#all and then most of you some and now none of you

[tokoyamisstuff]

Delicate

Sinister! Mark x GN!Regenerator! Reader

A/N: After -> this <- post by @kikiiguess, thanks for matching my freak on a catastrophic level!

⚠️Contains Comic Spoilers⚠️

18+ disturbing content

Synopsis: After escaping from the wasteland dimension, Mark has developed a concerning appetite... Warnings: angst, blood, injury, hurt/comfort, masochism, literal cannibalism, this is oddly sexual charged

It was way past midnight when you woke up finding the bedplace next to yours empty once again, starting to wander the barely illuminated hallways in search for your lover.

A few days prior he had finally returned to your dimension after weeks of absence - yet what exactly happened or how he was even able to find his way back remained a mystery.

All you were sure of is that he had returned a shell of his former self, completely driven by inferior instincts.

From what you could understand of the scraps of information he provided in between demented nonsense, Mark and several of his alters got stranded in a dead universe, with no access to food or water...

...so naturally, as time passed and their hopes of rescue were dwindling, their last option was to start eliminating each other in their desparation for survival.

Truth be told, you were almost 100% sure it was your Mark that made them all turn on each other in the first place.

You've had it all with this man, so you were confident to say it was definelty in his range of possibilities - though this was a new low, even for him.

Damn it, how many times did you tell him to not trust Angstom of all people?! He had been a pain in the ass in your dimension, and now you found out the hard way that goes for this one as well.

But sadly your boyfriend was a fatal combination of both greedy and bored - so being able to expand his empire across the multiverse seemed like just the kind of diversion he needed.

Maybe you if you had been more assertive, then none of this would've happened...

Not much later you finally run into him, hunched over the corpse of your comrade and holding a severed limb as his teeth scraped off the flesh. Witnessing carnage of this extent wasn't really new for either of you, but the context made it just so much more gruesome.

Ever since he came back he's nothing short of instable, however not in the way you were used to. It had always been subtle, well hidden behind a charming facade and skilled manipulation tactics.

There had been method to his madness up until now, but the isolation and sheer hopelessnes of his situation made the last remnant of his sanity slip away like sand between his fingers.

At times his mind conjures voices and other hallucinations, making him even more paranoid than usually. And more often than not he thinks that he's still trapped in that very same wasteland dimension. Well, back then his only solace was imagining himself back home by your side, and now it had become impossible for him to differentiate...

...not to mention, he seems to be plaqued by an aching hunger that can never be quenched.

The doctors claimed it was psychosomatic, caused by the trauma, and that he will most likely adjust to normal food again...

...and yet he hasn't gotten any better, no matter what you tried.

"Want some?" Mark's voice cut through the silence like shards of glass, and you shot him a both disappointed and sympathetic look before shaking your head. "Thanks, I'll pass..."

"I was just so hungry, you know?" You hear a bone creaking as he munches on it, and you feel like throwing up. "Always hungry...it never goes away..."

As much as it pained you to see him this way, in the end you prefer to have him like this than not at all.

Finding him here was no coincidence, surely. He always deliberately fled from your side, whenever this vile urge became too overwhelming. Harming you - the one and only person he evidently cared for - was out of the question.

The old Mark was still hidden somewhere in this delirious menace, you were sure of it...

...you just needed to find a way to lure him out.

"Come" you whisper softly, understandingly, yet also cautious - like you were trying to appease an unpredictable beast that could lash out without warning shall you make one wrong movement. "Let's go to bed."

For a split second a panicked aggression flared up in his eyes, although he didn't act upon the impulse he developed to ensure his survival. He mustered your outstreched hand suspiciously, as if not quite knowing what to do with it, but after a while of whatever his disturbed mind was contemplating, he accepted your offer.

You mutely led him the way back to your shared chambers, with him leaving a trail of blood from the carnage left behind. That's a problem for tomorrow you - or preferably someone else - to clean up.

Right now all that counts is being there for the man that would- no, has conquered entire civilizations in your name.

You owe this to him!

There was no use trying to reason with him about getting cleaned up, so you gently guided him onto the mattress and climbed in right after. Blood from his clothes, hair and skin was soaked into the sheets, drying into a deep shade of crimson. He was entirely covered in it, mixed with his own saliva as it dripped down his chin.

You cradled his face into your hands, pecking a kiss on the bridge of his nose before smearing the proof of his earlier slaughter into nothing but a fading red.

"I didn't plan to be last, I swear..." your boyfriend uttered as he wrapped his arms around your middle, his scruffy beard tickling the crook of your neck. "It just continued not to be me. Maybe I don't look tasty? I don't want to not look tasty..."

You let out a shuddered breath, continuing to let your fingers comb through his messy hair but getting tangled in the dried blood. "I'm just glad to have you back."

Mark had always cursed himself for being so pathetically attached to you. He never intended to fall in love, downright refused this foreign feeling long before he even understood them.

After having spent his whole life in solitude, indifferent to anything 'normal' people seemed to value, he convinced himself that it was actually a sign of superiority.

...and then he met you.

A plaything, a pastime at first.

Back then the GDA had messed with the pain center of your brain, so you'd be more effective in battle. After all, regeneration isn't helpful if you feel every single hit, especially after getting severely injured.

However those experiments came at a price - it caused the side-effect of mistaking pain for pleasure instead.

That's what makes the two of you such a great match: You can basically never break under the weight of what it means to be a sadistic sociopath's spouse. With you he can go all out, implement his dominating power without any consequences.

Who would've thought that the first battle he would ever lose was the one with his own heart?

In a certain way, that other dimension was better. Easier. Absent of any irrational social rules or confusing emotions he couldn't get behind. It was survival of the fittest - a concept he as one of the strongest beings in the universe was very fond of.

Back there, his lack of empathy wasn't consiered monstrous there - it was an advantage. Finally a reassurance that he wasn't broken or wrong.

He was the one that made it out alive, after all.

"How-" Mark's voice is raspy, wild eyes boring into your skull as his fingers tentatively wrapped around your neck. "How do I know this is real? Have you ever been real?!"

You were oddly calm despite being at a madman's mercy, but frankly you were used to it. He increases the pressure on your windpipe just enough to be uncomfortable, but you can feel the barely contained violence behind his grip.

Why didn't you think of this earlier? The solution is so obvious!

"...take from me and find out."

"...no." Mark's voice is firm in a brief moment of clarity. "No" he repeats, "I can't-"

"Why not?" You ask, tone almost offended that he'd reject your generous offer. If he wasn't currently slightly out of mind himself, he would've definetly called you out on this ridiculous behavior.

But his answer stands. There's lines even he does not cross, at least when it came to you. Hypocrite.

"Your folk has less than 50 pure-blooded Viltrumites left, and you just eviscerated one of them...but me? I can take it, I swear."

Your boyfriend had always shared the Viltrumite mindset that humans - except for certain individuals like you were one - are inferior creatures, not much different from cattle or vermin even. Many times he had hunted them for the sheer fun of it...

...but now he didn't even stop at his own people. If he continues, the Viltrumites will eventually turn against him no matter his royal heritage.

Things can't go on like this.

Maybe it's time for more drastic measurements.

"Stop being stubborn" you coo, invitingly batting your lashes but he shuts you up with a glare.

"No, you stop!" He rubs his face frantically, attempting to become at least somewhat clear-headed again. "Even your regeneration has limits. What if I-"

"You won't." Without hesitation, you dig your nails into your forearm, deeply enough to break the skin.

The sheer sight of it leaves him utterly conflicted, exasperated as he's sure once he gives in, he might not be able to stop himself. You see it in the way his hands tremble, barely hovering over your body, and his jaw clenching so hard that you hear his teeth crack.

You dare to cup his cheek, pouring all of your affection into the smile you gift him alongsdes with the essence of your very self. "I love you, Mark. And...I trust you with my life."

"Shit...why are you doing this to me...?" Mark carefully takes ahold of your wrist and brings it to his mouth, lips slightly parted as the intoxicating scent of your blood drings to his nostrils.

It's not the first time, and by far not the last.

Initially he's only licking across the wound, incredibly mellow as if he only wanted to clean it...

...but when the liquid finally graces his dry throat, he lets out a low growl and immediately straddles your waist, pouncing on you like a starved animal. He rips apart your sleeping shirt and lets his canines sink deeply into your exposed shoulder, tearing off the first layer of tissue.

You fail to suppress almost inaudible moans escaping your throat, having the love of your life causing you such delightful pain being almost too much to handle. And when his keen senses make him aware of your reaction, it only spurs him to go further.

"Ohhh..." he almost groans in pure ecstasy, ferociously covering your body in bites and craters of missing flesh. "You like that, huh? Nasty thing."

Mark's hands explore every inch of your body alongsides his mouth, the uncertainty of whether his next move will be mending or hurtful only adding to your excitement. He observes you intently, pupils blown wide by this sheer addicting deed.

His tongue forces your mouth open, the metallic taste of your own blood invading your senses. He can feel your pulse spiking up, as if that feeble little heart of yours wanted to remind him it knows exactly who it belongs to.

Good.

The others tasted so fucking disgusting. But you...

"Fuck" he panted against your skin, drunk on the feeling of having your mind and body submit to him so easily. "So fucking perfect...taking it all so good...it's like you were made just for me..."

Finally he could be as close to you as he deep inside always dreamt to be, and you were enjoying this twisted kind of love.

Part of you is now incorporated in him forever. Poetic.

After what felt like both an eternity and a flash of time, your boyfriend kissed a spot that had just healed for the last time, licking his lips in satisfaction and pulling away.

At long last, he was satiated.

Sitting up, Mark was practically beaming at you, with a look like you had hung the moon just for him. "Damn, babe" he cackles, the metaphorical fog around his soul finally lifting. "You're a freak, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one." You roll your eyes with a wide grin on your face, and the endearing sight makes him crash his lips over yours once again, sighing contently into your mouth.

Before you knew it, your boyfriend began trailing more sensual kisses across your body - from your neck down to your collarbone, chest and finally down your navel, making you shiver the further he descended.

A wolfish smile is playing on his lips as he settles between your legs, his teeth softly nipping into your thigh, mischievous eyes never leaving yours.

"Hope you're ready for dessert..."

[motomamita]

mean!bf!könig × female!reader

warnings: +18, sex tapes, dumbification, könig being a idiot!

mean!bf!könig who is so insecure that he makes hurtful comments about you to his loser friends, even with you present.

"she doesn't know how lucky she is to have me, right guys?"

he jokes with his friends, who enjoy the way you smile awkwardly and look down to check the time on your phone. könig simply strokes your head with his big hand, as if you were a stupid puppy at his complete mercy.

"she's calm now, but when we get home she's going to be unbearable. she won't leave me alone for a moment! so annoying!"

his idiot friends laugh, not having to imagine the scene much since könig loves secretly recording you while he fucks you. videos and photos of you in little clothes were the most common thing he posted to his friends' chats. all with the intention of bragging about how beautiful you were.

könig loved putting you in awkward situations, just like now. lying to you about where the two of you were going to dinner, insisting you dress sexy and provocative, then dragging you out to the bar with his stupid friends.

"i told her not to wear that slutty dress, but she didn't seem to listen. right, pup?"

but when you got home, everything changed. könig became the most submissive and pathetic person in the world.

"please don't be mad at me!"

könig knelt before you, grabbing your hips and moving you slightly so that you would give him some of your attention.

"i have to say all those things so none of them show interest in you! i'm afraid you'll meet someone else and leave me! please, don't ever leave me!"

and right there the tears began. könig sobbed on your bare legs while stammering how much he loved you.

"let me fix it, please. come on, i'm going to eat that delicious pussy of yours so you'll forgive me! what do you say, pup?"

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

try not to get scared, scariest stories

[ccazimi]

To Be Human...

cw: kitsune reader x trueform sukuna, femreader, heian era childhood au, fluff, angst, mentions of blood/violence/death, non-sexual nudity, a little bit of smut (inappropriate usage of sukuna's stomach tongue)

wc: 8k

a/n: first time writing sth like this so im kinda nervous :P listened to zombie by the cranberries on repeat hehe

He’s only around ten or eleven when he finds you.

Your inky fur gleams in the pale light of the moon as you lay there, the bottom half of your body pinned under a large stone.

The lax tripwire attests to what has happened — you’ve been caught under a hunter’s deadfall trap. The leaves and dirt have been messily disarrayed around you, evidence you’d tried your best to escape until you’d given up.

Now you lay there, eyes glassy and chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as you await whatever fate has in store for you — likely a hunter coming in the morning to skin you and turn you into a pelt for nobles.

You don’t give any sign of acknowledgement as the four armed boy approaches you except for the slightest twitch of one of your ears, and Sukuna knows its bad based on your lack of reaction alone.

Sukuna kneels and looks at the state of your body under the rock. He can’t see much but he can smell the blood tinging the air.

Stupid creature, he thinks, it’s almost deserved for falling into such a dumb trap.

But still with a sigh he tries to move the rock.

It barely budges but that slight movement makes you whine faintly.

You’re lucky it only caught your hindlegs — anywhere else and you would’ve died on impact.

And so he stands, lifts his fingers, and—

“Dismantle.”

Instantly the large stone is diced and falls apart, a few falling on your body, but none large enough to do further damage.

It takes you a moment to realize the pressure pinning you down has been removed, and when you do, you try to move.

The most you can do is slightly drag your mangled lower body by pulling yourself along with your front paws, and even that much seems to be a struggle for you.

Sukuna thinks you look so pathetic like this that he steps forwards and crouches to lay his fingers on the fur matted with blood.

You flinch and look back, but there’s not much you can do in your current condition, even as a warmth begins to flow from his touch, spreading across your flesh and building till it feels like a searing burn.

He huffs and holds you down as you yelp in agony and begin to writhe about. “Just stay still, I’m trying to help you.”

And just as you’re about to bend back and bite him, the pain is gone.

All of it.

Tentatively you stand, confirming that all of your wounds have been healed, bone and flesh mended together.

Sukuna steps back, expecting you to run away now that you’re able to do so.

But instead you just stand, staring at him with those dark soulful eyes.

He frowns at you. “What? You can go now. Shoo.”

Sukuna feels a little agitated at the way you’re staring at him, possible even a little self-conscious as though he’s being stared at by another person.

Instead, you sit before laying down fully, resting your head on your paws as you look up at him.

“Dumb mongrel.” He mutters, deciding he’s done with this, and turns away ready to move on.

He continues walking along in the forest, but not even a minute later and he hears the softest noise behind him.

He stops and turns to find you silently following him.

Sukuna crosses both pairs of his arms. “Leave. I’m not your mother.”

You make no signs of doing so, so he gives up and continues along, choosing to simply ignore you following him.

Eventually he finds a suitable tree with a hollow and decides it’s good enough to sleep in for the night.

He settles down, opening the light hemp sack he’s carrying to take out some dried meat and nibble on it.

There’s not much left, but he’s used to the hunger.

You follow suit, laying down a few feet in front of him. Sukuna half expects you to beg for food but you don’t, just laying there.

He squints.

Even in this dim light he can make out the structure of your skeleton, poking through your gaunt frame.

You’re starving, just like him.

Fuck it.

Against his better judgement he tears the piece of meat he’s eating in half and throws a portion to you, where it lands by your nose.

The movement catches your eyes and you sniff it cautiously before inhaling the entire thing in one go.

When morning comes, you’re gone.

Sukuna isn’t surprised — you got what you needed from him and left when he had nothing more to offer. He would’ve done the same himself.

That day he searches unsuccessfully for some game, and when night comes there’s nothing to show for his efforts. So he settles back down to sleep so that he can conserve his energy, or at least to distract him from the constant pit in his stomach.

The next day his luck is the same, and like the night before he once again prepares to sleep with an empty stomach.

A bit later, he hears it — shuffling within the undergrowth.

He sits up, raising his hand, ready to attack whatever’s about to show itself.

But he isn’t prepared for what actually does come — a black fox holding a dead rabbit in its mouth.

Sukuna can hardly believe what’s happening as you come up to him and drop the carcass at his feet. It seems fresh.

He doesn’t say anything but when he cooks and hungrily eats the rabbit, he gives half of it to you.

Later that day he finds you playing with a small pearlescent white ball that you seemingly got from nowhere.

He knows then what you are — likely a rather young one judging by the fact that you didn’t seem so strong and couldn’t shapeshift yet, but a fox spirit nonetheless.

Weeks pass, and he grows accustomed to your presence. You follow him everywhere, shadowing his every move. Even when you vanish—sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for an entire day—you always return. Often with small game clenched between your teeth, a silent offering at his feet.

If he eats, you eat. If he doesn’t, you both endure the hunger together.

The first time you come back injured is after one of your longer disappearances. You limp into his sight, a chicken dangling from your jaws—an arrow lodged deep in your flank.

And still, you make it back to him, staggering but determined, dropping the bird at his feet before finally collapsing onto your good side.

Only then does he realize how you’ve been getting the livestock. You’ve been stealing from villages. A death sentence.

In times like these, even a starving thief would be hunted down without mercy.

“No more.” His voice is sharp as he presses a hand to your side, pinning you down. You yelp as he rips the arrow free. “They’ll kill you.”

The scent of your blood is sharp in the freezing air. But then his palm flares with heat, and in a single burst of power, the wound vanishes—sealed as if it had never been there.

Months pass. The air turns bitter, the trees skeletal, and game becomes harder than ever to find. Food dwindles. Even the smallest scraps are a battle to obtain.

And still, whenever there is something to eat, he shares it with you.

The nights grow relentlessly cold, and soon your arrangement shifts. You begin curling up beside him as he sleeps—sometimes pressed against him, sometimes sprawled on top of him, clinging to whatever warmth his body provides. He doesn’t push you away.

Starvation forces his hand. There is no choice but to move closer to civilization, to raid villages in search of food. You assist, of course—darting through the shadows, quick and unseen.

More than once, these raids end in blood. Villagers fight back. Some die. More than once, you and Sukuna barely escape with your own lives—sometimes without even a morsel to show for it, because the common folk are just as starved as you.

Yet still, you remain by his side.

Finally, winter passes, and the plum blossoms bloom to herald another year of survival.

It should be easier to find food now that the cold has receded, but early spring is the cruelest season—the time when game remains scarce, crops have yet to sprout, and the last of the winter rations have run out.

Even raiding villages yields little, and hunger begins to loom like a specter. You both find yourselves resorting to anything you can find—grubworms, grasshoppers, crickets—desperate scraps to stave off the gnawing emptiness.

Despite the harshness of this life, it’s easier to forget the hunger when you’re together. The small moments of shared mischief, the absurdity of it all, make the suffering feel distant, if only for a fleeting second.

He doesn’t understand the first time it happens, how, despite walking straight ahead, he ends up back at the very same tree he started from. He’s sure he’s not going in circles. Right?

Then the thought strikes him, and he glances at you—sitting innocently, looking up at him with wide eyes.

And he knows.

“You.”

His suspicion is confirmed when you burst into high-pitched laughter, your tail swishing with glee as his glare sharpens.

But it’s fine. He finds his own ways to bother you.

He quickly learns that you absolutely hate having your head patted, and the longer strokes of his hand along your fur are even worse—especially when he adds, “I think you might have fleas…”

When he tugs on one of your whiskers, you nip him in annoyance, your teeth flashing sharp in the dim light. He can’t help but laugh at the frustration you so clearly wear.

And Sukuna learns his lesson when you cackle throughout the night, refusing to let him sleep, your giddy laughter echoing in the still air.

During moments of quiet, he hones his cursed techniques, while you entertain yourself with that shiny little ball of yours. He finds it almost comical how obsessed you are with it.

But the real trouble starts when he snatches it from you and tosses it into a bush, teasing, “Fetch it like a dog.”

You retaliate instantly, a wave of vertigo crashing over him so violently that he crumples to the ground, unable to stand for minutes.

Sukuna grumbles under his breath, his head spinning, hating when you mess with his mind.

And still, the young boy harbors an intrinsic belief that he is your protector. It’s an instinct, perhaps, that keeps him tethered to the last vestiges of his humanity. Little does he know, it is you who considers yourself his guardian.

So when that fated day arrives, and you hear the band of sorcerers and their tracking dogs, the ones sent to hunt down the four-armed creature who’s been terrorizing the villages—stealing food, killing—you are flooded with panic. Not for yourself, but for him.

Lately, his presence has drawn more and more attention. The bounty on Sukuna’s head has put a target on him, and several groups of sorcerers are scouring the land for him. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up.

You feel their cursed energy before you see them, smell the dogs before you hear them. Instantly, you leap onto the sleeping boy, shaking him awake, flooding his mind with urgency, pushing him to move faster.

Sukuna is strong, unnaturally so for his age and circumstances, but he is still a malnourished child. You doubt he stands a chance against a group of sorcerers, specially trained and sent by the capital itself to hunt him down.

The cursed energy suffocates the air, thick and oppressive, and while Sukuna stirs beside you, one of the dogs finds your scent. Its bark shatters the silence, alerting the others to your location.

He scrambles to his feet, but something sharp slices through the air, embedding itself into the tree with a sickening thud, narrowly missing his head.

The cursed weapon’s affliction spreads like an ugly bruise across the trunk, and soon, the men emerge, bursting into the clearing with cold determination.

Sukuna runs instinctively, as do you, but more cursed projectiles whiz past you, and you know—there’s no way both of you will make it out.

Another hiss, and you feel it—agony in your hind leg. The curse digs into your flesh, poisoning it, embedding deep into your bone.

In your mind, you thank Sukuna for these last two years, for saving your life, for giving it meaning. Because now, you know without a doubt, it’s over.

Sukuna runs, believing you’re still right behind him. An illusion that you’ve spun.

You’ve stopped. He sprints ahead, his feet crackling over dead leaves, unaware of the fate that has already befallen you. You turn, facing the sorcerers. They see not the injured fox, but a weakened Sukuna, collapsed on the ground.

The years pass, and Ryomen Sukuna becomes the monster the world had declared him to be from the moment of his birth. His title as the strongest is solidified after he obliterates clans of the most powerful sorcerers in the land. Fear and awe grip the people, and they kneel before him—not out of reverence, but to avoid his wrath.

Sukuna feels no remorse. Not when he stands amidst the dead, surrounded by limp corpses and the stench of blood. Not when the pleading voices of his victims are cut short by a swift, merciless slash. Remorse is for humans, and it was decided long ago that he was not one of them.

Yet, in the midst of the carnage, there are moments—a fleeting sense that he is being watched, a slight unease that causes him to hesitate, just for a fraction of a second, before he cleaves through another innocent.

Sometimes, as he sets villages ablaze, he freezes, thinking he glimpsed the silhouette of a black fox slipping through the smoke, its movements graceful among the burning ruins. It vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Tricks of the mind, perhaps some remaining stain of his humanity.

Years later when he sleeps at night within the abandoned estate he’s settled in with Uraume, he occasionally dreams of a black fox playing with a small white ball.

They are the only dreams he ever has.

Then, one day, the woman appears at his estate, asking if she can stay. She tells him she’s been exiled from her village, with no place left to go, certain that she’ll starve if left to wander alone.

Sukuna eyes you with careful assessment. There’s something in your gaze—a quiet resilience, an unfamiliar comfort—and despite everything, he agrees.

It’s strange. Really, he should’ve killed you on the spot, or at the very least, kept you as a potential meal for later. But there’s something about the way you look at him, like you’re not a stranger but a distant echo of something he’s lost, something that feels almost like home.

But he’s still Sukuna, and you’re still a random woman. So he lets you stay, under the condition that you help around the estate—gathering firewood, tending to small chores, and foraging for food in the forest.

Over time, he gets used to your presence, though he doesn’t acknowledge it out loud.

Yet, there are strange things about you that he can’t ignore.

For one, you eat with no sense of decorum, devouring your food like you’ve been starved for days. And every time he eats something, you look at him with pleading eyes, asking for a taste of whatever it is.

Your reaction to his taste for human meat also stands out. Where others would be horrified, you remain unfazed, even uncomfortably comfortable with it, despite the fact that you won’t eat it yourself.

Something about you doesn’t seem quite right, but Sukuna can’t put his finger on it.

Then there are the little oddities—like how he starts losing things more often. Little things at first: a knife misplaced here, a thought forgotten there. He walks into a room and then forgets why he came. It’s disorienting, and the more he tries to track it, the more elusive it becomes.

And your sleeping habits… They’re just as strange. You nap at odd hours, usually finding yourself curled up in places he wouldn’t expect—on the rooftop, in the middle of the moya, even once right in the doorway, where he nearly trips over you.

Though you’ve been harmless enough, there’s something unsettling about you—or perhaps it’s the way you make him feel. It’s like he knows you, even though he’s certain he’s never seen you before the day you showed up on his doorstep.

One day, while you’re gone foraging in the forest, Sukuna finds himself walking into the eastern pavilion that’s become your chamber. He’s not sure what he’s searching for, but as he looks around, he discovers some dried fish, likely the ones Uraume had been searching for a few days ago, and a set of scrolls of his that had gone missing without his notice.

A thief, it seems. Nothing too surprising; it’s a small problem, but it’s one he’ll have to deal with.

He’s about to leave when something catches his eye—a flash of white, glimmering from within the folds of your bedding. Curiosity pricks at him as he steps closer. There, nestled among the fabric, is a small ball.

And suddenly, everything clicks into place.

You finally return in the late afternoon, laying out your haul—persimmons, chestnuts, a few ginkgo nuts, acorns, matsutake mushrooms, and lotus root.

Sukuna watches, humming thoughtfully before asking, “Anything you wish to tell me?”

You pause, meeting his gaze with a playful smile. “Anything you wish to hear?”

He simply stares at you, making you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. After a long moment, you finally relent. “Okay, fine! I took some of the dried ayu—I just get hungry at night sometimes…”

“Anything else?”

You huff. “I took a few of your scrolls too. I was bored. And yes, I drank some of your sake, but it was just a small taste, I swear!”

Sukuna frowns, the realization dawning on him. That’s why he’d been running out of sake so quickly—he thought he’d developed a drinking problem. He shakes his head in exasperation but holds out a small white ball to you.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for that!” Your eyes light up, and you lunge to snatch it from his hand, but he raises it just out of reach.

“Are you serious? Do you have nothing to say for yourself, fox?”

You look up at him, the playful glimmer in your eyes. In that instant, Sukuna realizes what you’ve been doing—playing a game all along, waiting for him to figure out who you were.

“Do you think this is funny?”

You grin, and Sukuna finds himself wanting to be angry. But the truth is, there’s something else bubbling inside him—something he can’t shake. He wants answers more than anything else.

“How are you not dead?” he asks, his voice softer now, and a flicker of old memories rises to the surface. Memories of you, the fox who had saved his life, who had stayed loyal when others would have abandoned him. Compassion, something he had rarely received from anyone.

It stirs something in him—a weakness he thought buried, a lingering part of his humanity he had long tried to abandon. But that thought is fleeting, buried again beneath his frustration.

“A magician can’t reveal their secrets now, can they?”

Sukuna fixes you with a stern look, his expression hardening again. “Fine, keep your secrets. But you won’t be getting your stupid little ball back.”

“Hey!” You glare at him in indignation. “What if I tell you whatever else you want?”

He agrees, and so you begin to explain. You tell him of your desire to live as a human, about how, when you learned to shapeshift, you sought out a life within the villages.

But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how you fit yourself into their world, kitsune are not human, and the forces of nature demand that they keep moving—transitory, untouchable. It is not in a kitsune’s nature to stay in one place for long, especially amidst human society. So, one way or another, you were always forced to leave, wandering from village to village, never able to stay.

Sukuna listens, but there’s a strange disconnection in his gaze. He doesn’t understand your desire to be human. He scoffs when he learns that kitsune see humans as the superior form, and he can’t help but mock your longing.

You, however, simply smile, not bothering to argue. You know him—his rejection of his humanity, his dismissal of what makes him human. While you don’t share his sentiment, you understand it in a way he may never realize.

You don’t say anything, just smile softly when he mocks your desire to be human, a soft acceptance in your eyes.

Sukuna begins to regret taking in a nocturnal creature, for you become restless at night. Eventually, you decide that it will be him who bears the burden of your boredom.

So, there you are in the dead of night, sneaking into Sukuna’s room, which—unfortunately for him—is warmer than your own. You crouch beside him, leaning in close.

This might just be the worst trick you’ve played on him, though you’d never admit it. There are no limitations in the realm of dreams, after all. And even more unfortunate for Sukuna? Your creativity knows no bounds.

You have no idea whether he was dreaming before, but as of right now, Sukuna’s been shrunk down to the size of a caterpillar, trapped in a jar by you, and shaken vigorously until his eyes shoot open and he wakes abruptly.

He stares at you, sitting innocently by his body, a sweet smile on your face. And he immediately knows exactly what’s happening.

“Bad dreams?”

Sukuna’s glare is sharp as a blade. “I should’ve killed you the night I found you pinned under that stupid rock.”

You grin, completely unbothered. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

He glowers, exasperated. “What the hell do you want, mongrel?”

“I’m bored.”

Sukuna groans in frustration. “Go and chop the vegetables for breakfast or something.”

The next morning, Sukuna is less than pleased when Uraume nervously informs him that all the vegetables have been minced so finely they’re practically paste.

After a few nights of this, Sukuna gives up trying to come up with things for you to do. Whenever you wake him in the middle of the night, he knows what’s coming—your malicious compliance.

So the next time you go to wake him, he shifts over, leaving an empty space on his bedding. “Get in and sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“I know. Just get in and try.”

Sukuna hopes that having another warm body beside you will somehow help lull you into sleep. But you just huff, reluctantly crawling in next to him on the silk-lined shitone that smells faintly of smoke and musk—his scent. It stirs something in you, but you push it aside, focusing on trying to sleep, wondering if he’s asleep.

Sukuna thinks he’s finally found a way to subdue you, but then he feels it—a gentle touch, your fingers tracing his face, brushing against the markings on his skin.

You’ve always been too comfortable with him, touching him out of curiosity, with nothing better to do. He tries to ignore it, but when your fingers trace the edges of his mask, he growls, his hand shooting out to grip your wrist and yank it away.

“Do you mind? Go to sleep, brat.”

But it’s too late. Now, your curiosity has been piqued, and the questions begin.

“Does that side of your face hurt?”

“No.”

“What about your tattoos?”

“What about them?”

“Did they hurt?”

“No.”

Your curiosity doesn’t let up. “What happens if you eat two different things, one with your normal mouth and the other with your stomach mouth? Do the flavors blend together?”

Sukuna makes a noise of frustration, more exasperated than ever. “I liked you better as a fox, you know? Less talking.”

Living with you is certainly not easy. You torment him at every opportunity, badger him for his food, lie about completely nonsensical things for no reason at all. Sukuna’s caught you more than once trying to convince Uraume to team up against him, and let’s not forget the time you made Uraume cry by telling him Sukuna planned to eat the young boy.

Sukuna had to step in, reassuring Uraume with a dry smirk that if he were going to eat anyone, it would be you.

You try to show your apologies in your own way—by leaving piles of dead bodies at the front of the estate the next morning. These are wandering travelers you lured into the forest, then deceived into stabbing each other to death.

It’s almost comical to Sukuna. Here you are, aspiring to be human, yet your moral framework is... questionable at best. It doesn’t take him long to piece together why you’ve been repeatedly exiled from the villages you’ve stayed in.

Take, for example, the time you tried to prank him with a tea made from aconite tubers. At first, he thinks it’s an assassination attempt. Then, he realizes you honestly didn’t see the danger in it. You were “pretty sure” it wouldn’t fully kill him.

Almost… pretty sure.

There are also times when you just vanish randomly from the estate, only to return with “gifts” — though most of them are, at best, bizarre, and at worst, useless. Rare herbs, a finely crafted knife, a silk sash… all of these Sukuna assumes you stole from some village. However, it’s not long before he checks back on these “gifts” only to find that many times they were just illusions—turning out to be nothing more than piles of dead leaves.

More often than not, though, you don’t even try to hide the absurdity of the “presents.” He’ll wake up to find fishbones scattered in front of his door, a single slipper that isn’t his, or even a live bird flapping around in his room like some sort of wild, unnecessary spectacle.

Then there was that time you appeared out of nowhere, holding a rock with the most solemn expression.

“For you,” you said, handing it to him with careful deliberation.

Sukuna stares at it. A rock. Just an ordinary, dusty gray rock. He looks at you, deadpan. “Why would I want this?”

You beam brightly. “It reminded me of you.”

Sukuna stares back at the rock in his hand. No unique markings, no rare qualities. Just a mundane rock. Your thought process is a complete mystery to him.

He yells at you to get lost but when you sneak into Sukuna’s room later to snoop through his stuff you find the rock stored in his cabinet.

Dinner time begins as usual with you, Sukuna, and Uraume each settling into your respective meals. You’re always the first to finish—no surprise there.

As soon as your bowl is empty, your eyes immediately lock onto Sukuna’s. He glares at you, bringing his bowl closer to his mouth. “No.”

You put on your best pleading face, batting your lashes with exaggerated sweetness. “Just one bite, please?”

Sukuna eyes you suspiciously. “It’s human.”

“No, it’s not,” you argue, “I asked Uraume, and he said it’s deer.”

Uraume chokes on his food, eyes widening in panic as Sukuna turns his gaze to him. Uraume quickly looks away, hoping to avoid the wrath he knows is coming.

Sukuna turns back to you, glaring. “Stop begging, like a greedy mongrel.”

Uraume keeps his gaze to the ground, shrinking back in preparation for what’s coming next, as it always does.

“Don’t CALL ME THAT.”

“Then quit acting like it.” To further annoy you, Sukuna casually sets his chopsticks down, then proceeds to dump the entire contents of his bowl into the maw on his abdomen, swallowing it whole.

You stare, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. “What the hell? You can’t do that, it’s cheating.”

He grins, the kind of grin that says he’s enjoying every second of this. “Mad, mutt?”

In your anger, you lunge at him tackling him to the ground while he just laughs at you. And the great Ryomen Sukuna, known for destroying villages and massacring innocents, lets you, fighting back with maybe five percent of his power just to let you have your fun.

At some point, you’ve decided that anything of his is yours too—his food, his space, and especially his bed. It’s become a nightly ritual for you to “move in” to his room, claiming your room is too cold to sleep in. Sukuna knows better than to argue, especially since he’s aware that you barely sleep anyway.

“Get out,” he mutters, his voice laced with exhaustion. “I know you’re just going to bother me instead of actually sleeping.”

“I won’t! See how sleepy I look?” you counter, feigning tiredness with an exaggerated yawn and wide, glassy eyes.

Sukuna eyes you, the expression on your face a far cry from the exhaustion you’re pretending to have. With a resigned sigh, he shifts over to make room for you, though the action seems more reluctant than welcoming. Perhaps a part of him, deep down, enjoys the warmth of your presence—your body pressed against his while he tries to sleep, even if it means enduring your never-ending stream of nonsensical chatter.

And, as predicted, the moment you settle in, you begin—

“Your body would be the perfect meat farm, did you know that?”

There it is. Sukuna exhales sharply, already dreading where this is going. “What? Actually, don’t elaborate—“

“I’d cut chunks out of you whenever you’re hungry since you’d just heal up again, right?” You’re practically gleaming at the thought, unfazed by his annoyance.

Sukuna, desperately trying to ignore your incessant ramblings, stays silent, hoping it will dissuade you. It doesn’t.

“Oh, and that big juicy tongue down there... you can grow that back too, right? Because I think that would be my favorite part of you, slow-cooked and simmered in some br—”

Sukuna’s patience snaps. “Enough. Keep talking and I’ll cut out your tongue and eat it myself.”

You only grin wider. “Oh, what, so it’s only okay when you cannibalize people?”

Weeks turn into months, and somewhere along the way, the nights spent in Sukuna’s bed become something more. Each time, you find yourself sleeping closer to him, your limbs winding around his, your head resting against his chest, your nails softly tracing the surface of his scalp in the dark. It happens without words, but the comfort of it feels so natural, so undeniable.

But as soon as the sun rises, the two of you fall back into your usual roles. The playful tormenting, the biting remarks, the petty battles. Not a single word is spoken about the closeness shared in the night—there's a mutual, unspoken agreement between you both to pretend it doesn’t happen.

It’s as if it never existed, just another fleeting moment in the chaos of your lives.

Sukuna swears he doesn’t care about you—no matter how many nights you stay gone from the estate, no matter how many times he finds himself checking the door for your return. He tells himself he doesn’t care, not even when he finally leaves the estate to search nearby villages, convinced that you’ve gotten yourself caught stealing again.

And of course, he finds you, tied up in the center of a village, your face smeared with ash as a mark of your supposed crime. He doesn’t hesitate for a moment, razing the entire village to the ground in a fiery, brutal display of wrath.

You watch through it all, your gaze steady and knowing. You don’t beg for mercy, nor do you cheer him on as he tears the place apart. You’re indifferent, unfazed by his fury as if you’ve seen it all before, and perhaps in some twisted way, you have.

He drags you back to the estate, more irritated than anything, and when he finally reaches the safety of his home, he grabs you by the arm, his voice low and stern. “You’re not running away again, got it? No more stealing from villages.”

He expects you to throw a snarky comment back at him, to tease or mock him, as you always do. But this time, there’s nothing. You’re silent, your eyes fixed on him, an unreadable look on your face, like you’re studying him, trying to understand the contradictions that make him who he is.

It’s a gaze he knows all too well, the same kind of observance that followed him during all his years of killing and maiming, of playing the role of the monster.

He crosses his arms, fingers tapping impatiently as he narrows his gaze at you, expecting something—anything—from you. “Speak, fox.”

You tilt your head slightly.

“It’s rather curious... when you act like the monster they say you are… I see something so undeniably human in you.”

Sukuna’s expression tightens, and he clicks his tongue in frustration, dismissing you with his usual indifference. “I’m not in the mood for your riddles. Next time, I’ll just leave you to rot.”

But despite his words, something shifts in the air between you. His eyes linger on yours for a moment too long, and for the briefest of moments, the monster he tries so hard to be seems less certain, less absolute.

But he won’t admit it.

Not to you. Not to himself.

Later that night, Sukuna jolts awake to a warm weight pressing against his chest. His vision clears, sleep fading fast, and he finds you straddling him, keen eyes peering down at him. He meets your stare with a glare of his own.

"Can I help you?"

You don’t answer.

Because how do you tell him that despite his name being spoken like a curse, despite the terror that follows him like a shadow, he looks more human in sleep than those who recoil at the mere mention of him?

With the brazier’s dim glow casting flickering light over his face, the xyloid mask embedded in his skin, and the dark ink slashing across his jaw, he should look like the monster they say he is.

But he doesn’t.

So instead, you grin from above him. “No. I’m sleeping here tonight. You’re quite comfortable.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue. "Tch. I could be carved from stone, and you’d still say that."

Yet two of his hands find your hips—not forceful, just firm enough to keep you there.

You sigh, sinking down, the soft curves of your body molding against the solid planes of his. The steady heat of him seeps into you, his scent—smoke and something distinctly him—wrapping around you like a soothing weight.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, another one of his hands lift, fingers brushing through your hair, tucking away a stray lock behind your ear. His touch lingers a moment longer than necessary.

"Tsk. Stupid thing. You got lucky today that they didn’t just kill you outright."

"I’m sure they wouldn’t have. It was only petty thievery."

"You underestimate the cruelty of humans," he murmurs. "What were you even trying to steal?"

"Red bean rice."

You don’t add that it wasn’t just for you. That you had gone to steal sake for him, knowing he was running low.

Sukuna clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Red bean rice? Really? You could’ve just asked, and I would’ve gotten it for you."

"You would’ve burned down the whole village trying to do so."

"I did that anyway. Could’ve at least gotten the rice."

"Well—"

A hand clamps over your mouth. "Just keep quiet if you won’t even admit your mistake."

You only huff against his palm, nuzzling closer as his grip shifts, fingertips trailing absently down your spine.

The silence between you is fragile, the kind neither of you wants to break—not when his touch is this soft, not when his breaths are this deep, rising and falling beneath you.

You’re warm all over—your cheeks, your ears, your blood, your lips. And they only grow hotter when his fingers ghost over the front panel of your kosode, slipping into the lining but going no further.

They wait.

A silent bid for permission.

You swallow, reaching up to curl your fingers around his, tugging at the fabric in quiet invitation. Neither of you looks at the other as he slowly peels the garment from your shoulders.

It falls away, exposing the bare plane of your sternum. The night air whispers over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth between you.

Then, his hands find you—not lewdly, but reverently.

His touch is slow, unhurried, mapping you with a careful kind of curiosity, gliding over your curves, lingering at the swell of your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples in a teasing caress, making them stiffen under his touch and pulling the breath from your lungs.

Drowsiness creeps at the edges of your mind, weighing down on your eyelids, but before sleep can take you, your fingers drift lower, tracing the band of his hakama. You tug—just slightly, a wordless request.

He obliges.

One set of arms holds you close as the others tug the fabric away, leaving nothing between you but heat and skin.

His hands roam lower, fingers pressing into the soft curve of your hips.

You breathe him in, letting the moment fold around you, silent and unspoken, like something neither of you dare name.

And, wrapped in his warmth, you finally slip into sleep.

The nights have settled into a quiet routine—skin pressed against skin, a shared warmth beneath the covers. It’s a delicate kind of intimacy, one that exists only in the dark, when the teasing and bickering of the day give way to something softer, quieter.

Lately, though, you’ve found a new way to amuse yourself— your teeth.

During the day, you nip at any exposed inch of his skin before scampering away, reveling in the way his irritation simmers beneath the surface. A graze along his forearm, a sharp bite to his shoulder—it’s a game, one you always win.

But tonight, your mischief doesn’t settle even when both of you are undressed, bodies relaxed into the familiar comfort of each other. Instead, you straddle his torso, fingers tracing idle patterns along his chest as his eyes drift shut.

And because you’re you, you lean down and nip his cheek.

Sukuna’s lower eyes crack open, glowing faintly in the dim light of the brazier. He exhales sharply, clearly unimpressed.

“Cut that shit out, brat. You’re fucking insufferable.”

You hum, unbothered. The restless energy in your limbs doesn’t fade, and the only thing that seems to relieve it is the press of your teeth against his skin. So you bite him again.

A low growl rumbles from his throat. His fingers twitch against the sheets. **“**Do that again and see what happens.”

There’s a challenge in his voice, the kind that sends something electric down your spine. You grin. And then you do it again.

The response is immediate—before you can pull back, two of his hands shoot out, one tangling into your hair, the other pressing firmly against the nape of your neck, holding you in place.

The last two grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you still.

“Sukuna—” you start, but you don’t get to finish.

He shifts beneath you, tilting his head, and then—warm lips press against yours, firm and deliberate.

You freeze.

And then you melt.

Your breath hitches as his mouth moves against yours, slow at first, testing, tasting. He parts your lips with ease, his tongue sweeping into warm wet cavern of your mouth, claiming every inch, every sound you make. His grip on you tightens as you kiss him back, heat curling low in your stomach.

It’s almost infuriating, how easily he turns the tables, how effortlessly he steals the air from your lungs. But you can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’re tangled in him like this, not when his hands are on your body like you belong to him.

And maybe in some way, you do, the same way he belongs to you.

You savor the taste of him, making out sloppily until amidst the heat you feel skin opening up from beneath where your core is pressed against his abdomen.

Before you can process what’s happening, something hot and dripping presses against your damp slit, and you buck your hips in surprise, yelping into his mouth.

You feel his lips stretch into a grin against yours, refusing to let you pull back for air as the large tongue languidly strokes your clit in teasing licks that send electric sparks shooting up your spine.

He takes the chance when you pant and moan softly to slide his tongue deeper into your open mouth, tangling your tongue with his as the one below parts your drenched folds and slips in, slithering into your tight channel before rubbing harshly against that one spongey area that makes your mind blank and whimper needily into his mouth.

He’s everywhere— invading your mouth, shoving his tongue so far down your throat you think he’s trying to taste your lungs while the muscle in your cunt pushes up even deeper till it’s nudging, lapping at the fleshy wall of your cervix.

You mewl, squirming and bucking your hips, feeling so impossibly full of his tongue, and he groans into your mouth as well at the taste of you all over — the flavor of your mouth along with the way he can feel your walls clenching around him below as he tongues the entrance to your cervix faster and more intensely like he’s trying to eat you from the inside.

Another hand grips one of your breasts somewhere along the way, squeezing and massaging the pliant flesh, rolling your nipple between his fingers, as he sinks his teeth into your lower lip and suddenly it’s all too much—

Your orgasm crashes over you, flooding your senses with ecstasy and the maw on his abdomen with a warm gush of your liquid seeping out of your walls as he continues to juice you, pushing against that sensitive spot and making the fluids continue to drip into his large mouth as he sucks on your tongue, hungrily swallowing all your moans and cries of pleasure.

And finally you still and his hold on you loosens, letting you break away with only a gossamer strand of saliva connecting your mouths that snaps as you look down at him with flushed cheeks, trying to come back to your senses.

He smirks deviously at your disarrayed state as one of his hands caresses your backside softly. “Who knew that was how to shut you up this entire time?”

You huff but lean back down, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press delicate, loving kisses into his skin, eventually falling asleep.

He holds you, trying not to let his hard-ons poke into you, content enough for now to simply embrace your satiated body and feel the warmth of your skin that seems to seep through the cracks within hardened muscle and flesh into his own heart.

The first dream comes that night.

You stand beneath an endless night sky, the cool air brushing against your skin. In the distance, a snow-white fox watches you, its fur glowing silver under the moonlight. It does not speak. It does not move. But its gaze is knowing—waiting.

Then, it turns and walks ahead, leaving behind a trail of faintly glowing pawprints. An unspoken invitation.

You do not follow.

The fox stops, blinking once—slow, understanding—before vanishing into the mist.

You wake with the certainty of what has happened.

You have wandered the mortal realm long enough, and finally Inari has found you.

The goddess calls you home, offers you ascension, a chance to become a true kitsune. A way to escape death—whatever fate awaits spirits who linger too long in the world of men.

But you don’t take it.

And the dreams continue.

Torii gates, endless in number, stretching into the mist, each a door to the path you refuse to take. A golden rice field under the full moon, shimmering—until the stalks wither beneath your touch. The chime of a shrine bell, growing louder as you step forward—then fading the moment you turn away.

Every night, the same quiet plea. And every night, you deny it.

Because no divine warmth, no promise of something greater, could ever compare to him.

To the way his hands rest on your hips. The way his lips ghost over your skin. The playful bickering, the teasing—things reserved for you alone. The flicker of something softer in his crimson eyes, fleeting but real.

Of course, he knows nothing of these dreams.

Nothing of the choice you’ve been given, and chosen to ignore.

Because you were never Inari’s to claim; you were bound to Sukuna since that day he found you as children.

You spend four years by his side, yet they slip through your fingers like grains of sand. You see him in his violence, in his carnage—just as you do in his quiet, in his stillness.

And soon, the whole country speaks his name in fear, his apotheosis complete—a cursed plague upon mankind.

Sukuna welcomes the title. He renounces his humanity, denies it so fervently that even you begin to wonder if he truly believes it.

"You’re human," you tell him once.

He scoffs.

Could a human kill like he does? Maim like he does? Look like him? No—there is nothing human about him. So he thinks.

But the universe disagrees. It still calls him human. And because he is human, you tempt fate by daring to stay.

You defy your own nature, forsaking it in exchange for something fleeting—a life with him. A human life, a simple life. One where mornings are filled with your teasing remarks, your relentless chatter as you wipe the blood from his skin, scolding him like he’s anything less than the calamity the world sees him as.

Sukuna doesn’t acknowledge it, not explicitly. But sometimes, in the quiet, he looks at you like you are something unknowable. Like you have seen a future he refuses to believe in.

He’s right.

You know your time with him is limited. You know the universe will not tolerate your defiance forever. You know, with certainty, that this life you have chosen will end in tragedy.

And yet, to you, it is worth it.

Even as the years pass, even as four beautiful years slip through your hands like water, you never regret it.

Not even when the universe finally comes to collect.

You wander out from the estate that day, but you return later than usual.

Sukuna waits. Then waits some more.

When night falls, he exhales sharply, annoyed, and finally resigns himself to search for you.

There’s a weighted feeling in his chest. A whisper in his bones. It unsettles him, but he shoves it down, replaces it with irritation. Focuses instead on how he’ll admonish you when he finds you.

Probably off doing something stupid, unaware of how late it’s gotten.

The night stretches on. He pushes through the forest, frustration mounting—until suddenly, it is gone.

Because finally, he finds it.

At the base of a towering cliff, a massive boulder sits still, unmoving. And beneath it—a pair of legs stick out.

The sharp, metallic scent of blood floods his senses, sinking deep into his marrow, making his own pulse hammer against his skull. A feeling he hasn’t known in years swells inside him.

Fear.

"DISMANTLE."

The boulder shatters into dust.

And the feeling in his gut—the one he’s been ignoring all day, all night, all his life—finally takes him under.

Your body lies there. Mangled. Crushed beyond recognition.

But he knows. Even if his mind refuses, even if he does not want to believe it—he knows the scent of your blood. Whether you are fox or human, you have always bled the same blood.

Still, he refuses to accept it.

This cannot be you.

Because whoever this corpse is—they are dead.

And you?

You are not dead.

You cannot be dead.

Yet the body lies still. The air smells faintly of urine. The muscles, emptied of life, have already gone limp.

But it isn’t you. It can’t be you.

So he tells himself it must be someone else. Some other poor soul.

Then, his gaze catches on something small—glistening under the moonlight, peeking through the dust and blood.

A small, white ball.

@onwinedarkseas i finally finished this!!

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged partially disabled Simon part 6

this one ends much more happily, a little over 1k words

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Your house felt packed, once the doctor left again you called Price even though it was past midnight, and so he came over, followed closely by Soap and Gaz. Right now you were rewarming some muffins you had made the previous day for them to snack on, and grabbing them some water. They were all quietly talking, surrounding Simon's bed. Once you got in between all of them, you whispered “here’s some food and water, cause I can tell you two were drinking earlier” the last part directed to Soap and Gaz who had in fact been at a bar just a few hours ago. 

After a few minutes you kicked the other boys out, telling them if they really wanted they could sleep on the couch, and of course they wanted to stay close to their lieutenant. You walked back into Simon’s room, silently sitting yourself right next to him under the covers, “to think you were in so much pain just because I wasn’t sitting next to you, it’s wild Simon” after almost an hour you and the doctor finally figured out why Simon was in so much pain, since you had been staying in his room the past few nights, you kept it to a temperature you liked which was colder than normal, and apparently Simon had also been experiencing excessive sweating which to him seemed normal, he was a big guy who worked out often of course he sweats a lot, but last night in a already warm room it got to much, intensifying the pain. Every night Simon would also feel an odd stinging sensation in his legs before he fell asleep which he would ignore, because whenever he pulled you onto him, your weight acted as pressure against it relieving the pain he wasn't even fully aware of yet. 

Now, do to these new symptoms changes had to be made, the doctor was prescribing medicine, specifically Nortriptyline, most over the counter pain relief dont work when it comes to nerve damage, along with that the doctor recommended Simon wears a leg wrap when he goes to sleep or on days that are particularly tough. He also recommended you apply for a blue badge (UK equivalent of a handicap placard for your car) which can take up to 3 months. Although you would still consider it very early to be regularly sleeping next to your partner, it made Simon so much more comfortable, and you could monitor him every night, because a small part of you was worried to leave Simon alone at night, not wanting him to experience that kind of pain again.

Simon woke up right at five, and based on all the noise from your living room, which is what truly woke you up, the other guys were also up. So you helped Simon up and into the dining room even though he grumbled about not needing help the whole time, although he made no moves to remove your hands from his biceps and chest. There you were tiredly cooking breakfast for the 4 giant men in your house, just utterly confused how they could be so energetic and talkative after just waking up. Breakfast went smoothly, the other guys started packing up talking about how they needed to get back on base, Simon had been fine both physically and emotionally even while they talked about work, but it was one passing comment Gaz made right before he left that Simon silently reacted to “ya know lieutenant, we always joked about starting and leaving the military after ya, never would I ever ‘ave thought you'd be first to leave the job” he was silent, none of them knew the comment had affected him, but you saw the way he shifted, the way he was a little more quiet after that. 

Once they all made their way out, you went and sat next to Simon on the sofa “Simon, you okay?” he just brushed you off looking the other muttering something about being totally fine, now of course you weren't going to take the answer, so you moved to his other side where he was already looking, but that didn't work he just looked away again, so you did the next best thing. You sat straight on Simon's lap, staring right into his eyes as they grew wide. “Now Simon, are you okay not being on duty any more?” Simon let out a deep sigh knowing he couldn't keep ignoring you  “Gaz is right, I never planned to leave, I've got nothing to do with my life, and if you weren't m’nurse i'd be completely lost” you cupped Simon’s face forcing him to look you back in the eyes “Simon, i'm not just your nurse, i'm also your girlfriend, well future wife as you put it” that comment brought a smile back to his face “which means you already have one thing to look forward to, I’m sure I can help you find another” Simon just pulled you into him, bearing his face into your neck, just so happy with his choice.

You guys spent the rest of the relaxing and trying to find a hobby Simon would like, it was now almost dinner time, and you guys had nothing. You were worried about this but Simon didn't seem to mind that you guys haven't found anything, just happy he got to spend the whole day talking and laughing with ‘his girl’ when he got a call from Soap, “hey this is gonna sound weird but, ya want a dog” Simon was genuinely so confused, and shocked he didn't have an answer, you walked over putting the phone on speaker before asking Soap to repeat himself “I know it's random, but we got a military dog that needs to retire but doesn't have an owner, so I thought id ask if ya wanted a buddy, y’know” you were just as shocked as Simon, but you saw an opportunity, so you convinced Simon to accept, and tomorrow morning a new dog would be dropped of right into Simon's lap. 

tags- @piconico17 @just-lilita @madsdawson @silversfavfics @enfppuff @solazoro @sirbonesly @roastyyytoastyyy @the-disaster-in-waiting @lonjitas @squishytap @gays6968 @sunndust @dreamland08 @sweetpeakarolinaaa @marcysbear @alfiestreacle @bxm-2121@goldyghoul  @itsanemu0101 @wolverineswaifu @crempuffie @ohdrey89 @cucurucho-amargo @avalkyrieofparis @castellomargot @cmbghost @strawberrygato @blueladys-world @goodsoup19 @pinkylouise @creepzeyecandy @tessakate @identity2212 @callmytherapistplease-blog @witchblossoms @carolb111  @iiriam  @berryjuicyy @bmtillerbabe @stoned-anime-babe @junitries @harrysthiccthighss @lucienofthelakes @urmomsgirlfriend1 @rexythebitch @milanriol @cryingpages

[kathlare]

Hiii, soo this is inspired by the bew dts season, maybe a compilation of amelie in dts?

Hiii!! First off, thank you so much for the request! 💕 It took me all day to put this together, and I had to rewatch some scenes to make sure I got everything just right, but here it is! I really hope you like it! 😊 Let me know what you think!

home in the chaos

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Through intimate scenes and subtle gestures, the audience witnesses the depth of their bond and the solace Amelie provides Lando in his most fragile moments.

Wordcount: 10.1 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 7th, 2025 - All around the world

liked by lanmelieshippers, daymanupdates, and others

f1wagsgossip: 🚨 Season 7 of Drive to Survive just dropped, and guess who’s making more appearances than expected? 👀 Amelie fans, you’re in for a treat! Looks like Lando let Netflix peek into his private life this season… and that includes plenty of moments with his Amelie. 🧡🏎️

View all 49,583 comments

f1wagsupdates: Not Lando finally letting Netflix have a peek into his private life and it’s basically the Lando & Amelie Show 💀 → lanlanstan: @f1wagsupdates THIS IS WHAT WE’VE BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE 2020 I’M ACTUALLY CRYING. → amesangel: @f1wagsupdates The fact that we literally manifested this from the Twitch quartet era... we won, guys.

f1girly: Amelie casually appearing in the McLaren motorhome, sitting on Lando’s pit wall, and being in his Monaco apartment like it's her job... I fear we’ve entered the “WAG era” for real. → papayagirl: @f1girly SHE WAS ALREADY THE WAG BEFORE WE KNEW SHE WAS THE WAG.

lanielover44: No bc seeing them flirting in the paddock and Lando calling her "baby" in front of the cameras??? I’m losing my mind. → f1fanatic: @lanielover44 AND THE WAY SHE CALLS HIM "LAN" LIKE IT’S THE MOST NATURAL THING IN THE WORLD 😭😭😭 → amelie4ever: @amelie4ever Bro... when he said "I’ve been in love with her since 2020, I just had to be patient" I screamed.

f1hottea: Y’all, we got fed this season. Lando's first win in Miami, Amelie running to him, the kiss... the soft launch turned hard launch.

f1zone: It’s so cute how Lando still gets all shy when Amelie compliments him. Like, bro... you're literally a world-class driver. You can’t be shy about this. 😅 → lanx_xo: @f1zone You can tell he’s still so in awe of her. Every time she praises him, he’s like a little schoolboy.

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

The scene opens with the fast-paced, dramatic cuts typical of Drive to Survive. The camera zooms in on Lando Norris, sitting in the familiar interview chair, his eyes slightly squinting against the bright lights. He leans forward, chuckling to himself before the interviewer cues him to speak.

—Lando, tell us about the nickname ‘Lando No Wins’,— the interviewer prompts, clearly aware of the lighthearted jibe that has followed Lando throughout his career.

Lando pauses for a moment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he recalls the origins of the nickname. He leans back, clearly not taking it too seriously, but there's a hint of vulnerability in his eyes as he speaks.

—Yeah, so that nickname, "Lando No Wins"... that’s actually Amelie’s doing,— Lando begins, his voice dripping with the slight teasing tone that’s become second nature to him. He lets out a little laugh, shaking his head.

—Back during the pandemic, when we were all locked inside, we used to play a lot of video games together. A lot of them, actually. And I swear, I couldn’t win a single race against her,— he continues, his eyes narrowing in mock offense. —Every time I lost, she’d call me "Lando No Wins." It just kind of stuck. I didn’t think it would carry over to F1 though.—

He shrugs, the smile never quite leaving his face, but there's a hint of exasperation as he adds, —People somehow took it the wrong way, like it was about my F1 career or something. But it’s all in good fun. It’s Amelie’s thing. I guess I’ll just have to live with it now. The nickname’s bigger than I am at this point.—

The camera cuts away briefly, transitioning to interviews with Lando's closest friends, each of them ready to add their own spin on the infamous nickname.

First up is George Russell, sitting comfortably in his own interview chair, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. The interviewer’s question barely leaves their lips before George is already shaking his head in amusement.

—Oh, I remember that...— George begins, his usual grin widening. —She’d always roast him for it. "Lando No Wins!"— he laughs, shaking his head as if the memory was still fresh. —It was too perfect, honestly. I mean, it fits. And she knew it. Classic Amelie move. I wouldn’t be surprised if she planned it from the start, just to get under his skin. Genius, really.—

The scene shifts to Alex, who shakes his head in disbelief.

—Lando’s never lived it down, has he?— Alex says, almost sympathetically. —It was always "No Wins" this, "No Wins" that. Amelie just knew how to get him. She’s got a way of making everything fun, even if it’s at his expense. We all kind of laughed at it, but I think deep down, it was a little painful for him. But he didn’t mind, at least not too much.—

The camera cuts once again, now focusing on Charles Leclerc, who leans back in his chair, a smile tugging at his lips as he recalls the playful nickname.

—Oh, Amelie was on fire with that one, wasn't she?— Charles chuckles, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair. —Every time Lando would lose, it was like clockwork. "Lando No Wins." It became a thing. Honestly, though, I think she got into his head a little with it. She always knew how to get the perfect shot in, but she wasn’t malicious. It was just her humor, and I think Lando secretly kind of enjoyed it... even though he pretended not to.—

The shot cuts back to Lando, who’s shaking his head with a rueful smile. —I swear, Amelie has a way of making everything stick. I didn’t think that stupid nickname would follow me this long, but… here we are.—

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

The scene was electric. The sun hung high in the Miami sky, casting a golden hue over the paddock as the crowd roared with excitement. It was the culmination of Lando Norris’s long journey, his first-ever Formula 1 victory on the horizon.

The air buzzed with anticipation as Lando Norris navigated through the final laps of the Miami Grand Prix, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, his focus unwavering. The cheers from the crowd reverberated through the paddock as McLaren’s pit crew began to prepare for what was about to be a monumental moment in the team's history. The race clock ticked down, and with each second, the energy built to a fever pitch.

Lando’s McLaren crossed the finish line, his victory sealed. The roar of the crowd reached deafening levels as the car slowed to a halt, the team swarming the car almost immediately, their arms raised in celebration. But in that moment, as Lando unbuckled his helmet and climbed out of the car, something else caught his attention—someone else.

Amelie, standing at the edge of the pit lane, her eyes locked on him. Her body surged forward before she could even stop herself, and she cut through the sea of orange uniforms, determination in every step. The cheers, the noise, the chaos of victory faded to the background as she reached him, her eyes fixed only on Lando.

Lando, still breathing heavily from the race, met her gaze. For a split second, the world seemed to stop. The pit crew continued their celebration, but Lando was no longer part of that crowd. His focus was entirely on Amelie as she approached, pushing her way through the chaos.

Without a word, Lando pushed past his team, making his way toward her. His legs carried him faster than he had anticipated, and in mere moments, they were face-to-face. His arms found her, pulling her into an embrace.

Lando cupped her face, his thumb gently brushing away a tear before his lips crashed into hers. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. It was urgent, desperate, as if they both knew how long they had waited for this moment.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were ragged, both of them laughing softly at the sheer intensity of the moment. Amelie wiped away the last of her tears, a smile playing on her lips as she spoke, her voice breathless.

—I didn’t plan this, Lan,— she chuckled softly, her hands still on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

Lando grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief and joy. —Guess we’re out of the secret club now, huh?— He leaned in, capturing her lips again in a much softer kiss, this one gentle, filled with warmth and tenderness.

Behind them, the McLaren team erupted into cheers, lifting Lando up on their shoulders, shouting in jubilation. But even as they celebrated, Lando’s eyes stayed locked on Amelie, as if nothing could pull him away from her. She stood there, her heart swelling with pride as she watched him held high, the victorious smile on his face forever etched in her memory.

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

The camera zoomed in on Lando, his posture relaxed but his eyes still alight with the adrenaline from the race. The unmistakable warmth of a smile tugged at his lips, though there was a reflective quietness to him now, away from the chaos of the pit and the podium. He leaned back slightly, the weight of the moment still settling in as the interview room, now more subdued than the earlier celebrations, enveloped him.

One of the crew members, a familiar face, asked the question that everyone was dying to know.

—Lando, first win. How does it feel?—

Lando leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrests. His lips curled into a soft, almost disbelieving smile as he looked into the camera.

—It’s… it’s insane,— he began, his voice a mix of disbelief and gratitude. —I mean, it’s something I’ve dreamed of for as long as I can remember. You grow up watching this, you picture yourself up there, and then it happens. And to do it with McLaren, with my team—yeah, it’s something special.— He paused for a moment, his gaze shifting as he reflected on the journey that had brought him here. —It’s been a long time coming, and now that I’ve done it, it’s just... surreal.—

There was a brief silence as he let the words sink in. The crew could tell how much this meant to him. They could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. But the next question was inevitable—the one everyone had been wondering about for months now.

The crew member, who had been silently observing him, cleared their throat before asking the question that everyone was eagerly waiting to hear.

—And, uh... about the kiss, Lando. How much did that moment mean to you? To have Amelie there, to have her with you after everything?—

Lando’s smile softened, a brief flash of something more personal crossing his face. He leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped together, eyes momentarily shifting as though trying to gather his thoughts. The room felt smaller suddenly, more intimate, as if he was speaking not just to the cameras, but to the people who had followed his journey from the very beginning.

—Yeah, the kiss…— Lando’s voice faltered for a second, a chuckle escaping his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. —It was... it was everything. I’ve been working for this moment for so long, and to have her there, right after crossing the finish line… it just felt like the right thing to do, y’know? We’ve been through so much, both of us, and we’ve known each other for years, and when that moment came… I just didn’t think. I just went for it. It wasn’t about the race anymore. It was just about us.—

He paused, his eyes distant for a moment as he reflected on everything that had brought him to this point. The highs, the lows, the time apart, and the years of friendship that had built up into something more.

—I've been in love with her since 2020, honestly,— Lando admitted, his voice low but steady. —It was... hard at times. Especially when we weren’t together, when we didn’t know what we were. But I had to be patient. I had to wait for the right time. It’s funny, I always thought the moment would feel different, but it was more than I ever could’ve imagined. And to have her there with me, after everything we've been through... I wouldn’t trade that moment for anything.—

The interviewer let the silence hang in the air for a second, knowing there was more he wanted to say, but giving Lando the space to continue. The raw honesty in his words was undeniable.

—And now... it feels like everything is just falling into place, y'know? She’s been a part of my life for so long, and having her there, being able to share that moment with her, it’s… it’s perfect.—

Lando leaned back in his chair again, his eyes softening as he let out a breath, almost as if the weight of the conversation was settling on his shoulders. The interviewer, sensing the emotion behind Lando’s words, gave him a moment before asking another question, but the tone had shifted. The race, the victory, the kiss—it was clear that this win meant so much more than just a trophy for Lando. It was about love, timing, and finally getting to share the most important moments of his life with the person who had been there through it all.

The camera zoomed in slightly, capturing the vulnerability in Lando’s expression. He was no longer the confident driver in front of the cameras, the competitive athlete everyone had come to know. In this moment, he was just a man, deeply in love, reflecting on how far he’d come.

And as the interview continued, the world outside seemed to fade. This was a chapter in his life that, for once, wasn’t just about the races, the wins, or the pressure. It was about Lando and Amelie, two people who had been through everything together, now standing at the pinnacle of their dreams—both personally and professionally.

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

The streets of New York were alive with energy, the hum of the city mixing with the background chatter and the constant flow of traffic. In the backseat of a sleek black car, Lando Norris sat with his arms crossed, a relaxed but confident look on his face. The windows were slightly rolled down, allowing the cool breeze to cut through the warm evening air. It was a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the race weekend he had just experienced.

Lando spoke into the camera, his voice calm but filled with a quiet intensity.

—Winning, it’s... it’s a drug,— he began, his eyes focused out the window, reflecting on the past few days. —Success is a drug. I mean, once you’ve tasted it, you just want more. It’s like that feeling you get when you know exactly what to do, when everything clicks. And right now? I’ve got that confidence, you know? That feeling that everything’s falling into place.—

His voice was steady, the weight of his words clear. The highs of the Miami Grand Prix were still fresh, lingering in his mind, and the euphoria of his first-ever victory had not faded. He wasn’t just talking about the race; it was more than that. It was a reflection of how far he had come, not just as a driver, but as a person.

As he finished speaking, the car slowed to a stop. Lando’s gaze shifted toward the tinted windows.

—Let’s wait for my princess,— he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The camera cut away from him just as the car door opened, and in an instant, Amelie stepped into the frame. She slid into the car with a grace that was almost effortless, her presence adding a softness to the hard edges of the racing world around them. She smiled at Lando as she settled beside him, the two of them exchanging a look that said more than words ever could.

Lando glanced at her, his expression shifting from the confident, reflective mood he had just been in to something more relaxed, more at ease.

Amelie slid into the backseat beside Lando, her smile lighting up the car as she greeted him with a soft peck on the lips. The moment was warm, intimate, a stark contrast to the world outside the car’s tinted windows. She let out a light chuckle before turning toward the camera, her tone playful.

—Hi, Netflix,— she said with a wink, her voice full of warmth and charm.

Lando grinned at her, his eyes flicking between Amelie and the camera. There was something magnetic about the way they looked at each other, a connection that had been built over years of friendship and a few months of something more. The playful banter between them was effortless, the kind of chemistry that had made fans root for them since their early days as friends.

As the car pulled back into motion, Lando leaned back against the seat, his arms casually resting on the edge, eyes still on Amelie.

—So...— he teased, his voice light but filled with the same confidence he had spoken about earlier. —How does it feel to watch your boyfriend finally win?—

Amelie rolled her eyes, playfully nudging him with her shoulder as she settled in beside him.

—Oh, please, don’t start,— Amelie laughed, a teasing glint in her eyes. —I’ve been waiting for this day for ages, you know that.— She shrugged dramatically, her tone playful but full of affection.

The camera crew, anticipating the playful energy between them, zoomed in on Lando as he raised an eyebrow at Amelie. The streets of New York stretched out before them, their journey just a part of the whirlwind that had been his first-ever win, but with Amelie by his side, the moment seemed to slow down.

—Oh, really?— Lando grinned, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. —So you were just waiting to see if I’d ever make it, huh? That’s what it was all about?—

Amelie chuckled, shaking her head.

—Not quite,— she teased, crossing her arms with a mock pout. —I knew you’d do it eventually, but you sure took your sweet time.— She smiled warmly at him, and the affection between them was evident, even in the playful jabs they threw back and forth.

Lando let out a small laugh before leaning in closer to her, his tone turning softer, more sincere.

—It feels... different, you know? All that waiting, all the pressure, the expectations, now, it’s like everything's changed. But it’s worth it. And having you here to share it with me, to celebrate it... yeah, that makes it even better.—

Amelie’s smile softened, and she reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The cameras zoomed in on their intertwined fingers, the connection between them unmistakable.

—You deserve it, Lan,— she said quietly, her voice tender. —All of it. I’ve always believed in you.—

Lando’s eyes flickered with gratitude, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze in return. But before the moment could linger too long, a familiar teasing voice broke the silence from the front of the car.

—So, about that kiss...— the cameraman said, unable to resist the opportunity to poke fun at the pair. —You two seemed pretty... into it. How did that feel, Lando? A little victory kiss, huh?—

Amelie let out a laugh, her eyes sparkling as she turned to Lando.

—Oh, now you’ve done it,— she said, her voice playful but with an edge of mock seriousness. —He’s been insufferable ever since. Just wait until you hear him tell the story of the kiss 100 times, because he’s going to do that now. Isn’t that right, Lan?—

Lando rolled his eyes dramatically, laughing along with Amelie.

—What can I say? It was a great kiss,— he said with a wink, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. —And I’ll be happy to tell the story as many times as you want.—

Amelie shook her head, but the fondness in her eyes was clear.

—You’re terrible, you know that?— she said, leaning back into the seat.

Lando shrugged, his grin never fading.

—It’s my first win, I’ve earned it. And I think it’s only right that everyone hears about the celebration. It was pretty unforgettable.—

As the car made its way through the bustling streets, Lando and Amelie continued to tease each other, their easy chemistry filling the space around them. The world outside seemed distant, the noise and chaos of New York blending into a soft hum. Inside the car, it was just the two of them—two people who had been through so much, now sharing this moment of victory, laughter, and love.

The camera cut away, but the smile on Lando’s face and the glow in Amelie’s eyes lingered, the perfect snapshot of a victory that was about so much more than just the race.

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

The camera angle shifted, capturing the interior of a sleek car as it sped through the quiet streets. Lando was behind the wheel, the focus on him as he casually navigated the traffic, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Amelie sat in the passenger seat, her focus on her phone as she sipped from a coffee cup in her hand, the warm liquid still steaming.

Lando’s voice broke the silence as he glanced over at Amelie, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

—You know, I was kind of expecting a text from Max after Austria, apologizing for the whole... situation, but of course, nothing. Not even a ‘sorry.’— His voice was casual, though the slight bitterness in his tone betrayed his lingering frustration.

Amelie looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow at him.

—Really? You thought Max would apologize?— she teased, the faintest smirk appearing on her face.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head.

—Well, yeah, I mean, I thought after everything that went down, it would be the decent thing to do, right? But apparently, that’s asking too much.— He shrugged, his eyes focusing back on the road.

As he turned a corner, Amelie shifted in her seat, trying to adjust her position with one hand while still balancing her iced coffee in the other. A moment of clumsiness—and then, without warning, the cup slipped from her grasp.

The camera zoomed in on the slow-motion disaster as the coffee flew out of her hand, splashing across the center console, onto the seat, and all over Lando’s pristine car. Amelie’s eyes widened in panic, her voice rising as she gasped.

—Oh my god, I’m so sorry!— she exclaimed, quickly trying to blot the mess with her sleeve.

Lando let out a sharp breath, his eyes flicking from the road to the spill, and then back to Amelie.

—You’ve got to be kidding me, Ames,— he said, a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and affection in his voice. —Not again.—

He wasn’t yelling, but there was no hiding the frustration in his tone. He quickly swerved into the nearest pull-off, the car coming to a stop as he stared at the damage.

Amelie was visibly flustered, scrambling to find something—anything—to clean it up.

Amelie’s face was flushed with embarrassment as she frantically tried to mop up the mess, but the spill was far too much for a simple sleeve to handle. Her hands were shaking slightly, the panic evident in her eyes as she looked over at Lando.

—Lando, I swear I didn’t mean to... I’m so sorry!— she stammered, her voice a mix of guilt and distress.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his curls as he glanced at the mess. For a moment, the tension hung heavy in the air. The camera captured Amelie’s frantic movements as she searched for napkins, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to wipe the coffee off the console.

—I’m so sorry, Lan. I didn’t mean to, I swear— Amelie stammered, her voice filled with genuine panic.

Lando looked at her, and for a split second, his frustration softened. The camera caught the shift in his expression—the moment when annoyance gave way to something much deeper.

He reached out, gently placing his hand over hers to stop her from scrambling.

—Hey, hey... Ames, it’s fine,— he said softly, his tone shifting to something far more tender. —It’s just coffee. You’re okay.—

Amelie looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of guilt.

—But your car...—

Lando let out a small laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat.

—Honestly? I should’ve seen this coming. You’ve done this, what... four times now?— he teased, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

Amelie groaned, covering her face with her hands as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

—Stop. Don’t remind me.—

Lando chuckled and reached over to gently pull her hands away from her face.

—I knew what I was signing up when I started dating you,— he said with a soft grin. —And... I wouldn’t change it. Even if it means sacrificing my car's interior every once in a while.—

Amelie couldn’t help but laugh, her anxiety slowly melting away as she met his eyes.

—You’re way too nice to me, you know that?—

—Yeah, well... you’re my little chaos.— Lando replied with a shrug.

The camera lingered on the moment, capturing the warmth between them. Lando reached into the glove compartment, pulling out some old napkins and handing them to her.

—Come on, let’s clean this up before Netflix makes this my entire storyline this season,— he joked, earning another laugh from Amelie as she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

The car rolled back onto the road a few minutes later, the coffee incident already forgotten—just another chaotic memory in the story of Lando and Amelie.

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

The camera cuts to the dimly lit interior of a car as it glides through the streets of Singapore. The city's neon lights reflect off the tinted windows, casting a soft glow on Lando Norris, who sits in the backseat, phone in hand.

The camera zooms in on his screen, revealing a familiar face—Amelie, her hair tied back in a messy bun, sitting in what appears to be a hotel room somewhere. The background noise of her team moving around is faint, drowned out by her soft voice and the quiet hum of the car engine.

—Hey, rockstar,— Lando greets her with a grin, leaning back against the leather seat.

Amelie smiles, her eyes lighting up despite the exhaustion from her tour schedule.

—Hey, champ. You look... tired,— she teases, though her voice carries that familiar warmth.

Lando chuckles, running a hand through his curls.

—Yeah, well... Singapore humidity is brutal. Plus, you know, the whole ‘trying not to die under the lights’ thing.—

Amelie laughs softly, the sound echoing through the speakers.

—You’ll be fine. You always are. You're fast here.—

There’s a pause, a comfortable silence between them as Lando’s eyes soften.

—How's tour?—

Amelie sighs, glancing around her hotel room.

—Exhausting. But... good. I miss you, though. And... it's my birthday soon.— She tries to say it casually, but there’s a hint of something vulnerable in her voice.

Lando’s smile falters just slightly, guilt flashing across his face. The camera captures the moment, his internal struggle evident.

—I know...— Lando says quietly, his voice filled with regret. —I wish I could be there, Ames. I really do. But with Singapore and Japan right after... it’s just... impossible.—

Amelie forces a small smile, nodding in understanding.

—I get it. I mean... this is what we signed up for, right?— she says, trying to sound lighthearted.

But the weight of it hangs between them. Two people chasing dreams on opposite sides of the world, sacrificing moments that most couples take for granted. The camera lingers on Lando’s face as he looks down, the frustration evident.

—It still sucks, though,— he admits, his voice softer now.

Amelie’s expression softens.

—Yeah... it does.—

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The only sound is the hum of the car and the faint noise from Amelie’s hotel room. The distance feels heavier than ever.

—But... I’m proud of you, you know?— Amelie says, breaking the silence. —You’re doing what you’ve always dreamed of. And I wouldn’t want you anywhere else but on that grid this weekend.—

Lando’s lips curl into a sad smile.

Lando's eyes soften at her words, but the weight in his chest remains.

—I'm proud of you too, Ames. You're out there living your dream. I just... wish I could be with you to celebrate. You deserve more than a FaceTime call.—

Amelie smiles softly, her eyes glistening for a brief moment before she shakes it off.

—We'll celebrate when we're both back home. Or... when we're in the same country, at least,— she jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Lando chuckles, but the sadness lingers beneath.

A knock on Amelie's door interrupts their moment. She glances toward the noise and sighs.

—That's my cue. I need to shower before soundcheck.—

Lando nods, forcing a smile.

—Go be brilliant, baby.—

Amelie hesitates for a second before speaking, her voice soft.

—I love you, Lan.—

Lando's heart tightens at the words.

—I love you too, Ames. Always.—

They linger on the line for a beat longer before Amelie hangs up. The screen goes dark, and the camera shifts back to Lando, who stares at his phone for a moment, lost in thought.

The city lights blur through the window as the car moves through the streets, but Lando's mind is elsewhere.

Then, almost without hesitation, he pulls out his phone again and opens his airline app. The camera zooms in as he searches for a last-minute flight to Toronto — the next stop on Amelie's tour.

The confirmation screen flashes, and Lando books the ticket without a second thought.

The camera cuts to Lando leaning back in his seat, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips.

—Screw the jet lag,— he mutters to himself.

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

The screen cuts to the familiar, dimly lit interview room — the iconic black backdrop with the faint hum of production equipment in the background.

Lando Norris sits in the center of the frame, wearing his McLaren team shirt, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something more thoughtful. The camera captures the subtle shift in his demeanor, the weight of the season evident in the way his fingers fidget with the cap in his hands.

—You know... it happened kind of... out of nowhere, really,— he starts, glancing off to the side as he reflects. —I mean, last year I was fighting for podiums. And now, suddenly... I’m fighting for a world championship.—

The camera lingers on him as he exhales, the pressure written all over his face.

—It’s everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve dreamed of. But... it’s a lot.— He chuckles lightly, though there’s a tension behind it. —The pressure, the expectation... it gets to you. It really does.—

The producers let the silence hang for a moment, allowing viewers to sit with the vulnerability of the moment. Then, Lando’s expression softens slightly, a small smile playing on his lips.

—But... Amelie...— he trails off, the mere mention of her name shifting his entire energy. —She kind of... keeps me grounded. Keeps me from spiraling when things get too overwhelming.—

He looks down, almost shy about admitting it on camera.

—She doesn’t care about the racing, the points, the headlines. I mean, she supports me, of course... but to her, I’m just... Lando.— He grins, his eyes lighting up at the memory.

The camera cuts to a brief montage of Amelie in the McLaren garage, laughing with Lando’s engineers, cheering from the pit wall, and sneaking a quick kiss with him after a podium celebration.

—She’s been through pressure like this herself. With her career, the touring, the awards, the... constant spotlight. She gets it. And I think... that’s what makes it easier.—

Lando’s gaze drifts off as he speaks, as if picturing her in his mind.

—Whenever I start overthinking, or doubting myself... she’s there. Even if it’s just a text or a FaceTime before quali. Somehow... she makes me feel like I’ve already won.—

The camera zooms in slightly as Lando leans forward, his voice dropping almost to a whisper.

—I wouldn’t be here without her. Not really.—

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

The camera shifts to a lively scene in the paddock after the Singapore Grand Prix. The roar of the crowd is still lingering in the background, but the focus is solely on Lando Norris. He’s just come out of the chaos of the post-race celebrations, the weight of his victory still fresh on his face, a mixture of disbelief and pure joy.

The camera follows Lando as he strides through the paddock, his gray crewneck and jeans a stark contrast to the usual racing suits and team gear. His hair is still damp from his post-race shower, the water droplets catching the light as he moves. The hum of the busy paddock surrounds him, but it’s clear that, for Lando, the noise of the world is just background music to the euphoria he’s still riding from his win.

As he walks, Lando glances over his shoulder, locking eyes with the camera crew trailing behind him. A mischievous grin spreads across his face.

—You motherfuckers, I’m so happy I’m leaving you,— he says, his voice light but carrying that trademark Lando humor, an impish sparkle in his eyes.

For a moment, it feels like he might genuinely mean it, but then he laughs, shaking his head in mock frustration.

—Just kidding, come on, we’ve got one final stop,— he adds, gesturing to the door of the paddock as if inviting the camera to follow him on the next adventure. His words are casual, but his energy says it all: he’s on top of the world.

The scene cuts quickly to a fast-paced montage.

The sound of jet engines roaring to life fills the audio as the shot switches to Lando boarding a private plane, his usual playful attitude slipping into a moment of calm as he settles into his seat. The camera captures his face from a low angle, the flickering of lights from the city of Singapore passing by the window.

Lando’s phone buzzes in his hand, and he glances down at the screen with a small smile. A text from Amelie, no doubt. He types out a quick reply, sending a heart emoji with a “miss you” message before stowing his phone away.

Next, the camera shows Lando's plane soaring through the clouds, a bird's eye view of the Singapore skyline receding in the distance as the aircraft cuts through the night sky.

The transition is smooth as the plane lands in Canada, the bright lights of Montreal twinkling on the horizon as the final destination draws near.

The last shot of the montage shows Lando stepping off the plane, now wearing a leather jacket over his crewneck, the cool Canadian air hitting his face as he exhales deeply. He looks around at the new city, a subtle mix of anticipation and focus in his expression.

Lando takes a step forward, his next challenge already on the horizon.

—Let’s do this,— he mutters under his breath, the camera capturing him as he walks confidently toward the next chapter.

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

The camera angle shifts, zooming in on Lando Norris as he sits in a quiet interview room. He leans back in his chair, a tired but contented look on his face, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against his knee. The soft hum of background noise from the team paddock fades into silence as the interviewer’s voice cuts through.

The Netflix crew member behind the camera asks the question that’s been on everyone’s mind: —Lando, being in a relationship with someone who has such a busy schedule like yours, how do you balance it all?—

Lando lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his damp hair as he thinks for a moment. His gaze shifts, his eyes briefly focusing on the window before he turns back to the camera.

—It’s tough, honestly,— Lando begins, his gaze now focused on the interviewer. —We both have these schedules that are just... insane, you know? I mean, my calendar is already packed with races, and hers? Well, her tour, the events, it’s a whirlwind.—

He shifts slightly in his seat, his hands folding in front of him, the calm of the interview contrasting the chaos of their lives.

—There’s a lot of back-and-forth, a lot of missed opportunities to just... be together. I mean, we both want the same thing, we both have these dreams we’re chasing, and sometimes it feels like we’re on different ends of the world.—

Lando leans forward slightly, his eyes glimmering with a mix of admiration and a hint of frustration.

—But at the same time, I think that’s what makes it work. We’re both driven, and even when it’s hard, we push through. We know that we’re both in this for the long haul. We always find time, even if it’s just a phone call or a quick message. It’s those little moments that keep us going.—

He pauses, his expression lightening as a soft smile tugs at his lips. The camera zooms in slightly, capturing the change in tone, the warmth that appears when he speaks about her.

—And then, when we do get to see each other again, it makes everything worth it. I mean, nothing compares to that feeling, you know? After all the traveling, all the time apart, when I finally see her... It’s like everything else fades away. It’s all worth it, just to be with her again.—

Lando's voice softens, the sincerity in his words undeniable as the camera lingers on his face, his expression a mix of longing and appreciation.

—Yeah, it’s tough. But it’s worth it.—

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

The camera followed Lando closely as he walked through the entrance of the upscale restaurant, his steps purposeful, a grin already forming on his face. He was dressed casually—jeans, a gray crewneck, and sneakers—but there was something about the way he moved, a certain energy in his stride that made it clear this was no ordinary night. The soft hum of the restaurant’s atmosphere seemed to fade as he approached the table where Amelie sat, surrounded by her team.

Amelie was laughing at something one of her dancers had said, her smile radiating warmth, but the moment the camera caught her profile, there was a soft flicker of something deeper—something that hinted at how much she missed him. Her phone buzzed softly beside her, but she didn’t check it, focused on the conversation at hand, blissfully unaware of the surprise that was about to change everything.

Lando’s voice cut through the chatter as he stepped into view.

—Fuck, you look absolutely stunning.—

Amelie froze mid-laugh, her body stilled as she heard the unmistakable sound of his voice. The camera captured the exact moment her eyes flicked toward the source, and in that split second, her entire expression shifted from surprise to shock and then to a flood of emotions that seemed to overtake her. Her lips parted, and her eyes widened as Lando’s familiar grin filled her vision.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to quiet. The noise of the restaurant, the background clinking of glasses, all disappeared as she stood up, her breath catching in her throat. The camera zoomed in on her face as she took him in, disbelieving yet elated.

—You’re here,— Amelie whispered, the words trembling out of her as if they hadn’t fully registered in her mind.

Lando took a step closer, his eyes softening with affection. The camera lingered on his expression, capturing the mix of relief and pure joy in his gaze. He reached her in a heartbeat, and in an instant, her arms were wrapped around him, pulling him close.

—Of course, I’m here. It’s your birthday, Ames,— Lando replied, his voice light but tender as he returned the embrace. He held her a little longer than usual, sensing the tension she’d been carrying, the weight of months apart.

He whispered against her hair, his voice low and comforting. —Don’t cry. You know I can’t handle it when you cry.—

Amelie pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, her breath still shaky as she looked at him in wonder. The camera captured her face, glistening with the mix of tears and the brightest smile.

—You’re such an idiot,— she laughed, shaking her head. —I can’t believe you’re here.—

Lando chuckled softly, brushing away a stray tear from her cheek. —Well, I had to come. How could I let you celebrate without me?— He gave her a playful grin before holding her at arm’s length, his eyes scanning her up and down. —Alright, alright, turn around. Let me just say: shit, you look hot in that dress.—

Amelie laughed, her cheeks flushing at the compliment as she twirled in the shimmering yellow dress. The soft fabric swirled around her, catching the light just right, and for a second, it felt like no one else was in the room but the two of them.

Lando’s eyebrows raised in mock skepticism as he looked her over. —You know,— he teased, taking her hand again and pulling her closer, —I’d say something more, but I’m trying to be a gentleman tonight.—

Amelie’s eyes gleamed mischievously. —You know,— she replied, voice dropping to match his tone, —you can take that dress off me later, if you want.—

Lando’s eyes widened, a smirk tugging at his lips as he grinned wider. —You’re killing me, Ames.—

The camera caught the warmth in his eyes as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment. The affection was palpable, and it was clear to anyone watching that this was more than just a reunion—it was a quiet promise, a reassurance that no matter how hard things got, they were in this together.

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

The camera opens to a quiet hotel room, the remnants of Lando Norris’s time in Mexico still visible—a suitcase half-packed, a racing helmet resting on the bed beside a pile of clothes. The soft sound of a zipper closing fills the air as Lando, already in a hoodie and jeans, finishes the last of his packing. His movements are deliberate, but the subtle tension in his posture speaks volumes.

Amelie stands by the window, gazing out at the sprawling city below. The light from the early morning sun catches her face, but her expression is far from the brightness that usually radiates from her. The calmness of the scene contrasts with the emotions that hang in the room.

Lando takes a deep breath, zipping up the suitcase and standing up, his gaze shifting to Amelie. There’s a moment of silence—just the distant noise of the city and the faint hum of the air conditioning—before he finally speaks, his voice quieter than usual.

—You ready?— he asks, though the question feels almost rhetorical. He knows the answer. It’s never easy.

Amelie turns, her eyes meeting his. She forces a small smile, but it’s clear the weight of what’s coming is already starting to hit. —I guess as ready as I’ll ever be.—

Lando steps closer to her, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

—You know I hate this part, right?— Lando admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His words hang in the air like an unspoken truth. —I wish I could just... stay, but you’ve got your tour, and I’ve got Brazil.—

Amelie nods, her throat tight as she swallows the lump that forms there. —I know. I just... I hate how often we have to say goodbye. It never gets easier. Every time feels like it’s worse than the last.— Her voice cracks just slightly, and the vulnerability in her tone makes Lando’s heart ache.

The camera lingers on the two of them, the silence between them palpable. Both of them know this is part of the life they’ve chosen—their dreams pulling them in different directions—but that doesn’t make it any easier. Lando takes another step closer, reaching out to pull her into a tight embrace, the kind of hug that feels like it’s meant to hold them together even as the world around them pulls them apart.

Amelie closes her eyes, resting her head against his chest as she inhales the familiar scent of him, something that always made her feel like she was home, even if just for a moment.

—You’ll be fine, Ames. I’ll see you soon, okay?— Lando says, his voice thick with emotion, though he tries to keep it steady. He pulls back just enough to look at her, his hands resting on her shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze. —We’ve done this before. We’ll do it again.—

Amelie nods, her eyes glistening as she looks up at him, trying to force a smile through the rush of emotions. —I know... I just... I hate the distance. I hate how we’re always in different time zones, always chasing after something.—

Lando’s lips curl into a sad, understanding smile. —Yeah, me too. But when I see you again, it’s going to be worth it. We’ve got this.—

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment longer, a silent promise passing between them. The camera focuses on the quiet intimacy of the moment, capturing the depth of their connection—how words aren’t always needed to communicate the bond they share.

But even in the warmth of their embrace, there’s a pull at both of their hearts—a reminder of the sacrifices they’re making for their respective dreams. Lando pulls away, his hand gently brushing her cheek one last time.

—Alright, I’ve got to go. But I’ll be thinking about you, always.—

Amelie nods again, her voice a whisper. —I’ll be thinking about you too. Go crush Brazil. And I’ll be right here, waiting for the next time I get to see you.—

Lando grins, though it’s tinged with sadness. —Deal. Take care of yourself, Ames. I love you.—

—Love you too, Lan.—

With one final lingering glance, Lando turns, grabbing his bag and heading toward the door. The camera follows him, capturing the quiet sadness of the goodbye. As the door clicks shut behind him, the scene cuts to Amelie, standing there in the middle of the room, her gaze lost in the space where he once stood.

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

The camera opens on a quiet, dimly lit room in the heart of the paddock, the bustle of the F1 weekend just outside the door. Lando Norris sits across from the Netflix crew, his eyes tired but sharp, a mix of emotions behind his usual laid-back demeanor. His hands rest on his lap, fingers tapping absently as the soft hum of the camera crew’s gear fades into the background.

Lando leans back in the chair, his gaze flickering briefly to the window where the noise of the paddock can be faintly heard. He takes a breath, his expression distant for a moment as if he’s lost in thought.

—It’s... it’s tough sometimes, you know?— he begins, his voice low and introspective. —People think it’s all glamorous... this life, the races, the travel. But no one really talks about the toll it takes on you. On everything. On the people you care about.—

The camera zooms in slightly on Lando’s face, capturing the vulnerability that flickers in his eyes. He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing.

—You’re always on the move. It’s not just the racing or the pressure to perform; it’s everything else that comes with it. The constant goodbyes, the time zones, the long stretches without seeing the people who matter the most. It gets... heavy. And it doesn't get any easier, no matter how many times you do it.—

There’s a slight shift in his posture as he leans forward, the tension in his shoulders betraying the weight of his words.

—It’s especially hard when you’re trying to make things work with someone who has a schedule just as insane as yours. You know, we both have these lives where we’re constantly flying around, and... finding time to just be together? It's not easy. You have to carve out these moments that are few and far between, and when you do, it feels like you’re making up for lost time. But you can never fully make up for it. I mean, how do you balance it all, right?—

His fingers rub the back of his neck, a subconscious gesture that shows the strain of constantly being pulled in multiple directions.

—You try your best. I try my best. But... there’s always this feeling that I’m missing out, that I’m not giving enough. It’s never really enough. And it hurts sometimes, to be honest.—

The camera shifts to a wider shot, showing Lando’s quiet reflection. He exhales deeply, almost as if releasing a weight that’s been on his chest for a long time. His gaze drifts towards the window again, as if seeking some kind of comfort in the fleeting glimpse of the paddock outside.

—At the end of the day, I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t change any of this. But there are moments where... I just wish I could pause everything. Just freeze time, you know? So I can be with the people I care about. To just... be in the same place for a while.—

His expression softens as he speaks, the slight sadness in his eyes giving way to the resolve that has carried him through the years.

—But you make it work. You have to. It’s just part of the job, part of the dream. And when you do get those moments together... even if they’re brief... it makes it all worth it. It’s what keeps you going.—

A brief, bittersweet smile plays at the corner of his lips as he looks back at the camera, the truth of his words sinking in. There’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—something that the world rarely gets to see. Something raw. Something human.

The camera holds on his face for a moment before cutting away, leaving the viewer with a lingering sense of the emotional toll of a life lived at high speed, constantly on the move, constantly saying goodbye.

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

The scene opens with a darkened airplane cabin, the low hum of the engines a constant backdrop to the quiet moments unfolding within. Lando’s face is illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead lights, his expression tense and exhausted. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest, his leg bouncing with barely contained anxiety.

The voice of Lando fills the space, the weight of his words carrying a rawness rarely seen in the fast-paced world of Formula 1.

—After Brazil, I couldn't sleep for… 36 hours. I felt like I was losing my mind. The adrenaline from the race wore off, but my body… my brain, just… wouldn’t stop. The anxiety hit me like a wave, and I couldn’t shake it. I just kept thinking about everything, the pressure, the responsibility… It felt like it was all crashing down on me. And I couldn’t breathe.—

As his voice narrates, the camera cuts to a montage. The flicker of images shows Lando staring out of the airplane window, the lights of Monaco blurred beneath him as the plane cuts through the sky. His tired eyes reflect the turbulence inside his mind, but there’s something deeper, something more fragile in the way he looks out at the world below. He clutches the seatbelt tightly, as if grounding himself, as if the distance between him and his thoughts was growing unbearable.

—And then, I realized. There was only one person who could bring me peace. Only one person who felt like home, even when everything else was chaos. So… I just got on a plane. And I went to her.—

The screen transitions, the comforting warmth of San Diego filling the frame as the camera shifts to the city’s skyline. Lando’s plane touches down, the airport bustling with activity. But all of that fades as the camera focuses solely on him, walking briskly through the terminal, his eyes fixed on the exit ahead.

His face is still drawn, his shoulders stiff with the weight of his exhaustion, but there’s a quiet determination in his step. The camera follows him as he exits the airport, stepping into a taxi, the streets of San Diego blurring by as the tension that had gripped him slowly begins to ease.

The camera cuts to a close-up of Lando as he arrives at the hotel, his steps quick and purposeful. The moment he enters the lobby, his eyes scan the room for a glimpse of her, and his shoulders visibly relax just a fraction. The tension that had been so overwhelming only hours ago starts to melt away, replaced by the single thought that had carried him through the chaos: Amelie.

The scene transitions with a soft fade, and Lando is seen walking down the hallway of her hotel. His hand grips the door handle, a sense of urgency in his movements. He takes a deep breath, and as the door swings open, there she is—Amelie. Her back is to him, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the room, and the instant she turns, her face lights up in surprise.

The camera lingers on her expression, capturing the recognition in her eyes, followed by a rush of emotions that seem to sweep over her all at once.

Before she can even say anything, Lando is already taking a step forward, and without a word, he wraps her in his arms. The camera catches the tension in his body—how it eases the moment they make contact. Amelie holds him tight, her arms around him like a lifeline, pulling him close as if trying to make up for all the lost time and the unspoken pain.

Lando’s face is buried in her hair as he clings to her, his breath shaky. The camera stays focused on him for a moment longer, the raw emotion that cracks through his calm exterior undeniable.

And then it happens. He starts to cry.

The camera shifts slightly, catching the rawness of the moment without intruding. Lando's tears fall silently, and Amelie doesn't let go. She holds him tighter, her own emotions in check as she whispers something soothing into his ear, but her voice is muffled by his presence.

—You’re safe now...— Amelie whispers, her voice steady, comforting.

Lando shakes his head slightly, as if still struggling to catch his breath. His grip on her tightens, but the tears don’t stop. For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of them—lost in each other, finding solace in the presence of the person who understands.

The camera slowly zooms out as Amelie, sensing the moment is private, gently closes the door, cutting off the view from the camera crew. However, the microphone catches the faintest bits of the conversation between them as she tries to calm him.

—It’s okay, Lando. You’re okay, just breathe with me, okay? You’re home now... I’ve got you...—

The sound of her voice, soft and steady, blends with the muffled rustle of movement. Lando’s breathing begins to slow, and the camera fades to black, the weight of his emotions not lost on the viewers, but instead, left in the quiet space between the two of them.

The scene ends, leaving a sense of peace—of a homecoming. The cameras pull away, capturing the fleeting vulnerability that remains, just for a moment, between the chaos of their lives.

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

The scene opens with the roaring crowd at the Yas Marina Circuit, the bright lights reflecting off the champagne-soaked podium. Lando Norris stands tall at the top step, the weight of his victory sinking in as the British national anthem plays. The McLaren driver, who had fought relentlessly throughout the season, had not only claimed victory at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix but sealed the Constructors' Championship for McLaren — a historic achievement the team hadn't seen in decades.

The camera lingers on Lando, his signature grin stretched across his face, though there’s something different about this moment. It’s not just the win, not just the championship. His eyes keep drifting off to the side, scanning the crowd. And then, he finds her.

Amelie.

The camera shifts to her, standing just below the podium among the sea of McLaren team members. She’s trying to hold it together, but the tears are unstoppable. There’s pride in her eyes, but also something deeper — relief, love, and the overwhelming emotion of witnessing the man she loves achieve his dream.

The camera catches the subtle moment where Lando tries to fight back the emotion that threatens to break through. He bites his lip, shaking his head slightly, as if telling himself to stay composed. But his eyes, glistening under the lights, never leave her.

As the champagne sprays and Charles and Carlos celebrate around him, Lando’s gaze keeps drifting back to Amelie. The camera zooms in on her, tears streaming down her face as she claps, overwhelmed with pride.

In the background, the Netflix crew captures a quiet moment between McLaren team principal Andrea Stella and one of the engineers.

—He's not crying because of the championship, is he?— one of them chuckles.

Stella smiles knowingly. —No. It's because of her.—

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

The scene transitions from the chaos of the podium celebrations to the bustling atmosphere inside the McLaren hospitality. The orange and black-clad team members cheer and clap as Lando Norris makes his way through the crowd, the weight of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix victory and McLaren's Constructors' Championship win still sinking in.

He walks in, his race suit still damp from champagne, and the trophy firmly in his hand. People keep stopping him — engineers, mechanics, old friends from the team — all eager to congratulate him. Lando smiles, laughs, and exchanges handshakes, but his eyes are scanning the room, searching for the people who truly matter.

And then, he spots them.

His family — his mom and his younger sister Cisca — standing beside Amelie, who is visibly emotional, her eyes red from tears she’s been desperately trying to hold back.

Lando’s smile softens as he walks toward them. Without hesitation, he pulls his mom and sister into a one-armed hug, the other still clutching the trophy. His mom kisses his cheek, pride radiating from her, while Cisca squeezes his shoulder, her grin matching his.

Lando then does something unexpected—he hands the trophy to his mom.

—Here, you hold it,— he says, his voice warm.

His mom looks at him, touched, running her fingers over the engraved plate before clutching it close. But Lando's focus has already shifted.

His gaze locks onto Amelie, and before she can even say a word, he pulls her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight embrace. The moment she feels him against her, the last of her composure shatters. A quiet sob escapes her, muffled against his shoulder as she clings to him.

—You did it,— she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. —Lando, you actually did it.—

Lando exhales shakily, holding her even tighter. —I know... I know.— His voice is barely above a whisper, like he still doesn’t fully believe it himself.

Amelie pulls back slightly, just enough to look at him, her hands cradling his face. Her eyes shimmer with tears, but her smile is unwavering.

—I’m so proud of you.—

And that’s when Lando, who has spent the entire evening holding back the overwhelming emotions, finally lets them break through. His lips crash into hers in a kiss that is desperate, relieved, and filled with everything words can’t express. The entire room is still buzzing with excitement, but in that moment, it’s just them.

The camera lingers on them before pulling back, capturing the McLaren staff, his family, and the entire celebration happening around them.

Lando finally pulls away, resting his forehead against Amelie’s, and with a soft laugh, he whispers:

—It was always going to be worth it, as long as I got to come back to you.—

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

Northern light cats ₊⊹✨｡⋆

[bunni-v1]

“When they are together, you never feel as though you are an outsider to two soulmates, but instead a part of them that they cannot bear to lose. They are both softer to you than they are with each other because they need you to know just how loved you are. If you ever felt left out, I think it would kill the both of them.”

… oh really now. How intriguing.

if that’s the case how bout a scenario in which this happened, how bout a reader with with low self esteem with some good ol’ self loathing in that regard, who thinks themselves at least in the back of their mind like they aren’t good enough for their two amazing partners. Who feels like an annoying third wheel even though their self aware enough to know that’s not true.

because let me tell you not all of the self awareness in the world stops those types of thoughts from stinging or feeling true, for the reader I imagine it would be a constant thing in the back of their head- something they can ignore most times. But sometimes, sometimes those murmurings feel like the cruel and other truth. During one of these lower periods I imagine the reader would try to let shadow milk and pure vanilla alone together- they’re the soulmates after all! They can’t get in the way of that, they’ll just be over here outside the kingdom fucking off and not being a annoying.

meanwhile these two after no more than a day with minimal sightings of their beloved are like- “…?!? Where is our little cookie, our darling, hello???” Lmao

I think this can lead to some interesting scenarios and outcomes, chew on this as much or as little as you like. Love your writings either way, see ya!

🍓Bro, I'm super depressed lol. I'm really isolated in Japan, and I struggle to socialize with others, so making friends hasn't been much of an option for me. I know it'll get better, I hope it will, but it's just really dragging me down. Luckily, that shitty mood is perfect for writing angst, and what better angst than feeling left out, amirite?? Seriously though, I'm fine. Don't worry about me.

TW: None(?)

Info: Shadow Milk x Reader x Pure Vanilla; angst to fluff

Soulmates are a concept only heard about in romance novels- ones that you'd read curled up against Pure Vanilla's side. They were cheesy things, making you cringe at times from the sappy, poetic nothings the authors would come up with. Yet, you liked the idea of soulmates. You even, for a moment, thought that maybe Pure Vanilla was yours. He always smiled when you suggested it, his face full of love and admiration. 'How romantic', he would muse, then smother you in a million kisses. Thinking about it now, maybe his deflecting of the subject was a sign.

You were not Pure Vanilla Cookie's soulmate, nor were you Shadow Milk Cookie's. No, that title belonged to the two of them - a shared connection through their souljam that kept them tied to each other. A privilege that you did not have, one that you felt jealousy burn deeply in your dough over.

It's not as though either of them made you feel left out; in fact, they did everything they could to include you. There was no reason for you to feel neglected between their constant smothering. You did, though. You did quite frequently.

Maybe it was the way they seemed to understand each other so seamlessly, unspoken conversations happening with the glance of an eye. Perhaps it was the fact that they had an easy flow of conversation no matter the situation that you simply lacked when you were all together. No, those things didn't bother you, not really. What it was is the way they look at each other. Such longing and affection that you have never seen directed your way - a connection that you could never have with either of them.

You always brushed the feeling off, knowing better than to let those thoughts consume you. They'd be rather disappointed if you gave in to such silly lies. What, with how much they proved you wrong, it would be stupid to listen... This time, though, this time it was all consuming. Like flames eating up a paper house, you could not stop the spread of sheer isolation in your bones.

You had been late to a planned dinner, gotten too wrapped up in your work. It was fine; you knew they would forgive you, but you hoped that they hadn't waited up for you too long. You'd dressed yourself up nicely in a few minutes and ran to the dining hall, only to stop short of the doors when you heard their conversations. Nothing out of the ordinary, of course, just idle prattle that was typical of them... but somehow, it stung. When you peeked in through a crack in the door, it burned in your chest to see them so gleeful without you. You felt as though you should turn away and allow them to eat without you; it wouldn't be any different if you were there or not. They clearly did not feel your absence.

You would've, too, if not for Shadow Milk catching a glance at you for a moment and practically tugging you to the table. You were quiet during dinner, and their conversation did not slow down for you. It was like salt in the wound, but you swallowed the pain so as to not alert them. It was better to suffer in silence for the betterment of them both, you believed, so that is what you would do.

You quietly gave them their space, turning down invitations and outright avoiding places they would frequent in favor of quiet corners of the kingdom. Neither of them sought you out for two days, two full days. It only solidified in your mind that they did not need you around, and perhaps... perhaps they didn't want you around. They might've been keeping you at their side out of pity because you loved Pure Vanilla first, then Shadow Milk. The thought made your stomach twist sickeningly, eyes stinging with tears you refused to let fall. This was the fate of someone in love with soulmates, after all, it was not your place to come between them.

That didn't mean it wasn't breaking your heart.

What you weren't aware of, however, was how they had been feeling. Shadow Milk noticed your quiet demeanor first, feeling uneasy when you had first been late to dinner, then were practically silent the entire time. You'd hardly finished your food as well, and it was your favorite (He'd made sure of it too). All red flags that something or someone was giving you issue, yet, he stupidly decided not to press it when Pure Vanilla insisted they allow you to handle things on your own.

That hadn't worked out too well for them, now had it? You were, undoubtedly, avoiding both of them. That wasn't going to fly for much longer, not when Shadow Milk was so deprived and starved for your attention. He was going to get to the bottom of this, and Pure Vanilla was going to help, too.

"Perhaps we should give them more time. Sometimes they like to be alone," Pure Vanilla insisted again, trying his best to keep up with Shadow Milk Cookie's rapid strides across the streets of the kingdom.

Shadow Milk rolls his eyes, "Two days, is enough for any normal cookie to worry - is this how you handled everything before me?"

"Well..." He trails off, shame heating his dough.

Another scoff from Shadow Milk Cookie, and he picks up the pace, "If I were my sweet little starlight, where would I be...?"

He thinks it over, tapping his chin dramatically a few times. You weren't in the library, the garden, the pagoda, or even the quiet little shady spot behind the castle. If you were avoiding them, though, being there wasn't exactly smart - and you were Shadow Milk's smart little cookie, after all. Truthfully, you could be anywhere in the kingdom, and while Pure Vanilla would happily overturn every single rock to find you, he just didn't have the patience for that.

Pure Vanilla was equally stumped and far more worried than his other half at your sudden change in persona. You had never acted like this, not once. It was odd, and it made his skin crawl with worry. You could take care of yourself, of course, but why were you avoiding them? How did they hurt you? How could they fix it? Well, they would have to find you first to get the answers to those questions.

As Shadow Milk mulls over what to do, Pure Vanilla recalls somewhere you'd shown him once. He's not sure why the memory comes to the forefront of his mind, but he's happy for it. It was a small clearing a short walk from the kingdom's gates, 'the perfect getaway' you'd called it. If you would be anywhere... well, it was worth a try.

Finding the place without your guidance was hard, made even harder by Shadow Milk's constant complaining. Still, the two pressed on, through the gates and the trees and the beaten down path until finally they saw you. Sitting peacefully as you read some novel, leaned up against a tree with a saddened expression on your face. You looked tired, too tired. What could you be feeling to make you look like that.

You turn when you hear shuffling a few feet from you, tensing a bit at the sight of your lovers. They looked worried sick, brows furrowed and frowns etched deep on their faces. Oh, you felt so guilty seeing them like this. Knowing you were the cause of it all because of silly little emotions you couldn't keep in check. You go to apologize but are cut off with a squeal as Shadow Milk tackles you into a tight hug. Pure Vanilla rushing after him in a panic.

Your world spins for a moment, but you manage to hug the cookie back just as tightly. You felt stupid for being so upset, especially when this was his reaction to your absence. You had only tortured everyone with your petty actions.

"Where have you been, Starlight? Don't tell me you've been avoiding us, because if you have been-"

"Shadow Milk." Pure Vanilla scolds sternly, pulling him back as he kneels next to you with a soft smile, "What's going on, my love? You have both of us worried."

You sigh, avoiding their eyes, "I know... I'm sorry."

Shadow Milk's eyes narrow at you. "What's the issue then?"

You hesitate, wanting to curl in on yourself and hide. They wouldn't let you though, surrounding you at both sides. Everywhere you looked there was one of them in your line of sight. You couldn't escape it, they would be getting an answer out of you one way or another, so you give up.

"I... might've... sort've... been a little jealous..." You admit.

They both seem surprised at the idea, as if it had never crossed either of their minds that this could be the issue. Shadow Milk even starts to giggle about it, in complete disbelief at your statement. Pure Vanilla doesn't pay him any mind, placing a gentle hand under your chin to get you to look at him. His expression is gentle as he takes you in, and you can see the relief in his body as you take him in.

"What is there to be jealous of?" He asks, and there is no room to argue with him. It only makes you feel more stupid.

"I just thought- you know... the two of you are..." They look at you curiously. "You're soulmates. Sometimes, it feels like there's no room for me."

Pure Vanilla frowns, ready to assure you, but Shadow Milk beats him to the punch. His arms worm around you and press you into his chest. "What a silly thought. Don't you know how much you mean to us?"

"Of course I do, but-"

"Then there's nothing to worry about! Dontcha know that we wouldn't have looked so hard for ya if we didn't care?" He hummed, and you can't really argue with that.

"You complete us," Pure Vanilla joins in finally, holding your hands tightly in his, "We would be worse off without you around, so please... tell us next time."

You nod after a second, finally relaxing into Shadow Milk's side. You were surprised they hadn't been harsh about it, but... that's more proof that you mean so much to him. They love you, and there's no reason to doubt that, not when they're holding you like this. Not when they make you feel so loved, even when you feel like you shouldn't be.

[celuere]

Can I pretty please, and oh so kindly, and only if it's okay, request for soft smut scene with Arlecchino? I love your headcanons about her when her wife is pregnant and even after giving birth... So I can't help but fantasize about Arlecchino making sweet love to her wife a couple of weeks after she recovers from childbirth? Thank you so much, and I hope you keep creating and sharing your beautiful brainchildren. 🥹🥰

birds of a feather.

pairing: arlecchino x fem!reader

cw: fingering, arles fat dick, soft sex omg, pathetic lesbian arlecchino who cheered, so much fluff it‘ll make you throw up, body worship, breeding because one child with her ain‘t enough, uhmmm slight lactation kink- WHO SAID THAT.

anon you GOT me with that ask. like straight up grabbing me by the throat with it. bless you. 

word count: 2.2k

you breathed out a sigh laced with exhaustion as you pulled your dirty shirt over your head. turns out having a baby throw up over you right after getting off the breast isn‘t the most pleasant experience.

your eyes lingered on your body a bit too long. the stretch marks on your tummy along with the loose skin from your baby belly were enough evidence of the childbirth you put yourself through a little over six months. luckily it wasn‘t as bad as some stories made it out to be, but those 36 hours of labor were… something. ten fingers weren‘t enough to count how often you told your husband to shut up even tho she tried her best to relieve you. wiping your forehead with a cool cloth, helping you walk the stairs of your manor up and down which was… embarrassing with an entire team of midwives and doctors watching your every step. but overall you did amazing.

parenthood was… scary might be the wrong term but it was definitely new territory for the both of you. even arlecchino. she could handle toddlers, teenagers and young adults, that‘s what she has been doing for the last ten years after all, but a newborn? which she gets to call her own? the baby you nurtured in your belly for nine months? cut her some slack, she is doing the best she can. you aren‘t even allowed to get up during the night if she isn‘t hungry. it is always your husband changing her diapers and soothing her back to slumber so incredibly fast that you start wondering if she isn‘t feeding the baby benadryl.

you looked up to the door being opened by none other than arlecchino, bloody eyes immediately landing on your exposed upper body before they drove up to your face. she visibly swallowed.

„she… just fell back asleep.“, her mouth was slightly left open as she closed the door behind her. she couldn‘t quite tear her gaze off of you and that meant something. she wasn‘t being awkward when you breastfed, nor did she even mention the topic of intimacy for the last months but now… she did look quite caught off guard.

„you are staring, honey…“

the harbinger slightly shook her head, averting her eyes as she walked over to your shared bed.

„my apologies. i didn’t intend to cause any unease for you. but…“, with her back turned to you, you failed to see how she had to bite her lower lip. and how she was practically clawing into her pants.

„but you look ravishing.“

you stayed silent as you watched your husband get back into bed. heart pounding against your ribcage, threatening to set out a beat or two. it has been a while since those x‘s have been filled with anything else other than love and affection. the moment was short lived but you did catch that glimmer of lust flying over her face. 

„ravishing you say…?“, you let your sleepwear drop to the floor as you made your way over to her and god the way her eyes where quite literally fucking you already.

„what do you think you‘re doing?“, she didn’t quite know where to look. your swollen breasts? your tummy and the marks stretching over the skin? or your beautiful face? it‘s not often that the knave is having a hard time with making decisions.

„you… looked like you wanted to have a closer look…“

„ma cherié, please cover yourself up- i don’t want you to walk around with your bare chest for my sake.“, grabbing the cardigan that was resting on your side of the bed before she handed it over to you, trying to ignore just how hard she already was from merely looking at you.

„why, don’t you like what you are seeing…? i know i gained some weight during pregnancy a-and my stomach is also hanging a bit loose…“, you did feel your heart sink at the thought of being unattractive to her. especially after what you put your body through.

arlecchino only stared at you in disbelief of what you just said. as if you just slapped her right across the face. the disbelief in her eyes seemingly growing with each moment that passed.

„i strongly detest such accusations. infact, i have never found you more beautiful…“, her hand gently clasped your arm in her grip as she tugged you onto her lap, „yet i don‘t want you to feel obligated to show yourself off to me. you… gave birth. you bore my child. i want things to move at your pace and if i ever gave you a different impression then i deeply apologize for that. it wasn‘t my inten-“, she halted mid-sentence when you moved her hand over to your tits until she cupping you in her palm.

„we are very much moving at my pace, my dear husband… do you have any idea how difficult it is to watch you do literally anything lately…?“, you noticed her lips part as her hand gave you a soft squeeze, dragging a moan right out of you.

„is that so? elaborate…“, she gave your nipple a tender pinch, eyes never leaving your own.

„i-it‘s just the way you handle her- or how you‘ve been in home office for the last months now… a-always being there when i need you… s-simple things l-like that… hah…“, your face flushed more with a deep red after each syllable rolling over your lips. her intense gaze on you. the hand massaging your tit. you almost didn‘t notice in the midst of the heat how you began to lose some milk. her attention was immediately fixed on the creamy fluid running over her hand.

„look at you…“, you audibly gasped as you felt her mouth close around your nipple. not sucking. merely letting this fluid gold run right over tongue. she has been curious for quite some time about the taste but archons forbid the knave would ask her nursing wife to have a taste of her breastmilk. she needs to maintain at least some of her dignity.

pregnancy has made them so incredibly sensitive to the touch. seeing your husband knead and clinging to them is just… you‘ll have to change panties again. or maybe you don‘t. because a certain hand was already working on shoving them aside, coating her fingers immediately in your slick as she let go of your boob.

„you taste just as sweet as i expected… and as you look.“, something in her eyes turned so incredibly weak at the sight of your flushed face. while something else was straining against the prison of her boxers. 

„y-you are overdoing it, r-really- ah-!“, your hand found her neck as she sunk two clipped fingers into your warmth. and god it felt like coming back home to a home cooked meal after a long business trip. her movements were hesitant at first as she studied your face for any signs of pain or being uncomfortable.

„mhm… my sweet angel… already moving your hips against me?“, her smile was lethal when she managed to hit your weakest spot with just a simple curl of her fingers. on the first try.

the sudden hit caused your back to arch and your body to shiver. it almost felt like she was not a single day out of practice where it not for the hesitant movements.

she was testing how deep the waters are before she steps into them.

„h-how- how do you still know how to h-hit it-?“, a rhetorical question.

„my love.“, her digits now softly pressing and massaging this important spot inside of you as you were gripping onto her fingers for dear life, „i could never forget something as important as my wife��s pleasure.“

you forgot how truly skilled she actually was with those fingers. how good she knew your body from the outside and inside. each curl felt calculated as if she wanted to push you near the cliff of your self restraint but not off of it. and it worked so well. 

arlecchino on the other side was absolutely besotted if not getting completely drunk off the sight of her wife riding her fingers as if it‘s day one. crimson gaze roaming over your body, how your tits bounced with each movement in front of her face and those stretchmarks… these things were awakening something in her that harbinger didn‘t even know existed. and she loved you for it. she loved how you led her to discovering new sides of herself everyday. a baby? something she could only ever imagine with you and nobody else.

„peru- p-peruere please-“

„please what, amour? you have such a pretty mouth… tell me exactly what you want me to do…“, her voice was reduced to nothing but a soft whisper. no sign of the usual deep, monotone sound.

„c-can- gulp can i have you inside- n-not your fingers- i-i mean your-“, she didn‘t let you finish that sentence as you felt her hand securing the back of your head as she carefully laid you back down on the mattress, fingers smoothly retreating from your aching pussy.

„i‘ll give you anything you want, dove. i‘d even pluck the moon out of the firmament if you asked me to.“, a much bigger hand engulfed yours before lifting it up to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss right on top of your wedding ring. archons above. you never felt more fertile to be honest.

and if eyes could fuck, you‘d be on your 4th orgasm already.

„wh-what… what are you looking at…?“, you suppressed the urge to hide your body by crossing your arms in front of your chest.

„i… am currently looking at my stunning wife. and how beautiful she still looks after bringing a baby into the world.“, your lungs grew suddenly too big for your ribcage as she lowered her head towards your abdomen before you felt her lips hitting one of the various marks stretching over the skin.

„mother of my child… music to my ears.“, and it didn‘t stop at peppering gentle kisses onto you. her hands had to give your hips a nice massage as she slowly worked her way up to breasts, cupping the soft mass in her cursed existence before you found the hardened bud back between her lips.

you didn‘t know how many minutes she spent with just kissing and licking every single inch of your body. whispering the occasional „i love you.“ in between those sensual moments while your heart hurt so bad. not in a bad way of course. her words just seemed too big for you to comprehend, it felt like it was ripping you apart from the inside. sex never felt dirty with her. no matter how rough or soft she was with you. it was always intimate, sensitive, special. like two puzzle pieces finally fitting each other.

she almost came right on the spot when she entered you. actually had to take a few moments to regulate her breathing in order to not come inside of you after ten seconds. since when did she have so little control over herself?

on the other side of the coin you weren‘t doing any better. hips urging her to go deeper as you gripped the sheets with all your might in an attempt to somehow anchor yourself. 

„may i-“

„god please- yes-“

you often pictured this particular moment. the first bit of intimacy after months of navigating parenthood. you imagined her to be starved. rough. hungry. yet she was none of it. her pace was slow, almost scared. as if she was handling a porcelain figure. her grip on you was tender. no nails digging into you since she is keeping them neatly filed down in order to not harm the baby. and she was moaning. something she barely did. your husband was vocal. vocal and vulnerable and you couldn‘t get enough of it. 

she looked so weak. so incredibly weak with how she had to keep the drool running out of her mouth by licking her lips every now and then, red eyes darting around, unsure where to look. your flushed face? your chest? your abdomen? or her dick pumping in and out of you and the creamy ring that already formed around her base?

if her place was inside her wife‘s pussy then so be it.

you choose to not comment on her state. she‘d deny it anyway.

what really did the trick for her was when you grabbed after her hand, fingers intertwining with each other as if not even time and space could separate you.

„tu seras ma fin…“

„you will be the end of me…“

you shared everything that night. memories. weaknesses and even orgasms.

when she painted thick ropes of her cum inside of you she couldn‘t fight the urge to press you all the way down on her. to make sure she was savoring every single bit of herself inside of you.

and right now you moaned her name like a prayer to the gods. not to be saved but to be blessed with maybe another addition to the family. securing the bloodlines or something like that.

your joined panting filled the room and the smell of raw sex probably hung in the air too.

„thank you.“

„f-for what…?“

it was then when you heard a cry coming from across the hallway. an all too familiar cry. a reminder of your love for each other.

„for this.“

[misshorneigh]

mdni | 18+ | hmm, being johns and kyles pretty gf

cw/ age gap relationships, deepthroathing, hair pulling, threesome? slight objectification, praise kink

Imagine lazy John Price sitting back and learning to relax at home after retiring from military life. He’s busy with chores here and there, maybe sometimes fixing a thing or two in the garage or going for a run when the weather is nice, but most of his time is spent in front of the TV - watching some game or news channel with a beer in his hand until he falls asleep and takes a long nap on the couch.

His husband Kyle thought it was quite cute to see him like this, liking how he softened over his previously sharp edges. Though, he was still pursuing his career as a soldier, having recently been promoted to lieutenant which paid better but meant more work. Lately, it was getting quite difficult for the couple to find time for each other, between Kyle’s busy schedule or week-long deployments.

But really, John understood - no one could do it better than he did, and he honestly deserved a reward for being such a devoted househusband, even if he might have become a little lazy. That’s why Kyle found a little birdie like you to take home with. Something that could keep John company while he was away and was also pretty to look at.

You were naive and trusting, just the way John liked them. None of you three knew when the lines of your little arrangement began to blur, but it wasn't that unexpected. Of course, they would grow attached to a pretty little thing like you, these men weren’t made for anything casual. Besides, they liked you even more as their cute girlfriend and you should know that you belonged to them the moment you stepped into their cozy home. Good luck escaping the grasp of two experienced soldiers, sweetie.

“You’ll take good care of him now, won't you darling?” Kyle hummed in your ear while he slowly gathered your hair behind your back so that it wouldn’t get in the way. You sat with your knees on the carpet between John’s spread legs while he looked down at you two from the couch as he held a cigar in his hand, the ashes of which he dusted now and then on the ashtray next to him. As usual, he was wearing nothing but a plain black shirt and some dark blue boxer shorts, but this time they were tucked under his heavy balls, leaving his hard cock exposed to the air.

You shouldn’t be aroused by this but you couldn’t help but feel your nether regions tingle. Kyle took your hair in a tighter grip as he tilted your body further forward so that you were practically sprawled across his husband’s lap, who was watching you and Kyle with half-lidded eyes. He’d been almost painfully hard for quite some time now but he still couldn't keep himself from enjoying the pretty view in front of him while he leaned back and relaxed.

“Come on, open your mouth. You’re taking too long, gotta be a little faster than that, alright?" He commanded in a gentle tone, which you obeyed purely on instinct. "Good girl. Listen so good, hm?"

Kyle took John’s cock in his hand and slowly rubbed the pre cum that built up on his tip up and down. “You’ll need to do this by yourself when I’m gone - need you to keep John happy and satisfied for me, yeah?” his voice spoke to you in a gentle tone. “He’s worked so hard for so long. Deserves a little love from a pretty thing like you, don’t you think?” Meanwhile, he still kept his hand in your hair and pushed your head down until he finally brought the tip of it to your lips at the end of his sentence.

John hummed pleased when he finally slid down your warm throat. His husband did a good job of holding your head steady - reminding you to relax, to breathe in and out of your nose so he could stuff his fat cock all in until your nose was buried in his thick pubic hair which reminded him to trim it a bit again sometime. “Come on, move,” he complained before he took another puff of his cigar, watching Kyle pull your hair so that he could move your mouth up and down like you were just some toy.

You gagged every now and then at the speed but got used to the rhythm after a while. Sometimes Kyle would hold your head down for a few seconds, and rub your nose back and forth between the musky pubic hair. He could act nice all he wanted but he couldn't hide his twisted side that enjoyed watching you struggle. He kinda wanted to punish you for trying to push your head back while gripping Johns’s thighs so tightly but he knew he was being mean so he settled to just forcing your head down some more. “Yeah that’s it, you’re doing great sweetie.” Kyle encouraged you while he continued to bob your head steadily. He couldn't help but like how pretty you looked even while tears wouldn't stop running down your warm cheeks.

His other hand was placed over your throat, caressing it a little with his thumb when he felt the shape of John’s cock push through. “Poor girl. Gonna sound so hoarse later, no? John takes so long to cum, isn't he? You’re getting tired?” Kyle cooed in your ear, which only made you cry more. The hum of your voice caused a pleasant vibration around the former captain’s dick which only made his head lean back in pleasure - his gaze never leaving the two of you.

John was almost there, only needing to feel your tight walls trying to push him out some more since he was a dirty old man who liked pretty girls choking on his fat cock. Though, Kyle had spoiled him too much. He hadn’t had to move his hips or hands once to cram his cock into you yet and he wasn’t going to start now. “Keep her down,” he only murmured, not bothering to tell you that he was about to shoot his seed into your belly. You felt a little violated being treated like this - the couple was using your throat as if it was nothing more than a pocket pussy.

It almost made you feel a bit embarrassed with how turned on you were.

“Up,” John ordered as he watched his husband rise from his spot behind you to lean towards him, his hand still holding your head firmly in place. The two shared an intimate kiss and John groaned in his deep voice as he pushed his tongue into his husbands throat while simultaneously shooting his load down yours.

Lazy John with his handsome, hard-working husband, Kyle, and now you, their sweet and obedient girlfriend. It's definitely worth a thought.

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

they didn't kiss but their destinies are intertwined forever. they didn't kiss but in every universe they find each other and only jayce can make viktor understand his faults. they didnt kiss but jayce doomed viktor to his fate as the machine herald and then saved him. they didn't kiss but their love literally saved the world

[djcandiepaws]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ yandere! crossdresser x reader

summary: he wants you to try on some stuff he bought for you cw: none

post it notes: trying to push out more yan crossdresser content even if its ass

A heavy knock on the door echoes through the house. "Oh! My package must be here!" He rushes down the stairs to get the packages left at his door.

He quickly runs back to his room, packages in hand. "I have some stuff I want you to have!"

You change into the clothes and honestly it's very.. skimpy? Like it shows a lot of skin. It's a very short top with noodle straps and frills at the end. As for the shorts? It's very short, they don't even reach the beginning of your thigh. "Uh.. Why does it show so much skin?"

His face turns into a sad expression, "You don't think it's cute?" "No, no, it's very cute, don't get me wrong. It's just.. very showy is all.." You start to cover your stomach.

"Also, you said these clothes are for me. You do realize if I were to show up with these clothes in my parents house they'd incinerate me?" "How about you only wear them here? My parents won't mind, they are usually in their room anyway." He said while picking out a new outfit for you to wear.

As you kept trying on more and more outfits you realized.. Most of them are revealing, some are very short shorts, some are shirts that have a low v line to show off your cleavage, and some are even bras that fit perfectly to the t. Wait, how does he know your bra size?

Some of the less revealing stuff are crop tops, which wouldn't be bad until you factor in that the crop top is insanely short. The end of the crop top is literally up to your nipple. And actually some of the outfits are straight up lingerie.

Honestly, he was trying to send you a sign like "hey, I like you" but clearly it didn't get through because now it feels like she just thinks he's a creep.

"So, how do like the outfits?" He asked. "It's.. well, it's something!" "Hey.. Do you not like the outfits? I spent a lot of money buying them!"

"I don't hate them, they're just very revealing. I don't even know if I feel comfortable wearing them in general." You sigh out.

"I'll help you get comfortable wearing them don't worry. How about you wear them while you're over to try to get used to them? And you won't get in trouble since it's not like your parents are here." He exclaimed.

You wouldn’t want his money go to waste so ultimately you agree that yeah you’ll wear it around his house. Plus, while the stuff is revealing they are still very cute! "Uhh.. Sure. But some of them are legitimately strange. Like why is one of them lingerie?"

“You have such a divine body, you shouldn’t hide it.” He confesses but then realization sets in that it probably came out weird. "Uh, not in a weird way, I'm just saying!" It definitely did come out weird but to be honest you appreciate the compliment, "Aw, thank you!" You reply with a smile.

"Anyways! Take off the outfit I need to put it back in their boxes." He then started helping you take the clothes off. "I thought you wanted me to wear it?" "Yeah I do, but we got school tomorrow and it's already 5 pm, so I see no use in you wearing it not even for a full 24hrs." He sighed.

While you had your shirt off you noticed him staring. "Sorry it's just your body just.. gets me going, y'know?" Your eyes widened in shock. Does he even realize what he just said?!

"Platonically, of course!"

[mageofmadness]

FILL THE VOID CALEBXMC

(1.2k) ✗✗✗ ☘︎･*:.｡ nsfw [18+] includes: nothing graphically sexual but sexual themes and we're in a club. strip club. whatever you want to call it. caleb mentions tits once. *i'd had this idea for a bit, i might continue it if anyone is interested. then we could earn some fun tags ^ i played it fast and loose with lore, i don't think it matters much. classic mc thinks he's dead, caleb is clearly not, and has been (unsuccessfully) stalking trying to find her. now he's found her. fantastic.

caleb orders a drink as soon as they get there, making a beeline for the bar and standing amongst the sloshed patrons around him. he much rather be at home, but morale is a big deal and it’s someone’s birthday. no, he doesn’t really know the guy, but camaraderie is also a thing, and after carefully exerting all of his excuses, of which he has none (they know this), caleb found himself at the club on a thursday night.

he gets his jack and coke, adds in a round of shots for the table, willing to go out but not start a tab his somewhat-friend’s will rack up, and closes out. he decided on the way here that one drink and a shot is enough to dull his surroundings, which are overwhelmingly loud and overstimulating while sober. caleb finds his party and slides into the booth, giving a laugh at whatever he had missed as someone flags over a girl for bottle service. caleb grimaces into his drink.

she eyes them all, honing in on the weak links with heavy pockets, and spots her targets almost immediately, which does not include caleb, and that’s fine. he’s not really…this type of person. anymore, at all—whichever it is, whichever it has been. he can be, of course. caleb can handle his own, as he is now, laughing and having a good time, but his appreciation for paying for company starts and ends with the girls around him getting a check, and that’s what it is. the girl that eventually comes up to him, sitting next to him, asking if he wants another drink, well.

caleb’s fine, he’s got all he needs and more at home. in his empty apartment. by himself where it’s quiet and not loud, and the lights are not blinding when they hit the wrong way. where he has plenty of room in his bed and extra pillows that fall off during the night. 

he politely declines another drink, lets the woman sit next to him, and watches as his friends turn into less than upstanding, upright citizens.

caleb ignores the stages, eyes glazing over as he sips his drink, warms, and waits until he feels it an appropriate time to leave. he hadn’t really been told they were coming to this sort of club, but beyond the teetering between crass and classy atmosphere and the fact that he had to take two and a half sips of his drink to relax, it’s a nice place. 

but caleb has things to do. he might go back to work, honestly, as there’s paperwork he was meant to look over and he doesn’t want to tackle early tomorrow morning. the dead of night is when he does the most work and thinking.

in his peripherals, bare expanses of skin spin on the stage, round and round. legs open and close, and there’s men at the end of the platform, looking up at their dreams, tossing money, and it makes him almost dizzy. it makes caleb feel strange, actually, to be in such a place he’s found himself in when he was no stranger to such debauchery once upon a time, but time, so much of it, has taken its toll. he’s worn out.

he’s about to leave, actually. caleb’s ready to spew whatever comes out of his mouth as an excuse, when his eyes catch the stage again. one dancer is leaving, money overflowing and a big smile on her face, a wink, and another is making their appearance.

at first, he doesn’t give it a second thought. caleb stands, he finishes his drink, and makes to say goodbye, but he does a double take. just something is what he’d explain it as. there was no real reason for him to turn fully to the stage, but he does, and something catches the light. 

just something catches the light.

caleb doesn’t have great eyesight, but it’s better than most. it’s getting worse as the years go on, and he stares at screens ninety percent of his time, but he’s perceptive. caleb is intuitive. he can read a room, but the music is shaking the booth he had sat in so there’s a signal jam going on as he freezes. 

he’d blame obsession for being the reason he doesn’t want to be here. caleb would also blame everything as to why his first thought was you when his eyes catch on that flash of silver.

and it’s not as if he has not looked for you.

anyone who would suggest such a thing would be out of their mind.

caleb knows…he knows what he’s working with and that’s very little and he also knows he is here, he is not six feet under the ground as you suspect him to be. that’s a noxious mix.

the lights turn pink instead of a soul-eating red and that is you. even shrouded in the heavy bass in a dark, moody room. he just knows. the shape of your back, the curve of your arm. caleb cannot see hair color, he cannot see much because the lights are a deep, dark blue now and so shadows are black and light is scarce, but caleb’s breath catches. he’s standing there stupid, watching as the music slowly picks up.

he sits back down. 

someone claps him on the back. 

caleb stands again, and mumbles an excuse as to why he stood in the first place, as he makes his way back to the bar. bumping shoulders with other men, throwing out excuse me’s and sorry’s until those are gone from his mind and he’s ordering another drink. he knows what he’s done, caleb sleeps next to it every night when he’s restless, and surely you cannot see him from the blinding stage lights but he sees you fully now, not tearing his eyes away as he hands over his card and another drink is slid before him.

first to hit him is the deepest, largest pill of longing. ten fold what he feels every night as he lies in bed and stares at his ceiling or scrolls endlessly through newspaper articles and such. he doesn’t swallow that pill down right, it catches in caleb’s throat as he tries to clear it and run the feeling down with the whiskey in his hand. watching as you begin to move, slowly. sensually. in a way he’s never seen, he’s entranced. absolutely enthralled by the skin he sees and the small outfit.

it’s wrong, he knows you’d be livid if you found out he was watching you like this. sipping on a mixed drink, leering from the bar because that is what he’s doing. under the longing there’s that high of simply you. just you—on stage, twirling so pretty. it’s the cherry on top of the pill and if you knew, you’d surely be a bit embarrassed, but that would soon be overshadowed by rage. a high voice, telling him off, and the next time caleb takes a sip of his drink, he sees that silver again.

right between the prettiest pair of tits he’s ever seen is a very familiar necklace. 

it hangs off your body, it kisses your cheek when you twirl. it stirs something inside of caleb, parts of him he thought he was already fully aware of, as he takes another sip. 

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ 195.40.40 119.8.8

[steviewashere]

Doesn't Change Anything

Rating: Teen and Up CW: None, I don't think. Sex is lightly hinted at, but ended up not happening, whoops. Tags: Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Trans Eddie Munson, Transmasculine Eddie Munson, Coming Out, Kissing, Just So Much Kissing, Body Worship, Dialogue Heavy, Eddie Has Slight Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Harrington is a Good Boyfriend, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Trusts Steve Harrington, Sappy Ending

💕—————💕 “Before we do anything, I need to tell you something about me, okay?”

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. Stare down the confusion and the contempt surely crawling over Steve’s face; slimy legs and a writhing body, annoyed that he won’t open like a flower. If his clothes come off, though, and they’re exposed to something both of them don’t know what to do about, including everything down there—not that Steve would have much trouble, he just wouldn’t understand.

Not that Eddie begs to be understood.

It would be nice, if even for a moment, to be brought in as a fresh idea and contextualized into the fabric of everything. That he could open his legs further for the grazing touches, be embraced without question.

Mismatched body parts and scars in places most people don’t earn; simply him, as puzzling as it may be. It being him.

His hands are knotted together, dangling between his knees, hiding. It’s always been like hiding, hoping to never be caught by the seeker. Yet when he’d glance in the mirror, all this time the seeker’s been him, wide Bambi eyes and his mom’s hips. Now, tonight, he’s stepping from behind the trunk of a tree, barefoot into the dew-wet grass, letting his sunlight—his Steve—see him fully.

Steve doesn’t touch him now. Doesn’t do that thing where he grazes his fingertips along the back of Eddie’s hand. Or force himself closer, glued from shoulder to heel. He takes a slow breath, sure. Murmurs, “Whatever you need to tell me, I’ll listen.”

Simple.

Eddie nods once, merely a dip of his chin and then back up. His eyes peeled to the mirror hanging on his closet door. Full length, spotty with sprits of glass cleaner he didn’t fully wipe, mismatched stickers and polaroids along the edges. A frame of memories. And he is within the center of it. Always at the center, even unwillingly.

Half of Steve’s body is in the reflection. His soft face and his splaying left hand, spread across his hairy thigh. Still dressed in boxers he borrowed from the dresser. Hair dripping on his shoulders, fresh from the shower and sticky with body wash. He smells like Eddie’s soap, some musky thing he bought in a moment of overcompensation and need.

Gotta smell like the rest of them.

“There are…”—he steels himself with a deep, strangling breath. It catches like a knotted net in the center of his chest; he’s a fish struggling in it; free me, free me, free—“…are some people who are…they don’t go with what they’re born with,” Eddie tries. “I mean, like, they’re not associating themself with what they were told they were. Y’know, the whole girl-boy thing.”

Something flickers over Steve’s face. His eyebrows furrow for a millisecond before resettling. 

Okay, so maybe he’s not doing a good job at this.

Doesn’t help there’s a stone ready to sink in his gut. A stone the size of the world.

“I…um…I was born a girl? Whole pink blanket thing and you-know-what between my legs,” he rushes out, words searing like the skin relieved from a quickly peeled bandaid. Can’t help himself, Eddie closes his eyes again. Doesn’t want to know Steve’s stance quite yet. Rather relish in the body heat and freshly washed skin and his boxers still cupping his boy, probably stretching them out enough they won’t be his anymore. “And now I’m, well, I’m a guy. I’ve…I’ve been a guy, Steve. For however long I could remember. Always preferred the tomboy look, y’know, wearing Wayne’s t-shirts when he wasn’t looking.” Restless, Eddie shakes his legs. He could make a quick exit. Go Roadrunner style out the patio door, skitter down the road until he can’t make out the Bimmer with his blurry eyes. He remains, though.

Because Steve does.

He continues, “I’ve been going by Eddie for forever. Picked it all myself. My clothes, the name, how I looked. When I looked.” His eyes open again, darting down to the floor. To his bare feet scrunched in the carpet. It’s funny, he thinks, his feet were the least uncomfortable thing about him; he had his mom’s giant shoes to thank for that. “I’m on prescription hormone injections, to give me that testosterone like you have. Had surgery on my chest, went out of state for it. Wayne held my hand the whole way. I just…

“I just don’t want you to be shocked by what you find. That’s…that’s why I’m telling you. Because I want to have sex with you, Stevie, I do. And I know you know how to please, but…I don’t know.” Eddie’s hair whips around his face as he shakes his head, clearing his mind as if he could erase the awkwardness from the center of his tongue, his spinal cord. “You deserve to know considering who you are to me, sweetheart. And, as much as it sucks to say, you’re allowed to feel how you feel about it. I get it. I don’t expect you to…to understand or respect me or…or love me. I’ll totally understand if you”—

“Are you still you?”

Eddie jerks at the sound of Steve’s voice. Warm and soft. He swivels his head, finally looking over, directly on. There’s a tiny mask of confusion. Otherwise, though, there’s a gentle smile and droopy eyes and a sort of proud adoration still aimed at him. The only thing that’s really ever aimed at him when it comes to Steve.

“Wh-what?” he manages to choke out.

Steve’s eyes dart between his. The expression he’s wearing doesn’t falter. If anything, it only grows stronger. More poignant. Realer. “I mean…I appreciate you telling me. That takes a lot of courage, I can get that. What I want to know, though, is if you’re still Eddie? My Eddie? The person I fell in love with?”

“You…you love me?”

Slowly and tentatively, Steve’s hand leaves his thigh, instead reaching for Eddie’s hand. When neither of them pull away, their fingers end up mingling together. Warm there, too. “Of course I do,” Steve whispers, “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Blinking, Eddie sits stunned. “Oh,” he breathes. “Wow…oh, wow.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Steve timidly, mildly says, “but I figured it’s important that you know.” He squeezes at Eddie’s fingers. Tight and sure. “Answer my question, though. Are you still you? The nerdy, lovable, perfectly-imperfect person I fell in love with?”

He swallows. “Y-yeah,” Eddie responds shakily, “I’m still me. Just, y’know, I’m a guy.”

“You’ve always been a guy to me,” Steve says, “I’ve only ever known you as a guy.”

“But I have a vagina, Steve. I’m not exactly a conventional”—

“That doesn’t matter to me. I mean, it does if you want it to matter for me. But…I mean, I may have always expected you’d have a dick. It’s whatever, though. Doesn’t stop me from thinking you’re hot or that I want to hold your hand or eventually, y’know, possibly get married to you. And…y’know, our relationship isn’t exactly conventional either, right? At least around here—here, in Hawkins.

“You’re Eddie, my boyfriend, and I love you. And we’re totally gay and into each other. That’s all that matters to me. We can get you a strap-on or something. One of those really realistic ones and you can do me in the ass. That’s”—

Aside himself, purely built on disbelief, Eddie finds himself full-body laughing. Deep and hard from his stomach. Weeping from the corners of his eyes, shaking with it. When he catches his breath, clutching his stomach, he turns to Steve again. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Always a shocker, always in a good way. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Mm…I think it’s my charm,” Steve says around a full smile.

Eddie snorts. Sighs. “Wow…so I sat in fear for absolutely no reason. Shit.”

“No, you had a reasonable fear, I think. That’s a hard thing to tell somebody, I imagine. It was sorta scary as-is to tell you and Robin that I’m bisexual, even if I knew you two wouldn’t judge me. Think it’s just always gonna be there, the fear. But now you don’t have to be scared of me, baby.” Steve squeezes his hand again. “At least, I hope I’m somebody you don’t have to be scared of?”

Instead of words, Eddie leans forward. Enough to rub the tips of their noses together. He stops, drawing himself away momentarily, looking over soft line of Steve’s face. The gentle brush of facial hair freshly coming in. Raised moles, some dark in color, others light like sun-birthed freckles. His eyes are gazing out, purposefully and passionately. It dawns on him, then, why the color is called hazel; there’s a forest of hazel trees growing wayward and strong within his boy, growing big in the sun. He smells of musk, of ocean brine and sun-warmed sand. Soft as the bed they sit on.

Finally, he tastes him.

Parting his lips to lick him over, to squish, to move. Steve is plush and minty and crisp, yet warm. His teeth are straight where Eddie traces him. He hums, he sings. The tip of his nose buries into Eddie’s cheek, just under his eye, pushing deeper as if he could will them to get closer; as if he could bend the laws of physics, atoms and chemistry, to allow them divine perfection—to combine, to become one. Steve’s hands come to rest over Eddie’s chest, their fingers still tangled together, fingertips pressing for the shape of a heart, for the proof of life—the same life he gave back, restarting the very heart he finds.

To think his heart stopped for this man.

To think his heart resuscitated, beating and breathing for this same man.

To think his life is this now: simple.

With a minute, wet pop, Steve gently pulls back. When Eddie can flutter his eyes open, he’s already being gazed at. Half-lidded and fondly.

“Can I go further?” Steve murmurs against Eddie’s open, the words kisses.

Eddie nods. “Y-yeah,” he whispers, “not below the waist…not yet.”

In turn, Steve is nodding back. “‘Course,”—he punctuates with a peck—“of course, Eds. You…you have the power right now, I promise”—

“I trust you.” Eddie unfurls his hands from Steve’s, fingertips pressing lightly into the back of his hands until dropping them away fully. He reaches down for the hem of his t-shirt—a soft, blank thing from Wayne’s closet—and leaves his boxers alone. Slowly, he peels it away from himself, their stares remain locked on each other. Steve doesn’t drop his eyes, doesn’t even twitch for a look, but his hands do go back to his lap. Fingers dipping into his own palms, pressing against the residual warmth Eddie’s left there. Finally, when the shirt hits the carpet, he sets his hands palm-side down over his thighs. “I trust you,” he repeats, softer. He guides Steve’s left hand back to his chest, to his heart. “Take me to bed?”

With a hand still on him, Eddie leans down into his bed, scooting himself up the mattress with Steve kneeing after him.

Steve eyes are big and attentive, focused solely on Eddie’s eyes still. His mouth is closed, lips curled into a soft grin. Cheeks pushed lightly, flushed pink in the dim lighting. He takes his right hand to Eddie’s left, holding them tight, guiding them up the mattress to rest just below pillows. Gently, Steve is sitting on Eddie’s lower stomach, legs folded under himself, curling down to kiss once more.

It’s heavier this time, sappier. Steve breathes hard and deep, nose plunging for purchase, lips slick and dancing in a choreography he’s already practiced, but Eddie doesn’t find himself jealous—kissing back; no, the realization this is all for him now presses against him like Steve’s hand against his chest, careful and tentative, but sure. So sure. He can’t keep the smile off his face, lips pressed to his front teeth, mint prancing over his tongue.

The hand on his chest moves, sliding slowly upward. Tickling against his neck, gliding smooth over his jaw, cupping the back of his head, fingers buried into his wild hair. Steve’s fingernails are dull against his scalp, circling—he lowers himself down, back curled further, knees moving down the mattress until he’s practically laying over Eddie instead. He pulls back again.

Gazing at Eddie.

He places his free hand on Steve’s left side, relishing how it expands deep with each breath, his fingers slotting between ribs. Melding as if he’s always belonged.

“You’re still you,” Steve decides. “I just know you better now.”

Eddie’s breath shutters, gearing to cry even through the smile bright on his face. He wraps his hand further up on Steve’s back, pulling him in closer against his chest. Bare skin to chest hair. “Thank you,” he wobbly whispers, “I knew I could trust you. Even if I was scared.”

Steve pecks him on the lips, then again on his cheek, his jaw over the scar he earned in March. They trail further, the line of his neck, at the still developing Adam’s apple in his throat.

Instinctively, Eddie lets his hand fall back to the mattress, head buried deeper into his pillow, baring more of himself for Steve to reach.

And reach he does.

Over his shoulders, his collarbone, the sparse hair between his pecs, on his heart.

But then he stops, hovering. Left hand warm on Eddie’s bicep. Right hand still wrapped tight around his left. Then, he traces a finger along the surgical scars under Eddie’s pecs, light and careful—curious, too. His face is open still. Inviting and adoring.

“From when I had my breasts removed,” Eddie breathes, “makes me feel more like a man.” Steve looks up to him, eyebrows raised, lips puckered in a silent question. He chuckles, it’s wet and airy, but humored all the same. “You can kiss me there, too, you dork.”

Again, Steve does. Tender and slow, covering every square inch of scarring he can reach. Until he pops back up, eyes shiny with some emotion Eddie can’t quite place. “I noticed them,” Steve murmurs, “back when I had to…to give you CPR. Then, I think I was confused by them, but I didn’t really care because, y’know, I was trying to save you.” He sniffles, presses his lips over Eddie’s heart, like he’s remembering. His voice is quiet again when he speaks. “They saved you, too,” he says, even though it sounds like a question.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Eddie asks softly, tracing his fingers along Steve’s ribs. They shutter under his touch.

“You always seem so confident,” he states. “Because you don’t really have to hide, I guess. Or at least, y’know, not much anyway. You can just be you…even if you were you before, you can be a better—I’m not making much sense.” Steve shakes his head, lips smearing over Eddie’s chest. He huffs a sigh. “I just mean that the surgery obviously helped you. Made you happier.”

Eddie breathes a small chuckle. “Y-yeah, I guess they did.”

Steve rests his head against Eddie’s chest. Cheek pillowed where he had been kissing. “I’m glad I still have you,” he whispers, “that I get to love you now. Just as you are.”

“Me too, baby. I love you.”

His hand is squeezed hard, Steve’s fingers curling and tensing, palm sweaty against his own. He nuzzles against Eddie, placing his ear deeper. “Eds?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for letting me see this part of you.”

Eddie’s hand drifts over Steve’s arm, the back of his shoulder, to his head. He cradles him. “Thank you for loving me anyway.”

💕—————💕

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

Adriana Lima as Corpse Bride, Halloween 2005

[anarchy-and-piglins]

do you have more c technoblade analysis? your thoughts are really well articulated and usually i agree with you

i wasnt there for dsmp stuff so you can talk about anything you’d like

Oh boy, I have a ton of cTechno thoughts all the time, but I feel like I'm bad at pulling them out randomly unless people want to ask/hear about anything specific (which, for the record, I very much embrace; I love cTechno lore questions)

HOWEVER, you're in luck today. Because I did have thoughts this morning!

Specifically, I am thinking once again about cTechno's conversation with cTubbo about the Red Festival during their Saving Michael stream.

Techno's situation during the Red Festival is kind of interesting to me because we know it is a fight Techno would have lost, and thus he decided not to engage with it. We see this as a returning character trait. Techno isn't only a good fighter, he's a smart fighter. He's not reckless.

That is to say, cTechno and ccTechno have both confirmed that in the case of the Red Festival, Techno pulled the trigger on Tubbo (AFTER trying to get out of the situation, dissuade Schlatt of the entire affair, and stall for time so their allies could come help, none of which worked) because he knew that if he refused, then he'd be entering a fight he could not win. He would not have been able to keep Tubbo and himself safe against a crowd of armored and armed people, especially as Tubbo was completely without weapons and armor. The most likely outcome would have been for them both to just be killed anyway, or maybe if they're lucky for one of them to die and the other escape.

And Techno only has one life.

Now, a few characters (mainly cTommy) do believe Techno could have fought his way out of that situation easy-peasy. The problem is that Tommy is in this case wrong. Again, both cTechno and ccTechno confirmed he could not have won, and in fact, we see that Techno's health dropped significantly and he almost died, leaving him to flee, and that is after shooting Tubbo. So yeah, no way would he have made it out with both of their lives intact. (Sadly, some of the fandom also decided to take Tommy's word for it despite cTommy being extremely wrong in this case but that's another post)

Here's why I'm talking about all this. During the Saving Michael stream, Techno apologizes to Tubbo about the events of the Red Festival, but these are the exact words he uses:

"I should have been willing to die for my beliefs back then"

This line still drives me up the wall and makes me chew the isolation /pos. Techno isn't saying he would have survived the Red Festival. He's not saying that he lied about being able to win that fight. HE'S SAYING HE SHOULD HAVE TRIED ANYWAY EVEN IF IT KILLS HIM.

And this comes literally minutes after he admits he only has one life.

Techno's 'belief' in this case is in reference to anarchy, obviously. I could write full dissertations about how Techno's understanding of the concept that is anarchy evolves to be more nuanced and complex throughout the dsmp, and how it is one of my favorite arcs, and why it makes him such a compelling character, but the main point for this post is that Techno got others involved in his cause.

Anarchy is not just Techno's thing anymore. It's the Syndicate's thing. Techno's friends. And one of Techno's defying character traits is that while he's not reckless, he's very much willing to put himself in danger for his friends. So now he feels that he should have put himself in harm's way during the Red Festival because that's what he would do now, after his character development.

He's not apologizing for being unable to save Tubbo - because he still doesn't think he'd be able to, and he's probably right about that. He's apologizing because he has one life and he was unwilling to sacrifice it. But now he is.