#and there can be a sense of trying to feel just. Something

[lymtw]

Toji and his shy girl cuddle fucking WHO SAID THAT

A/N: EEHEE I heard it too 🤭 Even if the echo took a while to reach me 😔 No, but really, I loved this! It's been a while since i've written out a request 😅 I'm excited to start trying some of these, again :)

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

"Hey, you," Toji says, grinning like a menace at the way your body minimally jolts, like he scared you. "You don't like me or something?"

You turn to look at him, a barely there crease between your brows. "What? I do. What do you mean?"

"I mean, why don't you wanna be with me? You're sitting on your own island over there, while i'm over here... all alone... feeling like chopped liver."

He's cute, you think. Playfully dramatic enough to make you giggle. It's always nice to know he wants you around, too, when you keep your distance to give him that choice.

"I just thought you would want some space, is all," you explain. "This is a pretty long movie, I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Would sitting with me make you uncomfortable?" Toji asks.

"No," you respond, though the thought of sitting next to him or on him, has your heart rate picking up. Most of the time, Toji wants it to be the latter, and when this happens, it feels like he's peeking af your soul. You feel like every nerve in your body is tingling and like your skeleton is buzzing. You know he can sense your nervousness, most of the time, and yet he doesn't take it easy on you. His patience, his charm, and his irresistible way of trying to seduce you—none of it ever gets easier to withstand without you feeling flustered.

"You're comfortable, I'm comfortable. We're both comfortable, so, come closer, sweetheart." He sees hesitance flash through your features, before you finally give in and start inching closer.

"Come on. Closer, baby," Toji instructs, watching as you continue to inch towards him. "Look at all this space. Get rid of it."

He chuckles at the properness of your folded hands in your lap, when you sit on the edge of the couch cushion, in front of his legs. "You're gonna stop there and keep watching the movie all uncomfortable?"

"It's fine," you say, smiling at him before facing forward, again. You can feel him staring at you as you try to focus on the movie. His hand goes to your thigh, an act that has your heart beating rapidly in your chest, close to being heard in your ears. He tugs at your sweatpants, earning your attention.

"I'll spell it out for you, doll. I want you here, lying right in front of me. Wanna cuddle with you and shit." You return your gaze to the screen and though anybody would think that it's rude, because it seems like you're ignoring him, Toji knows what it means. He knows it's hard for you to hold eye contact with him, sometimes, and that you looking away gives you time to collect your thoughts and prepare what you want to respond with.

"But you won't be able to see the movie," you say, as a last ditch effort to let him enjoy the movie without obstructing his view and invading his personal space.

"We'll make it work. Just come here. Please?" He pats the spot in front of him, directing you to lie right where he wants you.

"Okay," you say, more to yourself than to him. You scoot down a little more, before lying down on your side, on the exact spot he said he was wanted you. In an instant, you're swallowed up by him. He pulls you in so that you're pressed up against him, his leg overlaps yours, and his face goes straight for your neck.

"T-Toji, I know you can't see the movie. I can go back, if you want."

"Mm-mm. Nope. It's all good. Got what I need," he assures, low against your neck, a hand planted on your stomach. "Pretty baby," he murmurs, pressing kisses onto your skin. "You smell so fucking good."

You feel like some sort of soothing toy for him, with the way any time you sit with him, you end up stealing his focus and withstanding the way he mouths at your skin and runs his hands all over you.

"You comfortable? Have enough space?" He asks, kissing your earlobe. You nod in response and he hums, a click of his tongue and a couple pats to your stomach, expressing his disapproval of the nonverbal confirmation. "Say it, baby. Yes or no?"

"Sorry. Yes, i'm comfortable," you confirm, in a manner more to his liking.

"Mm... you're so good to me, doll," Toji praises, adding a kiss to the appreciation.

He understands that sometimes it's difficult for you to say things out loud and you'll dismiss your own discomfort for the sake of not having to verbalize what is bothering you. It's why he's so adamant on hearing you talk, over seeing you nod or shake your head in response to things. He's working on this with you. He's heard 'sorry' so many times, now, and each time, he rejects your apology, deeming it unnecessary, because he knows you're trying.

Things are still for a few moments. You get fully comfortable, lying there on the couch, with Toji spooning you, and manage to refocus on the movie. His hand goes under your shirt, meeting the warmth of your skin. It's a gesture that disturbs the calmness of your heart, as well as your focus on the TV, again.

"This okay?" He asks, caressing your stomach, occasionally pinching it, gently.

"Mhm," you hum, in response, before pretending to pay attention to the movie. You're too distracted by the dragging of his fingertips and the goosebumps he lures onto your skin. You're sure he can feel them, too, because his hand starts wandering higher up your torso, like he wants to get more reactions from you. You shift minimally when his fingers slide beneath the elastic band of your sports bra, grazing the bottom part of your breast.

"Still comfortable?" Toji asks, keeping his hand still until he receives a response from you.

"Yeah... you're okay," you assure, once again, resting your hand on his forearm. Your breath hitches when his fingertips brush against your nipple. Toji grins at the involuntarily squeeze you offered his arm, finding amusement in the way your body reacts to his touch.

Toji chuckles, lowly, at all your sudden fidgeting. "Does that feel good, mama? Want me to keep going?" He asks, planting a kiss on your shoulder. You're not stopping him. If anything, he can feel you gently pushing his arm so that his entire hand goes up your bra. "It's alright. You can tell me," he says, encouraging you to respond.

"It feels good. Please..." Your soft voice halts, a shuddered exhale released through your nose.

"Mhm, give me more. Please, what?" He says, baiting a more elaborate response from you. "Just saying 'please' doesn't tell me what you need, pretty."

"Please... keep touching me." You cringe, internally, the second the words come out. You don't even realize how proud Toji is or get to indulge in the praise he offers, because you're too busy overthinking what you just said.

"That was perfect," Toji murmurs, scattering light kisses onto your neck. His enormous hand stretches your bra, and grabs ahold of your breast. "I'll give you anything you want, sweetheart. Anything. The trick is... you gotta ask for it."

That alone is enough to teach you another lesson on not always being able to get what you want. It's not always so easy for you to ask Toji for things. He's seen you get frustrated, because of this. It happens, even if your frustration is never loud and you don't raise your voice or throw a tantrum. It's quite the opposite. Too many questions to your initial request, results in you shaking your head, as if to say, 'never mind. I'll do it myself'. Having to repeat yourself too many times, gets a similar result. Even in times when he's just asking you to describe something more, you lose patience with yourself and your inability to communicate what you need, efficiently, and essentially give up on explaining it to him, doing it yourself, instead.

It's times like these that really help you out in that aspect. You want something that you can make yourself feel, but receiving it from Toji makes it so much better, because of the element of surprise. You give him access to your entire body and he gives you everything you could ever want in terms of pleasure. You never know where he's going to touch you and what he's going to touch you with.

"You understand?" Toji asks, seeking comprehension from you. A small whimper interrupts the silence of an expected response. "I know. Tell me," he encourages.

Your grip on his arm gets tighter and more of your restrained soft sounds reach his ears as he keeps rolling your stiffened peak between his fingers. You gasp when he shifts his attention to your other breast and writhe in his arms. "Y-Yes—please—yes, Toji. I understand."

"Sensitive thing." He chuckles. "Look at that little arch. Bet you're soaked, already, huh?"

"Oh... god, i'm sorry," you mumble, relaxing your back against him, again. You feel like you could implode with how much attention you're being given. You just want to shrink and hide under the couch, and just watch the rest of the movie from there.

"You're fine, doll. I know the slightest touch does a lot to you," he says, brushing over your nipple, knowing that your reaction will emphasize his point. "You nervous?"

You groan in response to the question and turn your head so that your face is planted in the pillow, earning another deep chuckle from Toji.

"I'm not gonna eat you, mama," he jokes, grinning at the way your body trembles with contained amusement. "I mean... I can't lie and say I haven't thought about it before. You're sweeter than any candy or cookie—even cake. You're sweeter than all of it, but I need you here with me, so I can't... I won't eat you, alright?" His method of getting you to lighten up worked enough to lure giggles from you. "Yeah, there you go. Relax. Just wanna love on you," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your shoulder. "Wanna make you feel good. You want that, gorgeous?"

Throughout your time with Toji, you've learned that he's a very hands on man. He's constantly seeking your warmth and softness, because physical touch is his love language and he'll put in the work to get you to comfortably connect with him that way, too. You find that sometimes when you're lying in his bed, ready for the sleep part of sleeping over, he'll stick his head up your shirt and just fall asleep like that on your chest. It's easy for him to relax when he can hear your heart wildly beating in your chest. Sometimes, randomly, when you're just sitting next to him, he'll pick you up and set you down on him, just to watch you get flustered when he starts talking to you within such a close proximity. He loves the way you scramble to escape his sight, always ending up with your face buried in his neck.

"Aw, don't go all quiet on me, now, pretty. You know better. Say what's on your mind." His hand slides out of your bra and goes back down to your stomach, the roughness of his palm rubbing your soft skin. You don't like making him beg for you. He's patient enough with your nervous tendencies, you know he doesn't deserve it.

"I want you, Toji," you say, softly. It's a huge contrast to the hammering going on in your chest and the annoying rhythm in your ears.

"Yeah? Keep fucking going, baby. How do you want me?"

"Please," you mumble, reverting back to the familiarity of simplicity.

"No, not like that. Give me a little more," Toji clarifies.

"I... I want you to touch me... and make me feel good. Want you to feel good, too."

You feel and hear the rumble of his laugh behind you, a sound that makes your fingertips tingle and your stomach erupt with butterflies all over again.

"You precious angel. You want me to fuck you?"

You don't know how long you can last with your heart beating so fast. It's a miracle that it hasn't exploded, with how it's almost always racing when you're around Toji.

You feel like your face is on fire, but you nod, and offer a soft, yet, clear, "yes, please," giving Toji the consenting words he's been listening closely for.

"Alright, ma. You just focus on the rest of the movie and i'll take care of you, 'kay?"

"Mhm," you hum, in response. You pull on the drawstring of your pajama bottoms and begin pulling them down with one hand. Toji watches with a sly smirk on his face as he feels you shift around, more of your skin coming into view. This is your effort. This is what makes him love you so damn much. You try for him. He knows your heart is probably shambles, as you kick the article off and wait for what's to come, but you're showing him that you want this, and that means beyond everything to him.

"You're so perfect, my girl," he says, pressing kisses to your ear. "So, so perfect..." he trails off when his fingers meet the wetness of your panties. He was right. You're utterly soaked. His hand dips into your underwear, instantly greeted by your warmth as he keeps digging. Two fingers drag through your slit, back and forth, for just long enough to have you fidgeting as he collects a sample of your sweetness. Once your thighs attempt to shut around his hand, craving more, he pulls it out and admires the glossy coating on his fingers. Without hesitation, he brings the digits into his mouth, a low hum of satisfaction leaving him as he licks them clean. His cock is throbbing in his pants, straining mercilessly against his boxers as he savors the aftertaste of you on his tongue.

"Straight up fucking sugar," Toji murmurs, as he hastily starts pulling down his own pants, ready to get a feel of what he just tasted. There's a breathiness in his voice, urgency that you can't process, because you can barely believe he sounds that way after tasting you. Then you feel it—the monster he packs, pressing against you.

"I'm all hard, just for you, pretty," he murmurs in your ear, as he starts grinding his bulge against your ass. "Feel that?" He groans. "It's all for you. All yours." He plants a kiss on your neck and halts the movement of his hips against you. His hand returns beneath your shirt, a slow drag up your abdomen, towards your chest. His fingers dip beneath the elastic once more and splay over your breast, squeezing. He can feel the stutter in your chest as he feels up the entirety of it. You keep fidgeting against him, and he recognizes this as your way of saying you need more.

"You ready for me?" He asks, still toying with your stiffened, sensitive peaks.

"Ready," you respond, maintaining your voice as steady and clear as possible. You squeeze his hand through your shirt for deeper assurance.

Toji smiles softly at your little gesture and pulls his hand out of your shirt. Just as he did when he was directing his touch towards your chest, he follows the same path down, tracing your curves until his hand makes it way between your legs. He moves the gusset of your underwear aside, an act that has you shaking your foot against the couch cushion.

"Relax, sweet girl," Toji hums, a low chuckle following. He lowers his boxers enough to pull his throbbing, drooling cock out and smears the precum that beads on his tip all over his length. Once it's all covered he guides his tip to the warm, slick ridden space between your legs. After running it through your slit a few times, to hear the squelching sounds and your little whimpers when he catches your clit, he slowly starts sinking into you.

"There, baby," Toji murmurs. His warm palm rubs the softness of your stomach and he scatters wet little kisses on your shoulder and your neck, all while he continues feeding your cunt his inches. "You're so fucking cute," he coos, listening closely to the sound of your little whimpers and gasps. "Fuck..." he groans, once his hips are flush against you. He can feel the way you clench and flutter around his pulsing cock, making the fit even more snug for seconds at a time.

"All good, little lady?" He asks, pinching your goosebump covered stomach.

"Mhm," you hum, a chime of your giggle following.

Toji's hold on you is secure. He has you. Warm and gentle caresses and brushes of his fingers on your skin prove it, along with the way he languidly grinds his hips against you, as if to remind you that you're connected in the most physically intimate way. It's not like you could ignore it, anyway. You feel all of him. His warmth, his strength, his company. It's impossible to ignore Toji.

"This movie's pretty boring, huh?" He asks, not even paying attention to what's going on, like he hasn't been since you crawled into his arms.

"You're not even watching," you reason, smiling at the kisses he presses to your ear.

"Got a reaaally good distraction right in front of me." He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. "So warm and pretty and mmm... Can't focus on anything else," he purrs.

"It's okay. You can choose the next... the next one, too..." you gasp at the slow thrusts he offers. With every roll of his hips, his cock slides out just about halfway before sheathing back into the velvety warmth of your walls.

"I don't want to watch TV, anymore. Wanna watch you," he murmurs, monitoring your reactions to his movement. Every twitch, every shift of your legs against his. It's adorable, the way you push your face just a little bit more into the pillow when he tries to get a peek at you.

"Like that, baby?" He murmurs, a deep groan following. "Mhm? Yeah, I know," he says, like he's responding to your moan.

"Toji," you hum out, an unintentional amount of sultriness dripping off his name.

"Fucking- god,you sound so pretty, mama. Let me hear that again. Do it again."

His hips pick up the pace a little, just enough to coax more of those melodic sounds of yours. His hand dips lower, proceeding down the front of your underwear, his thick fingers gliding down towards your slippery clit. It doesn't take much of this electric addition to your pleasure to have you squirming and writhing against him. It's hard not to want to squish his hand between your thighs.

You whimper, a slight arch curving your back. Your clammy, shaky hands grip onto the couch cushion beneath you, your knuckles protruding from the force you put into your hold. You think he's on the brink of devouring you—absorbing you— with how he's holding you like you'll teleport into space if he lets go for a second.

"Say my name," he says, calmly, directly in your ear. "Call for me, sweetheart. Who's touching you? Who's making you feel like this?"

"T-Toji," you obediently pronounce, meekly, yet, to the man's utmost satisfaction.

"Again—fuck, baby—again," he groans, speeding up his fingers on your clit. He knows the motions spiked your pleasure because of how your body tensed up against him.

Sloppy kisses are pressed to your nape, as well as the side of your neck, where you know fully well that he must have left a plethora of marks already. You can hear the consistent sharp breaths he releases through his nose as he begins to desperately roll his hips into you, chasing what's coming up on him ridiculously fast. He's not aggressive—not entirely soft—but there's just enough movement to where you can hear a slight creak in the couch.

"Toji," you croon, softly. "T-Toji, Toji," you repeat, a high pitched whimper ending your little chain of his name.

"Oh, you're so fucking sweet, doll. So fucking sweet..." he mutters, his voice deep enough to make goosebumps spread anew, all over you. He hums at the feeling of your cunt erratically clenching around him. It's a tell tale sign—along with the frequency of your precious little sounds—of how you're right there, about to cum all over his twitching cock.

Toji loves how flustered you get when he has you tell him that you're about to cum, but he also loves the abruptness that comes with you being so overwhelmed by his touch and how he handles you, that for a few seconds you tense up and release all the sounds that bubble up in your chest, caving to the relentless amount of pleasure you feel without a warning.

"You're my pretty girl," Toji says, lowly, grinning when that's all it takes for you to gasp and arch off his front. Your body trembles and your thighs squeeze around his hand when his fingers continue to rub your clit. His tip just continues to prod at the sensitive spot within you, further intensify the sensation coursing through you. You're aware of how your moans have gotten louder and attempt to muffle them with the pillow, but your breathy little cries can be heard, regardless.

They spur on Toji's own release. His hand comes out of your underwear to avoid overstimulating you and glides up your abdomen, aiming towards your chest. He grabs ahold of one of your breasts, his hand smothering the entire thing as he squeezes and kneads it. You can hear his breathing grow heavier, his thrusts more punctuated, and a little faster in pace. The creaking of the couch is more frequent, as are his groans in your ear. His hold on you is tight. With his forearm having brought you back as close as you can be to him, you're locked in. With a few more thrusts, into your dripping wet warmth, he's spilling his load into you, breathy, deep voiced expletives tumbling off his lips as smears your gooey walls with all the warm, creamy substance.

"F-Fuck..." he groans, slowing the roll of his hips to a languid grind. "I got you," he says, chuckling at the gasp you let out from being filled even more. He drags unfocused, wet kisses over your shoulder and stills his hips entirely with a heavy breath. "Got you, mama." He loosens his hold on you, allowing you to breathe and move a little more freely. "Good?"

"Mhm. Good," you assure.

"Good. Gimme a kiss," he requests, smirking at the sound of your tittering. "What? You laughing at me 'cause I want a little smooch?"

"No," you say, through soft, but, more audible giggling.

"You promise?" He says, grinning at the slight tremble of your shoulders as your twinkles of laughter continue. "I'll let it slide, just this once. Now, give me a kiss, baby."

With a smile lingering on your face—the aftermath of your short giggle fit—you lie back a little and crane your neck as much as you comfortably can. Toji leans in the rest of the way and presses his lips to your sweet, lip balm layered ones, brushing them over and over as if he's parched and you're a glass of water. Both of your bodies react to the spark of desire reigniting through the gentle gesture. You can feel him throbbing inside you, while he can feel you clenching around him. His hand pawing at your chest makes butterflies swarm in your stomach and fuels the fluttering going on below.

You hear the dramatic background music of the movie's end credits and break the kiss, facing forward. You realize now that you paid just as much attention as he did—almost none—even when you agreed to keep watching as he touched you.

"Play another boring one," Toji says, behind you, already nipping at your ear, because your attention isn't solely on him anymore.

"But you won't watch it," you say, shuddering at the chill that runs down your spine, when you feel his lips behind your ear.

"That's the point."

[ventique18]

Dragon Malleus headcanons

You're used to how he looks in his two-legged fae form. Everyone is, honestly. But the thing is, that's not really how he truly, originally looks like. And though he knows his form of flesh is just as much of who he is as his origin, there are times when he undergoes some sort of withdrawal; a primal need to be back in the skin he was molded in. So he would occasionally spend a few days living his life as a gigantic dragon.

He doesn't particularly like being in his dragon form. He knows he's glorious and takes pride in that, of course, but it's just that it's so inconvenient. He can't fit in places. He can't grab things. He can't make gargoyles. He has to eat an entire town's worth of food just to not be hungry. But most of all, he can't really feel.

He's extremely durable. He's already impervious to damage in his humanoid form, but even more so as a dragon with walls and walls of the hardest material on Twisted Wonderland permanently attached to his body. Which is great, of course-- it's essential to his survival, but it comes with the caveat that no matter how much you touch him, no matter how much you try to show physical affection towards him, he simply cannot feel.

But there is one part of him that's soft. Something that isn't covered inch to inch in scales. His tongue.

So what best to take advantage of this little weakness than to cover you head to toe in slobber, of course?

Take note that him doing so doesn't imply anything malicious (unless you want to, of course). It's just that it's so easy to feel your presence by licking you. He can touch you without accidentally hurting you. And, as much as he refuses to admit it to avoid sounding like a pervert, being able to smell your familiar scent gives him a tender comfort. A sense of welcoming even in this world that refuses to welcome him in his rawest form.

But being covered in slobber isn't exactly the best feeling in the world. When you tell him that, the... fins on his jaw draw back, and he plants himself on the ground; snout partially buried behind his curled claws. Dragons aren't particularly expressive, but you can safely guess that he's feeling guilty of bothering you.

So you offer to help him find somewhere else to touch. He's a bit hesitant-- it seems dragons don't like the idea of exploring their weaknesses, but he agrees because it's you.

And would you look at that. He can feel you when you vigorously rub his belly. The feeling isn't really as detailed as his tongue's, but he can feel something. And it feels rather... Rather... Relaxing. He's huge though, so from your perspective it's like washing a car, but with exaggerated movements as a stroke from your height's head to toe is like scratching a spot for him.

It's tiring, but you persist with the power of love.

So this becomes a habit for you. When he transforms into a dragon, he would ask you to rub his belly, or ask for your permission to be licked if you don't look like you're in a bad mood that day. All of this is done somewhere private, of course.

So when someone would walk in by accident... And witness their prince rolled over like a dog, getting petted on his tummy... It goes to say that the dragon would be gone in a flash; replaced by a very angry, very threatening unit of a man very politely asking the intruder if he saw something. Of course the answer is always "not a single thing, sir!".

You laugh, and ask if he wants to continue with what you were doing. He sighs, refuses, and says he's not in the mood for childish amusement anymore.

"But... I can think of other, more enjoyable things we can do together."

And so the dragon, now in his villainous, irresistibly devilish form, whisks his prisoner away to a place no one knows.

[cherryxbooo]

Yeah, I’m the lucky one

Summary: Hiding it when you're sick from your boyfriend is one thing, but hiding it from your clingy boyfriend is a whole other challenge.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff

The paddock is alive with energy, buzzing with anticipation, the sound of engines roaring in the distance, and the hum of the crowd outside.

Lando is in his element, calm yet radiating an excitement that’s palpable.

The focus in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and it’s clear that today matters more to him than most.

The weight of the race, the pressure of the expectations, and the fire in his heart are all simmering beneath the surface.

It's a mix of raw determination and adrenaline, and it brings out the best in him.

But me? Well, I feel the complete opposite.

I woke up feeling off, my head pounding and my body aching with a fever I couldn't shake.

I knew I should stay in bed, but I couldn’t. Not today.

Not with everything he’s worked for. I couldn’t let something as trivial as being sick get in the way of him having the best race of his career.

He’s been talking about this day for weeks, getting ready for it with an intensity that I’ve only seen in the world of motorsport.

But as I made my way through the paddock, trying my best to act normal, I felt the weight of my own discomfort pulling me down.

I’ve been silently counting the minutes until I can just crawl into a quiet corner and hide.

But the last thing I want is for him to see me like this. He’d immediately worry, go into panic mode, and lose focus.

Lando, with his big heart, would put everything aside just to take care of me, and I don’t want to do that to him.

Not today. Today is about him.

As I stand next to his family, making small talk with his friends, I feel dizzy.

The lights are a little too bright, and the sounds a little too loud.

I try to steady myself, offering a weak smile whenever someone glances my way, but the effort feels exhausting.

Lando’s mum catches my eye, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of concern in her expression.

But she doesn’t say anything, just gives me a warm, reassuring smile. I’m grateful, but I can tell she knows something’s off.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel a familiar hand on my back. A small shiver runs down my spine as I turn to face Lando, and I instantly feel a warmth spread through me, despite the fever still creeping in.

“Hey baby, you okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, like he’s always aware of everything around him, especially me.

I don’t want to worry him. I can’t.

So I give him a smile that’s more practiced than I’d like to admit,

“Yeah, just a little tired. Big day, huh?”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

He studies me for a second, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, his hand gently squeezing my back.

The touch is warm, comforting. “You sure? You don’t look so great.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You focus on the race. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

Lando hesitates, his lips pressed into a thin line as if trying to gauge if I’m really okay.

But then he nods slowly, though his concern doesn’t quite vanish.

“Alright… but if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

His voice is almost a whisper, like he’s trying not to give away just how much he cares.

“I will,” I promise, trying to keep my tone light and convincing.

But as he walks away to prepare for the race, a sense of loneliness settles over me.

The noise around me feels overwhelming, and the crowd only amplifies the ache in my head.

I find a quiet corner, away from the chaos, hoping to just breathe for a moment.

I didn't realize that I had been hiding away for a while already.

But before I know it, Lando’s voice cuts through the distance.

“You’ve been hiding from me.”

I turn to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His presence alone seems to calm the storm inside me.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I protest weakly, though my voice cracks just slightly.

“Just… taking a break.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Taking a break from what? From me?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin.

I close my eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, even though I feel like I might collapse at any moment.

“From the chaos of the paddock,” I admitted softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softens, the teasing in his eyes fading. He steps in closer, his body brushing against mine as he gently cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Hey…” His voice is tender now, a deep, comforting lull.

“Are you really feeling okay love?"

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat suddenly unbearable.

“Yes, don't worry Lan. I'm fine.”

I whisper, my voice slightly breaking as I fight the urge to lean on him completely.

I stare up at him, feeling a mix of love and pain.

I don’t want to be the one who holds him back, but I can’t deny how much I crave the support and warmth he gives me without even thinking.

Lando lowers his hands, but not without giving me one last comforting touch, his fingers brushing my wrist.

“You need to rest,” he says firmly, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind his words now.

“I’m not going to let you make it through today without me taking care of you at least once.”

I laugh softly, despite the dizziness still swirling in my head.

“I’m fine, Lando. You go be amazing out there.”

He looks at me, his eyes soft but filled with determination. “I will be. But only because you’re here.”

Before I can say anything else, he leans in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll make sure to get at least P3 for you.”

And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of engineers and teammates.

But the moment he’s out of sight, I feel my energy drain completely.

Regardless of how I felt I still made my way to the rest so I could support Lando and be there for him.

Everywhere I look, there’s movement, excitement, and a sense of urgency.

Lando’s already suited up and surrounded by his team, getting ready to focus on the race that could mean everything for his career.

I’m supposed to be the one cheering him on, being his support, his calm, but instead, all I can do is try to survive the overwhelming wave of heat coursing through me.

Every few seconds, my head spins, my chest feels like it's on fire, and the nausea rolls in like a tide.

It’s getting harder to keep it together, but I’m trying. I can’t let anything distract him.

I can't make this his problem today, not when he’s been working so hard for this moment.

I take a seat next to Max and Pietra, hoping the three of us can keep the mood light and give Lando a little peace before he heads into the race.

I force myself to laugh at Max's joke about the weather, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

My throat feels like it’s coated in something dry and scratchy, and each breath feels like I’m not getting enough air.

Max doesn’t notice, but Pietra does.

She’s always been that way, observant, kind, and so very perceptive.

I’ve always admired how in tune she is with people.

She shifts in her seat beside me, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face.

“You okay, Y/n?” she asks gently, her voice laced with concern.

“You look a little pale.”

I immediately try to put on a smile, but it feels like the most exhausting thing I’ve done all day.

“I’m fine, really,” I say, hoping I can convince her.

“Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Pietra doesn’t buy it, not even for a second.

She leans in closer, her gaze steady as she inspects my face, my trembling hands.

“You sure?” she presses, her brow furrowing.

“You don’t look fine. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

The dizziness that had been simmering beneath the surface is starting to take hold, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes focused on her.

I swallow hard, trying to push the wave of nausea down, but it’s impossible to ignore now.

I nod weakly, doing my best to stay composed.

“I’m okay, Pietra. Just... a little dizzy. I think I’ll sit down for a moment.”

Max, still glued to his phone, glances up briefly, probably sensing the shift in the air.

His eyes scan me quickly before he leans closer to Pietra, muttering something under his breath, probably about how pale I look.

I’m about to wave it off, to reassure them both that it’s nothing, when Pietra’s soft hand touches my shoulder.

It’s warm and grounding, her touch gentle but insistent.

“No, you’re not okay, Y/n,” she says firmly.

“You’re not fooling me. You need to go back to the hotel and rest. Max and I will handle everything here. Don’t worry about Lando. He’ll understand. He doesn’t need to know right now, and you’re not helping him by pretending you’re fine.”

My heart clenches at her words. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to make him worry.

He’s about to race, about to compete for something so important to him.

The last thing I want is to make this about me. But Pietra’s expression leaves no room for argument.

Her hand squeezes my shoulder, and I feel a wave of guilt hit me hard.

“I... I can’t just leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“I don’t want him to—”

“Y/n,” Pietra interrupts, her voice soft but full of authority.

“Lando will be fine. He’ll be more upset if you stay here, pretending to be okay when you’re not. Let us take care of everything. He doesn’t need the distraction. He needs you to get better, not to keep pretending.”

I shake my head, still fighting it. “But he’s going to think I don’t care.”

“He knows you care. You don’t have to prove it by running yourself into the ground,” she says, her tone firm yet reassuring.

“You need to listen to your body. Max and I can make sure everything’s fine here.”

I hesitate for a moment, my vision swimming in and out of focus, and then I feel it, the dizziness getting worse.

My stomach turns violently, and I barely suppress a gasp. Before I can protest, Pietra’s up and at my side, helping me stand.

“Max,” she calls out to him, her voice tinged with urgency.

Max looks up from his phone, his attention now fully on us. He doesn’t need to ask questions.

Without a word, he stands, motions to security, and gestures for them to clear a path.

“We’re getting you back to the hotel,” Max says, his voice gentle but decisive.

“No arguments.”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell them I’m fine, but the dizziness overtakes me again.

I feel my legs wobble, my knees threatening to give way beneath me. The nausea is so strong now that I can’t hold it back any longer.

My head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and my heart races as I fight to keep everything together.

“Okay,” I whisper, too weak to resist any longer. “Okay, let’s go.”

Max’s arm wraps around my shoulder, steadying me as Pietra follows closely behind.

I glance over my shoulder at the paddock, seeing the hustle and bustle of the team preparing for the race.

And even though I want nothing more than to stay and support Lando, I know Pietra’s right, he doesn’t need to see me like this.

As we make our way out of the paddock, past the busy crew and excited fans, the world seems to blur again.

All I can think about is Lando, how much he’s worked for this, and how much I wish I could be there cheering him on.

But right now, all I can do is focus on getting back to the hotel and trying to heal.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pietra murmurs, sensing my anxiety.

“Lando will understand. We’ll make sure he stays focused.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back, squeezing her hand.

Max looks over at me, offering a reassuring smile.

“No problem, Y/n. We’ve got you.”

And as they guide me toward the exit, the sound of the engines roaring to life in the distance feels far away, almost like a distant memory.

All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that, by the time Lando crosses the finish line, I’ll be okay.

Meanwhile,

The race was intense, there was no other way to describe it.

Lando’s heart was pounding, his breath coming in quick bursts as he fought to stay focused on the track ahead.

Each corner, each straightaway felt like it mattered more than the last.

The roar of the engine under him, the vibration in his hands as he gripped the wheel,it was like the world was screaming at him to push harder, to get everything he had into every lap.

And he did.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the world outside of his car becoming a blur of colors and sounds.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else tugging at his mind, something he couldn’t quite shake.

Just before the race started, he had caught sight of Y/n sitting among their friends, looking beautiful as always, but something was... off.

Maybe it was the way she had looked at him, her tired eyes betraying a sense of exhaustion that didn’t quite match the energy of the day.

Or how quiet she seemed, like a flicker of something hidden behind her usual smile. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something wasn’t right.

But there was no time for that.

He pushed those thoughts away, focusing back on the race, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the track with everything he had.

He couldn’t afford to think about anything but the next corner, the next lap, the next move.

And when he crossed the finish line, the elation of victory should’ve been enough to make everything feel perfect.

After all, he had gotten P2.

The cheers, the confetti, the roar of the crowd, it was everything he’d been working for, everything he’d dreamed of.

But in the midst of it all, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Y/n.

His gaze searched the area, instinctively looking for her.

He was surrounded by teammates, sponsors, friends, but all he wanted in that moment was to see her smile, to know she was okay.

He scanned the area again, but she wasn’t there.

Not where he had left her. His stomach tightened, his mind racing. Something wasn’t right.

Lando quickly moved through the crowd, dodging everyone on his way, his eyes darting between faces, searching for any sign of her.

He was so focused on finding her, he almost didn’t see Max and Pietra standing off to the side.

When he finally noticed them, his heart skipped a beat. You weren't there.

Lando’s pace quickened as he approached them, his voice betraying the worry he couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, his words coming out sharper than he intended.

Pietra exchanged a glance with Max before she sighed, the look on her face telling Lando everything he needed to know.

"She wasn’t feeling well," she said softly, her eyes clouded with concern.

"We had to send her back to the hotel."

Lando’s chest tightened, a heavy weight settling over him.

His pulse quickened, the sudden rush of guilt and worry clouding his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice rising slightly, not in anger, but in genuine confusion.

Max stepped forward, his expression calm but serious.

"Mate she didn’t want to distract you. She said it was important not to take your focus away from the race."

Lando’s mind was spinning now, the elation of his victory evaporating as quickly as it had come.

Guilt was flooding him, he couldn’t believe Y/n had been struggling, that she’d hidden it from him.

She’d always been there for him, supportive, understanding, even when he was caught up in his own world.

And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let her down.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the situation was suffocating.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he could think about was how she had been sitting there, probably feeling miserable, and he hadn’t even noticed.

The race, his career, all of it felt so insignificant compared to the thought of Y/n being alone and sick.

“Why didn’t she just tell me? I would’ve understood. I could’ve—”

Pietra stepped forward, her hand gently resting on his arm, grounding him in the moment.

“Lando, she didn’t want you to worry. She knew how much today meant to you. She didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Max nodded in agreement.

“She’s always there for you. But she’s not the type to let herself be a distraction, not when you’re in the zone like that. You know how she is, she cares about you more than anything, but she didn’t want to pull you away from your focus.”

Lando let out a long breath, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.

“I should’ve noticed,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I should’ve been paying more attention."

"You’re not a mind reader, Lando," Pietra said, her voice calm but firm.

Lando realized that she was right.

He quickly greeted the rest of his family and did some other duties before changing and heading back to the hotel.

Lando arrived at the hotel room, his body still buzzing from the race, but his mind consumed by a different kind of worry.

As soon as he entered, the first thing he did was quietly close the door behind him.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the dim light from the lamps were the only sounds in the room.

His eyes immediately fell on your figure, still asleep, your peaceful face glowing softly under the sheets.

The sight of you, so vulnerable yet so beautiful, made his heart ache with both affection and guilt.

He quietly pulled a chair from the small desk and sat down beside the bed, never taking his eyes off you.

He wanted to be close to his girl, but he didn’t want to wake you.

He knew you needed rest, but the worry of the day, the worry about you, hadn’t let up.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

His fingers lingered there for a second before he let out a soft breath, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee.

He could almost hear the questions running through his mind, wondering why you hadn’t told him what you had been feeling.

He could feel the weight of your absence, the quiet ache in his chest from not knowing exactly what had been going on with you.

The minutes seemed to stretch on, each tick of the clock amplifying his thoughts.

He hated this uncertainty, this feeling that something had been left unsaid.

Then, after what felt like forever, a soft groan escaped from your lips, and Lando’s attention snapped to her immediately.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light in the room.

Your gaze slowly focused on him, confusion settling on her face as she took in her surroundings.

Lando watched her with a mix of relief and concern, his heart lightening at the sight of you waking up but still heavy with the questions that lingered in his mind.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Lando said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

My vision cleared, and I smiled sleepily at him.

Lando’s heart squeezed.

"You’re awake. I’ve been here waiting for you to wake up for, like, ages now." He chuckled softly, though his eyes were still filled with concern.

"But seriously… why didn’t you tell me?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing on me.

My hand reached for his, finding his fingers weakly, and I squeezed them, my fingers trembling a bit.

"I didn’t want to be a burden," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn’t want to ruin your day or take away from the race. It was important to you. I just… I didn’t want to distract you."

Lando smiled at me softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

"You’re never a burden, Y/n." He looked at me with such sincerity, it made my heart ache in the best way.

"You are always my priority, okay? Not the race, not the fans, not the win. You. Always."

I felt my heart flutter at his words, my eyes softening as I looked back at him.

The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill, and I could feel them welling up.

Being sick just makes people extra emotional, give it a break yeah?

"I’m sorry," I murmured, my voice breaking slightly.

Lando shook his head, his heart aching.

He leaned closer, cupping my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin.

"You don’t have to apologize," he whispered.

"You never have to hide anything from me, especially not when it comes to you."

I felt the weight of his words, the tenderness in his touch, and I wanted so badly to just melt into him.

I was so grateful for him, for the way he always made me feel safe, loved, and heard.

Lando sat beside me on the bed, leaning back just enough to grab the water and medicine he’d set out earlier.

"You need to drink this," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm.

"Get some rest, and I’ll be right here with you. Just take it easy."

I hesitated for a moment, but then reached for the glass of water he held out to me.

My fingers were still shaking slightly, but I took it from him gratefully.

There was a small, tired smile on my lips as I drank, and Lando’s eyes never left me.

He was watching me closely, making sure I was okay. It felt nice to be looked after this way.

After I finished the water, Lando sat back down next to me again, his hand finding mine once more.

"You don’t ever have to hide something like that from me, okay?" he said, his voice soft but serious.

"If something’s wrong, you have to tell me. Promise me you’ll tell me next time."

I looked up at him, my eyes full of emotion, and I nodded slowly.

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, and I felt a few of them slide down my cheeks.

Before I could say anything, Lando quickly wiped them away with his thumb, his touch light, tender.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

He slightly laughed, "You're such a crybaby when you're sick babe."

Lando leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice full of love and affection.

"I love you, baby. I love you, and that’s all that matters." His voice was quiet but strong, filled with reassurance.

I pulled him closer, resting my head against his chest, letting out a small, exaggerated sigh.

"Mmm, this is the best pillow ever," I mumbled, half-laughing, half-groaning in exhaustion.

Lando wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in tighter.

His chin rested on top of my head, and he chuckled softly.

"You come first," he said with a mock-serious tone, trying to sound all deep and dramatic.

"Always."

I snuggled in a little closer, feeling his warmth.

"Oh, I know now," I said, glancing up at him with a grin.

"You’re basically my personal butler, aren’t you? Always there when I need you."

He let out a dramatic gasp. "But of course! My whole existence is to serve you, my queen."

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a laugh.

"Thank you for being here," I said, the words half-sweet, half-teasing.

Lando smirked, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Please don't cry again... and well yeah, where else would I be? I’m not going anywhere."

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added,

"Besides, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. You know that, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, feeling him grin against the top of my head.

"Oh, I know," I said, playfully tapping his chest.

"You're my big soft marshmallow. I practically own you."

Lando chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "You absolutely do. And you’re not even sorry about it."

I smirked, rolling my eyes. "Well, I am your number one priority, aren’t I?"

His eyes sparkled with affection, and he pulled me a little closer.

"You’re my number one everything, Y/n. No competition."

I snorted, unable to help the grin that spread across my face.

"Good. Glad we’re clear on that."

As we sat there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside felt miles away.

All that mattered was us, his heartbeat, my tired sighs, and the way we fit together like we’d always been meant to.

For a moment, everything else faded, and all I could think was: Yeah, I’m the lucky one.

The end

[suiana]

(yandere! golden boy x reader)

you don't think you've ever felt special. well, maybe your mom or something told you that when you were younger but you never really believed it.

you're too normal.

not exceptionally good at one thing, nor are you decently good at everything. you're okay at some stuff and you don't have any particular interests that you're really passionate about. and you know bevause you've tried changing. it's never worked, it never will.

because you're just you.

sometimes you wish you had talent, because then at least you'd be good at something. to lack the passion but have talent, that would be a dream for you. could you imagine? being effortlessly good and having people flock to you without trying? or even the opposite would be nice. being passionate about something sounds... like a life worth living. like your life has purpose. meaning. so what if you don't have talent? at least you'd want to be better, to improve yourself, to have the drive to live.

you have neither, what can you do?

all you do is go through the motions. wake up, go to work, come home, repeat. you don't have any hobbies other than watching the occasional television. it's not like your life is exceptionally hard either. you're blessed with good parents who love you and a select few friends that you're thankful for.

yet there's this... aching gap in your chest that's yearning for something more. something you can't give it. why? because you're just not special enough. you never are. you know this already, there's no use trying to change it.

so you scroll on social media constantly, trying to fill the empty gap in your chest.

but if anything, it only makes the gap worse.

it shows how much you're missing out, how others have it better than you. how others have something going on for them that lets them stand out. something that makes them alive.

maybe it's just the way things are, the way your life was always destined to be. to be the background character that admires others, never the one being admired. the supporting character that stays stagnant with no character growth.

you're just too average.

just plain old you.

plain like a cracker.

never the first choice, never a choice at all.

you merely exist on this world, you're never truely alive and living life like others. and it's a rather unfortunate thing to be doing when you could be achieveing so much but you're just... you. you don't even know who you are. you're just someone, really.

or at least that's what you think of yourself. he could never see you like that. not when he thinks that you're the best thing to ever happen to him.

he's the exact opposite of you. charming, handsome, an absolute adonis on earth. he's perfect in every sense of the word. and he chose you to give his heart to.

you have no idea why he even fell for you in the first place. you're average. not pretty, not ugly, just somehwere in between. you're not particularly charming or whatsoever, a little awkward but can hold a conversation. sure you've dated once or twice but they weren't serious and you didn't feel bad about break up either. you didn't feel much to begin with.

but with him... well, you think that maybe you just might have a chance.

those encouraging words and affectionate gazes, do you think that perhaps there's someone out there who could potentially change the way you live? the way you've been aimlessly drifting about?

there's just no way.

but you think you'll take the chance. with him, you'll get to do things you've never done before. if not, you'll just go back to where you were before. stuck in the middle, living out your days in an endless cycle of contributing to the Earth's death. there's nothing bad in accepting his hand, his promise for a better life.

at the very least, you'll have someone who tells you he loves you. someone who tells you that you're special and that you mean something. someone that partially fills the hole.

you just want to be somebody, and he'll gladly help you out. he might be a little bit too obsessive and protective, but you guess it's just part of him. he can't change something that makes him who he is, change isn't easy. you know that well.

and doesn't it feel nice to be wanted?

just trust him, everything will be fine. he'll teach you how to live, what love feels like. he'll protect you, take care of you...

"i love you, darling."

are those lies or the truth? you don't know, but you don't really care. would someone who wants someone as average as you ever lie about something like that anyway?

his affection burns with such a hot intensity that you're pretty sure could never be fake. you can see that, you're not blind. he very obviously adores you. that much you're sure.

so just give in already, would you? it would make things a whole lot easier if you stopped trying to resist and make sense of the world. sometimes... some things are just destined to happen. like how you see yourself as shit and he thinks you're perfect. that destiny also includes being with him. he won't accept anything else anyway.

don't worry, you'll be very happy. he's sure of that.

[blessedbycoyotes]

On a moonless night, a stargazer traveling far afield made his way into a section of woods that was uninhabited for reasons known to the locals but not known to him. A familiar thought came to his mind as he walked: Some truths can be found in separation from others. Such is my craft. It was both true and a rationalization of his loneliness, he knew, but as he grew older, he found it harder and harder to become un-separated from the others. He and they had become too different.

Quietly, the stargazer began his work. From the forest’s edge, peeking from side to side, he walked toward the dead center of a clearing. Kneeling, slowly and aware of every rustle of grass, he set down his pack. Pencils and paper and glassware were set and arranged by feel alone on a leather pad he rolled out beside him.

The stargazer sat ram-rod straight and allowed himself a moment to breathe. He picked up his sextant so slowly as to not make one sound. Just as his eyelash was about to graze the glass –

Fwhumpf.

The stargazer and his lungs froze. He had never encountered something truly terrible from a noise in the night, but he was for some reason or other not inclined to test that theory.

Fwhumpf.

The spell broke. He rose to his feet as fast as possible, dropping the sextant onto his pad, and whipped around, straining his eyes for any sign of any thing.

Fwhumpf.

“Hello,” rumbled the dragon, only shaped by its silhouette of the stars behind.

The stargazer, to his credit, did not panic, despite the tension in his head. “Hello,” he said.

“Are you an astronomer?” it asked. Only now did the stargazer realize that he could see its eyes, which barely reflected what little ambient light was there.

“In a sense,” the stargazer replied in a tone usually meant for well-meaning strangers he did not want to talk to. “I am not a professional, if that is what you mean.”

“No matter if you do it for coin, I think.”

The dragon’s voice was gentle, but not for a lack of ability; its voice was more felt than heard, and it was clearly struggling in trying to push just enough air to move its massive vocal cords but not enough to disturb what little peace remained in the clearing.

It spoke again. “Do you watch the stars or not?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Would you like to watch together? I came out here to do the very same thing.”

The stargazer did not parse those words for a full ten seconds, stunned as he was by such an unexpected question. His mind then ran in circles, calculating risks and paths of potential escape and his odds of outrunning an animal he knew nothing about and oh to hell with it, he thought, nothing interesting ever came of running anyway.

“Very well.”

The dragon looked him in the eyes for a brief moment, before turning slightly away and tipping onto its side with all the grace of a felled tree. It squirmed, disturbing much grass, before it managed to lie on its back, facing the stars.

The stargazer laid beside it.

“Anything good tonight?” the dragon asked.

“Aye. Meteor shower, Orionids. A comet’s trail.”

“Excellent,” it purred, “I almost forgot it this year.”

The stargazer got the impression that the dragon was smiling, but could not make out anything of the dragon’s expression and would not trust himself to predict the emotions of a beast he was unfamiliar with.

“I am impressed tonight. Not often I get to see this much dust,” it said, slowly.

“Indeed,” the stargazer stated flatly. “It’s why I’m here.”

He traced Gemini with two of his fingers. Lucky stars.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“To stargaze. Good meadow for it.”

“I mean - Do you live here?”

“Nearby.”

“Why?”

It rumbled. Do dragons laugh? “As opposed to what? Living near humans? That chance is gone now.”

“Now?” the stargazer asked again. “Did you live with humans once?”

“Decades ago, yes.”

“How?”

“I was one back then.”

The stargazer, incredulous, looked at nothing and furrowed his brow. “You used to be human?”

The dragon nodded. The stargazer did not see the motion, but that did little to stop his questioning.

“Were you cursed?”

“No. I chose this.”

“Chose?”

The dragon finally turned to face him. “You are alone too, are you not?” it asked back. “You shed your humanity by severing your connections with them. I have merely taken it a step further.”

The stargazer did not reply for a beat. He did not expect to be seen by a stranger. “Do you not miss company?”

“I do.”

“Then why become a dragon? Why stay here in perpetuity?”

“Some truths can be found in separation from others.”

Silently, the dragon turned its massive head to the sky.

“I was never a good human. Yes, I had scaleless skin, and I walked on two legs, but all the rest did not come to me naturally,” it growled. “Have you ever been in a play?”

“No.”

The dragon stared past the heavens as it began again. “Imagine you are suddenly thrust into one. We are short a man today, the troupe says, and pushes you onstage. You don’t know the lines. You don’t know how to mimic characters, or emotions, or even the fellow next to you. And so, you flounder, bouncing from stage left to right, actors pushing you around and whispering instructions in your ear that you cannot follow.”

“Sounds like a mess.”

“It was.”

“So,” the stargazer turned to look where the dragon’s eyes caught the starlight, “you chose to leave the stage.”

The dragon did not face him.

“Do you think it was it the right choice?”

Against the backdrop of stars, he saw the dragon’s brow raise ever so slightly; he saw it breathe ever so slowly.

“To this day, I am not sure. I do not know if I am happier out here, slowly becoming a legend of these woods, alone. But I can tell you this; dragonhood is much truer to me than my former life ever was. This body, this separate mode of being,” it sighed, “it feels like what I was made for. As if I were cast in the wrong mold the first time around.”

A sudden pain grabbed the stargazer’s chest.

“Why do you choose to be alone, astronomer?”

He struggled to form sentences until a moment had gone. Then, quietly, “The more I think, the more time passes, the more my thoughts differ from most people’s. The more I do not see myself in them. Their priorities, their methods… they seem alien to me nowadays.”

A sharp breath.

“Like I wasn’t one of them after all.”

The dragon turned back to the stargazer and held his eye until it saw something new.

“Would you like to stargaze with me again, sometime?”

“Yes,” he said, “I think I would.”

too many stories about turning yourself into a monster as a metaphor for pretending to be something you aren't and losing yourself in the process. not enough stories about turning yourself into a monster as a metaphor for choosing to openly embrace yourself even if it's strange to other people

[diorchids]

C'MON, IT'S JUST THE TIP! w/ luke castellan .

it's your first time and your dear boyfriend promised to only put the tip in. (told ya.)

“just the tip, baby, i promise,” he coos, holding your chin, “i promise.” he carefully slips the tip into your cunt, sucking air in through his teeth. 

“‘s keep it there, lukey. don’t move,” your voice soft and breathy. you hold onto the base, softly stroking him as he slowly rocks back and forth. this is enough for you. you can barely take his fingers, so you know you won’t be able to take him fully. this is fine.

but why would it be enough for him? sure, it feels good, but he’s hungry. 

can you blame him?

you’re so focused trying to please you and your dear boyfriend that you don’t notice him spitting on your already wet folds. his arm flexes as he leans down to grab onto your waist, getting a good grip before slamming his cock into your tight cunt. he releases a bestial groan, throwing his head back as he bottoms out. 

you cry out loud, feeling your pure, tight, soft pussy being broken in, just like that. “l-luke! you—it hurts!” 

“shhh, baby, you can take it, yeah? thought you were a big girl?” he whispers, pulling back slowly. you whimper as he withdraws, your tiny body trying to suck him back in. he spits again, using it to lube his length. he spreads your legs wider, lifting your hips higher. you whimper and pout, looking for an ounce of sympathy from him. but… nothing. “b-baby, you said just the tip!”

you see his cock stiffen more as he prepares to push back into you. “i lied,” he mutters, slamming back into you. you howl, trying to push him out. “damn, you're tight,” he growls. he pulls back, then slaps, thrusting deeper. he grips your thighs, spreading your legs wider apart. “been keepin’ this from me for this long? tsk, tsk.” he smiles, clearly enjoying the pain you’re in.

he watches you throw your head back, tears spilling over. you’re barely taking an inch. can’t you calm down? he pulls back slightly, then slams again. “damn it,” he mutters. “spread your legs more,” he orders. 

as he thrusts, your breasts bounce beautifully, but you’re so cock-drunk you can barely speak. you babble, he destroys your walls. you babble, he fucks harder into you. it hurts. too badly. he knows this, but he doesn’t care. why would he? he’s finally getting what you’ve held off for years.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” luke chanted, pounding into you like a jackhammer. your fingers curl, your toes curl, your whole body is curled in on itself as he fucks you into the mattress. he reaches between your legs, rubbing your clit in tight circles as he fucks you. this only worsens your already vegetative state, causing your thighs to tremble. he takes a hand off your thigh to hold on to your neck, softly gripping it as he fucks into you. 

how pretty you are, how delicate and beautiful you are.

“god, you sound so good,” he chuckles darkly, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he holds them apart. he hits something inside you, and you both feel it. he hits it repeatedly, each time making you whine louder.

but slowly, you come back to yourself. finally beginning to enjoy it. look at you. coming to your senses. 

"shit..." he notices the shift in your screams, from pain to pleasure. his pace slows slightly, but the intensity remains. he leans down, nipping at your ear. “ finally taking that dick like you’re s’posed to," he whispers, hitting that spot inside you with purpose now. 

"that's right, baby. take it. fuck, you feel so good," he smiles, licking his lips perversely, gripping your hips tightly. "touch your tits for me," he orders, his voice rough with pleasure. "play with them while i fuck you."

you look up at him through teary eyes, unintentionally batting your eyelashes so beautifully. “fuck, okay,” blood pricks on your bottom lip as you bite down, smiling at your beautiful boy.

your fingers catch your shared juices at the base of his cock, you take it and rub it into your chest, squeezing and pulling your breasts. “so good, m’gonna…”

PLAP, PLAP, PLAP.

"gonna what, baby?" he smirks, knowing exactly what you're trying to say. "cum for me? cum all over my big dick?" he reaches down and pinches your clit hard, sending you over the edge. "cum, baby."

PLAP, PLAP, PLAP.

that’s it, there you go, hm? you spasm and thrash when you cum harshly, cunt restricting around his length, more than it already is. it chokes him like it’s pulling the cum out of him.

he feels your pussy clamp down on him like a vice as you cum, the sensation pushing him over the edge. "fuck, babe! just fuckin’ take it!" he groans, slamming into you as he unleashes a warm load deep inside your cum-drunk pussy. 

PLAP.

he fucks his cum into you, knowing neither of you cares for a baby. “take it.”

…aaand after that, you never wanna take “just the tip” again. 

even when you’re both all tired, you still cockwarm. fully.

here u go! @giaaaarosaaaa ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Just for Practice

Caleb x fem!reader Thank you @erensfeed for the idea and all the help she gave me!! Tysm nunnie! Hope this is a nice surprise for when you wake up <3 warnings: suggestive topics, mature, kissing (of course)

"Kissing? That’s what got you so worked up? Kissing is why you haven’t been eating my braised pork?" Caleb's lilac eyes fix on you like you’re crazy, a hint of something darker lurking beneath as he frowns.

"Ugh, I told you you wouldn’t get it." you groan, flopping onto your bed in frustration and avoiding his gaze, you didn’t want to see Caleb judging you.

Your high school graduation is just a few months away, but so far, every girl in your class won’t stop talking about the people they’ve kissed this year. Some have only had one kiss, others have had plenty, but out of all of them, you’re the only one who hasn’t had a single one yet. It’s not your fault—you’ve just never found yourself even a little bit attracted to anyone at school.

You didn’t even notice your appetite waning, your mind preoccupied with this. With graduation nearing, the last thing you wanted was to feel left out—missing out on bonding with your friends was the last thing you wanted.

“What’s so special about kissing?? It barely means anything.” his face twists into confusion and disgust, as if really trying to grasp why you’re making such a big deal out of this. Caleb silent mouths ‘kissing?’ before shifting his gaze back to you—just in time for you to throw a pillow straight at his face. But the pillow stops mid-air in front of his face, before dropping onto his lap as he leans back against the chair at your study desk.

“All of my friends have already had their first kiss. That’s like the only thing they’re talking about these days.” Your lips push up into a pout as you grab one of the stuffed animals nearest to you and hug it, allowing your head to rest on the plushie.

“And you’re jealous?” You choke on your saliva, coughing and hacking as your wide eyes meet his—one eyebrow raised and eyes heavy with disbelief. Caleb would’ve never guessed that his girl would grow up to be worried over something as minuscule as a kiss, especially a kiss with someone else.

“I’m not jealous! I mean like… It’s not like… Okay, maybe just a little?” your hands flail wildly all over as you try to defend yourself, but to no avail. Feeling a blush creeping onto your cheeks, you take a quick glance and see that Caleb's gaze has darkened.

“Do you even know how to kiss?”

“Caleb… That’s a stupid question,” you murmur, already knowing the answer. Caleb knew that too. “Why would I be so worked up if I—”

With his lilac eyes fixed on you, he tilts his head slightly, then leans forward. “Would you like to know how?” His words cut through your sentence, leaving your lips parted in shock as you prop yourself back up, still clutching the plushie to your chest.

“What? What do you mean?” your brain struggles to process his words, unable to fully make sense of them as you frown and watch him get up. Caleb's tall figure towers over yours as he steps closer, leaning casually against the wall, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“I can teach you then, Pip-squeak.” His body lowers, closing the gap between you two as your grip on the plushie loosens. You try to back away, only to find your back pressing against the headboard just inches away.

“I… I mean… does this count as my first kiss?” His right hand reaches out, gently caressing your cheek before softly holding your chin, guiding it towards him.

“Hmm. Think of this as practice.” Caleb's grip on your chin is soft and gentle, completely opposite from his hazy, clouded gaze.

“Oh. Oh…kay then-” you draw the ‘o’ out but as soon as the confirmation leaves your mouth, his lips brush softly against yours. With your eyes closed shut and brows furrowed, he slowly moves, capturing your bottom lip between his own with a delicate pull.

Your body sinks further into the mattress, plush pillows pressing against your back. The bed groans under Caleb's weight as he closes the distance between you, one large palm placed on your hips while the other rests on the headboard. You kiss him back, or at least you try to. You move your lips in the same motion of waves as he does, but everything feels so awkward and off.

Feeling quite embarrassed, and out of air, your intended gently nudges on Caleb's tank top quickly turns into desperate grasps before the kiss finally breaks. You felt like you’ve just ran a marathon—body burning up and your lungs out of breath as you pant, trying to inhale as much oxygen as you could while avoiding eye contact. Though it was harder than you thought, because Caleb was now on top of you, his smirk haunting you as your cheeks flush.

“H-hey! Don’t look at me like that. I told you I don’t know how to kiss…” Your voice grows quieter each passing second as it somehow ends up as a tiny squeak. The sound of Caleb's laughter fills your ears as you turn back to him, his knee now finds itself between your legs as his face hovers just above yours.

“You’re overthinking this, Pip-squeak. Just follow what I do.” Though his words are reassuring, that husky tone in his voice throws you off as he quickly captures your lips into a kiss for the second time. Caleb's lips move against yours in a soft, sensual way as you try your best to mimic him. Remembering what he did to you, you trap the soft fullness of his lower lip and gently apply suction to it. His hums of approval catch you off guard as you feel a subtle rumble of his chest—Caleb's hand snaking down to the small of your back, before pulling your body flush against his.

As if a flip has just been switched, Caleb's lips move frantically against yours, biting your lower lips then soothing the sting with his tongue. Your lips part at the sudden pain, allowing his tongue to delve into your mouth. Soft whimpers escape from your throat as Caleb explores you, tracing every corner and leaving an odd-yet-pleasurable feeling as he does so. Surprised, and a little scared, you push his body off of yours as you cover your mouth in shock, the faint apple taste still lingering in your mouth.

“Your tongue… Do you still use that apple flavored toothpaste or something? Because that’s all I’m feeling? Tasting?” Caleb grabs your hands, lowering it as a light chuckle leaves his lips.

“You’re a natural, Pip-squeak.” Completely ignoring what you just said as his thumb caresses your cheek and he stares at your lips, as if capturing them in a kiss with his eyes, “But I think you need a little bit more practice. What do you say?”

“Oh….Um…” Your voice comes out as uncertain mumbles and murmurs while his face only inches closer to yours. That’s when you realize how Caleb's body is pressed against yours, radiating heat—how heat crept up his neck and spreaded to his ears. How his lilac eyes were still clouded with a hazy and clouded look.

“I think you need more practice.” Caleb already had a taste of you and now he can’t get enough. Your scent seeps into his senses, impossible to ignore—like an addict chasing his next fix. He took your first kiss and now he’s going to take your every first. He was going to make sure of it.

A/N: Ughhh, this was quite hard to write considering I’ve never kissed anyone before. BUT. I have read many writings about kissing so I hope that’ll make up for this. Stay delusional ya’lls! (*´∀`*) Dividers by @omi-resources

[steddieas-shegoes]

because it's yours

for @steddielovemonth using the quote prompt: "If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'd love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours." - Stephen King

rated t | 1250 words | no cw | tags: post-vecna, eddie munson lives, pre-relationship, injury recovery, first kiss, getting together

▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️

Eddie’s not allowed visitors in the hospital, at least according to Wayne and Hopper. It’s for his own safety, they say.

Steve knows that’s partially bullshit. He’s good at sensing bullshit. But he plays along anyway, convinces the kids to just visit Max and they’ll plan a welcome home party for Eddie when he’s released. It gets harder by the day, especially when all the news they hear is that Eddie is healing well and should be good to go home even sooner than they thought.

No one tells them when he’s released.

Steve only finds out because he walks by the room Eddie’s been in, and instead of the door being closed, it’s wide open. There’s unfamiliar voices coming from the room. It could be doctors or nurses, but something makes him pause and peek in the doorway.

It’s an older woman and what appears to be her adult children, all of them having a very serious conversation about how she needs to be more careful while gardening.

Steve leaves before he’s caught eavesdropping.

He considers stopping by Dustin’s, see if he’s heard the news. Maybe the kids found out first.

Who is Steve to Eddie really?

Just because they gave each other looks and flirted a little and Steve carried him out of the Upside Down and-

He swallows the hurt and decides to go straight to Wayne’s new trailer. It’s just outside of town, easy to get to even with the damage done by the cracks. He’s been there a few times to check on him, even helped him set up his cable.

When Wayne opens the door, Steve knows something is off.

He doesn’t invite him in. Instead, he steps onto the porch and closes the door behind him. He gives Steve an awkward smile instead of his usual warm, comforting one.

“Is he home?” Steve asks.

“He’s sleeping,” Wayne allows. “He’s still recovering.”

“Do the kids know he’s home?”

“Son, he-“

“Why is he hiding? Everyone’s worried and just wants to make sure he’s okay. No one would keep him from resting!” Steve hates that his voice pitches higher. His hands are shaking. He’s never spoken to an adult he respects like this. “We just wanna know he’s safe.”

“He is.” Wayne sighs. “I told that boy no one was gonna stay away for long. He insisted everyone would forget him. I said no. He didn’t listen.”

Steve’s eyes dart over to the window he knows goes to Eddie’s bedroom. He’d been the one to help set it up when Wayne moved in.

“Can I please see him? I’ll be quick. I won’t even tell the kids yet. I just need to see,” Steve begs. “Please, Wayne.”

Wayne wordlessly opens the door and gestures for Steve to come inside.

He leads him to Eddie’s room, reminding him with a look to be quiet and not wake him up. Steve gives an understanding nod and walks into the room.

There’s sunlight sneaking through the blackout curtains, just enough to light up the bed that Eddie’s already wide awake in. Steve can’t help the smile blooming on his face.

Eddie looks scared, though.

His eyes are wide, and he’s pulled himself to the farthest corner of the queen sized bed. His hair’s a mess, proof that he probably was asleep just before Steve got here.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve waves. He doesn’t come any closer to the bed. “I just wanted to get eyes on you. Feeling alright?”

Wayne’s standing in the doorway behind Steve, probably trying to determine if he needs to step in or ride this out. If Eddie asks, Steve will leave. He doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable.

“What’re you doing here?” Eddie asks.

Steve watches the way his jaw moves around the words, how his mouth twists differently, like it’s taking more effort to talk. The scar going across his cheek, up into his temple, and down to his neck seems to be the cause of it. It’s still an angry red, stitches visible in some places where the bites must’ve been deeper.

He walks forward slowly. Eddie doesn’t stop him. Neither does Wayne.

The scar is big. It’ll always be big, though Steve has plenty of experience with scars and knows it’ll fade into a paler pink than it currently is. It’ll be a reminder, every day, of how he almost died. Eddie will have this memory every time he looks in the mirror, every time his own fingers brush against the ridged skin.

Steve cups the side of Eddie’s face that’s scarless.

Eddie gulps.

“Is this why you didn’t want anyone to visit?” He whispers.

Eddie doesn’t answer, but his eyes closing and head tilting down is answer enough.

“Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie opens his eyes.

“Do you really think a scar could scare any of us away? After how we found you, a scar is the least of our worries. You don’t have to hide from us.”

Steve’s not sure if Wayne’s still standing in the doorway, too focused on the way Eddie’s holding his gaze now. He’s lost weight and he’s still pale, but he’s alive. He’s still beautiful.

Maybe even more now.

“You’re alive. Everyone just wants you alive.”

“I’m gonna look even weirder now,” Eddie rasps out. Steve wonders if there’s damage to his throat, something his voice may never recover from entirely.

“I dunno. I think it’s pretty badass. Since when do you care about looking weird, anyway?” Steve smirks. “The Eddie Munson I know would find a new ridiculous story to tell every time he’s asked about something this cool.”

“I was leaning towards making people believe I got in a fight with a dragon,” Eddie shrugs one shoulder. His cheeks are red, warm underneath Steve’s touch.

“And won.”

Eddie leans his head forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “Of course I won. A knight in shining armor saved me.”

“You saved everyone else first. Don’t forget that part of the story,” Steve reminds him.

“A hero’s brave sacrifice…” Eddie mumbles. Steve chuckles. “Maybe true love’s kiss?”

“Isn’t that supposed to break a curse?” Steve whispers, suddenly nervous about all the times they flirted before. Flirting is harmless until it’s not.

“You’re right. In this case, it’s the curse of never kissing a nice guy.”

“And you think I can break that curse?”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

It’s a little awkward at first, mostly because parts of Eddie’s jaw are still numb from nerve damage and moving in certain ways is difficult. But once Steve adjusts, and they both giggle against each others’ lips, it’s easy. They fit.

Eddie tries to deepen the kiss, but he is still healing, and he has to pull away when his stitches tug painfully.

“Your battle scars won’t matter to any of us. They damn sure don’t make you less beautiful to me. Everyone misses you,” Steve rubs his arm, the one with no visible bandages. “Can I at least bring Dustin over later? Let him see that you’re actually alive and the hospital and government haven’t been lying?”

“Is that what everyone thinks?”

“You have to remember we’ve been through this a lot. Hopper was dead until he wasn’t. Anything can be faked.”

“That’s reassuring,” Eddie groans. “Yeah. Bring everyone by tomorrow. I’ll even shower.”

Steve kisses the top of his head. “Do you need help?”

“With showering? I just might, big boy.”

The way Eddie smiles is different now, but Steve loves it all the same.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN ━━ Show a Little Loving

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.4K

❀ ━ warnings: detailed make out but it doesn’t go any further

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: think TATBILB

THE NEXT MORNING, Jo woke up feeling like she was in a completely different reality.

Nothing looked different—the room was the same, the dim winter light slipping through the curtains, the soft weight of the blankets tangled around her legs. The air in the cabin was cool, and the scent of coffee and something sweet, maybe cinnamon, lingered in the air from downstairs. Normal. Everything was normal.

Except for the fact that Jo was—and still is—decidedly not.

She’s never been less normal in her entire life.

Because for the first time in her entire life, she likes someone who isn’t Asher Davis.

And that someone is Paige.

When she woke up, Jo stayed frozen under the covers, trying to process it—like if she just laid there long enough, she could force her brain to make it not true. But the weight of it merely pressed down on her, undeniable, suffocating. She felt like she’d just unlocked some secret part of herself she wasn’t supposed to find, like she’d just opened a door that can’t be shut.

She spent the entire night tossing and turning, hyper-aware of every single thing Paige did.

The way Paige curled up beside her like she always does, shifting close like she’s drawn to Jo in her sleep. The way her breath tickled against Jo’s neck, steady and warm. The way she tucked her face into Jo’s shoulder, lips brushing against her skin. Jo barely slept because of it. She just laid there, rigid, heart hammering against her ribs like a drum, panicking.

And then later this morning, when they were brushing their teeth together in the tiny bathroom, Paige kept nudging her shoulder. Jo doesn’t even know if it was on purpose—Paige is like that, casual and comfortable, always touching Jo like it’s second nature—but Jo noticed. She felt it. And it was so stupid, so small, but it sent a wave of something through her, something warm and unbearable and foreign.

And now—now they’re on the ski lift, and Jo is trying so fucking hard to act normal.

It’s not going well.

Paige is sitting way closer than necessary, thighs pressed against Jo’s even though there’s a whole chunk of space open on the other side of the lift. The cold metal bar rests against their laps, and the mountains stretch out below them, snow-covered and endless, but Jo can’t focus on any of it.

She can only focus on Paige.

She doesn’t get it. Paige has always been touchy with her. They’ve shared a bed countless times, always leaned against each other, always sat too close. This isn’t new. This isn’t different. But now, it feels different. It’s like Jo’s senses have been turned all the way up, like she’s suddenly attuned to every single point of contact, like her body is tracking Paige without her permission.

And she doesn’t like it.

She shifts slightly, just enough to put some space between them, but Paige only grins and leans in closer, bumping their shoulders together. “You’re quiet,” Paige says. “Cold?”

Jo forces a shrug, not trusting her voice. She knows it’s uncharacteristic, but everything about her seems to be that way today.

Paige hums like she doesn’t quite believe her, but she doesn’t press.

Jo bites her tongue inside her mouth and stares straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the scenery, pretending her heart isn’t trying to climb out of her throat.

She cannot be weird about this.

She won’t be weird about this.

Because if Paige notices something is off, Jo has no explanation. What the hell is she supposed to say? Sorry, I just realized I have a thing for you and now I can’t function like a normal person anymore?

Absolutely not.

And worse—what if her family notices? They know her better than anyone. If she doesn’t get her shit together, they’ll realize something’s up.

Jo swallows hard, stomach twisting. She can hardly survive herself knowing this—if other people did, she doesn’t know what she’d do.

So she keeps her mouth shut, keeps her body still, and hopes to God this feeling will go away before she completely loses her mind.

And then, thankfully, they reach the top of the lift. Meaning Jo has something else to focus on.

Getting off of it on a snowboard isn’t hard, not really, but it’s definitely not something you want to mess up unless you enjoy face-planting in front of a bunch of strangers. Jo angles her board as the bench slows, pushing herself forward with practiced ease, gliding down the short slope leading away from the drop-off point. She turns just in time to watch Paige follow behind her, arms slightly outstretched, knees stiff.

Paige doesn’t fall—which is honestly impressive for a first-timer—but Jo can tell it’s more luck than skill.

They then make their way over to the side, where Jo’s family is already securing their bindings. Jo sees Paige watche, then follows suit, crouching down and clipping in her back foot like she’s done it before. For a second, Jo thinks maybe she has—that maybe she totally overestimated how difficult this was going to be.

Then Paige stands up.

And just stands there.

Jo doesn’t even have to say anything—she can see the exact moment Paige realizes she has no fucking clue what to do next.

The thing about snowboarding is that, once both feet are strapped in, there’s no casual shuffling around like with skis. You have to commit to your movements, shift your weight with intention, trust the board to follow. Paige, currently, looks like she doesn’t trust anything. She’s frozen in place, weight too evenly distributed, arms slightly hovering like she’s trying to counterbalance pure fear.

Jo’s family doesn’t notice. Of course they don’t. They’re already pushing off, racing down the slope like they forgot they just dragged a complete beginner onto what is definitely not a beginner run.

Which means it’s entirely Jo’s problem now.

Jo sighs and turns back to Paige, who immediately schools her expression into something completely nonchalant, like she wasn’t just panicking a second ago.

“I’m good,” Paige says, nodding.

Jo lifts a brow. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Paige insists, overconfident. “I ski all the time. How hard can it be?”

Jo snorts, shaking her head. “That’s like saying, ‘I can ride a bike, so how hard can a unicycle be?’”

Paige glares. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s exactly the same thing.”

Paige groans but doesn’t argue further, which is good, because Jo is pretty sure that if she lets her go down the slope without at least trying to teach her something first, she’s going to have a very injured best friend by the end of the day.

Which—yeah, Paige doesn’t need any more injuries.

Jo drops down onto the snow, motioning for Paige to do the same. “Okay, before you kill yourself—”

Paige sighs. “Very encouraging, thanks.”

“—I’m gonna teach you the basics.”

Paige rolls her eyes but listens as Jo explains how to shift her weight, how to stop using her heel edge, how to not immediately die the second she starts moving. She nods along like she gets it, but Jo knows she doesn’t, because when she tells her to try stopping, Paige just stares at her.

“Like this,” Jo demonstrates, digging into her heel edge and coming to a smooth stop.

Paige squints. “I don’t think my feet can do that.”

Jo gives her a look. “They can. You just have to actually try.”

Paige glares at her, then attempts it—and immediately wobbles so hard she almost eats it.

Jo bites her lip, trying so hard not to laugh, because she knows if she does, Paige will shove her straight into the snow.

Still, watching Paige struggle is… entertaining.

Actually, no, it’s worse than entertaining, because Jo is finding it way too endearing, and that is a problem.

But it’s hard, because Jo is stuck here watching Paige, her flushed cheeks, her concentrated little frown, the way she huffs whenever she messes up but refuses to ask for more help.

Jo has to get it together.

She clears her throat and moves on to the next part—teaching Paige the “falling leaf” technique, which goes just about as well as expected. Paige flails. A lot. She makes little frustrated noises, glares at Jo when she tries to help, insists she’s got it even when she absolutely does not have it.

Jo grins, probably too much, but she can’t help it. She’s never seen Paige like this before. Paige is good at everything—basketball, school, literally any sport she tries—but right now, she’s an absolute disaster.

And Jo finds it so ridiculously cute, it makes her chest constrict.

Why, why, why, why, why?

By the time they move on to full turns, Paige is mildly competent. She’s still wobbly, still too tense, but she starts linking her turns together, starts actually looking like she knows what she’s doing.

Jo watches her, nodding approvingly. “Look at you.”

Paige looks at her, grinning wide, blonde hair slipping out from under her beanie, flushed from the cold, happy.

And Jo—Jo feels something tight in her chest.

Something warm and annoying and confusing and—

She tears her gaze away before it turns into something worse.

Eventually, they decide Paige is ready for the slope.

Jo isn’t entirely sure that’s true, but there’s only so much practicing they can do before Paige gets impatient and wants to actually go somewhere. And Jo gets it. She does. Paige isn’t the type to sit around mastering the basics—she’d rather dive in headfirst, figure it out on the way down.

Which is how they end up at the top of the easier slope—the one Jo’s family didn’t go down.

It’s still not technically beginner-friendly, but it’ll have to do.

Jo studies Paige as she shakes out her arms, shifting her weight back and forth like she’s hyping herself up. She’s still pretending she’s not nervous, but Jo can see it in the way she breathes in deep, lips slightly parted, exhaling like she’s about to take a game-winning shot instead of just… sliding down a hill.

Jo shakes her head, telling the blonde, “You’re gonna be fine.”

Paige doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yep,” she says, sounding uncharacteristically unenthusiastic.

“Mhm,” Jo confirms.

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she pulls on her goggles. And then she takes a final breath, gives Jo one last I’m totally calm and confident nod, then pushes off.

Jo follows immediately, ready to intervene if Paige immediately eats shit.

She doesn’t.

In fact, Paige actually does an okay job.

She’s still stiff, still a little too tense, but she’s making turns, shifting her weight properly, keeping herself upright. Jo even hears her let out a small whoop at one point, though it quickly turns into something that sounds suspiciously like a scream before she regains control again.

Jo has to laugh. “Not bad, huh?”

Paige breathes out hard. “I’m doin’ great, thank you.”

Jo grins but doesn’t argue. Paige’s balance is still shaky, but she’s improving with every turn, her confidence visibly building—until they get too close.

Jo realizes it a second too late.

She shifts left, trying to create space, but Paige is still a beginner, and she wobbles at the exact wrong time. She catches an edge, stumbling forward, and Jo barely has time to react before she gets caught in it.

“Shit—”

Then, they’re both tumbling.

Jo crashes backward into the snow with a heavy thud, the impact sending a jolt up her spine, her board kicking up powder. Paige lands right on top of her, effectively knocking the air out of her lungs.

Jo groans, blinking up at the sky for a second before lifting a gloved hand to shove her goggles up.

“Shit, bro, that hurt,” Paige mutters against her chest, fumbling with her own goggles, breath puffing out in visible clouds.

Jo exhales sharply, trying to process—not the fall, not the pain, but the fact that Paige is on top of her, head pressing into her heavily layered chest like it belongs there.

She’s too close.

Jo feels it everywhere—Paige’s weight, the warmth of her breath against the fabric of Jo’s jacket, the way her hand is braced against Jo’s sides as she tries to push up, but she’s still struggling with her goggles, fingers catching on the strap.

Jo shakes her head. “You’re a mess—”

Without thinking, she reaches up, gloved fingers brushing against Paige’s cold skin as she pushes her goggles back, slipping them up over her helmet.

Paige shakes her head a little, her other hand dropping to Jo’s side to keep herself balanced.

The world is quiet around them—just the muffled sounds of distant snowboarders, the crunch of powder under shifting weight, the occasional gust of wind.

Paige blinks down at Jo, blue eyes so blue in the snow-bright lighting, her face flushed from exertion, from the cold, maybe from something else too.

And Jo—Jo can’t look away.

Her chest tightens.

Her fingers are still against Paige’s face, and Paige isn’t moving, isn’t pulling back, just watching her with something unreadable in her expression.

Jo’s gaze flickers down—to Paige’s lips, slightly chapped but still soft, still way too close to her own.

And for a second, for one reckless, impulsive, insane second, Jo thinks about leaning in.

The thought sends a jolt through her.

She shoves it down so fast it makes her stomach churn, immediately pushing Paige off of her before she can even fully process what just happened.

“You’re too heavy to be laying on me like that,” she says, trying for humor, but the words come out a little strangled.

Paige grabs her own bearings, letting out a startled laugh, sitting up on her knees. “Hey!”

Jo rolls over, sitting up quickly, dusting snow off her sleeves, trying to act normal, trying to breathe properly, trying not to think about how she almost—

God.

She can’t do this.

PAIGE STEPS out of the bedroom, rubbing at her arms as a shiver wracks through her. She knew changing into just a t-shirt and sweatpants was a bad idea, but her sweatshirt is still damp from falling in the snow earlier, and putting it back on felt like asking for hypothermia. She’ll have to live with it, she guesses, even if the cold air nips at her skin, goosebumps rising along her forearms.

The day has been long, another one spent out on the slopes. Since Paige’s first time on a board yesterday, she’s improved tenfold, and today had been much much more enjoyable, only a few falls to round it out.

She hears movement in the kitchen as she rounds the corner, the soft clinking of mugs and the faint hum of Jo moving around.

Paige slows her steps.

Jo’s back is to her, standing at the counter, stirring something in a mug—hot chocolate, probably, based on the rich scent of cocoa that lingers in the air. The sight of Jo, standing there so effortlessly domestic, makes something warm curl low in Paige’s stomach.

Paige is used to it, at this point. It happens constantly, the unshakable heat that rises whenever Jo does literally anything. Yesterday, it had been on the slope, when Jo helped her up from the snow, when she brushed Paige’s hair out of her face, when she looked at her with something so unreadable, so intense, that Paige had felt frozen in place.

And now—now, it’s just the way Jo stands there, all soft and warm and anything but hers in the low light of the kitchen.

Paige hesitates for a second, then smirks to herself, an idea forming in her head. She moves quietly, barely making a sound as she steps up behind Jo, hands flexing at her sides, anticipation bubbling in her chest.

Then, before Jo can realize what’s happening, Paige strikes—

Cold hands pressing firmly against the back of Jo’s neck.

Jo screams.

It’s high-pitched, startled, and absolutely hilarious.

She jolts forward, nearly sloshing cocoa over the counter, then whirls around, eyes wild, before smacking Paige’s arm, sending a weak but retaliatory shove into her shoulder.

“What is wrong with you?” Jo yelps, voice still breathless from the shock.

Paige is cackling, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, your face—”

Jo glares at her, rubbing at the back of her neck with a dramatic shudder. “You suck. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Paige grins, stepping beside her, nudging her lightly with her hip. Jo just mutters something under her breath and turns back to the counter, still grumbling as she grabs another mug and pours some hot chocolate for Paige, shoving it at her without another word.

They end up drinking together, leaning against the counter in a comfortable quiet, warmth settling between them.

Paige takes a sip of her cocoa, sighing into the comforting heat, before glancing over at Jo—only to immediately snort.

Jo blinks at her, confused. “What?”

Paige just shakes her head, grinning. “Joey, you got a little—”

She gestures vaguely, but Jo just frowns, not getting it, so Paige doesn’t think much before she lifts her hand, reaching out, swiping her thumb carefully across Jo’s upper lip to wipe away the hot-chocolate mustache.

And Paige—Paige really should’ve thought about what she was doing before she did it.

Because suddenly, Jo is looking at her.

Really, really looking at her.

Those wide, dark eyes staring up at Paige, so open, so deep, so endlessly fucking beautiful, and Paige’s breath catches somewhere in her throat.

Her thumb lingers at the corner of Jo’s mouth, pressing lightly into the soft skin there, and Jo doesn’t move. Paige doesn’t even think she breathes.

Her lips part, and Paige’s gaze drops, just for a second, just long enough for something unspoken to crackle between them, thick and heavy and—

The sound of footsteps breaks them apart.

Paige jolts, snatching her hand away so fast it’s almost unnatural.

Jo takes a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, stepping back, shifting away.

And then Peyton waltzes in, completely oblivious to the moment she just shattered, announcing cheerfully, “I’m making cookies, and you two are gonna be my helpers.”

Paige’s heart is still racing, and she shoots a glance at Jo, who looks… composed, somehow, like she didn’t just—like they didn’t just—

But Paige knows her.

She sees the way Jo’s fingers twitch against the mug she’s holding, the way her jaw clenches just slightly, the way her shoulders are drawn just a little too tight.

And Paige knows.

Whatever that was—Jo felt it too.

It doesn’t really undo anything in Paige like it should. Because, recently, things have just been like that. It’s weird.

Paige swallows hard, turning back to Peyton with a too-easy grin. “Oh, yeah, we’ll totally help.”

Jo lets out a quiet laugh beside her, and when Paige glances over, she finds her smirking too, They both know they’ll be no help—if anything, they’ll be a nuisance, eating all of the dough before Peyton can even put it in the oven.

For now, the tension’s been almost buried under something playful, something safe.

But still—Paige knows.

She felt it.

And no matter how hard Jo tries to act normal, no matter how hard Paige tries to shove it down—

It’s still there.

JO LEAVES Mia’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind her as she rakes a hand through her hair. The faint scent of strawberry-scented hair chalk clings to her hoodie, and her fingertips are slightly stained pink and blue from helping Mia color streaks into her light brown hair. It had been cute, how excited she was about it—sitting cross-legged on the bed, practically vibrating with energy as Jo carefully twisted sections of her hair and dragged the chalk down in soft strokes.

Jo’s family does their gifts on Christmas Eve—Jo’s parents are firm believers in the magic of sleeping in on Christmas morning, rather than waking up at the crack of dawn to open presents—and tonight, was just the same as always. The living room had been a mess of ripped wrapping paper and scattered boxes just an hour ago, Jo and her sisters laughing over their gifts, their parents watching with fond amusement. Paige had fit into it like she belonged there, pressed beside Jo for the entirety of it.

Jo frowns slightly as she steps into the hallway, suddenly aware of the quiet that’s settled over the cabin. It had been loud earlier—Peyton arguing with their dad over the rules of a board game, Mia showing off her new gifts, Christmas music playing softly in the background—but now, it’s peaceful. Dim lighting, the distant hum of conversation from the living room. She wonders where Paige went.

She heads toward the kitchen, where her mom is finishing up the last of the dishes, running water humming over the faint clatter of plates. “Where’s P?” Jo asks, leaning against the doorway.

Her mom doesn’t even glance up as she says, “Oh, I think she went out to the hot tub.”

Jo nods, but her chest tightens, just a little.

She turns on her heel and makes her way to the room she and Paige are sharing, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She exhales, standing still for a moment, debating.

She thinks about joining Paige. Thinks that it’s normal for best friends to do that, to sit in the hot tub together after a long day, soak in the warmth and relax. But she also knows herself, and she knows the way her thoughts have been slipping these last few days, the way she catches herself looking at Paige for too long, noticing things she shouldn’t be noticing. She knows that if she goes out there, if she lets herself be alone with Paige like that, she might not be able to control the way her mind wanders.

Whatever, she decides. She wants to get in the hot tub.

So, she grabs the bikini she packed, changing quickly before wrapping herself in a towel. The air in the cabin is warm, but she knows the second she steps outside, the mountain air will cut through her like a blade. Still, she forces herself forward, padding toward the back deck, bare feet light against the wood floor.

When she opens the back door, the cold hits her immediately, biting at her exposed skin. She shivers, hissing, “Shit, it’s freezing out here.”

Paige startles slightly, turning her head. She’s sitting in the hot tub alone, the water bubbling gently around her, steam rising in wisps. Her eyes catch the deck light for a second, flickering bright, and she huffs a quiet laugh. “It’s warmer in here.”

Jo rolls her eyes, setting her towel down on a nearby chair. “Oh, really?” she says, sarcastic, before stepping into the hot tub.

And then her gaze fully lands on Paige, and—well, fuck.

She looks good.

It’s not like Jo hasn’t seen Paige in a sports bra, in oversized sweats, in all kinds of casual, effortless outfits. But this is different. Her blonde hair is down, slightly wavy, damp at the ends. Her bikini is turquoise, standing out against her skin, making her eyes even more blue in the soft deck lighting. And—shit, Jo shouldn’t be looking—her biceps. Jo knows she’s been training through her ACL recovery, knows she’s been getting stronger, but she hasn’t let herself really notice until now. Hasn’t let herself register the way Paige’s arms look, the lean muscle in her shoulders. And then there’s the cross chain hanging at her collarbone, resting against her skin, catching just enough light to make it glint faintly.

Jo swallows hard, forcing herself to look away, sinking into the water as she exhales. The warmth is immediate, a contrast to the crisp night air, and she tries to focus on that instead of the low, lazy grin Paige is giving her.

“You finally decided to join me,” Paige murmurs, shifting slightly, the water rippling around her.

Jo smirks, because it’s easier than letting anything real show. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d get lonely.”

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, stretching her arms along the edge of the hot tub, tilting her head back slightly. Jo catches herself staring at the curve of her throat, the faint glisten of water against her collarbone, and quickly looks away.

This is fine.

Paige doesn’t seem to notice the way Jo’s whole body is too tight, too aware, too much as she leans back against the edge of the hot tub. Instead, she shifts slightly, gaze flickering away from Jo, looking out toward the mountains. Jo follows her line of sight, letting herself focus on the view instead of the heat curling in her stomach, the undeniable feeling of wanting something she isn’t supposed to want.

The view really is something.

The mountains stretch high and dark against the night sky, the peaks dusted with snow, the stars scattered above them like someone spilled glitter across the horizon. The air is sharp with the scent of pine and frost, the only sounds the occasional distant rustle of wind through trees and the soft bubbling of the water around them. Jo’s been coming here since she was a kid, since before she could even really appreciate how incredible it was. It never gets old.

Paige exhales, voice quiet, almost reverent. “It’s kinda perfect here.”

Jo glances at her again, at the way the dim deck lights reflect in her eyes, making them almost glow. And for a second, Jo doesn’t think she’s talking about the view at all.

“Yeah,” Jo agrees, looking away, looking anywhere else. “It is.”

Silence settles between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Jo tries to let herself relax into it, but then she hears the shift of water, the subtle movement before she feels it—before she realizes that Paige is moving closer to her.

She tenses before she can stop herself, her fingers curling under the water.

And then Paige is looking at her again, something soft in her gaze, something almost vulnerable, like she wants to say something but isn’t sure if she should. It’s a rare look for Paige, whose confidence is as natural as breathing, who always seems to know exactly what to say and when to say it.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Paige says, and her voice is quiet but serious, enough that it throws Jo off for a second.

Jo swallows, holding eye contact with her for a long moment before looking down at the water, watching the way the steam curls off the surface. Her face suddenly feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the hot tub. “Well, it’s not like I’d ever let you stay at campus by yourself on Christmas,” she murmurs.

Paige tilts her head slightly, considering that. “Yeah,” she says slowly, “but a lot of people wouldn’t have just let someone tag along with their family for the holidays.”

Jo looks up again, furrowing her brows, because the way Paige says it—like she was expecting Jo not to invite her—rubs her the wrong way. “You’re not just any someone, though, P,” she says, voice firm. “You’re my—”

She stops short, the words catching in her throat, because—well…

She doesn’t actually know what this is anymore.

She’s never let herself think too hard about it, about the way they slipped into each other’s lives so fast, like gravity pulling them together. Her roommate, her teammate, her best friend. But none of those words feel right for this, for the way her heart is hammering, for the way Paige is looking at her.

Paige shifts closer still, the movement rippling through the water, stealing the air from Jo’s lungs.

“Hm?” Paige hums, like she’s waiting for Jo to finish.

Jo forces herself to breathe, gripping the edge of seat in the hot tub just to have something to do with her hands. She exhales sharply, shaking her head once, barely. “You’re just—my person,” she settles on, because best friend doesn’t suit the way her pulse is thrumming, doesn’t suit the way her entire body is tuned into Paige’s every shift, every breath.

She makes eye contact again, and—Paige isn’t looking at her eyes anymore.

She’s looking at Jo’s lips.

That’s definitely not something best friends do.

Jo’s stomach flips violently, her entire body going stiff with tension, with awareness, with want. Paige’s gaze flickers back up, just for a second, and Jo swears she sees something shift in her expression—like realization, like something clicking into place, like maybe, maybe she’s been thinking about this just as much as Jo has.

The air between them is heavy, electric, charged with something neither of them are saying.

And then it snaps all at once when Paige shifts even closer, so close Jo can feel the faintest brush of her knee against hers under the water, and Paige says, “Jo?”

It’s quiet, almost hesitant, and it’s the first time Jo has ever heard Paige say her name like that, like it means something more.

It undoes her completely.

She doesn’t think. Doesn’t even hesitate.

She just moves.

Leans in instead of pulling away, lets her eyes flicker shut as she presses her lips to Paige’s, her heart slamming against her ribs.

And Paige—Paige doesn’t pull away.

Paige kisses her back.

It’s soft at first, like they’re both testing the waters, and Jo melts into it, lets herself get lost in the warmth of it. Paige’s lips are soft, gentle against hers, and Jo feels like she could drown in the way Paige tilts her head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

And then—something shifts.

The hesitation begins to fade. Paige moves in closer, her hands finding the skin of Jo’s waist under the water, and Jo exhales shakily against the blonde’s mouth because oh.

Paige kisses like she plays basketball—effortless, confident, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she’s taking her time memorizing Jo, mapping her out piece by piece. Jo barely has time to process it before her body reacts on instinct, her fingers reaching out, finding Paige’s shoulders, gripping just tight enough to keep her as close as possible.

The heat between them rises, spreading through Jo’s chest, making her lightheaded. She’s hasn’t felt something like this in a long time—if ever, really. This dizzying, overwhelming need. She can’t remember if it was ever like this was Asher. Jo was always just so used to him—but Paige… Paige is entirely different.

Paige kisses fast yet slow, soft yet rough, the perfect mix. She shifts again, pressing in closer, and Jo can’t help but chase her, tilting her head, her fingers slipping up from Paige’s shoulders to thread into damp blonde hair. Paige makes a soft, pleased sound against her lips, and Jo swears she feels it all the way down to her toes.

Jo’s needy now, desperate in a way that catches her off guard, but she hardly finds it in herself to care. She tightens her grip on Paige, her nails digging into her scalp, pulling her impossibly closer because it’s still not enough.

Jesus fuck, Paige is a good kisser.

The blonde lets Jo take control for a moment, lets Jo press her back against the edge of the hot tub, but then—just as quickly—Paige is taking the lead again. Her grip on Jo’s waist tightens, fingers pressing into slick, warm skin as she shifts them, pulling Jo forward, guiding her onto her lap. Jo’s breath stutters as her bare thighs press against Paige’s, her knees pressing into the edge of the seat on either of Paige’s hips.

Paige’s grip is firm, her touch sure and steady in a way that makes Jo’s skin feel like it’s burning.

She should say something, do something, anything other than let out the small, helpless sound that slips past her lips as Paige pulls her in tighter.

But she does. And Paige hears it.

And something about it—about that quiet, desperate little noise—seems to spur Paige on, because then she’s tilting her head, chasing Jo’s lips again, capturing them in a kiss that’s deeper, hungrier than before. Her tongue slips into Jo’s mouth, licking around, and Jo inhales sharply at it.

Jo’s mind is a mess, spinning wildly, but all she can focus on is this—Paige, the way she tastes, the way she feels, the way every press of her lips, every swipe of her tongue, sends electricity straight through Jo’s veins.

The second Paige’s lips leave hers, Jo almost whimpers at the loss.

Her breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly as moves beneath her, her lips ghosting away from Jo’s mouth, trailing down, down, down—until they’re pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the sharp line of her jaw.

Jo swears she forgets how to breathe, her hand tightening in Paige’s hair, half-gripping her chain, as well.

Paige doesn’t stop. She presses a kiss to the spot just beneath Jo’s ear, and Jo shudders, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair. She can feel the heat of Paige’s breath against her skin, feel the way Paige’s lips part just enough for her tongue to sweep out.

Paige’s hands grip onto the skin of Jo’s waist before one begins to slide up, fingertips tracing Jo’s spine before settling firmly at the back of Jo’s neck, holding her in place. Paige’s other hand trails from her hip, down to the curve of Jo’s ass, palming and kneading it in a way that makes the brunette feel the need to clench her thighs together—anything to relieve the ache growing between them.

Instead, she makes a noise—something soft and high-pitched, something that she doesn’t even realize she’s made until Paige reacts to it.

Paige groans a little, exhaling sharply, her lips nipping along the column of Jo’s throat, her tongue sweeping across the skin to soothe it. Jo’s head tips back before she can stop herself, before she can think, before she can do anything other than feel.

And God, she feels everything.

Paige’s mouth, Paige’s hands, the firm grip keeping her exactly where Paige wants her.

Jo’s heart pounds, and she doesn’t know if it’s from heat of the water or the heat of Paige, but she feels like she’s burning from the inside out.

She tries not to think about what this means, about how everything is changing, about how she’ll have to deal with this later.

She tries not to think about whether Paige wants this the same way she does.

Paige has a roster. That much, Jo knows. She’s seen it, heard it, talked to some of it—mostly just Celeste, but still. Jo knows that all of this stuff is casual and fleeting for Paige, just another part of her life.

But Jo isn’t like that. She doesn’t do this kind of thing. She doesn’t let herself get swept up in the moment, something that could be nothing, in something that might not mean anything to the other person. Seriously, she literally dated the same person for nearly six fucking years.

But then—what could this be? Paige is her best friend, her teammate, her roommate. If they became something more, they couldn’t fuck it up because it could ruin everything. Not to mention the fact that it hasn’t even been a month since Jo and Asher broke up. She’s still trying to mend that crack in her heart.

All of these thoughts should make her pull away. It should make her stop.

But they don’t.

Because right now, with Paige’s lips on her neck and her hands holding Jo so close, it feels like none of that even matters.

Right now, Jo doesn’t care if this is just another fleeting thing for Paige or if she should even be doing this with a break-up so fresh.

Because right now, Paige wants her.

And Jo wants Paige.

So, she lets herself have it.

She tightens her grip in Paige’s hair, tugs just slightly, just enough to pull Paige’s mouth back to hers, just enough to draw another satisfied sound from Paige’s throat. Paige’s nose nudges Jo’s as she tilts her head, pressing into the kiss again, deep and slow and absolutely devastating.

And Jo lets herself get lost in it.

That is, until the sound of the back door opening shudders around them.

Jo feels her entire body jolt like she’s been electrocuted. The heat from the hot tub is nothing compared to the fire scorching under her skin, the way her heart slams against her ribs like it’s trying to break free. Beside her, Paige reacts just as quickly—springing away, water sloshing violently between them, the absence of her warmth immediately and startling. Jo doesn’t dare look at her, doesn’t dare move, because if she does, she’ll have to genuinely acknowledge what’s just happened. She’ll have to process the way her lips still tingle, the way her chest is still heaving, the way Paige was just kissing her like she fucking meant it.

But she doesn’t have time for that, not when Mia—innocent, unsuspecting Mia—is standing by the back door in her little Rudolph-themed swimsuit, eyes bouncing between Jo and Paige like she’s trying to put the pieces together.

“Hi…” the little girl says slowly, tilting her head.

Paige is the one that moves first.

“Um,” she stammers, her voice higher than usual, her hands flexing uselessly at her sides as she stands up too fast, nearly slipping in the water. “I’mma—uh, I’m just gonna—shower. Yeah—shower.”

Jo watches, still slightly frozen where she sits, as Paige snatches up her towel with more urgency than necessary and books it inside without so much as a glance back. The door slides shut behind her, leaving only the ghost of her presence and the realization of what’s just occurred.

Jo is still stuck, still trying to catch up, still trying to make sense of the fact that she kissed Paige—she kissed Paige—and Paige kissed her back—and—

And then Mia lowers herself into the water, grinning.

That fucking grin.

Jo narrows her eyes before Mia can even open her mouth. “Don’t.”

Because… yeah, she just—can’t talk about this yet. Maybe never.

Jo clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together as she stares down at her hands as if they hold all the answers. Maybe they do—because just moments ago, they were holding Paige.

Jesus, what has she gotten herself into?

[justforyourlovee]

Synastry observations -1-

Paid readings :))

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+ If anyone wanna ask about a synastry aspect , comment it here and I will post it in next synastry observation Post , tyy

ᯓᡣ𐭩 his Lilith conjunct your sun :It’s over. Very intense! HAWT. This conjunction can make a married man leave his wife of 20 years. Powerful sexual energy. Karmic. This will mirror the dark energy of the man to himself.Can he see his own demons and welcome them with love? Or does he reject all parts of himself?How this goes is completely dependent on the man’s ability to love all parts of him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 their north node conjunct your sun :they light the way for your soul path this lifetime but won't be your comfort zone because it's nn so will be pushing you forward towards where your meant to be so you need to be mature enough to handle that energy because it involves responsibility and honesty with yourself.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Seventh house synastry:When someone has a lot of planets in your 7th house, you’ll feel a strong connection with them. You’ll enjoy their company, feel comfortable, and trust them. Whether you’re doing something fun or just relaxing together, it’ll feel good. This bond can affect your love life—you might be partners or close friends who help each other with relationships. You’ll just *get* what the other person needs when it comes to love.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Uranus square ascendant : this feels like  you're both trying to find a balance between staying true to yourselves and being open to new ideas and experiences. The Uranus person might push you to step out of your comfort zone, which can be exhilarating but also a bit unsettling.  I'm not saying it's a bad aspect but  let's say it's a friendship , you and your friend are always on the lookout for the next adventure, constantly pushing each other to try new things and explore new ideas. The Uranus person may bring a sense of freedom and liberation to the friendship, encouraging the Ascendant person to break free from routine and embrace change BUT this can lead to a dynamic and stimulating friendship, it can also create tension, especially if one person feels like the other is pushing them too far out of their comfort zone. AND if it's a romantic relationship this aspect in any type of relationship add excitement for sure whether it sometimes conjunct the MC ( excitement in you career) or the IC ( excitement in your home environment or in your emotions in general) but this aspect can lead to conflicts maybe a lot of conflicts , especially if one person feels like their need for independence is being stifled by the other. It's like trying to find a balance between being true to yourself and being part of a partnership. If not managed well, this aspect can lead to a relationship that feels chaotic and unstable, with both partners feeling like they're never on solid ground.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sun Moon Opposition : When the Sun is opposite the Moon in synastry, the Sun person often feels drawn to the Moon person. They admire how the Moon approaches life in their own unique way, and there’s a sense of respect for their emotional depth. The Sun, being creative and expressive, appreciates the Moon’s different perspective. Once the Moon feels safe and knows they won’t be overshadowed, these two can become really close—like best friends or partners who just *get* each other. It’s all about mutual respect and giving each other space to be themselves.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Lilith in the 10th house synastry: the Lilith person looks at the house person and thinks, "You’re going places."There’s admiration, but also this restless feeling like they need to  prove something or even challenge the house person’s success. Instead of lifting each other up, they might push against each other, sometimes out of jealousy, sometimes just to see what happens. The Lilith person might feel like the house person represents the **kind of power or recognition they secretly want which can create tension.

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[madamechrissy]

Preview for Pour it Up part three

Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F! reader- MDNI- Extremely explicit sex, emotional momenttt, Sukuna being down BAD hehe

Spoilers below- Don't read if you haven't read part Two

Sukuna thought he could handle you, he thought he’d fuck you so good against this damn wall, slam your cervix as he holds you up, but the moment he’s inside you? The moment your slick walls suck him in, and your walls are fluttering around just the tip he’s inserted in your sticky, gooey little pussy, the moment your eyes shoot up to his, and your lips part?

Sukuna is ended.

You end him to the point he pauses, used to rough sex and pummeling a pussy, drilling like he’s made for it, instead his breath catches, and he’s resting his forehead on yours for a moment, while you cling to him tightly. He feels your manicured nails pressing into his biceps, your thighs trembling, cunt dripping as you try to take any of him at all.

Your breaths mix, yours is so sweet it intoxicates him, pushing in just a little more, seeing if you can take it, and fuck you try to, but he’s so thick it burns, you can barely cling to him for any sense of reality. You look up at ruby red eyes, your mouth open in a cry as he pulls back, pushing even further in, one hand leaving your ass as he presses you into the wall.

His other hand comes to grip yours, fingers entwining over your head, your hand is engulfed in his huge one, you feel so tiny in his hold, in his arms, wrapped around this thick, veiny cock you’re trying to take. Your breaths come quicker when he holds your hand, when he pauses, when his eyes get lidded, pupils shrunk to pinpoints, making the rubies that are his eyes even more intense.

“Fuck…” Is all he manages, his heart beating in his chest, pounding against the softness of your breasts, as something just clicks, something snaps all at once, swirling his mind, looking at your pretty face, the tears in your eyes. “Too much, brat?” He huffs, trying to act calm, like he’s not losing it for you.

You take a shaky breath, crying out when he presses deeper, you feel him everywhere, his cock so deep inside you, feel him in your tummy, god you feel him in your head. It’s overwhelming, as he clutches your hand so tightly, the things you feel already for this man are far beyond his dick, his hands, his lips, it’s how he’s looking at you, how he’s holding your hand.

You shake your head, reaching one hand to cup his face then, making him feel far too much, so much he swallows, feeling nerves that a man like him shouldn’t, god you make him feel like some high school idiot. If he was a more romantic man he’d write some poems or shit, but he sure wasn’t going that far, but it takes everything to hold in words that are threatening to spill.

Foolish words.

He’s pussy drunk off three thrusts, then by four you’re whining out his name- “Sukuna!” And he’s done for.

He kisses you brutally, hands back on your ass, pounding inside your slick heat as you bite on his neck, making him hiss, your nails scratching at his back when his drooling tip kisses your cervix. “F-fuck… biting me, huh brat?” He manages to huff, and you just whimper, head falling back as he fucks into you more and more, the wet sounds filling his empty penthouse.

He’s maddened by you, how good you feel, as you feel the stretch, feel your pussy trying to accommodate him, and he’s pressing in, rolling his hips just so, pulling back to watch as your face contorted in pleasure. “There you go, cum for me, like a perfect lil’ slut, huh?”

You nod weakly, sniffling as he presses you even closer, you feel the pressure building, as his piercing hits something so good, and you’re tightening around it, screaming out. “Y-yes, yes, I’m gonna- ah!”

“That’s it, f-fuckin’ feel you.” He huffs, strong muscles tensing as you convulse around his cock.

How can he even handle you if in a few thrusts you’re trying to milk his cock for everything!?

Hehe dw they'll be freaky, but Kuna feels so much he had to take a moment. I'll tag everyone in the list when it's here, for the previews i just do my permatags so no one thinks it's an update aha <3

Permatags: @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @n1vi @aldebrana @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @1brii @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy

[revelboo]

Prowl no💔 you come back and get us RIGHT NOW

He thinks he’s doing right

Stand Too Close Pt 15

Prowl x Reader

• You don’t even like him, so why do you feel like crying? People are giving you a wide berth and you reach up to try to do something about your hair and realize you’re crying. Tears silently sliding over your cheeks as the anger begins to build. Because he’d thrown you away without any hesitation. Gotten tired of you and discarded you. And you know you’re lying, that you’d been growing attached to him. Starting to get to know the real him under the prickly asshole veneer. Picking your way along the street to your apartment building, you realize you have no idea what happened to your keys or any of your stuff. You’d dropped it when Prowl had hit you. And that has to have been months ago. Trying to scrub the tears away with the heel of your palm, you head toward the grubby little office for the apartment building.

• Can’t make himself leave you just yet. Had gotten halfway back to the Ark before turning around and finding a dark alley on the outskirts of your city to park. It takes him longer than he’d like to get his holoform avatar stable and solid enough to interact with humans. Walking the streets in search of you, he’s aware that the other humans shy away from him. Humans walking toward him part around him even going so far as to step into the street to avoid touching him. Like they can somehow sense he’s not one of them. That he’s other.

• Turns out when you stop paying rent for months, even if it’s because you’re missing, you still get evicted. Listening in a numb fury as the lady stinking of sweet and milds at the desk tells you about how everyone assumed you’d been murdered and your body dumped out in the desert. Almost sounding disappointed that you’re alive. Your stuff is gone, too. Apparently the police had gone through your apartment looking for signs of foul play, hadn’t found any and your landlady had dumped your stuff out in front of the building as soon as she legally could.

• Turns out that it’s hard to find one human among thousands. And he almost walks past the hunched figure sitting on a street corner. Stopping in front of you, your head lifts and the tears are like a slap. “I’m going, okay?” Watches you stand and scrub at your face. Why are you on the street? And you’re upset not happy. Why didn’t you go home? “Of course, she called the cops on me.” And he reaches to catch your wrist. If he speaks up you’ll know him, but he can’t just leave you like this. This isn’t what he wanted.

• Something about the cop makes your skin prickle and you wish he’d let go, but you don’t dare fight against his grip. “I don’t have a phone. I just need to call someone,” you add, not even knowing who to call. Your family is out on the other coast. And you’d also figured out you can’t get into your bank account without an ID, so you’re broke. Homeless and defeated. Had almost walked to your workplace, but you’re sure they’ve replaced you by now and you don’t think you can take one more hit. Because this is all just the cherry on top of the abandonment sundae Prowl had served you. And the cop is just staring down at you, expression empty. Unmoved by your grief. Sucking in a breath,you go rigid when he tugs you into his body, his other hand cupping the back of your head. And cop or no cop, you panic and knee him without thinking.

Previous

[covenofagatha]

ok after the FFF post i think we now need your thought on reader teasing agatha during no nut november.

maybe first they make a bet about whether agatha can even make it through no nut november, and of course agatha is like what do u mean i can’t do it? and so she takes on the challenge.

you then start waking agatha up to the sounds of you fucking yourself with a dildo or smth and she already wants to quit.

you then proceed to tease her nonstop every day, and of course it’s harder for agatha because november has a few more days than february

- 🥕

Well it is only fair that reader gets a little payback for all of Agatha's teasing

You've been waiting ever since finger free February for this and you've been planning

It's a few days before November starts and you casually bring it up to Agatha over dinner. She scoffs it off at first, but then you appeal to her competitive nature: "Oh come on, mommy, you don't think you can last? I did. Guess you can't, though. Such a shame. You're just too desperate for me, aren't you? Can't control yourself at all?"

She takes the bait immediately and is outraged that you would even imply that she wouldn't be able to, and accepts

You two have the most sex you've ever had in the next few days, courtesy of Agatha trying to get out as many orgasms as she can

The first few days of November pass and you're her perfect baby, only making a few dirty remarks here and there and only attempting to brush her cock through her pants a few times

Agatha gets lulled into a false sense of security and thinks that maybe it won't be that hard (pun intended) after all

Until the next morning when she wakes up to hear wet squelching sounds and rolls over to find you with a dildo buried up to the hilt in your cunt, panting

But not just any dildo, no, the one you made with the penis molding kit that is an exact silicone replica of her cock (purposefully for this month - but she doesn't need to know)

So not only is she watching you fuck yourself with it, but she also now has the memory of you on your knees in the shower in front of her, blowing her to a full erection, and then stroking the molding powder over her cock to make the toy

"Fuck, mommy, your cock feels so good inside me," you moan, pumping it fast inside you, and Agatha is instantly hard as a rock, the few days without an orgasm finally catching up to her. She starts to hump the air and wonders how embarrassing it would be if she didn't even make it a week into it

She barely avoids cumming untouched when you orgasm all over the toy

Thus begins you starting to tease her for real

You've never been a big banana fan, but you certainly are now and you make eye contact with her every morning as you slide as much of it as you can take down your throat before gagging (which only makes her harder)

You give her your best "fuck me" eyes every night as you hold a vibrator to your clit, hips bucking, while you beg for her to put her cock inside you. "It's okay, mommy, you can just stop before you cum and it won't count," you tell her, but you both know that the second she gets inside you, she'll blow her load instantly

When she sits at her desk doing work, you saunter over in nothing but lingerie and straddle her lap, claiming you just want to be close to her, but that doesn't stop you from grinding on her rock hard cock through her pants while she grits her teeth and turns red as a tomato

It gets to the point that she's pretty sure if you were to touch her cock with your bare skin, she would fail

"Only four days left," you say cheerily and she grumbles something incoherently. She's been irritated and a little quick-tempered and you love it.

"It's not fair," she says. "November is two days longer than February."

You mockingly pout and suck on a lollipop. "Oh, poor mommy. But just think, on December first, you can fuck me again. God, I can't wait to have your cock inside me. I love when you twitch and pulse and throb and then fill me up with your cum and leaks out of me."

Agatha has to leave the room with a whimper because she's so painfully hard and doesn't trust herself to look at you without cumming right now

That night, you're laying next to her in bed, idly playing with your clit and sliding your fingers into your cunt every now and then. Agatha is making a pointed effort not to look, but you can see how tense she is. It comes to a breaking point when you push your wet fingers into her mouth and she groans before getting up, positioning herself between your legs, and hauling your cunt into her mouth

It's the first time she's touched you since October and you can't help yourself from making louder noises than you're used to because of how good it feels and you're so lost in pleasure that you don't even notice how she's started to grind against the bed

You're so close to an orgasm when she suddenly freezes and pulls back with a strangled sound. Her eyes are wide with panic, face red, and you can see her hips rutting

"Fuck fuck fuck," she chants and a thrill runs through you before her head drops down to rest against your stomach with a groan

When she flops over onto her back, you can see a wet stain on the front of her boxers and you laugh

"Guess since you lost, you can just go ahead and fuck me now," you sigh. "No point in waiting a few more days."

Agatha can't even be mad about it because at least her torture is over

You never fail to remind her that you made it longer than she did

[mixingandmelting]

If it's not a bother for you, can you please write batfam (including Bruce) and superfam getting jealous when reader subtly mentions her ex when they do something similar to her ex bf. (e.g. reading a book/watching a show/an activity that her ex used to love etc.)

Thank you!!!

A/N: Hello Anon! Sorry that this was sitting in my drafts for so long... 😔 I wasn't sure if you were meaning literally everyone in both families (batboys, batgirls, Jace Fox, supergirls, superboys, etc.) which would've made this post even longer and taken more time... If there are characters not written here you specifically would like, let me know

BATFAM FEAT:

Bruce:

Everything he does is subtle. The stiffness in his muscles, the tick in his jaw. All you did was mention how the way he readjusted his Rolex around his wrist reminded you of your ex. But since when did the things he did remind you of the other guy? 

“Must be a thing.” He chuckles, the grip around on his mug tightening as he takes a sip of his coffee. 

Bits and pieces of his control over his emotions continue to chip off. There’s irritation building up from sensing nostalgia in your voice when he casually asks about your ex. Under the pretext of curiosity, of course. A scowl set on his face hidden behind a newspaper without him knowing he’s making one. It’s to the point where he fails to school his expression on time when you push down the newspaper. For a moment you stare at him, shock and awe meeting cold and stormy. 

“Playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne… is jealous?” 

His eyes widen for a second. To think he was that jealous to where he couldn’t keep up a facade…

He frowns when your lips curl up into a grin. Let’s just say the two of you made up real quickly afterwards when he suddenly pulls your wrist towards him.

Jason:

Sure, people can be reminded of their ex but come on. He reminded you of yours over how he shakes his hair out after taking off his helmet? That’s way too oddly specific.

“From what? Riding a street bike?”  He snorts, placing his helmet on the bench next to him with a thud from restrained strength. 

His mind knows there’s nothing to think too hard about; your ex is an ex and he’s currently yours. But clearly his heart doesn’t, churning and coiling with awful emotions he’s all too familiar with. He goes to grab a rag and wrench for “extra maintenance” when it’s actually him finding it hard to keep himself cool-headed if he doesn’t keep himself busy. 

“Jason? Jason. Look at me. It’s not what you’re thinking of.”  The only indication that he’s listening is the glance he tosses over his shoulder, still unamused and an eyebrow raised.

“I-,” The eyebrow raises higher from your sigh, “You just do it so naturally and still manage to make it attractive, okay? My ex had to try, forcing a Justin Bieber’s hair flip. That’s all.”

He gets you to break into laughter when he grabs you by the waist and cuddles you, grumbling how you should’ve said so from the start.

Tim:

His fingers hover over the keys for a second. Then he goes back typing. Nothing is amiss albeit the sounds of the mouse and keyboard clicking a tiny bit louder. He’s not bothered. Nope. Even if it was over how he cracked open his can of energy drink with a single hand, he’s not overthinking it whatsoever. 

“Yeah?” 

His voice stays steady, masking his questions as curiosity while in a small corner of the monitor, he’s pulling up and scrolling through the file on your ex. Net worth? Minimal. Job? Mediocre. There’s nothing about your ex sharing this habit or any other habits with him. But he considers that his fault, having brushed the other as unnoteworthy (which he does with anyone who breaks your heart). He can feel annoyance bubbling inside of him from your reminiscence with the other and his inability to pass it off as a simple talk about exes. Wait. Was this why? Because of the one time he mentioned about his past relationships?

“...Tim? Are you jealous?”

“W-what? No.” 

He flushes when he catches your unimpressed expression on the reflection of the screen. Instantly, he’s turned around, surprised to comforted when you start showering him with affection. Later on, he gives in and quit trying to get back at your ex for hurting you.

Minkhoa Khan/"Ghost-Maker":

Many had purposely brought up their exes to him before, trying to poke him for attention or gauge for a reaction. And most often he’d smirk and indulge them, finding the action as “cute”. 

But right now, his lips are set into a straight line. Constantly swirling the champagne in his flute rather than drinking it down. 

“Oh, I reminded you of your ex?” 

Lacking the feeling for empathy or fear, he’s never had found himself feeling jealous especially over an old flame of his partner. Right now? His mind is filled with irrationality and possessiveness. More than peeved for such a small thing to trigger an unneeded memory. 

He’s not one to usually filter or hold back on his opinion.  However, currently, there’s twice as much sass and bluntness as he shares his thoughts on the other in response to how fond you sounded when talking about your ex’s shared habit with him where your eyes widen from how out of character he was behaving. 

“Oh my god, you’re so jealous!” 

He refuses to give you the satisfaction, choosing to stay quiet and finish his glass. But when you don’t stop gloating, his hand slowly makes its way towards your shoulder to have you stop in a more… efficient way.

SUPERFAM FEAT:

Clark Kent:

“O-oh, really? I didn’t know your ex wore glasses…”

It’s bothering him so much. He doesn’t like it  that your ex does the same thing as him with the whole pushing up glasses if they were to slide down ever so slightly. It goes from him clasping his hands in his lap to resting them on his thighs in fists. More from him trying to stop said habit than anything else. 

Frustration and restlessness is how he gets, shuffling every few seconds so he’d at least feel comfortable on the bench he shares with you. His smile more awkward and his voice more strained. He wants to be the good boyfriend that would support you in every way: emotionally, mentally, and physically. So he tries to stay empathetic but his response stays as half-hearted caused by the ugly emotion coursing in his heart and brain. 

“Clark…? You’re not possibly jealous, are you?” 

Instantly flusters, cheeks matching his Superman suit while he denies that he is. 

“No! I’m not jealous whatsoever!” He tries to endure your stare, only to sigh and wave the white flag. “Yeah…. I actually am.” 

He lets out a grunt when you wrap your arms around him, finally breaking into a smile when you call him a silly man and that you’re stuck to him with superglue.

Conner Kent:

He stops and turns towards you, an eyebrow cocked up. 

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. This?” He flicks up the collar of his leather jacket in front you. “Is a Superboy signature move originating from yours truly.” 

So obviously your ex was copying him.  Not similar or “doing the same thing”.  But apparently, you beg to differ. He keeps brushing his hair back and fiddle with his shades, trying to suppress his irk of you continuing to push that he is similar to the other. Huffing at every point you make and rolling his eyes. 

He just doesn’t get it. Why he’s feeling this way and why he can’t act like normal. It’s not his first time hearing something like this from others, taking it in stride and joking how he’s that amazing that everyone wants to be him. But That’s not what’s happening right now. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, toying with a can near his foot. 

“You’re jealous.”

“No???”

Jealous? Him? No. No way. He’s Superboy, why would he be jealous? Despite his denial, his face starts to resemble his pants as you accurately guess what was running through his mind. At least part of his dignity gets restored when you kiss his cheek, calling him cute to which he cheekily replies with a duh.

Kong Kenan:

The baseball lands into his hand with a satisfying plot while he’s looking at you with a confused gaze. 

“Me tossing baseballs… reminds you of your ex…” He’s careful and slowly enunciating each word, making sure he didn’t (more like he hopes) misheard you. 

He goes back tossing the baseball with pursed lips and blowing air through his nose. It’s only concern. Worry. There’s nothing that he and your ex share in common. So he’d think you wouldn’t stretch it that far about getting reminded over something mundane as tossing a baseball. 

His tosses get harder, his eyes straining from keeping them trained on the ball. He makes an effort to at least voice out that he gets it, quite literally saying exactly that as he proceeds to explain why you’re wrong E.g., he’s smarter. He’s skilled. He’s Superman-

“Kenan, you know you’re jealous. Right?”

He startles, snapping his head towards you.

“What do you mean? I’m just saying-”

Trust for it to happen as soon as he takes his eyes off, the baseball would come falling on his head.  Coiling over, he yelps then scowls with tinted cheeks. At least you comfort him in the midst of your laughter, rubbing circles on his back which releases the tension in him as you promise you have no intentions of leaving him.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🌷Pick a Picture:🍨⊹˚. ♡ What's coming up for you on February?🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

🎀𝗜'𝗺 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹🎀

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🫧Join my Patreon for exclusive content!🫧

🖤If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!

🛍Masterlist🛍

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 1: Queen of Swords, 3 of Cups and 2 of Swords.

This February, everything may feel a little… random. Like you can't see clearly what's happening or what's coming next. And while it can be frustrating not to have all the answers, the Moon encourages you not to force things. Sometimes not knowing what's going on is a sign that you need to take a step back and allow yourself to feel without trying to rationalize everything.

You may be faced with situations this month that you may have been avoiding. Questions may arise about your relationships, your job, or even your current identity. And even though you may not perceive it now, it's all part of a developmental process. The confusion you're experiencing isn't harmful; on the contrary, it's like a "reminder" from the cosmos that there are elements within you that need to be heard. There will be times when you feel like the pieces are starting to fall into place, but there will also be days when you feel completely disoriented. And that's okay. You don't need to have everything figured out right away. It's a month to meditate, not to rush into solutions.

My recommendation would be not to put too much pressure on yourself. If you find yourself in a situation where things aren't clear, you shouldn't force yourself to make sure everything has immediate meaning. Keep an eye on your feelings, pay attention to the smallest details, and most of all, be kind to yourself. Clarity will come when it's needed, you just have to trust the process and yourself.

🧁Song:

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 2: The Sun, 4 of Wands and Queen of Wands.

You might feel like the pieces are starting to fall into place again this February, and that will give you a sense of clarity that you haven't experienced in a long time. You might feel more stimulated, more optimistic, or simply intent on giving your best. If there was something that was overwhelming you or that had stopped you, this is the moment when things begin to take a positive turn.

This month, you will experience thefeeling that something inside you is "waking up" in a sense. Perhaps you were already carrying some uncertainties or fears, but now it will give you the strength to face them, i heard "I'm going to put all my effort" as i was channeling your message. It is a favorable month to start a new project, undertake those dreams that you had saved or take on some circumstance that was going around in your mind. You will notice that the energy will be in your benefit. It is as if everything begins to flow without so much effort, like when you discover the right route and everything seems to be in tune.

Even if something is not exactly what you anticipated, your optimistic attitude and your clarity will help you to continue moving forward with confidence. Enjoy everything that this month brings with it. Sometimes we concentrate so much on the objectives that we forget to enjoy the trip. Take advantage of the minimal things, those that give us happiness in the simple things.

🧁Song:

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 3: 8 of Wands, The Chariot and King of Cups.

This month feels really "fast" to put it in a way, I think it will pass really quickly for you. Surprises can be a bit disconcerting at first, but in reality, they are bringing great potential. Some circumstances could change in unexpected ways, but that is just one component of the process. Don't worry if you feel that things are not progressing as you anticipated. Sometimes, the most significant transformations appear when we least expect them, and the final outcome can be much more favorable than you imagine.

This month could be a bit of a roller coaster, in the broadest sense. Some situations will evolve quickly, and you may feel like you are on a boat, but don't worry. There will be moments of uncertainty, but if you continue to evolve with the transformations, opportunities will begin to arise out of nowhere. It could be a good time to take a little more risk, as everything seems to be going in your favor.

Don't try to control everything. Life has its own rhythm, and sometimes it's best to allow yourself to be guided by the course of things. The surprises that will come this month will take you to unexpected places, and even though you can't anticipate what will happen, trust that everything has a reason to be the way it is. Let go of what you can't handle and continue to progress with the assurance that better things are yet to come <3

🧁Song:

💐Thank you for reading and tell me if it resonated💐

[obito-in-disguise]

Reader's cursed technique is slowly killing them won the poll. So without further ado, I present to you:

| The price of power |

Featuring: Ryomen Sukuna, Suguru Geto, Fushiguro Toji, Nanami Kento, Satoru Gojo, and Kamo Choso.

Ryomen Sukuna

At first, you try your best to hide it from Sukuna. You already know how he despises your life as a sorcerer, the very thing he loathes above all else.

You can’t even fathom the storm that will erupt when he discovers it’s not just your choice but your death sentence.

But alas, you’re only human. Bound to slip up.

You return from a mission one day, pale as a ghost, barely able to keep your feet moving. A sickening weight presses against your chest, your limbs sluggish. The world spins violently. Before you know it, you collapse to your knees, hacking up blood, your body betraying you.

Sukuna watches from the corner of the room, arms folded over his broad chest, a glint of barely constrained fury in his crimson eyes. He doesn't move to help. Of course, he wouldn’t. This was your punishment for being foolish enough to put your life on the line.

The room falls into tense silence until his voice cuts through it.

"You are never to use that technique again."

Your head snaps up, heart racing. "How…?"

He scoffs, stepping closer. "Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice? I can see your life force depleting with every breath you take." His eyes darken with contempt. "I stayed out of it, thinking maybe, just maybe, you had an ounce of common sense. But it’s clear I was wrong."

"You don't understand, Ryo-"

"Be quiet." His voice booms like a thunderclap, sharp enough to make you flinch. He exhales harshly, forcing himself to regain control. "I've let you play the hero long enough. Running around as a jujutsu sorcerer? That ends today."

A part of him almost felt guilty, knowing that the only reason you clung so fiercely to your role as a sorcerer, fighting at the cost of your life, was because you were trying to atone for something that wasn't even your sin. It was his.

You futilely hoped your heroic actions would be enough to balance the weight of his transgressions, somehow blot out his sins. For every sin he committed, you'd supplant with twice as much good deeds.

And that infuriated him more than anything else.

"You can't just ask me to do that!" Your voice cracks with desperation. This was your life. Your identity.

"I can, and I will." His words are final. He grips your arm, helping you up, but you shove him away with trembling hands.

"You don't own me!"

He freezes for a moment, then tilts his head slightly, an impassive look washing over his face. "Very well, then. You’ve left me with no choice."

His voice drops into something more sinister. "Return to that place, and I’ll personally inform them that their highly esteemed sorcerer has been frolicking with the King of Curses."

Your blood runs cold. You know who you’re dealing with. You know the lengths Sukuna will go to get what he wants. His cruelty knows no bounds.

"You wouldn’t," you whisper, shaking your head in denial.

He leans closer, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Try me."

Tears sting your eyes, but Sukuna remains unmoved. He pulls you into his arms despite your resistance, petting your hair with a gentleness that makes you want to tear yourself away from him and collapse all over again.

"This is for your own good" he mutters, voice almost tender.

Your life as a sorcerer is officially over.

As much as you want to hate him, resent him for his cruelty and selfishness, you can’t ignore the part of you that feels the faintest twinge of relief.

Twisted as it is, this is Sukuna's way of keeping you alive. His own brand of protection, drenched in menace and obsession.

When you look up at him, he tilts his head in response, his expression unreadable. And you know, no matter how warped it may be, this is love, as monstrous as the man who holds you.

Suguru Geto

Suguru believes this is some sort of divine punishment from the universe. Every night, haunted by dreams of past sorcerers lost to the system, he’s convinced that everyone he loves is destined to suffer at the hands of jujutsu society.

And so, with a heavy heart and a resolve forged in despair, he decides to strike back.

To do something about this God-awful system that drains every ounce of worth from its people until nothing remains.

One cold, rain-soaked night, when the world seemed as broken as his own heart, he acted. You were at your weakest, a moment when doubt and exhaustion blurred your senses. Before you could protest, he grabbed you and vanished into the storm.

Soon after, he emerges as a whirlwind of rebellion. The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons marks his war against jujutsu society, declaring that every act of violence, every sacrifice, was done in your name.

"Suguru, what the hell are you doing?" you yell, fists pounding against his chest when you realize what he's done "You made me a defect! I'm branded a traitor now!"

He grabs you, his eyes wild, glazed over with something akin to madness. "I did it to save you" he insists, his voice unwavering. "Don't you see? If you stay with them, they'll keep sending you on missions until you’re dead!"

The air seems to still as your mind races back to memories of simpler days, quiet moments shared in the soft glow of a setting sun, laughter echoing in corridors that once felt like home. You recall a time when every scar told a story of bravery rather than betrayal.

"That wasn’t your choice to make! I love being a sorcerer-" you begin, but your words are swallowed by the storm of your emotions.

"Why should your love for these people spell the end of your life!" he yells out, gripping your shoulders as though trying to shake sense into you, eyes pleading with you.

For a long, agonizing moment, your anger falters under the weight of his vulnerability. You watch him shake with emotion, watch the man you love unravelling before your eyes.

With everything Suguru had been through, you were surprised he didn't crack sooner. Haibara's death, Riko's murder, falling behind Satoru, you'd wondered how he seemed to stomach it all, but it was clear as day to you now. Suguru was not well.

He cups your face, his touch both tender and resolute. "Hate me if you want, but at least you'll be alive" a reassurance meant more for himself than for you.

For the next few months, he keeps you as a prisoner of love. Isolated and weakened, your mind becomes fertile ground for his manipulative truths.

He presents the scars left by the system, scars not only etched into your body but twisted deep into his soul. The memory of every lost friend and every bitter injustice converges in his words, painting the jujutsu world as the real enemy.

Slowly, insidiously, his beliefs begin to seep into your consciousness. The line between your thoughts and his conditioning blurs until you find yourself wondering:

'maybe the world wouldn't be such a bad place without those damned monkeys'

Fushiguro Toji

"Are you scared?" Toji’s voice is low, steady, but there's a dangerous edge to it. He tosses his gun up and down in his hand as he waits for you to respond.

Your throat tightens. What's the point in lying now? You already have one foot in the grave. "Yes."

The rage that flickers across his face is immediate and terrifying, but he immediately reels himself in.

They made you scared.

"Those bastards" he says, pushing himself off the wall. "They did this to you."

You grab his arm before he can move. "Being a sorcerer is where my heart is. It's not their fault."

His jaw tightens, teeth grinding audibly. "The hell it isn’t." He yanks his arm free with a force that nearly topples you. "You're not dying for these people."

"And I'm not quitting!" you snap back, desperate "If I'm going to die anyway, isn't it better I die doing what I love? for the people I love?"

Something flickers in his eyes, something raw and guttural. His expression falters, not in anger, but in something far more devastating; heartbreak, pity.

Watching you plead to sacrifice yourself for people who never gave a damn was unbearable.

Without a word, Toji turns on his heel and disappears into the night.

You don’t know how long you wait. Each second stretches like an eternity, gnawing at your nerves. And when Toji finally returns, the world as you know it has already shattered. The jujutsu headquarters is left in ruins, higher ups dead.

His shirt is torn, skin slick with blood, some his, most not. The stench of iron clings to him, thick and nauseating.

Your heart races. "Toji...What did you do?" you demand, voice trembling.

Toji wipes blood from the corner of his mouth, gaze cold and unrepentant as he begins to take off his bloodied clothes. "I handled it."

"You, you killed them? how could you! they were good people" The words falter on your tongue, disbelief mingling with horror.

He steps closer, towering over you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. "You're not well, listen to yourself! They were killing you slow!"

He pauses, his grip loosening, and his expression darkens. "You think I care what they were? Sorcerers, civilians, it’s all the same bullshit. They use people, grind 'em down, and toss 'em out when they're empty. I’ve seen it over and over, and you’re just the latest offering on their altar of self-righteousness."

His voice grows quieter, more resolute, tinged with a harsh philosophy born of survival. "The strong eat the weak. That’s the truth of this world. You can dress it up with loyalty and love, but at the end of the day, it’s kill or be killed."

Toji tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You wanna die a noble sorcerer? Fine. But I’m not gonna stand by and watch it happen."

The sheer weight of his actions crashes over you, several people were dead because of you. You can't stop yourself when you whisper "You're a monster"

His lips curl into a sadistic smile. "If keeping you alive makes me a monster, I’ll wear the title proudly doll."

Nanami Kento

Nanami is a man who lives by control. The jujutsu world is chaotic, but he navigates it with precision and discipline. Until the day they return your body.

The mission was supposed to be simple. But when your cursed energy surged one last time, your body gave out. The autopsy is clear; years of strain from your technique had broken you down from the inside out.

Nanami listens in silence, face blank. He barely hears the words, an incessant ringing pounding in his ears. His eyes are glued to your face.

It was the most peaceful he had ever seen you. You looked like you were simply sleeping, finally free of the burdens of being a sorcerer.

He abruptly walks away without a word, unable to bear the gruesome details of your departure any longer. Gojo tries to stop him, but Nanami doesn’t even glance back.

He doesn't cry. He doesn't yell.

Grief claws at his chest, desperate to break free, but he just can’t process it. Instead, he stares blankly at the letter Gojo had managed to press into his hand. He reads it over and over, willing a miracle, willing all of this to be some twisted joke.

'Kento,

I know you'd hate this letter, but I needed to tell you that I was happy. Being with you made all the pain worth it. Every single second of it.

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you like this. You have every right to hate me, I understand.

But I just wanted you to know that being with you were some of the best moments of my life, you made it all worth it.

You reminded me that there’s beauty in a world filled with curses.

I love you Kento, please take care of yourself.'

He slides down to the floor, hands gripping his hair. He wants to resent you, to hate you for leaving him so selfishly, but he can't. All his hatred and resentment are reserved for the system that chewed you up and spit you out.

Nanami Kento wasn't the type to die on missions. He was the type to survive no matter what.

But when he stands before Mahito that day in Shibuya, he finally understands. He sees what made you put your life on the line, the hope for the younger generation, the fleeting chance to make a difference.

So he closes his eyes and welcomes his demise, smiling as memories of you fill his mind for the last time. You were everything to him, and you always would be, even in death.

Gojo Satoru

You'd become something of Gojo's emotional support person. It took him years to open up to you, but when he finally did, he opened the floodgates.

So you felt terrible, terrible that you were wronging him by not telling him the true cost of your cursed technique, the very price of your life.

Each innocent, unaware smile he sent your way was like a dagger to your heart. Yet you were too afraid to tell him, so you tested the waters instead.

"Hey, Satoru… what would you do if something were to happen to me?" you ask gently, unable to make eye contact as you lie on his bed, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the sheets.

"What?" he replies, his tone light, but only for a moment.

"Like if my cursed technique was killing me…" you cringe as the words tumble out unchecked, so much for testing the waters.

In that instant, Satoru's stomach sinks. The moment you reveal what your technique is doing to your body, it's as if the very ground beneath him shatters.

He laughs at first, a hollow, forced sound as he desperately tries to maintain levity. "You're joking, right? that's ridiculous. We'll fix it. I'll fix it."

But when you shake your head gently, his heart plummets.

"I tried everything, Satoru…" you murmur, the admission hanging heavy in the air.

And that’s when you see a side of Satoru Gojo you’ve never seen before. His entire being stiffens with resolve as he rises from the bed, his playful personality shifting to something cold.

"Then you'll just have to never use that technique again" he declares.

You get up as well, hoping he was joking. "Satoru, that's not realistic" you argue, trying to meet his intense gaze. "What kind of sorcerer would I be without my technique?"

"Then I guess you don't have to worry about being a sorcerer anymore"

"That's ridiculous! I dedicated my whole life to this!" you exclaim, shock and desperation mingling in your voice.

Satoru simply smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that quickly turns menacing as his tone hardens. "There's no point in fighting, Y/n. I have the higher-ups in my palm. If you don't quit, I'll do it for you."

You stare at him in shock. Did he just threaten you? A part of you wants to lash out, but you stop yourself.

Behind his threats, you see a man desperate to save someone he loves. A man tired of being the strongest, of being unable to save the people he cares about.

He swallows, gazing at you with a pained expression, his demeanour desperate. "My mind is made up, Y/n, you’re not dying. Not now, not ever."

Kamo Choso

When Choso loved, he loved fiercely.

His dedication and loyalty to the ones he loved knew no bounds, and you were no exception.

As you lay there, slipping away in his arms, he could feel his world crumbling. "No." he says, voice trembling "You're not leaving me."

"Choso…" you whisper, reaching for him weakly. "I'm sorry."

But he can't. He refuses to accept it. His love for you, his grief, warps into something monstrous. The raw emotion burns through him, uncontrolled. Without even realizing it, he curses you as your last breath escapes.

When you awaken, everything is different. Your body is no longer your own. It's ethereal, consumed by cursed energy that has become embedded in the very fabric of your being. You’re not human anymore. You’ve become a curse.

You both stare at each other in stunned silence, horror painting both of your faces. The weight of what he’s done, the horror of what you’ve become, sinks in.

"I... I didn’t mean to-" Choso’s voice cracks, guilt flooding his words.

Before he can finish his sentence, you burst into uncontrollable tears. You’ve become the very thing you’ve fought against your whole life. The very thing that has caused so much pain to others.

And when your friends and colleagues see you, they’ll be horrified by what you’ve become.

"I just wanted to keep you with me" he chokes out in panic, not knowing what to do. His fingers shaking as he grips you tighter. "I didn’t know-"

Without thinking, he pulls you into a hug, half-expecting you to shove him away, knowing that he’s the one responsible for this. He did this to you. But you don’t pull away.

Choso is all you have now. The only one who sees you as you still are, not as the monster the world will now see you as.

As Choso holds you, he can't stop the sick feeling of satisfaction that blooms up in his chest. He'd never let you know but he was relieved.

He knew your time together was always going to be limited, you were human and he was a curse.

Not anymore.

Now you were going to be with him.

Forever and ever.

Well that was creepy.

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