#after you see it for the first time right now

[stardustquills]

here is the full fic for everyone who wanted it! (you can read the trailer here)

thinking about caleb’s first time with mc… 18+ mdni. wc; 2.1k

-

when caleb sinks into you for the first time, he thinks he’s in fucking heaven with the way you fluttered around him and your voice called his name.

one thing lead to another, and now you’re almost naked on his couch, taking his dick like all of the times he’d dreamed. except this is so much better than his fist, or the stupid fleshlight he bought all of those years ago. now, he can finally stop pretending.

fuck, teenage caleb would be losing his mind right now. current caleb is losing his mind.

he can stop pretending his fist is yours instead, that the damn, cold fleshlight is your cunt, that all those girls he fucked during high school was you.

now he finally has you all to himself, and there’s no way in hell he’ll ever let you go.

“o-oh, pipsqueak,” he moans, and loudly. his head helplessly falls into the crook of your neck, taking in that familiar, vanilla scent. the same scent that he’s been yearning for god knows how long. the same scent that tells his mind ‘relax, you’re home.’

you are his home.

your hands wrap around him. one of them hide in his hair, deliciously scratching his scalp as you other one drags your nails down his back. he fucking whimpers into your neck, planting a kiss onto your skin because what else can he do? normally so strong for you, he’s been reduced to nothing but a lovesick, pussy drunk fool.

caleb gets in his head, thinking you must think he’s absolutely pathetic for being like this. but honestly? you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the hero of your childhood, the big, strong man you always knew, a deepspace pilot reduced to a needy, lovelorn puddle! how romantic; what a dream come true.

so when he bottoms out, he’s trembling like a madman. it’s taking every ounce of his self control not to grab your waist and absolutely ruin you, dick slamming into your cunt like he desperately aches to. but he can’t do that. not to his precious pipsqueak - not to the girl that’s finally under him after all these years of pining.

not yet, at least.

he gives you a second to adjust, like the thoughtful man he is. “doin’ okay?” he whispers softly, pulling his face away from your neck, eyes flitting over your face, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort. one of his hands come up and cups your cheek, touching so tenderly, like you might break. he treats you like you’re made of porcelain, as if you’ll shatter if he’s too rough.

your eyes are closed, jaw slack as you breathed through your mouth. caleb’s eyes are fixated on your lips, the one’s he’d seen wrapped around his cock so many time is his dreams.

he could feel himself twitch just at the thought. not now, caleb, that’s for another day.

“mhmm,” you hummed, delightful voice like music to his ears. your lids fluttered open, seeing him already staring down at you. you don’t think you’ve ever seen his gaze so loving before, hearts bouncing around his eyes like the dvd logo on a black screen.

truth is, he’s had heart eyes for you for as long as he can remember. caleb looks at you like you’ve hung the fucking moon and embroidered stars into the sky, but you’ve just been too fucking blind to see it. it drove him beyond crazy. still, he knew you’d find out one day—one day you’ll realize how much love he harbours for you. that day is finally here, and he couldn’t be happier.

slowly, cautiously, he pulls out all the way, puckering hole unhappily releasing with with a pop! before he pushes back in. his face helplessly falls back into the crook of your neck as you mewled into his ear, cock deliciously stretching you open.

“mmf-aah,” his mouth falls open against your skin, hot breath panting against your neck. he whimpers like a virgin, arms shaking around your head as he practices his self control. “better than i fucking dreamed, baby.”

“caleb!” he thinks he’s never heard your voice so high pitched.

he cradles your head in his arms, lips planting open mouthed kisses on your pulse point. it’s the perfect spot for him to moan into your ear while also taking in your scent, the natural one under your perfume. one of his thumbs trace the shell of your ear as he continued his slow, shallow thrusts.

“ca- nngh, caleb,” you keen, and he swears to god your throbbing around him. “hah, harder!”

“don’t wanna hurt you, pips…” he lets himself go deeper with a groan, the syrupy slick of your arousal dipping down the rest of his length. he wants to be careful, wants to take his sweet time with you. but when he feels his mushroom head kiss your cervix, all former resolve goes out the window.

“please?” you hand in his hair tugged every so slightly, manicured nails scratching delectably.

oh. he couldn’t say no to that. he could never say no to you. what type of jerk would he be if he denies his beloved pipsqueak? not him. no one would ever catch him disappointing you—never in a million years.

he obeys without a word, a hand coming down to your waist. he’ll ease you into it, he decides. he can’t just started slamming his cock into you as much as he wants to. that wouldn’t be nice of him.

bit by bit, his tempo increases. in music terms, he’s going adante. he doesn’t even notice when he starts bitching and whining louder than you. he can’t hear himself either; he’s too enamoured by the way you’ll call his name as your cunt quivers. strings of your name along with noises and mumbles of praise leave him, muffled by the skin of your neck.

“squeezing so good,”

“shit, you’re unreal.”

“mmmh, pipsqueak, fuck!”

he starts kissing your neck again, balls slapping onto the flesh of your ass as he thrusts into you. the only thing occupying his mind was you. your sounds, scent, taste, feel—his mind was screaming at him, ‘mine, mine, all mine!’

his little pecks turn into kitten licks, then into sucking and biting at the skin. he’ll suckle on your skin, bruising it, leaving his mark before he bites. then, caleb licks it over as an apology before moving an inch over and repeating.

soon, the left side of your neck is covered in his dark purple love bites. you’ll need a shit ton of colour corrector and concealer to cover it up, but that’s a problem you’re not even aware of yet.

his hips snap into yours earnestly, tip of his cock crashing against your cervix.

it hurts so good!

he pulls back from your neck, admiring his art before his eyes flick to your face. your eyes are closed, blissfully fucked out expression as he pleasured you. he smiles, leaning down to sweetly kiss your lips, biting your bottom lip teasingly before he shoves his tongue into your mouth.

you stay like that for a while, getting fucked on the couch by your childhood best friend. your head is propped up against the arm rest, one leg dangling off the edge as the other one is propped against his waist, opening up your hips so he could jam his into yours. caleb is going feral, but he doesn’t let it show. ever the considerate one. he grins against your lips, almost laughs as he devours your sounds, swallowing them up. he thinks back to high school, to all the times he could be making love to you instead of those other sluts.

then a thought crosses his mind—how many guys had you been with? how many others had you let into you like this, at your most vulnerable?

it makes caleb upset—it disturbs him to no end. it gets to the point where he’s speeding up his pace, gaining more momentum the more he thinks about it. moderato, allegro, presto, then prestissimo! he’s going faster than you could even imagine and it makes you dizzy with lust.

lewd, nasty sounds of skin slapping skin and mixed moans from both of you fill the living room.

“caleb, o-oh! there!”

“a-aah, shit, baby!”

your back arches as he repeatedly rams into that sweet, spongy spot. eyes screwed shut as both you hands scratch his back, nails dragging down his rippling muscles. if you pressed any harder, you might’ve drawn blood.

one of your hands trails down your body, quickly finding your neglected clit. you started rubbing quick, tight circles, wanting that extra push to get to your long awaited release.

no, not on his watch! that’s his job, caleb decides, swatting your hand away and replacing it with his own. you happily whined into his lips, voice turning up at the end. his fingers felt so much better than yours, you think you’d never be able to recreate the feeling.

“o-ooh, you’re pulsing!” he chimes, pulling back from your lips. he looks down, watching as he disappears into you. the sight has him in a chokehold.

he sits up, still ramming into you. he takes his hand away from your clit temporarily, earning a displeased whine from you, so he can angle your hips to go deeper.

his fingers return to your nub, playfully pinching it before his thumb starts rubbing again. his free hand goes to that little bulge on your lower stomach, pressing down. caleb can feel himself through your flesh, feel himself rutting in and out of you. “gonna come, pipsqueak? h-hah, oh p-please do, you feel so good, please please please,” he’s rambling. he’s so far gone. stupid, pussy drunk fool.

a brief thought flashes across his mind—baby trapping you.

that would be awful, caleb, don’t do that! but he doesn’t want you to ever leave him. it would be terrible for your career too, being a hunter and all.

but how else is he supposed to ensure your safety? he can’t sleep at night when you’re out, never knowing what kind of monster you’re fighting and what type of horrible injuries you could be dealing with. this would be perfect, his pipsqueak staying home all day as she grew their child inside of her. and then soon, a little version of his beloved pipsqueak would be running around!

he’s not actually going to do it. he’s not actually going to baby trap you.

“caleb!” his eyes snap to yours. he didn’t even realize he was staring at the spot where you two connected. “so- a-ahh, ‘m so close! keep going!”

he planned on doing exactly that. “whatever you say, baby,”

he’s too far away for you to grab, so your hands instinctively come down to your tits. you groped and grabbed, squeezing them together as you pinched and rolled your hardened nipples under your nimble fingers.

caleb and his perverted gaze could help but watch. mesmerized as he wished it was own hands instead. but his hands didn’t father, still pressing on your lower belly and caressing your swollen pearl like his life depends on it.

he throws your leg over his shoulder, tilting his head to place a brief kiss on your ankle as your body quivers and shakes, rope in your stomach hanging in by a thread.

“gonna- mmf! gon’ come!” you moaned, lip quickly catching under your teeth as it happened just a second later. “c-coming!”

“i know, pips,” caleb drunkenly grins, watching as his girl comes undone under him, around him. his rubbing on your clit doesn’t slow, his own lip catching under his teeth as he hungrily watches you ride out the shockwaves of your high.

shit! he doesn’t have time to pull out before he’s spilling into you, eyes wide as his jaw grows slack, mouth open as his own string of curses and moans escape him. and once more, he’s louder than you.

“shit shit shit,” he cusses under his breath, quickly coming to his senses once he comes down from his own high. the twisted part of him feels how’d he came in you, but he knows that now it’s happened, it won’t stop. “i’m sorry pipsqueak. fuck! i didn’t mean for that to happen-“

much to his dismay, you laugh. you fucking laugh at him.

“it’s okay,” you say softly, after you’ve calmed down and your breathing has slowed. “it’s okay.”

“really?” he thinks he might’ve just baby trapped you. he wants to feel bad, he really does! …but he just can’t bring himself to.

“yeah.” you smile up at him. you’re on birth control, he just doesn’t know yet.

but in that moment, caleb thinks he’s seen an angel. an absolute goddess, are his. his goddess. he leans down, wrapping his hands around your waist as his thickness softens in you. his face naturally finds its place in your neck again, peppering kisses all over your sweet, sweaty skin.

this is the first of many, many other firsts, he thinks.

-

tags: @dummiebunny @b1mb0b33 @lillycore @onlythepurplemoon @mcdepressed290 @cordidy

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated:)

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 47: The Reunion

Summary: You get to spend some time with your family after a surprise reunion

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,363 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, Alternate Universe, slight angst, emotions, language, family stuff, a little rehashing of the reader's past

A/N: Well, here it is. I'm not very proud of this one but I just don't have it in me to try to do more. This chapter has drained me so much. I didn't think it would be this hard to write it when I was planning out this part. Oh well. Also things do get a bit descriptive when it comes to the reader's age for plot reasons.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Sugar cookies.

She smells like sugar cookies. Just like you remember.

The scent floods your nose, seeping into the back of your brain, seeping into memories that you thought you had forgotten. Warmth fills your body, flowing through your veins to your limbs, from the top of your head to your toes. It’s cold outside, but you can’t feel it, too caught up in the moment to care that you’re in nothing but a t-shirt.

Her arms are warm around you, squeezing you in an embrace so tight it almost hurts. You’d never complain. You want her to squeeze you tighter, never let you go.

Tears wet her jacket, soaking into the fabric as you desperately cling to her like she might disappear any second. It hardly feels real, but she is real. She’s really here. She’s really with you.

“Mama…” You sob, fingers gripping her jacket, clinging to her in desperation.

You thought you’d never see her again. You thought she was gone forever from your life.

Now she’s here. She’s really here.

“I know,” She sniffles, crying just as hard as you are. Both of you are shaking, clinging to each other. “I know, baby, I’m right here.”

No words come to your mind as you stand there, hugging your mother for the first time in years. You thought you’d never get to see her again, that the image of her heartbroken face as you were ripped away would be your last memory of her. You’d spend the rest of your life wondering where she was, if she was okay. You’d wonder about the rest of your siblings, what became of their lives. You’d be alone, cut off from all of them, just as your father wanted.

He didn’t get what he wanted in the end.

Something about that feels satisfying.

Your mother slowly pulls away from you, cupping your face in her hands. “Look at you.” She says, still teary-eyed. Her thumbs are soft, gentle as they wipe the tears from your cheeks. “My little girl all grown up.”

She still looks just as you remember. There’s still the warmth behind her eyes she never lost, not even in the worst of times. Some might call omegas soft, weak, vulnerable, but you know better now. There’s a strength to omegas overlooked by most, a strength you’ve always acquainted to your mother. She never lost any of her strength, even after she lost you.

“I missed you.” You say, leaning into her touch.

“I missed you too.” She says, giving you a soft smile, unchanged from what you remember. “More than you know.” She releases your face to wipe the tears off of her own.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” You say, wiping your nose.

“We thought the same.” She says, turning slightly to the man that had accompanied her.

“Jeremy?” You blink in disbelief, staring past her.

“Hey, sis.” He says, opening his arms.

You hug your brother tightly, breathing in his strong scent. Woody and warm like a campfire. Just like you remember. Jeremy’s only two years older than you, the brother you were closest with due to being so close in age. Though you missed all of your siblings, Jeremy was who you missed the most. Despite being an alpha, he wasn’t like your dad or your older brothers. He was kinder, softer, less willing to bend to your father’s expectations.

It’s a relief to see him. Very much a relief.

You pull away, staring up at them both. You can hardly believe it. They’re really here. They’re really with you again.

“I missed you both. So much.” You say, blinking back tears again. You’ve moved into the house, your pack making themselves scarce after introductions were made. You’re seated on the couch in the living area with your mother, Jeremy taking the chair.

“We missed you too.” Jeremy says. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to see you’re alright.”

“We tried to contact the institute after your father died, but they wouldn’t give up any information.” Your mother says.

“Dad died?” You blink in disbelief. You had a feeling, considering the fact your mother was here at all, but hearing it was something else entirely.

“Mhm.” Your mother says, taking your hand. “Almost two years ago. It was when your youngest brother Darren presented as an omega. He got so mad, ranting and raving and carrying on. You could see it in his face, how worked up he was getting, then he just...dropped. A massive heart attack, the doctors said.”

You should feel sad. You should be upset at the news of your father’s death, but in the end, there’s a sense of relief there. He’s gone from the world, from your lives, your mother’s life. His steel hand and influence have died and with it all the abuse you endured. A deep part of you almost feels glee that he got what he deserved.

“It was a long time coming.” Your mother continues. “He was never the same after he sent you away. I think deep down he regretted it, but he never would have admitted to it. His health declined steadily. He had to retire due to heart issues but you know him, he refused to listen to the doctors. There couldn’t be anything wrong with him, just like there couldn’t be anything wrong with the family. I thought he was going to go when your youngest sister Sarah presented as an omega.”

“He sent her to an institute too, didn’t he?” You ask quietly.

Your mother nods, tears gathering in her eyes. You squeeze her hand, your heart aching for your little sister.

“We tried to get her back after he died, but...you know how institutes are.” Jeremy says.

“Yeah,” You say, leaning your head on your mother’s shoulder. “Maybe someday soon we’ll get to see her again. I mean, you found me after all this time.”

“Well, in a way you found us.” Your mother says, kissing the top of your head.

She’s not wrong. John found her for you. Even though it was Kate that had brought them, you know it was John that put in the request.

“What happened after dad died?” You ask, curious as to how things got to where they are now.

“I left not long after dad sent you away.” Jeremy says. “I couldn’t stand that he did that to you. I went no contact with him but stayed in contact with mom. I was the first one she called after it happened.”

“I kept Darren with me.” Your mother says. “I wasn’t going to lose another child to an institute. I moved in with Jeremy after the service. David and Brandon both rescinded that responsibility. They’re both still in the military with their own packs now. They didn’t want me to still be in that life. So Jeremy took me in.”

“I refused to join the military.” Jeremy says. “I didn’t want to wind up just like dad. I went to college and now I work in marketing.”

“You always were good at convincing people to do things.” You say jokingly.

Jeremy laughs. “I was. Still am too.”

“Jeremy has his own pack too.” Your mother says proudly.

“Did you marry Jane like you said you were going to?” You ask playfully.

Jeremy gets a bashful look on his face. “Yeah.”

“No way!” You blink in surprise. Jane was your brother’s high school crush. He talked nonstop about her, constantly regaling you with stories about how she looked each day and how smart she was. You had no idea they had even started dating.

“I’m so happy for you.” You say, giving your brother a big smile.

“Thank you.” He says, beaming with pride.

“What about the others?” You ask curiously.

“Hannah went to college,” Your mother starts. “I think your dad was willing to be a little more lenient with her being a female alpha. She’s a CEO now.”

“She always was bossy.” You say.

Your mother chuckles. “She was. Alex got into West Point. Despite your father’s distaste for the Army he was proud of him.”

“Little genius boy.” You say, remembering just how smart your little brother was from very early on.

“He is that.” Jeremy says. “Darren still lives with us. We’re giving him a chance to take his time in finding a pack.”

“He deserves it after everything that happened with you and Sarah.” Your mother says.

“I’m glad he’s getting that chance.” You say honestly. “At least one of us gets a chance to be normal.”

Your mother cups your cheek, giving you a sad smile. “I’m so sorry. I should have fought harder, for both you and Sarah.”

You shake your head, leaning into her touch. “It’s not your fault. There was nothing you could have done. Dad had his mind made up and there was no changing it.” You lean into her, resting your head on her shoulder. “I don’t blame you. I know if it had been your choice, you wouldn’t have done it. Besides, if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have wound up here.”

Your mother rests her cheek against your head. “Are you happy?”

You smile softly. “I am.”

“They seem lovely. I can tell they care about you a lot.”

“They do. They wouldn’t have done this if they didn’t.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Your mother kisses the top of your head. “It’s a relief, knowing you’re well taken care of. I’ve worried about you since the day you presented.”

You smile softly, relief flooding through you. You’d never tell her the truth, at least all of it, about what happened to you. You’re not entirely sure you can. She doesn’t need to know all of the details. All that matters is her knowing you’re happy and well taken care of. That is the truth. You are happy. You are being well taken care of. Sure there have been bumps and hurdles, but that’s expected. There always would have been those moments regardless of what pack you found yourself in.

You’re just lucky you found yourself in such a good pack. They may be a bit dense and ruled by their jobs, but they are good to you. They’ve made more of an effort over these past couple months than you ever would have expected. Things have changed for the better, and despite everything, you know they will continue to get better.

They’re trying and that’s what matters.

Reuniting you with your family shows you that the most.

The nine of you go out to dinner in town that night. The restaurant was mostly empty, since it’s not tourist season, but you can hardly complain. You know your pack was relived as well. Despite the fact Shepherd is dead, that instinctual need to constantly look over their shoulders is still deeply ingrained in their heads. They can never be too careful, too cautious when it comes to you and your safety.

It should annoy you, but instead you feel charmed by their deep desire to keep you safe.

Your mother and brother are staying in town for a few days. You can hardly contain your excitement at the prospect of getting so much time with them. This half a day would be enough to last you a lifetime.

Her scent still lingers in the air when you return to the cottage. It has comfort and warmth spreading through your entire body. Your mom really was here, she really is here in England with you.

It feels almost surreal.

You sink down onto the couch, curling up in a ball, pressing your face into the pillow your mother had been leaning against. Her scent floods into your brain, your omega purring contently. It takes you back to the simple times when you were still a pup, being held by your mother, her gentle touches when you scraped a knee, her protective embrace when your brothers got too rough. The way she’d tuck you in and kiss your head even when you grew into a teenager. She did it for all of her kids, even though your brothers complained about it when they got older.

Tears blur your eyes again and you squeeze them closed, pressing your face into the pillow.

“Ye alright?” Johnny asks, standing near the fireplace. He had been halfway through lighting it again.

You sniffle, nodding into the pillow.

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asks, his fingers brushing over your head.

Your response is muffled by the pillow, inaudible to their ears.

“What?” Kyle asks, leaning closer.

You turn your head to free your face just a little. “I’m just so happy.” You cry.

“Aww, love.” Kyle coos, brushing his hand over your head. “I can only imagine how this must all feel.”

You sniffle, resting your cheek against the pillow. “I never thought I’d see her again.”

“We would have found a way for you to see her again.” John says, taking a seat on the other couch, facing you. “I’m just sorry it took this long to happen.”

A small smile forms on your face, but the tears keep falling. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Well, I at least understand a little.” John says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You deserve to have your family in your life.”

Kyle continues stroking your head, sinking his fingers into your hair to massage your scalp.

“Too bad your dad’s dead. Would have liked to kill him myself.” Simon grumbles, sitting next to John on the couch.

You can’t help but laugh, morbid as the statement is. You don’t doubt your pack would have gone after your father given the chance. Once more showing their desire to protect you. There is a part of you that’s glad your father is dead. It’s what he deserves after everything he did to you and your family. Your mother is finally free and living happily without being in his shadow. Part of you feels sad, though. He was your father and deep down you cared for him. He was family after all, no matter how badly he treated you. As much as you wished he could have suffered, deep down you’re glad he died quickly.

You know you wouldn’t have gotten this chance had he still been around.

You also don’t doubt your pack would make good on their promises.

It shouldn’t fill you with glee at the thought of your pack being so protective, yet you can’t deny your omega preening happily at the thought.

It’s late. You’re tired yet you’re far too worked up from the excitement of the day to sleep. There’s a happiness, a content feeling deep in your soul. For the first time in weeks, months even, things feel like they should, like you’ve dreamed they would. Lying in your bed at the institute, you were guilty of daydreaming, picturing what life would be like with a pack, if they’d be nice and let you see your family again, if you’d be well taken care of.

What you got was far from what you had imagined, but despite all of the hurdles you’ve had to overcome, you’re beginning to fell more and more like you’ve finally made those dreams a reality. You have a pack that loves you, even if they are bad at showing it sometimes, you have your family again, you’re well taken care of.

You may not be able to get anything you ask for, but still they would walk over fire for you. They have, in a way. They went to such great lengths to keep you safe, such great lengths to save you when you were in danger, such great lengths to allow you to heal in a place you’d find ideal. Even John leaving when he did no longer hurts quite so much. You know he did it for a reason, a good reason. He’d have left no matter what. He had to do it. He had to ensure Shepherd really was dead, otherwise he’d never be able to truly rest and allow you to live your life as you deserve. As he thinks you deserve.

You were well taken care of while he was gone.

Your hand lifts to trace your fingers over the soft scars on your left shoulder. Given to you just over a year ago now. How time has flown yet how it has dragged on.

The hand shifts over to the right side, feeling the rough and ragged skin from the still-healing mark on your right shoulder. How far things have progressed in such a short amount of time.

How far things have come from where you were a year ago. You never thought you’d be here, but then again, laying in your bed at the institute, you could have never imagined this would be how your life would play out.

You truly are lucky.

Footsteps thud quietly on the steps, breaking the silence in the house. You hold your breath, listening as they get closer to your door. You pull your blankets up to your chin, watching. There’s nothing to be afraid of, yet you can’t stop the nervous twisting in your stomach. No one got in, no one is coming to hurt you. The threats against your lives are gone, wiped out. You’re free from that worry now.

There’s nothing that can hurt you.

The door slowly opens, darkness seeping in through the slowly growing gap opening itself up like a mouth waiting to devour you. A familiar face appears through the darkness, illuminated by the soft glow of your nightlight.

“Still up?”

You nod, slowly relaxing and lowering the blanket from your face. “Can’t sleep.”

John hums, slipping in before closing the door behind him. “Any particular reason?”

“Just thinking too much.” You say. “As usual.”

He smiles softly, lowering himself down on on the edge of the bed. “Your mind does like to wander.”

“It’s a character flaw, really.”

“That’s what Simon would say.” He leans on his arm, staring down at you. “How are you?”

“Fine.” You say, shrugging. “Happy.”

“Good.” He smiles. “I’m glad you feel that way. If it were possible I’d have it so you’d felt that way from the start. But the dedication to our jobs blinded us to the reality of the situation. When you spend years dedicating your life to the machine of war, it’s easy to forget how much it affects those around you.” He reaches for your hand. “It wasn’t fair to you, but we can’t undo it.”

“We can only move forward.” You say, quoting what Dr. Keller used to say.

“We’re going to do better by you going forward.” He says, brushing his fingers across the back of your hand. Just as rough and calloused as you remember them being despite the fact he hasn’t handled a weapon regularly or trained regularly in months. “I’m going to do better by you going forward.”

You hum at his words, shifting your hand to press against his palm. His hands are so big compared to yours, his fingers so long. Hands that have done unspeakable things in the name of keeping the world safe. Hands that have wrought violence against other humans, hands that have killed.

Hands that have cradled you so delicately.

“You know you could join me in here.” You say, lacing your fingers with his.

“Wasn’t sure you’d want me to.”

“Why not?” You ask, releasing his hand to press yourself up to sit.

“I know you’re not exactly happy with me.”

“Well, that’s true. But reuniting me with my family does give you a leg up from where you were.” You say, pulling the blankets to the side. “But it still doesn’t forgive you entirely.”

“Fair enough.” He says, maneuvering himself so he’s next to you.

You roll yourself so you’re next to him, staring up at him as he lays on his back. He shifts his arm over your head, offering. You take that offer, wiggling up against his chest. You wrap an arm around him, squeezing him gently. He’s softer than he used to be. He’s always been soft, but he’s lost more of his muscle mass in the time away from the military. All of them have gotten softer, something you can’t bring yourself to complain about. You like them like this, well fed and relaxed. There’s something so domestic about it, such a contrast to the harsh sterility of life on base.

John sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You press your nose into his chest, breathing in the deep, damp earthy scent of him. It sinks into your mind, starting to quiet the thoughts racing through your head. They dampen to a dull drone, your eyes slipping closed as you lay there in your alpha’s warm embrace.

The wind whips around you, blowing salty air around you. It’s sunny out, but the wind is cold coming right off the ocean. You stand right on the edge of the wet sand, watching the waves flow in and out.

“It’s beautiful here.” Your mother says.

“It is.” You say, staring out at the horizon in the distance.

“You seem happy.”

“I am happy.” You turn to glance at her, meeting her gaze. “I’m very happy.”

“Good.” She pats your hand where it rests on her arm. “I can rest knowing you’re somewhere you’re well taken care of and happy.” She goes quiet for a moment, staring out at the sea. “They really love you. I can tell just by looking at them. Those boys would burn down the world for you.”

“You think so?” You ask, even though you already know she’s telling the truth.

“Of course.” She says, squeezing your hand. “I always hoped you’d come to be free of the military, but of course we can’t always control what happens. I suppose it was wrong of me to judge every service member based on those your father chose to surround himself with.”

“He did have a bad taste in friends.” You murmur. You’d never tell her about Phil and how you were reunited. You’re not sure you could tell her.

“Birds of a feather…”

You hum, watching the waves flow in and out across the sand.

“What happens after your vacation is over? Do you go back to living on base?”

“I suppose so.” You say, swallowing thickly. You’ve been trying not to think that far ahead, but now that Shepherd is gone, there’s nothing forcing your pack to stay at the cabin. You’ve always assumed as soon as things were safe, they’d go back as soon as they could. It’s their livelihoods, their life missions to serve in the military. No matter how much the idea makes you twitch, you know in the end it’s not up to you. You’ll follow them like you’re supposed to. It’s not like you have any other choice.

If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll get a house close to base and let you live a semi-normal life outside of the barracks. You’re not sure you could ever return there after everything that’s happened.

Then again, you might not have much of a choice.

“What would you want to do, if you had the choice?” She asks you, breaking you out of your thoughts.

What would you do? Your instinct is to follow them, all of your institute training tells you to be happy wherever they take you, to make a life out of what you’re given and ignore what you would prefer.

“I’d stay here forever.” You say, voicing exactly what it is you want. You’d live in that small cabin for the rest of your life if it meant you got to live somewhere like here.

“And they know that?” She asks.

You turn your head to glance back at them. Simon is lurking like a shadow, watching you as he leans against a rock. Ever attentive and watchful.

“You should tell them.” She continues. “You have a good pack. I think they’d be more willing to listen to what you want than you think.”

You turn back around, leaning over to rest your head against her shoulder. She is right. You can voice your thoughts and desires to them. Maybe this time they’ll listen and take you into consideration.

“Tell them.” She leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t get stuck like I did.”

“We brought some stuff to cook, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not in the slightest. Make yourselves at home.” John steps aside for your mother so your mother and brother can enter.

“What did you get?” You ask, stepping up to them to try and look in the bags.

“Eager little thing.” Your mother says, wrapping an arm around you. “Thought I might make some of your favorites.”

“Aw, mom you don’t have to do that.” You say as she guides you towards the kitchen.

“I know, but I want to.” She kisses the side of your head before releasing you. “What am I here for if not to spoil you a little.”

Jeremy sets the bags on the kitchen table before starting to unload them. You pick up a tin of cocoa, staring at it for a moment.

“Mom, are you making brownies?” You ask.

“Of course.” She says. “They are your favorite.”

You can’t stop the tears pooling in your eyes as you hug her again, holding her tightly. “I have missed your brownies.”

“Brownies and enchiladas.”

“Mom you don’t have to do this.” You say.

“Of course I do. I want to spoil you while I can.” She says, running a hand over your head.

“At least let me help you.” You say.

“I suppose I can allow that.” She says, winking at you.

The two of you head into the kitchen, getting started on cooking. Jeremy takes a seat at the table, striking up a conversation with Johnny.

“That could be dangerous.” You say, glancing at them.

“Let them have their fun.” Your mother says with a smile.

The two of you continue to cook, talking quietly while the conversation at the table gets more and more animated. Both Johnny and Jeremy are speaking loudly and laughing, and paired with the sounds of you and your mother cooking, are making the cottage seem more and more domestic. It reminds you a lot of life before the institute, at home with your family. Your brothers always loud and rambunctious, the younger kids playing in the living room, the TV playing some show in the background while your mother cooks away in the kitchen.

It has a warm feeling spreading through you, this glimpse of normalcy.

What you wouldn’t give to have this all the time.

“Smells good.” Dr. Keller says, entering the kitchen.

“Thank you. You’re more than welcome to have some once it’s done.” Your mother says.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m actually heading into town for the evening.” She says.

“To see Ashley?” You ask, wiggling your brows.

She gets an almost bashful look before clearing her throat. “Yes.”

You grin. “Don’t have too much fun!”

Dr. Keller gives you a smile before stepping out of the kitchen.

“Ashley is Kyle’s sister.” You explain to your mother. “Her and Dr. Keller have a...thing going on.”

“I see.” Your mother says with a smile. “I can only imagine what Ashley must be like after seeing Kyle.”

“They’re both absolute angels blessed with good genetics.” You say.

“Lucky them.”

You continue to cook, mixing the brownie batter while your mother pops the enchiladas into the oven. Kyle joins the pair at the table, Simon taking a seat as well, but as usual he stays distant from the conversation. Instead his eyes are on you, watching as you cook with your mother. Sometimes you wish you could sink into his brain and hear his thoughts. Is he thinking about his own family? You know he’s not exactly close with them, or at least he keeps himself at a distance. You’d like to meet his own mother sometime, but you’re not sure he’d be up for that.

You’d like to meet the rest of your pack’s families eventually. Considering you are family to them as their mated omega, it only seems right to meet their families. You don’t know much about their families outside the basics, and it would be fun to get to see what shaped them into being who they are today.

Cooking goes by quickly and before you know it you’re sitting at the table in your usual spot, across from John. The others are squeezed into the small space, your mother and brother on either side of you and Johnny, Simon and Kyle squeezed next to John. It’s a tight fit but it reminds you of home, a full table with delicious food. It makes you miss it, having a big pack surrounding you. A smaller pack is easier to manage, but you do miss the chaos of a big family.

“This might be manna from heaven.” Kyle says, his eyes closed as he swallows another bite of enchilada.

“Fucking delicious.” Johnny moans in agreement.

“Thank you, boys.” Your mother says.

You’ve hardly come up for air, inhaling every bit of food you can. It warms you to your core, the familiar taste of one of your favorite meals growing up. It’s just like you remember, perfect in every way.

Kyle and Johnny insist on doing dishes, the rest of you settling in for tea while the brownies cool.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be here?” Your mother asks John as she sips her tea.

“Not much longer.” John answers. “We have to go back to real life eventually.”

You’re not sure how much John told her. They’d spoken the previous day on the beach for a while, and you’re still curious as to what the conversation had entailed.

“It’s nice here.” Your mother says, looking around the cabin. “Cozy.”

“I’m sure we’d all like to stay here if we could.” John says. “I know someone in particular would.” He gives you a look.

Your face warms and you look down into your teacup bashfully.

“She always did like it when we lived close to the ocean.” Your mother says. “She’d go every day if she could.”

“She still would.” John says. “She’d go in bad weather if we’d let her.”

“Not if it was raining.” You say, trying to defend yourself.

“You sure that would stop you?” John asks, lifting a brow at you.

You try to convince yourself to say yes, but you know he knows you’d go even in the worst weather. Maybe not during a storm as that could be dangerous, but you’d still go and watch it at least for a while. “No,” You admit honestly, lifting your mug to your lips.

The occupants at the table all chuckle at your answer, all of them knowing what it would be. You’d sat outside in the rain enough times they know by now it wouldn’t stop you from doing much of anything.

“I’ll go dish up some brownies.” Your mother says, rising from her seat as Kyle and Johnny finish dishes.

“Let me.” John says, motioning for her to stay seated. It warms your heart a bit, seeing your alpha willing to do something so your mother doesn’t have to.

John dishes out brownies, Kyle helping him carry them to the table for everyone. The sweet smell of them has filled the cottage, hanging in the air making your mouth water. You’re excited, refraining from immediately stuffing your piece in your mouth as soon as it’s in front of you. You’re sure no one would complain, but the last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself in case you cry.

Just smelling them you might.

They’re still warm and gooey in your fingers as you lift the brownie slowly, bringing it to your lips. The sweet, rich flavor explodes on your tongue as you take your first bite, your eyes closing as you savor the taste you’ve been missing for years. You missed having brownies after your last heat and this has just healed that desire ten fold.

You really could cry.

“I’ve never tasted anything so good in my entire life.” Kyle says, earning satisfied groans of agreement around the table. “Don’t tell my mom I said that.”

Your mother chuckles. “Thank you, honey. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I can see now why you’ve been craving brownies, kitten.” Johnny says, his mouth full of chocolate.

“I missed these so much.” You say, taking another bite.

“I’m glad everyone is enjoying them.” Your mother says.

“Fantastic.” John agrees, wiping the chocolate from his fingers with a napkin.

You’re not quite so polite, licking the gooey chocolate from your fingers. A low rumble vibrates in your chest and suddenly your skin prickles. You glance up, finding all of the eyes at the table on you. You lower your hands, clearing your throat. “It was really good.”

“Good.” Your mother runs a hand over your head. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I don’t know how you read in such low light.”

You glance up over your book at John. “Because I’m not old.”

“That’s rude.” He says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not that old.”

You look him up and down before giving him a look. “Could have fooled me.”

John leans over, wrapping an arm around your waist. “C’mere.” He drags you across the bed to where he’s sitting, making you giggle and drop your book. “Little brat.”

You brush the hair out of your face, staring up at him. There’s a box in his hands, something you hadn’t noticed when he came in.

“Here.” He hands it to you. It’s not very heavy, and taped closed.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Something I think you’ll like.”

You give him a look before opening it. You wrap your fingers around the cold metal, pulling it out of the box.

“A phone?” You ask, turning it in your hands.

“No point to you not having one now.” He shrugs. “This way you can keep contact with your mother.”

You smile, hitting the on button. The screen lights up, already set up of course. You wonder what they downloaded on it before they gave it to you. “Thank you, John. This really means a lot.”

He smiles softly, brushing a hand over your head. “This way we won’t have to worry about you either.”

“Does that mean you’re leaving me by myself now, too?” You ask.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He says. “You’d be hard pressed to convince Simon to allow that.”

“But there’s no threat anymore.” You say.

“Doesn’t mean something won’t happen in his mind. He’s very protective of his pack, especially you.” John says, brushing his fingers across your cheek. “He’s grown a lot from how he was at the start. I never thought I’d see him go that soft for anyone. Not even Johnny.”

“Johnny can take care of himself.” You say, already having figured out Simon’s thought process. “I can’t. Not fully. Especially not now, so out of practice.”

“We’ll get you back into shape. Not that you’re not still in shape, but back to practicing again.” John says.

Your stomach clenches a bit at his words. That must mean you’re headed back to base soon, back to the way things were before. They’ll continue on with their jobs and you’ll always be the one left behind. It makes you feel disappointed. John voiced how he knew you’d want to stay here, or somewhere like here. You thought maybe that would change his mind, or at least make him think about other possible options.

Looks like you weren’t going to be that lucky.

“It’s been so good seeing you.” Your mother’s voice is muffled in your shoulder as you hug her tightly. “A wonderful gift I’ve been given, having you back.”

“I don’t want you to go.” You mumble into her jacket.

“I know.” She says, pulling away. She cups your face gently. “I wish I could stay here forever, but we have to go back to the real world eventually.”

She’s not wrong. Your time here in this quiet retreat is coming to an end as well. There’s nothing necessitating you stay in hiding anymore. Part of you hates it. Part of you wishes they’d never found Shepherd and you’d have to stay hidden forever. But then you would have never been reunited with your mother.

“Call me.” She continues. “I want to hear about everything.”

“I will.” You say, fighting tears as you stare at her, memorizing her face. It’s the face you remember, albeit a bit older now. Then again, you’re older than she remembers too.

A small smile pulls at her lips, tears gathering in her own eyes. “I love you so much, baby.”

You pull her into one last hug, breathing in her scent to commit it to memory once more. “I love you too.”

She kisses your head before pulling away. She cups your cheek, taking one last look before she steps away. Jeremy takes her place, pulling you into a tight hug.

“It was good to see you, sis.” He says.

“You too.” You say, squeezing him tightly.

He pulls away, patting your head. “Don’t give them too much trouble, alright?”

“I try.” You grin through your tears.

“You need anything, you call alright?” He gives you a pointed look.

“I will.” You nod.

“Good.” He kisses the top of your head, giving you one last squeeze before he heads for the car.

You stand there in the gravel watching it pull away. A couple tears slide down your cheeks, cooled by the light breeze blowing. You’re lucky it isn’t raining, though that wouldn’t have stopped you from standing out here. Warmth presses in against your sides and your back as you stand there, watching the car until it disappears around the bend.

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[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ New Haircut;

Synopsis; Sunghoon looks stupidly handsome after cutting his hair, and when you arrive home and see him wearing a sleeveless shirt and teasingly showing himself off, you cant control yourself no more.

Pairing; down bad fem!reader X hot boyfriend!Sunghoon (canon) Genre; i dont even know (?) suggestive; crack; fluff; Words; 0.6k Warning; very thirsty reader (she is just like me for real) sexual innuendos I guess? Author's Note: YALL I'M STILL FERAL OVER THESE SUNGHOON PHOTOS SO I DECIDED TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT THEM!! Dont be fooled I wrote this to satisfy MY OWN thirsty self. And yeah, I'm not okay. Just look at him, look at that smirk- I can't- As always, thank you so much for all the love. Likes, and reblogs are always appreciated! Masterlist

You’ve been dating Sunghoon for a few months, and everything has been as perfect as you imagined. He’s a caring, loving boyfriend who always looks after you. You knew how handsome he was, that’s why you had the biggest crush on him ever since he walked past you at university. But every time you think he can’t get any more attractive, he proves you wrong.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you just witnessed. You were coming back from work, feeling a little clingy and missing your boyfriend more than ever. So, to your surprise, when you arrived at your shared apartment and found Sunghoon still there, you were thrilled. It’s Saturday, and Sunghoon usually heads to the gym at 6 p.m. to avoid the crowds, so seeing him home was a delightful surprise.

But you couldn’t believe your eyes when he turned to face you, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement as he waited for your reaction.

Your gaze traveled over his tall figure. He was wearing loose gray sweatpants and a black sleeveless top that clung to his chest and showed off his muscular shoulders and arms. Then, your perplexed eyes moved upward, and you noticed his black hair was slightly shorter, perfectly framing his handsome face. Without makeup, the pretty moles scattered across his face were more visible, and his lips looked redder than usual, so plump and inviting.

“What do you think, pretty?” Sunghoon questioned with a teasing grin, his eyes fixed on your face.

Your mouth hung open, your cheeks flushed a cute shade of red, and your breathing grew uneven.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, your eyes glued to his lean arms, unable to look away.

“Yes, pretty?” he pressed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He loved having this effect on you. Especially because you’re usually so opinionated and talkative, but you always seem to turn shy when it comes to him.

“I just had an idea…” you said, stepping closer to Sunghoon and nudging his gym bag aside with your foot. “Maybe you can work out at home today.”

“At home? How?” Sunghoon asked, confused, his thick left eyebrow arching.

“Yeah, at home. With me. In bed,” you flirted, your voice low as you stepped fully in front of him.

“How can I work out in bed?” he smirked, pretending to be clueless about your very obvious invitation.

“Oh, I can show you some good workout positions…” You bit your bottom lip and reached for his head, wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with his freshly cut hair.

“You could’ve just said I look good,” Sunghoon teased, his seductive brown eyes locked on your parted lips.

“Oh no, no, I couldn’t—” Your gaze shifted from his eyes to his red lips. “It wouldn’t be enough to explain how insanely hot you look right now.”

Sunghoon let out a laugh, his cheeks warming at your boldness. His strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you forcefully against him, drawing a surprised whimper from your lips.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, eyes locked as your breathing quickened from the closeness. You were the one who made the first move, unable to hold back any longer. Slowly, your lips meet his in a unrushed peck, wanting to savour the moment. But Sunghoon’s lips move impatiently against yours, turning the kiss that was supposed to be slow and passionate to hungry. He couldn't wait. He wanted you.

“Then show me,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low and teasing. “Show me how handsome you think I am.” His words sent a shiver through you, and you hungrily chased after his addictive kiss again, ready to make him regret asking.

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[majestyeverlasting]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader (18+) summary it wasn’t uncommon for you to seek each other’s presence after the sun was tucked away—for company, for comfort. but there’s something more consuming about tonight [post-outbreak, fluff, soft smut, 3.3k] a/n they're in love.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

There always had been something about the night. Something singular about its ability to take the most tightly wound days and coax them undone. Like the silken ribbon of a worn bow that had grown weary of holding its shape.

For quite some time now, your nights have belonged to each other. After years of going to bed alone, even Joel realized how good it felt to end the day next to someone who reminded him just how sweet life could be. 

Everyone's deserving of good company—you’d spoken those words to him in the face of his independence. Thankfully, with time, they’d worked their way into his spirit. Like vines, like air itself. He no longer feels wrong for craving care as tender as yours, even though his hands have made ghosts out of many men. 

Earlier tonight, it was you who came to him. 

Three muffled knocks had roused him from the beginning of a light sleep. Given he didn’t have to entertain Ellie tonight, he figured he’d turn in a little earlier than usual. He’d answered the door with fluffy hair and squinted eyes. There was an undeniable softness about his rumpled pajamas and the sight of his bare feet against the hardwood. Few words were needed between you as he helped you out of your coat and led you upstairs to his bedroom. 

It’s quiet where you lay now, tucked beneath sheets that smell faintly of earthen pine. You’ve draped one arm over Joel’s waist while your nose remains tucked between his shoulder blades like it belongs there. 

During the day, while out in the commune, you remained cordial and unassuming around each other. You weren’t exactly hiding from the attention of others but were protecting the bond forming between you. 

In due time, you’d allow the familiarity and intimacy of the night to bleed over into the day, but for now, this nighttime ritual is sacred in its newness. It had been a couple of months since your patrol partner didn’t show, and Joel stepped up to take his place. 

As it turns out, spending six hours with the right person in the cold can change your life. 

Joel holds his breath on an inhale when he feels your fingers begin to toy with the hem of his shirt. They slip beneath it a moment later, almost shy as they trail along his waistline and brush through the thin hair beneath his navel. Joel’s hips tilt just so. 

He swallows around a low sound as your hand ventures up his chest with featherlight curiosity. Exploring, cataloging. Past his ribs and to his chest to graze the pads of your fingers over his nipples, making something stir low in his gut. 

Your hand then drifts back down to splay over the small pudge of his stomach as if to center him again. 

“You’re so warm,” you murmur. 

If he were braver, he’d say it was by virtue of your touch alone. Your hands had wandered over each other's bodies, but never quite like this. This time, your touch doesn’t seek to soothe or ground but to evoke. 

Joel rests his hand over yours with a hum. It covers yours whole. 

“Your hands are so big.” Your voice dips into a purr. “And strong. Capable.”

Joel chuckles a low, flustered sound. He’s not sure what to do with these compliments or if that’s what they’re meant to be. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you then say. “Fix my mailbox.”

Of everything you could’ve mentioned, he wasn’t expecting that. It was an easy task he’d knocked out earlier this afternoon. It took him no more than fifteen minutes. 

“Nothing to it,” he assures in a low drawl. 

Except, there was something to it. The fix meant Joel had been listening when you mentioned it broke. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something for you without asking for permission. Joel Miller is a man of action. If he sees a problem or a need, he doesn't hesitate. That strong sense of initiative had yet to steer him wrong. 

It’s lovely to be seen and heard by someone like him, especially in a commune where it wasn’t hard to slip through the cracks at times.  

A half-restrained shiver rolls down Joel’s spine when you press a kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair curled there tickles the tip of your nose. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Welcome—” His voice catches when you pepper more kisses to his nape. His hand stills yours when he feels your attempt to trail your touch downward from his stomach. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes, a little wary. 

“Yes?” you lilt. 

The sheets rustle as Joel turns over to face you. He can only make out a few of your features in the glow of the moonlight slipping into the room. The rest, his mind fills in. You cup his stubbled cheek with a gentle hand. 

“Makin’ me hot.” His voice is soft and honest, a little frayed around the edges. A pleasant buzz has settled beneath his skin. 

Maybe you wanted him to burn. 

You scoot that much closer to press your lips to his. When the initial surprise dissipates, they move, slow and easy, against your own. Almost tired if you didn’t know any better. But even in the shroud of the night, he’s wide awake. For this. For you. 

A low sound rises in his throat when you take his lower lip between your teeth and gently tug until you’ve fully pulled away. 

Joel hadn’t realized his hand had drifted to settle on your waist, but suddenly, it’s not enough. He needs to feel you entirely. A need rooted so deep he aches with it. There’s no more denying the swell in his pants, where the brunt of his desire has made itself known. 

Restraint looks good on Joel, but there always has been an air of allure around the notion of him surrendering. Of what it looked like for him to partake and be partaken of. It’d been some years since he’d allowed himself to open up in this way, and anyone he shared himself with in the past was long gone. You wanted to demystify it all and come to know that side of him for yourself. 

This time, when your hand begins to drift lower, he doesn’t stop you. Not when your fingers slip beneath both his waistbands. Or as you wrap them around the base of his warm, rigid length. A pleasured shudder courses through him as you pull upwards in a reverent tug. At the top, your thumb encircles the velveteen head to spread the small, wet bead of eagerness.  

Joel starts to move upright but trembles back into place when your loose grasp descends, mapping back down each snaking vein before gently massaging the rounded fullness that hangs beneath. 

“Love the feel of you already,” you murmur. Joel’s face warms as his arousal kicks up under your ministrations. 

In an unexpected display of agility, he repositions to hover above you, pushes down his pants and boxers, and braces himself as he kicks them away. His movements are so seamless that your touch isn’t disrupted for long. 

You spit into your hand as best you can and reach out for him in the dark, knowing exactly where to find him as he bobs towards his stomach. 

Joel’s more interested in gripping your pants, and you place your feet flat on the mattress to lift your hips for him to shuck them off. The cool air of the room registers against the slickness between your legs as you clench. Joel lowers a finger to trace along your entrance, spreading the moisture upwards as he circles your budded nerves. 

He continues paying careful attention to the spot, even as your hand distractedly falls from him to curl into the sheets. Your exhale is shaky when he stops. 

“Just a second,” Joel rasps. 

He braces himself further up your body, one large palm splayed near your head. As the mattress shifts, you realize he’s reaching toward the nightstand. You move your hand to play between your legs to ease the throbbing ache lazily. 

A faint click sounds, and a flame sparks to life, balanced on the crooked wick of a candle. The light casts a dim, golden radius in the room. 

“Can’t miss this,” he explains as he returns to his original position. 

“Need to see you.” In a testament to his words, his arousal kicks up on its own accord yet again. 

You selfishly take him in. His intense gaze. Broad shoulders. Thick thighs. The straining, desirous region of him that your hands had come to know before your eyes ever did. A thatch of unruly dark curls rests at the base of him. 

Joel pulls his shirt over his head to reveal his last covered portion. His arms are toned and firm. A thin dusting of hair spans over his impressive chest. New and old scars pepper the expanse of his torso. The faint indents of a v-line remain even with the pudge of his stomach from age and finally eating good meals again. 

Now it’s your turn. Joel helps you out of your shirt and tosses it aside with renewed urgency. As you finally lay bare, his dark eyes admire your chest as if this first chance is the last chance he’ll get. He extends a careful hand to cup one of your breasts, gaze flicking to your face to watch the way your brows furrow in approval. 

“Christ,” he grouses in an air of disbelief. 

You suck in a quick breath when he leans down to kiss along the side of your neck. Goosebumps arise in the wake of his lips as he continues downward like it’s a path he’s traveled before. Over your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, straying to gently peck a pebbled nipple before returning to the centerline of your torso. 

In the process, he shifts himself further down the mattress, your legs propped like two mountains along either side of him. 

His kisses turn into toothless nips when he reaches the lower portion of your stomach. That sensation, paired with the scratch of his beard, makes your abdomen twitch and flex. It isn’t until he makes it beneath your belly button and strays toward your hip bones that your chest finally shakes with a laugh as you squirm. 

Joel stills you with a steady hand and peeks up at you with a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. He’s cataloging every shift and sweet sound. 

As his shoulders force your thighs to splay a little wider, you bite your lip both out of anticipation and to keep your lingering smile at bay. In seconds, he’s made a live wire out of you. 

Every other breath you take catches. You find yourself swallowing more than you had all night. But suddenly, there’s no urgency about him at all. You’ve slipped into an unspoken purgatory where your release looms on hold. 

He’s drawing things out, taking his time, ignoring the throb of his own need as he tries to pick you apart. 

Joel bypasses where you’re spread open and pulsing and delivers a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mere inches from where you crave him. You shift, hoping he’ll reroute, but he pretends not to notice. 

You try again, attempting to twist and present your core as an alternative to the fluff of your thighs. 

An exasperated huff escapes you. “Just…”

You let your sentence trail off as you attempt to give him your best pleading look. It almost works. They’re the eyes he’d steal the moon for, but he wants to relish this moment a little longer. He wants to hold out on you while you’re both safe to be these needy versions of yourselves. 

“Just what, sweetheart?” he coaxes. 

Your mouth opens a couple of times. “Do something. Touch me,” you murmur, cheeks warm. 

“I am touchin’ you.” He smooths a calloused palm along your leg to prove it. 

“Like you were before,” you specify, voice smaller now. 

Your stomach flips when he starts to move back towards your hips, and flustered, premature giggles bubble up your throat because he’s got you so on edge, and you just know he’s about to do those maddening little kisses again. 

“Not that,” you whine. “C’mon Joel, I need you.” The earnestness of those words sends a jolt toward the apex of his thighs. 

You’ve got him now, so you press further. “Please? Wanna feel you.” You make your voice softer. “Been wanting to feel you all night.”

Joel caves and runs a heavy finger through your folds, then gently spreads you open to press a kiss to that small, swollen part of you. His lips are so delicate you’d think he was kissing a rose bud. A helpless mewl escapes as he replaces his lips with the firm press of his index finger and begins drawing tight circles. 

The touch stirs faint, premature flutters that make you tilt your hips into his hand. “I gotcha,” he assures. 

He did have you, not just in this way, but in every sense of the word. He’d proven that from the day he met you, ready to be the supply to your demand when it came to all manners of your needs. Even the ones you didn’t realize you had. The thought alone makes pleasure knot in your stomach all the more. You clench around nothing but the idea of taking him alone. 

“Joel,” you breathe. 

His eyes lift from your core to your gaze. Your eyes sparkle with candlelit desperation. Still taking his time, he runs his finger back down and just barely breaches your entrance with a curious probe. He’s wet with your slick and knows he’d slip right in. 

“Need you,” you murmur again. It’s different this time. 

Joel withdraws his touch and crawls back up your body, muscles shadowing as they shift. You open your legs wider so he can slot himself between you, bracing a forearm near your head. He’s close enough that your chests brush. That your breaths mingle.  

He takes himself in his hand and guides the tip to the warmth of your center. The gentle touch soon turns into a glide that bumps your clit with every upward pass. You place your hands on his shoulders because your fingers are shaking, and you don’t know what else to do. 

Like a locksmith with a key, he notches at your entrance with delicate intentionality. Both of you shudder, and he briefly touches his forehead to yours. The world stills as he slowly begins to push inside of you. You welcome each new inch with the same steady, heated snugness. Not once does your body flinch or hesitate. You welcome him in even through the dullest ache until he’s burrowed.   

Your joint groans just barely register on the outskirts of your consciousness as the blinding haze of pleasure becomes one with reality. 

Joel grants you an quiet moment of acclimation before he pulls out a little and eases himself back in. A hum vibrates through your chest. This time, he pulls back a little further, then finds his way back inside the encompassing warmth of you. 

“You’re the warm one,” he counters your earlier statement. “Taking me so well,” he praises. 

He withdraws a little more each time until his thrusts become fuller, and he finds an easy rhythm. You encourage his movements with the dig of your heels at the back of his thighs. 

He tucks his head down to place open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and graze down his back. 

“You feel so good,” you admit in a frantic sigh. “So so good.” 

Joel nearly comes from hearing that alone. 

There is no reprieve from the pleasure, no moment that allows you two to fully gather your bearings or muster up a semblance of composure. Every sound that slips past your lips is helpless, a little gone. They join the tiny squeaks of the mattress and the sticky, rhythmic contact of skin meeting dewy skin. 

“Faster,” you breathe. Joel listens in a heartbeat, continuing to meet that dense, tender place within you that has your toes curling. “Oh god—” you choke out, a mix between a moan and a whimper. 

Before you can find your breath again, Joel cups your breasts, switching from one to the other and running his thumb along your nipples. The sound that escapes you almost sounds pained, but your face scrunches in the prettiest, rawest way. Joel’s hips drive forward in an involuntary thrust of force.

One of his hands slips between your bodies to rub over that still-pulsing part of you. A dreamy sound falls past your lips as you writhe and arch. The tightness builds. The sea swells. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to keep it all at bay and prolong the moment. 

“Open your eyes, angel,” Joel encourages in a rasp. 

You don’t listen and silently pray that he gives up. 

“Lemme see those pretty eyes,” he tries again. 

You whimper as his finger rubs faster circles, his thrusts remaining intense. 

Joel’s voice takes on a waver, cracking around the edges with something fragile and desperate. “C’mon, baby, please?” 

You realize then that he needs it. 

When your eyes flutter open, a few rogue tears run down the apples of your cheeks towards your ears. Joel catches them. It’s too much. The newness of it all, the warm weight of his body moving above yours, making you his. There’s a glisten on his forehead, in the divot of his sternum. The way his muscles flex with his thrusts is living art. You’ve never met a more gorgeous man or had the pleasure of knowing and becoming one with someone who made you feel this whole.

“There she is,” Joel hums. 

In an instant, your body jolts against the mattress as you come undone beneath his frame. Your walls flutter around him in strong pulses of pleasure that radiate outward and leave you floating. If it were light instead, you’d be a shining star illuminating the room. 

Joel’s seen fewer sights that have struck him at his core. 

It takes every ounce of decency and strength within him to override the recklessness of pleasure, and pull out of you in a swift drag. Away from your swollen, pulsing warmth. Away from one of the few places he could confidently say he belonged in this fallen world.  

Through dazed eyes, you watch as Joel wraps a hand around himself and begins stroking. He’s slick with you, and the veins in his forearms pop. 

He spills onto your stomach in seconds with an earnest, shuddered groan. Each pulse of his release grows duller, resulting in shorter spurts until there’s nothing more than a pearly dribble running down the sides of him. 

You reach out with a weak hand to take over and coax him through the last few waves. Joel twitches in your grasp but lets you continue. Another shudder courses through him as he grows sensitive and begins to soften. 

“That’s all of me, baby,” he says, voice low and soft just for you.

You hum in a daze as you withdraw your touch. The last thing you remember is the kiss Joel presses to your forehead, the dip of the mattress as he gets out of bed, the gentleness of his hands, and the warm towel as he cleanses you.

There’s something special about the following morning. Something soft, aglow, and singular as pale sun rays slip into Joel’s room. They coat the cozy space like a seal. It’s as if the events of last night had carried over and been made manifest into something warm, and lovely, and beautiful. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[mourndust]

˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ lazy fucking violet.

18+ mdni, fingering, domestic!vi, dirty talk, afab reader, this is basically sleepy, lazy sex in the middle of the night, kinda sweet dunno, enjoy. // check out my masterlist!

nightime is vi’s favorite time of the day. the long summer nights that seem eternal under the barely noticiable stars in the sky, the lonely moon hanging high as her breathing collides with the back of your neck, holding you tightly against the planes of her body as silence finally fills the room.

two in the morning, three, the two of you have fallen in a comfortable routine where you keep on talking until you randomly look at the clock and shit: you have work tomorrow, vi has shit to do as well so the lights are out and she’s holding you beneath the sheets, cuddling as she tries to sleep, concentrated in your breathing, your soft skin and how relaxed everything feels laying right next to you, anything but your ass barely covered by the oversized shirt she can feel without seeing it.

“are you asleep already?” she cannot help to ask after some minutes, and you hum trying to make her shut up. “how do you fall asleep so quickly? it’s not fair.”

vi would love the talent on herself, but there’s always something: the bed’s too comfortable, too silent, too peaceful. her life has always been rough and fast, so she rolls in bed until her eyes close by themselves, hugging you tightly as a reminder you’re on her side, that her lone days are over — a reassurance that the thin duvets she’s sleeping in does not belong not even near stillwater.

“don’t sleep,” she moves you slightly at first, a couple of seconds until she’s downright shaking you. “baby, wake up. don’t leave me, i want some kisses.”

it’s been a long day. vi’s muscles are sore and you’re barely able to keep an eye open, but either way you’re putting an effort on stretching out to reach for a kiss, looking at her from over your shoulder as you purse your lips together for a quick peck vi wastes no time in taking.

and the thing is, it should be a quick kiss. should cause vi’s kissing you again and again until you seem to get the memo, parting your lips slightly to let her tongue push warm and wet against your bucal cavity, playfully touching yours as you are slow to return the kiss, allowing it anyhow. her kisses are so damn nice for a reason, when her hoop ring squishes against your own nose and she’s wishing to kiss you for as long as her breathing allows it to.

“vi,” you say, trying to catch on your breath for a moment as your cheek touches back the pillow again, resting — “i’d like more, but i’m just so tired.”

she’s smiling. even in the darkness of the room you can’t see much but you feel her, and vi does not have much choice here, not when she loves the sound of your voice betraying you cause you do want more, even when it’s impossible for you to move any muscle.

“it’s okay,” she whispers in your ear after a second or two “i know you do. there’s no need to move here, sweetheart.”

you’d call it lazy fucking cause it don’t take much to cum. a quickie even, a forty minute long session that don’t qualify as a quickie really, but it’s close enough for both of you, in your own terms. vi’s urging you to come closer, and as fast as you fall asleep you’re now on your back, laying comfortable as she demands more kisses.

her fingers don’t miss a second to spread your legs open, and suddenly it’s like she’s all over, making you move until she’s pressed on your side, hoovering right above you — and usually she’d have you back pressed against her chest on nights like this, kneading on your breasts, breathing in your skin, but she wants to see you. wants to notice your features, your pretty face distorting with the pleasure she brings in plain dark, kiss you as you fall apart engulfing your sinful sounds, whispering sweet words to drive you closer to the edge.

simple as that.

so she hates it when she gets tired too, cause fingerfuck you? it’s a huge fucking effort. stopping once in a while for a second or two from the sore feeling in her muscles after a long day, making you chuckle lowly between erratic moans as she touches you just right how you want to; she’s fucking burning at that point.

“i’m sorry,” vi whispers against your neck, but she don’t really mean it— “doin’ my best here.”

her digits force themselves at your entrace, coating them with clear arousal as she fills you up, curling as she happens to know your body, those points you enjoy almost too much, the places that make you giggle an irrevocably cum.

she’s doing it on purpose either way, teasing you. even when there’s this sound filling the room each time she sinks down and you’re awake as ever now, moving your hips against the palm of vi’s hand in search for more friction against your sensitive cunt, she’s taking her time cause sleep can wait, your needs? that’s different.

“fuck you’re so tight,” she whispers against your neck before you’re pulling on your shirt upwards, squirming against the wrinkled sheets to rise it above your tits, nipples already peebled and aching for her touch. even in the dark, violet notices the soft expanse of your bare skin colliding against her own, the smell of flowers in your skin as you recently switched to a new fragance. “greedy. greedy slut always asking for more.”

the words slur together as she speaks: but can you blame her? it’s impossible not to when her mouth catches up your hard nipple between her lips and her tongue, that sweet tongue of her’s, swirls around it, wide licks before her mouth closes around to suck, fucking you deeper with her digits buried in your pussy — and you moan, cause the motherfucker bites on your chest lightly, enough to send shivers down your spine.

she’s good at driving you crazy, every. single. time.

“there you go baby. always s’good for me” vi praises with a smile. “do you hear how wet you are from just a little kiss? gonna make my girl cum.”

there’s something about the dark, cause vi loves to see you, fucking you with all the lights on so she can see every part of you, your very own fiber — but like that? it has so many perks too, a lot when she focus on your moans, the roughness on your voice each time you pant her name, the feeling of your warm cunt evolving her fingers, squeezing them like your own consciousness is trying to draw them deeper, harder. it makes her rely on her senses.

“ngh-m’gonna cum vi,” your voice is so fucking soft, like you’re recovering from being dizzy seconds before saying it, weak as you move faster. you’re leaking on the damn mattress beneath you as your body seems to function on it’s own — and it’s all it takes to make the earth stop spinning on it’s axis, the rippling orgasm pouring like hot fire in your skin as a loud moan leaves your lips, making your brain melt away in your own system.

vi enjoys watching you come undone, the shaking in your legs as you reach out to kiss her, the messy and sloppy kiss you give her in plain ecstasy that’s nothing but teeth and tongue, roughly passing your tongue against her parted lips.

your breathing is heavy and god, vi wishes to turn the lights on just to see that fucked out expression in your face, the way your brows furrow as you’re sensitive when she’s withdrawing her fingers, licking them clean like they’re full of ambrosia and not your clear arousal.

your intentions are clear afterwards when you’re pushing your knee between her parted, invitating legs, leaving an invisible trail of kisses against the column of her exposed skin; that tattoo on her neck you’ve seen many times before now brushing against your lips — your girlfriend is a mess already when you touch her, needy as she grinds desesperate for her own release.

it doesn’t take much to make her cum either way, and when she finally falls asleep, you think that’s the fastest way to make her actually rest.

a win is a win after all.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

lipstick stains.

reader decides to dabble with art using several lipstick as her tools and sylus' sleeping face as her canvas.

fluff. inspired by one of sylus' texts in the game (included down below near the end). no warnings, just little kisses and reader having a little fun <3

It's two in the afternoon and there's nothing to do until sunset, when it's time to get ready for a date with your lover who's currently sleeping.

No... maybe there is something you could do.

A certain someone recently just bought you several new shades of lipstick from the brand that you love. Maybe now is a good idea to see which color would suit your outfit best for your date.

You wore a sly grin as you gathered all of your new lipstick and tiptoed your way inside Sylus' bedroom.

He's still in the same position as when you put him to bed: mostly on his back, though his upper body's slightly on a higher level due to the fluffy cold pillow supporting his shoulders.

He's wearing his satin burgundy robe, which had gotten a little loose to expose a portion of his chest. You were tempted to rest your head against it, but you can't afford to be distracted right now. You have a mission.

You're going to test the shades of your new lipstick with Sylus' help.

First up is cherry.

You put on a single layer of that color on your lips, then you carefully leaned down towards Sylus' face and softly kissed his forehead. You made sure it was as light as a feather so he doesn't wake up and end your fun so soon.

Next: rose.

You painted your lips with the brighter shade and pecked Sylus' left cheek. It gave a similar result as the previous contender: it looks great, but this particular color probably won't match your outfit tonight.

Third candidate is: wine

This one went to his right cheek and your gaze lingered on it for a little longer than the rest, as the color seemed so fitting on Sylus' face. The stain of wine always did compliment him, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

Up next is blood-red.

It's darker than wine and you also love its velvety texture. More importantly, the kiss mark of its hue looks wonderful on Sylus' left jawline.

Following that is blush.

This one's brighter and more on the pink side. Even though you like it, tonight won't be the night when you'd wear it. Nonetheless, it certainly looks lovely on your lover's chin, which twitched for a second after you kissed it.

Next one is apple.

You kissed the right side of Sylus' jaw and awed at its surprisingly vibrant tone. This one might work quite well with your outfit.

There's the shade called merlot, too.

It's more on the darker side, but you're not sure if it'll look good with your outfit tonight. On the other hand, it's cute on Sylus' nose.

Last but not least: ruby

This one seems like it's in the middle of the palette in terms of saturation, and it appears to have an appealing texture as well. To test it out, you put it on your lips and left a mark on the little spot just above his lips.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Sylus stirred all of a sudden, so you ended up kissing him on the lips.

From the very moment your lips touched, your face heated up and you backed away in panic.

You've kissed him plenty of times. You've kissed him on the lips and on spots that are not his lips. You've done way more than kissing. And yet still, your heart raced at the thought of him catching you stealing kisses from him while he sleeps.

It's still a little early for him to wake up, so you decided to leave him alone for now. You took all of your lipstick with you and ran out before he could detect your presence.

//////////

Your mouth drops at the text message you just received.

"I need to hide, quickly! You guys better not snitch on me! Especially you, Mephie!" You glared at the crow before leaving Luke and Kieran, suddenly ending your game of Kitty Cards.

You fled to look for a hiding spot, but it's too late. Your face planted against a strong chest.

You swore you heard a cough from behind you, followed by the sound of someone's phone clicking for a picture.

It didn't matter though because Sylus spared no attention to Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto as his eyes are completely focused on you.

"Sylus....." you laughed nervously. "Good afternoon. Had a nice dream?"

"Mhmm." He crossed his arms, giving you a raised brow. "In my dream, I was being attacked by a mischievous kitten while I was asleep."

"...."

"You're coming with me." He took one step towards you and leaned down to whisper to your ear. "You have to be punished for your crimes."

Suddenly, he threw you over his shoulder and retreated back to his bedroom.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other.

"Did you get the picture?"

"Yeah."

[calypso-rt]

bookworm

-> rafe x bookworm!reader

The bell above the bookstore door jingled sharply, and you looked up just in time to see a tall, very damp stranger step inside, shaking the rain from his jacket.

He looked out of place: broad-shouldered and golden-haired, like he belonged on a yacht instead of standing in the doorway of your tiny shop, dripping onto the hardwood floor.

You arched a brow. “You’re getting water on my first editions.”

The guy, Rafe Cameron, you recognized now, glanced down at the puddle forming around his expensive-looking sneakers. “Shit—uh, my bad.” He took a dramatic step to the side, as if that somehow fixed it, then ran a hand through his rain-soaked hair. “I, uh, wasn’t planning on coming in. Just—y’know. Rain.”

You resisted the urge to smile. “Yes, I do know rain.”

Rafe exhaled, half-laughing, like he wasn’t used to people talking to him like this. He glanced around, taking in the towering bookshelves, the warm glow of the reading lamps. “So… what kinda place is this? Coffee shop? Library?”

“Bookstore.”

“Right. That’s what I meant.”

You leaned your elbows on the counter, tilting your head. “Not much of a reader, are you?”

“Uh—” He looked vaguely offended. “I mean, I’ve read, like… some books.”

“Name one.”

His jaw tightened. “Do magazines count?”

You laughed and Rafe looked half annoyed, half intrigued. “Not unless they have plotlines and character development.”

He hesitated, shifting his weight like he was debating whether to leave or stay. Then, as if making a split-second decision, he cleared his throat. “Alright. Sell me a book, then.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “What, right now?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms. “Something I’d like.”

You eyed him, taking in the expensive watch, the cocky smirk he was trying to suppress, the slight impatience in the way he tapped his fingers against his bicep. Then, without a word, you turned, plucked a book from the shelf, and set it down in front of him.

Rafe squinted at the cover. The Great Gatsby.

He snorted. “You picked this ‘cause I’m rich, didn’t you?”

You just smiled, chin propped in your palm. “I picked it because it’s about a man who has everything… except the one thing he really wants.”

That shut him up.

For the first time since he walked in, Rafe didn’t have a witty retort. Instead, he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Then, after a moment, he picked up the book, flipping it over in his hands.

“Alright,” he said, voice softer than before. “Guess I’ll give it a shot.”

And just like that, a golden-haired, rain-drenched Kook walked into your quiet little world, and, much to your surprise, didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.

...

The next time Rafe Cameron strolled into your bookstore, the weather was perfectly dry. No convenient rainstorm forcing him inside. Which meant he was here on purpose.

You glanced up from your desk, hiding a smile as he beelined straight for the shelves, hands in his pockets, exuding casual confidence... except for the way his eyes flicked toward you every few seconds, like he was making sure you noticed him.

He stopped in front of the classics section, squinting at the titles, then, rather dramatically, pulled out the thickest book he could find.

“War and Peace,” you read off the spine, eyebrows raising.

Rafe nodded, flipping it open like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Yep. I’m thinking… light weekend read.”

You leaned on the counter, amusement bubbling in your chest. “You do know that book is, like, twelve hundred pages, right?”

Rafe smirked. “Yeah. I like a challenge.”

You folded your arms. “Do you even know what it’s about?”

He hesitated for just a second, just long enough for you to tell he absolutely did not, before shrugging. “War. And… peace.”

You bit back a laugh. “Brilliant deduction, Tolstoy.”

He made a face. “Okay, whatever, maybe I just like big books. What, I’m supposed to pick some tiny little paperback?”

“Size isn’t everything, Rafe.”

His bit back a grin like he was fighting off some very Rafe-like response to that statement. Instead, he cleared his throat and flipped to a random page. “I’ll prove it,” he declared. “I’ll read the whole thing.”

You tilted your head, amused. “All of War and Peace?”

“All of War and Peace.” He looked very proud of himself, like he’d just announced he was climbing Mount Everest. “And then I’ll come back and tell you all about it.”

You rested your chin in your palm, eyes twinkling. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Good.” Rafe closed the book with a satisfying thud and tucked it under his arm like a trophy. He turned to leave but then, almost as an afterthought, glanced back at you, smirking.

“Bet you’ll be impressed when I finish.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I’ll be shocked if you finish.”

Rafe just gave you a wink, pushing out the door, head held high like he’d just won something.

You bit your lip, watching him go.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

...

“You have a predilection for making a mess,” you mused, watching as Rafe leaned back in his chair at the counter, arms crossed, an empty coffee cup in front of him: his third of the morning.

Rafe blinked. “A what?”

“A predilection.”

He squinted at you. “Is that, like… a disease?”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “No, it means you have a habit of doing something. A preference.”

“Oh.” Rafe nodded, like he totally got it. He absolutely did not get it.

Moments like these happened all the time. You’d say something, something perfectly normal, in your opinion, and he’d look at you like you were speaking ancient Latin.

Last week, you told him his posture was lackadaisical, and he spent the next three hours trying to pronounce it. Yesterday, you mentioned that his tendency to linger in your store was beguiling, and he just stared at you for a solid five seconds before muttering, “Yeah, well, you’re beguiling too.”

But today? Today was different. Today, Rafe had come prepared.

“I actually knew that,” he lied, shifting in his seat. “I, uh… I absconded that word earlier.”

You blinked. “You what?”

“Absconded,” he repeated, looking oddly proud of himself.

You bit your lip, trying so, so hard not to laugh. “Do you mean absorbed?”

Rafe’s smirk faltered. “…Yeah, that one.”

You let out a giggle, and Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I knew I was gonna mess that up.”

“No, no,” you teased, leaning forward on your elbows. “Please, continue. What else have you absconded (definition: leave hurriedly and secretly, typically to avoid detection of or arrest for an unlawful action such as theft) lately?”

He shot you a look, then, without missing a beat, grabbed his empty coffee cup and stood. “I’m absconding out of here.”

You let out a full laugh, and he grinned as he turned toward the door.

Before he left, though, he paused, glancing back at you with that cocky, boyish smirk.

“By the way, I predilect you.”

You shook your head, utterly endeared. “That’s not... never mind.”

Rafe just winked. “Knew it.”

A/N: mindless self indulgence

[enhaflixer]

dad!enhypen x mom f!reader - enha dilf smut

cw: smut, breeding kink, degradation, 69ing some real filthy some real sweet im ngl 2 u ENHA HARD HOURS MDNI 18+

-

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Yuri’s finally asleep upstairs, her stuffed bear clutched in one tiny hand. The monitor hums on the kitchen counter. Snow’s falling outside the windows, crackling gently against the fire-warmed glass.

And Heeseung?

He’s looking at you like you’re dessert.

The second you bend down to put your mug in the sink—sweatpants sliding just an inch too low, the back of your tank top riding up—he’s behind you.

His palm presses flat to your lower back. His hips grind into your ass, and you feel him already hard.

“Baby,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “You wanna be a mom again that bad?”

You laugh breathlessly. “She just fell asleep.”

He leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“Then you better keep your mouth shut.”

Your heart stutters. Your thighs clench.

Heeseung grabs your hips, bends you gently over the kitchen counter, and pulls your sweats down just far enough to expose your soaked panties.

“Oh, you’re ready already?” he says, one brow raised. “Just from me watching you do dishes like a good little wife?”

He strokes one finger up the seam of your pussy, still covered.

You squirm. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Heeseung—”

“No,” he whispers, kissing your spine. “Say it.”

“Please fuck me.”

He slides your panties aside and pushes in slowly—deep—like he’s savoring it.

You gasp, hands braced on the cold counter, the stretch already making your legs shake.

And he starts moving.

Not gentle.

Not rough.

Just… focused.

Possessive.

Like he’s claiming you all over again.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Tight like it’s the first time. Wet like you were made for me. This pussy’s been mine since day one, huh?”

You whimper, trying not to moan too loud.

The baby monitor glows quietly in the corner.

Heeseung sees you glance at it and smirks.

“You scared she’s gonna hear?” he taunts. “Worried our little girl’s gonna wake up and hear mommy getting bred like she asked for it?”

You moan into your arm. Heeseung growls.

“God, you’re so fucking hot when you’re trying to be quiet.”

He grabs your jaw, pulls you up just enough to hiss into your ear:

“You know what gets me off? Seeing you with her. Watching you tuck her in, feed her, kiss her little cheeks like the perfect mother.”

He thrusts harder.

“And knowing that this is what you need when she’s down for a nap. Knowing I fuck you so good, you leak for an hour after.”

You’re shaking. Crying out now.

There’s slick dripping down your thighs, onto the floor. Heeseung grabs your chin, makes you look at your reflection in the microwave.

“Look at yourself,” he growls. “So messy. So fucked out. You want another one? I’ll fill you up right now. Knock you up again while our daughter’s sleeping upstairs.”

You cum so hard your knees give out.

Heeseung holds you up.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Now hold still.”

He fucks you through it. Doesn’t pull out.

And when you feel it—that rush of heat, his cum spilling inside you—you moan like it’s your own orgasm.

Heeseung pants against your neck, then presses the softest kiss to your temple.

“That’s how you start a family vacation.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

The baby’s asleep. The monitor’s on. You’re freshly showered, wearing nothing but a robe, leaning against the headboard with your legs tucked up beneath you.

Jay walks in slowly, towel around his neck, hair damp from his own shower. You smile at him, lazy and soft. He looks at you like he’s been starving.

“You shouldn’t sit like that,” he murmurs, climbing onto the bed.

“Like what?”

He crawls toward you, eyes locked on the part of your robe that’s come slightly undone.

“Like your pussy isn’t the only thing I’ve thought about all day.”

You laugh, but your breath catches when he kisses your thigh. Just above the knee. Then higher. Then higher.

“I’m serious,” he whispers, lips dragging against your skin. “Ever since you got pregnant… ever since you gave birth…”

His hands slide under the robe. Push your thighs apart gently.

“You taste different. Sweeter. Thicker. Like wine.”

You stare down at him, stunned. Flushed. “Jay—”

But he’s already kissing your pussy like it’s communion.

Slow, reverent. Like he’s praying.

He moans into you, loud, unashamed. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. You feel his lips part—his tongue flatten—and then he’s drinking you like he’s been deprived.

“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away for a second. “You taste like something aged in heaven and bottled for sinners.”

You whimper. Try to close your legs.

He growls. “No. You gave me a child. You really think I’m ever gonna stop tasting you?”

He eats you with slow, devastating focus. Not teasing. Not rushed. Just deep, soft, relentless devotion.

You cum once—twice—he doesn’t stop.

Even when your thighs tremble, even when your hips jerk up, even when your hand grips his hair like a lifeline.

Jay doesn’t stop until you’re crying.

And when he finally comes up, lips shiny, chin wet, eyes dark?

He kisses your stomach.

The stretch marks.

The curve of your softened belly.

The skin he watched stretch around his baby.

“You taste better now,” he murmurs. “Because you’re mine in every way. And I’m never gonna let you forget it.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

He’s been hard all goddamn day.

You’ve been walking around the house in that little tank top, no bra, nipples brushing the fabric every time you breathe. You keep bending over to pick up your son’s toys, bouncing him on your hip like some sweet little housewife. Jake hasn’t had your pussy in a week, and it shows.

Every time you talk to him, his brain short-circuits.

Every time you smile at him, his cock twitches.

Your son Jacob?

Beautiful. Perfect. The light of his life.

Also ruining his sex life.

It’s not your fault. Jake knows that. But he’s still spiraling.

It’s 9:46pm.

The baby’s finally asleep.

You’re barely in the bedroom before he’s on you.

He locks the door. Turns around. And says it—

“Get your ass on the bed before I fuck you against the wall like a rabid dog.”

You blink. “Jake—”

“No. I’ve been jerking off to the memory of your pussy for six fucking days. I came in the goddamn laundry room this morning like a pervert. The second that kid shuts his eyes, I’m in you.”

You’re already backing up. Jake follows, jaw tight, cock fully hard in his sweats.

“You’ve been teasing me all fucking day. Walking around with your tits out like you don’t know what you’re doing. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He drags your shorts down. Sees your panties. Laughs, mean and low.

“Oh, these are getting ruined. Hope you weren’t attached.”

He kisses you. Rough. Possessive.

Then drops to his knees and spits on your pussy through the fabric.

“Been dreaming about this cunt. Swear to god, baby. You’ve got the kind of pussy that ruins people.”

You’re gasping. Squirming. Already dripping through the cotton.

Jake groans. “Fuck, you’re soaked. You miss this mouth too, huh? Miss being licked until you cry? Look at you—messy and shaking, and I haven’t even pulled the panties off yet.”

He pulls them aside, tongue already out, devouring you like he’s starving.

He’s loud. Sloppy. Mouth wet and wide and relentless.

“Fuck, I forgot how good this tastes. Like candy. Like fucking syrup. Wanna drown in it. Wanna tonguefuck you until you start babbling, baby. Give me that shit.”

You cum in his mouth in under two minutes.

He doesn’t stop.

“You think I’m done? Nah. Not even close. I’m not pulling my mouth off this pussy till your legs stop working.”

“Mamaaaa?”

Both of you freeze.

“Mama, snack please?”

Jake lifts his face from between your thighs, chin soaked. He blinks once.

Then stands up.

Calm. Still. Murderous.

“I’m gonna drop him off at my mom’s.”

You’re panting. “Jake—”

“I swear to fucking god, I love him, but if he interrupts me one more time, I’m going to lose it. I’m on the edge, baby. Your pussy’s dripping, my balls hurt, and my mouth tastes like heaven.”

He pulls his hoodie on. Wipes his face with the sleeve. Grabs his keys.

“Get ready. Because when I get back, I’m going to come in you until you’re stuffed so full you forget your own name.”

He leans down, kisses your pussy one more time.

Smirks.

“Try not to cum without me.”

And walks out the door.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

It’s late.

And Sunghoon’s at his limit.

The boys fought all day—chased each other with brooms, cried over identical socks, tried to body slam each other off the fucking couch. He broke up four WWE reenactments, confiscated two folding chairs, and heard the phrase “Spear him!!”more than a Monday Night Raw announcer.

He didn’t even finish his dinner.

Now you’re on your knees, robe slipped off your shoulders, tits swaying as you crawl between his legs with that look in your eye.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease.

He just pulls his cock out—already hard—and groans:

“Open your fucking mouth, baby. Daddy needs to forget he’s a parent for ten fucking minutes.”

You moan like you were born for it, lips parting, tongue flat as he feeds it to you inch by inch.

“Goddamn,” he hisses. “That mouth. You’ve been thinking about this all day too, haven’t you? Walking around like my dumb little housewife—cooking for our kids while this tight little throat’s just sitting here. Untouched.”

You gag. Loud. He grins. Dark. Mean.

“That’s it, baby. Fucking slobber on it. I want your spit dripping down to your tits.”

And then—

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

“DAAAAAADDDD!!!!!!!”

Sunghoon freezes mid-thrust.

You look up at him—dazed, cock still in your mouth, tears brimming.

He blinks.

Clenches his jaw.

Looks at the door.

“DAD!! JAEWON WON’T TAP OUT—HE’S NOT EVEN SELLING!!”

“HE HIT ME WITH THE PILLOW TOO SOFT!! THAT’S NOT A REAL FINISHER!!”

Sunghoon exhales like he’s in prison.

Stares at you. Then back at the door.

And then he laughs. Quiet. Deranged.

“Let them fight.”

He grabs your head in both hands, forces your face down until you’re choking on his cock again.

“They wanna pretend they’re in the ring?” he growls. “Fine. They can wrestle to the sound of their mother being face-fucked.”

You whimper, throat bulging.

“Yeah. Gag on it, slut. Show me how much you missed this. Bet your pussy’s soaked already.”

You’re dripping. Pathetically.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move—but Sunghoon doesn’t care.

He keeps fucking into your throat like it owes him something, hips snapping rough, deep, relentless.

“Don’t stop. Don’t even think about stopping. They wanna scream through the door? Let them.”

You moan around him—loud. Shaky.

One of your tits bounces against your stomach with each thrust, and he watches it like he’s hypnotized.

“DAAAAAAD!!! CAN YOU COUNT TO THREE?! JAEHYUN’S PINNING ME AND WON’T GET OFF!!”

Sunghoon barks a laugh, head thrown back.

“Yeah, hold on—let me just finish throatfucking my wife so I can come count to three like a fucking WWE ref.”

You gag so hard tears stream down your cheeks.

“That’s it, baby. God, you look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat. Bet they’ll shut the fuck up if they hear you choking on daddy’s dick.”

You cum untouched.

Right there on your knees, body shaking, soaked down your thighs—just from the way he talks to you. The way you knowhe’s been waiting all fucking day to use you like this.

Sunghoon feels it.

He pulls you off, cock soaked, saliva clinging in strings to your lips. You’re panting, teary-eyed, flushed.

“You done?” he murmurs. “Or you want me to make them wait while I use your pussy next?”

“DAD. I’M GONNA DO A LADDER MATCH OFF THE STAIRS IF YOU DON’T COME OUT.”

Sunghoon sighs.

Looks down at you.

Smiles.

“Five more minutes. Think you can handle it, mommy?”

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

It’s past ten. The house is quiet—finally.

And Sunoo is face down in the mattress, one sock still on, his shirt halfway pulled up his back like he got undressed mid-collapse and gave up.

You close the bedroom door softly. Climb in next to him.

“Long day?”

He groans into the pillow.

“She cried because I gave her the green cup instead of the pink one. Then she screamed when I tried to switch it. She said the bubbles in the bath were ‘too round.’”

You smile, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“And then,” he continues, voice muffled, “she fell asleep on me at six-thirty, woke up ten minutes later, and punched me in the nose. I think she might be feral.”

You laugh softly, kissing his cheek.

He rolls over—barely. One eye open. Face flushed from stress and exhaustion and not getting to touch you for four days straight.

“I need you to ride me,” he whispers.

You blink. “Right now?”

“I literally can’t move.” He stretches his arms out uselessly. “My soul left my body around lunchtime. I need you to do everything. Just use me. Treat me like a toy. I’ll whimper, I swear.”

You bite your lip.

He looks so pretty like this.

Messy. Tired. Desperate.

So you peel off your clothes—slowly, deliberately. He watches through heavy lashes, licking his lips when you tug your panties down.

“Please,” he breathes. “Come sit on it. I’m not even kidding. I think I’ll cry if you don’t.”

You crawl into his lap, straddle him gently, and feel how hard he is already—twitching under the waistband of his boxers. You free him with a soft gasp, stroke him once, twice, then sink down slowly onto his cock.

Sunoo whines.

Like, really whines. Head thrown back, hands twitching against the sheets.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. “You’re so wet. Baby, you’re so fucking wet. And warm. You’re gonna kill me.”

You rock your hips slowly, grinding down, pussy clenching around him with each roll. He’s not moving at all—just laying there, fully at your mercy, biting his lip and moaning so sweetly it makes your toes curl.

“You’re such a good boy,” you murmur, leaning forward to kiss his neck. “Letting me use you like this.”

He whimpers. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

You ride him slow and deep, your tits brushing his chest, his cock hitting just right with every movement. He’s flushed, wrecked, totally silent except for the filthy little sounds leaving his throat.

And when you clench around him hard, he gasps and cries out:

“I’m gonna cum—oh my god—don’t stop, please, baby, I need it so bad—”

You fuck him through it. Harder. Deeper.

He cums with his mouth open, eyes wide, hips twitching under you like he’s about to pass out.

He goes still. Completely still.

Eyes closed. Breathing shallow.

You brush his hair back.

“Sunoo?”

He hums, dazed. “You broke me.”

You laugh, kiss his forehead.

“Do you want water?”

He shakes his head, voice barely audible.

“I want Mirae to sleep till she’s eighteen. Then she can move out.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

You’ve never hated your own child more than you did tonight.

You love Noa—of course you do—but after ninety minutes of pure hell (a tantrum about socks, three fake pees, one real one, and exactly zero full minutes of sleep), you’re about ready to throw yourself out the window.

Jungwon—freshly showered, soft-eyed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, licking the frosting spoon you didn’t get to finish?

You’re gonna ride his fucking face until he can’t speak.

He walks into the bedroom, hair messy, voice raspy. “She’s finally down. I think.”

You’re already pulling your shirt over your head.

He blinks. “You okay?”

“No,” you snap, kicking your shorts off. “I’ve been thinking about 69ing you for three goddamn days and if I don’t sit on your fucking face right now I will cry.”

His jaw drops. “Wait—like, now?”

You crawl onto the bed. “Yes. Backward. Full weight. No mercy.”

He’s stunned for half a second—then his cock jumps in his sweats.

“Oh my god.”

“Lie down,” you growl.

He obeys. Flat on his back, head against the pillows, already hard and leaking by the time you swing a leg over his head. You lower your soaking pussy onto his mouth, facing his cock, and his hands clamp onto your ass like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Use my face,” he pants. “Fucking sit on it. I can take it.”

And you do.

You drop onto his tongue, grind down hard, moaning when he licks a fat stripe up your pussy and starts sucking like it’s his first meal in weeks.

You wrap a hand around his cock. He gasps into you.

“This nasty little wife,” you mutter, already jerking him off, “riding your face like she’s trying to drown you. Think you’ll pass out, baby?”

He moans. Loud. Unfiltered.

His tongue is everywhere—in your pussy, on your clit, dragging through your folds while you bounce gently on his mouth like it’s your fucking throne.

You spit on his cock. Loud. Filthy.

It lands on the head, stringy and warm, and you spread it down the shaft while you twist your wrist and sink your mouth down on him in one smooth, practiced stroke.

Jungwon chokes.

He jerks once under you—then groans into your pussy, hips stuttering like he’s going to cum already.

“You close?” you giggle, pulling off with a messy pop. “Already? Poor thing. You just want to fill my throat while I cum all over your face, huh?”

He moans. Loud.

You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and say:

“What if I squirt all over you, baby? Would you drown for me?”

He nods into your cunt. You feel it.

So you bounce harder. Fuck his face faster. Slurp his cock between your lips like it’s your favorite flavor and moan around him when his tongue flicks just right—

You cum first.

Hard.

Your thighs squeeze his head like a death grip as you cry out, leaking into his mouth while he keeps licking, tongue working you through it while his hands pull your ass down, grinding you onto him.

You don’t even give him time to recover.

You suck his cock deep—down your throat, swallowing him whole until he cries out into your pussy and cums down your throat so hard you choke.

You swallow.

Keep sucking.

He whimpers.

When you finally lift off his face, he’s wrecked.

Mouth glazed in your slick, lips swollen, chest heaving.

You wipe your chin, swing around, and lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Next time, you better ask for it. I’m not gonna be the only one begging.”

He blinks. Tries to speak.

Fails.

You smirk.

“Sweet dreams, husband.”

He falls asleep with your taste still on his tongue.

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

The house is quiet. Monitor glowing faint on the nightstand. Just the sound of your breathing and the rustle of sheets as you look up.

He’s already shirtless. Grey sweats sitting low, waistband dipping under sharp hips. Hair messy from running his fingers through it, still flushed from cleaning up the kitchen, checking the monitor twice, pretending he wasn’t aching the whole time.

You blink sleepily.

“Come to bed, Riki.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just walks to the edge of the bed, climbs in behind you, and presses himself against your back—body warm, hard in all the places that count. His hand slides under your shirt and cups your belly. Not your tits. Not between your legs.

Just your belly.

“I miss this,” he murmurs. Quiet. Low. Dangerous.

You pause.

“You miss what?”

He kisses the back of your neck.

“When you were pregnant.”

Your breath catches.

“Riki—”

“You were glowing. Round. Always out of breath. So soft and full and mine.”

You shiver when his hand slides down—slow, reverent—and presses between your legs.

“Your body knew what I wanted before you did,” he whispers. “Now it’s empty. And I want it full again.”

You turn around to face him.

He’s already hard, pressing up against your thigh. His eyes are wild now, lips parted, flushed all the way to his ears.

“You want another baby?” you ask, barely able to breathe.

He nods once.

“I want you pregnant again, baby. I want you leaking, glowing, begging me to slow down because I won’t stop fucking you.”

You moan.

He flips you onto your back without warning, dragging your panties down, pressing his cock against your soaked entrance.

“You’d look so pretty round again. Tired all the time. Needy. Can’t even ride me properly without whining about your hips.”

You gasp as he slides in, slow and deep and possessive.

“Fuck—Riki—”

“Don’t worry,” he grits out. “I’ll fuck it into you slow. Make sure it takes.”

His thrusts are smooth, devastating. One hand gripping your waist, the other sliding under your shirt to palm your tits.

“These got so big when you were carrying,” he whispers, biting his lip. “So heavy. You hated it. I loved it.”

You whine—louder now. He smiles.

“God, you like it too, huh? Getting knocked up? Being so full you can’t think straight?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

“You’re so ready for it,” he moans. “Already dripping. Your pussy’s so greedy, baby. She knows what I want.”

He fucks you harder then. Deeper. His pace messy and obsessive.

When he cums—hot and deep and shaking—he doesn’t move.

Just stays buried inside you, breathing ragged, holding your hips like he can will it into happening.

“Keep it,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Don’t let it go. I wanna see you big again.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him down into another kiss.

He groans.

“I’ll give you as many as you want. Just keep letting me ruin you like this.”

-

TL: @addictedtohobi @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ddolleri @elairah @zzhengyu @annybah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @hihway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @enhaverse713586 @cristy-101 @bloomiize @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02

[sixty-silver-wishes]

want to add that it IS worth it, but I need to be realistic and say this: being weird isn't easy.

If you’re like me and you’ve gone a long time being extremely self conscious of other people’s opinions, it’s not as simple as flicking the “be myself” switch. It’s a difficult process. Self love takes practice; after all, you’re taking on an entire new mentality- the way you conceptualize yourself and how you’ll be perceived. That’s a lot to adjust to, and it won’t happen overnight.

some days, it’s not so bad. I’ll wear my weird clothes and put on my weird hat and draw my weird art and listen to my weird music, and I’ll love myself. and other days, I wish I could just fit in. and to those who say, “but everyone has their own insecurities, even if you don’t see them!,” at least some people can hide them better. some days, I’d give anything to do that.

embracing myself the last few years has helped me a lot. It’s helped me develop and mature, and find more confidence than I ever had before. most days, I really do like who I am now. for the first time, I can proudly say that, if I could see someone exactly like myself, I would want to be their friend.

but sometimes, I return to who I was before that happened. before I got my official diagnosis. before I joined my local art community. before I developed my art style. before I welcomed my love of expressionist film (and I say that in particular, because I can confidently say I would not be who I am today without it). and when I feel like that, I need to be more forgiving. maybe it’s different for other people, but I could never just decide to be weird and never look back. it takes work.

OP is right; it WILL save you. but please keep in mind it won’t happen immediately.

ya gotta stop caring what people think and start being extremely weird. but never cruel. i think that might save you

[tsunodaradio]

something to you ⛐ 𝐀𝐀𝟐𝟑

alex has a soft spot for you. (or: the one where alex gets mad on your behalf.)

♫ starring: alex albon x reader. ♫ word count: 0.9k. ♫ includes: fluff, romance. profanity. reader has a teensy tiny injury. carlos makes an appearance. ♫ commentary box: happy alex day! ❥ i have a couple more alex plots planned, but for now, here's my last -ish installment to the soft spot mini-series. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You thought you’ve seen Alex in every possible light. 

You’ve known him for quite a bit, after all. It’s the type of friendship that has ebbed and flowed despite distance and time. You’ve been given a front row to the dozens of men that Alex has been throughout the years. 

The happy-go-lucky, well-spoken Alex the racing world knew. The relentless Alex who drove with grit and grace. He’s come to you with tears of frustration over losses beyond his control; he’s come to you beaming because of wins he rightfully deserved 

Those are the versions of Alex that you know. And so you’re colored surprise to meet another one— 

He’s kneeling in front of you now, his hand cupping your cheek. This is an expression you haven’t seen on Alex’s face in… ever, really. His jaw is clenched and there’s a hint of flint in his eyes, a fire that you hadn’t known was possible to see. 

“Hey.” You can tell from that single word that Alex is holding himself back. He’s forcing himself to keep his voice level, to not scare you off. Even now, he’s considerate.

“I’m not mad at you,” he repeats, “I just want to know what happened.” A pause. Then, he adds a softer, “Please.” 

The plea nearly makes you crack. The thing is— it shouldn’t be a big deal. Not to you, at least. It was just an unfortunate incident, a case of overzealous paparazzi recognizing you.  

One of them had gotten just a little bit too pushy. They had insisted something about you being the newest WAG on the paddock, and when you tried to slip away, they’d tried to get their shot anyway after calling you something like a stuck-up bitch.

The cut between your eyebrows is negligible. It’s a barely-there gash, something you know will scar over and heal in no time. 

Alex is treating it like the photographer had broken your bone. “I’m fine,” you insist, your voice cracking on the second word. You clear your throat before you go on, “I’m sure they didn’t mean it.” 

Carlos interrupts from a couple of paces away. “It was not an accident,” the older driver says, his lips pursed in poorly concealed rage. He had been the first to get to you; had been the one to call over Alex when he noticed the cut that hadn’t been there earlier that day. “They are saying the paparazzi swung.” 

Alex hisses in a breath through his teeth. You wince. Carlos slinks away, as if realizing this is not a conversation he should be taking part in. 

Little too late, you think wryly as Alex’s searching gaze rakes over your face.

“I need a name,” he says evenly. “If not a name, a media outlet. Or any descriptors.” 

You glance at Carlos over Alex’s shoulder, but the Spaniard has opted to feign disinterest by reading a nearby sports issue. (The magazine is upside down.) With a low tsk of disapproval, you finally give Alex an answer to his question. “Someone from Getty.” 

The heat in Alex’s eyes simmers just the slightest. He gives your cheek a tentative squeeze, and his hand lingers a little too long, like he’s hesitant to pull away. He gets to his feet, though, leaving you seated in his driver room chair. 

He flashes you a smile. It looks a little forced. “Be right back, okay? Don’t have too much fun with Carlos. I’ll know if you talked shit about me.” 

Even the joke sounds weak. 

Alex moves out of the room, his strides determined. He’s just a little hasty, so he ends up leaving the door slightly ajar in his hurry. You open your mouth to comment on it to Carlos, but the two of you freeze at the barking sound of Alex’s voice from somewhere in the motorhome. 

“Get me on the phone with Getty fucking Images!”

You and Carlos share a look. 

“Whew,” Carlos breathes, putting down the magazine. “I have never seen him like that before.” 

“That makes two of us,” you respond, wringing your hands together in your lap.

Alex has been many things— annoyed, critical, upset. Angry is new. Not only to you and Carlos, it seems, as the people of Williams scramble to accommodate the stewing driver. 

By the time Alex has deemed things sorted, he returns with that same plastic smile. Carlos actually excuses himself this time, shooting you a mouthed ‘good luck’ halfway out of the door. 

“Do you want a bandage?” Alex asks you. “Or I can get you checked out, if it hurts.” 

“Alex.” 

“I think there’s actually a first-aid kit here somewhere.” 

“Alex.” 

“I was looking it up earlier, and antiseptic—” 

Your fingers wrap around his wrist. He finally stops, his face flushing a bit. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and you have the impression that he’s not apologizing solely for his rambling.

You squeeze his wrist reassuringly. There’s a lot of things you could do. Tease him for his fretting; ask him why he got so riled up in the first place. In the end, all you can manage is a soft and sincere, “Thank you.” 

Alex’s rage crumples like a house of cards. He lets out a single, shaky exhale and tilts down.

It’s negligible. Barely there. The kiss Alex plants on your forehead is more of a brush of his lips, right over the injury you thought wouldn’t be that big of a deal. 

This, though— the kiss, the anger— it all feels like it should mean something. ⛐

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject III pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst and comfort. fluff. mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth and DUI. wc: 2.7k part 3 and the last part of touchy subject! click here for part 1, click here for part 2 i really liked writing for them and honestly i'm considering occasionally writing blurbs for them and what their relationship would shape into, lmk if you'd be interested!! originally posted 11/28/2024

part I & part II

seeing you in front of that store felt like it might've killed rafe. the first face he fell in love with, the woman who'd left him with nothing but scars and an engagement ring. somehow, he still managed to stay alive.

but hearing you say his name in the soft voice he hadn't heard in over four years, the same one that you used to tell him you loved him every single night before your body went slack in his arms, that might have been the final blow.

"what are you doing here?" you managed to mutter, your hand instinctively going to your locket, squeezing it in your hand, and the gesture didn't go unnoticed by rafe.

"what's this?" rafe asked as the two of you laid in bed, his finger tracing the patterns on the heart-shaped locket resting on your chest, the one you'd worn around your neck for as long as he'd known you.

"this?" you asked, opening the locket, displaying two pictures; one of them was of you when you were a little girl, standing between your parents with a wide, toothy grin on your face, and the other was a picture of you and rafe, taken at midsummers. "i got this from my mom. it's a family heirloom of sorts. when she's born," you looked down at your stomach, "we've gotta get a picture taken of us three so i can put it here."

he let out a small chuckle, "i'm honored that you want me in your heart."

"i think you're always going to be in my heart," you rolled your eyes, "whether i want it or not."

"i'm here to see you. i thought that'd be obvious." rafe said without an ounce of emotion in his voice, the sound causing a shiver to run down your spine. grieving your daughter on what would've been her fifth birthday wasn't a moment you exactly wanted your ex to witness, but this was still rafe. the man you loved for so long, the only man you ever loved, the one you were going to marry, and this was still the house that was supposed to be your home.

so you stepped aside, pulling your cardigan closed as a way to close yourself off from the man as you walked further into the house, not daring yourself to look back at him, fearing the urge that still remained in your chest to just pull him close to you and be in his arms.

you heard the door close, pressing your eyes shut as you stood in front of the fireplace, your arms crossed in front of your chest as if defending yourself, the man's footsteps echoing in the room, "it's cold in here."

"the radiator's broken."

"can you just, at least look at me, or something?"

"do i have to?" you chuckled humorlessly, and when you felt his hand on your shoulder, it felt like the room got ten degrees colder, the man slowly turning you around to face him, and when you refused to look up at him, focusing on the baby blue sweater he was wearing, he brought his hand to your chin, gently lifting it up, just like he did every time he was about to kiss you.

"we need to talk."

if someone was to ask you what would be the most uncomfortable situation you had ever been in, this would be among the top 3, right after you got the 'birds and the bees' talk and the time you said your goodbyes to the same man now sitting beside you, the space between you two big enough to fit another person.

"why did you come back?" rafe asks, without even sparing you a glance. you decide to do the same, your gaze staying on the fire crackling in front of you.

"i don't know. a part of me thinks it's because i missed home."

"and the other part?"

missed us. missed her. "missed my mom, i guess."

your mother had driven you home from the hospital, insisting that she'd stay with you for the next few days; you still hadn't seen rafe. you couldn't face him, couldn't face the guilt you carried around for being the reason your daughter would be coming home in an urn.

she'd gone to the store for groceries, leaving you to sit on the couch you and rafe had picked out, staring at the engagement picture that hung above the fireplace.

you didn't know how it started, how every single vase ended up as nothing but shards of glass on the floor, how the coffee table had ended up as planks of wood, how your fists were bruised from beating them against the walls, your knees bloody from when you'd collapsed on the ground amongst all the glass.

"do you know what day it is?" rafe asked with a weak voice, and you could hear him try to swallow down the emotion crawling up his throat.

his question made you want to let out a small, humorless laugh. you don't know how you could ever forget. "of course." the day i killed her.

rafe stood up, running his hand over his chin before trailing over the short strands of hair on his head, "why did you do it?" he looked to you. "why did you leave?"

"i had no reason to stay." you say emotionlessly, your fingers intertwined as you kept your eyes on them as if you were praying.

"you had me. you would've had me if you just let me be there."

"rafe, i killed our daughter."

"what-"

"i'm the reason our daughter isn't here. i'm the reason she doesn't exist. i'm the reason that today isn't only her fifth birthday, but also the fifth anniversary of her death."

rafe kneeled down in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks, not caring if it made you uncomfortable, or that this was the first time he'd properly touched you in over four years, the only thing that mattered to him was that you listened.

"you did not kill our daughter."

"i did."

"no." he scoffed, "you aren't the reason she's dead. the reason is the drunken asshole who drove at you. you loved her with your entire being, with everything you had, even before she was born. you would've been the most amazing mother in the world. don't you dare blame yourself for something you had zero control over."

"i shouldn't have driven in that weather. i knew it was gonna be raining, that the roads would be slippery-"

"no." rafe said sternly, "look at me."

your eyes moved to look into rafe's steel-blue ones, shimmering with unshed tears, his jaw clenched, and only then did you realize that he was cupping your face in his hands, his touch somehow managing to make you feel warm even in the cold apartment.

"i won't have you blame yourself for something you had no fuckin' control over. evelyn was so wanted, by both of us. she would've been so loved. we would've done anything to protect her, and to keep her safe. if any fucker even thought about hurting her, i would've made sure they'd regret ever being born. but you are not to blame for her not being here."

rafe's hands moved from your cheeks to your hands, the man instead taking your clenched fists into his, letting out a small sniffle, and when he pressed his eyes closed and let out a sigh, a tear rolled down his cheek.

"yeah, you could've not driven in the rain. but i should've been the one to drive you to your mom's, you were eight months along, an insane man would make you drive yourself, or i should've made sure you got home before it was dark, or i should've picked you up myself. there are so many things we could've done differently, but that doesn't mean that either of us is to blame for it."

"i spent so long blaming myself for what happened, but not even for a moment did i blame you. you did everything to keep her safe, and i know it, and i'm sure that she knows it too. you loved her more than anything, and i won't let some drunk driving idiot make you feel like you did anything wrong."

slowly, you opened your fists, half-moon prints on the palms on your hands caused by your nails, and without even realizing, tears had been rolling down your eyes the entire time that rafe had been speaking, the man standing up and pressing a kiss on your forehead that felt like it burnt and would leave a mark that'd be there forever, before he settled down next to you.

a strand of hair was stuck on your cheek, almost glued on there by the tears you shed, the blonde man tugging it behind your ear, his eyes still on you, his hands still cupping yours.

"i don't blame you for what happened, nor do i blame you for pushing me away. but i wish you would've let me in, to be there for you, instead of leaving. so we could've grieved her together."

"i think we should break up, rafe."

"what?" rafe turned to look at you; this wasn't what he had been expecting to hear after two months of silence, "if this is about the baby-"

"i can't do it anymore." you closed your eyes, letting a tear run down your cheek, "i need to leave. start over."

you turned your head to look at him, his words feeling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and even though you tried to find it, there was nothing in his eyes that said that he was lying.

"you don't blame me for any of it?"

your voice was weak and feeble, as if a part of you was expecting him to tell you that he did, but when he pulled you into his embrace, he told you the truth in the best way he knew how to: without saying a single word.

you didn't know how long you had been in rafe's arms; it felt like hours, while also feeling like the moment had lasted mere seconds, like you two lived in your own bubble. it felt like the last four years hadn't happened, like you had never left.

but when he pulled away from the embrace and looked down at his watch, letting out a sigh, you knew what was coming. the bubble burst.

"i should probably get going." rafe let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose before starting to get up off the couch, stretching his long limbs.

"yeah, yeah." you said softly, clearing your throat, trying to act like nothing had happened, like you hadn't gone through every memory you shared while he was just holding you to comfort you, "your girlfriend's probably waiting for you."

rafe stopped in his tracks, turning to look down at you, "girlfriend?"

"shit," you chuckle softly, fidgeting with your hands and chewing on your lower lip, "i guess she's your fiancée, now."

he sat down on the couch next to you while you simply avoided his gaze, not wanting him to read everything you were feeling like he so often seemed to do, but your attempt was unsuccessful, the man bringing his hand to your chin and gently turning your head so you were forced to look at him, his brows slightly furrowed while he looked at you pointedly.

"what girlfriend, or fiancée?"

you didn't know if rafe was acting stupid, or if he was genuinely confused, but you could still remember the woman with him at the jewelry store, the woman who had managed to make him smile, whose back rafe placed his hand on.

"you know," you clear your throat, taking his hand off your chin and turning your head away from him, not wanting him to see the tears brimming in your eyes as you thought about him waiting at the aisle for another woman, "the woman at the jewelry store."

rafe let out a soft laugh, and when you turned your head, facing him, he was nearly keeling over in laughter, his head in his hands.

"what?"

"that-" rafe said inbetween laughs, "that wasn't my girlfriend."

"what?" you mumbled softly, your brows furrowing, "what do you mean, rafe?"

"sorry-" he continued laughing for a while only to be stopped by a soft smack you delivered to his shoulder, before the man took a deep breath, looking at you with a small smile gracing his lips, a sight that still got your heart to flutter, "that wasn't my girlfriend, or my fiancée."

"then... who was she?"

"that was," rafe let out another chuckle as if you had said something foolish, taking one of your hands in his and intertwining your fingers, "wheezie's girlfriend."

you tried processing the words that had left his lips, but no matter what, they didn't seem to make since. "why were you in a jewelry store together? wheezie's only like-"

"wheezie's nineteen." rafe shook his head, "her girlfriend, lucy, asked me to help her pick out a ring. sarah was supposed to go with her, but she had some preschool stuff to deal with relating to jack, so i got stuck with that duty…"

"isn't nineteen a bit... young?"

"it is. but you remember how young we were when we got engaged? or sarah?" a fond smile took over rafe's lips as he turned to look at the fire that was slowly burning out, letting the next words out in a hushed tone. "guess it runs in the family."

"guess so." you say, biting down on your lip, turning to look at the fire with him, your cheeks warm as you felt like an idiot for your assumption.

"i still haven't moved on." rafe said, letting out a breath, "i don't know if i can. i don't think i even want to." you turned to look back at one another at the same time, both of you seeing the same melancholy in the other one's eyes, "there's no one i would ever want to be with other than you."

you took a deep breath, his words ringing through your head as you looked at him, a damp trail running down his cheek was still visible from the tears he had shed, and you took a deep breath, making a decision that you knew would impact the rest of your life.

"me neither, rafe."

you brought your hand to his cheek and felt the tear he had shed under your touch, pulling his face to meet yours until your lips clashed, feeling the exact same that it did four years ago, making you wonder how you ever let it go.

SIX MONTHS LATER...

you laid on a blanket in the middle of a field of sunflowers, your arms crossed behind your head and your eyes pressed closed, letting the sun beam down your face, warming you up as your bare feet were being tickled by blades of grass.

your daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and you opened one of your eyes to see rafe stumble through the long flowers into the small clearing you'd found, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

"don't laugh at me." he scolded, shaking his head as he landed on the blanket next to you, letting out a soft grunt.

"why not?" you asked, sticking your tongue out at him, your boyfriend gasping in feigned offence, about to quip back at you, only to be stopped by the small, chaste peck you pressed on his lips, even the small display of affection managing to leave him speechless.

as he settled down next to you, you smiled while looking up at the sky, white clouds covering a part of the beautiful icy blue nothingness that was so much like rafe's eyes, your thoughts on her. you took rafe's hand in yours, keeping your eyes trained up while you let yourselves just exist together.

"you're always going to be in my heart, evelyn louise cameron." you said softly as you traced the patterns on your locket, rafe turning his head to look at you, a somber expression on his face as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"yeah, she will. and neither of us will ever forget her."

[katiascraft]

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

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

﹙LN4﹚ ── ❝ almost, always ❞

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

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

blog masterlist

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

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

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

Until it wasn’t anymore. 

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

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

situationships suck ᝰ.ᐟ

(beginning 2023 - middle 2024)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He felt it too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when everything ended. 

just a friend ᝰ.ᐟ

(july 2024)

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

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

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

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

“You’re not a joke y/n” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she. isn't. you.

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

(august 2024)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(from august 2024 to march 2025)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(australian grand prix, 2025)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's been a long time,” he answered.

“Yup” you nodded. 

Silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I miss you too,” he agreed. 

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

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

THE ENDᝰ.ᐟ 

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

[salsakiyoomi]

ex! nanami who comes to you drunk.

it was a mistake, really. he shouldn't have let satoru convince him to go out for drinks, and he shouldn't have drank so much, and most of all, he shouldn't have come to you at three am, drunk out of his mind.

you were awake, of course. nanami knew that you’d be awake, and maybe that's part of the reason he found himself going to you.

besides the fact that he missed you of course.

the knocks that come at your door are languid and soft, you almost think you imagined it but nope, they come again and this time you sure you heard it.

you get up and head towards the door quietly, before opening it just an inch to see who it is, only to be met with a familiar mop of blonde hair.

nanami looks at you and your breath hitches because he's as beautiful as you remember — although he looks a little unkempt, with his tie loosened and his hair a mess with red blooming on his cheeks, and god, you could kiss him right now.

no, nope. you shouldn't be thinking like that, he's your ex now.

“nanami.” you utter out and he tries to pretend that the usage of his last name doesn't send a pang through his heart.

“y/n.” he says, looking at you with those stupidly beautiful brown eyes of his that you can't possibly resist.

“what-what are you doing here?!” you exclaim, sort of agitated that he came to your apartment at three am, “and — oh my god, are you drunk?”

he gulps, “sort of. can i come in?”

you hesitate. the logical thing would be to tell him no, that he wasn't allowed at your place anymore and that he wasn't welcome to your hospitality, that the both of you were an old story now. but the emotional thing? the emotional thing would be to let him in and take care of him, shower him and get him into more comfortable clothes and —

“okay.” you say, opening the door wider for him to come in.

he stumbles in, and you help support him and god, just feeling the warmth of his body against yours brings back old memories that you've long since buried.

you guide him to the couch where he plops down on it.

“what got you so out of character?” you ask, almost shyly as you shift from one foot to another, trying not to look at his lips.

“gojo.” he simply says, sighing.

“...right.” you mumble, unsure of what to say before you quickly head to the kitchen, ignoring your racing heart.

nanami, on the other hand? he's definitely having cardiac arrest.

because you look as ethereal and soft as he remembered — of other-worldly beauty that he could not comprehend yet he sees you as you approach him with a glass of water in your hand.

“here.” you say, handing it to him and he gulps, his fingers brushing against your knuckles so subtly yet enough to make his heart flutter.

he doesn't know what made him come to you — maybe it was the fact gojo ditched him, or the fact you lived so close to the bar he was at, or maybe the simple fact that he just missed you, and longed to see you again.

he gulps down the water, trying to keep his eyes off of you.

a few moments of silence pass and he can feel your gaze boring into him.

“i can tell you have something to say.” he mumbles, finally looking up to meet your gaze as you shyly look away — he smiles at your bashful self, “what is it you have to say?”

“uhm…” you stammer, “just, uh, what brought you here?” 

nanami stiffens but he knows you'd emerge an answer, after all, it's been almost nine months since your initial break up, and this is the first time he ever broke ‘no contact.’

“right.” he mutters, “just…had nowhere else to go.”

“oh.” you utter — it's a blatant lie, you know that, and you know it was just a stupid excuse to see you, yet you don't call him out on it.

after all, maybe, just maybe you wanted to see him too.

“right, oh.” he hums, getting up from the couch, “i should probably go.”

“no!” you blurt out before you could think. 

“...no?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

“just, uhm…” you stutter, fiddling with your fingers, “it's pretty late and quiet out there, and uh, you have nowhere else to go and uhm, y'know —” you cut yourself out, sighing, “just stay the night, nanami.”

he chuckles to himself — you've always been a stuttering mess whenever you were shy or so, and this was definitely one of those occasions.

“right, of course.”

nanami thinks that he misses you, like a lot, more than he can describe. but he also knows that this entire break up was his fault.

if only he hadn't overworked so much, then maybe things would be different now.

“thank you,” nanami finally says after a moment, “for your hospitality.”

“don't thank me.” you mumble, “just make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“...okay.”

“goodnight.” you say softly.

nanami smiles, “goodnight.”

he may have lost you for the long term, but for tonight? he'll just dwell on this interaction, because at least he got to see you one more time.

one more time before he went off to shibuya.

but he promises himself, he promises himself that after he's done with whatever in shibuya, he’ll come back to you.

he'll make you his again.

tagging : @deathofacupid since you asked me to tag u babes :3 <33

[nikito0x]

Alternatively: Your significant other was never unfaithful.

When they enter through that door, they look heartbroken. When they see you, they look scared and as if they are dreading whatever conversation will follow.

Your priorities are straight. Your first instinct? To comfort them, reassure them that everything will be alright, whatever may have happened. You will be there for them. You hold them as they start tearing up and desperately cling to you.

Their sobs break your heart. You promise to yourself, whoever dared hurt them will pay. The trash who caused this will learn the true meaning of a monster. They will not find a safe place on this earth ever again.

After your love has calmed down, you wipe their tears, sit them down at the table, prepare their favorite drink and snack. You grab the bouquet and finally present it to them. They seem surprised, even shocked.

"You waited for me..? All this time?"

Of course you did. You searched for them, reached out to every resource possible. They are still your spouse, your beloved. There was never any doubt about that.

They almost start crying again but manage to calm themselves before that.

Then, the whole story comes out.

How they were chosen for an impossible quest. How they had gained friends and teammates to help them along the way. How their mentor seemed kind and generous, but in truth manipulated them into being in just the right spot to become a sacrificial lamb.

When they'd refused and tried finishing the quest in another way, almost everyone had shunned them. When they had succeeded anyway, without their ex-comrades' stupid plan, your beloved had been framed, made out to be the enemy's accomplice, while the betrayers enjoyed the rewards of your lover's success. They had escaped before they were wrongfully imprisoned but had no idea where to go from here.

You hold them and you reassure them, everything will be alright, you promise. After they have calmed down again, you finally pull away. A cruel smirk stretches across your face, something your lover has never seen before on you, and you finally tell them about your escapades during those five years.

You tell them about your new shiny leadership position. You tell them about your power, your connections, your wealth. You tell them that even if they were truly guilty, their ex-friends could never touch them as long as you're around. You tell them that no one and nothing would be able to as much as breathe in their direction if they just said the word.

And since you have your finger in every pie out there, you could make it very difficult, if not completely impossible for the trash to get away. They will never live in peace again, if you had anything to say about it.

Your spouse is shocked, amazed. They didn't think there was a way out for them. That they would just end up dragging you with them if they stayed but... But now?

Hope blooms in their eyes, a smile stretches over their lips, dimples dent their cheeks. They are the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.

They say they're proud of you and your accomplishments. They thank you for staying, when it seemed like no one else had. They have missed you and your dumb jokes and they wish they had just stayed in the first place. They're sorry.

You forgive them. You never blamed them to begin with.

Now.

Time to plan how to completely and utterly ruin those friends of theirs... After you finish spoiling and pampering your lover first, though. That might take a while... Maybe you should ring up your assistant to start on the preparations while you're busy.

For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey, you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face asking to speak to you.

[reignpage]

When the Night Changes

Synopsis: in which you've been following your coworker around, trying to wriggle your way into his good graces, only to realise maybe there was never any room to begin with Warnings: a little angsty at the beginning but happy ending, office romance, rom-com, the beginning of a love story vibes -- maybe office sex next?👀, not proofread Word Count: 2.4k

Your coworker, Nanami, is a tough nut to crack. Since entering the company, you’ve stuck by him like dirt on a shoe — which is certainly how he thinks of you, you’re sure. In many ways, you’ve become an integral part of his life. 

Being the first thing he sees in the morning when he steps foot in the office is a duty you take very seriously. In fact, sometimes you time everything perfectly to run into him just as he’s entering the lobby. Then, with a wide smile, you greet him.

“Good morning, Nanami. How are you?”

His answer is always the same, of course: “Morning. I’m well.”

He doesn’t ask about you. He never really does. But that doesn’t matter because he doesn’t interrupt when you go on your spiel about how you slept, what you had for breakfast, how the traffic was and so on and so forth. 

During the day, you’ll sporadically stop by his office, popping your head in. You don’t have anything important to say, usually, but you always find something to say, nonetheless. 

“Heya, Nanami. I was looking out of the window and into the street earlier. I saw the cutest dogs ever. They were sniffing each other’s butts. I think they’ll be great friends. Do you ever want dogs?”

The man doesn’t look up from his computer. Instead, he continues to type, a perpetual frown pulling his brows and lips down as he works on whatever he’s working on. Still, he responds, “No.”

“Why?” You ponder. “Don’t like dogs? Prefer cats? Or you don’t like pets at all?”

“I can’t take care of an animal; I’m much too busy.”

That’s a huge lore drop if you’ve ever heard one. You beam. He’s warming up to you and it only took months! You leave him to it with a bigger smile on your face that you came with. 

When lunchtime comes around, you sit by him in the canteen. Nanami sits in the corner, by the window, alone. Well, alone with you but he doesn’t complain. So, you do your thing. 

“Oh, look! We chose the same main. We must be meant to be, right?”

No reply. 

“You drink coffee with your lunch? All I ever see you drink is coffee. Unless it’s at an after-work dinner, in which case you can drink anyone under the table. That’s really impressive!”

That piques his interest. Gaze lifting to meet yours, he clarifies, “You think alcoholism is impressive?”

“Uh…”

“Please, be more conscious of what you say.” Nanami places his utensils together, they clink in a way that pierces through you. Flinching, you’re left silenced when he gets up and leaves with no further word to you. 

Stuck in your head, you replay that conversation again and again an hour or two later. You hadn’t meant to insult him. Maybe you were a little thoughtless with your words, maybe you shouldn’t have assumed his business after work is any of yours. In either case, you should apologise. 

At the end of the day, you follow him out, pushing past the other people to try and reach him before he walks the other way to you. When you emerge through the crowd, you see him. 

Him and a woman. 

She’s gorgeous. With a slight smirk on her lips, she holds a cigarette between her fingers as she converses with Nanami. You understand now. Of course he doesn’t give you the time of day; he’s got a beautiful girlfriend who’s nothing like you. 

The next morning, you aren’t there to greet him with a blinding smile as soon as he steps foot into the workplace. His eyes find you, behind your desk, typing away with your head down. He frowns. 

Sometime later, he sees a glimpse of you by his door. He braces himself for your mindless chattering, but when you simply walk past his office, he hears an irritating noise echo in his corner — he’s fiddling with a pen, tapping the head against the wood of his desk in rapid succession. Nanami didn’t know he had such a habit. 

At lunch, you don’t sit by him. In fact, he doesn’t see you at all. That’s how the rest of the week passes. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so. Though he never resented your presence, he also never thought much of it. You’re young and new; you just wanted a stable figure around. Nanami is not that. 

In the hallway, you pass him by with a respectful bow, but your eyes don’t meet his even as he purposefully slows down to catch them. An odd ache thuds thuds thuds in his chest. 

Why does he care so much?

Could it be he’s actually grown to care? 

Had he really let his guard down so much that you, a non-sorcerer, could find its way into his world?

He wonders, then, what to do with this predicament. On one hand, he could always ignore this odd sensation in his stomach, somewhat akin to moths zipping around, and on the other, he could try and see where this will go. But is he too late?

You were so lovely to be around and now you’re avoiding him like the plague. Had he said something? Did he offend you?

Nanami’s thoughts are filled with all sorts of questions that evening. When he wakes up the next day, there are bags under his eyes, much deeper and darker than usual. There’s nothing he could do about them, though, so he dresses himself the way he does all the time — under layers, socks, pressed pants, ironed shirt, tie, a blazer and then his shoes. 

One thing he does do differently, however, is hold two cups of coffee in his hands when he enters the lobby. He sees you waiting for the elevator. Then, widening his strides, he reaches you just as the telltale ping resounds. 

“Good morning, Y/n. How are you?”

Surprised by his gravelly voice, you stammer, “I’m well. Ahem, h-how are you?”

He smiles. “I’m great. Coffee?”

You take the cup from him with suspicion lacing every twitch of an expression in your face. The man can’t help but find it adorable — what an odd thought. He’s never found a woman adorable before. Objectively good-looking, sure, in his lowest times. But usually, he can only make remarks regarding their work ethic. How fascinating. 

Parting ways, you both look back at the same, him with a welcoming nod and you with shock. This is turning out to be more fun than he thought; you are so animated. 

Later, he taps his pen against his chin, squinting at the window as he observes the street below. He’s trying to find something interesting. There are no dogs sniffing each other’s behinds, no ice cream van bringing joy on a warm day (as you mentioned to him last week), and there are no rainbows to take pictures of and show to everyone in the office. 

Of course, Nanami’s aware that it’s likely all to do with perspective — he’s been finding Tokyo rather monotonous these days. But that isn’t something he can change overnight. So, he resorts to a different tactic. 

“Hello, Y/n. Are you busy?”

Clanking, thudding and stuttering fill up your office; so startled by his sudden appearance in your space, you’ve jolted and rocked your entire desk around, knocking paperweights about the place. Clearly frazzled then, your tone comes out much harsher than you’d intended, he can tell. “What do you wan—I mean, sorry. Hi, Nanami. What can I do for you”

“Nothing. I was simply stretching my legs and looking for a sight to brighten my day.”

“Uhh…did you find one? I can help you look.”

He shakes his head and then, with a final sweep of your face, he nods and leaves. 

It’s obvious he’s the one to blame for the cautious look on your face which remains all the way until lunchtime when he stops by your office, curious to know where you’ve been eating your food. 

Just about to take your first bite, by the looks of it, you make a noise of embarrassment and frustration. “Nanami, why are you here?”

“I’d like to have lunch with you. Please join me in the canteen; I hadn’t prepared a lunchbox.”

“No. Shoo.”

He raises a brow. “Shoo?”

“Yes, go. I don’t know if you’re sick or you’ve been probed, but you’re acting weird today. Please, enjoy your lunch without me.”

Nanami takes a seat in front of you, crossing his legs and leaning back. The bastard’s making himself comfortable. Patiently, he responds, “To enjoy my lunch, you’d have to be with me. I rather like your stories.”

“My stories? I thought you hated them.”

“Why ever would you think that?”

Your arms flail in disbelief. “Hello? You never respond. You just grunt in that man-ish way.”

“I do?”

“Yes!”

Both of you are aware this is the longest conversation you’ve ever shared. It’s almost comical how naturally the sentences flow out between you when before you were lucky if he even responded to a question regarding anything but work. 

“Well, I do apologise for giving you that impression. I love hearing your stories. Especially the ongoing one regarding your aunt and her disloyal partner.”

You beam. “Oh my God! Speaking of, you will not believe what happened last— Hey! Don’t distract me. You know what you’re doing.”

“I do?”

Groaning, you smack your head against the desk. Nanami winces. In a flash, he’s taken hold of your face, tilting your chin back to inspect your forehead. There’s no mark. Thank goodness. 

“Please be careful. That sounded like it hurt.”

You frown and then fall limp in his grasp. Nanami’s making it so difficult for you to keep your distance. You wanted to squash your crush and be respectful of his relationship but then he goes and caresses your cheek with his thumb like you’re precious. To him. Muttering, you complain, “You shouldn’t do that. What would your girlfriend think?”

A pause so thick it’d have to be cut with a chainsaw.

And a silence so loud it’s deafening. 

He blinks and then laughs. It’s a nice sound; he really ought to laugh more.

“Girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend, Y/n. Whoever sold you that egregious lie?”

“But…but…there was a woman. She had short hair. Very pretty. You met with her after work.”

Leaning back in his chair, he rubs a hand over a grin so unlike him it almost transforms his face into someone else’s entirely. Nanami practically looks a decade younger. Before you had always looked up to him as this wise, mature, and experienced leader. Now, he just looks like a man. A very handsome, drool-worthy man, but a man, nonetheless. 

Now, he actually looks…attainable. 

“That would be Shoko. A friend. I assure you; we do not regard each other in that capacity. Far from it.”

“Oh.”

He checks his watch. He sighs. You watch him stand up and brush invisible dust off his pants. “If you won’t have lunch with me, then please, join me for dinner tonight. I’d like very much to hear all about your aunt and her unfortunate love life…But more than that, I’d like to hear about you.”

“Why?” You hadn’t intended to blurt that out but the way you said it sounds very much like you’re judging him for taking an interest on you. 

Features softening, he lets show a moment of vulnerability. “Because life is far too short to live with regrets.”

And he disappears, leaving you positively, irrefutably gobsmacked. 

The rest of the day for you goes by much longer than usual. Over and over again, your mind replays that conversation, from how out of nowhere it was to how natural it felt. Just a week before, you would have been over the moon to have had such an experience with Nanami — and you certainly still are — but now, you’re also worried about what it all means. 

From observing him, you’ve always had the feeling that he carried more burdens than anyone else does. There was an air of mystery, of danger, and of tragedy to him. Perhaps that was what lured you in in the first place. 

Now, he wants to have dinner?

As in, a dinner date? 

But you aren’t wearing date makeup. And you would have been working all day, sweaty and tired and ugly, no?

Where is he even taking you? What’s the lighting situation? 

God, you don’t even have a pack of gum.

When the day ends, there’s a pounding in your chest and a clamminess to your hands. Extraordinarily conscious of yourself, you grimace when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the elevator mirror. Everything was wrong: your hair’s messy, your pores are huge, and your lips are chapped. 

So ridiculous is it all that you just about make a decision to hide in the bathroom when Nanami steps into view once the doors open, blocking your way out like somehow, he knew where you thoughts had ended up. 

“You weren’t, by any chance, going to leave me waiting, were you?”

“No,” you say, but the sheepish gummy smile you give him tells a different story. 

Nanami leads you out. With the sun setting, casting a warm glow about the place, you two stand there watching the city come to life with people just like you — stressed, anxious, and busy. You hear none of the noise of traffic, see none of the flash of lights obscuring the clear sky from sight, nor smell the pollution usually rife in such a populated city.

There’s a stillness in the air between you. A calm with no storm. The pounding of your heart leaves, so does the fight or flight instincts that had your nerves on edge. It feels like you’ve just taken a step inside the world of Kento. 

“You don’t have to have dinner with me. We can always return to normal. I won’t hold it against you if this sudden change is too much to come to terms with. But it’d be my pleasure if you would.”

Hesitantly —or shyly— you ask, “You want to take me out on a date?”

He meets your eyes. A small smile pulls at his lips. 

“I do.”

[weaselandfriends]

Sword Art Online (anime)

Sword Art Online is a Frankenstein monster. Here is every episode of the first arc and how it was adapted:

Episode 1 is from the original web novel, published in 2002.

Episode 2 is from a more detailed rewrite of the story, Sword Art Online Progressive, published in 2012 (only a few months before the anime aired).

Episode 3 is from the second volume of the light novel, published in 2009.

Episode 4 is from a side story published shortly after the original web novel, in either 2002 or 2003.

Episodes 5 and 6 combine a side story published in 2007 and another side story from the eighth volume of the light novel, published in 2011.

Episode 7 is from a side story published shortly after the original web novel, likely in 2003.

Episodes 8, 9, and 10 are from the original web novel, published in 2002.

Episode 11 and 12 are from a side story published in 2003.

Episodes 13 and 14 are from the original web novel, published in 2002.

By stitching together stories written across an entire decade, often with wildly different purposes and goals, the anime is tonally erratic, with glaring plot and character inconsistencies. For example, Episode 3 is a tragic episode in which Kirito brings several low-level players to a high-level floor, leading to their deaths. Kirito is traumatized; he later explains that this incident is why he plays as a solo player, so nobody else will ever get hurt because of him. Episode 4, by contrast, is a lighthearted episode in which Kirito—having learned nothing, because this story was written six years before the previous one—brings a low-level player to a high-level floor as bait for dangerous player-killers. When the low-level player is comedically groped by a tentacle monster and cries out for Kirito to save her, Kirito only shrugs and says, "Come on, it's not that powerful." He's ultimately correct, and this time the player survives, but what happened to his trauma?

These inconsistencies, combined with Sword Art Online's massive popularity, made it the favorite target of the fledgling anime video essay community circa 2014 to 2017. Though it's possible to do a longform video poring over every single plot hole for almost anything, Sword Art Online made it easy; half of its "plot" was never intended to be arranged in this way, and even when there was intent, it was the intent of an amateur author writing their first-ever story. You couldn't generate a work more perfect for endless nitpicking and angry rants in a lab.

But if the show is blatantly incompetent, what made it so popular?

It's tempting to ascribe its popularity to "right place, right time." By 2012, the year Sword Art Online came out, the internet had changed the primary way people interacted socially. Rather than being bound by family, proximity, race, creed, religion, or so on, people grouped together by hobby. "Gamer" was now a community-binding identity, an attribute that distinguished a person and their niche online space from the othered outside. And the Gamers craved legitimacy. They craved the approval and recognition of mainstream culture. They craved representation, that feeling of seeing yourself reflected in the world around you.

The world refused them. The mood of the entrenched pop cultural elite was best encapsulated by Roger Ebert, famous film critic, who had been waging a years-long crusade against video games as an artistic medium. In 2005, in response to the live-action Doom movie, Ebert said, "Video games represent a loss of those precious hours we have available to make ourselves more cultured, civilized[,] and empathetic." He reiterated this claim in statements and essays in 2006 and 2010, and in March 2012, on the eve of Sword Art Online's airing, described Dark Souls—Dark Souls!—as a "soul-deadening experience." "Video games can never be art," he asserted plainly later that year.

In this milieu, it makes sense why Gamers glommed onto Sword Art Online. If nothing else, Sword Art Online takes video games seriously, more seriously than any non-video game media before it (asterisk; excepting .hack). This seriousness manifests in a consistent theme, a singular perpetually present thread that lingers even as plot, character, and tone skew wildly, stated by Kirito to Klein in Episode 1:

"This may be a virtual world, but I feel more alive here than I do in the real world."

This statement defines Asuna, who stops seeing her time trapped in the game as years stolen from her life, and instead learns to live each moment as if it were truly real. It defines Silica, mourning her dead Neopet and willing to risk her actual life to revive it. It defines Lisbeth, hurtling a million miles into the air but still for a moment enraptured by the beauty of a digital sun shining over a digital land. It defines Griselda, murdered by her husband Grimlock for motives he can only confusingly explain as related to how she "changed" in the game, how she became more confident, more self-realized, while he sank into despair (he was not a Gamer. He lacked the Gamer spirit). It defines Yui, the sentient NPC whom Kirito and Asuna adopt as part of a pantomimed marriage that the show's nauseatingly boring second arc is about protecting against an outside world that does not acknowledge it. And it defines Akihiko Kayaba, the game's creator, who when confronted at the end over why he trapped 10,000 people in this death game, can only say that he no longer remembers, before rhapsodizing about the "castle in the sky" he so achingly desired to bring to life. Unstated is that, to make it truly alive, he needed to make it—and the people inside it—capable of death. This logic is twisted, even more bizarre than Grimlock's murder confession, but neither the scene's wistfully poignant tone nor Kirito's responses reject it.

As the video essayists have done, it's pathetically easy to pick apart Kayaba's rationale. But to mire oneself in the story's logic is a mistake; Sword Art Online is not a story guided by logic. What matters is that Kayaba's illogical words are consistent with the ethos that underlies the narrative: The virtual world is as important as, or even more important than, the real world.

The anime's production values reflect this ethos, too. Sword Art Online looks strikingly cheap for its level of popularity. In almost every fight, still images with blur lines vibrate in tacky simulation of animation. There is no dynamism in the camerawork, and sword duels are often depicted in shot-reverse shot so only one participant is on screen at a time. Nobody interacts with their environment; every battle occurs on a flat, empty plane. Some of the monsters are CGI and look awful. The character designs are bland and generic. Even the music, by the otherwise-excellent Yuki Kajiura, sounds like phoned-in B-sides from her work on Puella Magi Madoka Magica (2011) and its sequel film, Rebellion (2013).

But what the show does expend effort on is its backgrounds, which are both visually inventive—floating islands, towering columns that hold up the sky—and depicted with glimmering post-processing effects to bathe them in sunsets, sunrises, rainbows, and starry nights. First and foremost, Sword Art Online sells its virtual world to the viewer, makes them believe in that world the way the characters in the story do.

And in having that world sold to them, in expressing its legitimacy and the legitimacy of those (hero or villain) who believe in it, the Gamers had their rallying cry, the work of media that finally said: You are seen.

But was it really Gamers that Sword Art Online saw?

While Sword Art Online is invested in selling its virtual world, it is not invested in selling its virtual game. The in-universe Sword Art Online is primarily defined by its lack of gameplay mechanics, rather than those it actually has. In Episode 1, Klein explains that the game lacks a magic system, which he describes as a "bold choice." In Episode 2, members of the raid party state that the game also lacks a job or class system. There is no long-ranged weaponry; everyone uses melee weapons, usually swords. The only strategy during raids is human wave tactics, where armies of players charge in and attack at once. The only cooperative maneuver is "Switch," a mechanic that is never explicitly explained but seems to involve a player who has already charged in backing off so another player can charge in their place.

Compared to even basic single-player RPGs, these mechanics are primitive; for an MMORPG, they're antediluvian. The point isn't whether a game with these mechanics would be fun or not (in many ways, it's similar to Dark Souls, where the basic core gameplay of dodge-and-hit is rendered meaningful by the consequences for failure), but rather that the game's mechanics have little importance within the story.

They're so unimportant that it's never explained why Kirito is so good at the game, what he's doing differently from everyone else. He's not even a grinder. He spends most of the first half of the story slumming on floors far beneath his level. It's no-nonsense Asuna who grinds hard, who tries to exploit the game mechanics, like when she proposes using NPCs to lure a boss. The plan makes logical sense, but logic is absent from Sword Art Online's ethos; Kirito rejects it, not on the grounds it wouldn't work, but because the NPCs would be killed. He prioritizes respecting the game world, while Asuna—at least initially—prioritizes respecting the game mechanics. Kirito's philosophy is ultimately proven right when he and Asuna adopt an NPC daughter who turns out to be sentient.

Meanwhile, Kirito's most impressive feat involves him ignoring the game's rules entirely. The one mechanic described in detail is that if you die in the game, you die in real life; when Kirito dies, though, he wills himself back alive to defeat the final boss.

The game, the experience of gaming, being a Gamer—none of these are part of the underlying ethos that guides the narrative decisions of Sword Art Online. Kirito didn't tell Klein, "I feel more alive playing this game." He said, "I feel more alive in this virtual world." Asuna didn't find happiness by exploiting the game, but by learning to live in it as though it were her real life. Kayaba didn't design Sword Art Online because he loves games, but because he wanted to make his world real.

This isn't a story about Gamers. It's a story about a virtual world. It's a story about the internet. It's a story about online community.

In his introduction to Speaker for the Dead (1986), Orson Scott Card describes the heroes of most science fiction novels as "perpetual adolescents": "He belongs to no community; he is wandering from place to place, doing good (as he sees it), but then moving on. This is the life of the adolescent, full of passion, intensity, magic, and infinite possibility; but lacking responsibility, rarely expecting to have to stay and bear the consequences of error […] Who but the adolescent is free to have the adventures that most of us are looking for when we turn to storytellers to satisfy our hunger? And yet to me, at least, the most important stories are the ones that teach us how to be civilized: the stories about children and adults, about responsibility and dependency."

Card, of course, wrote Gamer fiction long before anyone craved it. Ender's Game (1985) is obsessed with the mechanical minutiae of its titular game in a way Sword Art Online is not; its protagonist is successful in the mold of Asuna, able to understand and exploit game mechanics better than anyone else. But in this quote, Card describes Kirito perfectly. Kirito is, of course, an actual adolescent, emphasized by his character design and Columbine trench coat ("Don't show up to the GameStop tomorrow," you can almost hear him say), but his character is also adolescent in terms of Card's model. He spends the first half of the story as a solo player, wandering from floor to floor, doing good (usually), moving on. He lacks—or rather, avoids—responsibility. While Asuna is second-in-command of a top guild organizing high-level raids, Kirito is off on his own reviving some girl's Neopet.

When viewed from this perspective, Sword Art Online actually does have a coherent and comprehensible character arc for its otherwise inconsistent protagonist. Kirito develops as a result of his relationship with Asuna, finding through his marriage to her the responsibility that he previously forsook. When Kirito's error causes Sachi to die in Episode 3, he moves on, immediately abandons even his own trauma by Episode 4; Sachi is never mentioned again. (Of course not, since her story was one of the last ones written.) He feels no lasting responsibility for his actions. But later, Kirito realizes he could not brush off the trauma if the same thing happened to Asuna. It is through his responsibility to her that he joins the final raid and thus bears, shoulder to shoulder with everyone else, the cooperative responsibility of the entire virtual community of Sword Art Online. He has become an adult, with wife and child. He has become "more cultured, civilized[,] and empathetic," as Ebert would put it.

(And isn't that what Ebert is really saying, when he criticizes video games? That they are adolescent, childish, playthings?)

Through Kirito's character arc, and its underlying ethos about virtual worlds, Sword Art Online depicts online community via the language of marriage and responsibility that is traditionally ascribed to real-life community. This too resonated with its audience. After all, it wasn't just Gamers who craved recognition. Teenagers in 2012 had lived their entire conscious life in a world defined by the internet, and yet the "real world" considered online relationships and communities to be a joke. Sword Art Online, rather than legitimizing Gamers, legitimizes the virtual world, the internet.

But does it really even do that?

Immediately, Sword Art Online rejects the notion of online identity. Kayaba's first move upon trapping everyone inside the game is to force them all to look like their real-world selves. As per Sword Art Online's anti-logic ethos, he does not explain why he does this. Shortly afterward, Kirito looks at his real-world finger, which received a paper cut before he entered the game; he imagines it bleeding profusely, before saying, "It's not a game. It's real." By enforcing real-world identity within the game world, Kayaba possibly intends players to see the world as more real too, the way Kirito does. This fits the monomaniacal focus of Kayaba, and Sword Art Online as a story, on the importance of virtual space over any other aspect of virtual experience, and it's not surprising that Kirito tacitly agrees with Kayaba's decision when he and Klein tell each other they look better as their real selves than as their avatars. But it also alienates Sword Art Online from its connection to the reality of the internet, where personal identity is far more fluid.

Furthermore, despite his character arc, Kirito ultimately stands apart from his online community. At the end of the story, everyone lies on the ground paralyzed as he alone is given the privilege to duel the final boss, one-on-one. At this climactic moment, Kirito returns to being a solo player, while every other member of the community lacks agency, including Asuna. Especially Asuna. Shortly before the final battle, Asuna claims she'll commit suicide if Kirito dies, which is already an unhealthily adolescent view of marriage (as seen in Romeo & Juliet). Then, before the duel, when Asuna is paralyzed, Kirito demands that Kayaba "fix it so Asuna can't kill herself." Not only has Kayaba, the villain, stolen Asuna's agency over her own body, but now her husband is requesting he steal even more of it.

This, too, is part of Sword Art Online's ethos. Though the game has 10,000 people, nobody except Kirito actually matters. He is a "Solo Player" in the sense of Solo Leveling, the most popular airing anime, which has a mistranslated title; it should be "Only I Level Up." The implication of the real title is clear: Only the protagonist has agency. Kirito is the same. Only he plays the game, in any meaningful sense. The game—reality—bends to him; none of its rules, even death, constrain him.

It is total self-centeredness, a complete rejection of the responsibility to society that Card describes. This ethos pervades the show. Kirito is never wrong, even when he obviously is, like when he rejects Asuna's proposal to use NPCs as bait. The entire reason he realizes Heathcliff is Kayaba is because, during an earlier duel, Heathcliff beat him; Kirito (correctly) posits that someone who beat him must have been cheating. Everyone who likes Kirito is good, everyone who dislikes him is evil; Kuradeel, who chafes with Kirito initially over bureaucratic guild regulations, eventually unmasks himself as a sadistic serial killer. Every girl is in love with him, a harem rendered vestigial because Kirito is married to Asuna and expresses zero interest in Silica or Lisbeth or his sister or the second season's Carne Asada; but it's not about whether Kirito wants a harem, it's about the prestige of his ability to command one.

This is where the true face of Sword Art Online shows itself, what truly made it so popular, and where the core of its long-lasting influence remains.

Only the virtual world matters. Not the game, not the online community, not online identity. Only a different world, one that isn't the real world. And in this world, only Kirito matters. Sure, he'll fight to protect other people. Exactly like he'll fight to protect NPCs. In this world, real people are worth the same as NPCs, compared to Kirito. His wife is a real person; his daughter is not. But really, both his marriage and his child are a form of playacting, pretending at adulthood. When convenient, they are disregarded and trampled upon. Asuna spends the next two arcs of Sword Art Online sidelined—even viciously sexually assaulted—so Kirito can hang out with girls he doesn't even like, just because they're shiny and new; Yui is almost completely forgotten after the second arc, like a discarded toy.

This is an ethos of pure, distilled escapism. It is an escape from the real world to a false one, where every conceivable selfish fantasy is rendered real, where every desire can be granted and then disposed of when no longer wanted. It is an ethos without responsibility, without consequence.

And without shame. Sword Art Online is remarkably devoid of self-consciousness. It treats as real its virtual world, but doesn't feel the need to justify that world with logic. It doesn't feel the need to justify anything with logic; what it says is so, self-evidently.

In my Kill la Kill essay, I mentioned Sword Art Online's vast influence, and someone wrote (and sadly deleted) a well-reasoned response that explained how the aesthetics and tropes of modern isekai are much more heavily influenced by Japanese webfic that predate Sword Art Online, like GATE or Overlord or Re:Zero. That's true; I'd add that modern Gamer fiction, which is often obsessively concerned with the rules and statistics underlying game logic, is also not very similar to Sword Art Online on a superficial level. But Sword Art Online's ethos transcends genre. It can be found in isekai, Gamer lit, or even genres popular long before Sword Art Online, like battle shounen. Sword Art Online created the web fiction to light novel to anime pipeline, and in doing so popularized amateur literature and its decidedly adolescent mentality of shameless and solipsistic self-indulgence. "Only I Play the Game."