#because I will follow through and that is a promise!

[astralnymphh]

requesting fluffy period sex with Jackson Ellie!!

i’ve been thinking about this for ages lol but just imagine Ellie hearing that orgasms can help period cramps, maybe she randomly reads it in an old trashy magazine or she overhears two other girls talking about it while in town. anyway, she wants to help her gf of course, wants to make you feel better. you’re apprehensive at first and a little shy/embarrassed but Ellie’s like “do u really think i care about a little blood?” because obviously that girl does NOT care abt blood. maybe she even likes it a little…

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄. ★

note from author: you know i will use any excuse to write jackson!ellie + period sex. especially fluffy sex. with a hint of freak. make sure to hit that like button and subscribe. for more gay sex. drabble length. wrote this in a day (and on my period) so excuse the simpler style. oral + fingering (if you have a problem, keep it to yourself. nobody gaf). not a lot of plot. 18+ interactions please. mdni. wc: 1k.

To think, that you were brought a dream.

In the hands of a girl.

You must be blacking in and out. It rushes over your skin: the exhilaration, the sensation, the indent of fingers squeezing your bra-padded breasts, the sweat sticking to her lilac bedsheets. She traverses you like written text. Wrists, shoulders, hips, thighs, the beginnings to a place you feel the need to hide. When the shape of her head intrudes itself there, her intrepid fingers—they follow, and spread the pages for a translation tender and filling. Something she can't put down; you scoot your hips away, and she pulls you right back in.

She reads you.

You feel sedate lengths of softness tread through the channels under your abdomen, where it cramps—and the pain fleets. You forget all about it, until a finger eases inside, and you yelp with all the breath hitched in your throat. “Wait, Ellie!” You shut the heart of your thighs, enclosing her wrist. The ever-so soft junction.

She cocks her head. “What's the matter, babe?”

“You'll get blood on your fingers.”

She read about it in a grayed-out, faded Cosmo; it roped in the young generations, for generations, concerning them with relationships and the sex life of women—menstruation. It fucking sucks, but it sure doesn't have to; she can soothe you right here on the bed you're burrowed up in.

The Jackson local library has an answer for everything.

Ellie promised that after a serenade on her guitar, a hundred kisses, and a whisper of strawberry wine, she would help you out. Tongue and hands.

The practiced grooves on her face snap when she laughs, and she slides up your crotch to have a more face-to-face, respectable consolation. Don't get her wrong: muzzling something incoherent into the plush of your thighs is exciting—and it lets those embarrassing, inhibition-numbing sentiments trickle out until she gets as red as her hair—but she wants you to hear her this time. Cold fingertips melt into your waist.

Your skin is on fire.

“Do you really think I care about a little blood?” She questions, with a voice cornered and hoarse and teasing, tracing mindless circles into your belly. Your reason isn't reason enough to Ellie, it seems.

You glance around for something to convice her. “Well—I don't want to get blood on..”

Ellie disregards you with a head shake and reburies her shoulders under the open perspective of you. Arms entangle you again. “Mh-mm, don't worry about that.” And she, being clever with her peach lips, kisses you here, there, in those self-same distracting places that make you trance out and miss a couple beats, then tense up when she invites her tongue, slips it down and..

Die. For a breath.

Strands of her hair crumple under your grip. Catch under your fingernails.

“Fuck, right there.. right there, Ellie.”

It felt more alight than usual; thick, hot, catalytic presses with her tongue pushing your folds and pinching that bud of nerves—you almost tug her down harder. She can tell you wanted to. It elicits an affirming, quickened pace of her tongue and squeeze of your thighs. Her eyes are fluttered shut, and she looks like a quiet, satisfied heaven.

Her thumb enters below her mouth.

She pulls back—like a vampiric portrait—and cleans her lips, and you bear down for it to return. The thumb inside stills you with a slow pumping.

“See, babe?”

Ellie slides out that thumb. Sucks it, lips pulling over the tip, for you. Humming at your taste like she's about to come herself.

“I don't care. I fuckin' love it.”

Not a second ticks, where you get to process the overwhelming tingle up your nape—or the numbing sound of your heart pounding, and Ellie is already stuffing her face right where it was. She takes you without question. Spreading your thighs apart, she lines up her wet tongue with your wetter entrance and laps your clit, making the swollen bud catch, drag and flick into place: an addicting loop. It feels so perfect against her heart-shaped mouth. Soon, you forget that cramps were the thing that initiated this and delight pours from your throat.

You catch her groping herself to the sound.

She managed a clean job. Blood stains the swell of her chin, to the tip of her nose in lithe blotches, but you knew that would happen. Of course, with her pressing her entire mouth against your hole to wag her face in your mess—you had laughed through a moan when she did—who could guess differently?

It's Ellie: so, of course.

She was smiling when your cries of release came crashing. You shuddered, rode it out on her mouth, and the corner of her lips just curled into your heat.

Fucking idiot.

When you glance down, the little ligatures of humiliation poke at you again; you begin to close your legs. But the indents on your hips from her hold grow deeper. It inches you back open.

She steals the opportuinity to slot herself in that space.

Ellie swipes hair from your face with the backs of her fingers, lingering. “You did so fuckin' good, babe. That's all you needed, huh? I know, I know. You can thank me later,” she boasts. But all you can focus on is her jean-covered thigh against you.

Quiet as the room, you gasp, but it still prompts her to look in the same spot and nudge off you.

She scoffs. “Psh—it'll come right out. Nothin' to sweat over.”

She is too nonchalant for your heart.

You shift in your pool of sudation, rolling out little grunts. Her touch coheres your movements. “Where did you even learn this from?”

“Uh,” she sounds, gaping open mouth. Ellie would nick herself in the knee if you figured how devoted to you she is in passing time. It takes up more than that, if were being honest. She feels better when you perceive her as your genius and generous girlfriend—so she'll keep it that way. “Just, kinda.. thought that I should do it. Yeah.”

You would refute if you were half as awake as you were before Ellie sapped your whole stamina bank out. Thanks, babe.

“Totally.”

“Mhm, I'm the best.” Sarcasm manages to seep through regardless, even when she tries. You laugh at it.

Ellie blacked out within the hour—before you could—sound asleep in the repository your sprawling lap provides, halfway down the bed in an entanglement. You followed in syrup-like tandem—but not without your fingers in her scalp, and a whisper of words. Sleep fought you for this moment.

“You're the best, idiot.”

[choerypetal]

Silent Vengeance / Lee Myung-gi

summarize: Who would have thought that a man who sees himself as powerful could be reduced to selfishness by obsession, only for a knight in armor to heal a broken heart?

English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical errors, but I really hope you enjoy it! based on s2 squid game so spoilers ahead!

Thanos’s pride and the attention he commanded among the crowd stirred bitterness in some of the contestants—yours included. It baffled many that a retired rapper would stoop to participate in such brutal games, especially one that involved splashes of blood staining his clothes.

It wasn’t until after the Green Light, Red Light game that his focus shifted. He noticed a particular figure—a silhouette that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. The way you sprinted with precision, timing each step perfectly to freeze at the exact moment, or how you yanked another contestant’s hair to throw them off balance, was a calculated display of survival. That endurance, paired with your quiet defiance of the chaos around you—including his own—captivated Thanos from the very beginning.

While Thanos reveled in his lingering popularity, relishing how some followed his every move like sheep to a shepherd, he couldn’t ignore one undeniable truth: for once, he wasn’t the center of attention. That honor belonged to you.

And never in a thousand of years would he see you here. In flesh. Not after the break up.

Like many others, you had joined the Games with hopes of a better life—a seductive promise whispered by the Salesman. His grotesque smile lingered in your mind whenever you stole a moment to rest, though such moments were rare. Still, your demeanor betrayed none of the turmoil beneath. Your stony expression, coupled with your tendency to linger at the edges, observing the chaos with silent disdain, set you apart. To you, the Games were a grim spectacle—a macabre theater of desperation and misplaced hopes.

Despite this, a few contestants managed to draw you into sparse, fleeting conversations. Thanos, however, stood apart—not because you sought him out, but because he was the last person you’d have ever chosen to engage with. And yet, it fascinated him. Knowing your shared history, he found it almost poetic to see you here, standing as a quiet, untouchable force while his own magnetism faltered in your shadow.

“This prick is getting on my nerves,” someone muttered, their voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs of the room. The words belonged to 333. His number stood out just as much as his presence as he slid into the seat beside you. You’d learned his name was Lee Myung-gi. He extended a hand toward you, his lips curling into a soft grin that hinted at practiced charm. You nodded slightly, mirroring the gesture out of courtesy. “Y/N,” you said plainly.

There was a pause before Myung-gi’s gaze flicked toward Thanos, his tone lowering conspiratorially. “I don’t mean to stir the pot or anything, but... word is, you and Thanos were a thing. He says you’re pretending not to remember him. And that’s why you—”

“333!”

Thanos’s voice cut through like a blade, silencing Myung-gi mid-sentence. Both of you turned your heads in unison, meeting Thanos’s unyielding stare. You recognized that look immediately—brows furrowed, his glare burning with thinly veiled fury. It was a warning, one that promised Myung-gi wouldn’t survive another word in your direction. The intensity of it could rival any of the Games themselves.

“You should go,” you said quietly, your tone flat but decisive. Your eyes barely glanced at Myung-gi, let alone at Thanos. Yet the weight of his gaze pressed heavily on you, and something inside you churned—a mix of unease, defiance, and something far harder to name.

You wanted to let loose a string of curses, every sharp word you could think of—but you stopped yourself. The memory of a promise lingered in the back of your mind.

Never speak to one another after the breakup.

It was a fragile vow, one you both had clung to out of pride or necessity. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before it shattered completely.

It wasn’t until the bathroom game that the tension reached its breaking point. Thanos never imagined he’d find himself mere feet away from you again, let alone in the confines of a separate room. Yet here he was, his determination undeterred, even as 333 hovered too close for his liking. Thanos wasn’t subtle about his intentions—he wouldn’t let anyone, least of all Myung-gi, encroach on what he still felt was his.

The image of you and 333 pressing X together during the last game still burned in Thanos’s mind, a fresh wound that refused to heal. It festered, replaying over and over like a mocking refrain, igniting a possessive anger he could no longer contain.

As he stepped into the bathroom hall, his focus zeroed in on Myung-gi, the irritation bubbling into something darker. “You’re getting all worked up. So there is something going on,” Thanos said, his voice low and edged with menace.

He stepped closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “If you press X again tomorrow...” Thanos leaned in, his words a venomous whisper, “I’ll cut off your finger and give it to her.”

Myung-gi’s jaw tightened at the threat, his discomfort evident. But what unsettled him more was the reason you’d pressed X with him in the first place. It wasn’t a calculated strategy or an empty gesture—it was a fleeting grasp at safety, something you rarely allowed yourself. While you were usually stoic, Myung-gi’s quiet acts of care had chipped away at your defenses, enough to make you question your own resolve.

Thanos couldn’t stand it. The rules of the Games were unambiguous, but what he thought he saw—the almost imperceptible closeness between you and Myung-gi, the way your lips hovered as if to kiss—was enough to set his blood ablaze. The possibility, imagined or not, was more than he could bear.

And that was the last straw. 

“And ask her out. She’ll love it.” 

“You asshole!” Thanos barely registered the punch before his jaw throbbed, the sharp sting waking something primal in him. His thumb brushed over his chin, checking for blood, before he retaliated with equal ferocity. “You motherfucker!” he snarled, his fist connecting with satisfying force.

Chaos erupted as their hands found each other’s throats, both grappling for dominance. Myung-gi’s back slammed against the bathroom stall, the sound echoing in the tight space. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, fists flying without restraint. “Your money, your girl, your life—they’re all mine!” Thanos spat, driving his fist into Myung-gi’s cheek with enough force to make his knuckles ache.

But then, everything shifted. Thanos froze, his breath hitching as blood sprayed from his own mouth, splattering across Myung-gi’s face. The sudden realization of injury shocked him into silence. Without a word, he pulled back, retreating to the shadows of the stall, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

And yet, in that moment of pain and rage, his mind wasn’t on the fight—it was on you. Always you.

The bathroom games were over. The stalls were scrubbed clean of the chaos that had unfolded, leaving little trace of what had transpired. As you and Myung-gi stepped out, your eyes met briefly. The way he looked at you—earnest, searching—was impossible to ignore. The remaining contestants loitered nearby, their presence a quiet reminder of the fragile truce this space demanded. But Thanos was nowhere to be found. Somehow, the thought of his absence made your shoulders feel just a little lighter.

Despite the unspoken rule of no interactions before returning to the dorms, Myung-gi broke it without hesitation. He rushed toward you, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. For a moment, you froze, unsure. But your hands instinctively found his face, fingers brushing over the bruise already darkening on his cheek.

You couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts about Thanos—how he’d reacted to other men during your relationship, the jealousy that often burned too brightly. The memories made your stomach twist with dread. But as your thumb grazed Myung-gi’s cheek, his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the comfort of your touch.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tension lingering in the air.

He let out a quiet scoff, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile. “The prick’s finally getting what he deserves anyway.”

[choso-is-bbg]

#𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

thank you all so much for 500 followers and 1000 reblogs!!! Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ literally a few days ago we reached 400. thank you again. i didn't realize people liked my work. so here's headcanons of husband!nanami. enjoy!!!

husband!nanami who brings you delicious pastries and a big bouquet of your favourite flowers every week without fail because he loves you oh so much. he loves how you always say thank you to him and appreciating him in ways he had never been appreciated before.

husband!nanami who opens the car door for you before you get on or of. he has to be the gentleman he promised to be so don't you dare touch the door, he'll quickly get out of the car and go to your side and open the door for you and offers his hand to help you out too

husband!nanami who carries your heels in his hands as well as your purse because yours tired and your heels are killing you. he always has a pair of flip flops with him just incase this happens which is almost all the time, but he doesn't mind. not one bit

husband!nanami who likes to have you in his arms while he's reading a book. either you're sleeping or on the phone he doesn't care. he claims that he focuses better on the book knowing that you are right next to him in his arms.

husband!nanami who gets flustered when you brush his neck, especially the part closer to his undercut. his neck and ears flashing red and he's unable to look you in the eyes because of your teasing.

husband!nanami who loves to walk up behind you and circle his arms around your waist and rest his cheek on your shoulder as you cook. not speaking a word after a long tiring day of work, he just wants to feel you on him in silence and be happy that he made such an excellent decision of marrying you.

husband!nanami who ends up talking a lot about you to his coworkers when they ask about anything that's related to you. "your lunch looks good. did you make it?". "it was my beautiful wife actually. she'll be pleased to know you said that". just looking for any excuse to show you off.

husband!nanami who is loved by your parents. he makes meaning conversations with your dad and is a help around the house without being asked which your mom absolutely adores. "you should be more like him", your mom says for the hundredth time you've visited them while nanami's washing the dishes.

husband!nanami who let's you know how much he loves. either through words of affirmation, spoiling you with gifts and just doing acts in your favour. you're his favourite person and he wants you to know that making it evident in his words and his actions.

#comments and reblogs are appreciated

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 7

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Happy New Year! Chapter count is continuing to go up, because I need to halve this chapter after hitting 6k. Should be 10 parts. Hopefully.

Arthur did eventually show up with enough McDonald’s in tow to feed an army. 

Fries, Nuggets and even including apology milkshakes.

“I am really sorry,” her little brother apologised to her, looking distraught.

Colette exhaled slowly, trying her hardest not to laugh at the sheepish look on Arthur's face.

"The next time, maybe you should think before you post. But then I clearly didn’t do that either,” she said drily.

“I mean, karma is the guy in the car coming straight home to me, did amuse me very much,” Vic said brightly.

Arthur blushed deeply, and ducked his head in embarrassment. He set down the bags of takeout on the counter, and then looked up to her to apologize again, his eyes wide like a puppy begging for forgiveness.

"Come here," Colette said with a sigh, holding out her arms for him. "I love you, ma petite puce."

"Colette!" Arthur complained with a grimace, but she just grinned.

"Oh you'll always be my little flea," she teased her younger brother.

"Oh god, don't call me that," Arthur complained, letting her pull him into a tight hug. He let out a long suffering sigh. "I said I was sorry!"

"I know you are," she said, patting the top of his brown hair, even when that meant that she needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach. "But the fact remains that you were an idiot before."

Arthur groaned in embarrassment and dropped his head to her shoulder in defeat.

"Eat your fries," his voice was muffled. "And please tell me you have some salad or something in the fridge so Max doesn't kill me for feeding you nothing but junk food."

"I do have some salad in the fridge," Colette said and ruffled his hair. "I'll eat lots of veggies, I promise. And I’ll even tell Maxie that I blackmailed you into getting me fries, if you want,” she suggested brightly.  

Vic just snorted. "Let's just get that back in the living room and we can put on Sky News and bitch about the commentators."

"You guys are awful," Arthur protested, but he was already gathering their food and following along obediently. "The comments on Sky Sports are not nearly as bad as you make them out to be..."

Colette rolled her eyes and instead collapsed onto the couch, wriggling to get comfortable, because her back was still killing her.

Arthur was also very wrong. Danica Patricks definitively was that bad. Colette could just stare at the train wreck in front of her.

"Vic. Why in the world has Sky Jos on there to talk about Maxie's anger issues. What anger issues?" she demanded. Max didn’t have anger issues. Who in the world had come up with that? This was utterly ridiculous!

Victoria stared at her. "You don't know?!" she asked, sounding shocked.

"Know what?" Colette demanded. "Enzo deleted every social media app in existence from my phone. Why do people think that Max of all people has anger issues?!"

"George Russell," Arthur mumbled. "He said some...things."

Things. George Russell had said some things. 

Colette sat up a little straight at that, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What things?" she demanded. "What did he say?"

Victoria and Arthur exchange a look.

"He may have said that he wouldn't want Max to date his sister because he is sure that his girlfriend is the one dealing with his anger issues?" Arthur offered.

"He. Said. What?" Colette bit out.

No wonder there had been this tone in Max's voice when they had talked this morning...No wonder he had sounded upset, when that George fucking Russell had pretty much accused him of hurting her. And of course, he hadn't wanted to worry her, so of course, he hadn't told her.

Victoria reached out and grasped her elbow, as if she worried Colette would jump up and attack the screen.

"You need to stay calm," Vic said firmly. "You can't get worked up, it's not good for you, and it's not good for the baby," she warned her.

"I will murder George Russell," Colette growled in response.

"No murder," Victoria said in a no-nonsense voice. "You can't kill him, he's not worth it. And you can't have this stress, for your health. And the baby."

Colette huffed but she was still seething.

Only to then have Danica Patrick pipe up from the TV Screen: "What are your thoughts on your son’s supposed anger issues?"

"He doesn't have anger issues!" Colette snapped. "I have anger issues right now! I am going to find George Russell and punch him in the face!"

Arthur stared at her with an ill-hidden combination of horror and fascination.

Victoria laughed again, but it was mostly out of surprise and disbelief. "Well, at least we know that your temper is firmly intact," she said dryly.

"I'm sure Max is going to loooove seeing you this worked up over this," Arthur grumbled.

Colette had a lot of problems with Max's father, but at least for once she actually agreed with him:

"On the circuit…as soon as Max lowers his visor, he turns into a lion. He is really motivated and the only thing that matters is winning. It was always in him. What I see in Max now, I saw in karting," Jos answered Danica's question. "But that’s not the same Max you see when he is at home. On the race track, he is a lion, but at home, he’s a teddy bear. He got that from Sophie. He’s very sweet, very gentle…Incredible protective of the people he cares about."

For the first time in recent history, Colette found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with Jos Verstappen.

"He is a teddy bear," she mumbled in agreement. "The sweetest thing on earth. And that bastard has no idea what he's talking about," she bit out.

"Of course Max is a lion on the track," Arthur said with a scoff. "We've witnessed that ourselves. Everyone in the paddock knows that Max is a machine when he's in his race car, but George has his head up his ass if he thinks that Max is aggressive off the circuit."

"We all know that Maxie is the gentlest, most generous person out there," Victoria agreed, shaking her head. "George Russell is clearly jealous and is making stuff up just to get attention."

Colette just huffed.

"So you don't think he has anger issues?" Danica Patrick pushed.

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" Colette grumbled in response, her shoulders taut with anger.

Arthur laughed and Victoria squeezed her arm.

"No," Jos answered flatly.

Danica Patrick, who was clearly fishing for a different reply, seemed a little thrown by the firm response. But she rallied quickly enough to pivot: "And what can you tell us about your son’s relationship with Colette Leclerc?"

"Oh, come on!" Colette snapped.

"They have been together for a very long time," Jos replied simply, his accent strong as ever. "…since back in Karting. I don’t think anybody believed that that relationship would last, but they did prove everybody wrong."

The answer was unexpectedly charming and sincere.

Colette found herself blinking at that, surprised at how fond he sounded when talking about her and Max. Even Arthur was gaping stupidly, and it looked like Victoria was struggling not to choke on her drink from surprise.

"I think the great thing about Colette is that she understands his life, his career. She has a brother who does the same job as Max, so she was always incredibly supportive of him," Jos continued. "She is there for him. She supports him completely, and she’s been there for him through the good times and the bad. I don’t think Max would be the man he is today without her."

Arthur and Victoria stared at the screen with dropped jaws, stunned into silence.

"Is that Jos actually giving a heartfelt compliment?" Arthur muttered in disbelief.

“I think he is?” Victoria responded questioningly. This was certainly a new experience for everyone.

On the screen, Jos continued: "I have been watching their relationship for over half of Max's life, and Max really did pick the right girl."

"Your son hasn’t talked a lot about his relationship," Danica said leadingly.

"Oh, you won’t get anything from him," Jos said with a snort. "He’s very protective over her, always has been. Especially with her in her current condition."

Colette’s eyes widened and she immediately put a hand over her stomach in a protective gesture. 

"Fuck," Victoria cursed.

“Did he seriously just do that?” Arthur croaked. “Did he just tell all of F1 - no, all of the world - that Colette is pregnant?”

All three of them just gaped at the TV.

Danica Patricks looked like a vampire that had just tasted blood. "Her current condition?" she asked, her voice honeyed sweet.

"Yes," Jos confirmed simply. "The baby is supposed to come any day now. We’re all incredibly excited for the new addition to the family. I mean, it took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough."

He said like it was a joke. Like it hadn't taken them the better part of 3 years and 2 miscarriages.

Colette’s whole body had tensed, her heart clenching painfully in her chest as the words echoed in her mind: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough. Those words felt like a punch to the gut - like a mockery of all the pain and disappointment and suffering.

All the stress and anxiety and anguish that they had gone through. All the tears and the desperation and prayers for a miracle.

And all of it reduced to a cheap, dirty joke.

"I am going to throttle him," Victoria said, her voice shaking.

"Get in line," Arthur grumbled, looking equally enraged.

Colette just sat there staring fixedly at the screen, feeling like her whole mind had gone numb.

It was one thing when Jos made his snide little comments to them, but it was quite another when he decided to talk about that on international TV. He made it sound like their troubles to conceive had only been a matter of not trying hard enough.

It felt like a gut punch. Colette had always known that Jos had no idea how hard the last couple of years had been for them, but now, in light of his comment, it sounded like he somehow assumed it had all been their own fault.

They had kept both miscarriages quiet...had only shared it with a handful of people. She knew that Max had told Vic about it, but he had never told his father.

Her hands were shaking with anger. The urge to throw something - anything - was almost overwhelming as the words echoed in her head over and over: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough.

How could he have been so cruel? How could he go and announce it on international television and make it sound like it hadn’t been the hardest thing that either of them had ever been through?

It felt like a betrayal. Colette had never expected much out of Max’s father, but this? This felt like twisting the knife in a still-healing wound and pouring salt into it.

It felt like a stab to the back. Jos had no idea. No idea how hard it had been to keep the hope up. No idea how much it had hurt with every failed test and every lost dream. And no idea how much they both had longed for the baby that was growing within her.

And now he was just treating it like it had been a matter of not working hard enough, as if it had been an easy task and they had simply taken their sweet time to do something that came naturally to most people.

Her mind would have continued to turn into circles...if there hadn't been a sudden stabbing pain low in her abdomen.

Colette winced as the pain flared. It was a shock, and her hands immediately flew down to press against the source of the pain.

"Are you alright?" Victoria asked immediately. Colette clenched her teeth as the cramping pain seemed to grow even worse, before easing.

"Just...just a cramp," Colette managed to breathe out. "It's fine. It's fine. I just- it just startled me, that's all."

She tried to assure herself that it was nothing. Just Braxton Hicks - just the body preparing for the labor, the pain sometimes got intense. But something about it felt...off.

"Is that the first one today?" Victoria asked her. "You winced a few times this morning."

Colette thought back to this morning, recalling how she had woken up with a stabbing pain in her lower back. She hadn’t thought much of it then, since her muscles hadn’t been happy with her in a long time at this point - and it had passed pretty quickly after a few minutes.

"I'm not sure, I-" she started, her breath catching.

There was pain again, another stabbing contraction.

"Are they getting stronger?" Victoria asked, her voice sharpening.

The pain receded after a few seconds, and Colette had to force down the urge to curl up on the couch with her hands on her stomach as she tried to take deep breaths."It's nothing. I still have 4 weeks," Colette said with a shake of her head.

The words sounded like a prayer. Because she wasn’t due for at least another month, after all. This was just the Braxton Hicks contractions that her doctor had warned her about. The practice contractions that were supposed to help get her body ready for labor, nothing to worry about.

It was just her body preparing for the birth, that was all.

But the pain came back again, and this time, Colette couldn't quite suppress the gasp as she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.

"Colette," Victoria said, her voice sharp. "I don’t think they’re just practice contractions. The way you’re tensing and wincing...this is the real deal. I think you’re going into actual labor."

“No,” Colette said, her heart lurching in her chest. “No, no, I’m not…I’m not supposed to go into labor until January, this is- this is not supposed to happen.”

She had just hit her 36th week, and she was due at the start of January. It was far too early for the labor to start.

"I don't think the baby cares about that," Victoria said with a laugh. "Come on, we'll need to get you to the hospital."

"No, I can't be in labour. Max isn't here," she disagreed.

Colette felt a fresh wave of panic wash over her. The very last thing she wanted to do was start labor without Max there, and Max was currently in the middle of a race on the opposite end of the world.

“Where’s your hospital bag?“ Victoria asked her, all business. “Where’s are the car keys? Arthur is driving.“

“What, no!“ Arthur squeaked. Arthur clearly looked terrified, his eyes growing like saucers as he stared at them. "No - no, I don’t think I can-"

But Victoria was already rounding on him. "Oh yes,  you can. Just get the keys and get the damn car ready. I‘ll help Colette get her things, and you'll drive us."

The authority in her voice was intimidating enough that Arthur didn’t dare to disagree with her, and he nodded mutely and hurried away to look for the car keys.

Colette was torn between laughing at her brother’s expression and panicking over the fact that her labor was actually starting.

Just like that, she felt frozen in place a few moments longer, before Victoria snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Hey, no freezing up. We need to get moving. We need to get to the hospital, and your kid doesn’t care that it still needs 4 more weeks. So come on, come on, get your things."

It snapped her out of her temporary daze, and she managed to focus back to the present again. "Right, yeah," Colette mumbled, and she quickly went to get her hospital bag.

She had already packed it, just in case - but she had definitely not expected to actually use it.

Her hands were shaking as she picked it up, the whole situation still not entirely sinking in yet. Max was not here. She was going to have her baby without him here - that wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

But the pain came back again, and her body seemed to agree that there was no time left to waste.

She winced through the contraction, and Vic’s face tensed as she saw it.

"How are you doing?" she asked, watching her worriedly. Colette had to take a deep breath, trying to keep breathing as the pain faded out again. "I’m-” she started, but that was the same second that Arthur appeared again with the keys.

"The car is ready," he said, sounding very much like he’d rather bolt.

"Right," Victoria said, and she looked at Colette. "We gotta go. You good to go?"

Colette felt a surge of panic as the truth of leaving to go to the hospital finally sank in - she felt very much like her entire body had seized up. But Arthur was already waiting at the door with an expectant look on his face that did not look at all reassuring, and Victoria had picked up her hospital bag and was ushering Colette’s towards the hallway.

The contractions didn’t seem to care about any of her feelings, anyway.

"Come on," Victoria told her quietly. "We're gonna go and have a beautiful birth, and when you're done, there’ll be a healthy baby in your arms, okay?"

Colette was sure that her face had gone pale, and her hands were shaking as she slowly made her way through the hallway. Victoria led her the entire time, supporting her as they moved.

She was more than grateful to slip into the backseat of the Audi and her hands could claw themselves into the buttery soft leather interior.

“Are you sure we can’t wait for an adult?“ Arthur asked weakly.

“You are an adult. You literally drive race cars for a living,“ Victoria snapped.

Colette would have laughed at Arthur’s terrified expression in any other situation, but at the moment, she really wasn’t up to find anything funny.

“Just drive the damn car, Arthur!“ Victoria snapped, and Arthur flinched, his eyes wide as saucers.

A whimper escaped Colette as another contraction gripped her, and she curled up in the back seat, both hands clawed in the seat as the wave of pain ebbed away again. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt like she was slowly coming apart at the seams.

"Keep breathing," Victoria’s sharp voice came from her left side, and she felt a cool, smooth hand on her forehead. "Just keep breathing. You're doing great."

The words managed to cut through the panic, and Colette managed to gasp out a shuddering breath. “I-” she choked out, “I can’t…I can’t do this without Max, I-”

"You are doing it," Victoria cut in, her voice steady and sharp like a blade. "You are doing it, and you are going to be fine. Max will be by your side the moment he can, but you will make it until then. Just keep breathing and keep talking, you’re doing great."

[joemama-2]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a symphony of silence

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ synopsis: if you want to know what it’s like to love someone who was never yours, ask gojo satoru.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags/warnings: angst, unrequited love, crying, happy ending, talks of soulmates

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ wc: 5.5k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a/n: thank you all so much for 1k followers!! I appreciate every bit of love and support I have received and I hope with this new year, I can make you all happy with my work. :) this is just a little thing, but I really hope u guys enjoy it. as always, have a wonderful day and eat well!

The days feel brighter with you. 

No amount of paperwork, miscalculations, messed up orders can change the light you bring into his life. The moment he met you, he knew it was strange. Feeling himself being reeled in like a fish too quickly scared him. But if you asked him that question, he’d never admit his fear. 

His smile had a mind of its own, curling up in a subconscious way whenever you so much as spared him a fleeting glance. And when you smiled at him? He was on cloud nine. His heart beat faster and stomach fluttered like a little schoolboy when he was in your vicinity. 

But he was always careful. So careful, too careful. Like the way someone treads lightly around a fragile thing they can never keep. You were so full of life, so innocent in your joy, and he was nothing but a darkened silhouette in the background.

He knew what you deserved, and it wasn’t him. Not a man like him, burdened with secrets and a past he couldn’t shake off. And you? You were meant for someone who could offer the world, not someone like him who could barely provide anything but a fleeting moment of warmth.

He had a way of slipping into your presence unnoticed, his longing buried deep within the corners of his chest. When he laughed at your jokes, it was because he couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing through him, of knowing just how badly he wanted to be more than a passing acquaintance. He wanted to reach out, touch your hand, but the words always died in his throat, swallowed by the fear of your rejection.

He knew the truth, though. You would never see him as he saw you. You would never feel that electric pull, that magnetic force that lured him to you in ways he couldn’t explain, ways he would never allow himself to. Because it would hurt too much, to love someone who didn’t even know.

The days grew brighter with you, but in the back of his mind, he could feel the darkness creeping in. He was just a shadow in your life, and nothing more. And it was enough for him, even if it meant living in a love that would never be returned. As long as you were happy. As long as you smiled. That was all he could ever ask for. He sometimes joked with himself about just saying ‘fuck it’ and getting down on one knee for you. He would. 

Too bad his best friend had the balls to do it before he did. 

He saw it coming, of course. You and Suguru have been together for five years. He was there through every phase of your growing relationship, a background character in a main couple’s story. It’s why he felt guilty about his feelings—his thoughts. But he always justified it with a he knew you first. 

He watched the way Suguru could make you laugh with the simplest words, how your eyes lit up when he held you close. It was the kind of love that made the world feel like it had all the right answers—answers he never had. He shouldn’t be pining after you. You were Suguru’s, and the world had made that clear. But there was always a part of him that entertained the what ifs. He was there before Suguru, before the smiles and the promises, before the certainty of love that seemed to hold you two together like a force stronger than gravity.

And yet, here he was, helpless. Watching you slip further away, like sand through his fingers. You were so easy to love, and so impossible to have.

He’d gotten good at keeping his distance. At laughing along with Suguru’s jokes, at pretending to be happy for the both of you. But inside, it was a constant ache, a pain that never went away, no matter how many times he buried it under a mask of smiles and camaraderie. He wondered if you ever noticed the way he looked at you. The quiet longing that always seemed to flicker in his eyes when you spoke. But you never did. How could you? You were too wrapped up in the love you had with Suguru to ever see the way his heart twisted with every word you spoke, every touch you gave.

But maybe, just maybe, he could keep pretending. Keep pretending that your happiness meant more than his own. Because that’s what love was, right? Sacrificing for the one you cared about, even if they never knew the weight of it.

“Are you happy, Satoru?”

Your question was simple enough, but you really had no idea just how much weight it held. Not like he would tell you. His head tilts, playfully smiling. “Happy? Why do you ask, hm?”

“I’ve just been wondering…” you mutter, tracing your glass rim with a manicured nail. Looking up at him in such a way that makes him want to wrap his arms around your body and hold on tight. “I don’t want to be invasive, but sometimes it just feels…faked.”

Huh, so you’re not as oblivious as he thought you were. 

But your words hit him like a cold wave, a shock to his system. You had no idea. You never would. The smile on his face falters for just a moment, yet it’s enough. Enough to make him feel like he’s exposed, vulnerable, like you might see right through the layers he’d spent so long building up.

Faked.

That word stings more than anything else you could’ve said. Because, in some twisted way, you were right. He had spent so long pretending, so long wearing a mask that even he had begun to forget what it was like to feel anything real. What it was like to want something for himself, to let someone in without fear.

He takes a slow breath, his gaze softening, eyes flicking to the side, pretending to consider the question. “I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?” His voice is casual, a practiced indifference, but inside, his heart is pounding.

You don’t buy it. You never did.

“I don’t know, Satoru. You always seem so… distant. Like you’re somewhere else, even when you’re here.” There’s a hint of concern in your tone, but it’s laced with a careful distance, as if you’re treading around something fragile.

He swallows hard, the weight of your gaze digging into him. You see it, don’t you? The cracks in the armor he’s so carefully constructed. The loneliness he hides behind every joke, every flirtatious smile.

But he can’t tell you the truth. Not when your words have the power to break him, to shatter everything he’s built up around himself. He can’t show you how deeply he cares, how much he wants to reach out and make you see him for what he truly is—just a man who’s afraid of losing something he’s never had.

He laughs, a little too loud—a little too involuntary. “I’m just a little busy, that’s all. Life’s a bit chaotic, but I’m fine. Really.”

Even so, you still don’t look convinced. And for a split second, he wonders if you’ve figured it out. If you can see the way his heart aches every time he’s near you, how badly he wishes things were different. How badly he wishes he could be the one to make you smile, make you laugh, in a way that wasn’t tainted by his unspoken feelings.

However instead, you just smile softly, a quiet understanding in your eyes. For just a moment, he thinks maybe you’ve known this whole time. Of course, he’ll never make you aware of how much that question, those few words, broke him inside. Not now. Not ever.

He can feel the cold of your engagement ring pressed against the back of his palm, looking over at you with parted lips, raised brows. Your expression is soft—too inviting. He almost can’t take it anymore. 

Your entire being brings him in, wrapping around his soul like a warm blanket on a cold night. Your eyes can hold a thousand different meanings, but so can your touch. The world blurs into a fade when it’s just you and him, like it always does. He can see the fireworks, feel the softness of your skin against his. 

He wants you so much. 

It’s a quiet ache, a longing that starts in the pit of his stomach and spreads like wildfire, burning him from the inside out. He’s so close to you now, the air between you two charged, heavy with unsaid words and unspoken desires.

Your breath catches as you watch him, and it only makes things worse. It’s as if you’re reading him, sensing the intensity of the pull that draws him to you, even though you shouldn’t. Even though you’re promised to someone else. But for a moment, it’s just the two of you in this space, and everything else ceases to exist.

His heart races as he subconsciously leans in, just a fraction of an inch. Like a man on the edge of something dangerous, something he knows he shouldn’t want, but does anyway. His fingers twitch against your wrist, the ring there a painful reminder of the distance between what is and what could never be.

You shift slightly, a small motion, but it’s enough to send a jolt through him. You’re so close now, your warmth seeping into him, your scent intoxicating. In a single brief and fleeting instant, he wonders if you feel the same pull, if you’re as caught in the web of longing as he is.

Just then, you blink; and the spell is broken. You pull back just enough. The correct amount of room to create a sliver of space, he feels his heart sink. “I…” Your voice is barely a whisper, as if you’re struggling with the weight of the moment too. But he knows what’s coming. You always have that hesitation, that gentle reluctance when it comes to him.

He swallows, the words caught in his throat, but the truth is too painful to speak. He can’t admit how much he wants you. He can’t admit that, despite the ring on your finger, despite everything that keeps you apart, he’s falling for you in ways that have nothing to do with logic and everything to do with his heart.

“I know,” he whispers finally, his voice low, barely audible, because it’s the only thing he can say without completely shattering the fragile barrier that keeps everything in check.

When deep down, in the part of him that refuses to let go, he wishes with everything he has that you could see him. That you could feel what he feels.

That you could love him, just once, the way he loves you.

He puts on his usual smile. He knows you see through it now, but there’s no point in hiding it. There’s no point in hiding anything anymore, is there? “I know,” he repeats. 

The words fall heavy between you, thick with unspoken truths, and yet, they feel like a fragile lie. He laughs again, but it’s different now. Not the carefree expression he usually wears, but one edged with something raw—something too real for either of you to ignore. He knows you see the cracks. He knows you feel the tension and the weight of everything he doesn’t say. It makes him ache in ways he can’t describe. You’ve always seen him, better than anyone else, better than he ever allowed anyone to. And even now, when the distance between you is palpable, when everything about this moment screams to turn away, neither of you can.

You’re still staring at him, your eyes warm but searching. You want more. You want to know what’s behind that smile, what’s behind the guarded words, the silence that screams louder than anything he’s ever said. You want to see through the layers, even when he’s terrified of what you might find.

Except that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? He’s terrified. Terrified of losing you, terrified of the vulnerability that comes with loving someone so completely. Terrified that you’ll slip away from him, like everyone else does.

“Satoru…” Your voice trembles slightly, hesitation lingering in the air like an uninvited guest. You want to say something, but you don’t know how. You want to reach for him, but you know the consequences. The space between you both feels endless, a chasm that neither of you can cross.

He really can’t keep pretending anymore.

His smile falters, his eyes dimming as he finally lets go of the pretense, removing the silence hanging in the air. He feels the weight of your gaze on him, steady and knowing, and something inside him breaks.

You know. You always knew.

“I don’t want to hide this anymore,” he admits quietly, his voice strained, his chest tight with the confession. It’s not a declaration of love, not yet. However, it’s the closest thing he can give you right now—the truth, raw and painful. He’s not sure what you’ll do with it, if it’ll push you further away or bring you closer, but the honesty feels both freeing and suffocating at the same time. He waits for your response, his heart hammering in his chest, terrified of the silence that follows. Because no matter what happens next, he knows that something between the two of you has irrevocably shifted. And there’s no going back.

When you look away from him, he gets his answer. With that, he laughs softly to himself in understanding. Not even needing to hear your soft words—whispered apologies. Because at the end of the day, he knew what would happen. 

He’s not mad at you for it, how could he be?

You’ve always been his anchor, even if you couldn’t see it. Even if he was just the one who stood in the background, quietly waiting, hoping for a moment like this. He knew that in the end, it would never be him, and somehow, he had accepted that. But it doesn’t make the ache any less painful, the hollow feeling in his chest where something once burned bright.

You’ve always belonged to someone else.

The way you look away, the way your fingers subtly twist the fabric of your shirt as if you’re gathering the courage to speak, tells him everything. You don’t need to apologize for anything. He knows. He always has.

But it doesn’t stop the weight from pressing down on him. It doesn’t stop the way his heart cracks, just a little bit more, with every moment that stretches between you both.

He should leave. Walk away before it hurts too much. Yet something keeps him there—something that’s always kept him tethered to you, even in your silence. Once more, he chuckles quietly. The sound is bitter in the back of his throat. He puts his smile back into place, masking the storm brewing inside. “It’s okay,” he says softly, almost as if he’s reassuring himself as much as you. “I get it.”

His voice is steady, but there’s a quiver that betrays him, a flicker of pain he can’t hide. You’ll never know just how much it stings. How it feels like something vital is slipping away, piece by piece. But he won’t show you that. Not now. Not when he knows you’re already carrying your own weight.

And so, he stays. Silent, distant, as you both continue to navigate the space between what you want and what you can’t have. No matter how much it hurts, he loves you. In the quietest, most agonizing way possible. And that’s enough for him, even if it will never be enough for you.

“Just…don’t leave me.” He mutters, almost like he doesn’t want to get the words out. He’s aware of the fact that he’s pushing more than he should—biting off more than he’s being given. 

You gulp, biting the inside of your cheek. A silent second passes before you nod. “I’d never let you go.”

When he’s walking back home that night, the air feels more suffocating than usual. His apartment—too big for one—is cold. Walking to his bedroom, not bothering to strip himself of his clothes as he plops down onto his bed. Staring up at the ceiling with a melancholic smile. Feeling a prickle of tears hit the corners of his eyes. They don’t fall—not yet. He swallows hard, but the lump in his throat won’t budge.

He should be happy, right? At least you didn’t leave him completely. Nonetheless, the promise in your words doesn’t feel like solace; it feels like a bandage over a wound that will never fully heal. He chortles, a hollow, bitter sound that fills the emptiness of the room.

That’s probably the nicest way he could’ve been let down. For some reason, it hurts more. 

Extremely more than he thought it would. Somewhere along the lines, he may have even somehow convinced himself that maybe—just maybe—things could be different. But of course, they weren’t. They never could be. The optimism in him is dying. 

The silence in his apartment is deafening, and in the quiet, his mind runs wild with every memory of you, every moment that he convinced himself meant more than it did. The way your voice eased when you spoke to him, the way your eyes lingered just a little too long. He had built up those fleeting moments into something real, something that could have existed in another life, in another world. However now, reality has slammed into him with brutal force, leaving him breathless and broken.

He curls his fingers into the sheets, his chest tightening. He wants to scream, but the words stick to the back of his throat. Instead, he lets out a long, shaky breath, the weight of everything settling deeper into his bones.

Tomorrow, he will smile again. Tomorrow, he will pretend everything is okay. So tonight, in the darkness of his room, it can just be him and the stabbing pain of unrequited love.

It’s so difficult because it’s more than he can bear. Even dreaming is not an escape from you. 

He lies there for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling, the darkness of the room closing in around him. His thoughts are a whirlwind—too much, too fast, all at once. He feels like he’s drowning in them, unable to pull himself out. He shifts uncomfortably, pulling the covers tighter around his body, as if they could shield him from the cold ache in his chest. The memory of your words, of the softness in your voice, keeps echoing in his mind: “I’d never let you go.” You hadn’t meant it the way he wanted, the way he had hoped. You had meant it in the kindest way possible, but all it did was reinforce the distance between you two. You couldn’t love him. You couldn’t be with him—not the way he needed you to be.

He tries to push away the thought, but it lingers, gnawing at him. The weight of knowing that you would never truly leave him, that you’d always be there. Still, never in the way he wanted. It cuts so much deeper than he could have imagined. It’s like a constant reminder that some things just aren’t meant to be.

A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he runs a hand over his face, his fingers pressing against his eyes. He’s tired—so tired. Not physically, but emotionally. It’s exhausting, pretending. Entirely consuming it is to feel something that can never be returned the way it’s given.

He presses the back of his palm to his nose, inhaling the faint remnants of your scent. The tears finally fall, slow and quiet at first. Soon, they’re coming harder and faster. But he doesn’t make a sound. He doesn’t want anyone to hear, not like anyone would. He doesn’t want it to be known the way his heart is shattering, piece by piece, while he lies alone in the shadows of his apartment.

For a moment, he wishes you could feel this—this ache, this longing that gnaws at him until there’s nothing left but the hollowed-out shell of someone who will never truly be enough. He wishes you could understand how it feels to love someone so deeply, to want them more than anything, and yet know that your love will never be enough.

He laughs again, a bitter, empty sound, this time not hiding it. It’s a dull laugh that tastes like defeat. He wipes at his eyes, sniffling quietly, the tears continuing to fall. Then, he forces himself to take a deep breath, to stop.

He can’t let himself drown in this. Not now.

But the truth is, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep pretending. The weight of everything—the smiles, the casual conversations, the “I’m fine” that he spits out like it’s nothing—feels too heavy now. He wonders how long you were able to tell. If you saw through the facade when you first met him, if you noticed the cracks starting to form around him immediately. Maybe he was the oblivious one. 

He tells himself over and over again: you have your own life, your own love, your own future.

He rolls onto his side, facing the wall, the emptiness of his solitude swallowing him whole. Tomorrow, he thinks to himself, I’ll wake up, and I’ll be fine. He’s done this before. Pretending, masking the pain, wearing the boyish smile he knows so well. It’s easier than facing the truth, than admitting how much it hurts.

For now, in the quiet of his apartment, the only thing he can do is let the tears fall, and let himself grieve for the love he’ll never have. 

However, one day…something changes in Satoru. He doesn’t even expect it. It’s subtle at first. A shift, almost imperceptible, like the first breeze of spring after a long, bitter winter. He’s standing at the edge of the room, watching as you and Suguru stand hand in hand at the altar, your eyes locked with his in a way that is nothing short of reverent. Your smile—so soft, so full of love—shines through the quiet moment as Suguru vows to stand by you, to love you through everything. Maybe it’s the way you seem so at peace with yourself while looking his best friend in the eyes at the altar, or the way you're radiantly glowing when you two have your first dance. Or the way you still regard him with the same tenderness you did from day one. 

The ache grows quieter. 

As you look at him, there’s a quiet contentment that blooms in Satoru’s chest. It’s not pain, not jealousy, not longing. Just peace. Something about seeing you so at ease, so sure of yourself, brings a strange sense of clarity to his heart.

He doesn’t know what it is—perhaps it’s the way you carry yourself now, with confidence, with the kind of joy that was never there before—but he feels something relieve within him. The old throbbing pain, the one that had been gnawing at him for so long, then pauses just a bit. It’s like the final breath of a storm passing, leaving behind only calm.

 Later that evening, as he watches the two of you share your first dance, something settles in his chest, something he can’t quite explain. You’re  glowing under the soft lights, and the way Suguru holds you so gently, his fingers pressing into the small of your back, is enough to make Satoru’s throat tighten. There’s no regret, no bitterness. Just a quiet acceptance.

He knows, deep down, that this is your moment. And he’s finally okay with that.

Satoru’s gaze drifts to you as you laugh, your head tilting back slightly as Suguru twirls you in his arms. Your eyes meet his, just for a second, and he sees it—the same look you’ve always had for him. His eyes don’t move from you one bit throughout the night, feeling something drift into the air. His shoulders feel lighter. Now, it’s just… comfort. A quiet, steady beat that comes from knowing he’s been a part of something meaningful in your life, even if it wasn’t meant to be forever.

He smiles to himself, the ghost of his old longing fading into the background. For the first time in a long time, Satoru feels like he’s no longer holding onto something that’s slipping through his fingers. The pieces have finally clicked into place. So, in that moment, he realizes something he hadn’t anticipated. 

He’s free.

As the night winds down, and the last few guests start to trickle out, Satoru stays behind, quietly watching the empty dance floor. The lights are dimmed, the music faded, but the feeling of the day still lingers in the air. He knows that things have changed for him—deeply, irrevocably.

It’s not that he’s given up on love. Not at all. But something in him has shifted. It could be that his understanding is that love isn’t always about holding onto someone forever. Sometimes, it’s about letting them go—allowing them to find their happiness in their own way, even if it’s not with you.

You and Suguru have your own story now, and Satoru is finally okay with that. In fact, he’s grateful for it. Because without your happiness, without you finding peace with him, he never would have found peace with himself. 

He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all—of everything that’s passed, of everything that’s been said and unsaid—and it’s fine. It’s more than fine. He’s not angry. He’s not resentful. He’s content.

And that’s enough.

The days that follow are gentle. There’s no rush or no pressure. Satoru slowly moves forward with his life, embracing the little things—his work, his friendships, his quiet moments. There’s a stillness in him that wasn’t there before. The pain that had consumed him for so long doesn’t disappear completely, but it becomes more manageable. More bearable.

Of course, maybe one day, in another place, with another person, there will be a love that’s his to hold onto. But for now, he’s happy with this. He’s happy with letting go—with moving forward. Because in the end, he’s learned that love doesn’t always look the way you expect. It isn’t always a fairy tale. Sometimes, it’s just a silent acceptance, a letting go, and knowing that everything will be okay in the end.

For the first time in a long time, Satoru believes that.

Finally, he just sees you. Someone’s wife.

Satoru stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of you. The woman he once loved, now married to someone else. The years have passed, but you’re still the same in the most beautiful ways. Your smile is just as bright, and the warmth in your eyes is still the same, no matter how much time has passed.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice soft, a little hesitant. It’s been a few years since he last saw you at your wedding to Suguru. He assumed, with time, that he would somehow grow less attracted to you. Less drawn to your presence, your laughter, and the way you seem to light up the world just by being in it.

 How wrong he was.

You meet his gaze, and Satoru feels that familiar flutter in his chest, something he thought had long since faded. You haven’t changed. He’s never been able to forget the way you made him feel. The truth is, he probably never will. “I’m great,” you reply wholeheartedly, your smile so genuine it catches him off guard. The apples of your cheeks rise, and he can’t help but notice how much more beautiful you’ve become. There’s a glow about you, one that comes from happiness and contentment. The familiar glint in your eyes beams brighter than he’s ever seen before. It’s the same one that once made him think maybe he could be the one to make you smile like that forever.

 Prettier than any star.  

“Things have been well,” you continue, a slight tilt of your head as you study him. “How are you?”

Satoru swallows, his heart hammering in his chest, but he smiles. He’s not sure why it still affects him this way. Maybe it’s because he knows you’re happy, and that should be enough for him. But hearing you speak with that warmth, that sweetness, it still stirs something deep within him. “I’m good,” he says, his voice steady despite the chaos of emotions swirling inside him. He wants to tell you everything he wasn’t able to before—how much he’s missed you, how much he’s struggled to let go, how he’s still a little haunted by your absence. But he can’t. You’re someone else’s now. His best friend’s. And he can’t take that from you. He doesn’t want to, either. 

“Life’s… busy,” he adds, trying to change the subject, but he knows the words are empty. He’s never been able to lie to you. You always see through it.

You nod, as if understanding more than he’s said. The silence between you stretches, but it’s not awkward. It’s familiar in a way that brings him a strange sense of comfort. You’ve both come so far, yet here you are, still standing before him.

Satoru wants to say something—anything—that will make this moment last. Yet, he knows better now. He knows that some things are meant to pass, to be remembered only as bittersweet memories. “I’m happy for you,” he finally says, his voice quieter than before. His eyes meet yours, searching for any sign that maybe, just maybe, you might feel something too.

And there it is. A flicker. A brief, imperceptible flicker in your eyes. You’re still the same woman he once knew, the one who captured his heart and never quite let it go.

He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He can see it in the way you look at him. You’ve both changed, in ways that neither of you could have predicted. Really, that’s okay. You’re happy, and that’s all that matters.

“I’m glad to see you doing well, Satoru,” you say with that same warm smile. “Take care of yourself, okay?” The weight of the unspoken words lingers between you, yet it’s not painful. Not anymore. Satoru nods, his own smile genuine, even if it’s laced with sadness. He doesn’t need to hold onto the past anymore. You’ve found your place in the world, and he’s finally at peace with that.

“I will,” he says quietly. “You too.”

Staying in your presence feels nice, no words having to be spoken when your actions do it all. Fleeting looks, warm smiles, hushed chuckles. He can’t stop his body from reciprocating. Every time your fingers brush against his by accident, a jolt of electricity runs through him. When your voice dances in the air, light and carefree, it takes every ounce of control he has not to reach out and pull you closer into a hug. Your presence is a kind of calm he didn’t know he needed, a peace he’s been missing, even after all these years.

He’s missed you. That’s okay to admit, right?

“Are you with someone now, Satoru?” You ask, sipping your coffee with an innocent eyebrow raise. 

He shakes you off with a chuckle. “Nah, no one. I’m a lone wolf, remember?”

Playfully, you roll your eyes. “Right. Well, every lone wolf needs his mate, doesn’t he?”

“Please don’t use ABO logic on me.”

You kick his shin under the table and he dramatically responds with a frown. Looking at him from the large window that displays the warm morning of Saturday. Speaking with such integrity that it’s hard not to believe you. “I’m serious, Satoru. When it happens, I want to be there for you. Your soulmate is just walking around everyday life waiting for you, I look forward to you finally getting to experience that.”

His heart melts, smirk softening into genuineness. He can’t find it in him to say how wrong you probably are, to crush your dreams of him finding his one true love one day. How could he? You just want what��s best for him, and that’s why he loves you so much. 

“Soulmate…” he repeats to himself lowly, watching you laugh gingerly before looking back out at the window. His eyes glance down at his left pinky finger, flexing it. 

Red string of fate. 

He can imagine the circle around his pinky, red and bright with intensity; glowing like a beacon of everything he’s always wanted and dreamed for. He looks back up at you, your side profile so perfectly structured in the warm light. The way your features align effortlessly like they were meant to be there. He can’t help the crinkle of his eyes when his smile grows wider and more genuine. The time he spent longing for you, it all seems to fade away when he looks at you like this. He lightly jerks his hand.  

And for a brief, suspended moment, he catches the sight of your left pinky twitching, being tugged just barely in his direction before you adjust your grip on your coffee. 

He follows your gaze, hiding a snicker behind the rim of his cup. 

Yeah, she is just walking around, isn’t she?

a/n: hiiiii! i really hoped you guys enjoyed this, while writing this i didn't feel very confident and I still sort of don't, but I really hope it satisfies u all <3 as I said b4 thank you so much for 1k followers, I didn't expect this to happen lollolol but your support has been so appreciated. with this new year, I hope to put out more works, and I hope u all stay along for the ride. have a great day!!!! love and kisses

[hazelfoureyes]

I'm not taking requests from anon but …. I will….always accept inspiration in my inbox. Just don’t expect a direct response.

I’m alive. Boooooy has shit been difficult and every day I kinda panic but I think survival mode is finally shutting off. I could list all the shit but why? It's not like we arent all wading through varying piles of shit on a weekly basis lately.

Curiosity

Alastor doesn’t believe sex can feel all that great for the ones being fucked. You offer to educate him on the matter with a little hands on learning. Everyone wins.

「Warnings/Promises: Alastor x PussyHaving!Reader (has pussy and is called girl but I mean…I don’t know their business), casual virginity loss, non-sexually repulsed alastor, insulting but highly accurate bowling ball analogy, cervix smooches, creampie because dessert is a necessity, friends with questionable benefits, missionary position, science???, almost fingering, thumb (Singular), empty death threats, saliva as lube」

Minors I will yeet you back into the year of the dragon if you ignore the MDNI 🐉

Alastor’s hooves kicked playfully, slowly, in the air behind him as he rested on his belly. Two clawed fingers kept your lower lips pulled apart as he stared inquisitively at your self consciously twitching entrance.

“People’s things fit in here? I could see fingers, sure. A thumb, maybe…”, he mused, watching you clench around nothing. He learned from Angel more than he liked to admit and things seemed to fit the best for human and hellish anatomy alike. 

A large digit prodded, his head lifting and eyes meeting yours from between your spread thighs. His look was waiting for your approval or dissent. You nodded, sighing out another educational tidbit, “It feels best if things are slick.”

Alastor paused before wrapping his tongue around his thumb and coating it with viscous black saliva. Thumbpad facing down, his curved claw slipped into you easily. The natural roundness of the edges kept you from any cuts, but you had a feeling it’d be easy enough to do harm if he wasnt mindful of how he moved it. 

You could feel his other fingers pressing flat against the bottom of your ass. Instinctively you tightened around the digit.

“It's snug.” He sighed, vindicated. It was far too small a hole to fit anything more without tearing. Therefore: painful. 

“Well, it stretches quite a bit. It can adapt to alot. You - ergh - people can use soda cans and twelve inch dildos even for pleasure.” You rested on your bed, naked from the waist down. Your conversations together were always very open and without shame, neither of you worried to offend the other with questions about sex and gender. So when Alastor mused he couldn’t understand what the pussy-possessors among society got out of sex (he could understand the pleasure of a good squeeze on a cock, even if he hadn’t ever experienced anything beyond a hot mouth and a tight fist) the conversation just naturally progressed to your own personal sex education class. He’d only ever seen such anatomy in medical texts.

He cackled, “You are naive if you think that is true.” 

“Alastor, who's the expert here? I - can you remove your thumb? I feel like a bowling ball.”

Too quickly he took back his finger, your shoulders lifting slightly from the bed from the sudden loss. He paused a moment before adding, “You and a bowling ball have the same number of finger-able holes.”

Your glare went unnoticed, Alastor shifting onto his elbows again.

“Do you think people would willingly have sex if it was always uncomfortable?” You were lifted up on your elbows now too. Locked eye to eye with a very smug deer demon. 

He hummed, humans were animals and all animals followed instinct. “Maaaaybeee.” He teased, eyes breaking contact to look again at the now closed lips. “Regardless,” a wicked grin, “I can’t imagine it fitting without damage and pain.”

A stalemate. 

“You have seen people have sex, right?” You asked.

An uncomfortable pause.

“Why on earth would I watch people have sex?”

Surprise, then confusion, but finally you settled on intrigue.

“Okay, do it. I’ll show you it feels good for me and you can wipe that smile off your face.”

He tutted, “Never.” Alastor saw your flash of insult, “to the smile. Delivering pain is a hobby of mine, no matter the vehicle!”

When he sat up on his knees you shot up and you blurted out, “Wait. Do you have like, hell syphilis or something? Are you clean?”

His hair bristled, “Do YOU have syphilis?!”

“No.” You said it plainly.

Head shaking imperceptibly, a subtle ‘no’ mixed with a silent ‘then why would I?!’ telegraphed via his glaring red eyes, “Me neither.”

A bad start. Speaking of…

“Do you know how to start?”

“Is it much different than my thumb?”

I hope so. 

“Not really.”

He sighed away the remnants of agitation — was he clean?? Really? — and unbuttoned his pants. When his hands paused on the elastic of his underwear your head tilted curiously.

A step you’d both forgotten, cocks inherently had no bones like helpful fingers. Why was the prospect of handling himself mortifying but entering you wasn’t? Very rarely did he find you someone to have any concerns about and never had he felt an ounce of judgment when he admitted his blind spots and areas of naïveté. 

But this was… a step beyond. Almost humiliating in a sense, the source of the feeling was buried deep and obscured by time and disinterest.

“I’ll help.” Sitting up further, your hands went forward before you yanked them back into your bubble, “If that’s alright.”

Perfect, if he wasn’t able to get it up it’d be your fault and not his, he thought.

Nodding, he let his hands come to rest at his sides as he sat back on his legs.

The newness was evident in how he didn’t consider the mechanics of the position. You struggled a little to get this black underwear down his hips enough to release his very unaware cock.

Lifting his hips again and allowing you to pull the briefs down as far as needed (which seemed too far, honestly), you finally had eyes on something you’d been passably curious about.

It wasn’t that he was unattractive but there was a guilt to lusting over Alastor. He’d made it painfully obvious he didn’t find anyone at the hotel sexually interesting. It just isn’t his bag, as Husk had explained. Perhaps liquor had your eyes lingering a little too long on the resident villain.

Nervous and sweaty palms seemed beneficial as you held his soft member. They always felt so silly like this. How useless. Floppy. Your amused smile wasn’t comforting him an ounce.

It twitched, Alastor’s hands fighting to not come to his face and let him disappear away.

“Cute.” You whispered as you wrapped a hand around the Newtonian fluid-esque cock. You didn’t see his horrified face, focused instead on the feel of his foreskin sliding beneath your fingers. Alastor’s attention, too, shifted. He needed to breathe normally and that required all hands on deck (no puns intended). He’d never let anyone in death touch —-

A soft glow of blue flickered somewhere deep in his mind, a sloppy memory of a drunken slip up

It’d been what felt like a lifetime since he’d let anyone put their hands on his body. 

And due to that time his body reacted quickly and soon you had a handful. You both took a relieved breath then, the hurdle mounted. A little shock of pleasure to your core as you stroked his now firm cock made you shiver. It was hot in your hands, how much of that heat would you feel in your guts soon? Would he put it in and just—- pop it out like he had his thumb?

You’d shoo him away shortly after and finish things yourself in that case.

Alastor’s hands lost the battle and came to cover his lower face. That hidden grin showed teeth and he clenched his jaw to keep from letting a mewl slip. His cock was leaking so much it was embarrassing him. 

“Now you’re just playing.” He hissed.

He wasn’t wrong.

Wordlessly you came to lie on your side, a roll to your stomach interrupted as you considered things. With a glance back at the virgin you decided basic was best and returned to your back. Nothing too exciting. 

“Whenever you’re ready, then.” The smugness oozed through your tone. You knew he didn’t know enough to figure out what ready was. 

Alastor parted your legs further with his own widening thighs as he lowered his center to line up with you. He recalled you telling him the hole was very close to the bottom and it hadn’t dawned on him how low that was until the muscles of his thighs burned with the split. How was he going to move like this, he wondered.

Another recollection — wetter is better.

And though he could see a glistening wetness readying to drop down between your cheeks, he wasn’t experienced enough to know just how much your body could self lubricate. So for good measure and out of a sweet ignorance he spit into his palm and rubbed it down his cock from head to root.

The sound made you clench again. Why was that so hot? You’d never kissed, nor held hands. But now his sweat and cum would be fucked into you. 

Another clench as that lightning lit up your core, back bowing slightly with the sensation.

Could overlords sense blood pressure or hear heartbeats? You werent sure, but suddenly you worried about it. You had to close your eyes and focus only on your breathing, unaware it was your turn to hide your true reactions. If you started panting now he’d laugh so hard he’d go soft.

But the truth was, you could begin beatboxing and he wouldnt notice it. He was scooting closer, lowering and then raising his hips again to find a position that he could hold.

Thank Lucifer he never wasted time with this before. 

Finally he lined up and let his held breath go. His cockhead was slick and slipped up between your lips and headbutted your clit when he tried to press in. 

Your shocked scream was stifled into a gritted cry, bringing the back of your hand up to silence yourself. It hurt a little at first but that faded quickly. You whispered a single, “fuck.”

If he wasn’t already cock out Alastor would have just left. But, that would mean saying he was wrong and failed. Which wasn’t going to happen so he slid his cock back down the way he went and pressed into you with false confidence he knew it would go in. 

He gasped when he breached your lips. You were so hot. And that snugness was back, head and just an inch of shaft sheathed but his brain felt like most of his body was being tightly embraced. 

You felt him twitching, and tried to fight back the instinct to tighten around him to feel that little bit of movement even better. It didn’t work.

He hissed a “don’t” when you clenched around him, but you barely heard it over your own little moan. Alastor leaned forward and let his hands rest on either side of your ribs. Head hidden behind long and hanging bangs you couldnt see how his face twisted in concentration. He could cum like this, just one little movement and he was sure he’d finish. Not a normal problem for him, but it's easy to have a 100% win rate for a game you played just a few times before.

Alastor’s body was stick straight above you. 

His body wasn’t touching you except for the cock in you. It was odd, like he was hovering. Would he fuck you without touching you? That seemed so like him.

“Well, color me surprised.” He finally spoke, words breathy. He didn’t smell an ounce of blood so he knew you hadn’t torn. Your body was relaxed beneath him, your upper chest flush. When he looked up you were peering down over your cheeks with parted lips. He’d seen such expressions before in paintings deemed too salacious for museums in his time. 

“It feels even better when you’re moving.” You offered. He didn’t have to continue now that you’d proven your point but you really wanted him to. You’d not been fucked in ages and this was a situation that wouldn’t happen again. “But if this is enough proof…” you trailed off. 

He could imagine it. The feeling of that tender and somehow gripping flesh hugging him tightly as he moved forward more…. And pulled out. His glands would catch, wouldn’t it hurt you then? Wouldn’t he be scraping your delicate insides?

Alastor began pressing further in. Your hands gripped the sheets slightly, your walls were pushed open by his now steel hard member and you could feel a pool of heat low in your womb. You needed him to hit it, to thrust forward and rut against your cervix. But you had to take it slow, this was about him answering his questions first and foremost. 

“It won’t go any further…” he leaned back and inspected the situation. Two inches or so remained out in the cold. 

You shifted your hips and could feel the resistance. “If you start,” you needed a second to gather yourself before saying the rest, “thrusting properly now you’ll be able to get the rest in soon.”

His brow cocked. 

He’d have to trust you on that one and simply keep going. There were still more ways to move within you, to see if the piercing friction really could make you feel good. A moan broke through his defenses when he pulled out until the glands of his cock felt caught on your entrance. 

Alastor’s body crumpled, the pleasure made his muscles go weak. It was as if he couldn’t control them at all. Dangerous. 

His hips bucked from the sensitivity, thrusting forward. Alastor’s head fell back with a sharp gasp. Before he could worry over how he looked his hips were starting a shaky and mistimed pace. Head falling forward again so he could look down at where you were joined, he groaned. His cock was disappearing, girth holding your cunt open as it clamped down against him.  

Alastor felt dizzy from the physical rapture and a helpful redirection of blood. His body was light; bright and weightless.

What a treacherous sensation. He could almost understand rakes* now. 

Your first real moan reminded him why he was doing what he was. Face shooting up from the shadow of his hair he watched yours. Your brow was furrowed slightly, but apart from how hard you were biting your bottom lip he didnt see anything pained in your expression. Your sounds definitely did not say you were being harmed in any way. 

As his cock pulled against your entrance again and rammed back in, he gained new ground just like you’d assured. Another hungry thrust and he was flush with your body. You choked out a noise and gripped the sheets hard. 

“Painful?,” he opted for a single word to avoid his voice cracking with uncontrolled radio static. Alastor slowed his pace out of caution, he enjoyed pain but not like this. He’d only been trying to shock you earlier with his comments when he said otherwise. 

Your hips rolled, pressing him deeper and rolling your eyes back. It earned you a flipping of radio stations softly in the air around you. A babbled, “No, no,” before you could find the sense to look at him, “You’re doing so well. It feels so good. Don’t stop.” Another roll of your body to feel his leaking slit digging into your cervix. That white hot pleasure was fading now to something less mind numbing but still worth chasing. He had you split open down the center and you needed to feel him moving deep within.  

‘Well, Fuck,’ Alastor thought. The mechanics didn’t make much sense but he was seeing undeniable proof. He shifted his hips until his lower stomach was pressing down onto you and let his own normally unwanted instincts take over. You asked him to not stop, after all. 

Fluidly now he could fuck you, lower back activated and driving himself home deeper. Soon he was grunting softly each time he bottomed out. Animalistic auto-pilot kept his pace even and punishing. 

A slurred ‘feels s’good’ tumbled from your still parted lips. 

He watched your neck muscles strain and face redden, you were holding your breath and he couldnt understand why. 

Eyes slipping closed he focused on your warmth, and he could hear the sound of his skin sticking and popping free from your core. A faint wetness to his thighs came into focus from the fuzzy edges of his mind. He felt like he was melting from the center outward. 

Alastor failed to say anything when his climax mounted because it blindsided him. He leaned back for leverage and held your thighs for grip. A few harsh slaps of his skin into yours, your body rocking up slightly with the force before you felt his own warm wetness filling you. A sensation that came in waves with each twitch of his cock. When his body stuttered and a few more thrusts chased his semen deeper into you, your feet kicked out in an uncontrollable spasm of pleasure. 

You took in a deep breath and pulled him closer with your legs as soon as you regained control. Alastor’s turn to fist the sheets, you working your thighs and core to ride him from your place on your back. A few more sharp inhales, pressure mounting to a daunting peak before you could make that string snap. It took a frenzied self fucking with Alastor’s now oversensitive cock but you managed to find some relief with a small orgasm.

Alastor didn’t need you to announce it for him to understand. A modest wave of embarrassment hit, not only was he woefully incorrect but the pleasure was apparently so great you’d chase more friction to reach your orgasm on a cock before just taking your own hand. Was it impolite to not have offered to help?

Your body went slack, muscles disengaging as your sweaty thighs and ass slid from his lap and down his legs. He was still bent over you and cock buried half in you, catching his breath.

“I suppose I should eat crow now. Your little flower is far more accommodating than I gave you credit for!” He pulled out in one go and you felt the rush of his seed spilling out after him. “Though you must admit there was a little discomfort.”

With a heavy sigh you nodded, “Sometimes a little bit makes it feel even better…” a swoosh and a twinkle was heard just past your knees but you didn't move to open your eyes.

A clawed finger booped your nose, “If you value your afterlife…”

A sharp stare to the fully dressed and unsticky radio demon knelt between your legs, you rolled your eyes at the empty threat he always gave you after your unfettered talks, “I won't tell a soul.”

“Good girl!”

*a rake is a rakehell (hell raiser), considered loose with morals for chasing women and drink.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk  , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  @fizzled-phoenix   , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl  @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog  , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[valiasims]

WIP#41

Hey everyone!

Happy New Year for all of you! I hope you have a great year ahead of you and that all your wishes come true in 2025! It was a year ago when I first thought about making cc and starting this hobby. It was in January last year when I started working on my first cc set and I was so excited! There were a lot of obstacles I had to face but I've learned a lot through this year and our little community has grown and we're reached many milestones I didn't think I'd reach. We're over 9000 followers on Patreon and I am beyond grateful that you seem to be interested in what I do. We've also reached 300 patrons at the end of the year and I'm so thankful for you as well, who support my work, thank you so much! I appreciate every comment you leave, cannot thank enough!

After my emotional message I'll leave a few thoughts about the current wip photo as well to show you how the set is coming along. First of all, I'm not making bedroom items this month because I won't have enough time because I'm visiting my family in January. So the bedroom will come next month!

 Some of you suggested I should separate the top part of the window (the arch) so it can be used above the doors and the windows can be used by themselves. At first I was gonna make two versions of the windows, one with the top part, one without but I planned another top design so it would have been a lot of objects. I decided to separate them which was a little bit of a hassle because I already designed them in the frame but it works better this way. They can be varied more, for example the small windows can be used by themselves in bathrooms.

These windows are slightly wider then 1 and 2 grids because I found it two small and didn't like their size so I used 1.25 for the single window and 2.25 for the double. This makes them easily snap together without using free placement (ALT) but WITH using half-tile placement (turning on with F5). I think it's a good compromise.

Oh, sorry if this is too long but I have a lot to say. :D I mentioned there is two widths: the single and the double, also there are 3 heights, you can see them on the first picture. All of them come in the 2 width sizes. The small top parts are the arched and the criss-cross designed window. Those come also in these 2 widths.

I think that's all I wanted to say. :D I'm sorry for the long rambling, I promise this isn't as complicated as I've described and once you have them in your game you'll see how you can use them. Let me tell you, this set is making my head ache. :D There could be so many sizes, shapes and I don't want to make excessive amount of windows but enough to offer variations for different scenarios. It's a little overwhelming. I hope you will find these useful though! Despite working on them for so long and getting a little bored of them after the 10th similar looking window I like them in game so I hope you will too! But I'm looking forward to make something cute and cluttery next.

If you read all this, congratulations! You can see how these windows are living in my head right now! But I think I'm finally done with them and I only need to finish the doors!

[levisjinchuriki]

midnight - satoru gojo

summary: gojo's new year's resolution is to tell you how he feels, but people keep stealing you away before he gets a chance

warning: fluff, friends to lovers trope, gojo pining after you, a bit of a power dynamic, small amount of angst, kissing

gojo stands near the edge of the room, one hand gripping a glass of something amber and strong, though it’s been forgotten. his other hand rests in pocket, fingers twitching with restless energy. he’s satoru gojo—jujutsu high’s golden boy, the strongest sorcerer, the life of the party…and yet, tonight, he’s anything but.

his sharp blue eyes, usually so carefree and confident, are laser-focused on you standing across the room, leaning into a conversation with a group of his friends. 

you’ve always had this intense power over him, even when you weren’t trying. it’s in the way you move— completely unaware of how effortlessly you draw people in. it’s in the way you smile, disarming and genuine, making everyone in your orbit feel like they’re the only person who matters.

but for gojo, it’s your eyes that get him the most. the way you look at him commands his full attention, every time. you see him, really see him, in a way no one else does. and it makes everything else fade away.

you’ve caught him staring more than once tonight. each time, he sees that same knowing look in your eye, your lips quirking into a subtle smile that feels like a challenge. like you’re daring him to do something about the way he looks at you.

his grip tightens around the glass. gojo takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s no use. he’s starting to lose his mind. 

you’ve been stolen away from him at least five times tonight. first, it was yuji, grinning ear to ear as he swept you into an animated conversation. then geto had pulled you aside, his smooth charm keeping your attention longer than gojo liked. now, you’re surrounded by a group of people whose names gojo didn’t even bother to catch, their laughter mingling with yours in a way that makes his stomach twist in jealousy.

it’s maddening.

every time he musters up the courage to approach you, someone else beats him to it, pulling you away just before he can do the one thing he’s been too terrified to risk for years. every missed opportunity gnaws at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth that even his drink can’t wash away.

because satoru gojo is in love with you.

he always has been. from the moment you first smiled at him with that effortless warmth, he was all in. but fear—sharp, unfamiliar, and relentless—has kept him silent. the thought of losing you, of ruining the bond you’ve shared for years, has held him back, no matter how much it’s tortured him to watch you be with other people.

it ached to see you cry on his shoulder over an ex who didn’t deserve you. it hurt even more to hear himself giving you advice he wished he could follow—advice he wished he could prove to you himself. but through it all, he stayed the supportive best friend, locking his feelings away and pretending that watching you love someone else didn’t shatter him every time.

but tonight, gojo feels different. maybe it’s the champagne fizzing in his veins, making everything feel a little lighter. maybe it’s the delusional bravery that comes with every new year, the promise of new beginnings and the freedom to act on desires that have been bubbling under the surface. or maybe it’s the way you keep looking at him like that—like you’re waiting. like you already know.

his chest tightens as he lifts the glass to his lips, downing the drink in one long, burning swallow. he grimaces, but the rush of liquid courage steadies him momentarily.

enough is enough.

glass abandoned on a nearby table, gojo straightens, his towering frame cutting through the crowd with ease as he makes his way toward you. his pulse is pounding, his nerves are screaming, but his eyes stay locked on you, unwilling to let anyone else take you away this time.

“can i steal her for a sec?” gojo interrupts smoothly as he approaches the group. his tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it—a subtle claim that leaves no room for argument. his towering frame and commanding presence seal the deal as his hand presses against your back, guiding you away without giving the others a chance to respond.

you let him lead you, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at him. he feels the warmth of your gaze, the way it lingers, and it does little to calm the pounding of his pulse. 

“finally decided to come out of your corner, gojo?” you tease, your voice low and laced with amusement.

“i wasn’t in a corner” he lies. your raised brow and knowing grin let him know you’re not buying it for a second.

“right. and i wasn’t waiting all night for you to talk to me” you counter smoothly, the challenge in your tone making his stomach flip. the glint in your eye—mischievous and just a little smug—nearly crumbles him. he stammers for a moment, trying to form a response, but nothing coherent comes out.

“you’ve been avoiding me” your voice drops in volume as you step closer. the intimacy of the gesture steals the air from his lungs.

“i haven’t—”

“you have” your voice is firm, but still laced with that teasing edge that drives him insane. “you’ve been staring at me all night like you want something, and yet, here i am, talking to everyone but you”.

gojo swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. you’ve cornered him effortlessly, your words peeling away every excuse he might have used to deflect. the way your eyes hold his makes it impossible to look away.

you’ve been watching him just as closely as he’s been watching you, dissecting every glance, every subtle shift in his posture. you’ve caught him staring more times than you can count, and each time, the slight tilt of your head and that knowing look in your eye made it clear: you know.

you know exactly how much power you have over him.

and you’re enjoying it.

it’s infuriating, the way you have him so completely wrapped around your finger without even trying. but it’s also exhilarating. he’s satoru gojo—untouchable, powerful, confident. no one has ever left him flustered, never made him second-guess himself. but somehow, you’ve brought him to his knees without even trying.

“ten... nine...eight…” the crowd begins the countdown, but he barely hears it, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. now, as he stands before you, the room buzzing with energy and the countdown ticking dangerously close to zero, he knows he can’t wait any longer. the way you’re looking at him— like you’ve been waiting for him to finally catch up—sends a thrill racing through his veins. it’s the curve of your lips—that faint, maddeningly confident smile—that has him completely at your mercy.

there’s no time like the present. either he steps forward and starts the new year without regrets, or he lets the moment slip away and risks losing the person most special to him forever.

“three... two...”

he doesn’t wait for “one”. 

without another second of hesitation, gojo pulls you closer, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other cradling your face as though you’re something fragile and precious. his thumb brushes gently against your cheek as he leans in.

the kiss is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more—sweet, passionate, and filled with longing after years spent second-guessing and holding back. it’s not just a kiss; it’s an apology, a confession, a promise all wrapped into one moment.

your arms slide up instinctively, fingers threading into his undercut, pulling him impossibly closer. the gesture is possessive, grounding, and when you kiss him back with equal fervor, satoru knows he’s a goner.

you’re everything he’s ever wanted but was too scared to ruin. and now, with the taste of your lips on his, satoru is sure he’s addicted. he feels relieved, euphoric, and he wonders how he’s managed without this for so long.

when gojo finally pulls back, your foreheads rest against each other. you’re both breathless, chests rising and falling in unison. 

“took you long enough” you tease, your voice brimming with warmth. your thumb lightly grazes his bottom lip.

for all his usual confidence, there’s a vulnerability in the way he looks at you now. his normally playful eyes are earnest, his gaze searching yours as if afraid this moment might vanish, like a dream slipping through his fingers.

“yeah, well… i like to keep you on your toes” satoru quips with familiar cockiness.

the smirk on your lips a reminder of the truth: he’s in your hands. you’ve always been the one in control. but tonight, you let him have this moment, let him play at being the one holding the reins.

you hum, the sound low and pleased. the way you’re looking at him—with affection, amusement, and something he doesn’t dare name—has his heart racing. for a second, he wonders if his knees might give out entirely. 

“happy new year, gojo” you say. your fingers brush the nape of his neck.

“happy new year” he murmurs back, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s afraid to miss a single second of this.

then, before anyone can pull you away again, before the world outside this moment can intrude, he leans in, stealing another kiss. it’s slower this time, less hurried, but no less consuming. the intensity builds, unspoken feelings spilling over with every shared breath, every gentle press of his lips against yours.

it’s just him, you, and the undeniable connection you can no longer ignore.

when you finally part, both of you breathless, he lingers close, hand cradling your cheeks. there’s a softness in his gaze now, a vulnerability that’s rare for him, but is entirely genuine.

as the sound of cheers and laughter signals it’s time to celebrate with everyone, gojo laces his fingers with yours before leading you back toward the others. his grip is firm but gentle. he doesn’t let go, not even when you’re surrounded by the lively crowd.

instead, he gives your hand a squeeze, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. 

he’s determined—no one is going to steal you away again.

not tonight. not ever.

--

a/n: happy new year, everyone. this is my first fic of 2025!! one of my resolutions is to write more. please send some requests my way!! <3

creds: found on pinterest so i’m not sure who the creator is!

[jhyoos]

Dreams Come True

Chapter 4: Give Your Heart A Break

summary : vi and (y/n) reconnect and give each other a second chance.

mentions : smut, strap on, fingering, switch, multiple orgasms, oral sex, nipple play, whatever else I left out!

notes: i am blessed to collab with one of my closest moots @athena-winters13! she wrote this beautiful smut 😫 (cause im horrible at it.) im forever grateful for her taking the time to do this for me. please check out her work on ao3. here are some of my personal favorites:

undercover and under the covers - sevika

sevika baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight - sevika

red rooms and tie-ups - sevika & ambessa

go check her out!

The drive back to Vi’s place was full of sexually charged tension. There was only silence and the sound of the road, no words were exchanged because the both of you knew what would happen when you got there. You were excited, no doubt, but there was a part of you that couldn’t quite get past all the terrible things Vi had said to you before.

As you finally make it back to her place, she opens the door for you, smiling as you walk through. Vi follows behind closely, shutting the door and locking it before turning to face you.

She steps forward, placing a hand on the back of your neck to bring you closer, but you briefly stop her, “Vi wait- I- I need you to tell me something. All those things you said before, did you mean them? I mean, there had to be some truth to what you said.” You search her eyes for any indication that you were right, but you don’t find it. Instead, her soft eyes look full of pain and hurt.

Vi shakes her head, cupping both of your cheeks and forces you to look her in the eyes. “I didn’t mean any of it. I knew you wouldn’t stay away unless I hit you where it really hurt. I- it was fucked up I know it baby, but I used what you were going through against you so you would be sure to stay away. I’m so sorry. I want t- I will make it up to you, I promise. If you let me.” Vi’s eyes flit back and forth between your eyes and lips.

You let out a deep breath, one you didn’t know you were holding, and pull her into a tight hug. You breathe in the smell of Vi that you had been missing for what feels like forever. It would take a lot for her to make up for her cruel words, but this didn’t seem like a bad start, not in your drunken state.

When you’re satisfied with the hug, you pull back, stepping a few feet away from Vi as she just watches patiently. “Alright, show me how sorry you are.” You brush your honey-blonde hair over your shoulders and stand in the middle of the living room, waiting for Vi to respond.

Vi’s eyes seem to darken, a wide grin covering her face, “yes, yes to that.” She’s on you in a second, bending slightly to grasp the backs of your thighs and hoist you up, carrying you back to the bedroom and ever-so-gently placing you on the bed.

It’s a process to get you out of your dress, but Vi is patient, not rushing or breaking anything even though you can tell she’s pent up. Once you’re left in your bra and panties you surge forward, pulling at Vi’s shirt after she removes her jacket. She chuckles, “eager?”

You don’t bother answering, instead, you let your actions speak and yank upward to remove her shirt fully. You attempt to start at her jeans, but she just pushes you onto your back, climbing on top of you. She kisses you with a desperate intensity, making you moan into her mouth and do your best to keep up with the kiss, after all you were desperate too.

It had been quite a while since you trusted someone to get you vulnerable like this, but even after the bad things Vi said in the past, you still trusted her with your body. She knew how to take care of you and your needs. “Vi,” you pull back from the kiss and grab her hand, guiding it to your breast, “show me.” You urge her again, the alcohol giving you enough confidence to boss her around, though you suppose you deserve it after how cruel she was when she left you.

Vi bites her lip, reaching around to remove your bra and cups both of your breasts before giving them a squeeze. You sigh out breathily and her eyes darken still, “sorry baby, you’re just so pretty it distracts me. I really am so sorry. I thought about you every day, no one could ever compare to how you make me feel, you complete me, pretty girl.”

She bends down, pulling your nipple into her soft mouth. You arch into the stimulation, grabbing the back of her head to keep her in place. When you accidentally tug her red locks too hard she bites your nipple in retaliation and you moan loudly, but refuse to give up your hold.

She doesn’t say anything but she moves to your other nipple, kissing across your sternum as she goes. Her touch is gentle, yet charged and you can tell she’s holding back, but you don’t want that right now. “Vi, you’re holding back.” You gasp out as she bites your other nipple now.

Vi brings her head up to look at you, a guilty smile on her face, “I just missed you so much, I don’t want to hurt you again.” Her hands move to your hips, thumbs tracing patterns as she waits for you to speak.

“You can be rough, you’re not going to break me honey. I missed you too and I definitely missed doing this.” You offer, watching her face light up with the permission you just gave her.

It seems that’s what she was waiting for, removing your panties in mere seconds and falling down on her stomach to bury her face between your thighs. The way she runs her tongue through your folds makes you arch, attempting to get closer to her insanely warm, wet mouth.

She holds your hips down with her hands, digging in when you arch too much, but quite frankly you can’t help it. She knows your body and just what to do, it seems not even time could change that. Although you know it’ll only make you hotter, you sit up on your elbows to watch her while she licks into you. You whine, making eye contact with Vi as she draws your clit into her mouth and sucks lightly. You can feel just how wet she’s making you, each suck has that feeling in your lower abdomen becoming more unbearable by the second and you drop back down onto your back, moaning her name.

It only spurs her on more and you feel one of her hands release your hip to find your entrance, two fingers circling there, silently asking for permission. “Please Vi, I need you.” You whine, pushing down to try and take her fingers in.

It doesn’t take any convincing and Vi groans against your clit as she pushes her fingers into you. The stretch takes a few seconds to get used to, it has been a while after all, but you adjust quickly because she was made for you and those fingers fit perfectly. She pulls them out, only to push them right back in and curl up toward that spongy spot inside you, all while keeping her mouth moving to suck and lick at your swollen clit.

You throw an arm over your eyes, doing your best to keep your hips still, but it was so damn hard when she seemed to hit every pleasure sensor in your body. Her other hand came up, playing with your nipple and matching each pinch to a suck on your clit and curl of her fingers. She was going to get you there a lot faster than you had thought, “Vi, you’re gonna make me-” you break off into a long moan, throwing your head back and curling your toes against the mattress.

You can feel Vi nod her head against your cunt, encouraging you to do just that, not like you had much choice anyway when that coil in your belly was threatening to snap any second. Each time you clench around her fingers, a jolt of pleasure shoots to your clit and then she pinches your nipple, only furthering the absolute rapture she was giving your body.

You’ve broken out into a sweat now, squirming against the sheets and body becoming engulfed in the flames of your lust. You grab the back of Vi’s head, taking a handful of her hair and forcing her mouth to stay directly on your clit. She grunts in warning, but you don’t even register it, moaning and whimpering with each suck, only pulling her hair harder. And then she perfectly times her mouth, fingers and hand on your breast one last time, sending you into the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

Your thighs clamp around her head and tremble as she continues on even after you’ve cum. It takes a forceful tug on her hair to get her off of you and you look down to see her chin covered in your arousal, which only sends another pang of want to your stomach. “You’re not done are you, cupcake?” Vi purrs, slowly removing her fingers from you and sticking them in her mouth to lick them clean, groaning at your taste.

You shake your head quickly, pulling Vi down for another heated kiss. You shove your tongue into her mouth and she matches you, running her tongue over yours and groans at the way you hold her closer still when she sucks on your tongue. “Can I-” you pause to suck in a deep breath, the kiss stealing your oxygen, “can I be on top?” Vi gives you a curious look, brows pinching together in confusion.

You smile shyly at her, pushing back on her shoulders and standing from the bed on weak legs to look through the nightstand drawers. Even though you hadn’t been in her room for over a year, not much had changed and the strap she always used on you was still in its place, untouched. You grab the harness and toy, holding it up while biting your lip. She chuckles, leaning back against the pillows, “I get it now baby, of course.” She pats her thigh, beckoning you over but you don’t budge.

You stay where you are, standing at the side of the bed, “I want you naked. It’s been so long Vi. I need to see all of you, please, I need to feel your skin on mine. I've missed it every day.” You whine, hoping your eyes show the desperation you were feeling. It seems you’ve made your point and you watch Vi eagerly remove the rest of her clothing, throwing it haphazardly to the floor.

Only when she’s fully naked do you climb on the bed, crawling over to her and handing her the items. She moves slowly pulling the harness on, making eye contact with you as she goes. You can’t help but subtly move your thighs together, running your hands up and down her strong legs and doing your best to remain patient.

Your body was all hers tonight and you felt light, the weight of over a year of bad feelings coming to a close. Once the dildo is situated in the ring of the harness you climb on her lap and grab her face with both hands, kissing her deeply. She lets you lead the pace, deepening the kiss but not moving at a frantic pace- you want to savor it. “I love you, Vi.” You whisper against her lips, forehead resting against hers.

She gives you a big, goofy grin and kisses the tip of your nose. “I love you. I never stopped loving you.” Her hands find your hips and she guides you down, looking at you so gently yet so full of hunger.

You keep one hand on her sturdy shoulder, taking your other to hold the toy and help line it up with your entrance. Your eyelids flutter shut, the stretch threatening to render your legs useless as pleasure clouds all of your senses. Vi rubs soothing circles into your hips as you fully take in the length and adjust to it. When you finally open your eyes, you find her already looking at you with something akin to pride, “my pretty girl, you’re so good at taking me in like that.” The words drip past her lips, tone rough from arousal.

It makes your hips jerk forward, moving the toy inside of you and forcing a pitiful whine out of your lips. This time, both hands find her strong shoulders and you slowly rise up, feeling the drag of silicone against your walls. It’s a delicious friction and before long a sloppy sound fills the room, making your face heat up in a mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment.

“Violet,” you mewl, fingers digging into the exposed flesh on her shoulders, “please, you feel so good.” You pick up your pace a bit, rising back up quicker and dropping back down to take in the full length of the toy before grinding forward a bit to really feel every last inch.

Vi moves her hands from your hips to your breasts, groping them and squeezing every time you rock forward. “You needed this? Only I can please you like this, isn’t that right baby?” She almost growls the words, voice thick and gruff as her eyes find their way between your legs to watch how the length of the toy is coated in your slick.

You can only nod your head, your hands falling down her shoulders to her chest in order to knead her supple breasts. She was making you feel so good, you wanted to provide her some relief too. Her head drops, clunking against the headboard and she groans out, rich and throaty.

You smile in between soft moans, continuing to pinch and play with her nipples because you knew that got her going. Vi’s hands drop back to your hips and she plants her feet on the bed to start thrusting up into you. Her thrusts jostle you around and make it hard for you to keep your rhythm, your hands dropping to the bed to fist the sheets.

That coil is winding tightly in your stomach again and all you can do is whine and whimper as you dig your nails into the blanket. Vi’s eyes flit back and forth between your wet cunt and your bouncing breasts, “do it baby, I know you want to cum, go ahead.” She grits out, pouding into you from below.

You remove one hand, nimble fingers finding your swollen clit with ease and rubbing like your life depends on it. You become stuck in a chant, your brain only aware of two words in your current state, “yesyesyesyes Viiiii,” you break off, your breath stolen by your intense orgasm and you crumple forward into her bare chest.

Her hands immediately encircle your shoulders and she rubs your back until your breathing gets under control. You sleepily look up at her, kissing her jaw and resting your head in the crook of her neck.

She almost lulls you to sleep, but your hips move a bit and Vi groans underneath you, the harness pressing against her clit. That sound alone reinvigorates you enough to do one last thing. You rise up on your knees, removing the strap from you and lay down with a huff on the mattress. “I’d like to please you too, honey.” Your voice is a bit rough from being overused, but it has the same effect and she begins removing the harness quickly, discarding it on the floor.

Vi gives you a shy smile, she always did feel a bit bad when you offered to return the favor as she wasn’t used to it. Still, she felt comfortable and safe with you, enough that you watched as she spread her legs open for you, allowing enough room for your lithe body to fit in between. You pull your long hair back into a ponytail, laying down flat on your stomach between her spread thighs. Her breaths came faster when you began placing open mouthed kisses on her thighs, inching closer and closer to that red patch of hair and the prize underneath.

You’d missed this as well, how Vi would never rush you even when you knew she was needy because she liked how tenderly you kissed her before you went down on her. You only have so much patience yourself though and bring both thumbs to her lips, opening her up so you can stick your tongue out flat and run it from entrance to puffy clit. She groans on your first pass, allowing her head to fall back and shutting her eyes to savor the feeling. You move slowly, cherishing every second you had down here.

You move your tongue from entrance to clit over and over, waiting for the sign that she needed more. It comes in the form of a calloused hand grabbing your ponytail, forcing your face closer. Vi’s moans and quiet grunts come more frequently as she guides you and you simply allow it. You moan into her soaked folds, lips wrapping prettily around her clit and sucking softly because that was how she liked it. “I need you, need you so fucking much baby. I’m so fucking sorry, I’ll make it up to you fore-” she groans deeply when you moan into her clit, sending the vibrations directly to that sensitive bundle, “-ver.”

You nod your head as much as you can with her tight grip, hands squeezing her thick thighs as you need something to help you ground yourself. You can feel her slick against your chin and you push your face just a tiny bit more into her when her hips start to stutter and tremble.

She’s not far off, her moans becoming breathier and her grip in your hair bordering on painful. Just a few more suckles on her clit send her plummeting off that ledge, her muscular legs locking up around your head, forcing you to remain in place against her. After a few seconds she reopens her legs and lets go of you, allowing you to rest your head on the inside of her thigh. “Should I run us a bath?”

You giggle, sitting up to smile at her and place a tender kiss on her toned stomach before you lay on her chest for a few quick snuggles.

The soft warmth of the sun slowly coaxed you awake, its golden rays streaming through the half-drawn curtains of Vi's bedroom. You groaned quietly, squinting against the light as you stirred, feeling a comforting weight draped over your waist. It took a moment for the fog of sleep to lift, but when it did, you realized where you were—and who you were with.

Turning your head slightly, you saw Vi lying beside you, her face serene in the morning light. Her messy pink hair splayed across the pillow, some strands sticking to her forehead, and her lips were parted just slightly as she breathed softly in her sleep. Her arm was wrapped securely around you, as though she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

Your heart ached at the sight. She looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, and you couldn’t stop the soft smile that curved your lips. The familiarity of her scent, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it was everything you’d missed.

Unable to help yourself, you shifted closer to her, resting your head against her chest. Her heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, and you closed your eyes, savoring the moment. It felt like time had frozen, like the world beyond this room didn’t exist, and for a brief, precious moment, everything was perfect.

But then, you felt her arm tighten around you. Your eyes snapped open, your body tensing slightly as you realized she was awake.

“Morning,” Vi murmured, her voice low and husky from sleep. Her eyes were still closed, but the small, lazy smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

“Morning,” you replied softly, your voice barely audible.

She pulled you closer, burying her face in your hair and pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Missed this,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin.

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice cracking just slightly.

For what felt like an eternity, the two of you stayed there, wrapped up in each other. Vi’s fingers began tracing soft patterns on your back, her touch light and soothing, and you felt yourself relaxing against her. She tilted her head, her lips brushing against your forehead again as if she couldn’t get enough of you.

“I love you,” she finally said, her voice firm yet tender. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning and emotion.

Your breath hitched, and you tilted your head to look at her. Her eyes were open now, the vivid blue of her irises locked onto yours. You saw the vulnerability there, the raw honesty, and it made your heart ache. Last night wasn’t a dream.

“I love you too, Vi,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I always will.”

Relief washed over her features, and she leaned in to kiss you. It wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the love and longing she hadn’t been able to express. Her hands cupped your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks as she deepened the kiss, and you melted into her, your hands finding their way to her hair.

Minutes passed in a blissful haze, and when you finally pulled back for air, Vi pressed her forehead against yours, a soft grin tugging at her lips.

“Guess we’ve got a lot to make up for,” she teased gently, her voice tinged with emotion.

You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Yeah, we do.”

The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by a soft buzzing sound. You frowned, glancing toward the nightstand where your phone was charging. Reaching over, you grabbed it and saw the time. Your heart dropped.

“Crap,” you muttered, sitting up abruptly.

Vi propped herself up on one elbow, her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I have dance practice in twenty minutes,” you groaned, scrambling to find your clothes.

Vi flopped back onto the bed with an exaggerated groan, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Practice can wait,” she drawled, reaching out to grab your wrist and gently tug you back toward the bed.

You laughed, dodging her attempts to pull you back down. “You’re not the one who has to deal with my manager,” you teased, quickly slipping into your clothes.

She pouted, sitting up as she watched you get ready. “Fine, but you’re coming back later, right?”

Pausing, you turned to look at her. She sat on the edge of the bed now, her hair messy, her t-shirt rumpled, and her eyes still half-lidded with sleep. She looked so beautiful it hurt.

“Yeah,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll come back.”

Her grin was lopsided and filled with so much love that it made your heart skip a beat. She leaned forward, pulling you into one last kiss before letting you go.

With one final glance back, you grabbed your things and headed out, already counting down the hours until you could be back in her arms again.

psa : i have not proof read any of my part 🧍🏾‍♀️

[eyra]

stuff what I have learnt about writing good

If you've followed me for longer than two minutes then you'll likely know (because I keep going on about it) that I've been working on a novel for the past year. It's always been a dream of mine to write and publish a book and whilst I still have a long way to go before I can even start thinking about querying (whether on this book, or the next, or the next, etc.) I suppose I can now say that a book Exists. I have written A Book.

Now whether or not that book ever sees the light of day, the process of writing it has been truly eye-opening. I went in knowing virtually nothing and came out, still with a huge amount to learn, but with a whole library of tools that I didn't have before. I'm now putting these to use with the first draft of my second book and already the process feels so much more enjoyable, because I've started to figure out how to make it work for me.

I wanted to jot down what I've learnt purely for my own reference so I can keep looking back and reminding myself what worked for me first time around, but given that I get a nice number of asks picking my brain about my own writing process, I thought I might as well share all this with you lot in case there's anyone out there who finds it useful!

So here are the big things that I've learnt so far...

1. Not every trick works for every writer

This has been, by far, my biggest learning. Starting to plan a novel for me felt SO overwhelming - I felt like I was bombarded on all sides with "this is how to write a novel" content, and it felt like there was just too much to learn and like I would never find my way through it. I spent weeks (months...) doing every worksheet, every outlining method, every chart, anything I could get my hands on. Some of them, by the end, proved themselves very useful. A lot of them didn't. There are thousands of voices online that are telling you "this is the right way to write a book" or even "this is the ONLY way to write a book" - don't listen to them. Try things, but don't feel like you have to fit yourself into every single box. Just find the things that work for you.

2. It's possible to overplan

On a related note - sometimes you just need to start writing. I spent WAY TOO LONG faffing about before I put pen to paper with my first book. So, so long planning out characters and plot points, a lot of which I then had to completely reimagine mid-draft because I realised they just didn't work anymore. In hindsight, some of this was down to me being scared to actually start writing - the planning stage was a bit of a comfort zone for me, despite not naturally being a plotter/architect - I have always always always been a pantser/gardener, but I got sucked into the whole "proper authors do it THIS way" narrative.

With my second novel, I did a nice amount of planning but then just bit the bullet and started drafting. I know where my story begins, ends, what my major themes are, I know all my main characters and I know my key plot points. The rest, I'm figuring out as I draft. If nothing else - I'm having a lot more fun this time around.

3. Think about voice and tense before drafting

Yeah duh obvious right? NOT TO ME. If you were following me around April time, you may have witnessed a series of minor breakdowns when I realised that, having written a whole first draft in third person present tense, the entire book should actually have been written in first person past tense. So that meant, basically, starting over from scratch. This was a big learning for me, and not a mistake I'm likely to make again.

4. Stop looking at your word count

For someone who's never really put much thought into word count before - my approach with fanfiction has already been "it'll be as long as it'll be" - I got OBSESSED with the word count of my first couple of drafts. A lot of people will tell you that any good novel "has to be" under 100k words. I constantly see this one post on Pinterest that says "I promise you that you can tell the story you want to tell in 100k words or under." I'm definitely no expert on this (and I'll eat my words when an agent tells me my manuscript needs cutting down), but I'm sceptical - a lot of stories can and should be under 100k words, sure, but most of my favourite books are much longer than this. However, I did get stuck in a "this manuscript has to be between 70k and 100k words" mindset and felt like a failure whenever it was sitting outside of that bracket. Also - keep your genre in mind. If you're writing a rom-com, 70k could work perfectly. If you're writing fantasy, you're probably going to go over that.

5. Know whether you're an overwriter or an underwriter

And related to the above - know whether you tend to write bare bones-style then add to it, or whether you tend to dump it all on the page then cut back later. I'm the first, and I knew this, but I still panicked when my first draft was only around 70k. I felt like it was rushing through the plot at an unreasonable pace and it didn't feel "finished". This was because it was a first draft. By the time I sent my manuscript to my beta reader, it was around 126k.

6. The dumb stuff works

The title of the document for my first draft was "XXX - worst possible version" and at multiple points during the drafting process I changed the font to Comic Sans size 48. It works. Completely takes the pressure off and gives you full permission to write big, write silly, write unhinged, write mad things that you'll cut back by 90% later. But it gets it all on the page. If you're stuck or cringing at yourself in Times New Roman size 12, try Comic Sans size 48.

7. Don't compare your first draft to your favourite book

Like an idiot, I did this. I still find myself doing it. It's possibly my worst writing habit. I'll type out a page at 11pm after a full day at work and no dinner and then I'll pick up a published book and think "ah man, the page I've just written is nowhere NEAR as good as this." Published books are fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh drafts that then go through months and months of editing. Do not compare your manuscript to a published book. Just don't do it.

8. Don't try to be That Author

Good writers are good readers. Absolutely read broadly, read deeply, just read. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, everything. And it's fine to find yourself influenced by other writers - that's how writing works. But don't try to BE other writers. One of the issues I had to unpick last year was that I was reading a lot of authors whose writing styles are very different to my own. I know my own style fairly well by this point - fanfiction's a great sandbox for figuring that out - but at certain moments during my editing phases I found myself cutting away at my prose because it felt "too different" to the books I was reading at the time. This was a weird thing for me to have done, and I went back and fixed it later.

I think what I'm trying to say with this one is: take inspiration from everywhere, let yourself be influenced by different writing styles, but find your own voice and trust it. Literature already has a Sally Rooney and a Donna Tartt and a Leigh Bardugo. It doesn't need a clone - it needs you!

I'll finish by sharing what I've found to be the most useful plotting template. This obviously isn't the total extent of my planning process by any means, but after trying about a million different plotting techniques for my first manuscript, this is the one:

The 27 chapter method (more examples here)

And finally, two little character tricks that I find invaluable:

AITAH?

Character philosophy

I hope someone out there finds something useful in this post! Although I've been writing in some capacity since I was a teenager, 2024 was definitely the year I realised that I am a writer at my core. I want to be a published author, but I'm already a writer. It brings me happiness like nothing else in the world! And I love to talk about all aspects of writing, so my ask box is always very much open.

Happy scribbling! x

[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece II: Fairy Tales

Part I Part III AO3

“I long to see the blue flower” --Novalis

In 1812, brothers Wihelm and Jacob Grimm published their first volume of fairy tales. The book was not initially meant to be read as purely children’s stories, but as a collection of tales they felt reflected German culture. They weren’t alone in their study of folk culture and stories, as interest revived throughout the Romantic period, particularly in Germany.

Later editions of the Grimm’s fairy tales, however, were changed to be more suitable for younger audiences. There was something about the stories that captured the mind of a child, and the expansion of children as their own demographic to be catered to encouraged publishers to specifically produce works for younger audiences. I feel like CS Lewis said it best while defending his own use of fairy tales, “He [the person reading fairy tales] does not despise real woods because he has read of enchanted woods: the reading makes all real woods a little enchanted”. The Romantics of this era were themselves enchanted by the power of these stories, and utilized them to great effect in their works.

Romanticism gets its name from the medieval ballads that were popular during the time period, themselves written in the romantic languages. Artists drew heavily from a mythologized past for their paintings, and writers such as Goethe and Novalis wrote literary fairy tales of their own inventions, drawing upon allegory and metaphor to express their philosophical ideals. In 1813 Percy Bysshe Shelly wrote a revolutionary and radical tract in the form of a poem and fairy tale, named after and heavily featuring Queen Mab. These men, along with the Brothers Grimm followed a tradition set by the “discovery” of Ossian, an epic poem that presented itself as the Gaelic equivalent of the Iliad or Odyssey, but was largely an invention of the poet James Macpherson.

One Piece is chalk-full of allusions to fairytale and myth. The manga opens with the grand execution of Gold Roger, his final words the sort of promise that you could easily see becoming a campfire story today, a whispered rumor and legend of impossible treasure for any person brave enough to go looking for it. 

Oda starts leaning into real-world myth as early as chapter 23 with Usopp’s introduction, his name in part derived from the Greek storyteller Aesop and the plot a loose retelling of the Boy Who Cried Wolf, with his trademark nose being a clear reference to Pinocchio. 

When looking at One Piece’s use of real-world myth and story, the thing that strikes me is how often Oda will borrow from the iconography of a story without simply rehashing it. Just about every major arc borrows in some way from real world children’s tales, but you’d be hard pressed to call Oda’s usage derivative. Even with the broad pool of references Oda draws from, the manga never would have lasted as long as it has if he’d just copied from the stories we’ve all heard since childhood. 

For example, on Drum Island Chopper is a clear reference to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Much like the Syrup Village before it, it draws directly on the themes of the original work, ostracization and rejection being primary motivators when developing Chopper’s arc. 

But more than that, Hiliruk is introduced entering his unwitting patient’s houses through the chimney, just like Santa Claus, and Chopper’s repeated journeys up and down the mountain using the island’s rope system while pulling a sleigh is clearly borrowing from the iconography of Christmas. But you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who would call Drum Island a Christmas story, even though it’s set on an appropriately wintery environment. 

There are more examples. Laboon eating the Straw Hat’s ship could be seen as a reference to Moby Dick, Pinocchio, or the biblical story of Jonah, yet Reverse Mountain doesn’t share themes with any of those stories outside of the use of a mythical whale. The Skypiea Saga kicks off with the introduction of shadowy “giants”, before moving to a treasure hunt while befriending a young girl who plays a harp, and ends with the felling of a giant beanstalk. But does anyone really think of Skypiea as a retelling of Jack and the Giant Beanstalk?

My favorite of these has to be Alabasta, since I see so few people pick up on it. The entire climax of the arc involves a devilish crocodile, a man with a hook for a hand, a ticking clock, and the imposing presence of a giant clock tower that looks suspiciously like Big Ben in a setting otherwise influenced by Egyptian archeology. Why or how Oda decided to mix Peter Pan with his epic tale of friendship and betrayal amidst a war on a desert island is beyond me, but he did. 

These examples aren’t only found pre-timeskip. I saw people able to guess who would live and die during Wano based solely on how closely Oda was following various Japanese fables, with broad plot elements being based on the famous story of Momotaro.

Of course, Oda doesn’t limit himself to fairy tale and myth. He frequently draws from history and pop culture at large, or, at least, the pop culture of his youth. Sanji’s design is based on Reservoir Dogs. All the Admirals share a face with Japanese actors. Thriller Bark is named after and directly homages—more than once!--Michael Jackson. Somehow you can have music video references sitting next to yokai, Frankenstein, the Invisible Man, and the Island of Dr. Monroe without cognitive dissonance, because that’s just how Oda writes. The Tree of Knowledge (the ‘of good and evil’ is implied) can coexist with Adam and Eve—which here are also trees—which can in turn overlap with Yggdrasil. The biblical ark Noah can exist in the same island as the Flying Dutchman, while the most biblically-coded of all the sagas can have an ark of its own while drawing many of its names and iconography from Eastern religions such as Shinto and Buddhism. That’s not when it’s drawing on Meso- and Native American iconography and religion instead. And somehow…somehow…it all gels together with the stories of El Dorado and Jack and the Giant Beanstalk.

Once one starts going down the rabbit hole of references and homage it becomes hard to stop. The interweaving of so many references, both obvious and not, while still maintaining an original plot boggles the mind. How Oda got the idea to mix Alice and Wonderland, Power Rangers, Aladdin, and fascist iconography while also turning Sanji into a Disney Princess is beyond me, and in my opinion, a large part of his creative genius. 

But the question remains…why? Why reference Santa Claus on Drum, or Jack and the Giant Beanstalk in Skypiea? Some allusions make sense with the surrounding story, but others seem to be placed at random just because Oda could. 

I think the answer falls back to the Romanticism of One Piece. Oda has said in many different interviews that he writes with an audience of children in mind, particularly young boys. By pulling from the stories of childhood he creates a frame of reference, and because Oda draws from a wide pool of sources that frame of reference can have a more universal appeal, fitting with his world-spanning, swashbuckling adventure. I was never told the story of Momotaro, but I know about the Boy who Cried Wolf. My grasp of Norse mythology is shaky at best, but I recognize the image of a reindeer pulling a sleigh through the night sky. 

As I’ll get into later, the Romantics were obsessed with the innocence and experience of childhood. That was one of the reasons they were drawn so much to fairy tales. To them, stories that were spread amongst the common folk were the most pure form of culture, and it was from these stories that they strove to create a shared identity. 

One Piece is a world-spanning tale, and the stories it references reflect that. But for as different as culture can be from country to country, or island to island, there’s a shared humanity in the stories we tell. A fairy tale will always feel like a fairy tale, whether it’s from Japan or Germany. And by immersing itself in these memories of childhood, Oda carves himself a place amongst these ancient tales. 

Marking the end of One Piece’s prologue, chapter 100 draws back from the immediate story to call attention to its own internal myth. Utilizing some Oda boxes quoting Gold Roger, the narrator writes, “These things cannot be stopped. An inherited strength of will, one’s dreams, and the ebb and flow of ages. As long as people hunger for freedom, these things will always exist”.

The name of chapter 100? The Legend Begins. 

This isn't a coincidence. The Grand Line in particular is described in-universe as a land of fairy tales. The Little Garden and Elbaf arcs start with quotes from the explorer Louis Arnot. The cover of Brag Men, where these quotes come from, labels the book romantic fiction. Oda revealed in the SBS for volume 42 that the stories within the book are so outrageous and unbelievable to ordinary people that they’re believed to be untrue, much like the story of Noland the Liar. 

And yet, these are the stories that Luffy goes chasing after. 

Now, I could send an age quibbling over the difference between a myth, a legend, and a fairy tale, but in the case of One Piece there’s enough overlap to be irrelevant. One Piece draws upon fairy tales because in many ways it is a fairy tale. It’s easy to imagine the entire story being told from Usopp’s perspective as he sits around the fire, telling his tale to a wide-eyed audience of children. Whether he’s telling the truth or not doesn’t matter, because it feels true, and for the first time the woods start to feel enchanted. And perhaps it’s that spark of magic that’s enough to stir the imagination of the next generation of dreamers to go out on adventures of their own, no matter how absurd and impossible. 

[sinstear]

if there was one thing that kept her at bay from anything, it would be her arm. she loved and hated that part about herself. loved that it could protect her when needed, but hated that it could hurt someone she loved. sevika wasn’t afraid to use something so powerful to keep away evil, but she would never forgive herself if she accidentally hurt the one she swore to protect. even just holding their face in her hand, sent shivers down her spine and worry through her mind and body.  

you never minded though. in fact, there were times when you’d be sitting with her or near her, that your eyes would travel away from her current card game, down her metal arm, more times than none, and just stare at it. it was beautifully fascinating to you. with or without her knowledge of you just gawking at her. 

sevika did notice one night though, out of the blue, to your surprise, when you were comfortably sitting beside her— drinking from her whiskey glass and watching how she flawlessly yet swiftly dealt her cards. 

it started with her body tensing beside yours, calmy, when you lightly traced patterns on the cool metal, not wanting to push her into anything, just being gentle and cautious with your approach. then it was the way she looked at you from the corner of her eye, seeing you sitting there, looking down at her arm— but you didn’t look scared or worried. not like most people did. you looked interested.

“do you think it’s gonna bite you or something if you state at it any longer?” her voice rang out, raspy and gruff. the cigar hanging loosely between her lips made her look ten times hotter.

“that a challenge?” 

“maybe, maybe not, who knows with you.” 

for the remainder of her games— most of the time she could sit there all day but if she has company, aka you, then she takes time to spend with you before she’s got her usual shit to do, and finally stubbed out her cigar and put all of her attention on you. 

“you’re quiet,” she pointed out, sliding the coins off the table and pushing them into her pocket. “which is unusual, you’re never quiet.”

“gee, thanks,” you glared at her, yet the way your lips quirked up into a smile, made it aware you weren’t really mad. “just thinking.”

“well don’t be too excited to share, what’s wrong?” 

her eyes followed your gaze, and that’s when she quickly noticed you weren’t looking at her anymore, more or so looking at her arm again. “can i hold it?” 

your question was an innocent one, cautious even, but to her, it meant everything. you could tell by the way her eyes shifted away from you nervously, looking at anything but you. “i don’t think that’s a good idea,” she laughed, trying to play it off. “probably shouldn’t.” 

“shouldn’t or don’t want me to?”

“is there a difference?”

she’s looking at you again, too busy focused on what you’re saying to notice the small shift of your hand reaching for her metal one. “who knows with you,” you murmured with a playful smile.

it’s only when she feels you interlock your fingers with hers that she tries to pull away and save you the trouble but you’re faster. just a little, and pressing her hand to your cheek.

“you won’t hurt me.” you reassured. as if you were answering a question her eyes were silently asking, something she couldn’t find herself saying out loud. sevika’s lips part with a gentle sigh when your free hand reaches up and cups her metal hand against your cheek a little firmer, and she clenches her jaw tightly once you’re smiling. “i promise, you won’t hurt me, you can’t.” 

“how do you know i won’t?” she asked, insecurity laced with worry in her voice. 

“because if you wanted to you would have done it when we first met.” you stated, eyebrow raising just slightly when sevika moves her fingers across the apples of your cheek slowly. the coldness of the metal tingling your skin as she moved. “but you haven’t, so.” 

“maybe you just haven’t pissed me off enough yet.” sevika grins, and it’s almost primal in the way she looks at you. 

“yet,” you clicked your tongue with a light chuckle. “there’s still time then.”

your eyes lock with hers as she presses her thumb against your lips, almost like she wasn’t aware of what she was doing, while you mischievously winked. “maybe just a little time,” she murmured and pushed harder.

the cold metal of her fingers brushed against the muscle of your tongue before you knew it and sevika didn’t know whether to moan or growl at the sight of you grinning smugly around her fingers. it wasn’t something she was used to. she’s used to people seeing it, turning the other way and getting away from her.

but here you are, greedily sucking her fingers and having no issues or worries. not caring in the slightest. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” she admitted, in awe of you and watched you closely. “and i think it’s worrying that i’m perfectly okay with that.”

[allisluv]

finnick odair and you having a little fun (wink wink) on mother’s day after the kids are tucked in?

mothers day.

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: nsfw. set post rebellion but its not specified. finnick and reader have a daughter. reader is a bit bratty ngl. pet names (angel and baby). references to reader as "mine" and a "good girl". oral sex (f!recieving). unprotected p in iv -- please wrap it before you tap it. begging. finnick is a menace but we love him. he is also big on consent. flirting and teasing. not proofread we die like heroes or whatever. if theres anything else pls lmk!

word count: 2.6k

a/n: okay so i never intended this to be this long but i got really carried away with it lmao! happy new year everyone! here's to lots more fics this coming year! reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

When your husband told you he would be going all out on Mothers Day, you hadn’t believed him. Then again, more fool you, because if there was one thing you should have known about Finnick O’Dair in all the years you had known him, it was that he always followed through on his promises.

You’re woken up to your toddler, Cordelia, jumping on the bed. You can faintly make out Finnick’s half- assed attempt at scolding her— hes not doing a very good job at being stern. Despite the fact that you are in sleep’s greedy clutches, you still know that he has a soft spot for his daughter, and he rarely ever gives out to her. 

Youre treated to breakfast in bed that morning, with all your favourite foods piled high on a plate, and a selection of drinks on the bedside table. You almost laugh at how sweet the gesture is. 

Then comes the onslaught of presents. Finnick waits (impatiently) as Cordelia runs to her room to get the gift bag. He takes advantage of that time, though, by setting the tray on the floor and peppering your face with kisses. “I love you.” 

You chuckle, squirming under his touch as he nips at the sensitive spot behind your ear. “Well, I love you more.”

Finnick arches an amused brow and pulls away just enough so he can look at you. “Is that so?” He grins and two dimples carve their way into the skin above his mouth.

You wind your arms around his neck, which doesn’t take much effort on your side, considering you have easy access to him with the way he’s hovering over you on the bed. “Mhm. It’s a scientific fact.”

“A fact, you say.” 

“A scientific one,” You correct him. 

Finnick hums non-committedly. “Ah. Silly me.” He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face. “And where exactly, pray tell, would one find evidence of this scientific fact?”

You mull his words over in your mind for a minute before shrugging. “Hm. Good question.”

“One that you can’t answer.” He points out. 

“Hey, you can’t correct me on Mother’s Day!” You argue, but there’s no real bite behind your tone. 

Finnick rolls his eyes fondly and is about to open his mouth and spew out a smart remark when the sound of tiny feet slapping against the hard-wood floors echoes through the hallway. He chuckles to himself and presses one more kiss to the skin that your night-dress leaves exposed before rolling off of you and settling beside you on the bed. 

Cordelia comes bouncing into the bedroom, two gift bags clutched in hand. She settles inbetween both of you and starts rifling through the first bag. 

Cordelia gives you a home-made card and a picture frame with a photo of the three of you in it. Finnick gifts you a bunch of your favourite flowers, a dainty silver locket and a couple of shells that he collected from the beach. 

As your daughter tries to find an appropriate place to display her photo frame, Finnick leans in close to you. His lips brush the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “You’ll get your other present when the little one’s in bed.”

You can feel his smile as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You quirk a brow in amusement. “Ah. I like the sound of that.”

Finnick chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, I knew you would.” His lips skim your jawline as he places a feather-light kiss to the skin there. “Come on. I’ve got a dinner to prepare and I can’t do it without my favourite girl with me.”

“And mommy!” Cordelia pipes up. 

Finnick snickers. “I was talking about mommy, you silly goose.” Cordelia scoffs— for a three-year-old, she has a hell of a lot of sass. (Finnick says she gets it from you but you’ll agree to disagree on that one). “Come on then. You can help with dinner while we let mommy put her feet up.”

Cordelia perks up at the prospect of helping. “We’re making lasagna!” She announces. 

Finnick groans good-naturedly. “And there goes the surprise.”

       ꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

The rest of the day flies by in a blur of pampering and fussing. Cordelia has decided to take a leaf out of her fathers book for the day and is giving you the princess treatment. 

As it grows dark outside and the movie on the tv in your bedroom starts to roll to an end, Cordelia starts to drift off in between you and Finnick. He decides that it’s time for bed. “Stay there,” he murmurs as he lifts her into his arms. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be waiting,” You tease. 

Finnick gives you a smile as he cradles Cordelia’s body in his calloused palms and disappears into her bedroom. 

In a matter of minutes, he’s back in the privacy of your own bedroom and as soon as the door is closed behind him, he makes a beeline for you. He crawls up the length of the bed and hovers over you, doing nothing but staring. “Well?” You roll your eyes impatiently. 

“Well what, angel?”

“Well, are you gonna put your mouth to good use or you gonna keep staring all night long?”

Finnick chuckles under his breath and fondly shakes his head. “So bossy.” He teases, but presses a kiss to the skin of your jaw. “So impatient, hm?” He catches your ear lobe between his teeth. “So needy.” He moves to suck a hickey into your neck. “So mine.” He slots his lips over your own.

You groan into his mouth and he eagerly swallows it back. Already, you can feel the slick in between your legs, and its honestly pathetic how wet you are from the simplest of touches. But Finnick hums into your mouth and all of a sudden, you can’t find it in yourself to focus on anything other than how good he’s making you feel. 

His touch is tentative, almost feather-light. His deft fingers ghost down the skin of your waist, tracing a pattern into the places that he knows will make you squirm, before finally settling on your hips. 

He nibbles on your bottom lip softly. You whine and he smiles into the kiss— he’s always had a thing for hearing you and it shows. His fingers trail lower and lower, but it’s far too slow for your liking. You huff out a sigh but wait it out; you know Finnick and you know that if you start demanding him to go quicker, he will only be more inclined to tease you. 

Finnick can sense your patience and he rewards you by kissing you softly. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and slips his tongue into your mouth. 

After what feels like a lifetime, but can realistically only be a few seconds at the most, he bunches the fabric of your nightdress up around your hips and moves down your body, pressing kisses as he goes. 

His eyes are blown wide with lust when he inches lower down the bed, and finally gets to be eye-level with your panties. “So pretty,” he praises, nipping at the soft flesh of your thigh. You moan and you feel him smile against your skin. “Can I take these off? I want to see all of you, angel.” 

You nod but Finnick only clicks his tongue and tries to pull away from you. Before he can get far, you’re guiding him back towards your core by his hair. “I– yeah. Take them off.” 

Your voice is desperate and wrecked, even to your own ears, but you’re too on edge to care. 

Finnick grins and nips his way up your thigh again. He grabs the soft fabric between his teeth and hooks his fingers through the waistband, tantalizingly and slowly yanking your underwear down your legs. He waits until theyre at your ankles before pulling them all the way off and discarding them somewhere else in the room. He hums. “That’s better.” 

He kisses his way back up your leg, stops at your core, and drinks you in. You whine and he raises a brow. “Got something to say, angel?”

“Finnick,” You growl. 

“Yes?” He smiles smugly. 

“Stop staring already.”

“What do you want me to do instead?” “Touch me.”

“Touch me…” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Please. Touch me please.” 

Finnick smiles. “Good girl.” Without warning, he licks a stripe up your core. You gasp, hips bucking forward, and his hands fly out to keep you in place. He traces tight circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue, before suctioning his mouth around it and sucking. 

Wanton moans spill from your lips, and he picks up his pace. Finnick’s done this many a time, and every time feels better than the last. Some would even say he knows your body better than you know yourself, and to that, you couldnt disagree. 

He knows exactly what to do to have you weak in the knees and, in what must be record time, your thighs have clamped around his head and you’re cumming from his mouth alone, his name falling like a prayer from your lips. 

He works you through your orgasm, and when you come down from your high, he presses a soft kiss to your sensitive clit. The whine that slips out of your mouth is high-pitched and he can’t help but smile as he crawls back up your body and kisses you. 

He sits up, straddling your waist as he looks at you. You tug at his shirt, eyes still glazed over from the pleasure of your orgasm. “Off.”

Finnick chuckles. “Giving demands now, are we?”

You huff and tug at the hem of his shirt once more. “Need to feel you. Please.” You give him your best puppy-dog eyes and he laughs, but obliges, pulling his shirt over his head. Your hands find home on the defined, hard ridges of his abs. “And you can lose the pants while you’re at it, too.”

Finnick lets out a huff of amusement but rolls off of you and stands. In one swift motion, he pulls off his sweatpants and discards them with your underwear, before hovering back over you. Your hand palms his hard cock through his boxers and he groans, hiding his head in the crook of your neck. “Careful, angel. Keep going like that and I’ll come in my pants like a teenager before things have even had a chance to get started.” 

You move your hand, but buck your hips into his instead. He groans again and nips your neck in way of warning. You ignore him and roll your hips once more. “Let me take care of you, too,” You whisper.

“Jesus Christ, you’ll be the death of me.” Finnick murmurs into your neck before kissing you again. 

“Can I suck you off?” 

Finnick shakes his head fondly. “Another day, baby. Today is about you, and only you.”

Your heart melts, but you cant resist getting one last jab in there. “Hm. Bold of you to assume there’ll be another opportunity.”

Finnick laughs and nips your neck again, this time hard enough to leave a mark. “Oi. Watch it.” 

“Or what?” You challenge.  

“Sorry, did you want me to fuck you tonight? Cause I can always leave you hanging if you prefer.”

You roll your eyes. He’s got you there and the smug smile on his face tells you that he knows it, too. 

“Sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you, angel.” 

You huff out a sigh. “Fuck me.”

Finnick hums thoughtfully as if he’s debating it, but you can feel the tip of his hard cock poking at your dripping entrance teasingly. It’s just enough to have you on edge again. “I will— but only if you ask me nicely.”

You groan and try to push against him but his hands fly down to your hips, keeping you firmly pinned in place. “Finn, don’t be a tease.”

“I’m not being a tease,” Finnick shrugs, pushing in just enough to have your back arching off of the bed. He laughs. Bastard, you think. “You know I’ll give you what I want, angel. All you have to do is ask me.”

“I’m not begging,” You protest. 

Finnick laughs. “That’s a bold-faced lie and we both know it, baby.” He pushes in another inch before he pulls out completely, leaving you whining. “Come on. You can do it. Ask me.” 

“Finnick,” You groan, but he doesn’t move. Finally, you sigh and resign to your fate. “Please. ‘M asking nicely. Just fuck me already.” 

The words have no sooner left your lips before he’s pushing back into you. The breath is nearly knocked out of your lungs and Finnick slows down, soothing you with gentle words of reassurance and careful, soft caresses. “I know, baby. I know. You’re doing so well. Taking me like a good girl. My good girl. So good, angel.”

Slowly but surely, he pushes into you, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt. You wriggle your hips at him and he takes the hint, pulling out of you before pushing back in again. 

The thing about Finnick is, even when he is fucking you hard and fast, there is still always an element of love-making to it. No matter how rough he is, there will always be something he does that reminds you of how much he loves you. 

“God, you feel so good,” He groans, nipping at the skin of your neck. You grab him by the hair and pull him impossibly closer, winding your arms around his neck when he’s near enough. 

“I’m close,” You whine, sucking a hickey onto his chest. “Oh, God, I’m gonna cum.”

Finnick’s thrusts get sloppier as he gets closer to the edge himself, and you can feel that too familiar coil tightening in the depths of your stomach. He moves in and bites at the spot right behind your ear that he knows drives you wild. “You gonna cum? Come on, angel, I know you’re close. Can feel you clenching around me like a god-damn vice. Christ, I love you so much. Want you to cum. You think you’ll be able to do that for me? Can my pretty baby cum for me? Come on, I know you can—” 

Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave and Finnick isnt far behind you. You can feel him spilling inside of you, and your cunt flutters as his cock pulses and his thrusts get sloppier yet again. “Finnick!”

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and bites, not hard enough to hurt but just enough to help you ride out your orgasm. He whispers words of praise as you both come down from your highs.

You pull him in for a kiss and pant into his mouth. Finnick’s tongue dances with yours and his breath is heavy and strained as he tries to catch his breath. He pulls out of you and swallows your whine of protest with yet another kiss. “I know, angel, I know,” He mumbles, caressing your hair as he rolls off of you and pulls you down to lie flush against his chest. 

You nuzzle into his chest, craving the warmth of his body and he wraps his arms around you tightly. You press a lazy kiss to his chest and he laughs into your hair. “Feeling better?”

“Best Mother’s Day present ever.” 

He chuckles. “Well, there’s more to that present.” 

You quirk a brow. “Do tell.”

Finnick kisses your temple. “Well, you should know by now that I’m not a one round man.” He teases. 

You whack his chest playfully. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“Is that a no?” 

“Of course it’s not.” Finnick chuckles. “Now, who’s the insatiable one, huh?”

[angelinthefire]

"Blisters and bedrock" and The Flashback

So I know the flashback scene with Felicia in s2e5 is controversial. So I wanted to take the time to understand it properly, and do a close rewatch.

And I realized that even though I watched the episode like four times before, I never properly evaluated what was going on with Vander, I wasn't thinking of him as a character in his own right, just as a symbol of Vi and Jinx's past, and hence I didn't understand the scene until now.

Of course, it's all about "blisters and bedrock". That phrase is the name of the episode, the line is repeated three times, obviously it's important. So what does it mean?

The first time we hear it, it's in Vander's garbled memories. The memory that's most impactful to him is the failed rebellion on the bridge and its aftermath.

There's fighting, there's Silco looking at him sadly, with almost child-like sadness, there's Felicia's dead body, then Vander trying to drown Silco.

Those memories are followed by his recent experience killing the enforcers at Stillwater, then by seeing Powder, and a still-blurry image of Vi, even though he hasn't actually seen her yet since he awoke as Warwick, almost as though Powder's presence implies Vi.

Then there's the image of Felicia at the jukebox, and then a disfigured Silco, toasting "blisters and bedrock". It's ghostly, almost accusatory, said as Vander's being faced with the gory injury he inflicted. But what it means is a mystery.

The next instance of the phrase is in Vander's apology letter. He gives his little explanation for his actions, and signs off, "blisters and bedrock." Still not super clear. The letter itself is kind of weak, as far as apologies go. And then there's this cryptic phrase at the end.

Finally, Warwick/Vander is drawn to the girls by the scent of Isha's blood. When he first sees Vi, she almost looks like a two-headed creature from his POV shot, with her massive gauntlets looking sort of like heads, with the glowing hextech gems as their eyes (And I think I need to make a separate post about Vi in this episode, because it's so good). They fight. But then she lowers her guard and he sees her, and that's when we get the full flashback.

Right off the bat, it's established that Vander and Felicia are close. He knows that the song she picked has some special significance. The way they look at each other is kind of flirty too.

They're celebrating the opening of The Last Drop, which they intend to be a pillar for the community of the Lanes (which is a very shop-local approach to politics, but whatever). We knew this was Vander and Silco's endeavor, and Felicia is the only other one there, which means she has a special place in their lives.

Silco is largely passive in the scene. We get a cute little bait-and-switch where it seems like he's going to be a super-serious revolutionary, but then he says something playful instead ("I'm bozo one"), so we get a glimpse of what he used to be like, and what the dynamic of his relationship with Vander was.

And then we get to the reveal that Felicia is pregnant. Now, I think what happens next has been twisted through discourse, so I want to quote it directly:

Felicia: The second I told you I put you on the hook. You two are going to figure this Zaun thing out. I don't care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock covered in blisters. You're not allowed to fail anymore. For her. For me. Vander: What’s the point if we can't raise an ankle-biter or two? Silco: To Zaun, then. Blisters and bedrock.

I've seen people characterize this as Vander and Silco promising to look after Felicia's child. It's not that at all. She's not telling them to look after her kid. She's telling them to succeed at winning independence for Zaun for the sake of her child.

"I don't care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock covered in blisters. You're not allowed to fail." That is: Do whatever it takes. Even if it's hard, and ugly, and painful. That's how you'll help my child.

Vander agrees - what they're fighting for is future generations of Zaunites.

And Silco turns it into a toast. Blisters and bedrock - whatever it takes.

So now we know that in the first ghostly flashback, "blisters and bedrock" was an accusation, it was a manifestation of Vander's guilt. "We said, 'whatever it takes'. And look at Felicia. Look at me."

"Blisters and bedrock" gives Vander's apology letter new meaning too. It turns a kind of weak explanation into something much more meaningful. He's saying he'll do what it takes to patch things up.

In an episode all about regrets and missed chances and forgiveness, it really resonates.

And there's one more instance of "blisters and bedrock" being used - in the song "The Beast" off the season 2 soundtrack.

Vander isn't really able to express himself as Warwick. So the songs providing a very literal window into what he's going through is useful. The lyrics of "What have they done to us", used towards the end of the episode, are just straight-up what Vander's thinking in that scene. I don't think the lyrics to "The Beast" are used in the show, but they're very straightforward too.

Here are the lyrics to the bridge of that song:

What happened to the place where we left off Any progress erased, I was dead wrong Couldn't carve out a place, every dream that we chased Through the blisters and bedrock

Vander is recognizing his failure.

When Vander put down his gauntlets to look after Vi and Powder, he wasn't keeping a promise to Felicia. He was *breaking* his promise to her.

The flashback frames the conflict between Vander and Silco in more personal terms too. In terms of what united them, they both promised to fight for Zaun for the sake of Felicia's child. But when those two things are posed against each other, Silco is willing to kill kids in order to fight for Zaun, while Vander gives up the fight for Zaun to protect the kids.

I think it's significant that the flashback doesn't end on "blisters and bedrock". It ends on Vander suggesting a baby name, showing where his priorities are going to be

And when he sees Vi, as Warwick, he sees the girl who he gave up the fight for. He's remembering his failures, he's tormented by his failures. But Vi, and Powder, are worth it for him.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Tender is the Soul

Starscream x Reader

Are you okay?

That question, asked in such a soft voice, persisted in echoing through his processor, yet no matter how much he tried he couldn’t force it out.

Are you okay?

It was pathetic. He had captured you, clutched you in his servo and squeezed until you’d started screaming in pain, and then he’d dropped you without care to remain trapped in the medical bay where Knockout could – he was forced to – watch over you for the meantime. You’d just been bruised, and you ached, but you’d be just fine, or so Knockout had said.

Are you okay?

His lord and master had been in a particularly bad mood today, accusing him of things both true and false, yet little did it matter on whether he defended himself or not, whether he begged or not. He was punished, brutally beaten in front of those who occupied the room, and yet still he had to beg for mercy, to promise to do better if he’d just be given another chance. Megatron hadn’t wished to listen and had told him that there would be no room for excuses today, but alas, he spared Starscream’s life; for now.

He was leaking energon when he’d returned to the medical bay. The injuries had felt bad. He’d realised they’d been much worse once Knockout took one glance at him and subtly gaped in shock. Starscream didn’t want to hear any of it. He didn’t want any false concerns thrown his way, any—anything that could trick him into lowering his guard. No Decepticon could be trusted to be his ally, his friend, and so he gritted his denta and allowed the doctor to mend his wounds before he leaked too much and grew critical.

The silence that followed after Knockout left – to give him time to recover – was as blessed as it was cursed because it was only thanks to that silence that your voice could be heard; small and soft as it was.

“Are you okay?”

And so, here he lay, staring dumbly at you as you sat within your glass cage. Your organic optical ridges were furrowed in either concern or wariness – Starscream guessed for the latter – and you were staring at him, or rather, at his wounds.

“What does it matter to you, fleshling?!” He’d snapped back, and you’d flinched and cast your optics away, curling further into a ball as you held your tiny arms around your legs, either for warmth or protection, Starscream couldn’t say, but it felt good to see you afraid of him.

Why would you care for his health? Why would you even ask? He was the one who brought you here. He was the one who’d doomed you to interrogation, torture, and most likely death. You obviously knew that, and yet you asked him if he was all right.

“That just looks like it hurts,” you said, voice so meek he barely heard you. “Does he hit you often? Megatron, I mean.”

Starscream scoffed. Who else could it be but Megatron?

“Of course, it hurts! Why do you care? If you think I’m going to let you go just because you try to ask for my well-being, then you’re wrong, fleshling. You have valuable information regarding the location of the Autobot base,” he said, then he began to think a little further, “but then again, I could give you a quick and painless end if you tell me all that you know right now, and you won’t fall to the same fate as I.”

You looked at him again, fleshy optics glancing him over, clearly thinking his offer through. However, instead of an answer, you chose to ignore his proposal as if he’d never given it to begin with.

“You’ve done awful things… but not even you deserve to be treated this way,” you said, and he was ready to get angry for your lack of cooperation, but your words struck something within him, and he was rendered momentarily speechless.

He wanted to believe that you were lying, doing what you could to save your own skin, but the look in your eyes told the truth. It wasn’t pity, no, but something else, something softer and kinder that made him feel all kinds of strange. He wasn’t used to receiving this kind of attention, and it almost made him uncomfortable.

He groaned and settled down, feeling miserable and angry, but at least his current condition made him somewhat safe from Megatron’s wrath once you were stolen back by the Autobots.

You’d been taken out of your cage, probably to another room for interrogation, and the glance you’d cast his way made his spark pulse uncomfortably. Your optics were so sweet, so tender, and your face – he began to wonder what it would be like to touch those cheeks – was furrowed in worry. For yourself, and him.

You worried for him.

Why would you worry… for him? You gained nothing from it. Your worry hadn’t spared you out of anything, so… why?

… why.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

‘I’m here, Ed; I’m here.’

Lighthouses are symbolically significant to Stede’s characterisation, and part of that is as a representation of toxic masculinity and patriarchy. One is highlighted during Stede and Mary’s wedding ceremony standing for the ideals of heteronormative marriage which is often steeped in traditional masculine norms. We see a lighthouse also as the setting for Ned Low’s torture. And of course, Ed fails to heed the warning of the lighthouse, cracking upon Stede’s rocks as he returns to a white patriarchal hegemonic society in which Ed cannot follow.

But Stede’s truer characterisation is not so much the lighthouse structure itself, which keeps him trapped in behaviours to which he is not suited and grows to abhor, but the lamp within. He brings light to Ed’s purgatory in season two, both physically with the lantern, and through love, shining into the darkness of Ed’s subconscious.

With all of this in mind, I’m a little obsessed with the lighthouse in Ed’s Kraken recollection. Is the lighthouse part of a true memory, or is something else going on here? I like to think this scene is not only symbolic in its use of Kraken imagery, but also that of the lighthouse.

The lighthouse is certainly a symbol of toxic masculinity here, forming the backdrop for Ed’s stumbling, drunken father. But I also feel the shining lamp represents Stede. Ed is reconstructing the memory as he speaks; and we learn later it’s a fictional recollection insofar as the suggested realism of a literal Kraken is a psychological protection mechanism. Ed’s recreating a version of events he can just about cope with in the retelling. And as Ed tells the story to Stede and the crew, it could be Stede ends up inadvertently and symbolically in the memory as the lighthouse’s lamp.

GIF by captain-flint

We know a motif throughout the show is the subjectivity of memory and storytelling. It could be that a version of Stede is inserted here by Ed’s mind as a comfort. It’s only recently the pair fused their collective imaginations into the lighthouse fuckery, an ingenious moment of skill and playfulness which Ed later says was more fun than he’s had in ages. What if Ed’s best and worst memories begin to collide as his identity enters a state of flux?

It might also reflect the beginnings of Stede shining a light into the dark crevices of Ed’s mind. Helping Ed to begin to explore the unacknowledged parts of himself. Stede, even at this early stage, is starting to have a psychological impact upon Ed. Later, in the bathtub scene, Stede really does reach those hidden corners. Not through force or interrogation, but by simply bringing his bright self to Ed’s side, ready to listen impartially to whatever Ed wants to bring from the shadows, allowing Ed to speak his truth aloud for the first time without fear of judgement.

But, I have another twist on the lighthouse lamp, and it’s an abstract one. Because I love metaphysical readings of this show, such as Chauncey being a partial manifestation of Stede’s mind, or mirrors, which weren’t there before, appearing suddenly on the Revenge alongside Ed.

In this reading, the lighthouse and its lamp do exist as reality within the show’s metaphysical setting, and are part of a true-ish memory. There is a timeless quality to Ed and Stede’s relationship. They’re children currently, unknown to each and unmet. But they already belong one to the other. The universe knows it. Time knows it. Physics knows it.

In his darkest childhood moment, Ed was never truly alone. The lighthouse lamp is Stede, and the future promise of Stede.