... this nothing)

okay i do have to do a mini (i call it mini now.. this is just letting my feelings about it out, so its spelled agressively bc im just so .. frustrated ... also not hate to the studio or the people working on it .. obviously >_>) rant about arcane-

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR ARCANE SEASON 2

its the most beautiful show ever produced, i mean it, its style, fortiche's (the studio) style, is just .... impossibly pretty, 3d and 2d, the animation is just so GOOD, the designs largely (like 95%) are too, the acting and sound design, the voice acting (at least the english one) is so emotional and good, the show in general is just good ... until the last episode

i have my own problems with riot declaring arcane the new canon out of nowhere and for no good reason since it was, im very sure, never conceived to be that, its a reinterpreation and works best as such, now literally everything is once again completely messed up, no one knows whats real and what isnt, no champion or story is safe, especially with the weird hexcore bullshit potentially erasing the VOID (whish is like ... half on which the canon was built on tbh) AND hextech- multiple champions being impossible to exist now .... but thats not what i wanted to talk about

i was pretty on board with everything the show did, though i wasnt a big fan of the whole hexcore stuff, but it all spiraled so far out of control, it just kept making everything worse, also with bringing in the black rose and leblanc, it kept piling stuff onto the plate despite them already compressing everything so drastically; espeically regarding viktor, but i kept my hope up even after season 2s act 2 bc it still seemed 'fixable', though not easily so

what i liked about it (in its writing) despite its pacing issues was that it was rather .. self contained for the longest time, focused on the characters and the class struggle of piltover and zaun, and doing so rather well imo, like it did and said things i did not expect riot to let through

i was worried with the alternate universe stuff that came with the escalating hexcore bullshit but held onto hope even until episode 8 and then ...man .. the last episode ... the fuck was that- like i hate timetravel and multiverses and whatever but the thing with ekko was done rather neatly ... they made all those chaarcter models and sets just for that short stuff and really .. was of little use other than getting heimerdinger out of the picture as well lmao maybe he will get his own series to advertise for 200 dollar skins in league hahaaaa but i guess the main point was to give ekko the z-drive ... which feels alot like what i feared about them forcing it to comply with the characters in game ,,,, even though that wasnt for everyone like warwick was done SO dirty after giving me hope in act two

everythings focused on the hexcore/arcane shit, theres the black rose shit (honestly i think it was a mistake bringing them in too bc .. noxus is its entire own region with so many champs and story itself that got connected via ambessa .. which was a new character the show made up until they made her a champ now .. its just too much to put into this one show already going at a breakneck pace), mel doing her bit with them then bam she mage now which felt like a champion teaser more than an organic part of the story, especialyl with how hard it got pushed later (poor little riots gotta sell more game cosmetics uwu), jayce just taking over control again and everyone going with it, singed reviving stupid version victor via using vander/warwick WHO WAS STILL ALIVE AFTER ISHA BLEW HERSELF UP TO STOP HIM FROM KILLING EVERYONE (which was ALREADY pretty cheap, but i guess jinx had to be even more suicidal than she already was heehoo), dont even ask me HOW, viktor was just whoops from corpse to im a cocoon now, ambessa being so obsessed with it, the entire class struggle being """"solved"""" by piltover and zaun fighting stupid viktors weird ass robot shitheads together and then acting like giving sevika a seat at the council is the solution to it, half the cast just dying horribly for honestly no reason?? ORIANNA being now i guess some weird viktor robot but without the mindcontrol part and singed just kinda ... winning i guess by giving her cocoon some goo of stupid viktors cocoon

it just all ... turning from this so drama, character and class struggle thing into weird ass dimension hopping magical world war that all gets solved bc we fought together once uwu AND it being a fucking timeloop WITHIN what ONE episode? and that being the ENDING (i know i know the hexcore bs was building up throughout the show but it still felt so .. unearned and sudden ... )

also i got personal gripes with the 'ending' bc .. was it REALLY an ending like they kept saying?? was it?? viktor, jayce, heimerdinger, jinx are just disappeared i guess, mel going back to noxus- the fucking 'our story isnt over' tease???? the last minute appearance of swains fucking raven???? pecking at something blue and shining like idk a hex crystal??? SHUT UP i dont want more to come, this story should have had its self containing ending, not this open ended bullshit that just reeks of corporate meddling bc they want their game to connect to their popular show as much as possible now so we gotta bring in as many teases and connections to other champions YIPPIEEEEE (yelling)

also if jinx is dead, wow, what a way to end her story, the traumatized suicidal character being tortured and tortured especially after seemingly having something good for once (i liked act 2 except for its ending the most bc ... man jinx was so enjoyable there, i loved her dynamic with vi and isha and half wolf vander warwick with the beast and man struggle i love alot, that part was genuinely beautiful, i wasnt a fan of the idea of idk ekko doing time stuff and them having a happy ending bc i just dont like going back in time to fix everything kinda stuff, but i would have much much prefered that, not changing the existing story into the perfect world where everythings happy (though i liked that part ... vander silco being gay husbands like that is just so goood) but to fix what is fixable in the present- them still having gone through alot but being able to live with it, so act 2 setup was honestly my favorite way to not invalidate everything and still have something happy .... but no we gotta kill the kid to make jinx even worse and vander/warwick too while we are at it

if shes not dead (given you see a blimp(?) flying away and her scribbles showing up and caitlyn looking at the blueprints of the hexgates) then ... ??? oh yeah lets make her leave zaun and just idk go be the main character in noxus or soemthing for the next show they are gonna do bc jinx is popular so putting her everywhere is a good idea!!!1!!11

ALSO since vander/warwick is my favorite .. i thought maybe after isha doing that, if they dont reverse it, hed get taken by singed again or ran away and turned fully werewolf like he is in the game (though i would have liked if they were able to be a weird family like in act2)- but no he just gets used as fuel for stupid viktor cocoon and then mind erased and made into the ugliest weird robot thing that looks more like galio than him JUST and i feel like it really is JUST to have Vi at the end do the scene that gets jinx 'killed' .. to lead into the 'more to come' teaser.. idk about you but that scene felt so .. forced, the typical oh no platform is slowly falling down but Vi suddendly gets emotional about weird ugly robot warwick (who conveniently comes back to life as ugly robot beast since his human mind got erased but not the beast??? i guess???) and completely ignores jinx yelling at her to get to safety, it felt so WEIRD to me (if you gotta do him like that at least let Vi listen to jinx, them embracing and then watchign emotionally as robo vanderwick falls into the hexgate thing .. that was still active somehow i guess??)

(poor viktor got done so dirty too .. i liked him .. until it all went weird wit hthe hexcore stuff ....... ..... also jayce weird speech to him .. why the FUCK did you not do that back in the cult camp instead of blasting him to bits, i get it he was fucked up from seeing the future, but then later hes just ... okay???? pretty fine all things considered??? and pretty aware of everything?? also his weird speech being all like vitkor actually you were perfect in your imperfection BITCH HE WAS SLOWLY DYING AN AGONIZING DEATH???? idk ??? it all feels so weird to me, like there episodes literally missing- ambessa dying also felt so unnecessary .. just so mel can take her place and go to noxus and have more shows maybe- )

i just .... and just like how i cant enjoy botw anymore after them fucking it all up with totk ... i dont know if i will rewatch arcane knowing it ends like that, what was that for, the most beautiful show ever made just to do a game of thrones ending in a single episode?

im so tired of it all ..... im so tired of being disappointed and feeling let down over and over no matter with how little expectations i go in with

this willl be the only arcane rant unless theres some .. big stupid reveal that gets me more frustrated than i am now, which i hope there isnt .. im tired of being and feeling like this .. i just want to enjoy things, everythings going to shit IRL and i cant even find something enjoyable to watch

[ghost-in-fools-garments]

every once in a while I am reminded that ducktales 2017 decided to heavily imply that Scrooge McDuck and Santa Claus are exes and I am rendered speechless for the next few minutes

[poisonousquinzel]

sweetie im so sorry you're not being allowed to flourish in live action and kill that damned clown, they don't deserve you

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff

Just a few suggestions. You shouldn’t have to compromise your writing style and voice with any of these, and some situations and scenes might demand some stiff or jerky writing to better convey emotion and immersion. I am not the first to come up with these, just circulating them again.

1. Vary sentence structure.

This is an example paragraph. You might see this generated from AI. I can’t help but read this in a robotic voice. It’s very flat and undynamic. No matter what the words are, it will be boring. It’s boring because you don’t think in stiff sentences. Comedians don’t tell jokes in stiff sentences. We don’t tell campfire stories in stiff sentences. These often lack flow between points, too.

So funnily enough, I had to sit through 87k words of a “romance” written just like this. It was stiff, janky, and very unpoetic. Which is fine, the author didn’t tell me it was erotica. It just felt like an old lady narrator, like Old Rose from Titanic telling the audience decades after the fact instead of living it right in the moment. It was in first person pov, too, which just made it worse. To be able to write something so explicit and yet so un-titillating was a talent. Like, beginner fanfic smut writers at least do it with enthusiasm.

2. Vary dialogue tag placement

You got three options, pre-, mid-, and post-tags.

Leader said, “this is a pre-dialogue tag.”

“This,” Lancer said, “is a mid-dialogue tag.”

“This is a post-dialogue tag,” Heart said.

Pre and Post have about the same effect but mid-tags do a lot of heavy lifting.

They help break up long paragraphs of dialogue that are jank to look at

They give you pauses for ~dramatic effect~

They prompt you to provide some other action, introspection, or scene descriptor with the tag. *don't forget that if you're continuing the sentence as if the tag wasn't there, not to capitalize the first word after the tag. Capitalize if the tag breaks up two complete sentences, not if it interrupts a single sentence.

It also looks better along the lefthand margin when you don’t start every paragraph with either the same character name, the same pronouns, or the same “ as it reads more natural and organic.

3. When the scene demands, get dynamic

General rule of thumb is that action scenes demand quick exchanges, short paragraphs, and very lean descriptors. Action scenes are where you put your juicy verbs to use and cut as many adverbs as you can. But regardless of if you’re in first person, second person, or third person limited, you can let the mood of the narrator bleed out into their narration.

Like, in horror, you can use a lot of onomatopoeia.

Drip Drip Drip

Or let the narration become jerky and unfocused and less strict in punctuation and maybe even a couple run-on sentences as your character struggles to think or catch their breath and is getting very overwhelmed.

You can toss out some grammar rules, too and get more poetic.

Warm breath tickles the back of her neck. It rattles, a quiet, soggy, rasp. She shivers. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. Sweat beads at her temple. Her heart thunders in her chest. Ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump-ba- It moves on, leaving a void of cold behind. She uncurls her fists, fingers achy and palms stinging from her nails. It’s gone.

4. Remember to balance dialogue, monologue, introspection, action, and descriptors.

The amount of times I have been faced with giant blocks of dialogue with zero tags, zero emotions, just speech on a page like they’re notecards to be read on a stage is higher than I expected. Don’t forget that though you may know exactly how your dialogue sounds in your head, your readers don’t. They need dialogue tags to pick up on things like tone, specifically for sarcasm and sincerity, whether a character is joking or hurt or happy.

If you’ve written a block of text (usually exposition or backstory stuff) that’s longer than 50 words, figure out a way to trim it. No matter what, break it up into multiple sections and fill in those breaks with important narrative that reflects the narrator’s feelings on what they’re saying and whoever they’re speaking to’s reaction to the words being said. Otherwise it’s meaningless.

—

Hope this helps anyone struggling! Now get writing.

[jeonsweetpea]

Will It Fit?

Roommate!AU | Roommate!Jungkook x Reader

genre: fluff, smut, comedy, lil angst, slight idiots to lovers

rating: explicit

description: So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…

word count: 6.7k

warnings: size kink, JK has a big dick (no, really), slight pain kink, light choking, dirty talk, Dom!JK, flustered/shy JK at first, unprotected sex (this is fiction, we all wanna be raw-dogged by JK okay), lube, JK loves OC’s panties a LOT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, OC gets embarrassed at first but JK is sweet about it, oral sex (male & female receiving), cursing, Soft Dom!JK, JK is overly concerned with how big your dildo is, embarrassing moments from both parties, spanking, prone bone, creampie, confession scenes, 

a/n: As soon as I saw JK’s OJO face from that GCF, it kicked me into gear to write this. I’ve had this idea for SO long, but never had the motivation to finish it. I was supposed to release it last winter, so hope you’re all excited for it! Asks and reblogs are much appreciated (I read them all!). Also, much love to @jkeuphoriadreamland for bouncing ideas around with me. 

“[Y/N], I can hear you in there.” 

The muffled, disgruntled voice came from the other side of your door. Your eyes fluttered open and your hand stilled in your panties, your heart rate spiking. Maybe if you didn’t move a muscle, he’d go away. 

“I know you’re up,” he added. You rose up from your bed.

“Um… exactly what did you hear?” you squealed, face burning up at your terrible acting skills.

“Unlock this door.”

You didn't know what compelled you to saunter over and open the door a mere crack, but oh the sight before you was almost worth the humiliation. Jungkook was in nothing but gray sweats that sat dangerously low on his hips. He had a bad case of bedhead, but his locks looked so soft that you wanted nothing more than to grab onto them and make out with his beautiful lips, which were captivating you just as much as that intense gaze of his. 

“Hey… you…” you said with a meek smile, which he did not return.

“It’s 2 AM in the morning. I have work at 5. As hot as you sound, we either do something together so we both get satisfied or you let me get my rest because I am incredibly frustrated right now.”

Your eyes widened at his curt response. You’ve never seen him so tense, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as his glare bore into you. He leaned against your door frame with one arm, leaning in close enough to make you break eye contact. He tapped on the wooden frame with his index finger, awaiting your response. 

“Sorry…” 

God, you sounded absolutely pathetic . 

“Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?” Before you could respond, he let out a tsk sound and retreated back to his bedroom. You stood there in a trance until his door shut loudly, snapping you out of it. You wondered if he realized how much worse he left you than when he found you. 

Fuck, was he always this hot when mad? 

You went back to your room after closing the door. Climbing into bed, you got under the covers and laid flat on your back deep in thought. The only reason you were masturbating in the first place was because your room was freezing cold. You thought the heater was fixed, but your room was somehow still the coldest one in the apartment. You knew you’d never be able to go to sleep at this rate, so you decided to do something that would tire you out and hopefully lull you into the rest you craved.

It was supposed to be simple. You, your hand, your phone, and sweet, sweet release. Damn Jungkook for interrupting you. It’s bad enough his room was nice and toasty while you were suffering. Yeah, you heard his loudass snores. You assumed he was deep in the REM cycle so how the hell did he catch your moans? Ugh.

If he was so annoyed with you, then he should have warmed you up instead!

You shook your head and got under the covers, groaning at your lewd thoughts. 

He’s my roommate. And he’s too good of a roommate for me to fuck things up. 

“Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?”

Those words echoed in your mind. The way he changed his tone to a lower register with his Busan dialect slipping through was incredibly sexy. It was the perfect mix of frustration and anger and made your thighs rub together in want. Leaning over your nightstand, you opened the drawer and grabbed a velvet drawstring bag. Slipping off your pajama shorts, you pulled out your trusty dildo. Impatient, you closed your eyes and imagined Jungkook taking you right then and there. However, the moment you allowed the tip of the dildo to touch your entrance, all pleasure was lost. It was cold!

“Damn it…” you muttered. “I gotta warm it up. Ugh!”

You left your room in frustration and entered the bathroom, turning the sink on to the hottest setting and running it over your toy. 

This might’ve been the most desperate masturbation session you’ve ever had, but you didn’t care. This was all Jungkook’s fault!

The next morning was Saturday. You were eating your breakfast on the kitchen island while mindlessly scrolling on your phone when Jungkook came out of his room. As soon as you two locked eyes, you almost choked on your food and had to chug some water to calm down. The man, confused, ruffled his hair and watched you through drowsy eyes.

“Are you okay?” he said, followed by a yawn. 

You nodded as you beat your chest with your fist to get everything down. “Yeah… I just… didn’t expect you to be home. I thought you had work.”

“Oh,” He sounded more awake now. “I read my schedule wrong. Turns out I’m off every other Saturday now.”

“... Oh. Cool.”

He circled around the kitchen island to get to the fridge and you recalled last night’s events, mortified he had heard you. Should you apologize again? After all, you’re both two grown adults; there’s nothing to be ashamed about. If you didn’t say something now, that icky feeling would only fester inside you. 

“Hey Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he said from behind the fridge door.

“About yesterday… I hope you can forget all about it.”

As the refrigerator door shut, you were greeted by the sight of the most adorable man sipping a carton of banana milk. His eyes were wide and brimming with curiosity from your words. 

“Did something happen yesterday? I was knocked out.”

You blinked at him twice. “Do you… not remember talking to me last night?”

“Hmm? I did? I was fast asleep, don’t remember a thing.” He took the seat next to you. “Why? What did we talk about?”

Pure relief washed over you like a tidal wave as you shook your head. “Oh, nothing much. My room’s a bit too cold. It was hard for me to sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to the landlord. Do you want to sleep with me?” You shot him an incredulous look and he began to stutter. “I-I mean! Sleep in my bed! Not with me in it. Unless you wanted to—ah—fuck me!

There. That’s the Jungkook you knew. He’s never crossed the line and flirted with you, so you didn’t either out of respect. But… It was too hard to resist teasing him. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Unless I wanted to… fuck you?” you repeated innocently. This was new territory for you—teasing him. His flustered reactions were so damn adorable though. The way his nose scrunched and his eyes darted around everywhere except for your face. If anyone was watching you, they’d swore you had hearts in your eyes. 

He set his drink down and proceeded to cover his face with both hands, panicking at his poor choice of words. “That didn’t come out right. Oh god… this is embarrassing.”

You covered your mouth to stifle your giggles. “It’s okay. I don’t want to peg you—I mean, take your bed.”

Jungkook dropped his hands, speaking the next sentence in pouts. “Hey, I don’t want to be peg—not the point. No, seriously. My room’s really warm.”

“I mean… if you really want me in your room, all you have to do is ask, you know,” you remarked. Jungkook’s cheeks were flushed with a tinge of pink, adding an extra charming element to his already cute self. Were you being too bold? 

It didn’t matter because seeing how his lips trembled and how he could barely hold himself together was fun to watch.

“I didn’t realize it was that easy…” he mumbled, more to himself than you. You tilted your head at him and he noticed how you crossed one arm over another “Not that I’m calling you easy!”

“Uh huh. I’m watching you, Jeon Jungkook. Hmph.”

“No, wait. I’m sorry.”

You placed your index finger on his lips to shush him, even going so far as to tap his lip piercing teasingly. “Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?” 

You watched as his eyes widened once more and that caused you to realize what you were doing. My god. Using his own words against him was satisfying, but all this newfound confidence was going to get you in trouble. You cleared your throat and withdrew your hand, grabbing your breakfast plate and heading over to the sink before things could escalate.

“Uh… I’m gonna go to the gym. Run some errands or something,” Jungkook stammered as he got up, nearly toppling out of his stool. You bit your lip to hold in your laughter as he recomposed himself. Walking in the same direction, he flinched when you got near his proximity. “W-What are you doing?”

He’s so cute when nervous.

“Nothing. Grabbing my keys. I’m heading out too.”

“O-Okay.”

Your smile made his heart rate escalate. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

You spent the day with your closest friends on a brunch date, followed by a trip to the mall, and then hot cocoa in the evening. It was much needed after the week you had and after bidding them farewell, you went back to your apartment. Upon entering, you took off your shoes and put them on the shoe rack.

“Jungkook? Are you home?” you called out. 

“Yeah! I just finished showering!” he called back in the distance. You went further into the apartment and plopped down on the couch. 

“Damn,” you muttered, rubbing your arms. “Wish I could have showered with him. It’s so cold outside…”

As if on cue, Jungkook called for you again. “[Y/N]? Could you come here?”

You took off your purse and slowly rose up from the couch, hesitant. This had to be a dream. Why would he need you to come to the bathroom? He must’ve forgotten a towel. Or a t-shirt. Or pants. The specifics didn’t really matter because your hormones were going berserk at the possibilities. 

You walked through the narrow hallway and stood in front of the bathroom door, excited at the thought of teasing him again. “I’m here. What’s up? Did you forget your towel or something? Silly boy.”

The door swung open and the shit-eating grin you had on your face dropped to the floor in an instant. 

“Why is there a dildo in the bathroom, silly girl?”

Shit. Quick, say something. Anything. Don’t just stand there like a gaping fish! Oh dear, how many seconds have passed? You must look like a total idiot.

Fuck! I forgot I left it here!!!

“Well…” you started to say, “I’m assuming it’s yours.”

Out of all the things your roommate could be calling you for, this was not on your radar. The awkwardness was more suffocating than the steam from his blazing hot shower minutes ago and you wished it lingered around long enough to make you disappear. 

Jungkook made a puckered face at your accusation, picked up the object, and shook it side to side, the bendy silicone material flopping everywhere. His big doe eyes were the highlight of his classic OJO face, the blatant confusion so adorable if you weren’t absolutely mortified. For the second time this week. 

God, and how could you even focus when he was dressed in nothing but a towel, his hair still slightly damp. The bulging muscles of his biceps were a feast for the eyes as well as his tattooed sleeve. You yearned for the day he’d use his arm as your necklace, but of course that shouldn’t be a priority at the moment. If anything, it was his fault you had to use a dildo anyway.

“[Y/N], you know damn well this isn’t mine.” He met your gaze and flashed you a soft smile, biting his lower lip. “I like mine bigger.”

You covered your face in shame, wishing the floor could open up and swallow you whole. “Good god, Jeon.”

“You still didn’t answer my question. Why is it in the bathroom?”

You gulped, finding enough strength to not die of embarrassment. “It’s getting colder outside and the heater doesn’t reach my room as well as it reaches yours. So…”

“Yeah…? But I’m not following.”

“The… thing in your hand—”

“Dildo?”

You visibly cringed. “Yes, okay, THAT. It got cold and I don’t like cold objects... Inside me. So I took it to the bathroom to run hot water on it to warm it up.”

“Before you use it?”

“No, to melt it. Yes, to use it!” you snapped, feeling the humiliation burning through your body. “I wasn’t aware you weren’t working today, remember? I clean it after each use so please just give it back!”

You ran over to yank it out of his hands, but he lifted it up high out of your reach. While cackling. That motherfucker. “Hey, maybe I want a turn.”

You had to bite back. “I knew you liked being pegged.”

“I do not!”

“Then give it back!”

“This thing is huge though. It fits?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” You jumped up but failed to reach it due to his quick reflexes. 

“Doesn’t it hurt? Because if something this big went up my—”

“Jungkook!”

“I’m just saying!” he said with his arms up in the air like you were about to tase him. “I find it hard to believe, that’s all. It’s really big. Like damn.”

Without thinking, you ripped his towel off his waist and he gasped, scrambling to shield his privates while you seized the opportunity to get your toy back.

You stormed out of the bathroom and ran to your room, locking the door afterwards. Falling to your knees, the embarrassment caught up to you, causing you to hang your head low in shame. You could hear the soft shuffling sounds of his footsteps approaching your door, followed by a gentle knock.

“[Y/N]? Are you okay?” He pressed his ear against the door to hear small sniffles. “Shit. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you upset. I was teasing, I thought you wanted to tease me back and—I guess I took it too far.”

“Go away, Jeon,” you said, throwing the dildo at the door. Jungkook nearly had a heart attack at the loud thump and jolted back, clutching his chest. 

“Holy shit, that scared me,” he said, which earned a small chuckle from you despite the tears. “Hey… come on out. Please. I’m not judging you.”

“No. I’m humiliated. You heard me yesterday and now caught me today. I can’t face you ever again. It’s over!”

He placed a hand on your door, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I didn’t even know we started, so how could we be over? You’re cute.”

That made you snap your head up. You quickly wiped away your tears and rose from the floor. “This isn’t fair… I’ve been embarrassed twice now.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“You heard me masturbating yesterday!” you exclaimed, frustrated at his obliviousness. “You woke up and told me I had pretty lips or whatever and suggested we do something about it together!”

“I mean, you do have pretty lips. Yup. That sounds like me, yeah,” he said, nodding to himself. “But I really don’t remember. Come on out. I wanna see you.”

“No.”

“Would it help if I shared something embarrassing about me?”

You narrowed your eyes at the door, considering his offer. “... Go on…”

He sighed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Well… you know how I’ve been doing your laundry for you?” 

“Yeah…”

It was your most hated chore. Putting the clothes into the washer and dryer wasn’t your issue, but folding them was so tedious. So you and him made a deal. You were in charge of dishes and he would do the laundry. However, the one thing you refused to let Jungkook wash for you were your bras and panties. Those you handled yourself.

“You… left a pair of panties in my basket once by mistake.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. I washed them for you but um… before that, I might’ve… sort’ve… jerked off with them.”

Your doorknob jostled for a second as you unlocked it. Jungkook waited as the door swung open and was greeted by a displeased you, hands on your hips and all.  

“What? They were really pretty…” he added. “They were pink and had lace—”

“You… PERVERT!” you shouted, hitting his chest repeatedly. Of course, you were aware your feeble punches did nothing to his insanely toned pecs. Jungkook stared at you fondly, catching the hint of a smile that threatened to spill from your lips. 

“Oh, I’m a pervert? Says the girl who has an 8-inch dildo,” he countered, snatching both your wrists. 

“At least I’m able to take 8-inches!” you retorted, laughing at the situation. He joined in your laughter and then said,

“Good! That means you’ll be able to handle me!”

Your brain fizzled out at this point as the laughter subsided. “... What?”

Jungkook’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped. “... You heard me. Go ahead, take off my towel again. See for yourself.”

He guided your hands downward to the soft fabric, which was already on the verge of unraveling itself with his prior movements. You stared at his pelvic lines, excitement bubbling beneath the surface while you tried your best to maintain a calm expression. 

“... Pervert,” you mumbled. Jungkook chuckled, taking one of your hands and placing it directly on his boner. 

“Maybe. But only you can make me feel this way.”

You bit your lip, feeling the heat radiating from beneath the fabric and your curiosity peaked. Tucking a finger into the towel, you pulled it down and let it fall to the ground. 

A loud squeal came from your lips as you covered your mouth. “Holy shit!”

Jungkook covered himself after seeing your reaction with both hands, embarrassment crawling up his spine. “Sorry, I’ll put it away.”

“No, no, no!” you said, putting your hands out in a stop motion. “Sorry, I just… you… you weren’t kidding.”

“Does it scare you?” His tone was sincere, his eyes genuinely showing concern. “Because… I don’t want to hurt you. And I know it can hurt. That’s why I was so curious about the dildo. Will it fit? Will I fit…?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how he phrased it, but quickly stopped when you noticed the fear in his eyes. Your thoughts wandered to if he had slept with someone prior and if it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Truth be told, you’ve never been with anyone as big as him so it’s all new for you.

“Well… if I’m prepared well enough, I can take it. The dildo fits but sometimes not all of it goes in. Um… man, this is embarrassing to talk about, ahhh. I feel like I keep making a fool of myself in front of you.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened at your vulnerability, taking your hand and placing it on his chest. His heart was beating just as rapidly as yours if not more. Then he put his other hand on the small of your back, pulling you close. 

“That makes two of us. But you make me crazy.”

He was so close that your senses were intoxicated with the fresh scent of eucalyptus and cotton wafting off him. His eyes shifted to your lips for a split second before meeting your gaze once more. 

“I really want to kiss these pretty lips of yours… If you’ll let me,” he said, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and whispering the last part.

You begged him to kiss you already, so he leaned in and finally pressed his warm lips against yours as you closed your eyes. It started off as a gentle smooch, like a little tease to test the waters. When he pulled back, you leaned forward and chased his lips urgently. You felt him smiling into the kiss as he moved in tandem with you, deepening the kiss while switching positions to press you against a wall. One of his hands pinned your wrists above your head while his free hand slithered down the side of your body until it rested on your hip, giving you a firm squeeze.

“Jung—mmph—Jungkook…” you moaned. He used that chance to ease his tongue into your mouth and the kiss went from passionate to messy. When you moved your wrists in the slightest, he asserted dominance and pinned them back down into place. 

“You think I’m going to let you go so easily now that I have you?” he asked, the hunger in his voice evident. He carefully tugged your bottom lip in between his teeth and pulled it back in a seductive motion, which turned you on even more. 

Once he broke the kiss, the only thing that remained was a string of saliva that broke seconds later.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he said in between pants.

“Since you’ve jerked off to my panties?” you teased while catching your breath.

He rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve never rubbed one out to me before.”

You scrunched up your nose at his response, unable to counteract his statement right away. “Hey… I wouldn’t have had to rub one out if you warmed me up in this cold weather.”

He smirked. “All you had to do was ask, you know.”

Releasing your hands, Jungkook went into your room and grabbed the dildo off the floor. He left you for a short moment and you waited there, confused, until you heard the sound of running water. He came back a minute later and then grabbed your hand, leading you to his bedroom.

“Had to wash it. Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up properly for the real thing.”

He guided you to his bed and helped you remove your jacket, blouse, and leggings. His grin was extra toothy because the set you were wearing was the exact set he jerked off too before. 

“What?” you asked, amused.

“N-Nothing.”

When your back was turned for a second, he mouthed the words ‘Oh my god’ and pressed his hands together as if thanking the universe for this very moment.

Now left in your bra and panties, you laid on his bed and he climbed on top of you, his lips latching onto the side of your neck. You mewled at the sizzling contact, pulling him close by his soft locks so that his hot skin was pressed against yours. He trailed his searing kisses down to your collarbone and then settled between the valley of your breasts. 

“The bra is pretty… you’re so pretty,” he said, full of admiration. He pulled one of the cups down to gain access to your breasts, capturing your perky nipple between his lips. He sucked tenderly, swirling his tongue around before tugging on it hard enough to elicit a moan. His other hand was greedy, slithering into your already soaked panties. His middle finger dipped in between your folds and he rubbed in circular motions to coax some more slick out of you. 

As you arched your back and moaned his name, he dipped one finger into you and began to pump it slowly. He added another one when you begged for it, sounding so desperate that he had to oblige. 

“Please fuck me already. I can’t take it,” you breathed. Jungkook only curled his fingers deeper inside, grazing your sweet spot while shaking his head. 

“Patience, beautiful. I need to make sure your sweet pussy can take it, remember? Gotta prep you well.”

“But I can take it, I can, oh god please.” 

“If you’re a good girl for me. Can you take another finger?”

You nodded eagerly, so he added a third finger and you squeezed your eyes shut from the delicious burn. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked, observing your expressions carefully. You clutched onto the pillow and panted heavily. 

“Y-Yeah, I—god—your fingers feel good…”

He began to finger you with all three digits, the tightness of your walls bringing some resistance to his actions. But with a few more neck kisses to relax you, it became easier and you became more undone. 

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered into your ear, his heavy breath tickling it. He finally removed his fingers and grabbed the dildo at the end of the bed, bringing up to your lips. 

“Show me what those pretty lips of yours can do.”

You stuck out your tongue and licked a long stripe on the toy in a tantalizing slow motion, causing Jungkook to grunt. That damn smile of yours was going to kill him. You were the perfect minx—sweet and naughty. He didn’t have to tell you to suck it because you already were. 

“Such a good girl. You’re going to handle my cock so well.”

He removed the dildo out of your mouth and reached into his nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube. You stared at it like it was foreign to you and Jungkook was quick to notice.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it. I know it.”

He chuckled, admiring your determination. “Still, I want to take my time.  Besides… it’s not every day I get to fuck someone so beautiful.”

He popped open the cap and squeezed a decent amount of lube onto the toy. Then he got back in between your legs and slowly began to insert it into you. You squirmed from the slippery, cold contact but Jungkook captured your lips into a deep kiss, igniting your body with fervor. 

He thrusted the dildo as deep as he could, stopping when there was resistance from your panties. Which you were more than thankful for because you already felt full. But then he began to pump it in and out of you at a steady pace, only accelerating when your moans became more constant. 

“Shit, shit,that feels so—“ Your words were swallowed by his lips and that stirred something within you, allowing Jungkook to easily glide the toy back and forth. He soon increased his speed, the obscene sounds your pussy was making the only thing that could be heard in the room. 

You broke away from the kiss and began tearing up from the intensity. 

“J-Jungkook, I think—“

You couldn’t, actually. Your orgasm crept up on you and made your entire body convulse. You shut your eyes to only see white, your ears were ringing, and your pussy surrendered to the pleasure. 

Jungkook removed the toy out of you gently and then kissed your sweaty forehead, giving you a bunny-tooth smile as you calmed down from your high. 

“Did you cum?”

You smacked his arm playfully. “Did I cum… pfft. No, actually. I’m waiting for a real man to make me cum. With a fat cock.”

“Well not to toot my own horn but…” He grinded his swollen cock against your thigh. “I think I meet the requirements.”

Now that things slowed down, this was the first time you really got to look at his cock properly. He wasn’t kidding about needing to prep you. It was as big as your dildo but much more girthier. It was a mouth-watering sight. 

Flipping the switch, you got on top of Jungkook this time. His eyes widened in surprise but then eased into a smile. You leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Let me take care of you now.”

“But I want to fuck you so bad.”

“You can wait, darling. My pussy is yours.”

His dick twitched at that. You giggled as you got in between his thighs, stroking his member a few times to hear those cute, breathy moans of his. 

Will it fit…? God, I hope so.

“Are you afraid you can’t take it?” Jungkook asked with concern. Shit. Did you say that out loud???

“I can. I will.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t—“

“Jungkook,” you said, squeezing his dick tightly, almost like a warning. “I can take it like a good girl. And if not, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

He closed his eyes and nodded as you began to suck him off. There was no way you could take all of him in your mouth but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try. You went as far as you could and stopped when your gag reflex kicked in. Using your hand to stroke the area you couldn’t reach, you swirled your tongue and bobbed your head up and down. 

Jungkook’s abs clenched and unclenched at the action and he rested on his elbows to watch you. The way your bra cupped your breasts at this angle was enticing, your pretty lips working so hard to please him, and the view of your ass in those panties could make him cum right then and there. 

“Fuck, you’re so good at this—don’t stop.”

You smiled at the praise and continued, loving how he took a sharp inhale of breath when you cupped his balls. He put his hand on your head and pushed you down gently, not wanting to overdo it with his size. You controlled the pace, but he just wanted to touch you and admire you. 

“You’re too good to me…” 

You released his dick with a satisfying pop sound, kissing the tip and smiling. “Teach me what you like.”

“I love everything you do,” he said, grunting when you began stroking him again from the base to the tip. “Your hands are so much softer than mine.”

You stopped momentarily to spit on your hand before resuming your lewd actions and he threw his head back. 

“Fuck [Y/N]. That’s so hot.”

“Yeah? Have I been a good girl? Are you going to reward me?” He snatched your wrist, his eyes darkened and full of lust. 

“Can you handle it?”

You turned around on all fours, shaking your ass side to side to tempt him. “Take me, baby. Raw.”

His OJO face returned from your bold suggestion and you flashed him a wink. 

“I’m on the pill. Promise,” you informed. 

A burst of energy surged within him as he grabbed the bottle of lube and hurriedly squeezed some onto his cock. You giggled when he squirted a bit too much, haphazardly trying to divide it between two hands and spreading it evenly. But things turned serious when he grabbed your hips, yanking you closer to him.

He pulled your panties to the side and ate you out from behind first, loving how delicious your backside looked with them on. You moaned in delight and he placed a hand on your upper back, forcing your face down into the mattress. His tongue dipped into your folds and he flicked it on your clit a few times, loving the whiny sounds you were making. Then he pressed his entire mouth onto your pussy and sucked hard. 

You were overwhelmed with pleasure and were on the verge of cumming when he removed his mouth and replaced it with something else.

“Are you ready?” He teased his tip at your leaking entrance and you shuddered. 

“Yes, please fuck me.”

“Breathe baby. Relax as much as you can.”

You obeyed, feeling him push himself into you smoothly, knowing he prepped you more than enough. At least, that’s what you thought until he got in halfway. From there on, it felt like he was invading your walls and stretching you to new limits. 

There was a mild discomfort and Jungkook kissed your back lovingly to relax your tense muscles. You sighed and allowed him to bottom out, feeling the wind knock out of you when he did. 

“God!” you shouted, fisting his bedsheets. 

“F-Fuck… you feel amazing I—can I move? Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt… I just feel really full.”

“Okay,” he said in a restrained voice. “I’ll go slow.”

He gripped your hips tightly, like he needed something else to focus on or else he’d lose control and fuck the living daylights out of you. He eased himself out of you but only half way, wanting to savor your warmth a bit longer. Then he pushed himself back into you, making sure to go as slow as possible.

“Your ass looks amazing in these. You should wear them again.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought of doing this with him again. “Maybe if you spank me.”

He stilled his hips. “You really want me to?”

You began rocking your ass back and forth on his cock. “Yeah. I’m not that fragile… I can take it rough when I want to.” You swore you felt his cock twitch at this. “Hmm, looks like that excited you. You wanna fuck me rough, Jeon?”

He delivered a spank on your cheek, the sensation sending waves of pain and pleasure through your body. Your pussy tightened from this and it made Jungkook hiss. He spanked the other cheek and then both cheeks and you moaned, the slight pain distracting you from the girth of his big cock. 

“You think you’re in a position to be a brat?” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you up so you were on all fours again. Laying on top of your back, he whispered in your ear, “Do you know how badly I want to fucking ruin you?”

He bit the shell of your ear and you let out a content sigh as he slowly thrusted in and out of you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he reminded you. “But god, you feel so good. So tight. So slippery and wet. I just wanna have my way with you.”

You couldn’t wait anymore. “Please do. Make my pussy remember the shape of your cock. It’s yours to wreck.”

Jungkook got off your back and grabbed a nice fistful of your hair into a makeshift ponytail, forcing your head up as he thrusted into you to the hilt. That feeling of being full hit you full force and you submitted, letting him rock his hips back and forth to the pace he deemed fit. He undid your bra with his free hand, letting the undergarment fall onto the bed as he cupped one breast.

Your moans came out unashamed and full of whiny desperation. The intensity was becoming too much, but it felt too good to stop. There was no more discomfort, only lust and the desire to be fucked so hard that it had your eyes rolling. And Jungkook was more than willing to deliver.

He then grabbed a nearby pillow and placed it under your stomach, pushing your back down until you laid flat. 

“I’m not sure, but I read this makes things feel better on Reddit,” he explained quickly as he helped remove your panties. “But let me know if you want me to stop.”

You’re smitten by the fact he cared this much about you but also trying hard not to laugh at how he admitted to going to Reddit for sex advice. He was too precious.

“I will.”

With your ass propped up higher thanks to the elevation of the pillow, Jungkook eased into you once more and you bit into your pillow. He started to slam his hips into you, gripping onto the headboard to steady himself. 

“Fuck!” you said through gritted teeth. 

“Am I going too fast?” he breathed, slowing down his thrusts.

“No, it’s okay. I want it. I want you.”

Your words unleashed his primal urges to finally give it to you. He shoved his cock deep inside you, each thrust making your ass jiggle, the sight so unbelievably sexy that he had to spank you again.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me harder!” you shouted. Jungkook laid on top of you, wrapping his bicep around your neck and planted a kiss on your cheek as he fucked you harder. You begged him to choke you and he obliged, squeezing your neck just enough to make you slightly dizzy. 

It was euphoric having that slight danger while being used for his pleasure. Your pussy tightened so much that Jungkook felt he was going to cum. 

He slowed the roll of his hips and then pulled out, quickly flipping you onto your back. Thanks to the pillow from earlier, your hips were propped up at the perfect height. 

“Spread your legs for me. Wider. Hold them open.”

You were so drunk on lust that you did everything he asked. He held onto your thighs and inserted his cock into you again, the new angle making your moans come out strangulated. He was so huge, you swore his tip was brushing against your cervix. Picking up the pace gradually, you took the abuse of his fat cock and screamed at how good it felt. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” Jungkook said through pants, wrapping a hand around the column of your neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

His hips began to stutter and you felt your pussy growing sore from the stretch. Anymore and you’d be in tears. You wanted to cum too, so you snuck your hand down to your clit and rubbed in circular motions. Jungkook used the last remaining bits of strength to fuck you for a few more minutes, which was more than enough for you to reach your climax. 

Cumming a second time was more painful than the first time due to the over sensitivity. But somehow it was more enjoyable because you had never felt something so intense. Jungkook kept coaxing you with sweet words, promising he was almost finished. 

He rutted into you for the last few seconds, counting 3, 2, 1 before spilling his seed inside you. His body laid on top of yours, the two of you sticky and sweaty but it was comforting just being in his embrace. 

“Jungkook?” 

“Yeah?”

“Get off. We gotta pee.”

He laughed at your serious tone. “I think I need another shower. Care to join me?”

Your roommate literally just fucked your brains out 5 minutes ago. Why were you feeling self-conscious in the shower with him? It didn’t make sense!

With the hot water on, you took a deep breath before feeling a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. 

“Questions, comments, concerns?”

Oh my god, you had to marry this man. “Um… I think I’ll be sore for the next few days.”

“I’m sorry.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed it a lot.”

He turned you around, so that you were facing him. “Enough to do it again?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

“W-Well… I mean—“

Look at him fumbling over his words. Adorable. “You’re such a pervert.”

“I can’t help it. You turn me on.”

You covered your chest, feeling shy. “Is that all I’m good for…?”

He immediately understood what you meant. “Of course not. Look at me,” he said while tilting your chin up. “Don’t you know how I feel about you?”

Your lips curled into a smile. “Well I learned today that you jerked off to my panties and you count down before you cum.”

You couldn’t help but explode into laughter at his OJO face when he heard you say that. 

“Hey! I do it to let you know when it’s coming!”

“Yes sir,” you teased with a salute. “I appreciate your punctuality, sir!”

“Oh my god, you’re so cheeky.” He hugged you again and booped his nose into yours. “I like you. You know, when a boy likes a girl and they go out on a date and then—oh shit, I did things backwards.”

You giggled. “I think I prefer it this way. I like you too. I’ve… liked you for a long time.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because! I didn’t want to make things awkward. But I guess things ended up being awkward anyway…”

“Because you were masturbating to me?” 

He had such a proud smile on his face. 

“Whatever! Panty thief!”

“You left them there.”

“You should’ve told me!”

“I did!”

“After you had your fun! You are so—”

He gave you a surprise peck on the cheek to distract you. 

“Awesome?” He smooched you again. And again. You couldn’t help but giggle. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Mmhmm. So… do you want to stay in my room tonight?”

“As long as you warm me up.”

“Oh, for sure. I’m great at that.”

“Because of experience or Reddit?”

There was his OJO face again. “Hey~!”

I truly hope you enjoyed the fic! Thank you for giving my writing a chance. :) Also I have an AO3 if you're more comfortable commenting there. Thanks!

[pucksandpower]

Oscat

shifter!Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: when you see an adorable stray black cat hanging around your neighborhood, you can’t resist taking him in … but there’s just one problem, the cat’s not actually a cat

Oscar Piastri never thought his life would come to this — crouched under a battered kitchen chair in a cramped university flat, ears flattened against his skull, tail twitching nervously as he watches you fumble with a small red collar.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” you coo, your voice soft and coaxing. You wiggle your fingers, the sound of the collar's bell jingling faintly as you shake it. “I promise you’ll look so cute in this.”

Oscar can’t believe he’s let it get this far. One moment, he’s wandering the neighborhood as a cat, enjoying the freedom that comes with paws instead of feet, and the next — this. A crazy girl who somehow managed to corral him into her apartment and is now intent on … he doesn’t even know what. But he knows it’s not good. He considers bolting, but you’re blocking the only exit, and he isn’t sure he has it in him to leap past you without causing a scene.

“C’mon, I know you like the tuna,” you say, holding up a plate with some leftover fish you’d put out for him earlier. “Just let me get this on you, and I’ll give you more, okay?”

He narrows his eyes, inching back under the chair. This whole situation is ridiculous, and he’s thoroughly regretting his decision to stick around after the first time you fed him. But there was something about you that drew him in — a warmth, maybe, or just the sheer determination with which you tried to get him to trust you.

But now you’ve crossed a line.

You sigh, clearly frustrated, and sit back on your heels. “Why are you being so difficult?” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I just want to make sure you’re safe, you know? What if you get lost or hurt? You need a collar, at least …”

Oscar’s ears perk up at the concern in your voice, and he feels a pang of guilt. You don’t know what you’re doing — how could you? To you, he’s just a stray cat, not a twenty-three-year-old Formula 1 driver with a secret he can’t afford to let anyone find out. He’s supposed to be smart, calculated, always one step ahead. Not cowering under a chair because a university student wants to play house with him.

You huff and toss the collar onto the table with a clatter. “Fine,” you say, standing up and crossing your arms. “I’ll leave you alone for now, but you’re not getting any more tuna unless you let me put that on you.”

Oscar’s stomach growls, and he curses his weakness. The tuna had been good — too good, if he’s being honest. He watches as you turn away, heading into another room. This is his chance. He could make a break for it, slip out the door before you even realize what’s happening.

But he hesitates.

Why? He wonders, paws shifting restlessly. This isn’t like him. He should be gone by now, back to the comfort of his flat, where he can shift back and pretend this whole mess never happened. Yet something keeps him rooted in place.

Then, he hears you talking to someone on the phone.

“Yes, I found a stray,” you say, your voice echoing slightly through the walls. “He’s so cute, but I don’t know … do you think I should take him to the vet? Get him checked out?”

Oscar’s blood runs cold. This is bad. This is really bad. He needs to get out — now.

You continue, “I was thinking maybe I could get him neutered too, you know? So he doesn’t run off and get hurt or something … ”

He bolts from under the chair, skidding across the linoleum as he makes a beeline for the door. But before he can reach it, you step back into the room, phone pressed to your ear.

“Whoa, whoa!” You exclaim, dropping the phone onto the table as you rush to block his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Oscar tries to dart around you, but you’re quicker than he anticipated, and he’s forced to leap onto the counter instead. He glares at you from his new perch, fur bristling in warning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, hands on your hips. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Yeah, help me lose my manhood,” Oscar mutters under his breath, though it comes out as an indignant hiss.

You frown, clearly not understanding his displeasure. “You’re acting like I’m torturing you or something,” you say, reaching out cautiously. “Just let me put the collar on, okay? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

Oscar swats at your hand, his claws barely grazing your skin. He doesn’t want to hurt you — he just wants you to back off. This is getting too close for comfort.

You pull your hand back, eyes widening in surprise. “Okay, okay, no collar,” you say, trying to soothe him. “We’ll figure something else out.”

But Oscar’s had enough. He leaps from the counter to the windowsill, then down to the floor, and races towards the door again. This time, he manages to slip past you, his sleek black fur a blur as he darts through the narrow opening.

He hears you call after him, your voice tinged with worry, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. He sprints down the hallway, paws pounding against the carpeted floor, until he reaches the stairwell. He takes the steps two at a time, his heart racing as he finally bursts out into the cool evening air.

Freedom.

He doesn’t slow down until he’s a good block away from your building, his chest heaving as he ducks into the shadows of a nearby alley. He’s safe. For now.

But then he hears it — your voice, faint but unmistakable, carried on the breeze as you step out of your apartment, searching for him.

“Kitty?” You call, your voice trembling slightly. “Where did you go?”

Oscar slinks further into the shadows, his heart twisting with guilt. He didn’t mean to scare you, but he couldn’t let you take him to the vet. He couldn’t let you get too close. But now, as he listens to the sound of your footsteps growing fainter, he feels a pang of something he hasn’t felt in a long time — regret.

“Please come back,” you whisper, and he can hear the tears in your voice. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just wanted to help …”

Oscar’s resolve weakens, his tail flicking nervously as he peeks around the corner. He can see you standing there, arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together. You look so small, so vulnerable, and it tugs at something deep inside him.

He shouldn’t care. He’s not supposed to care. He’s always kept his distance, never letting anyone get too close, especially not like this. But here you are, and for reasons he can’t quite explain, he doesn’t want to see you cry.

He takes a tentative step forward, but then stops himself. What can he do? Walk back into your life, let you put that collar on him, and risk everything? Or turn away, leave you behind, and never look back?

You’re wiping at your eyes now, sniffling quietly. “I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself. “Why did I think I could just … ugh.”

Oscar’s ears droop. This is all wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t feel this way. But the sight of you, standing there alone, makes him want to go back, to do something, anything, to make you smile again.

Before he can make a decision, you give up and turn back towards the building, your shoulders slumped in defeat.

Oscar watches you go, every instinct telling him to stay hidden, to let you go. But as you disappear through the door, he finds himself inching forward, until he’s standing just outside the entrance, ears perked up, listening for any sign of you.

Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, this isn’t over yet.

***

Oscar can’t help it. He tells himself he’s just checking in, that it’s only temporary. But day after day, he finds himself outside your building, watching, waiting, listening.

It starts with a cautious glance through the window, his keen eyes picking out your silhouette as you move about your flat. The blinds are often drawn, but he can still see enough. Enough to know that something’s changed.

You’re not yourself.

The first day after he ran away, he saw you sitting by the window, staring out into the distance, your face etched with worry. He tells himself it’s none of his business. That he’s done the right thing by leaving. But every time he turns to go, he finds his paws rooted to the spot, his gaze drawn back to you.

And then there’s the phone calls.

Oscar doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he can’t help it when your voice carries through the thin walls of the apartment building. One day, he’s curled up on the windowsill of the flat next door when he hears you talking on the phone again, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness.

“I just don’t understand,” you say, pacing back and forth. “He was here one minute and then gone the next. I’m so worried about him.”

Oscar’s ears perk up, guilt gnawing at him as he listens. You’re talking about him, of course. He knows that. And the fact that you’re still thinking about him, still concerned for his well-being, makes him feel like the world’s biggest jerk.

“He looked healthy,” you continue, your voice shaking slightly. “But what if something happened to him? What if he got hurt or … or worse?”

He winces at the pain in your voice. He didn’t want to scare you, didn’t want to make you worry. But what choice did he have? Letting you take him to the vet would have exposed him — both literally and figuratively. He couldn’t risk that.

“I read somewhere that stray cats have a lifespan of less than two years,” you say, your tone now laced with a mixture of fear and sadness. “I don’t want that to happen to him. I just … I just want him to be okay.”

Oscar closes his eyes, your words cutting deeper than any wound he’s ever felt. He doesn’t want to be the cause of your pain. But what can he do?

Then, he hears it — the soft, broken sound of you crying.

It’s like a punch to the gut. His ears flatten against his head, and he feels an overwhelming wave of guilt and shame. He doesn’t like seeing you like this. No, that’s not right — he hates it. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, yet here you are, crying because of him.

He tries to walk away, to tell himself that it’s for the best, that you’ll move on and forget about him eventually. But the sound of your sobs echoes in his ears, haunting him, and he knows he can’t just leave it like this.

Maybe going back for a few hours won’t hurt anyone, he rationalizes, pacing back and forth in the alley. He’ll show up, let you see he’s okay, and then leave before things get too complicated. Simple.

But as he sits there, tail flicking with nervous energy, he realizes it’s not that simple. Because the truth is, he doesn’t want to leave. Not really. There’s something about you that draws him in, something that makes him feel … safe.

Wanted.

Needed.

And so, with a heavy sigh, he makes his decision. He waits until the sun sets, the shadows growing long and the streets quiet. Then, he slips through the narrow gap in the window that you always leave open, landing softly on the worn carpet of your living room.

You don’t notice him at first. You’re sitting on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, your phone discarded on the cushion next to you. You’re staring at the TV, but it’s clear you’re not really watching it. Your eyes are red, cheeks stained with tears, and Oscar’s heart clenches at the sight.

He takes a cautious step forward, then another, his movements slow and deliberate. He doesn’t want to startle you, doesn’t want to make things worse. But as he approaches, you suddenly turn your head, your eyes widening as they meet his.

“Kitty?” You breathe, sitting up straight. For a moment, you just stare at him, as if you can’t believe he’s real. Then, slowly, a smile breaks across your face, soft and relieved. “You came back.”

Oscar doesn’t move, watching you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. When you don’t make any sudden movements, he takes another step closer, his ears twitching nervously.

You wipe at your eyes, trying to compose yourself. “I thought I’d lost you,” you say, your voice shaky but full of warmth. “Where did you go?”

He doesn’t answer, of course — he can’t. But he does allow himself to move closer, until he’s standing right in front of you, his nose just inches from your outstretched hand.

“Can I … ” you ask, your hand hovering in the air, waiting for his permission.

Oscar hesitates for just a moment before he nuzzles against your palm, his fur brushing against your skin. It feels … right, somehow. Comforting. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as you gently stroke his head, your fingers trailing down his back in soothing motions.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, and Oscar can hear the relief in your voice. “I was so worried.”

Guilt twists in his chest again, but he pushes it aside. He’s here now, and that’s what matters. He’ll stay for a little while, just long enough to make sure you’re okay, too.

You sit back, still petting him, and Oscar takes the opportunity to hop up onto the couch beside you. He curls up next to you, resting his head on your leg, and for a moment, everything feels … normal. Peaceful, even.

“You must have been so scared,” you murmur, your voice soft as you continue to stroke his fur. “Running away like that … I don’t blame you, though. I must have freaked you out with all that vet talk.”

Oscar doesn’t react, but internally, he’s cursing himself. Of course you’re blaming yourself. Why wouldn’t you? You have no idea who — or what — he really is. To you, he’s just a scared little stray cat who panicked and bolted at the first sign of trouble.

“But I’m not going to push you anymore,” you say, as if reading his thoughts. “I just want you to be safe. That’s all.”

The sincerity in your voice hits Oscar like a ton of bricks. He knows he shouldn’t be here, knows he’s playing with fire by getting this close. But in this moment, he can’t bring himself to care. He’s missed this — missed you, even though he barely knows you.

You lean back against the couch, your hand still resting on his back, and Oscar feels a strange sense of contentment wash over him. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way — since he’s allowed himself to feel this way. And as much as he knows he should leave, he can’t. Not yet.

He hears you yawn, the sound soft and tired, and he lifts his head to look up at you. You’re fighting to keep your eyes open, your movements slow and drowsy. It’s late, and he can see the exhaustion etched into your features.

“Guess we both had a long day,” you mumble, your hand coming to rest on the couch beside him as you settle back into the cushions. “I should probably get to bed.”

Oscar watches as you slowly push yourself up, stretching as you stand. He expects you to head to your bedroom, to leave him on the couch for the night. But instead, you glance down at him, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Wanna come with me?” You ask, your voice soft and inviting.

He knows it’s a bad idea. He knows he should stay right where he is, let you go to bed, and slip out the window before morning comes. But the thought of leaving you alone, of returning to the cold, empty streets outside, makes his chest tighten with a loneliness he hasn’t felt in years.

So, against his better judgment, he hops down from the couch and follows you down the short hallway to your bedroom.

You open the door, flicking on a small bedside lamp, and Oscar watches as you move around the room, pulling back the covers and fluffing up your pillows. He hesitates at the threshold, his instincts warring with the pull he feels toward you.

But then you turn to him, patting the space beside you on the bed, and he’s powerless to resist.

“C’mon, kitty,” you say, your voice warm and coaxing. “You can sleep here tonight.”

He pads over to the bed, jumping up onto the soft mattress. It’s warm, inviting, and before he knows it, he’s curled up next to you, your presence calming in a way he didn’t think possible.

You slip under the covers, lying on your side, and Oscar snuggles closer, his body pressed against yours. He can feel your steady breathing, hear the soft rustle of the sheets as you settle in, and it lulls him into a sense of safety he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, your voice already thick with sleep.

Oscar's eyes drift closed, his body warm and relaxed as he nestles against you. He knows he should be on high alert, ready to bolt at any moment, but for the first time in what feels like forever, he allows himself to let go. Just for tonight.

As you fall asleep beside him, your hand resting gently on his back, Oscar realizes he’s found something here — something he didn’t know he was missing. He can’t stay forever, but maybe, just maybe, he can stay a little longer.

Just for tonight.

***

Oscar wakes to the sound of a scream that nearly sends him bolting out of bed. His eyes fly open, his heart hammering in his chest, but the feeling that greets him isn’t the familiar warmth of fur or the safe confines of a small, curled-up position.

It’s a body — a human body.

His human body.

And beside him, you’re staring at him, your eyes wide with shock, your mouth open in mid-scream as you scramble to the edge of the bed, clutching the covers around you like a shield.

“What the — who the hell are you?” You shriek, your voice high-pitched and panicked.

Oscar’s brain stutters to catch up with what’s happening. He glances down at himself, realizing with a jolt that he’s completely naked. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This isn’t happening. How could he have been so careless? He’s been shifting for years, but never like this. Never in front of someone. Never in such a vulnerable position.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, his voice rough with sleep and panic. He grabs at the nearest pillow, pressing it to his lap in a desperate attempt to cover himself. “Just, um, don’t freak out. Please.”

“Explain?” You repeat, your voice trembling as you blink rapidly, as if trying to wake up from a nightmare. “What the hell are you doing in my bed? And why are you … why are you … naked?”

Oscar’s mind races, the words tangling together in his head. He’s supposed to be good under pressure — he’s faced down race cars at hundreds of kilometers per hour, for crying out loud. But right now, all he can think about is how utterly screwed he is.

“I-I’m not a creep, I swear,” he blurts out, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to — this isn’t what it looks like.”

Your eyes narrow, still full of fear and confusion, but also dawning recognition. You stare at him for a long moment, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Then, slowly, the pieces start to fall into place, and your expression shifts from terror to something else entirely.

“Wait a minute,” you say, squinting at him. “I know you. You’re … Oscar Piastri?”

He winces at the sound of his name. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find the words. “Oscar Piastri is in my bed. Naked. And I’m … wait, am I still dreaming? Did I fall asleep watching Formula 1 highlights again?”

“No, no, you’re not dreaming,” Oscar says quickly, shaking his head. “This is real. But I promise, I can explain. Just … can we, maybe, both take a breath for a second?”

You inhale sharply, clutching the covers tighter around yourself as you stare at him with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. “Okay,” you say, your voice shaky. “Breathing. Breathing is good. But you still owe me a pretty big explanation.”

Oscar nods, taking a deep breath himself to steady his racing thoughts. He’s never had to explain this to anyone before, and now that he’s actually faced with the situation, he realizes just how insane it’s going to sound.

“Okay, so, uh …” He rubs the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to start. “I know this is going to sound really weird, but … you remember the cat? The one you were worried about?”

Your brow furrows in confusion, and you nod slowly. “Yeah …”

“Well,” Oscar continues, his voice trailing off for a moment before he forces himself to say it. “That was me. I mean, I was the cat.”

You blink at him, clearly trying to process what he just said. “Wait. You’re saying … you’re the cat? Like, you were the cat?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, wincing at how ridiculous it sounds out loud. “I’m, um, I’m a shifter. I can turn into a black cat. And I was the cat that you, uh, accidentally … kidnapped.”

You stare at him, your mouth hanging open as you try to wrap your head around this. “So, you’re telling me that the cat I’ve been feeding, the cat that I tried to take to the vet, was actually you? The whole time?”

Oscar nods sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I was just … curious, I guess. But then things got a little out of hand.”

You sit back on the bed, your mind clearly spinning as you try to reconcile the image of the cute, harmless black cat with the sight of Oscar Piastri — fully human and fully naked — in your bed. “This is … this is insane,” you say, shaking your head. “I mean, I believe you, I guess. But it’s just … wow.”

“Yeah, I know,” Oscar says, offering a small, awkward smile. “It’s a lot to take in. And I’m really sorry for scaring you like that. I didn’t mean to shift back. It usually doesn’t happen unless I want it to, but I guess I must’ve just … relaxed too much.”

You laugh, a short, incredulous sound. “Relaxed? You were relaxed enough to just shift back into a human? Wow, I must be really good company.”

Oscar chuckles nervously. “You have no idea.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both try to process everything. Then, you look back at him, your expression softening slightly. “So, you’re really … a shifter? Like, that’s a real thing?”

Oscar nods. “Yeah. I’ve been able to do it since I was a kid. It’s not something I talk about, obviously. It’s kind of a secret.”

“A big secret,” you say, your eyes wide. “I mean, it’s not every day you find out an F1 driver can turn into a cat.”

Oscar blushes at that, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief that you’re taking this better than he expected. “Yeah, it’s not exactly something I advertise. And, uh, I’d really appreciate it if you could keep this between us.”

You nod quickly, your expression earnest. “Of course. I wouldn’t tell anyone. I mean, who would believe me, anyway?”

Oscar lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank you. Seriously. This whole thing … it’s complicated, and I don’t want to make things harder for myself or anyone else.”

You smile, a hint of playfulness returning to your eyes. “Well, I guess I’m the last person who’d have room to judge. I did kind of … try to get you neutered.”

Oscar laughs, the tension in the room easing slightly. “Yeah, that was … a close call.”

You shake your head, still looking slightly overwhelmed but more at ease now. “I’m sorry for that, by the way. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar says, smiling. “I’m just glad I got out of there before it was too late.”

There’s another pause, the awkwardness slowly fading into something more comfortable. You glance over at the clock on your nightstand, and then back at him, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“So,” you say, a teasing edge in your voice. “What’s the plan now? Are you just going to stay here or …”

Oscar’s eyes widen as he remembers his current state of undress. “Oh, uh, right. I should probably … get dressed. Do you have, like, a blanket or something?”

You laugh, your initial shock giving way to amusement. “Yeah, hold on.” You reach over to the chair by the bed, grabbing the throw blanket draped over it and tossing it to him. “Here. Cover up before I have to start charging you for the show.”

Oscar catches the blanket, wrapping it around himself as best as he can. “Thanks. Sorry about that. Not exactly how I planned on spending my morning.”

You smile, still shaking your head in disbelief. “This is definitely the weirdest morning of my life.”

“Same here,” Oscar admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, uh, now that we’ve got that out of the way … do you maybe want to grab breakfast or something? With no canned tuna this time.”

You raise an eyebrow, the playful spark back in your eyes. “Breakfast? With a shifter who accidentally ended up naked in my bed? Sounds like the start of a weird romcom.”

Oscar grins, his nerves finally settling. “Yeah, maybe. But, I mean, the offer still stands. We could … talk more. Or not talk at all. Just … eat?”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t know. I’ve always been more of a Ferrari girlie. But I guess I can make an exception this once.”

Oscar chuckles, his heart lightening at your teasing tone. “Well, I appreciate that. I’ll try not to hold it against you.”

You laugh, standing up and stretching, the tension finally draining from the room. “Okay, then. Breakfast it is. But you owe me a proper explanation over pancakes. I still have a lot of questions.”

“Deal,” Oscar says, standing as well, the blanket still wrapped around him. “And, uh, maybe I can borrow some clothes? Just until I get back to my place.”

You smirk, clearly amused by his predicament. “Sure. I think I have some sweatpants and a T-shirt that might fit you. They’re probably not papaya, though.”

Oscar laughs, feeling more at ease than he has in days. “That’s fine by me. I’m not picky.”

As you head off to find the clothes, Oscar takes a deep breath, letting the reality of the situation sink in. It’s definitely not how he expected this to go, but somehow, it feels right. Like maybe this bizarre turn of events was exactly what he needed.

And as he watches you rummage through your dresser, he can’t help but think that, for once, shifting back to his human form at the wrong time might have been the best mistake he’s ever made.

***

Oscar leaps onto the windowsill, his black fur sleek and gleaming in the afternoon light. He peers through the glass, watching you, seated at your desk, hunched over your textbooks. Your hair is pulled back, a pen held between your teeth as you jot down notes with a furrowed brow.

He feels a surge of affection watching you work so hard, but it’s mixed with a touch of mischief. He’s been patient all day, but now he’s had enough. It’s time for a study break, whether you want one or not.

With a graceful hop, he slips through the open window and lands silently on the floor. His tail flicks behind him as he pads softly toward you, his green eyes locked onto your focused expression. He almost feels guilty interrupting you — almost. But then again, it’s been hours since you last gave him any attention, and he’s starting to feel a bit neglected.

You don’t notice him at first, too engrossed in whatever academic puzzle you’re trying to solve. But Oscar is nothing if not persistent. He jumps onto your desk, landing squarely on your notebook, and lets out a soft, insistent meow.

Your head jerks up in surprise, your eyes widening as you take in the sight of him. “Oscar! You scared me!”

He purrs, rubbing his head against your arm, his way of saying, “Sorry, but you’ve been ignoring me.”

You sigh, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays your affection. “I’ve got a lot to do, you know. Finals are coming up.”

Oscar meows again, louder this time, before nudging your hand with his head. He can feel you wavering, your resolve crumbling as you reach out to scratch behind his ears. His purring deepens, vibrating through his small frame as he leans into your touch.

“You’re so spoiled,” you mutter, but there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “You know that, right?”

Oscar only purrs louder in response, nuzzling against your hand. He steps carefully onto your lap, circling once before settling down. You laugh softly, resigned, as you set your pen aside and lean back in your chair.

“Alright, alright. I guess I can take a break for a few minutes.”

He stretches out, making himself comfortable as you begin to pet him in earnest, your fingers trailing through his fur in long, slow strokes. It’s blissful, the way you touch him, the warmth of your hand against his back.

All thoughts of studying fade from your mind as you focus entirely on him, and Oscar relishes every second of it. This is what he’s wanted all day — to be close to you, to feel your affection without any distractions.

Minutes pass, and your strokes become slower, more languid. Oscar watches you through half-lidded eyes, sensing your fatigue. The stress of studying, of exams, is catching up with you, and he knows how much you’ve been pushing yourself lately. He nudges you with his head, encouraging you to relax even more, to let go of the tension that’s been building up.

You yawn, a deep, sleepy sound that makes him purr in satisfaction. “I think you’re a bad influence on me, Oscar,” you murmur, your voice drowsy. “I should be studying, but all I want to do is cuddle with you.”

Oscar’s purring doesn’t falter — if anything, it grows even more content. He watches as your eyelids grow heavier, your breathing slows, and your hand eventually stills against his fur. You’re falling asleep, lulled by the gentle rhythm of petting him and the comfort of his presence.

He stays perfectly still, letting you drift off completely. You deserve the rest, he thinks. You’ve been working so hard, and a little nap won’t hurt. Besides, he likes being the reason you’re able to relax like this, to forget about your worries for a while.

When he’s certain you’re fully asleep, Oscar carefully extracts himself from your lap, moving with the quiet grace of a cat. He pads over to the couch, glancing back to make sure you’re still sleeping soundly. Then, in one fluid motion, he shifts back into his human form.

Oscar sighs softly, standing by the couch for a moment as he stretches his arms over his head. It’s been a long day for him too — training, meetings, the usual demands of being a Formula 1 driver. But this is the part of his day he looks forward to the most: being with you, in this quiet, peaceful space that the two of you share.

He carefully lifts you from the chair, cradling you in his arms as he carries you to the couch. You stir slightly but don’t wake, your head resting against his chest as he settles you down on the cushions. Oscar smiles, brushing a strand of hair from your face before he stretches out beside you, pulling you close.

He wraps an arm around you, your body fitting perfectly against his. There’s something indescribably comforting about holding you like this, feeling your warmth seep into him as you sleep. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, closing his eyes as he allows himself to relax fully for the first time all day.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you, entwined on the couch. Oscar can hear your steady breathing, feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his. It’s moments like this that make everything worth it — the races, the pressure, the endless travel. None of it compares to this simple, quiet happiness.

As he holds you, Oscar’s thoughts drift. He thinks about how much his life has changed since that day you found him in your bed, how unexpected it all was. He hadn’t planned on letting anyone in, on sharing his secret with someone else. But you … you’ve become so much more than he ever anticipated.

You’re his confidant, his partner, his best friend. And though he’s still getting used to the idea, you’re also the person he’s fallen in love with, slowly and completely. It’s a realization that both scares and excites him, because he’s never had something — or someone — this important before. Racing has always been his focus, but now, you’re a part of his life that he can’t imagine being without.

As you sleep in his arms, Oscar tightens his hold on you, a protective instinct kicking in. He’ll do anything to keep you safe, to make sure you’re happy. And if that means taking any opportunity to spend more time with you, to be there for you when you need him, then that’s what he’ll do.

You murmur something in your sleep, your body shifting slightly against his. Oscar’s heart swells with affection, and he kisses your forehead again, a silent promise that he’ll always be here for you.

Outside, the sun begins to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The world keeps turning, the demands of life waiting just outside the door. But for now, in this moment, there’s nothing else that matters. Just you, and him, and the quiet contentment of being together.

Oscar closes his eyes, letting the peace of the moment wash over him. There will be time for everything else later. For now, he’s exactly where he wants to be.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Just a friend || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: based off season 4 ep 2 with the scene between Rafe x Hollis x Sofia

Warnings: nothing rlly

Word count: 1,308

A/n: I know I said I was on a break but just did my final exam for my law course for the year 😝 thank fuck! ALSO send thru any requests u have for the new season 🤗🤗 writing a bunch to post for when i do come back fully 💗

MASTERLIST

The evening air was warm and humid, typical of a late summer night in the Outer Banks. The Kooks had gathered at one of the island’s most luxurious estates for a party that oozed exclusivity. You were dressed in a new cheetah print set, the fabric of it hugging your body just right, making you feel confident as you walked through the crowd with your drink in hand.

Across the yard, you noticed him leaning casually against a table, his broad shoulders and clean-cut look commanding attention. But what caught your eye more was the woman standing next to him. She was older, probably in her late thirties or early forties, with a certain allure that radiated confidence.

Her blonde hair stopped below her ears, and she was smiling at Rafe in a way that made your stomach twist a little. You slowed your steps, eyes narrowing as you observed their conversation. Her hand rested on his arm, just for a moment too long. He was smiling at something she said, that charming smile that you knew all too well lighting up his face.

Jealousy began to bubble up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you made your way over to them. The closer you got, the more clearly you could hear their conversation, though their words were light—nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the way she was looking at him didn’t sit right with you. “Hey, Rafe,” you interrupted, stepping between them, your tone casual but laced with something more.

You gave the woman a polite smile, but your focus was entirely on Rafe, waiting for him to introduce you. He glanced down at you, his eyes flickering with amusement before turning back to the woman. “Oh, this is my friend, Y/n. Y/n this is Mrs. uh... Miss Robinson. Hollis” Rafe said, barely sparing you a second glance as he introduced you with that casual tone, like your presence was nothing out of the ordinary.

Your friend. The word stung, and you fought to keep the irritation off your face, offering the woman a tight-lipped smile. She didn’t seem to notice the tension in your posture, only giving you a polite nod before turning back to Rafe. “Nice to meet you,” You say, being polite as you push down the feelings. "Pleasure is mine, Y/n," she said in a silky voice, her eyes still lingering on him.

“I hope we can stay in touch?” The woman says. “Yeah, sure” Rafe replied with a smile, his voice low and smooth. You stood there, feeling like an outsider as the two exchanged one last glance before she turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the stone patio. Once she was gone, you turned to Rafe, eyebrows raised, not even trying to hide the edge in your voice.

“Who was that?” you asked, your finger tapping on the table as you looked up at him. Rafe took a sip of his drink, leaning back against the table with a relaxed smirk playing on his lips. “Uh Hollis Robinson. Biggest realtor on the island,” he said nonchalantly. “And, you know, the biggest cougar too.” You blinked, letting that sink in.

“Oh,” you said, your tone flat, but you couldn’t ignore the prickling feeling of jealousy creeping up your spine. You knew Rafe was teasing—he always did—but something about the way she’d looked at him, and the fact that he introduced you as just a friend, was digging under your skin. He noticed the shift in your expression immediately and that smirk only widened.

“What?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement, “you jealous?” You let out a soft scoff, rolling your eyes at him. “Should I be, friend?” you shot back, your voice mocking as you threw his words back at him. You crossed your arms tighter, trying to hide the heat rising in your chest. Rafe chuckled, that lazy grin of his not faltering for a second. “I mean…” he started, glancing in the direction Hollis had gone, his tone teasing before he glances down at your body.

“Depends on what she’s offering.” Your eyes widened slightly in disbelief, and you instinctively reached out to shove his chest, a playful but annoyed push. He barely budged, still grinning like he found the whole situation entertaining. “You’re such an ass,” you muttered, rolling your eyes again, though this time a small smile tugged at your lips.

“I’m joking, babe, I’m joking,” Rafe laughed, grabbing your wrist gently before you could turn away from him. “Come on, you know that.” You tried to maintain your annoyed expression, but when his arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you into him, the warmth of his body melting the last of your resistance, you let out a sigh.

“I hate you,” you mumbled against his chest, your voice muffled as you pressed your cheek to his shirt. He chuckled softly, resting his chin on top of your head as his arms held you close. “No, you don’t,” he said with that infuriating confidence, his voice soft but teasing as always. “You just hate that I get under your skin.”

You couldn’t argue with that. There was something about Rafe that always managed to push your buttons, and as much as you wanted to stay mad at him, moments like this made it impossible. His arms around you, his teasing words… It was almost like he knew exactly what you needed to hear.

You rolled your eyes one last time, but your voice was softer now. “You really are the worst, you know that?” Rafe just laughed again, his arms tightening slightly around you. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.” You didn’t respond, but the way you let yourself relax against him said enough.

Rafe’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched you, and for a second, you thought about pushing him away again. But the warmth of his embrace and that stupid grin on his face kept you rooted where you stood. "Hollis Robinson, huh? a cougar?" you muttered, looking up at him.

Rafe shrugged, clearly unfazed. "Yep. She’s been around forever. Works her charm with all the guys." You look away, biting your lip lightly, "Well, did she?" You lock eyes with him as he furrows his eyebrows lightly. "Did what?" He questions with a hint of confusion in his tone.

You trail your hands up his chest, stopping at his neck, Rafe's eyes followed. "Y'know... Work her charm on you." Rafe smirked, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't turned on right now. "Dunno, guess so," He teased, his voice low and playful. You scoffed, shoving his chest harder this time, though he barely flinched.

"Jerk," you snapped, the annoyance now mixing with a hint of amusement you couldn’t fully suppress. Rafe laughed, catching your wrist in his hand again, but this time he held on tighter, pulling you closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, baby. She's like the same age as Rose and that's fucking weird."

The sincerity in his voice, however playful, made your frustration melt away just a little. His arms snaked around your waist once more, pulling you back into the warmth of his chest. "I’m not that easy to replace," you muttered, still annoyed but leaning into him slightly. "No one’s saying you are," Rafe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Now, come on, admit it—you hate it when I mess with you, but you love me." You let out a sigh, a small smile creeping back onto your face despite your best efforts. "You’re impossible," you mumbled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. He squeezed you a little tighter, his breath warm against your hair. "Yeah, but you wouldn’t want me any other way."

[teamred]

devilish

✩‌ merchant!qimir x acolyte!reader | smut | fluff | 2.5k

SUMMARY | you fall into bed with sweet, goofy qimir, expecting a tame tryst... but he's not as sweet as he seems in between the sheets.

WARNINGS | smut, dirty talk, breastplay, f*ngering, oral s*x (male receiving), breathplay (safe choking), praise kink (good girl!), piv s*x, unprotected s*x

RATING | explicit

NOTES | please leave some love in comments/tags or inbox if you liked this fic!!! thanks for those who were waiting for this fic <3

He’s going to kill me. 

The thought rings through your mind as you’re sitting in Qimir’s lap, lips intertwined with his. His hands grasp the back of your head and the side of your thigh, while yours tug on the nape of his neck and run through his perpetually messy hair. 

It’s screwed up that you’re thinking of the master you and Qimir share at a moment like this, but it’s impossible not to. 

If your master finds out you’re about to bed the guide he assigned to you, he may never let you see him again. A deeper fear gnaws at you; he might not only kill you for breaking some unspoken protocol, but also Qimir.  

But it’s worth the risk, one you’re both willing to take. 

Consequences be damned, because Qimir’s been undressing you with his eyes all night. 

The same sweet, goofy Qimir who always greets you with a lopsided grin, constantly annoys you about drinking enough water, and trips when he walks up the stairs or even flat ground.

But tonight’s circumstances were different. Both of you were dressed up formally to infiltrate a Senate Gala undercover. 

Him, working as a waiter, his signature disheveled hair temporarily tamed in a small bun and wearing a uniform that highlighted his broad shoulders you weren’t accustomed to. You, adorning a floor-length red halter dress that hugged your body in all the right places. 

The second he saw you step into the ballroom, he stammered into his ear-piece (“Wow, you look—wow.”). And when you blended in by grabbing a drink from his tray, his eyes could not help but roam your body. Your exposed shoulders, the expanse of your bare back, and the amount of leg showing with your high slit. 

After finishing your tasks for the night, you two stormed off in the Exile II to a nearby planet, seeking refuge at a run-down safehouse. What began as winding down with a few drinks soon morphed into spontaneous slow-dancing without any music.

You’ve always had a soft spot for him, and when he mustered the courage to tell you how gorgeous you looked tonight, followed by the loaded question—if he could kiss you—you obviously said yes. 

Which led to this current beautiful scene being played out on this grungy, old couch. 

In his loosened button-up shirt, Qimir kisses so delicately, each movement and touch just as gentle, perfectly reflecting his personality. Frankly, you’re not expecting anything more than a pleasant evening with a coworker you've grown to adore. If he's spectacular in bed, that’s merely a bonus. 

As his lips leave yours and travel to the side of your neck, you arch into him while your hands bunch up the fabric of his shirt. He holds you close, lips never straying from your skin, and lowers you down onto the couch.

But then, your eyes drift up to the ceiling, and the weight of where you are and who owns this place hits you again, causing you to tense up. 

“Stop thinking about him,” Qimir murmurs against your neck, his hands kneading your waist. This elicits a low groan from you, pulling you back into the moment.

“But what if he—”

“He’ll never know,” he cuts in reassuringly. 

“And if he does?”

“He’ll be fine with this,” he insists, tone bordering frustration. 

“How do you know?” 

Drawing away from your neck, he gazes down at you with a hand braced on the couch’s armrest. His messy, yet gorgeous, hair nearly brushes against your face. When he palms your cheek, his eyes soften. 

“Just be with me for tonight. All of you. Don’t think about anything else besides you and me. Can you do that for me?” 

You glance up at him for a few beats, taking in his beauty, along with his saccharine pleading words. Then, with a small smile, you nod. 

Suddenly, like lightning cutting through a storm, a smirk replaces Qimir’s warmth.   

“Good girl,” he says, his voice now a lower, more seductive tone than you’re used to. You reflexively tighten at the praise.  

Swiftly, he unties your halter dress and pulls the fabric down, baring your breasts to the cool air. 

You gasp sharply as his mouth descends, capturing your nipple between his teeth, gently nipping before he swirls and darts his tongue against it. Your fingers tug at his hair, while his free hand kneads your other breast, his thumb strumming and teasing the hardened tip. 

Hovering over your body, he trails kisses along your skin, switching his attention from one breast to the other, ensuring every inch of your chest is teased and pleasured. 

Eventually, his hand slides down from your breast, the tips of his fingers grazing you in a slow, deliberate path until they find their way between your legs. 

Your breath becomes ragged and your eyes tremble as he drags two fingers over your thin underwear. 

“Fuck,” he chuckles, and you detect a cocky note to it, “you’re so wet for me already.” 

His cockiness, paired with the vulgar comment, makes you shiver. You involuntarily buck your hips in need; he continues to chuckle, clearly indulging his power over you and how weak you become by a mere touch. 

Qimir deftly pushes your panties to one side and plunges his digits into you. Your hands slip underneath his button-up shirt, fingers pressing into the smooth skin of his upper back and shoulders while your rising moans and needy whimpers fill the room. 

But he’s far from finished—he jacks his fingers straighter, angling them even deeper than before.

Your whimpers evolve into heavy groans and wails, your fingers practically leaving marks on him. If he was this good with just his fingers, you were dying to know what he could do with his cock. Despite the raw pleasure, he grounds you with the press of his forehead against yours.

For the cherry on top, his thumb rubs your clit in small circles, each stroke sending you closer to the edge. 

“Be a good girl and come for me.” 

And you obediently do so with the rolling of your eyes, the uncontrollable jolting of your hips, and the ceaseless panting of his own name into Qimir's lips. 

You take a second to come down from your high, but decide not to waste any time and pull away from underneath Qimir to shimmy out of your dress and panties, standing up and kicking them off beside the foot of the couch.

He sits relaxed on the couch now with a hand behind his head, watching you intently as you, now completely bare, drop to your knees in front of him. 

Your hands tremble in anticipation when you reach for his pants, evidently feeling his desire around the seams. Removing his pants and undergarment to his ankles, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of his cock springing up against his shirt.

Said shirt is in the way, so Qimir unbuttons it fully and you become slack-jawed over his gorgeous abs, so awestruck that you can’t resist stroking them. 

You continue to touch his abs as you hold his length in your other hand, gifting him gradual, firm strokes. Qimir releases a soft moan, leaning his head back while one of his hands squeeze your shoulder tenderly. 

Finally, you take him into your mouth. On your knees, you worship him. Your tongue traces every inch of him and your lips and palm work together in tandem until his length is slick with your devotion. 

In this moment, you feel an unspoken, strong reverence for Qimir. You can’t explain why you feel this way, but you let your body speak for itself. Each motion you provide is a testament to how much you respect him—as if letting him fill your mouth completely, even occasionally hitting the back of your throat, will prove your admiration.

Although he watches your every move, in such moments such as when you take him fully, squeeze his length harder, or suck hard on his blunt head, his composure slips; he releases throaty groans and his eyes lose focus.

At one point, he warns you he’s close, and you retreat, not wanting the evening to end just yet. Decisively, he rids of his shirt, revealing the expanse of his upper body, and steps out of his other clothes. You ogle at his presence; the more you experience Qimir tonight, the more you realize just how little you know about him.  

Gently taking you by your wrist, Qimir guides you to bend forward in front of him on the couch. You’re surprised at this unexpected position from what you anticipated—a more traditional one like missionary—since it places him in control and leaves you vulnerable, with your face turned away from his. 

His hands grip your hips firmly, and he lines himself up behind you. He eases into you slowly, and you throw your head back when he’s fully inside. Once you’ve adjusted, his thrusts are slow and deep. You savor the feeling of him inside of you, gripping the couch for release with each penetration. 

He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you feel me? Every inch of me?” 

You nod, breathless and overwhelmed.

“And do you like it?” 

“I do”—you gasp, throwing your head back at a sudden thrust—“I love it so much.” 

“Such a good girl…” Qimir presses a kiss at the nape of your neck. Just as you're about to lean into it, he’s already gone. 

He removes himself from your warmth, disappointment rising within you in the form of a pout, but he quickly turns you around. 

Qimir lays you on the couch again beneath him once more. As he re-enters you, you think about how the vulnerability of your previous position pales in comparison to this. Now, this position makes you feel even more exposed with how he pins you down with his tenacious gaze with each thrust into your pussy.

Then, intensity flickers in his eyes. His gaze sharpens, and you sense his desire for something more, particularly with how hard he grips your waist. 

“I’m–I’m going to place my hand around your neck,” he pants. “If it’s too much at any point, you double-tap me and I’ll stop. Do you understand?”

You nod, drowning in the pleasure, and you barely whisper, “I understand.” 

His fingers first trace the contours of your throat, barely touching it, almost as if he's giving you one last out to say no if you want. But you don't want to; your curiosity is piqued for this darker, dominant side of Qimir you've never seen before.

His hand wraps around your throat with a firm, yet controlled pressure. You can feel the tightness and the pulse of your own blood under his touch, but the sensation is exhilarating, never crossing into pain.

When you don't seem to mind the amount of pressure, Qimir pushes you further, strengthening his hold against the sides of your windpipes. You moan harder, your pussy clenching in tandem with the thrill.

“Remember to breathe,” he instructs. “Focus on how good I feel inside of you.”

Seeing this intense, commanding side of Qimir is addicting. You want more—no, you need more of him like this. Your eyes roll, feeling the rising tension in the pits of your abdomen.

Your gaze drifts to the point where you and he connect, captivated by the sight of his relentless thrusts. You watch the way his body moves against yours, each thrust pushing you closer and closer.

“Look at me as I fuck you,” he demands, his gaze unyielding the whole time. 

You struggle to keep your eyes locked on his, but you try your best to in order to avoid disappointing him. At this point, he's almost just as much of a mess as you: hair sticking to his perspired forehead, eyelids fluttering, teeth gritting hard as if he's holding himself back.

“Good girl. That’s my good”—he hesitates with an elongated moan—“my good girl.”

Pleasure seizes you both, and your faces contort in ecstasy. Jagged moans permeate the air as you come undone first, with Qimir following behind as he paints your stomach with thick, white streaks.

After the clean-up, you lie on the couch on your side, facing him. On the other hand, he’s facing the ceiling with a hand above his head, and you’re in disbelief over the fact that he hides such a toned and chiseled form underneath layers of clothes all the time. You take advantage of the moment and let your hands graze the planes of his chest.

“You’re a completely different person when sex is on the table,” you observe with a hint of awe. 

“Yeah?” He glances at you with a glimmer of a smirk. His voice seems huskier than usual, more seductive really. “Do you like that side of me?” 

“I do,” you admit shyly. 

His hand reaches out from beneath the sheet over your bodies, brushing against your thigh. “Wasn’t too much for you?” 

You shake your head. “Not at all.” 

“Do you…” He absentmindedly draws shapes on your skin. “Do you prefer that side of me over how I normally am?” 

You think about it for a second.

“No,” you say with confidence, reaching for him and tucking some of his loose hair behind his ear. “That was undoubtedly one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced, but I also like how you are with me every day. You respect me, you treat me well, and you make me laugh all the time; you’re one of the funniest guys I know.” 

“On that note”—he leans in to rub his nose against the top of your arm before placing a light kiss on the same area—“can you call me master when we have sex?” 

You immediately swat him on his chest and laugh. “Oh, my God!” 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he says, his pitch now returning to its normal state. “Unless…?” 

“If you’re really into it, I’ll consider it.” you tease, then look away. The mention of the word drags you back to reality. “What are we going to do about him?” 

“I told you already; he’s fine with it,” he says dismissively, waving a hand. It bothers you that he doesn’t seem to care, but then you squint and wonder…

“You say that as if he already knows.” 

He shrugs. “Maybe he does.” 

Your eyes widen as your suspicions seem to be true. “Did you tell him?!” 

“No,” he grunts, “but, I mean, he probably has the place bugged.”

“Oh, God…” You bury your face in one of your hands. “He’s not gonna be happy, especially if he heard everything. I do not look forward to training tomorrow.” 

“Like I said,” he takes one of your hands and presses a kiss onto the inside of your wrist, “he’ll be fine with it. I’m willing to bet on it.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Qimir! How do you know it’ll be okay?” 

“Trust me, all right?” He smiles and plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling you into his arms—

“I just know.”  

[niiwa-angel]

I can't stop thinking about how Stan Pines, a man who was kicked out of his home at a young age by his abusive father, turned his own home into such a safe space for not just the twins, but his employees and the kids friends as well.

First of all, we know Wendy frequently slacks off on her shifts, she has her roof top hideaway but she also reads magazines and flat out refuses to do certain tasks. Like when Stan asked her to put up a sign and she just said she couldn't reach it, or telling Stan "absolutely not" when he asked her and Soos to clean the bathrooms. Not only could Stan fire her, he could take away her magazines or stop her from going on the roof. We see that Stan is more observant than he lets on, you're telling me he didn't notice her dragging a cooler and a lawn chair up there? And she's either bringing her own pop and ice to fill that cooler or she's taking his.

And then there's Soos, who Stan cares about so much he got himself on the no-fly list trying to get his birthday removed from calendars, just because it made him upset. We know Soos cares about the Mystery Shack, he feels comfortable there, and he respects and adores Stan. Soos also volunteered to DJ for free at Stans summer party.

We also frequently see Soos and Wendy hanging out with the twins, so either they're slacking off during working hours or they're coming over after their shifts just to hang out. In an after credits scene, we see Mabel and Dipper turn Soos into a disco ball and they're clearly in the residential part of the shack. So either Soos buggered off during working hours to hang out with the twins or he's off shift just chilling. Either way, Stan is fine with him being in the actual house part of the shack.

Wendy also helps Mabel try and make Stan more 'desirable' to Lazy Susan, which I'll get into later, but she's not working and she also in the house part of the shack. We also see Soos and Wendy watching television with Stan, Mabel, and Dipper during the Summerween episode. They aren't on shift! They're just chilling. Wendy hits Stan in the face with a water balloon while working as a lifeguard. She's comfortable teasing him.

Soos tags along with Stan, Dipper, and Mabel when they break into the golf course after hours. He brings his shirts to cut Ws into. He doesn't have to be there, he just is. Wendy goes hunting with Mabel and her friends for unicorns. Mabel wins a pig at the fair and Stan lets her keep it, the pig needs food, who do you think is footing that bill?

Now let's talk about friends. Mabel often has Candy and Grenda over, we know she has loud sleepover with them. Do you think Mabel would bring her friends over if she wasn't comfortable in the house? Do you think Candy and Grenda would keep coming over if they didn't feel safe? Not to mention, they literally ambush Stan in the bathroom and give him a make over. Which he allows, we see him fight off the undead, punch bald eagles, and catch the twins when they fell from the nose of that monument. The man is strong, he could get three preteen girls off him if he wanted to, he was 100% playing along.

Candy and Grenda also invite themselves along on their road trip. And Stan lets them come!! Mr cheap stake agrees to feed and care for two extra kids who aren't his family.

Dipper sneaks around trying to see his tattoo, he feels safe enough with Stan to push those boundaries. He literally pulled the Memory Gun on Ford during the basement scene, if he wasn't comfortable with Stan, he wouldn't try to get that close to him. He calls Stan when he and Mabel are trapped in a haunted convenience store (he doesn't answer but still, he called him).

Now let's talk about Gideon, because I will stand by the Stan had some fondness for the kid. We know Stan has been annoyed with Gideon for a while, we know Gideon has been gunning for Stan for a while. And Stan just... Keeps letting this happen. He never involves the police, he plays along with Gideons attempts, even when Gideon is laughing uncontrollably, Stan just assured him that "you'll get me one day kid". Even when Gideon climbs in THROUGH THE WINDOW all Stan does is aggressively sweep at his feet. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Stan never gets rough with Gideon.

I'm just, I'm weeping over the knowledge that Stan Pines, who wasn't safe in his own home, made his home a safe place for kids as an adult.

[smutoperator]

Bad Girl, Good Girl

Bae Suzy/Lee Doona, Nakamura Kazuha x Male Reader

Part of Legends series

Tags: all holes filled, alter ego, anal, choking, creampies, crush, domination, (a bit of) facefucking, k-drama references, lookalike, morning sex, older/younger, peeing, rimming, rough sex, (a bit of) shower sex, (lots of) slapping, threesome, toilet dunking

Word count: 7318.

After your first year in university, you had enough of commuting every day to college, deciding to move to a new flat close to it. However, you had forgotten the password the landlord had given you, drawing the suspicion of an older woman who was already living there.

"Who are you?" the woman asks as she's smoking a cigarette and sees you typing the wrong password. "Sorry, I just moved here, but I can't seem to remember the password," you told her. "Here is my rental agreement", you said, giving her proof you weren't some random stranger.

The woman noticed your t-shirt. "The girl in it is so pretty," she said, pointing to Bae Suzy, the very famous idol and actress. "Yes, I love her," you replied. She then picked up the password in her phone and let you in.

"My name is Doona; I've been living here for a while," the woman told you. "Nice to meet you, Doona; I am Won Jun," you replied to her. "Just be aware of the rules of the house; I won't bother you as long as you keep things to yourself," she told you.

You started settling things down in your bedroom but were already plotting to break those rules. Indeed, you were quite a party animal and not very rule-abiding, as you were already texting your college crush to meet you at your new home.

A few hours later, Doona noticed the noise coming from the kitchen in the common area that interrupted her sleep. A few groans, moans, and sloppy sounds that she could hear loud and clear. She slowly got closer, until she was finally able to look at a shocking scene: a long-legged girl on her knees with her perfectly shaped butt already out in the open and sucking your cock.

"Oh my God, Doona, what are you doing?" you asked her. "You really didn't respect my rules," she angrily pointed at you. "I'm sorry," you told her. "Damn it, you guys are all the same, always partying and bringing girls to my house," she said. "That's not your house, Doona," you tried to remind her.

Doona looked at the young girl on her knees. For the first time in a while, she felt jealous. The girl truly looked like a taller, younger version of herself. She made Doona feel old. But the older girl quickly decided to show her who was the one in command.

"You're sucking his cock the wrong way; let me show you how it's done," Doona said to the girl. "By the way, what is your name?" she asked. "Kazuha," the girl answered.

Doona grabbed your cock with just one hand and slowly started going down on it. You could tell she was way more experienced than Kazuha, sucking it without using her teeth, unlike the young girl. Kazuha felt a little embarrassed, just licking your shaft instead when Doona handed her the cock. As she slowly gained confidence to suck your cock the right way, Doona started taking her clothes off already, leaving her legs bare to match with Kazuha.

Doona watched Kazuha go down on your as she caressed your balls and kissed you. Your hands reached on both sides and ran over their naked butts. Kazuha licked your cock while Doona tasted the tip of it, then the young girl stroked and while Doona slowly bobbed her head on it. The double blowjob session kept going, now with Zuha taking your shaft in her mouth as Doona licked your balls.

"Fuck, that's amazing," you said as both girls fought for your attention. They were like an angel and a devil. The young, still learning Kazuha, the good girl. And the very experienced Doona, with her masterful skills, the bad girl. She truly sucked your cock masterfully, getting sloppier as you looked eye to eye on Kazuha and smiled at your crush.

Kazuha tried to imitate the moves of Doona during her turns sucking your cock. The older girl looked at her, and her eyes told Kazuha she was doing it right. Doona licked your balls perfectly while Kazuha kept savoring your pole. "Oh wow," you said as the two hit the right spots.

Doona gave you a no-hands deepthroat that sent shivers down your spine. If Kazuha wasn't exactly the best college student, she was actually learning quite well from the girl that looked like her older self, matching Doona's moves to perfection while trying a few extra ones. 

You truly felt like a boss with two beautiful girls worshipping your cock on their knees. "That's fucking hot," you said as both licked your meat at the same time. The two kept going until Doona whispered a few words in Kazuha's ear.

"Be a bad girl and sit on his cock."

Kazuha obliged and lined up your shaft against her pussy, slowly impaling herself on it as your manhood disappeared inside her and her fit ass dropped down your crotch. Eager to watch, Doona sat on your face and looked right at the youngster as Kazuha slowly started to bounce on your pole, taking some time to adjust as this was the first time you two had sex, all thanks to Doona.

You truly couldn't have dreamed of something better than this. Your crush was riding your cock while Doona's pussy was right in your face for you to lick. A truly amazing experience. You gave a little slap to Kazuha's fit butt, telling her to go faster, while Doona was already creaming your face full of her juices. She lowered her dress, pushing Kazuha to suck her tits and helping the youngster deal with the heat of your cock in her pussy, as she could clearly tell she was struggling with such a big dick.

Kazuha tilted her body and moaned as you reached to rub her asshole. She finally felt safe enough to bounce faster on your cock, and you responded by thrusting upwards towards her tight hole, making the old couch creak. But Kazuha quickly managed to reassure herself, spreading her ass and learning the right way to ride your pole while her pussy creamed all over it.

"How does that feel?" you asked Doona as you kept licking her juicy pussy. "Really good; I guess you're making it up well for breaking the rules," she answered. Doona had such a good slit, with lips that fit perfectly in your mouth. One that you couldn't wait to get inside of too, as you could feel how warm it was.

You grabbed Kazuha's waist and thrust upwards, leading the young girl to let out loud moans. Doona looked at her, as Zuha could tell she was instructing her on how to deal with it. You kept licking Doona's cunt while pounding Kazuha's, getting more and more enamored with it, sticking her tongue deep in her folds in sync with your cock, reaching all the way deep into Kazuha's cervix.

Kazuha got pounded harder and harder, making Doona a bit jealous as she started to crave for your cock. The young girl could barely stay on her feet as she looked at Doona for more instructions, but this time, the noona left her on her own. Her ass getting spanked, her pussy destroyed. It was the perfect initiation for Zuha.

You carried Zuha up while keeping your cock inside her pussy. Doona looked at the scene and smiled, watching you passionately carry fuck Kazuha as she kept moaning and your hips made loud noise every time they thrust into her. Kazuha clinged to you until you gave her a final spank, telling her to drop to her knees and taste herself while you kissed a now completely naked Doona, who was ready to go next.

Thanks to Zuha's quick blowjob, your cock easily slid inside Doona's pussy. But as soon as it did, she quickly tightened it up. You quickly responded, carrying her slim body up while sucking her perky tits as Kazuha dove between your legs and licked your balls while you adjusted your cock inside Doona's cunt.

"Stay right there. I got you, and I'm gonna fuck that pussy good," you told a smiling Doona, who enjoyed having her body lifted up in the air. You bounced Doona's smile against your cock as she laughed and moaned, feeling a tingling sensation she hadn't in a long time.

"Now I want you to take control and teach Zuha how to ride a cock properly," you told Doona after you put her body back on the ground. She quickly obliged, sliding it back inside in reverse cowgirl to give Zuha a perfect view of it. "Oh shit," you said as Doona's walls quickly wrapped around your cock.

But her pussy was so enticing you quickly forgot your words, thrusting into it as soon as she finished going all the way down your shaft. Doona just watched as your cock bulged under her belly, and Zuha took some time to relax, passionately kissing you.

"Wow, that's such a perfect cock," Doona said in between moans, caressing your balls as you pound her. "Keep going, that's so good," she continued, slowly losing her breath as your manhood made her pussy burn. And things were about to get even better, with Kazuha sitting her fat ass in your face and offering her pounded pussy for you to lick.

Doona took advantage of your distraction with Kazuha and started bouncing on your cock. You spanked and grabbed her pale, bouncy ass, which moved perfectly on your dick. "That's it," you told her in between more slaps, as her ass jiggled each time it went down, while Kazuha buried your face completely with her big ass.

To avoid their bouncy asses leading you to cum too early, you decided to cut their fun, putting both girls on the kitchen's stools. You stripped Kazuha fully naked, matching her with Doona. She sat her fat ass on the stool and opened her long legs for you to penetrate her again under Doona's watchful eye, quickly increasing the pace and making her struggle with your cock deep in her cunt, with Kazuha fingering herself and having Doona lick one of her feet as her pussy got pounded harder and harder.

"I'm gonna cum baby, ahhhh," Kazuha said in a cute manner, driving you feral as you hit the perfect spots in her pussy. Doona just watched in awe. It wasn't the first time she saw one of her threesome partners get leveled like that, but with just a stool as a support it might have been. Next time her best friend Nana comes to town, she'll make sure both try it.

Kazuha cums as you fuck her like an animal. It's now Doona's turn, and she can't wait, opening her legs as soon as you turn your attention to her. You rub your cock against her pussy and then kiss it, worshipping it like you are about to fuck a goddess, all that while Doona gives you a sexy stare.

Doona drops her head down as your cock has a difficult time getting deep in her pussy. She's really too tight for you to handle, leading you to take it slow, more so as her pussy-fingering makes her walls clench even further. You and Kazuha share kisses as you try to get deeper into Doona's pussy. "Does that feel good?" your crush asks. "It feels amazing," you answer her.

"Your pussy is so good," you tell Doona, rising up to the task of giving it the fucking it deserves. "Then fuck it like your life depends on it," Doona says, slowly riding herself into an orgasm as you increase your pace. You just decide to carry her once again, taking her to your bedroom as Kazuha walks alongside you.

You drop Doona into your bed and passionately fuck her under Kazuha's watch. The young girl seems to be enjoying watching it as she masturbates herself, but also feels a little jealous by all the love you start giving to Doona, kissing her and whispering words in her ear as if you're ready to get out of this bed and marry her the next day.

Kazuha fingers her pussy harder as you fuck Doona in a hot missionary love-making position. The older woman moans beautifully. She never told you about her job, but you wonder if she might be a singer because her moans are truly music to your ears. "Yes, keep going, ahhhh, ahhhhh," she moans as the bed starts creaking with your hard but very passionate pumps. Doona closes her eyes and just lets your cock stretch her pussy out, putting her under your complete submission as your balls smack agains her pale skin.

You bring Kazuha next as she smiles. Doona comes closer and watches you tell your crush what you did to her, all that while you bring Doona's body closer to the scene to eat her goddess-like pussy while you fuck Kazuha's and turn the younger girl into a submissive moaning mess, ruthelessly pounding her babyhole on a hardcore mating press under Doona's watch.

Doona turns around and gets herself on all fours, putting her ass close to your face and offering you both her fuckholes to lick while you stay fucking Kazuha. You happily seize the opportunity, matching your thrusting against your personal fucktoy Kazuha with the lickings you give to Doona's pussy and asshole.

Kazuha keeps getting pounded hard as you feel like you need to quell her jealousy over your latest round with Doona. These two girls are at the mercy of your cock, but you're also at their mercy, knowing that you need to show them a lot of love and fuck them good if you want to keep a good relationship with both.

After 10 long minutes of lovemaking with Zuha, you bring her to clean your cock from her own mess. Doona comes from behind and starts licking your asshole. You truly didn't know such a cute girl like her could be nasty too. "Ohhhh fuck," you say as Kazuha throats your cock while Doona tongues deep in your anus at the same time and then reaches under to stoke your shaft and caress your balls. The girls stay that way for a long while, as Kazuha has a long way to go before cleaning your cock while Doona shows she's a nasty girl who loves dirty assholes.

"Both of you, bend over," you tell the girls. Doona's cutely shaped ass contrasts with Zuha's fit butt. You lick both their pussies, starting with Doona's. Zuha quickly drops down and gets her ass spanked. You eat them out like the two perfect godesses that they are and then go back to fuck Doona once again.

"Fuck your pussy is so tight, and it only gets tighter," you tell Doona, who looks at herself in the mirror as you fuck her and finger Zuha's pussy. "That's it, baby," you tell Doona, who looks at Kazuha and loves the way the youngster is smiling while she gets stuffed full of cock.

Doona gets railed harder, her moans getting louder, and her ass getting more and more spanked. You move into a prone-bone position while Zuha flips around and flashes you her pussy for you to keep sucking it while you bury your cock deep inside Doona. "Seems like he loves multitasking," Kazuha says as she caresses your head and moves it closer to her pussy, while Doona smiles, before it goes away and gets replaced by more moans as you attack her pussy with your cock and Zuha's with your mouth.

Each thrust you give Doona sends her closer and closer to the heavens as you use her pussy so hard she can barely feel her legs at this point, numb by the amount of cock she has taken inside of her. But you just don't seem to stop; her tight pink pussy is just too good, and so is Zuha's within your range for more fingering and licking. These girls are made to be worshipped and fucked, and you'll do it as long as you have the stamina.

"Let's switch girls, turn your pussy this way," you tell Zuha, repeating the same position you did to Doona, prone boning the young girl as you eat Doona out. Kazuha seems to struggle hard, as you attack her cunt even harder when you do Doona's, testing her to the maximum. She moves her hips and meets your thrusts halfway, using her big ass like a pillow to dissipate the impact of your cock in her pussy, but you quickly tame the good girl and take control of her, enjoying the wet and clapping sounds coming out of her cunt every time you reach the depths of each, with Doona fingering herself heavily entertained with the scene and enjoying the way, and you obliterate Zuha's pussy nonstop in a perfect rhythm.

Kazuha quickly starts to tap out, and you show endless strength to pound her while giving sexy stares to Doona. Her ass gets spanked, and she gets weaker and weaker to resist your endless fucking. "Don't move, stay right there," you tell as she can't barely move. Meanwhile, you flip Doona around and get ready for another round of passionate lovemaking, all that while you and Zuha kiss each other, and she looks at Doona being pounded and smiles, watching the older girl taste the same medicine she just did.

Doona receives some bed-breaking sex, wrapping her legs around you as you just can't stop fucking her. Indeed, her pussy is like a drug to you now. You seem to have finally unleashed your inner beast and seize the opportunity of taking these two fuckdolls to the fullest. Your thursts are now so fast and powerful Doona can't even react, just cumming all over your cock as you plow into her on an animalesque mating press that makes her reach multiple orgasms for the first time in many years, your balls making loud clapping noises against her cheeks while the bed's creaking gets even louder.

You switch from Doona to Zuha, sticking your cock in your crush's pussy as it disappears right under her big ass. Doona takes a deep breath and masturbates herself watching you drill your crush. Kazuha struggles, already overwhelmed by taking so much cock over the past 40 minutes. But you just don't stop, entertaining Doona as you mount completely on top of Zuha and clap her cheeks hard, putting Zuha at total submission and smashing her cunt harder and harder.

Zuha can only helplessly moan as you absolutely show no mercy to her pussy, turning her into your personal fleshlight and asserting your dominance over her under Doona's watch. It doesn't take long until you fill your crush's pussy to the brim, pushing your seeds all the way deep into Kazuha's tight young hole. 

"OH FUCK!" you scream as you pull out of Zuha's pussy and open it up for Doona to lick your cum oozing out from it. "Shake that ass and show me how much you loved getting filled with my cum" you tell Kazuha, who smiles and happily does it. After they swap your seeds with each other, you kiss both girls and thank them for the night. "Did you two have fun?" you ask. "Definitely," Doona replies. "You fucked me so good," Kazuha then said. "I had a lot of fun too, we need to do that again," you say as the girls leave, Zuha back to her home and Doona back to her bedroom.

You wake up the next day and go to the kitchen, where you find Doona making breakfast while wearing nothing.

"What are you looking at?" she asks. "Have you never seen a naked woman before in your life? I'm pretty sure you saw two just yesterday," she continues. "Sorry, I felt a little embarrassed," you tell her.

"Embarassed from what? You just saw me like that yesterday," Doona giggled. "By the way, today is my birthday," she continued. "Then, happy birthday," you replied back.

"Not really; I need a gift only you can give me, and it's right between your legs," she tells you. "Well, I'm going back to my bedroom and will wait for you," Doona says.

You hesitate a bit, but after a few minutes, find your way into Doona's bedroom. She wraps herself in her blanket, pretending to be sleeping. You take a peek through it, right where her pussy is lying, fully shaved and waiting for you to fuck it again.

You run your hands through Doona's vagina, but she remains asleep; she truly must be a good actress to not feel anything from your touch. You take it slow, playing with your hands alongside her mound. You then take the upper part of her blanket and stare at her hardened, pierced nipples. Her body is truly perfect, but her face is even more beautiful. Unable to resist your perversions, you touch her breasts, but she remains unfazed.

You look at Doona's fully naked body lying in bed with awe, uncovering it completely, and running your hands in her ass now. She reacts and turns sideways, but still doesn't say a word. You place your thumb right at her butt crack and admire her pale ass, spreading it a bit to take a glimpse at her pink anus, then touching her pussy lips.

"Hey, Doona, hey, come on," you start calling for her, growing tired of her little sleeping beauty game. "Wake up, your gift is here, birthday girl," you tell her. "I'm so sleepy," she says to you. "Well, you can stay asleep while I play with you," you tell her.

You place your thumb right in Doona's pink butthole. "Wanna fuck it today?" she asks, as you then move it into her mouth for her to taste. "It's so dirty," she says. "But if you want to wake me up, you better give me some cock," Doona tells you.

"Looks like I have awakened the beauty as soon as we started talking about cock," you say, lying in Doona's bed. She smiles and crawls in your direction, going right at your pants. "What are you doing?" you ask her as she gets on top of you and starts rubbing her hands against your clothed manhood.

Doona teases you as she slowly rubs her clit lying in her bed. You come close to watch her performance, as then she uses her middle finger to shove it in her cunt. "Keep doing that; I love the way you touch yourself," you tell Doona, as you also give her boobs a little groping.

You choke Doona as she keeps masturbating herself. "You're such a fucking birthday slut," you tell her, giving her beautiful face a slap. "Look what you made me do yesterday; we and Kazuha weren't even planning to start dating yet; you made me cum deep in her pussy," you tell Doona.

"I didn't make you do anything; you're just a horny young boy who thinks with your cock. Which she was already sucking by the time I arrived. Right, Mr. . Won Jun?" Doona tells you the hard truth.

But you don't want to hear what she has to say and just keep slapping her model-esque face. She smiles every time you hit it. Maybe she's really taking some good acting classes, because you slap it hard yet she barely flinches.

"What do you do for your life, Doona?" you ask her. "Well, I was a singer for many years, but these days I want to be an actress," she answers, confirming your suspicions from the past couple days. "Then why did you move to a student flat?" you keep inquiring her. "Well, I didn't want the media to notice it," she says.

Then you ask her yet another question.

"Is Doona even your real name?"

"You searched who I was. That's funny because I was in your t-shirt all along and you didn't recognize me," Suzy answers.

"Well you looked a little different with bangs. So you are indeed the Bae Suzy, Korea's most beautiful face," you say to her.

"And by the way, you fucked me yesterday; I'm also Korea's tastiest pussy," she says, bragging about it.

"By the time I'm done with you, you'll also be Korea's biggest whore," you tell her.

"Maybe I'm already that," she says.

You take your pants off and feed your beautiful big cock to Suzy, who sucks it masterfully from the beginning. Her blowjob is very slow, but she knows where to suck and where to stroke at the right places. She then goes all the way down and gives you an amazing deepthroat. "THAT'S IT, YOU BAD GIRL!" you tell her as you sit on the bed, and she immediately crawls to rim your ass and put your balls in her mouth.

"Shit, you're such a fucking whore," you tell Suzy. "Yes, I am, and I love licking your balls and your dirty asshole," she says, entertaining herself with them. In fact, she's so good massaging your prostate you have to spank her ass to ask her to stop before she drives you insane.

You keep spanking Suzy's butt with your feet as she keeps her mouth now glued to your balls. You then stroke your cock and crush her sexy face between your legs, slapping your shaft against it before you free her to do what she pleases with it, as Suzh sucks and licks it like a maniac and makes your curse endlessly, then follows it with a couple more deepthroats.

"Get down, bitch," you say as you position Suzy's face in the perfect angle to start thrusting against it. "YEAH, THAT'S IT, BITCH," you tell her, using her pretty face to your pleasure, even sitting on top of it for her to lick your ass again, burying it full of cock. 

Suzy then turns around and puts her ass up, leading you to spank it even harder. "OH YEAH, OH MY GOD," she screams as your hands hit it heavily multiple times and then places your thumb in her anus. "Open it, bitch, I want to see that fucking asshole," she says as her ass crack closes between your hands.

Suzy quickly flips herself around and guides your cock into her pussy. "Oh my God, what a birthday gift for me," she says as it slowly makes its way inside her hole. You quickly pump it hard, just like yesterday, as she fingers her clit. "I want you to take this big cock all the way in," she begs.

You're in full control, pouding Suzy's cunt at will as she stays lying on the bed while you are on your feet, taking her from above. "It's so big, and it's stretching my pussy so fucking good, yeah," Suzy says as you slow down, grab her neck, and reassert your dominance over her.

"I want you to be an obedient good girl for my cock," you tell her, slapping Suzy once again. "OH YEAH," she answers as you pick the pace back up, now spanking her boobs as you thrust into her cunt. "Damn, that pussy gets even wetter when I smack your slutty body," you tell her.

"Tell me I'm your fucking whore; do whatever you want to me, as long as you give me that fucking cock," Suzy begs as you keep pounding her. "I love being slapped like that; please, baby, use me," she continues as she rubs her pussy and slowly starts cumming, closing her legs and eyes, and having herself a heavenly orgasm.

But you don't want Suzy to have that much fun already, switching positions to a hard spooning where you pound her hard while groping her bouncy tits. "That's what I want; use me like a fucking whore, choke me, and give me that birthday fucking I deserve," she tells you.

"OH MY GOD, YOU FUCK ME LIKE AN ANIMAL," Suzy moans as you attack her pussy even harder. You had already done that yesterday but in a more passionate manner; today, you'll be rough and use her like a bitch; after all, out of the 365 or 366 days of the year, only today is the birthday of the Bae Suzy, the it girl of all it girls.

"COME ON, BITCH, YOU'RE SUCH A BAD GIRL," you say as you pound Suzy and slap her back for a bit. You then stop and let her taste herself on your cock. "Stroke it, you fucking cunt," you tell her, lying on the bed as you let her have fun with your throbbing shaft and spit on it while using your feet to choke her and make it harder for Suzy. She gets more animalesque, getting out of it and giving you a sloppy blowjob. "OH FUCK," you groan as your cock reaches the depths of her throat.

Suzy climbs on top of you and impales your massive cock back in her cunt, bouncing on it as she says dirty words to you. "Look how I ride this big fucking cock; I'm such a bad girl," she tells you.

You quickly put an end to Suzy's fun, pumping your cock upwards against her cunt and hitting her cervix. "Oh my God," she moans, but quickly regains control. You keep slapping her tits, trying to make her lose her cool, but Suzy stays composed and just smashes your cock like the good whore she is. 

"That's the way," you praise Suzy's riding skills as she now slowly grinds on your shaft. "It's so fucking good," she says as she enjoys it reaching the depths of her pussy, bouncing on it while licking your right foot. "You're such a whore, your sucking it like they are another dick, such a good girl," you tell Suzy, who puts all your toes in her mouth and keeps bouncing on your cock with ease regardless.

"That pussy is so wet," you tell Suzy as she stays using it to crush your cock. "And your cock feels so good in it, it's gonna make me cum again," she replies, rolling her eyes and enjoying it to the fullest.

You grab Suzy's neck as soon as she finishes her orgasm, but she grabs your shaft in retribution and strokes it mastefully. You punch back, hitting her in the face once more as you two duel to see who's the most animalesque person in that bed.

You get on top of Suzy and stick your cock from behind in her pussy. "I'm just your fucking slut," she says as you kiss her and she feels your shaft going back inside her. But she had stroked you so hard you were already throbbing, to the point that after just a few thrusts you were already on the edge. You pull her hair and use her like a fuckdoll, showing no restraint whatsoever. 

"Spread that ass; I'm gonna plow that fucking pussy until I cum inside it," you vow as you also penetrate Suzy's asshole with your thumb. "God, it's so fucking wet," you add. "Do it please, cum in my pussy just like you did to your girlfriend yesterday," Suzy demands.

Your thrusts come to a halt as you explode inside Suzy's perfect pussy. But you are far from done. In this morning, Suzy will be nothing but your cum dump, as you don't even let her taste the cum that flows out of her pussy, quickly turning her sideways and kissing her while slowly shoving your cock in the second prize of the day, her butthole.

"Ahhhh," Suzy moans as your big cock stretches her tiny anus. "You know, your girlfriend has a great ass; you could use some training with me to fuck hers next," Suzy tells you. "She's not my girlfriend," you argue with her. "Why, am I your girlfriend now, you cheater?" she asks.

"No, you're just a whore, and in a few minutes you'll literally be a sore ass whore," you tell her. But you started rather gently, seeing that her tight asshole won't give up easily, trying to get accostummed to an even tighter hole than her already tight pussy.

Suzy fingers herself, and you two keep sharing kisses as your cock slowly digs deeper in her asshole. You wrap your arms around her and start giving her butt a couple pumps, kissing her in the meantime. "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE SO BIG IN MY ASS," she tells you.

Suzy struggles with your cock in her ass; it's been a long time since she's been fucked in the butt, but you manage to slowly ease her into it, going very slowly and passionately wrapping her around your arms. She moans as you put more and more heat inside it. "Fuck, it's so big," is all she can say. You finally give her harder pumps, trying to make her adjust through the pain. She screams, but you just don't care and cover her mouth. "Shut up, you fucking whore," you say to her, relentlessly pounding her butthole.

"I love that," Suzy says. Sometimes, pain is the best way to reach a goal, and she confirms it. You keep going, kisses at the top, poundings at the bottom. You make her tits jiggle and bring her to submission, thrusting as hard as you can in that whore. But you can also be kind and slow down to kiss her from time to time.

Suzy sits on your cock and tries to ride it anally, but you don't let her, pounding her ass as soon as she attempts to make a move. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," she screams, fingering her pussy to cope with the heat you put in her ass, squirting a bit.

But you're so controlling you don't even let Suzy do it, placing your own hands in her cunt while manhandling her butt. "GOD, YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME FUCKING CUM AGAIN, FUCKKKKKKK,"  Suzy screams while sirens of a police car pass through the street, making her get quiet for a bit to not get noticed before going back to plead to God at each pump you give her ass.

"OH FUCKKKKKK!" Suzy screams again as you pull out of her and let her taste her butthole; she seizes the opportunity and sucks your cock like a maniac. "Lick my ass again," you tell her, who quickly obliges and then moves up to your balls and later your whole shaft, showcasing her cock-addicted spirit.

"God damn it, Suzy, you really know how to lick a man's ass," you tell her. "And I know how to suck a man's big fat cock even better," she says, moving up and giving you yet another deepthroat, which you make sure to last as long as possible, putting your legs over her head and pushing it to your shaft, with Suzy only pulling out when she's completely out of air.

Suzy twists your pole and throats your shaft hard, quickly recovering. "Damn, this fucking cock is so good; this is the best birthday ever," she tells you before going on another deepthroat. "You could make it better by giving me that asshole once again and sitting on it," you reply.

Suzy obliges and quickly moves to get on top of you. "Oh fuck," she says, rolling her eyes as your massive pole impales her butthole. She takes it slow, baffled with how huge your cock is. Slowly increasing the pace, she put her fingers in her pussy and used them to fuck herself. Finally finding the rytym, Suzy rides it as hard as she can.

"Keep going, baby, come on," you give Suzy words of incentive, and they work, her riding your cock perfectly and at full speed now. "That's how you do it, good girl, or should I say, bad girl?" you tell her as her hips hit yours and you love it. "Don't stop, baby; bounce on that cock like the fucking whore you are," you tell her.

Suzy giggles as she squirts on your face. "You made my pussy cum from my asshole," she says with a big smile in her face, burying your cock in her ass and staying with it inside her. The fucking was very intense, so she had to take a needed break, so you just pull out and let her suck it once more, letting Suzy show how crazy she is for cock, stroking your shaft in a way that almost snaps it in half while enjoying your big balls and dirty butthole.

"Let me see that asshole," you ask of Suzy, who turns around and spreads her butt open for you to see the work your cock did on it. But it was all an excuse to shove your cock in it while getting a perfect view of her behind. 

"Sit all the way down," you tell Suzy. She does it as you please, pushing your full pole in it. "Move it slowly up and down; let me see my length going in and out of your ass," you tell Suzy, who does it very slowly. "That's perfect, very slow, just like I want it," you tell her. Suzy's slow bounces and her moans over your massive cock impaling her push you to the edge once again. "Like that, like that, keep moving slowly," you tell her.

Suzy bounces faster as you give her butt a few spanks and order her to do so, getting you even closer to cumming again. You can no longer resist the urge; her bounces are getting you out of breath. You soon take control, getting on the edge of the bed and putting Suzy on all fours and fucking her asshole at full speed, giving her hard spanks until you finally cum inside it.

It seems for a moment that's going to be it for the morning. As your cum oozes out of Suzy's butthole, you are now feeling exhausted, and Suzy heads to the shower. You stand idle in the bed for a few minutes, just hearing the noises coming from the bathroom and unable to get yourself hard again after such a long good fucking and two ball-draining cumshots inside Suzy's tight fuckholes.

But as soon as you decide to check on Suzy in the shower, that immediately changes. Her naked body looks even sexier while covered in water, and it gives you an instant boner. You look at her recently fucked ass, her washing your cum that's still all over it. She gives you that perfect smile, turning around as you give her some soap to pour over her body, the white foam covering her fuckholes, making them very enticing.

Suzy spreads her pussy lips and washes them with a lot of soap. She also uses a natural cleaner, as lots of pee comes out of it to help wash her cum-filled cunt. She also pours a lot of soap on her boobs, leading to a lot of foam covering them, before washing them away. Seeing your cock get hard once again, Suzy grabs it and strokes your shaft in the masterful way she always does. "It's so dirty after such a long time in my ass; let me help clean it," she says.

After lots of stroking, finally feeling your cock is truly clean, Suzy turns around, gets off the shower, and guides it for one final time in her pussy. She takes it deep, wiggling her ass and bouncing on it sensually while holding her hands against the shower's support. You stay passive for a bit, just letting her do the work, until a feeling of guilt starts coming into your head.

You start thinking of Kazuha. The good girl you had worked so hard to get a date and even managed to have sex with her in it, who must be chilling at her home now unaware that you are fucking the older, sluttier clone of her. Every time Suzy bounces her cunt all the way down her cock, you get madder at her for being such a good whore that she leads to you having second thoughts about Zuha. For being such a bad girl.

You grab Suzy by her neck once again and take her out of the shower. You are now determined to punish this slut on her birthday for being such a wrecking force of nature. For undermining your relationship. For pushing you towards doing the naughtiest things in bed. You take her across the bathroom, hitting her beautiful face multiple times until you shove it down the toilet.

But that only makes Suzy get sluttier. She puts her tongue out and invites the challenge as you stick your cock in her pussy once more. You flush the toilet, but she stays unfazed, pushing you to fuck her as hard as you can. "Fuck me just like that," she demands. "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU SHITTY WHORE," you answer, yelling at her.

"Take that fucking cock, stupid whore," you tell Suzy. Now you don't care which hole you're fucking. Pussy, anus, it doesn't matter, as long as you stick your cock hard and deep inside Suzy and show her who the boss is. You hammer her like a lifeless sex doll, flushing the toilet multiple times to teach her a lesson. "OH FUCKKKKKK," she screams, but with a laugh in her face and an animalesque drive that quickly rises up as you get more and more insane.

Suzy crawls on all fours as you finish fucking her in the toilet, screaming like a horny demon as she chases you over the bathroom. You pin her to the glass of the shower box and fuck her face, making her drool in saliva that drops down her chin. Your cock is throbbing so hard for that bitch that you quickly have to pull out, jerking your cock off as you prepare to unload in her face. "I want all that cum in my fucking throat, every single drop of it," she says in an inviting fashion.

And what a load it was. It may have been the third of the day, but it was by far the fattest, covering Suzy's face and mouth and painting the whole glass behind her in white. Twelve shots of milky white cream for this whore on her birthday, glazing her face. Suzy is so hungry she immediately licks your cum out of the glass, fulfilling her promise of swallowing every single drop, making bubbles with it in her mouth.

"It tastes so fucking good," she tells you. "That was a good way to wake up," you tell her. Suzy gets back to bed as you admire her body—the way she's a perfect cum dump, smelling like every single body fluid and looking like a total slut.

"Is this better than the breakfast you were eating in the kitchen? I bet it has a lot more protein," you tell her. "For sure," Suzy answers, giggling to you. Both of you stay in bed for a bit, her winking your anus and praising you for giving her such a great birthday gift, until you say a couple of words that provide the perfect ending.

"I need to pee."

"Then pee on me," Suzy says. "Let's go to the shower once again," you tell her. Suzy kneels on the shower's tile, and your cock bursts the yellow liquid all over her mouth, with her easily swallowing more of it, smiling at you once you're done turning her into an urinal.

"I think I'm gonna take a walk after this, smelling like piss and cum," Suzy says. "Also, don't you have classes this morning?" she asked.

"Damn, you're right," you tell her.

"I'll be waiting tonight, and don't forget to bring Kazuha."

PS: I almost canceled this fic, but given I had written most of it, in spite of my tight schedule, I decided to make an effort to publish it on Suzy's 30th birthday, as she has always been one of my favorites and is one of the most legendary female idols to ever live. Hope you guys enjoy the story, the refences to Doona, one of the dramas she starred on, the threesome with her lookalike Kazuha and her going full bad girl for a morning sex session.

Happy Suzy Day!

[sixosix]

synopsis in which satoru really needed to start reading the gc more often. solves a lot.

tags slight making out scene… satoru is an asshole but what’s new, satoru is also hopelessly infatuated, all the readers i write are emotionally constipated sorry, getting together(?) fluff bit angsty tho

a/n this is a little stupid and unrealistic but bear with me because this is my first time writing in a looong time to get back in the groove of writing ^__^

Shoko wrinkled her nose as Satoru made the show of tossing a crumpled-up vending machine can into the bin on the other side of the street. It landed perfectly in the middle because why wouldn’t it? Emboldened by the impressed glances of passersby, he reached for Suguru’s pocket, where there was a balled-up paper in his bontan pants. Suguru winced when it was your head instead, where you had started crossing.

Your glare cut a thrill down Satoru’s spine. You huffed and bent down to pick up the trash, your knuckles white, like you were imagining it was Satoru’s head instead. Satoru was just appreciating how gracefully you’d bowed, the curve of your back captivating him for a moment until Suguru elbowed him.

“Stop littering,” Suguru said sternly, but his eyes spelled out that it was not about the littering.

Satoru shrugged. “I wouldn’t have missed if it weren’t for Y/N.” 

Satoru called out after you as you dropped the paper ball into the bin directly. “Oi!” You ignored him and continued walking, a considerable distance lengthening between you and the three. “Ha, you embarrassed?”

“Anyone would be if they were seen with you,” you spat out almost reflexively, then blinked at your own words. Satoru almost swore you wanted to apologize, but you composed yourself by turning your back on him altogether.

Satoru grinned. “It’s okay,” he said. “Shoko and Suguru don’t need to know I had to save your ass from a low-grade curse.”

You didn’t dignify his taunt with a response, but your shoulders tensed for a moment.

“So moody. How does your boyfriend put up with this?” Satoru snickered as he eyed the back of your head. He relished in the way a vein pops on your temple, breathed in the way you looked over your shoulder just to say—

“Shut up, Satoru. I mean it.”

He wasn’t unfamiliar with envious or hateful gazes; it came with his birth, really. Awe and fear and there are impossibles, but not for Gojo Satoru said with contempt—he didn’t care. Yours were different. He took pride in affecting people in ways where they could never ignore him, but the way you looked at him felt thrilling. He wondered if your boyfriend saw how your eyes would set ablaze for Satoru.

But he didn’t actually care, he would say. He never cared for a lot of things. It showed, at times, others would say.

“Whoa, did someone get their heart broken today?” Satoru whistled, his tone lilting upwards in what seemed to be a way to lighten the mood. No moods were lightened.

Your head whipped around to give him a look that had him frozen on the spot. His eyes widened behind his shades. He felt like that paper ball at the moment, about to be squashed flat against your palm. That look felt familiar, but not in the way that he knew he was familiar with because of you. It was familiar because of everyone else.

Suguru shot him a look that said he would’ve shoved him had it not been for his Infinity on. “Satoru.”

You walked on ahead, brushing past them with hiked-up shoulders. You looked like you were about to break at the slightest touch—it looked wrong. You had always looked so strong in Satoru’s eyes. Not stronger than him, of course, but… seeing your lip tremble like that made him itch the wrong way.

Satoru glanced between Suguru and Shoko, lost. “Am I missing something?”

Suguru said, “You didn’t hear?”

“Oh, so you know, but I don’t? What is this? Leave-out-Satoru club? You have a group chat without me?” Satoru did not mean for that to come out that bitter.

Shoko exhaled, smoke faintly billowing from her lips. She regarded Satoru with a look. “Maybe if you actually read our group chat with you, you wouldn’t be so ignorant.”

And so Satoru scrolled through his phone, wounded. Suguru and Shoko whispered among themselves as his eyebrows arched up so high that he looked elated.

“That’s it?” Satoru scoffed. “Trouble in paradise? Y/N almost got hurt by a curse because of some man?”

“Idiot,” Suguru sighed. “You’re also a man.”

Satoru knew what was going on in Shoko’s head with her expression. She was calling him trash. “They’ve been together for years. Before Y/N even met you.”

Satoru bristled. “So?”

“So don’t think of this as some chance,” Suguru said. Since when was he some love expert? “And stop terrorizing. No one brokenhearted would want to see your stupid face.”

He gaped. “So rude!”

And then he backtracked. “And I wasn’t thinking of this as a chance.” He was. “I don’t even like Y/N like that!” He does terribly. “I’m just glad I don’t have to hear from that asshole non-sorcerer again. Have you heard the way he says baby? Even through the phone, it gives me the creeps.”

Suguru hummed thoughtfully. “He was an asshole.”

Shoko laughed. “That asshole got to date Y/N before you, though.”

Satoru decided to spare Shoko, feeling too delighted to let anyone ruin it.

“Did you read all the messages?” Suguru asked.

“Nah.” Satoru stared at the back of your head. “I got the gist of it seeing Suguru’s reply, ‘he was an asshole anyway.’” He flashed his teeth and quickened his pace. “Come on, before Y/N gets flung around by curses again.”

Suguru and Shoko shared a look that he missed completely.

You eyed the plastic bag Satoru was holding out distrustfully.

It was too dark already, but that was no problem for Gojo Satoru. He came here—your room, your door—with a mission in mind. That mission involved ice cream because he saw in movies that people liked to eat ice cream and cry after breakups. You weren’t crying, which relieved him, though he didn’t know why. He wanted to convince himself it was because he didn’t want to deal with tears, but he couldn’t lie to himself well when it came to you.

“Nice try,” you said, pushing it back to his chest. You startled at the cold.

“What— It’s not poison!” Satoru said. He flicked it open and showed you his gift, one you should appreciate for his efforts and thoughtfulness.

“Ice cream?” you said suspiciously. Then it dawned on you. Your lips turned up in a disbelieving smile. He'd take it much better than the look you gave him that day, even when dregs of weariness dulled your eyes. “Were you worried?”

You looked awful, which was probably the norm for someone going through a breakup from a long relationship. Satoru didn’t like your sad face at all. It pissed him off, like some puzzle piece that didn’t fit. Still, to Satoru, he supposed anything was better than not getting to see your face at all.

“Yeah,” he found himself saying before he could think about it.

Your face fell. “Satoru.”

“Just take it, or else I’ll eat it in front of you.”

Your hand gripped the door tighter.

Satoru cleared his throat. “Okay, or you can just shut the door on me and go back to sleep.” And then, silently: “You can just take it, and I’ll leave.”

You stared at him as if expecting him to take it back.

Satoru felt his face warm. “Are you gonna take it or not?”

“It creeps me out when you act nice.”

He glared. “I’m always nice, but I’m not creepy about it.”

Your shoulders relaxed. You took the bag from him with a smile that felt like a shared secret. “Do you wanna come in?”

His first thought was, holy shit, but what came out was, “Sure, I don’t care.”

He had never been in your room before. Shoko was, a lot of times, most of the time. Suguru managed to, here and there, when you needed some help with heavy lifting. You kicked Satoru every time he used to even think about it. Your room was more ordinary than he expected. No posters, flashy souvenirs, or even clothes strewn over your bed. It looked lonely.

There was a box in the corner beside your closet that looked entirely out of place. Satoru must have been staring at it for a moment too long as you said, “Those are my ex’s clothes. I stole many of it, but I don’t want to wear them anymore.”

Satoru’s curious gaze turned into distaste. “Want me to get rid of it?”

“What?” You laughed. “I’ll just give it back.”

Satoru bounded over to the box and crouched, peeling the cover open. “Why not? There’s a dumpster nearby.”

“Well, they were nice. Not my ex, I mean the clothes. Felt expensive—I’d rather he take it back.” Always the goody two shoes.

“Hmmm…” Satoru lifted his head to stare at you. “Did you like wearing them? You can borrow mine. Much better than these cheap knockoffs.”

Your eyes flashed with interest, and Satoru knew he had said the right words. His clothes were no joke.

You blinked at him, a deer in headlights holding a tub of ice cream. “Are— Are you sure? It’s not like I actually need them—”

Satoru wanted nothing more than to see you drowning in his clothes. Instead, he said, “Yeah, I don’t care.”

He shrugged off his jacket and offered it to you. He felt a gust of cold, which should’ve been wrong to him, but he didn’t pay it any mind when you took it from him and stared at it. Your gaze shifted hesitantly between him and the red fabric. Your bottom lip started trembling before you bit it between your teeth, something Satoru wouldn’t have caught if he wasn’t staring. You whirled around and shoved the tub of ice cream in your mini fridge. What a shame. He was really planning for you to share it with him.

Satoru stood up, kicking at the box. He asked, “What were you doing before I left? Boring stuff? Were you watching sad movies without ice cream? It’s a good thing I came over.”

“You didn’t have to, I’m fine,” you said. You slipped into his jacket, the sight arresting him for a moment.

Satoru frowned. Something was definitely wrong. Maybe you were feeling tired? You must have been—emotions tend to wear out a person faster than any physical means. “Hey, lie down on the bed. You look like you’re about to crash.”

“I’m not,” you muttered but followed anyway because you must have felt it, too. “I’m not.”

You winced as your head collided with your pillow. It was unusual for you to succumb to rest while Satoru lingered in the same space.

“Sorry,” Satoru choked out, suddenly feeling guilty by the strong urge to embrace you. He was already crossing far too many lines today. He didn’t want to taint your memory of heartbreak from your ex with him.

You turned to face him, your hair splayed all over the pillow. “What?”

“For yesterday. I didn’t know. This, I mean.”

“You read the messages?”

He nodded. “I did.”

“That’s it? You’re not—” You yawned, blinking. Satoru was performing the highest level of restraint at the moment. “I mean, you’re not, like…”

The air was charged with something dangerous. Satoru looked away, thinking. He wanted to ask, did you expect me to care that much? But he knew the answer to that—he does.

“Satoru,” you said lowly. He shivered at the quiet of the night and how he can almost feel your voice. “You shouldn’t be so nice to someone heartbroken. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

Satoru sat on the edge of your bed, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

You looked up at him. Satoru felt want in his belly. It was dangerous, he realized, for him to be alone with you like this. It was wrong—but he never went doing everything right anyway, if it meant he could watch as your eyes flutter, as you longed for something he could never have from you once the wounds on you have healed.

“Doesn’t it?” you said. “You’re confusing me, too.”

Satoru realized his Infinity had been off already, though he didn’t know when. Was it when he sat on the bed to feel the softness of your sheets? Or was it already back then, the moment you opened the door, he was already longing for you to touch him?

“You’re so cruel, Satoru,” you murmured. “I hate you.”

Weakly, Satoru said, “I know. Get some sleep. I’ll leave soon.”

“Don’t leave.”

Satoru screwed his eyes shut, frustrated.

“Satoru.” He could listen to you say his name forever. You sighed his name in a way that felt like what aches in his heart whenever you even look at him.  “You didn’t read the messages, did you?”

“Did I miss something?”

“If you want to kiss me so bad, read it.”

His eyes shot open wide, a bit terrified. “What?” he said, dumbstruck. “Y/N— What?”

Clumsily, with no grace whatsoever, he fumbled with his phone, your words racing in his head. If you want to kiss me, read it. He bluescreened. If you want to kiss me—

you satoru doesnt read the messages here, right?

you i hate him if i never met him maybe i wouldnt have figured that i was not content with the love i had

you how do i even deal with this? i got dumped by my bf and he tells me if i love satoru so much why not just date him instead

you i love him can someone please comfort me

shoko oh no

shoko condolences for liking the most insufferable man on planet earth

suguru im sorry he’s an asshole you deserve better y/n

shoko the trashiest asshole are you sure about this?

you more than anything, unfortunately

Wait.

The asshole they were referring to was Satoru?

Wait.

Satoru jolts up from where he had been hunched over his phone, gaping at you. “Y/N,” he whispered reverently. “Y/N!”

You placed a hand on his chest as he moved towards you, preventing him from crashing into your space. He faltered. “Wait,” you laughed softly, languidly, beautifully, “not now. I’m sleepy.”

“No, fuck that,” he said, helpless. “Y/N!”

“It’s your fault for not reading our group chat.”

‘Kay, well. Satoru’s eyes narrowed like a cat prepared to pounce. “You can’t just make me read that and keep me from you like this. Why were you so mad at me yesterday?”

“Because I love you, and now my life is over,” you said, smiling.

“Say that again,” he demanded. 

“My life is over?”

Satoru was seconds away from crying. “Y/N, please,” he said, “say you love me again. Say it now.”

He held the hand on his chest and kissed it. Kissed it again, the back of your palm, your fingertips, repeating the same three words.

“I love you?” you said.

“Well, don’t sound so unsure about it.”

You laughed. “Do you even like me back?”

Satoru stared from the rim of his glasses. Instead of replying, he tugged you closer with your arm and kissed your jaw. He hoped you would get it—that you would understand. He loved you first.

“More than anything,” he echoed. He looked into your eyes, your lips, torn. “Please, let me kiss you. You’re hurting me.”

“Oh, I get a please now?”

Satoru’s eyes sharply dart down to your lips. Your grin faltered at the intensity of his stare. You swallowed, and he tracked every movement.

“You look a bit manic right now,” you said nervously.

“I’ll show you manic.”

You smiled, bumping your ankle against his back. When he glanced at it, you inched closer. His heart leaped to his throat, threatening to come out and get you.

“Are you seriously going to make a move on me now? My heart is broken, Satoru.”

“Is it really?” He grinned. “Or is it just split with me?”

“Okay, smartass,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just kiss me already.”

Satoru cut the distance between the two of you. He crashed clumsily, making both of you wince, but he tilted his head and suddenly— much better. He held you closer, hoping he could wipe away any other men from your life with all he could offer—him, needy, longing, crazed.

“Satoru—” you tried, but it was swallowed by his mouth, wishing you could breathe his name from your lips to his. This was almost as good as hearing you say you love him anyway.