#but I do think it's supported by the text

[trashytracktales]

okay I know how everything is always about reader but I need you to write something about giving lando the pleasure he deserves.. like a nasty bj. I’ve seen so many edits of him with the song “dangerous woman” and it screeeeaaams smut. hope you’re seeing this vision and I love your work, i’d be so happy if you could bring it to life bc you’re my fav blog on here <3

Wanna bet? | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── A bit shorter than usual, but I haven’t posted anything in almost 2 weeks, and this request was the perfect excuse. Thank you so much for your support!! Hope you like it 🤍🎀

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✧₊⁺ summary ──── After a particular tiring day at work, Lando comes back home to his girlfriend, happy to fall asleep next to her. Unfortunately, he has a habit of not thinking before he speaks so, next thing she knows, she’s determined to prove him wrong. As many times as possible.

✧₊⁺ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

✧₊⁺ rating ──── explicit

✧₊⁺ category ──── F/M

✧₊⁺ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, descriptive language, oral sex ─ (m)receiving, somnophilia (consensual, implied), teasing and a bit of edging, swearing, mild dominance.

✧₊⁺ word count ──── 2.9k

✧₊⁺ date ──── Feb. 10, 2025

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THEY DIDN’T TEXT much throughout the day, because she knows how busy he’s been at work lately. Instead, she follows the same routine she recently fell into: she wakes up next to him, they have a quick breakfast together, then watches the door Lando rushes out every morning for a good half hour, contemplating. After that, she occupies the rest of the day with her own work, or curled up with a book on the couch, waiting for the same damn door to open.

The moment she hears the familiar jingle of keys, she looks up with the same excitement as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before…

Lando steps inside, looking exhausted. His curls are a mess from the cap he’s been wearing all day, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and there are faint shadows beneath his eyes, evidence of a long day at the MTC.

He barely manages a tired smile when he sees her, “Hey, pretty,” says Lando, dropping his bag by the door before trudging towards her.

She gets up, arms already outstretched in anticipation. He’s almost melting into her embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her scent in. For some reason, his deep sigh gives away more than words ever could, and she catches it instantly.

“Rough day?” the girl asks, rubbing soothing circles into his back. His muscles are tensed, yet soft under her palm.

Lando groans in response, tightening his hold on her. “You have no idea,” he exhales, relieved that he’s finally home.

“Oh, baby. I think I do,” she teases, pulling back to look at him, “You smell like grease and exhaustion.”

He chuckles, eyes twinkling despite his fatigue. “That bad?”

She scrunches her nose dramatically, “Mhm. Go shower, stinky. I’ll wait for you in bed.”

Lando doesn’t argue. He presses a quick kiss to her temple before shuffling toward the bathroom, stripping his hoodie off along the way. She watches him disappear behind the door, then heads to the bedroom, where she starts fluffing his pillows and making sure his side of the bed is just the way he likes it: neat sheets, a warm blanket, and her, not-so-patiently waiting for him on her side.

By the time Lando steps out of the shower, towel slung low around his hips, he looks slightly more alive. His damp curls cling to his forehead, and he’s rubbing a hand through them as he walks toward the bed.

“You’re an angel, you know that?” he asks with a wide smile on his face, noticing her efforts to make his night a bit easier.

Lando grabs the towel from around his waist, using it to dry his curls, completely unbothered by his own nakedness. She follows his big frame as he crosses the room, mesmerized, while the muscles in his back shift with each movement; in moments like this, she percieves Lando as a man that’s so effortlessly graceful. There’s something almost god-like about him, she thinks, like a sculpture carved by the hands of an artist obsessed with perfection: the sharp lines of his shoulders, the defined curve of his spine and, most distracting of all, the firm shape of his ass.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as he reaches for a fresh pair of boxers, blissfully unaware of the effect he has on her, pulling them up over his hips in one smooth motion.

Then, he simply slips beneath the blanket with a sigh. “Got the weekend for ourselves, but at what cost?” he chuckles, “I’m so tired, I swear I could sleep through an earthquake,” Lando yawns, stretching out before shooting her a lazy grin. “You could even blow me in the morning, I won’t be moved, baby! Dead asleep for the next couple of days.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes.

Wanna bet?

“Oh, nice,��� she ends up saying, trying her best not to sound offended.

“Just saying,” he smiles mischievously, already halfway to dreamland.

The girl shakes her head, humming at his words, but doesn’t contradict him. Instead, she shifts closer once he flips on his stomach, and starts running her nails lightly up and down his back, the way she knows he loves. At that, Lando’s body relaxes almost immediately, a soft sigh of contentment slipping past his lips.

Patiently, she starts drawing lazy patterns over his skin, listening intently as his breathing slows. And suddenly, seeing him falling asleep while she gently scratches his back, she realizes that all the waiting during the day is worth it, as long as Lando will always return to their bed at the end of it.

With a small smile on her face, she watches as his long fingers loosen their grip around the pillow, and the crease between his eyebrows fades.

And, despite his earlier comment, she makes a tiny mental note to prove him wrong in the morning.

THE FIRST THING she notices when she wakes up is how hot she is.

Lando’s entire weight presses against her body, his arm draped over her waist, and his face buried in the crook of her neck. He always sleeps like this, clinging to her even in unconsciousness, as if he can’t stand the thought of being deprived of her touch for one second. His breath is steady against the skin of her neck, while his curls are tickling her shoulder.

She sighs softly, shifting just enough to glance at the clock on the nightstand — it’s almost noon, and as much as she wants to stay like this and let Lando sleep in, cocooned in his arms, her bladder has other plans. So, carefully, she attempts to get out of his embrace, prying his arm from around her waist inch by inch.

Lando grumbles in protest, fingers flexing against her hip, but he doesn’t wake up that easily.

When she finally manages to slip out of bed, she tiptoes toward the bathroom, casting one last glance at him over her shoulder: still dead asleep, sprawled out now, his curls a mess against the pillow. That’s when she remembers his words from the night before, and her lips curl into a knowing smirk.

After she returns, she finds Lando on his back, the sheets tangled between his legs, one arm resting above his head to block the only ray of light that, ironically, landed on his face. She crosses the bedroom to pull the curtains all the way, and the room immediately floods in a semi-dark filter.

Then silently, she slides back into bed, her hands ghosting over his skin as she untangles the sheets. He looks painfully beautiful in the morning, the warmth radiating from his body seeping into her fingertips. She takes her time, letting her touch linger as she traces absentminded patterns over his stomach.

Lando shifts slightly, but his breathing remains even, somehow encouraging her hand to move lower.

The fabric of his boxers is soft beneath her fingers, but what catches her attention is the heat beneath it, and the hardening shape of his cock as she palms him gently. At that, a slow exhale leaves Lando’s lips, his hips tilting just slightly, but he gets sucked back into his sleep like it never happened.

She continues her cautious movements, fingertips pressing more firmly, drawing lazy strokes through the fabric. His body is responding instinctively, his cock hardening beneath her touch with each passing second. The faintest hitch in his breath makes something curl low in her stomach, and her pulse quickens as she slips her hand beneath the waistband, feeling the smooth, hot skin against her palm.

Lando stirs, a muted noise escaping through his lips, but his body is still heavy next to her.

She bites her lip to stop a whimper coming out, watching him closely as she runs her thumb along the tip, feeling the slick warmth there. A shiver rolls through him, Lando’s hips shifting again, just a little bit, as if seeking more of her touch.

Without even realizing, her mouth goes dry, her own breath unsteady now. Her cheeks burn as she looks at him, laid out beneath her. He’s thick and heavy in her hand, the heat of him searing against her palm. She strokes him slowly, teasingly, scanning the way his body reacts even without full consciousness.

The memory of his taste lingers on her tongue before she’s even taken him in — warm, heady, Lando. The anticipation is making her head spin as she pumps him once, twice, three times, feeling the way he throbs while wrapped around her hand.

With one goal in mind, she leans in, letting her lips brush against his hip, just barely, teasing herself as much as him. And then, with intent, she replaces her hand with her mouth — inviting and wet and ready to take him in without hesitation. Her lips are parting around his length, and the first thing that strikes her is the way he pulses against her tongue, the skin velvet-smooth over the rigid firmness beneath. The faint taste of salt lingers, a mix of him and the remnants of her teasing, making her stomach tighten with want.

She moves meticulously at first, savoring the weight of him, and the stretch of her lips as she takes him deeper. Then, without meaning to, a soft moan escapes her, vibrating around him; the sound surprises her, but not as much as the way Lando reacts at the sensation, a deep, unconscious whine slipping from his parted lips. It makes her smirk against his skin, but she doesn’t rush the process. This is about proving a point, about making him regret the words he so carelessly tossed at her the night before.

Her tongue moves with purpose now, swirling over the sensitive skin as she works him up with rhythmic strokes of her hand. She can’t take him all the way in her mouth, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try to ruin him in every other way.

When he throbs against her tongue again, that’s her sign to start sucking, her lips sealing around his cock as her tongue swirls over the sensitive ridge beneath his tip. The slick sounds that follow, a mix of her spit and his pre-cum, are animated by her breath that’s both shallow and eager.

She pulls him out with a wet pop, licking around the head, teasing the slit before dragging her tongue from base to tip, savoring every inch of him. Then she takes him in again, deeper this time, her pace steady, determined to draw out every last reaction from him.

And luckily, a soft sound escapes Lando’s lips — a barely-there whimper, the kind that makes her thighs press together instinctively. He stirs, his hand moving as if to find her, but when his fingers meet the empty pillow on her side instead of her warm body, he shifts, confused. His lashes flutter, brows furrowing just as he blinks himself into consciousness.

Then it hits him.

The wet heat of her mouth.

The torturous rhythm of her tongue.

The way her fingers work in tandem, stroking him with just enough pressure to have his breath catching in his throat.

She should stop now that she managed to wake him up. Nothing would be more satisfying then hearing him begging for release, first thing in the morning. But then, Lando inhales sharply, and exhales deeply with a throaty sound, as his head falls back against his pillow. Seeing what she does to him is better then hear him beg at the moment, so she continues with her movements, as dedicated as ever.

“Fuck,” Lando’s voice is hoarse, sleep-rough and so wrecked already.

She peeks up at him, making sure he’s watching when she takes him deeper, then she makes sure to keep eye contact as she presses her tongue insistently against the sensitive slit at his tip.

Lando’s reaction is instant: a sharp moan, hips twitching involuntarily while his hand finds her hair. His fingers tighten, not pushing, just holding, desperately needing to anchor himself to reality since she’s pulling him under so effortlessly.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes, eyes dark and hooded as he looks down at her.

She smirks with his cock in her mouth, the curve of her lips sinful as she bats her lashes, feigning innocence. Lando lets out a strangled laugh, but it quickly dissolves into another moan when she presses her tongue more firmly against his swollen tip, sucking just a little harder.

He is panting now, his grip in her hair tightening just as his hips lift slightly, torn between wanting to let her have her way and the desperate urge to fuck her mouth.

“You’re—fuck, you’re divine,” he praises, “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

She hums as his thighs twitch beneath her, his chest rising and falling in shaky breaths. She can feel how close he is, his muscles tensing, his grip on her hair turning almost desperate. But just when he’s teetering on the edge, she pulls away with yet another obscene little pop.

Lando whines, his head snapping to glare at her, but she only grins, sliding up to lie beside him. Her hand never stops, though, her fingers still wrapped around his cock, stroking at an infuriatingly agonizing pace.

“Still think you’d sleep through it?” she teases, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Lando groans, hips shifting restlessly beneath her touch. “You’re evil.”

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to his jaw as her hand picks up speed. “And?”

“I love it.”

A couple more strokes, a slight twist of her wrist, and Lando comes with a shuddering moan, his release spilling hot all over his lower stomach. His entire body tenses beneath her before melting back into the mattress, so sweetly spent. He’s beautiful like this — flushed and panting, his curls falling against his forehead.

Lando lets out another shaky breath, chest still heaving, before cracking an exhausted, blissed-out smile. “I never questioned your ability to blow me, you know. I talk trash when I’m tied, but this is the first time I’m glad I did.”

She smiles, leaning in to kiss him, the gesture so natural. By the time she pulls away, he looks utterly wrecked.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says against his lips, smug and entirely pleased with herself.

Lando huffs out a breathless laugh, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She tries to move, but before she can so much as shift, Lando’s arms tighten around her. With effortless strength, he pulls her back into his embrace, rolling her until she’s straddling his waist.

“Not so fast,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep, lips brushing against her jaw.

The sudden change in positions makes her gasp, her thighs pressing instinctively around him. His hands settle at her waist, warm and firm, holding her like she belongs nowhere else but on top of him. She can feel him beneath her, so warm and solid, the remnants of his pleasure sticky against the soft fabric of her panties.

The realization makes heat raising up her neck and cheeks.

Lando notices, and his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet hers, dark amusement glinting in his tired yet satisfied eyes. “Yeah?” he hums, tilting his head back against the pillow. He guides her hips just slightly, his grip lazy but intentional, watching the way she shivers at the sensation. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer, but the way she bites her lower lip gives it away.

One of his hands slides beneath her shirt, fingers tracing the soft skin of her thigh before hooking around the edge of her panties. He tugs them aside so easily, and the moment the cool air meets her sensitive skin, she lets out a sharp breath.

“Well,” Lando’s voice is barely louder than a sleepy mumble now, raspy and dripping with satisfaction. “Let’s see what can I do for you, baby.”

His fingers tease over her clit, featherlight at first, enough to make her body jolt at the sensitivity. Then, with slow precision, he brings his hand to his stomach and gathers the remnants of his release on his fingertips, using it to spread it over her as he traces slow, torturous circles against her entrance. The sensation makes her body melt, a soft whimper slipping past her lips as her hips rock instinctively into his touch.

Lando groans at the reaction, his own breath stuttering slightly. “So eager, aren’t you?” he asks, letting his fingers slip further, dipping between her folds, feeling just how ready she already is to take whatever he has to offer.

The girl gasps, nails digging into his shoulders as her body clenches around nothing when he pulls his finger out, craving much more. Lando grins lazily beneath her, rubbing agonizing circles over her most sensitive spot before pressing two fingers inside this time, the stretch both delicious and teasing.

She shudders, her thighs twitching as she tries to close them, but he doesn’t let her. Lando’s free hand grips her hip, keeping her open just enough for him to keep teasing.

“Bet I can make you come just from this, hm? What do you say?”

He’s not even trying, and she knows he can do it. He’s done it before, and they both remember exactly how wrecked she was when he did. So, she doesn’t hate the thought and, as she tilts her head slightly, her lips are curling into a smug little smirk.

“Bet?” she asks, knowing she’ll win, no matter the outcome.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[sunnywalnut]

Also it's not awful to want to have more of an equal pull in your relationship with your friends. You can tell them about how you feel. Ask them if maybe they could organize the next meet up. It's okay to want support and help.

Also some people just suck at remembering things. Even things they enjoy. I for one suck at remembering to text first. If my friends just dropped off because of this, I'd be sad ASF because I love my friends and I love the time spent with them. But I also kinda worry that I'm annoying sometimes.

Telling me that I'm NOT annoying and that you actually feel bad is super important in making my brain shut up and just do the thing. So please more of that. If you avoid me I'll probably think that you don't want anything to do with me and that sucks majorly

every now and then the internet decides it should revamp the ole “stop texting first and see how many friends you lose” when in reality you could literally just communicate that u feel bad that ur the only one texting first

[rafesslxt]

unknown number

pt. 1/2

SUMMARY: not only you are surprised when you get a drunk text from your brother that you should pick him up from a party - Topper's just as shocked as you are.

WARNINGS: Thornton!reader, brothers best friend trope, bickering, tension, quick deep talk with Topper

WORD COUNT: 1,7k

NOTE: english is not my first language | thank‘s to everyone for reading and supporting, comments and - are highly apprecaiated <3

🥥 🍋‍🟩 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼 🥭 🍍

Your body tried to make its way through the sweaty crowd dancing and drinking around you, the air thick with the scent of weed and expensive perfume. This wasn't on your agenda for tonight, getting your drunk brother out of a party, that's for sure.

"Hey sis, can u get me? I'm drunk as hell."

You weren't surprised, though. After Sarah had ditched him for John B, which was more than understandable for you but hey – Topper never wanted to listen to your advice, he seemed to try drowning the pain and hurt ego away by drinking and smoking.

The house you currently were in was familiar to you. Since Sarah's your best friend you spend a lot of time here but never during these party's, cause most of the time Rafe was the host and well - let's just say you tried to avoid any chance of being in a room with him together.

Because besides the hatred for their sister's trying to live the pogue life, Topper and Rafe had one thing more in common. They fell for the sister of their best friend. The only problem was, that Rafe never acted on his feeling. While Topper may be a complete idiot, he at least showed Sarah some kind of feelings, trying to wrap her around his fingers. But for Rafe? Bickering and hating was his way.

But Rafe apparently had a new way of drawing you into his space.

"Hey, did you see Topper?" You asked a guy which's name you could never remember no matter how often your brother tried to tell you. You just knew he often hang with them together. "No, sorry. Ask Rafe, he was with him a while ago." You instantly rolled your eyes but smiled at him and nodded in a way that was supposed to tell him 'thank you'.

You made your way further through the people until you reached the living room where you saw Rafe sitting on the couch, talking to two girls on either side of him.

Not bothering that you may interrupted something, you walked up behind him, not even caring enough to wait until he might realize you were standing behind him. "Have you seen my brother? He told me to come pick him up."

You looked down at his head which bend until it laid against the backrest, his pretty blue eyes meeting yours. Pretty ? No, you meant blue. Just blue.

"Oh If it isn't the princess of the Pogues, gracing us with her presence this night.", his voice dripped with sarcasm. "And to what do we owe this unexpected visit?" You rolled your eyes at his irritating words and crossed your arms in front of your chest. "Did you see Topper, Rafe?", you repeated.

His smile widened before he sat upright again, took a beer that was probably his from the desk, turned around and locked eyes with you again, walking around the couch towards you.

"Someone's in a grumpy mood today." he remarked, taking a sip of his beer. "Rafe If you don't-" "No need to be so uptight princess. The party just stared." You scoffed. "Well, apparently not If my brother's texting me to come pick his drunk ass up."

"Give him some time, he's trying to heal from a heartbreak. I mean I told him my sister is never hanging around for long but- well you know him. Had to try for himself."

You were slowly getting tired of the conversation and Rafe seemed to notice. "And as for where your brother is; I saw him with Kelce in the kitchen a few minutes ago. Just before you arrived, I think."

Without giving him a second more of your time, you turned around, walking towards the kitchen. Why didn't he just tell you 'Hey, Topper is in the kitchen.' ? Why does he always have to bicker with you and beat around the bush. Ugh.

Sarah always said he liked you but before Rafe Cameron actually had serious feelings for you or even anyone, hell would freeze over.

You walked into the kitchen of the Cameron's, immediately spotting your brother and Kelce, laughing loudly between some shots they were taking.

"Wow. You're really setting the bar lower and lower." You scoffed, making their heads turn towards you. "Y/n? What are you doing here? Aren't you with your little friends?" "Oh, hey pipsqueak." Kelce chuckled from behind Topper, waving at you with a drunken grin.

"Come on Topper, I don't have all night." I sighed, already about to leave the kitchen when he looked at me as If I had torn apart his favorite teddy bear apart that he hid under his bed whenever someone came over. "What the hell are you talking about?" "What the hell do you mean what the hell I'm talking about? You texted me to come pick you up because you're too drunk."

Just as he was about to answer, Rafe entered the kitchen and stood beside you. "Topper, why don't you listen to your sister and go with her, you've had enough for tonight."

Feeling betrayed, Topper was too stunned to speak, looking at Kelce for some backup. "Hey man don't get me into this." he replied to his look, throwing up his hands and spilling some of the liquid that was inside his shot glass.

"I didn't text you!" he exclaimed, reached into his pocket and searching for his phone. "Shit.. can't find it." You rolled your eyes, your patience slowly but clearly wearing off. "Topper.." "I swear I didn't!", he swore while continuing to search the insides of his few pockets. "Damn no really, where is it?", he asked himself.

"Come on man." Kelce chuckled and threw an arm around his friend, slowly guiding him outside the kitchen and towards the front door where you parked your car.

You stepped aside to let them pass, your gaze landing on Rafe who was already looking at you, licking his bottom lip before speaking. "Here." He reached into his pocket and handed you Topper's phone. "What? Why do you have my brother's phone ?", you asked him, as It didn't hit you yet what was going in.

"Thought he might need someone to pick him up before he would be a complete mess.", he chuckled, shrugging his shoulders and looking away for a short moment.

Your eyebrows shot up as the realization finally hit you."You texted me to come pick him up? Why would you do that?" He chuckled and looked down at you. " Like I said; I was worried about my friend." "Bullshit.", you called him out right away. "If you were worried about him, you would have told me where he was instead of beating around the bush."

"Just wanted some conversation." he replied simply, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes while doing so, trying not to let him get under your skin. It would only please him.

"Good night, Rafe." you smiled at him before turning around and pushing through sweaty crowd again, reaching your car where Kelce and Topper were already waiting for you.

You pressed the little button on your car key, allowing them to get in while you were still a few meters away. Kelce jumped into the back seat, and Topper settled next to you in the front.

You slid behind the wheel and closed your door, glancing over your shoulder at Topper’s friend. “Should I drive you home too?” you asked, reaching for your seatbelt and securing it right after.

“Sure thing, pipsqueak,” he grinned, his eyes heavy and his body slumping down onto the back seat. You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the last thirty minutes and started the engine, pulling away from the property.

A few minutes into the drive, you looked over to your right. “You’re lucky. Mom and Dad aren’t home tonight,” you smirked slowly, trying to lighten the mood since he was still your annoying brother. Annoying, but family.

A scoff escaped his lips as he stared out the window. “As if they’re ever home.” 

You sighed quietly, shrugging your shoulders. “Well, it’s still better than having to explain why you’re drunk and high.” 

“They wouldn’t understand anyway. They never do. All they do is scream and complain. They don’t care.” He turned his head toward you, studying your face. “But honestly, I don’t know which one of us they’re more disappointed in,” he chuckled.

“Yeah… Mom’s worried I’m drinking myself into a coma, while Dad is worried you’ll run off with Maybank or some other pogue.” The car fell silent for a moment before you both erupted into unexpected laughter. 

"Honestly, I don’t know which one is worse,” you giggled, gripping the wheel a little tighter as you turned onto your street. "Not sure who's setting the bar lower now, huh?" Topper smirked.

“I guess we should take him with us tonight before his parents have a heart attack,” you suggested, nodding toward Kelce, who was snoring in the back seat.

“Yeah…” he glanced at his friend and then back at you. “Thank you for picking me up, even though I didn’t text you. It’s good to know I can still count on you.” He smiled softly at you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"No problem, Topper." you smiled back at him before turning off your car and finally parked in your garage. "Let‘s get him inside.", you grinned, eager to get out like Topper, when your phone suddenly vibrated in your purse.

Hm, probably the pogues asking If everything‘s alright after you left so quick with only telling them it‘s an 'family emergency'.

You opened your little white purse Sarah had given you on your last birthday and rummaged through it, fishing out your phone. You had a few messages from JJ and Sarah, asking you when - wait.

What was that? A message by an unknown number.

unknown number

i took the liberty of grabbing your number while I had the chance to.

was nice seeing you tonight, hot and bothered like always..

sweets dreams, angel.

xx rafe

That son of a - wait, why were you smiling together with your heart beating faster ?

masterlist | taglist | navigation | valentines day special

tags: @supernaturaldawning @cardibre91 @aegonsslxt @juliet-017

xoxo sarah <3

[jungwnies]

wrong time, right person - carlos sainz (1/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : carlos sainz x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : years after a bitter breakup, you and carlos sainz reunite unexpectedly. old wounds resurface, but so does undeniable love. will history repeat itself?

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor, drama ୨ৎ : tws : mild language, arguing, friendships ending, bantering, suggestive humor, mentions of alcohol consumption. ୨ৎ : wc : 952

part one | part two | part three | part four

Spain was never supposed to feel like home.

You were just an exchange student, a stranger in a country where the language tripped you up, where conversations flowed around you like a current you couldn’t quite swim in. The other students were nice, polite even, but distant. They smiled, but no one really saw you.

Except for him.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t just friendly; he was relentless. He talked to you like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had made it his personal mission to make you feel at home. The first time he sat next to you at lunch, he didn’t ask the usual "Where are you from?" or "How do you like Spain?" Instead, he stole a fry from your plate and smirked.

“You always eat this little?”

It took you a second to process what he said, your brain scrambling for the right words. When you did, you narrowed your eyes and stole a fry right back.

“Mind your business.”

He laughed, loud, unapologetic. And just like that, best friends.

He made Spain feel like home. He dragged you to local karting tracks, shoved a helmet on your head, and laughed until he was breathless as you struggled to drive at half his speed. You sat on the asphalt after his races, drinking cheap sodas and listening to him talk about his dreams; Formula 1, podiums, championships. You still remember the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his father, the legendary Carlos Sainz Sr., how he wanted to make him proud.

“You think I can do it?” he asked once, voice quieter than usual.

You scoffed, nudging his shoulder. “I think you’re already doing it.”

And you were right.

He climbed the ranks, and you were right there beside him, just like he was there for you. Modeling started small, with local gigs, small shoots. but soon after, your face was showing up in magazines, whispered about in the industry. The first time you booked an international job, Carlos picked you up and spun you around like it was his victory too.

“You’re gonna be famous,” he said, grinning. “I’m gonna see your face on billboards, aren’t I?”

It was fun, easy, and natural, until it wasn’t.

The higher he climbed, the further away he felt. The more you succeeded, the less you seemed to talk. At first, it didn’t feel like a big deal. You still sent texts, still FaceTimed when you could. But slowly, the missed calls turned into silence, and suddenly, you were watching each other’s successes through headlines instead of in person.

Then, he made it to Formula 1.

And you? You were stepping into high-fashion modeling.

The night it all fell apart wasn’t supposed to be anything special. Just another call that went unanswered. Just another missed "good luck" before a race. But this time, Carlos called back, and he called back angry.

“You don’t even care anymore.” His voice was sharp, cutting straight through your exhaustion.

You blinked, phone pressed to your ear, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “You missed my race. Again.”

Your stomach twisted. “Carlos, I had a show. You knew that.”

“Right, right,” he said bitterly. “Another shoot, another runway, another excuse. Siempre tienes una razón, ¿verdad?” (You always have a reason, right?)

Heat flared in your cheeks. “Excuse me? Don’t you dare act like you’re the only one with a career! I support you, Carlos, but I have my own dreams too.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the kind that made your heart feel light, it was sharp, hollow, cold. “Support? ¿Eso es lo que llamas esto?” (Is that what you call this?) “Because it feels a lot like you just don’t give a damn anymore.”

Anger burned hot in your chest. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” His voice dropped, quieter, but somehow even more dangerous. “Entonces dime, when was the last time you actually showed up for me? When was the last time you watched me race, not through a screen, but actually there?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because the answer was obvious. And it wasn’t one you wanted to say out loud.

Carlos exhaled sharply, like he had been hoping, hell, borderline begging, for you to fight him on it. But you couldn’t.

He scoffed. “Eso pensé.” (That’s what I thought.)

Tears burned behind your eyes. “This isn’t fair, Carlos. You’re always traveling, I’m always traveling! What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to care.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. But it was enough to break you.

Your breath hitched. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and that hurt worse than anything else.

Because Carlos always knew. He always understood you, always read between the lines, always saw you even when you felt invisible to everyone else. But now? Now he wasn’t even sure.

The silence stretched between you like an open wound.

And then he said it.

“Quizás sea más fácil así.” (Maybe it’s just easier this way.)

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. “What?”

His voice was flat, emotionless. Like he had already given up. “Maybe we’ve just been holding on to something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You felt something inside you shatter.

Carlos had been your best friend. Your person. Your safe place. But now he was just...just nothing.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your voice was quiet, raw, aching. “I have an early flight.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Por supuesto que sí.” (Of course you do.)

Neither of you apologized.

Neither of you fought for it.

Neither of you said goodbye.

Carlos left for another race. You left for another shoot.

Neither of you looked back.

Until you were given no choice...

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[darnell-la]

𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 ... 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬

pairing: dark!pervy!professor!logan howlett x student!reader

summary: the job of a mentor shouldn’t be hard, but for Logan Howlett, it was when one of his best students wasn’t so innocent after all. professors are trained to hold themselves, but something within Logan wanted to release all out on that so-called innocent student.

warnings: Logan is a slight perv, nudes, anal, forced anal, rough sex, age gap, overpowering, degrading, jealousy, anger, cnc/SA, etc.

note: many of our supporters are asking for out-of-pocket Logan Howlett, and it’s so hard finding ways to write him in that way. REQUEST!

DO NOT READ IF CNC/SA MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

There has been a situation going on around the school. Some kids have made a hook-up app for mutants around the school. The professor found out after having to confiscate a student's phone for texting during class.

Professor Howlett has been investing, and trying to get several student's names to call the office and shut the app down.

By doing that, he used the student phone he had to take during class. Sadly, that student wasn’t a student people wanted to hook up with, or even go on a date with. Logan had no luck until a few minutes ago when an anonymous student messaged him.

“Hey, I know it’s hard to find people on here, but I was thinking we could maybe hang out?”

Logan couldn't stop laughing to himself, happy that he could put this shenanigan situation to the side until several attachments popped up on the phone.

At first, he didn’t think of anything, but as soon as he tapped on them to reveal what was sent, his jaw dropped.

The student was y/n, and the attachments she sent were something he would’ve never thought of her doing. Half of what was sent were videos while the rest was her masturbating with toys.

A specific one had stood out to him, which made him feel like the biggest creep there could be, but he couldn’t stop watching.

She had laid on her back so when she spread her legs, everything was exposed. She rubbed so much lube onto herself, that he was confused until she pulled a dildo out and pushed it against her back door.

The way she moaned, made him lost in the video. He hadn’t even known the video was five minutes long. He could tell she could barely take it up her ass, but the way she struggled and still tried was amazing. Especially when she finished all over the place.

“I’ve never done anal, so I’m afraid that’s off-limits. Anything else is completely fine though!”

Logan looked at her message, still thinking if that was all real. Was that really y/n? If this was anyone else, he would’ve called a school meeting in seconds, no matter how late it was, but y/n — He didn’t know what took over him.

“Send room number. Be there in 5. Look pretty,”

In y/n’s head, she thought how oddly the student typed. She hadn’t been around the student to know him fully, but she knew no student typed the way he did.

“Could I perhaps have some videos of you?” Y/n asked, making Logan’s heart skip a beat. “No need, Bub. I’m real,” Logan typed, making y/n gasp. Anyone could’ve figured out who the person was behind the phone after using that word. Bub.

“Logan? What the hell are you doing on here??” Y/n asked, only making Logan’s heart drop further. “What?” Logan tried covering himself off, but that only made y/n laugh on her bed.

“It’s fine, Logan. I like older men anyway. Have you done anything like this before?” Y/n asked. Logan wanted to throw the phone and spazz on how he could’ve blown his cover this bad.

“No,” the man replied, not knowing his cock had grown hard at the thought of y/n still wanting to proceed with the conversation. “Just come up to room 411,” Y/n said before going offline.

Logan had thought this would be easy to deal with since y/n never seemed like a student to blackmail people, but something ran through his head as he got up from his office chair.

How many people has she done this with? That thought alone boiled his blood. He had thought y/n was innocent, and one of the good students. She lied to him, telling him a few months ago that all she cared about was her training and education.

Y/n had fallen asleep after the first hour of Logan not showing up. She had thought he had maybe backed out, and she was fine with that.

Little did she know, Logan had been keeping himself back for the past hour. Everyone in this school is still training, even the professors, and though they can usually control themselves, this was a small situation that turned big.

Logan was mentally and physically going insane, wanting to teach a student he had trust in, a lesson for lying and doing this that wouldn’t help her training and education in the future.

He held himself back for as long as he could, but now he was walking through y/n’s bedroom door. Y/n had woken up from her sleep after hearing her bedroom door close and lock.

“Oh, hey! — I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you might’ve changed your mind,” y/n said as Logan basically ripped off his clothes until he was exposed. Y/n’s eyes widened at his huge and throbbing size.

“Where’s the lube?” Logan growled as he stared y/n’s figure down. She had fallen asleep in the little bit of clothing she wanted to surprise him in. “Uh, the desk right here, but, I’m not really into anal,” y/n assured for the second time tonight.

Logan ignored her and went through the desk she had pointed out to him. “On your stomach — Edge of the bed,” Logan said. He had barely given her time to move before he put her into the position himself.

“Sir, just my pussy, okay? I-I didn’t really prepare for anal tonight,” y/n said, hoping her professor would listen. Instead, Logan spread a bunch on her upper hole, and the rest he stroked his cock with.

“Okay, sir?” Y/n asked to know if he heard her. He did, but he didn’t care. Why would she tease him with that one video if she wasn’t thinking about her hole getting used tonight?

“Mr. Howlett, I said the other-“Y/n tried to get up, but Logan pushed her face into the sheets as his cock pushed through her walls, instantly feeling her grip him as tight as she could.

“Oh fuck,” Logan couldn’t believe how amazing she felt within seconds. “Mr. Howlett, please — I-It hurts a little,” y/n whined, shifting under him to feel more comfortable, but that didn’t matter as he pushed further into her until she was filled.

The scream she let out, was enough to make him leak in her already. “Be as loud as you want, Bub. Hank designed these walls for the privacy of the professors and the students — No one’s gonna hear how un-innocent you are,” Logan whispered in the young girl's ear before he leaned back up and began pounding.

The room filled with nasty noises in seconds. Logan couldn’t seem to get enough of what he was doing. It’s like something took him over once he felt the insides of y/n and the noises she could make.

“Logan, please,” y/n cried out, feeling like he would break her any second now. At first, she hated the way he didn’t listen to her, but after the first few pumps, she couldn’t get enough of it herself.

The feeling of her the Wolverine coming in her to have his way with her, degrade her, and even groan at how perfect she was, only send her gushing around his cock in seconds.

“You’re not so innocent, princess, so how about you cum on my cock again, yeah? Because this ain’t gonna be the last time I have you,”

[cometconmain]

Wired is paid subscription only but I found someone on Reddit who posted the full text for everyone. (Sorry to anyone with screen readers, this is A LOT to type on my phone. I'll come back later to add it in when I have access to my computer.)

Here are some other articles I've found talking about it as well.

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/young-techies-underpin-musks-drive-slash-size-us-government-2025-02-05/

“I’ve been furloughed, I guess?” said one contractor with 15 years of experience for the bureau for humanitarian assistance, where she had helped coordinate urgent responses in Ukraine, Gaza, Somalia and Latin America. “I don’t know what my status is but I don’t think I work here right now.” By Monday, Kliger wrote an email to all staff at 12.42am to tell them not to bother coming into the building that day.

The incident has illustrated how Doge employees with Musk’s backing were able to override USAid leadership and bypass government procedures for accessing restricted areas with classified materials, fueling criticism that his agency is a national security risk.

“Did Secretary Rubio allow this kind of access by Musk’s employees?” asked Kim. “It worries me about USAid but if it’s happening here, I’m guessing it’s probably happening at all these other national security agencies.”

Formally, Rubio has delegated responsibility to Marocco, who has been pressed by congressional staffers to give details of the changes affecting USAid and the $40bn in foreign aid it manages each year. “The question at hand is: who’s in charge of the state department?” Senator Brian Schatz told the Guardian. “So far the answer has been Pete Marocco.”

Doge did not respond to questions about what security clearances, if any, the engineers held. “No classified material was accessed without proper security clearances,” wrote Katie Miller, a Doge spokesperson, on social media. But Scifs are regulated by a strict protocol and it is unclear who could have verified the Doge employees’ credentials and filed the necessary paperwork to allow them to enter.

Inside the building, staffers said that Doge cultivated a culture of fear. “It’s an extreme version of ‘who do you trust, when and how?’” said Kristina Drye, a speechwriter at the agency, who watched dozens of senior colleagues escorted out of the building by security. “It felt like the Soviet stories that one day someone is beside you and the next day they’re not.” People started meeting for coffee blocks away because “they didn’t feel safe in the coffee shops here to even talk about what’s going on”, she added. “I was in the elevator one morning and there was an older lady standing beside me and she had glasses on and I could see tears coming down under her glasses and before she got off her elevator she took her glasses off, wiped her eyes, and walked out,” she said. “Because if they see you crying, they know where you stand.”

(Btw I want to make it very clear I'm reblogging this because it's just their names and I'm not aware of or intending to support any address sharing because that would be doxxing which is unacceptable behaviour, especially when we want to make a world where collecting, sharing and using someone's personal data without their consent at all let alone to harm them is unacceptable behaviour. Their names are apparently easily seen on their own social media profiles as of this date, so it looks like their names are not currently private information. Their families also don't deserve to be harassed or attacked for these peoples' behaviour, so I don't support that either.)

These men just stole the personal information of everyone in America AND control the Treasury. Link to article.

Akash Bobba

Edward Coristine

Luke Farritor

Gautier Cole Killian

Gavin Kliger

Ethan Shaotran

Spread their names!

[cheshireliam]

Kagari Amagase 1st Birthday Campaign: Story

His POV Story

"I Want The Princess"

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

I stood on the battlefield, washed off the blood and headed to my secondary residence.  

…

The instant I stepped inside, I collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

Like always, I felt lightheaded and couldn’t think straight.

However, the book laying on my desk caught my eye.

The cover of the book was decorated with a rose motif, a flower rare in Kogyoku. 

I crawled closer to the book and reached for it.

When I opened the cover, a piece of paper with text written in the Princess’ penmanship fell out and landed on my face.  

Those were various detailed annotations about the book’s contents. 

A pure desire to enjoy the book came right to me.

(My birthday…)

(It was my first time.)

…

Nobleman: Happy birthday, Prince Kagari. I wish you a joyful and prosperous year ahead.

Kagari: Oh. 

This year too, there was a snaking line of people outside the castle for my birthday. 

I received countless birthday greetings, but I didn't know the appropriate response to them. 

(Everything is different from when I was still part of the royal family. There are so many things I don’t understand.)

Back in the day, my birthdays were simple, ending with a congratulatory speech from the King. 

My older brother had countless people celebrating his birthday and even had a banquet held for him, but that wasn't the case for me — his younger brother. 

No one ever doubted it because the difference between me and my older brother, who possessed remarkable capabilities that made everyone around have high expectations for him, was like night and day.

(But… thinking about it now, I wish I’d at least gotten one dorayaki.)

(... Hm?)

At the very end of the line — a familiar figure was standing under a cherry blossom tree in the distance. 

My body moved on its own before I even realised it. 

Kagari: You’re wide open, Princess. 

The Princess reacted exaggeratingly in surprise. I put a hand over her mouth and dragged her into the shade.

Emma: Mmph…! 

I pinned her struggling body against a tree trunk before closing the distance between us to avoid drawing the attention of the people nearby.

(She’s still as weak as ever, like she could die any moment.) 

Kagari: Do you promise to behave?

I took my hand off her mouth and she nodded.

Emma: … What are you doing here, Prince Kagari?

Kagari: I saw you.

Emma: So you came to see me?

Kagari: You called me here.

(Maybe.)

Her fidgeting near the line must mean she wants to see me, right? 

Kagari: If you were planning to join the line, don’t bother.

Kagari: It won’t end until nightfall.

Emma: That long…?

Kagari: There’s a banquet tonight. That’ll go on till dawn. 

Kagari: So, why are you here?

The Princess’ eyes darted around awkwardly.

It was suspicious behaviour, she looked very uneasy, as though she was hiding something she wanted to say.

Emma: … Um… there were so many people gathered, and I got curious…

She hid the bag she was holding behind her back.

Given today’s occasion and the Princess’ personality, the answer is obvious.

(She’s hesitant to celebrate my birthday.) 

(Is this really something to agonise about?)

(... I don’t really get it, but this is fine.)

(It doesn't matter whether I receive birthday greetings or not…)

(But spending my birthday with her might actually be more enjoyable.)

(I’ll take her along for the customary inspection.)

…

Dressed as one of the Yasha’s subordinates, the Princess pointed an imitation sword at the assassins. 

I couldn’t help but be secretly impressed as I watched from atop a roof.

(She’s gotten more used to things compared to when she first arrived in Kogyoku.)

(Even though it’s only an imitation sword, she’s learnt how to point one at others.) 

(With that amount of guts, she’ll have no problem surviving in Kogyoku. Full marks for her.) 

(Also… the clothes my subordinates wear really suit her.)

I stared absentmindedly at her exposed nape, where her hair was tied up in a single knot.)

(I remember Matias saying something about this before.)

(“The nape, usually hidden by her hair, is the most valuable”.)

At that time, I thought he was purely spouting weird nonsense, but I understand now. 

(It’s so slender, I feel like biting it— wait, what? Why do I want to bite it?

(No idea. I’ll ask Matias next time.)

(If this is something that requires some brains, I’ll ask Azel.) 

While I was lost in thought, the assassin placed their hands on the hilt of their swords. 

Before they could unsheath their swords ever so slightly, I jumped down and swung my sheathed sword. 

The impact was solid, and all the assassins’ eyes rolled back as they fell unconscious. 

Had I drawn my sword, their heads would have flown off their shoulders. 

(Weak.)

Kagari: That was easy. I hoped they’d at least be good enough for me to draw my sword.

As I turned around feeling disappointed, the Princess was in the midst of sheathing the imitation sword.

Before the blade fully went into the scabbard, I moved closer and held her slender hand. 

Kagari: Princess, you need to adjust the angle of your stance. 

Emma: I see…

Kagari: Also, never hunch your back on a battlefield.

Emma: I never noticed I was doing that.

Kagari: Exactly. Even though you’re dressed like one of my subordinates, you’re weak.

Emma: … I’m sorry. 

Cat: Nyaa… 

While I was guiding her for future use, I heard a meowing sound coming from next to my feet. 

It was the stray cat I had an undesirable, yet inseparable relationship with. 

Kagari: Ah, give me a minute.

I folded a piece of paper with instructions on how to deal with the men lying on the ground and handed it to the cat. 

It gave a delighted meow as it took the paper in its mouth and scurried off. 

Emma: What was that…?

Kagari: Calico No.1.

Kagari: It often roams the streets. So if you ever need to contact me, you can count on it for that.

Emma: So instead of a carrier pigeon… you have a carrier cat.

Kagari: Yeah. 

(This guy’s more temperamental than a pigeon, though.)

Emma: About the piece of paper you gave it earlier on…

Kagari: I summoned my subordinates. It’s a hassle to clean up this mess. 

I stood up and looked down at the amateurish assassins lying on the ground. 

The Princess looked eager for an explanation, almost to the point she was getting restless. 

(They’re no more significant than random passersby, but…) 

Kagari: This is a “gift” I receive on my birthday every year, amidst the celebrations. 

Kagari: I was looking forward to a more challenging opponent, but I got disappointed this year too.

The Princess frowned at my blunt response.

(Is she angry?)

(Weird. It doesn't even concern her.)

(Maybe this is something “strange” to the Princess?)

(When you come from a different place, what’s common and what’s not changes. That's interesting.)

(What’s common knowledge to me, might not be so common to her.) 

…

Night fell as usual, and it was time for the banquet.

Savouring the enjoyable time we had together, I parted ways with the Princess. 

Soon after, the ever so hardworking Calico No.1 came with a letter in its mouth.

…

I went to the cherry blossom tree where I sometimes admired the flowers with the Princess, and the sender of that letter looked clearly pleased to see me. 

Feeling comforted by her reaction, I sat down next to her under the tree. 

Emma: Has the banquet ended?

Kagari: Not yet.

Emma: You managed to slip away.

Kagari: Your summon is more important.

Cat: Nyaa 

(Is it asking for a reward?)

I gently petted the cat that had been nuzzling itself against my leg and it left like it was never there. 

Heartless cat. 

(Right now, the Princess is more important than Calico No.1.)

Kagari: You changed your clothes.

Emma: Yes, I wanted to meet you as my usual self.

Emma: If I’m going to celebrate your birthday, I want to do it as the version of me you met in Kogyoku.  

Kagari: … 

(Is this what she meant when she said she “wanted some of my time after the banquet”?)

Emma: Happy birthday, Prince Kagari.

The Princess, who had been hesitant about wishing me a happy birthday this morning, presented me with a cherry blossom-patterned package.

I accepted the package, unwrapped it, and took out what was insides

Kagari: A book? 

Emma: It’s a storybook from Rhodolite. 

(It’s my first time receiving a book as a birthday gift. I’m feeling uneasy.)

Kogyoku’s Yasha was thought by others to only wield swords and never read books. 

But in truth, I don’t dislike reading. 

Emma: You’ve taught me many wonderful things about Kogyoku. 

Emma: It’s thrilling to discover new things about the world that I’ve never known before, so…

Emma: I chose this book because I want you to experience that thrill too. It’s one of my favourites. 

Emma: … And, if possible, I thought it might help convey Rhodolite’s charm too…

Kagari: The book is set in Rhodolite?

Emma: That’s right! It’s a collection of heartwarming short stories.

Emma: It’s the perfect remedy for when you’re feeling worn out.

Kagari: I almost forgot you’re a book merchant.

(I thought it’s just like any other book, but this one’s carefully chosen by the Princess.)

Knowing the amount of thought put into the gift made it much more significant. 

Kagari: You’re probably the only one who’d think of giving me a book. 

(I’ve decided. I’ll make this a family heirloom.)

I stared at the cover, flipped through the pages, and briefly scanned through the text. 

It doesn't seem like I’ll be running into any trouble if I end up with too much free time for a while. 

Emma: … I’m relieved I could properly celebrate your birthday. 

I looked up when she suddenly spoke.

The Princess heaved a sigh of relief, like she had been holding her breath for a while. 

Kagari: You’re overthinking it. I’d never find it bothersome to be celebrated. 

Emma: But your detached reaction to all the greetings and gifts made me rather worried that you would. 

Kagari: … Did I come off that way?

(I didn't realise. No wonder the Princess hesitated.)

I closed the book and lowered my gaze. 

Kagari: It’s not that I dislike being celebrated, or that I’m uninterested in birthdays.

Kagari: It’s just… I still don’t know what I should be feeling when I’m being celebrated.

Kagari: It’s been a recent problem for me.

Never had I ever imagined that not having extravagant birthday celebrations like my older brother did would someday become a source of my troubles. 

(Receiving a celebration particularly from her is complicated.)

(... I feel restless, and it’s hard to even look her in the eyes.)

(Is this the correct feeling I should be getting? What kind of emotion is this?) 

As I sat there in silence, full of uncertainty, a gentle breeze blew. 

Petals from the cherry blossom tree that was in bloom all year round danced in the air and fluttered down. 

The Princess, whose attention had been constantly focused on the Yasha until now, suddenly turned her gaze toward the cherry blossoms.

Emma: It’s beautiful. 

(…)

The restlessness turned into something murky. 

(... Not going to look at me anymore?)

(You’re so heartless.)

I grabbed a fistful of the Princess’ skirt. 

It was a spontaneous gesture. 

Emma: Prince Kagari?

(Why must I lose her to some cherry blossoms?)

Kagari: You’ve been thinking about my birthday all day long, and now you’re completely mesmerised by cherry blossoms? 

Emma: Of course I’m still thinking about your birthday. 

Emma: I just think that it looks as though the cherry blossoms are celebrating too… 

Kagari: Just you celebrating it is enough. Don’t look away. 

For some reason, the Princess reacted to my vent with a gentle smile. 

Kagari: … What are you smiling about?

Emma: It’s nothing. 

(I’m curious… but this doesn't feel so bad.)

I felt my facial expression soften, and the Princess turned her gaze to the cherry blossoms once again.

My grip on the fabric of her skirt tightened. 

Emma: … I planned to only give you your gift, but we ended up talking for quite a while.

Emma: Shouldn’t you return to the banquet soon, Prince Kagari?

Kagari: …

(I don't want to.)

(I want her to celebrate my birthday, more than the banquet.) 

(But somehow, even though they’re all celebrations, something feels different.)

I retraced the day’s events, recalling each and every one of the Princess’ words and trying to pinpoint the cause of my restlessness. 

(If there is a difference… it’d be that everyone else’s celebrations are nothing more than mere formalities.)

(You could say they have ulterior motives, wanting to gain the Yasha’s favour and protection.)

(But the Princess’ celebration doesn't have any of that.) 

(... This is the first time I’m receiving a sincere birthday celebration.)

Kagari: Princess, don’t you want to keep the Yasha all to yourself?

Emma: I think I’ve already monopolised you enough. 

(It’s not enough.)

(... I want more)

Kagari: … Stay here.

Emma: Then… I’ll take you up on the offer.

Emma: Can I continue celebrating your birthday for a little while longer? 

Kagari: Yeah. 

Hearing the word “celebrate” from her lips made me restless again. 

(Could this restless feeling be… bashfulness?) 

(... Am I actually feeling bashful because she’s celebrating my birthday?) 

(That’s a first. I learned something new today.)

Kagari: If you want to celebrate, do it. I can’t guarantee I’ll make it to my next birthday.

Emma: … I don't like such jokes.

Kagari: I’m not joking. But rest assured that I want you to celebrate my birthday over and over again.

(It’d be nice if there’ll be a “next”.) 

(... I want to feel bashful again. I want to experience this feeling even more.)

(I want to get to know this restlessness better.)

(When I’m with her… my emotions come alive.)

…

When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by darkness.

(... Did I fall asleep?)

As I regained consciousness, I realised I was holding a book in my arms.

I heard a faint sound of gentle breathing coming from next to me.

I shifted my gaze in its direction to see Calico No.1 laying there with its belly facing up, looking completely defenseless.

(It's getting better at hiding its presence and becoming more shameless too.)

(Who exactly does that remind me of?)

Careful not to wake Calico No.1, I picked up the book and opened it while laying down. 

Even though I had already finished it and remembered its contents, my eyes didn't stop following the text.

The stories were set in a peaceful country called Rhodolite. 

The Princess, born in that kind of country, was honest, straightforward, and her existence dazzling bright. 

(That makes sense.)

On my birthday — when I received those empty, soulless birthday greetings from the crowd, the Princess looked like she couldn't stand it any longer and took my hand.

Under the cherry blossom tree, her smile was like a flower in full bloom and she celebrated the Yasha’s birthday genuinely from the heart.

(She has a beautiful heart.)

(And yet, she unhesitatingly held these hands of mine that have been stained with blood of the people I’ve killed and even gave me her blessings.)

(Ah…)

(... I want the Princess).

(But I don't understand why I want her.)

(Will I understand it if she becomes mine, just like this book?)

I sat up and closed the book.

Although the battle was over and my body was supposedly back to its usual state, my head started feeling fuzzy again. 

That sensation worsened when an image of the Princess’ face emerged in my mind. 

Despite knowing my symptoms were worsening, my hands refused to let go of the book. 

I couldn’t peel my eyes off it.

It was as though I was clinging onto it.

(I want to see her.)

(I want to see the Princess.)

[43501]

Opened my copy of Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases for the first time in a decade and man, I forgot this is a goldmine of info and Mello characterization. It lets us know what kind of person Mello is almost more than the source material. Every time he's on panel/screen he's always so intense, it's fascinating to see him write and kind of get this feeling of "oh, he is also a normal guy outside of those situations".

He says he had one extensive in-person meeting with L, which is backed up by this other post of mine where I point out that, in the anime at least, Mello references having spoken to L personally. If we take it as canon it means L and Mello met at some point between Kira emerging and L leaving England for Japan.

He expresses a strong sense he might die. I've seen people say that he's "narrating from beyond (heh) the grave" and it's nonsensical, but that's not what's happening here. He's just writing while anticipating his death and writing as if these notes may be discovered posthumously.

He thinks that, in the event he dies, Near is the one who will discover his writings. This is interesting to me because it suggests Mello either knows Near knows his whereabouts, or would figure it out and recover his belongings. I actually think this is outright supported by canon - we see Near eating Mello's chocolate in the manga's epilogue. I don't think he instructed his staff to go out and buy that same chocolate, I think that's straight up Mello's stash.

At some point he started identifying less with the "Mello" alias and calling himself Mihael.

He's so sentimental... ending the prologue simply with "Good memories and nightmares". Bro.

"Imagine you were going to kill someone. What do you think would be the most difficult part? .... The correct answer: killing someone." Damn, I love you Mello lol. Also fascinating when you remember that he achieved his status in the mafia by beheading someone. Yes, he would know how hard it is to kill a person.

Mello states that he and Near belong to the "fourth generation" of Wammy's House kids.

He expresses open sympathy for Beyond and his state, twice... based on his own narration and how he portrays B in the course of the story, he definitely relates to B's emotions.

"Perhaps these gods actually wanted a blood soaked world of betrayal and false accusation. Perhaps the entire episode exists as a lesson to teach us the difference between the Almighty and the shinigami." I can't entirely make sense of this, and I don't want to get ahead of myself, but is "Almighty" capitalized here to definitely refer to the divine? Like, the Christian God but in a bit of a sidestepped, roundabout way? Wish I could see the original Japanese text for this line. If anyone has essays/posts about it, please show me.

And on a meta-textual level, the ambiguity of our role/perspective as the reader of these notes is also interesting. We're probably just an omniscient, unmoored observer being told about this set of notes Mello wrote and his line to the effect of "if it happens to turn into [a book]" is tongue-in-cheek. I know there's a slight, hanging implication that Near did in fact publish his notes, but I think that's unlikely since they contain so much sensitive/classified information.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I have a fantasy Dnd campaign (Homebrewed) and I am writing a warrior character with Selective Mutism due to Autism/Social anxiety. I am writing that when he is not capable of speech he uses his Familiar, (who is also his support animal), to act as a communication method by projecting certain thoughts via telepathy. I am trying to not make it a cure-all by having this form of communication "clipped" since isolating and sending only specific thoughts requires great concentration. He also writes as a form of communication but in situations where writing equipment is limited he uses this.

Is there any way I can further avoid the "Magic cures-all trope"

Hi asker,

I personally like this, it seems like a cool idea. It's like a temporary AAC – I would liken it to someone who loses speech sometimes and uses a text to speech on their phone. It's not perfect, it takes more effort than an immediate magical cure-all, and it is an accessibility aid for your character.

It makes sense that the communication is clipped, too – the animal isn't used to 'speaking' and the character is more used to speaking or writing than to communicating in this way, but it works for him in the situation.

I think you're doing a good job of it! Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

[theallianceofcelestials]

I doodled both of our traumatized lil shits

First is a kind of old doodle of SR Eclipse stretching, second is SEA Eclipse holding a chip that totally doesnt have the blueprints for the second pair kf arms and how to properly connect them once they are fully made totally not guys trust

The third is SR Bloodmoon and Flare warning the SEA family to not let SEA Eclipse have any ideas, its a little too late for that tho in this shitty comic-doodle-

Also ignore the lack of detail im doing multiple things at once rn-

The text:

Crappily drawn SR Clips: ’Gotta Help other Eclipses, bros’

Right next to crappily drawn SR Clips: ’The one who gave it’

Chip that crappily drawn SEA Eclipse is holding titled: ’Computer chip for blueprints’

Text above crappily drawn Bm and SF: ’Dont let him have any ideas, ours never stops working’

Im just happy those 8 lil shits didnt mention the shoulder strap so i could explain it completely to u instead, HAH-

Think of a knee brace but for an arm and u got it, but Eclipse feels immense pain if he doesnt have it supporting his shoulder. The only time he takes it off is to sleep or adjust it

I don't think this is crappily drawn at all! All the drawings are lovely! :D

And yeah, SR SF and BM, you are late. He already had ideas since he saw SR Eclipse. Now the SEA family has to unite to stop that idiot from doing highly illegal body-modifications on himself (animatronics can't modify their own bodies in case something goes wrong. you have to go to what's basically their equvalent of a surgeon)

And yeah! Eclipse on Eclipse solidarity! Future four arm besties 💅 (Everyone else: NO!)

The shoulder strap was mentioned in the last couple chapters of SR, no? Or was that still just the brace SF made for him so he can at least use that arm? Or am I remembering incorrectly? (more than likely)

Also these pictures are very amusing I love them your honour 👉👈

[d34dlysinner]

Rejection angst: Andrealphus, Zagan, Foras

Decided to just do these three (since someone gave me these three names to work with so yuh) Andrealphus stood in shock as he let the words that you just spoke sink in. "I... ", he muttered as he started to feel an unfamiliar sadness wash over him. You looked at him in worry as he didn't speak nor react at all. "Andrealphus?", you asked. Your voice ringed in his head. How much he loved to hear your voice. How much he wanted to wake up and come back to that voice that somehow calmed him. "I'm okay.", he said as he gave you a faint smile. "I understand.", he continued. He gave the present he got for you and patted your head as if he wanted to show that he truly was fine. He was fine with your choice. Truly, he wanted you to be happy no matter what. He just hoped it would've been him. He just hoped that it would be you who would like to be a little family with him. He supposed that his dream had to wait a little longer. "I truly wish you happiness.", he said. "Are you fine, Andrealphus-", you wanted to atleast reassure him that he'll be okay, but instead he replied with: "I'm not at this moment... But I'll be okay in the end. I always do." Zagan was speechless. Not that he said much, but this time it truly was him not being able to reply no matter what. He just nodded and handed you the flowers he just bought. Not an emotion on his face present. That's when he opened his mouth and said: "I feel hurt, but... I also know I could never force you to like me when you don't." His deep soft voice broke the silence as you nodded at his words. "I am happy for you. I hope you will be happy for a long time.", he continued. Taking out a few talisman he prepared. "I made these, incase you said, yes. They're just for celebrating, but I do want you to use them with your lover.", he ended his words as he saw no use in keeping those. He bows before guiding you back to the palace where you're safe. Leaving soon after to think by himself. Foras dropped whatever was in his hands. "What?... Who?... How?... When?" He truly wanted to be supportive, but his emotions were taking over. He knows envy too well and at this moment he wanted to do nothing more than just keep you near him to not see your lover again. "Did... I... I'm sorry, I need to go.", he said. He didn't want to show you an ugly side of him. He isn't ashamed of his envy. He never would be, but he didn't want to scare you too. Even now, when he's trying to suppress his emotions, he's still thinking of you. Foras needed to stop himself trying to search whoever it was that managed to capture your heart before he did. He needed time to cry, think, and practice a text so he could talk to you more appropriately. When he talked to you again, three days after the news, he just said what he practiced ending it with: "I... I understand your feelings. Sadly, if I can be honest, I don't think I'll easily be able to get over you... I hope you can forgive me for my actions.", he said as he bowed slightly. You reassured him that you were fine with him. You even expected this sort of reaction from atleast someone in Hades. Foras tried to move away from your touch as you were about to pat him as comfort. But his body couldn't refuse a few more moments with you. "I think you should stop being nice to me for now... I might love you even more and I don't think I'll be able to handle that.", he said as he took a reluctant step back. "I wish you well, MC..."

[yingsfirst]

Missing License — Kim Gyuvin!!

PAIRING: kim gyuvin x reader (can be read as an established relationship or pining one!) GENRE: fluff, crack WARNINGS: unsafe driving practices & profanity WORD COUNT: 573 NOTES: please drive safely, with a license, and with your eyes on the road! I don’t support whatever gyuvin’s doing here, it’s for comedic purposes!

Today would’ve been normal if it wasn’t for Gyuvin. You would’ve been in your room, relaxing, not anxiously pacing back and forth in front of your place while waiting for that bastard. 

Speaking of which, you decide to check your texts again. Maybe this time, the godforsaken texts won’t be there, and while it would mean you were hallucinating them earlier, that outcome would be preferable. 

kim gwaja!!: im coming to pick u up in 10

you: oh? ure driving?

you: when did u get your license??

kim gwaja!!: i didnt

you: ???

you: gyuvin what

you: kim gyuvin

…okay, so maybe you’re too sane to hallucinate all of that. No matter. The bastard will text you soon, saying that it was all a prank. You’ll then tell him off and complain about having to get ready. Then you can go right back to bed. 

Putting your phone away, you realise a sports car has pulled over. It’s a nice one, and while it doesn’t look too new, that’s to be expected. The new ones aren’t very good. It’s also red, in a shade that freak would like. Wait a minute… 

No, no way. You’re insane enough to think that he wasn’t pranking you, but life isn’t strange enough to make that true. 

Though you were quickly disproven when the windows rolled down to reveal the Kim Gyuvin as the driver, looking at you expectantly. 

“Well?” he asks, hands tapping the steering wheel. “Are you going to get in, or?”

And you do. Stiffly. Silently.

To your chagrin, the interior isn’t any less impressive than the exterior. The leather seats are unbelievably nice, and based on the colours, you can tell that he extensively customized his car. 

There’s even a… floating centre console? You’re sure that it’s hardly practical, but it’s a good distraction from an even bigger problem: how that guy drives. And oh god, he’s one of those drivers—one hand on the wheel, another resting on the window. Being able to see every flex of his muscles might be doing wonders for your eyes, but it was not doing wonders for your heart. Was this a deliberate move?

Upon noticing your expression, the bastard has the audacity to grin and says “McLaren 570,” as if that explains anything. “It was a recommendation from Taerae.”

Okay, so he needs some help to find a good model. That’s slightly reassuring. 

But of course, not a single one of your thoughts can last without him interrupting. “Though if I could have any car, I would’ve picked the McLaren F1. Shame it’s like, what? Thirty million dollars now?”

“That thirty million will go down the drain if you keep driving like… that, Gyuvin,” you say, giving him a look of what you hope is disgust. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, giving you a cursory glance and a light laugh. “One-handed driving isn’t as dangerous as you think. Or well, it’s not dangerous if it’s me doing it.”

You scoff, frustrated with yourself for believing him. 

“Alright, alright… will you stop frowning if I let you choose the music?” He sighs, acting like it’s causing him physical pain to defer to you. “I promise it’ll be a safe drive.”

And… it was. Surprisingly. With your music in the background and your combined laughter in the forefront, it was. A safe and fun ride.

“By the way, I’m surprised you have nothing to say about the license thing.”

Oh. Shit.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ CH. 4 TEASER

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you. 『 series masterlist 』

✧ TEASER WARNINGS: none!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: this chapter is kicking my ass, y'all. that's all.

✧ TEASER WORDCOUNT: 944 words

✧ STATUS: ongoing

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

✧ TAGLIST:

@kkaetnipjeon @ktownshizzle @joonary @jajabro @pitchblack0309 

@ot72025 @futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @wobblewobble822 

@this-most-assuredly-counts @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @sugafun @whoa-jo @amarawayne 

@kimsaerom @bangtangsworld @jimingirl95 @jadestonedaeho7 @notsevenwithyou

@perfctlyunstable @yoonmetogether @kpophosblog @chimmchimmm @nnybtitts08

@itsmina29 @sophia--915 @jeanjacketjesus @kiki-zb @velvetskize

@sugar-snap @namjoonsbuspass @1800lxcifrrr @angellekookie @binniesbabe

@jalexad @daskewl @rebloginfics @ennvfv @curse-of-art

@tarahardcore @valhallawhispers @chimmisbae @broken-glowsticks @bontensbabygirl

@silencionyx @dropdeadbec @lilifiedeans @darklyceremonials

[infiniteeight8]

*comically falls into the room, dangling to the ceiling by one leg* Hi!

Could you do more of the Alpha/Alpha series? Or maybe the Obsession Verse? I happily gnaw on those series all the time I love them.

To be fair I love all your fics, they’ve just been rotating in my brain’s microwave most recently

*grinning* Hi! Sorry it took me so long to get to this—it’s amazing how quickly the queue builds up, and I’ve been jumping around because my brain has been weird lately. But here we are! I have another prompt (substantially further down the queue, but it is there) for Obsession Verse, so for this one I’m doing some more Alpha/Alpha.

Although I confess, their dynamics don’t have much to do with this ficlet. But this is what my brain gave me for their next step. 🙂

Most of the series is here. The one just before this one is here.

-

Stephen is having an almost perfect evening. His body is aching pleasantly from an enthusiastic round of sex, he’s sitting up in a perfectly supportive, perfect temperature bed, he’s got a fascinating new journal article to read, and the air is full of the musky, satisfying scent of his partner. 

If only Tony wasn’t twitching like he was sitting on a live wire.

Eventually, Stephen sighs, sets his tablet aside, and turns to Tony. “Spit it out before you choke on it,” he says.

“I never choke,” Tony says automatically. 

Stephen huffs a laugh—he’s not wrong—but then levels a look at Tony. “You know what I mean.”

Tony blows out a breath. “Okay, look, I want you to know that I know that this is way too soon, but you said to spit it out so here it is: I want you to move in with me. If you want to.”

For a moment, Stephen is purely confused, and then he remembers: they don’t actually live together, do they? Not officially. His toiletries are in the bathroom and half his clothes are in the closet, but he does still text Tony after work with a Your place or mine? 

It is too soon, but Stephen still knows what his answer is: “I’d love to.”

Tony breaks into a grin. “You don’t need time to think about it?”

Stephen grins back. “When have we ever needed time?”

Tony laughs and pulls Stephen in a celebratory kiss.

And here Stephen thought the evening couldn’t get better.

[ubemango]

commission 6: friends-to-lovers!Hoseok

note 1: for Miss Sam!!!!!!!! Thank you for your help back in November!!!!!!!!!! I hope sexy sexy brother’s best friend/f2l!Hoseok is Good To you!!!!!!!!!!! Mwah!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰💕💕💕💕💕😁😁😁😁😁

note 2: a little background--the premise for this story did not come easy to me. Like At All!!!! I was struggling--AGAIN--with Exposition and you know what I learned? in medias res never fails me. Truly she is God. I love her. Anywho, Keyword(s): Talking to your dog for emotional support! Tension! Mutual pining!!!!!!!!! Being so close you don’t know what to do with yourself anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Word count: 4.5k. Class is in session!

note 3: a big big biiiiiiiiig Thank You to @b1usides and @angelguk for helping me out with this ;_; Truly would not have come out with this without you I love you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you for ur input and insight and interest and MWAH !!!

(note 4: I wrote all those previous notes back in 2020. GOOD LORD IT IS 2025. This is not a come back I just wanted to post this because I wrote so much of it and I’m tired of thinking my writing is too ugly to post. It can be ugly but also exist on this blog. Yay!!!!!!! Mindset mindset! I wuuuvvvv youuuu my friends I hope you’re doing well!!!!)

“Now?”

“Now,” Yoongi says, “and don’t come up with excuses about being busy because I know you’re doing your dalgona shit right now.”

You slide the bottle of instant coffee a little closer to your chest for protection. He probably overheard you talking to your mom about your plans in the kitchen last night. “You’re evil.”

“Whatever. Just–come, please? Everyone’s busy and Hoseok won’t finish unpacking today if we don’t get the help.”

Hearing that name sends electricity down to your toes. “What’s in it for me?”

“Being a nice sister–“ Yoongi’s breath is stifled with effort, probably from lifting a box– “and helping my best friend move into his new apartment?”

“I just got home–“

“I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important. The air conditioning here hasn’t been turned on yet,” he baits, and you hiss at that. “You know what that’s like.”

You do. The sun is unforgiving in the throes of late spring, and even you’d been contemplating holding out on your move back to avoid the heat. You’d made sure to finish unpacking last night, the loom of today’s plus-twenty weather with humidity heavy on your shoulders. Yoongi’s strangled tone tells you Hoseok’s got a billion and one things to unpack.

“Fine,” you concede. “Just text me the address.”

“Don’t take too long.”

The line cuts. You get the text in three seconds.

You stare forlornly at the whisk and bowl you’d gotten out, watching your phone screen light up with Yoongi’s text. To think you’d be hauling ass with cardboard boxes instead of making frothy coffee. What you thought would be a little welcome-back activity now that you’ve moved back home with your family instead lies toppled since you’ve been voluntold for other plans.

Plans to see Hoseok for the first time in years.

Immediately, you hold your breath. Maybe if you restrict your airflow then things won’t be so real and sudden, and why couldn’t Yoongi have called Namjoon, or something? He’s ten times as strong as you are. He lives in the city, too. You feel cheated. Older brothers don’t like taking things into consideration.

Your lungs burst into a yelp when something furry brushes against your leg, which, thankfully, stops you from contemplating all of Yoongi’s wrongdoings with revenge. You realize you’ve got your fist tight around the whisk.

“Girl, you scared me!”

Boppa stares at you with her long eyelashes and sits down at your feet. She’s the picturesque prettiness of a ten-year-old cockapoo. It’s kind of insulting looking at her sometimes.

“Boppa, I think my life’s about to fall apart and it’s all Yoongi’s fault,” you tell her.

She offers no response. You drop the whisk, reach over for her treat jar, and pop the dried meat into her mouth. Just a reward for the anxious rambling you’re about to dump on her pretty little head.

“Remember senior year, Boppa, and I couldn’t do my calculus homework because I missed too many classes? So Hoseok helped me out with all the problems I didn’t get?” You don’t think she does. She just pants, watching you put your mise-en-place away. “Or when he helped me make soup for Yoongi when he had the flu that one time?”

In your head, a dam breaks, and it all comes roiling back.

The way you remember Hoseok is different every time. Little disjointed moments throughout high school, college, and it starts with junior year, when he’d come over after a music council meeting with Yoongi. He’d walked past the living room, caught sight of your puffed face from crying over Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds; so startled by your hiccuping that he’d offered you a coupon to the pizza place near school and told you to get lunch with it the next day. Because pretty girls don’t deserve to cry, and Yoongi slapped his neck for being too nice to his little sister and dragged him upstairs to practice for their sectional.

It’s who he is, has always been. The kindness that never wavers, always there when you need help–carrying groceries into the kitchen when your mom complained about bad knees, patiently waiting for you to work through a difficult log function, walking Boppa when Yoongi was too lazy to do it. College Hoseok disappeared for a bit, busy with obligations and social circles. But like all strong currents, he came back with a force, seeking refuge on your couch after an overnight stay at school. 

(You’d made him a snack, that time. He gave you the prettiest smile ever. When you’d settled into bed, you could hear his snoring from your bedroom.

You slept so well that night.)

“Boppa, why,” you wail. “Why is this all coming back. I just got home.”

She blinks. You toss her another treat. She eats it well.

“I’m not in love with him.” Affirmations, affirmations. It’s good to air out your grievances, especially since no one is home to hear them. “I’m not!”

Boppa looks at you as if to say, I haven’t accused you of anything, so why are you so strung up?

“I don’t know what’s going on!” You shriek, slamming your palms on the counter.

Logically, you’re correct: you aren’t in love with Hoseok. He was just so overwhelmingly good. Attachments formed. Hoseok came to your home all the time. And home is a permanent fixture you could never get rid of, and you’d been away for two years, living in the western side of the city, forgetting you had a life back here, learning new intersections, knowing where to touch fruits to see if they were ripe, seducing the hot pharmacy man into a spicy romance (and subsequently dealing with the heartbreak), living, accomplishing, and these things end. Some parts of life end so you come back home, and Hoseok is home, you’re home, and the one thing about all of this is that it’s all Yoongi’s fault!

You close your eyes, feel the rush of your entire life come to a halt right at this very moment. You wanted coffee, not an attack on all your senses.

“Boppa,” you say, realizing something else. “I need a housewarming gift.”

You hear her get up, and you watch her stop where you’d left your extra bag of rice from unpacking. She lies down in front of it.

“Do you think that’s a good gift?”

She yawns. You google the meaning of offering jasmine rice as a gift for new homes.

“Abundance of love and food,” you say from your findings. It’s good. “Smart girl.”

She makes a grunting noise when you carry the bag away from her, and accepts the kiss you leave behind her ear as your goodbye for now.

She’s due for her mid-afternoon nap. You’re due for a reality check.

The drive over to the apartment is short, and you’re thankful because your seat belt scorches you when you shift the wrong way,  and suddenly your mood is sour all over again. But your parallel parking, though–it’s so immaculate you almost start crying. The balance of good and evil in your life makes you tired. The giant bag of rice almost makes you tip into the asphalt of the sidewalk.

Security buzzes you in with the code Yoongi sent you, and no later than 20 seconds pass when you find yourself in front of unit two-eighteen. You knock, and steel yourself.

The door opens.

“The fuck is that?” Yoongi snorts.

You heat high in your cheeks at the interrogation. “Boppa told me to do it.”

“Our dog told you to bring rice?”

“It’s a gift,” you seethe, “and our dog is a magical dog.” (It’s the truth. Somehow when Boppa howls, your mom will suddenly come up with cryptic news. The last time, an old auntie died.)

“I like it,” a voice says, and suddenly Hoseok is nudging Yoongi out the way. His entrance freezes you in your spot. His fingers brush against yours when he takes the bag from your hands. “Really. My mom brought rice for when my sister moved out–means abundance, or something.”

“Exactly,” is all you can breathe out, and he smiles–just as you remember–and then he disappears into another room. Never one for grand gestures; he comes and goes. Maybe it was just a ghost who happened to look like Hoseok and really liked lifting rice into the netherworld.

The slam of the grain against what’s probably the kitchen counter interrupts the thought. Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise, which more or less means come in before I start insulting you.

“We’re fixing the bed frame right now,” he explains, the door squeaking shut under his hand. “It’s already super hot in there so just–don’t come in.”

“Man sweats?”

“You know how meat smells when you’ve left it out on the counter all day?”

You recoil automatically. “I–? Ew.”

He’s joking. Probably. But it’s enough to make you stay away from that part of the apartment. The living room space is comfortably small; enough square feet to classify as cozy, not cramped. The linger of heat is a silent threat–you can already feel yourself starting to get sticky under your collar. They’ve got a mini-fan propped on one of the many boxes littered on the carpeted floor, though, whirring through little bursts of air.

There are so many boxes. The thought alone is making you sweat more.

“Thank you for the help.” Hoseok pops in again. Brushing his hair away from his sticky forehead, and you’re almost offended at how suave that move was. The audacity of good-looking people to do good-looking things unprovoked. “I really appreciate it.”

You could never refuse him. This is the truth you’ve always known. “It’s no problem. I didn’t think you’d have this much stuff.”

He flounders with a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I didn’t think I did either, but I had a whole nest of shit that I had back home in my closet and I didn’t want to throw anything out.”

“So for nostalgic purposes you’re risking heat exhaustion, is what you’re saying,” you joke.

“So mean.” Hoseok puts his hand over his heart. “You really wound me, you know?”

Yoongi interrupts with a cough. “You guys are boring, I’m going back to the bed frame.”

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Hoseok calls after him. He stands rigid for a second, gathering his thoughts. Probably just avoiding responsibility for a few precious seconds because going back to the proclaimed Meat Room sounds like a painful thought. “Um–I would catch up more but I just–I really need this done before we actually pass out.”

“It’s okay. Really.” He nods his gratitude. “Where should I start?”

“We’ve already done the bathroom, so… you think you can start with the kitchen?”

You nod. Hoseok sighs another “thank you, again,” and takes two steps backwards, as if to keep that soft gaze on you for as long as possible. He spins away before you can think too hard about it.

The kitchen is separated from the living room by the sink, and this is where all the goodies sit. One box is labeled with nothing on the side. Another has nothing but a picture of a smiling plate, a tiny fork and spoon holding hands. But the most enticing one is the box that says MUGS, SO MANY MUGS! MOM CAN’T FIT THEM ALL!

His mom’s loopy handwriting is so cute. You start with this one. In the bedroom, Yoongi screams.

“Are you okay?” You yell out, ripping at the tape with your nail, sorting the bubble-wrapped mugs by… colour? Shape? Who even owns a mug made out to be a literal octopus? The suction cups are so weirdly detailed. You put that furthest in the cupboard above your head, and pop a couple bubbles of bubble wrap to feel better.

“‘M fine,” he calls back. “Hoseok almost hacked off my thumb.”

“I did not!” Hoseok responds passionately.

They stay silent, save for more banging on wood. You organize to the clipped rhythm of the fan swaying back and forth.

It barely dawns on you that you’re in Hoseok’s new kitchen, voluntarily fixing his stuff. And if you thought about it, he would absolutely do the same for you. The symbiotic relationship of being nice just because. It’s the only way you know how to interact with each other. Someone gives, someone receives.

(You missed home. You missed Hoseok.)

It takes half an hour to sort through all the kitchen essentials. The plates and the bowls are stowed away neatly, cutlery in the first drawer below the counter. All the cleaning supplies are safe under the sink. The bag of rice sits heavy in its spot where Hoseok had left it. You’re sweating.

Not as badly as Yoongi and Hoseok are, though. They trudge in the kitchen, breathing hard, eyebrows wet with their effort.

“We’re done with the room,” Hoseok greets. Yoongi ignores you and goes straight for the handle of the fridge. He reaches for two water bottles, and hands the second one to Hoseok. “Wow, you cleared this fast.”

The compliment should not be as hard-hitting as it should be. Your giddiness is silent. “It was easy. Also your octopus mug really freaked me out so I put it, like, as far away from reach as possible.”

“I got him that mug,” Yoongi complains.

“You couldn’t have gotten him a nicer mug?”

“No?”

“You’re ugly,” you retaliate. Yoongi scrunches his face, and drinks his water angrily.

“I like the mug,” Hoseok inserts, brushing past you to open the drawers, eyeing your work, “but yeah, it is kind of. Uh. Out there.”

“Am I being insulted right now?” Yoongi asks.

“It’s an ugly mug,” you say.

“And you got him an ugly bag of rice.”

“I told you Boppa told me to do it!”

“How’s Boppa?” Hoseok interrupts, checking where you’d put the medicine, the first-aid.

“She’s–“

“–good,” you and Yoongi say at the same time. The look he sends you is venomous.

“Stop copying me.”

“You’re ugly,” you say again.

“You guys need to stop giving me whiplash every five seconds,” Hoseok complains. You know he’s used to it, though. Banter that toes the line of actual hurtful words. It’s a common conversation. He inspects the cupboard above the sink next, making little approving noises. “Ooh, bowls on top of the plates. Very nice.”

“I taught her that,” Yoongi says. Which–yes, he technically did, but now you’re just annoyed because he ripped the compliment right from your nose, and now he’s smiling because he knows you’re pissed.

The fan sings its mechanical song. Fighting Yoongi burns up so much energy you fear you’ll collapse once it comes down to fixing up the living room.

Except.

Your brother opens his stupid mouth again, and announces, “I need to leave.”

Hoseok whips around from where he was inspecting the cleaning supplies. “What?”

“Shit. I had to pick up mom from the station.”

The green-lit time on the stove says it’s five till seven. You picture your sweet little mother waiting behind the doors to the passenger pick-up parking lot, and confide in the thought that she’ll probably smack Yoongi once he pulls up. “You’re gonna be late.”

“Oh really,” he mocks. “If I get pulled over for speeding you’ll bail me out, right? Yeah? Cool. I’m sorry. Good luck. Don’t die. Hoseok, take care of her. Or–whatever. It was fun.”

Before either of you can respond, he bolts out, and slams the door behind him in a spectacularly hard fashion.

“Well,” Hoseok says.

“Huh,” you comment.

You make a mental note to kill your brother. Preferably by means of limited gore, maximum pain. Because now you’re alone with the bane (boon?) of your existence in the kitchen with too many thoughts in your head again and again it’s Yoongi’s fault and you wonder why your breakdowns always have to happen in the kitchen.

Calmly, you drink your water.

“So, uh…”

Hoseok fidgets with the empty mug box on the counter. His ears are bright red.

“You wanna–get started with the living room?” You attempt to save the conversation before it gets too awkward.

“Yes,” he agrees quickly, and scurries out with the same swiftness as Yoongi’s departure.

Did he not want to be close to you? Did you smell like meat, too? You put your deodorant on this morning. You sniff at your armpit secretly while Hoseok chooses a stack of boxes to open, and conclude that it is not your good-smelling sweat that’s driving him away, but something else you’re not aware of.

“Honestly, there’s not much here to unpack, a lot of these are just like–winter jackets, the electric cords for the TV…”

“Why don’t we start with the bookcase?”

It looms with emptiness, tucked away into the corner. The dark oakwood that housed all the precious things he said he couldn’t throw away. It feels a little personal, knowing it contains his accomplishments. His secrets? His school yearbooks? A family picture, maybe, stuffed toys he might’ve won from a carnival. For a second you imagine how it would feel, unpacking your things and his things in your own shared space.

“Sure,” Hoseok decides.

You pick the biggest box to open first. The tape has ripped at the corners, sides bulging slightly from the things crammed inside. Some dust flings off when you whip the top open, and inside is way too many books. Elementary school yearbooks, a massive cookbook, the entirety of A Series of Unfortunate Events.

“I didn’t know you read,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

Hoseok startles into laughter. “Uh..?”

“I meant–oh god you know what I mean.” You blush at the slip-up. But Hoseok pays no heed, just laughs even harder.

“It’s fine. It’s–yeah. Back in high school. Found the first book in some second-hand store and ended up buying the rest.”

That explains why the first one is so much more worn down than the others. Loved, flipped through. You heave the box onto the floor, sit down next to it. Criss-cross applesauce. You begin sorting through it one by one.

“So how are you? Now that you’re back home, and all.” Hoseok handles something that clinks slightly–pots of succulents. He staggers on his tip-toes to fit them pretty on the top shelf. You think back to your brief crisis of identity in the kitchen at home.

“I wanted to make the dalgona coffee today but I had a change of plans.”

Hoseok sighs. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“All good. But to answer your question…” There was no exciting answer to impress him with. You’re back for convenience, lack of work. Ordinary reasons. You don’t want to entertain lengthy stories in the fog of this heat, anyway. “It’s… I’m just back. That internship was all I had going for me, so I’m still on a job hunt.”

“That’s really cool, though. I remember your sketchbooks. And when you built that seat to look like a huge-ass Converse shoe.”

It was one of your projects for junior year. “Yeah, it… I don’t know where that is now, probably stuck in the basement somewhere.”

“Sell it on eBay.”

“Like anyone would pay for that shit.” It literally was a giant wooden slab made to look like a shoe, soft enough for reclining. “It’s ugly.”

Hoseok shrugs. “It wasn’t. But keep thinking that, silly, go ahead.”

“It’s just–I can’t believe you know I built that. Like you remember that? I don’t even remember building it.”

He contemplates. “I’ll always remember you,” he answers, very simply, and for a while he lets it linger, like it hadn’t just gotten your heart racing so fast.

The silence is scary. Maybe he’s trying to read your mind. Maybe if you made a loud noise in your head, he’d be startled. You start thinking about the most obscene moaning noises, straight out of soft, amateur pornography that you see floating on your timeline sometimes. But Hoseok doesn’t budge. 

Damn. He just continues on.

“Do you still cry when The Proposal comes on?”

“Oh spare me,” you beg, itching to slap his leg. He shudders with his laughing. “How about you? You still cry when someone talks about the White Lady?”

You think back to a 16-year-old Hoseok sleeping over at your house once, so vexed by Yoongi’s searches on horror forums that night he’d made sure Boppa slept in the room with them. “You’ll curse my apartment!”

“I’d have to say the name three times, you know.”

He watches you from above with frightened eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

Hoseok should know better than to trust his best friend’s sister. Right as you taunt him with the first syllable–(“Whi…“)–he tucks the last succulent away on the shelf, drops down on his knees, and shoves a hot hand over your lips.

“I will actually, genuinely, really, reallyreallyreally hate you forever,” he threatens.

Well.

You wouldn’t want that.

He is devastatingly close, his gaze so frenzied you’re starting to feel bad. The heat comes in waves: the stifling living room, the pathetic blows of wind from the fan. Hoseok’s body. Proximity you haven’t known in forever. He just stares.

You garble from behind his mouth. “Sto’ wooing ame.”

“What?”

You slide his palm off your wet lip. “Stop looking at me,” you repeat.

“I can’t just look at you?”

Oh. He –?

“You – !” You swat at him like he’s a pesky mosquito, warding off the thirst for your embarrassment. He sits next to you, laughing. “I’m sweaty and my concealer is creasing.”

“You look fine.”

“To you.” You pat under your eyes. “I’m ugly to me.”

“Me is stupid,” he counters.

“Me will kick you if you don’t finish clearing this shit out!”

Hoseok relents, careful to test your aggression. He’s sweating, too. He wipes at his neck, sighing into straight posture from creaky knees. “We can just finish this then call it a night,” he offers. “Are you almost done with that box?”

You lug the cookbook into the remaining space of the shelf. “It’s done.”

“Cool. Then could you just–” he gestures to the cardboard near his feet with one hand, arranging more succulents with the other– “grab that for me?”

You reach over with a grunt, gentle in your hold of the pot. It’s a money plant. “From your mom?”

“I don’t even like plants,” Hoseok complains. He looks to the side of the bookshelf, realizing there’s no space to accommodate the larger pot. Dejected, he just leaves it where he stands. “I’m fixing this tomorrow, I don’t care. Let’s go outside.”

Outside is the balcony, which isn’t as oppressively hot as it is inside but still has you disappointed that it’s, well, hot. There’s no escaping it. Hoseok has to use his entire body weight to slide open the glass doors. “Shit fucking doors. Do you think Yoongi carries WD-40?”

“Probably. Tell him it’s his welcoming gift for you.”

He snorts. “I’d feel guilty. He already did a lot, building the bed with me.”

You follow him to where he leans on the railing. His unit faces west. Perfect for this time of year, when the sunsets are longer. It bleeds low behind the fading bricks of the faraway houses, the inner city high-rises, and if you angled yourself correctly it’s almost as if they lean on the sun itself. 

“This is the real reason why I chose this place,” Hoseok says. “Saw this sunset and knew.”

“I didn’t know you were so sappy.” You scrunch your face like you’ve been fed something sour. He laughs. 

“How else do you think I get all the hot ladies?” He teases. You stop at that. It suddenly occurs to you that Hoseok is a man who’s lived a million lives just as you have, and just as nothing stopped you from trying to date around (re: hot pharmacy man), the same laws should apply to him, too. 

You aren’t hurt, but it does cut a little. And before you can stop yourself, you ask: “Are any hot ladies coming over anytime soon?”

He sounds like he chokes. “God no.”

“Oh.”

“I – it’s boring stuff. Just. No. Maybe there could have been, but no.”

In your heart of hearts, you believe he’s stuttering because he’s embarrassed. But a part of you wishes he’s trying to appease the part of you that’s bristling, like he knows it’s not information you want to hear. It’s almost like a puppy nipping at their owner for forgiveness, though why would he want to be apologizing?

(Unless.)

“Okay,” you say. You try not to think too hard. “Sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Your top lip is sweaty. Every crease in your body is sweaty. You’re also very much aware that Hoseok is looking at you like he wants to say more, but he just hangs his head low. “Thanks. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You know.” He wipes his brow. “Anything, really. Plans for the summer. Hot men to woo. Or hot ladies, I don’t know.”

You watch the sun set lower. It’s cooler now, and the cicadas are humming loudly. “I… no. I’m not really… I don’t know.”

Good lord. You have the strangest feeling to cut open all your guts and let Hoseok see you for everything you are. He does it so easily, to you. This is the universal truth that’s defined your existence since he entered your life.

“Ugh. I’d offer you beer to cheers for being lonely but you’re driving.” He pouts. “Fuck. Sorry. I don’t want to keep you any longer than you want to stay.”

“I don’t mind.” And because you like to torture yourself, you add: “Not if it’s you.”

(You can almost hear your brother’s voice. You’re so easy. The you in your head gives him a sucker punch and says: Well maybe I like to be easy! The Boppa in your head also kicks him in the shin. You think she’d be cheering you on.)

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “Really.” It’s not a question but a reaction, and Mind-Boppa gives you a fist bump.

“Yeah. Or you can tell me if that was weird. Like. Really. You can.” You’re about to ramble more but Hoseok interrupts you.

“No!” He says this a little too loudly. You flinch. “Sorry. No. No. That wasn’t weird.”

For the umpteenth time today you almost burst into tears. It’s everything sweet and bad and hot pressing in on you, and is Hoseok smiling? He’s laughing. You’re about to spontaneously combust and he’s cackling like he’s cracked the code of something. You must look horrified, because he starts to flounder.

“I’m–sorry. I’m sorry. Please. I’m not laughing at you. I’m just gonna ask you something, and I want you to walk out on me and forget everything I’m about to say if you choose to. Does that sound good?”

You think: it’s hot when he takes initiative.

You say: nothing.

You: nod for him to continue.

“Can I please treat you to dinner for fixing my kitchen for me?”

Catholics say the universe was created in seven days. Hoseok bursts and collides five hundred of them with one question.

“Will you pay for me?” You ask.

“Yes.”

“Do I have to look pretty?”

“You’re always pretty to me,” he says.

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll pretend I never asked you and you can go woo another hot person. But I prefer you don’t.”

The sun has set. There’s pink in the sky, and there’s pink in your eyes. You wonder if your pupils have turned heart-shaped. 

“Then my answer is yes,” you decide.

.

.

.

When you sit in the driver’s seat, you think about Hoseok’s smile and what you’d do to keep it there. Then, you declare to your driving wheel, “I’m going to kill Yoongi,” then pull off into traffic.

.

.

.

Hoseok closes the door behind him, and slides down with his back against the wood. “Yoongi’s going to kill me,” he says to himself.

[cinnamoncilla]

My s/o in my fame dr

Chris Evans- SIGH HES SO FINEEEE

status:future/endgame

Before:Chris will listen to my new album(emails i can’t send💌) and he was amazed by it and started stalking my instagram(all during july) liking a few ect. He likes my third post and decides that he wants to DM me and he does!!! i Obviously reply and we go from there texting online til meeting in September for the first time

Drama: Four months into talking (November), Chris knew I was the one from the beginning—ever since we met. One night, his anxiety kicks in, and he starts thinking, What if she hurts me? and What if it’s not meant to be? What if I never get over this? Overwhelmed by these thoughts, he decides to call an old hookup, leading to a one-night stand(he lost a baddie for an old hookup😞).Somehow, word gets around, and about a week later, I find out—Tana Mongeau(that’s so random LMAO) is the one who tells me. Furious, I immediately start texting Chris, going off on him. He’s extremely apologetic but doesn’t reveal the real reason behind what he did—he just keeps apologizing. I refuse to forgive him.During this time, we aren’t communicating. He feels as if he’s lost his other half, like there’s a hole inside him(😼-how feel writing that). Desperate for advice, he turns to his family—his mom, brother, sisters, etc. They give him a hard time but still support him, telling him to give it a little time, that I’ll cool down, and that when I do, he should go to me.Two weeks pass(that’s ALL i can do😖), and he finally reaches out. He sends me a long message, asking to see me so he can explain everything. I respond, agreeing to meet him at his house in LA.When I arrive, we sit on the couch, and he pours out all his emotions. He tells me how he felt during our time apart, why he did what he did, and how much he regrets it. He apologizes sincerely, with tears in his eyes, and asks me to give him another chance. I start crying too. He finally confesses that he loves me.I open up about how I’ve been feeling, and through my own tears, I tell him I love him too. At that moment, we decide to fully commit to each other—officially, officially together, devoted, and now truly dating.

i just needed a bit of drama there btw all this is happening in 2021 btw during this time we aren't like together together but we kinda are and kinda not so it wont be cheating what he does but it would still be hurtful due to the connection we have.

love trope : soulmates,twin-flame,fated love , and love at first sight

Controversy: his fans will suspect he’s dating me and will hate me cuz of it (stole they man 🤭) talking abt our age gap and me ect how crazed fans do ofc

Extra: - it will be like a supernova for us and everybody around can feel it too. The moment we lay eyes on each other, time stops for us. It literally feels like a slow motion supernova. our eyes glow up, our hearts skip a beat and then begin to beat faster with each second. our body’s will feel weightless and electrified at the same time. Electric and sizzling atmosphere between us, Chris will look at me like he just discovered a black hole in front of him. It’s that feeling we had as a little child in kindergarten, when we had our first 'crush', this feeling of pure excitement and joy. Pure and electric.our souls recognize each other, but we are not aware of it. Not in that very moment. We feel it, but we don’t know what it is. we will just stare into one another, until one of us says something. It’s just seconds, but for us it will feel like minutes. Time stood still as we saw each other. Chris is the first to say something.He will feel something he never felt before and he doesn’t know what it is, that’s why he is a little bit irritated. this feeling when we forget a word or name, we know that we know it, but in this very moment we just can’t remember. That’s how he feels, i seems familiar to him, but he never saw me before.He finds me very attractive and stunningly beautiful. It’s the energy/aura that i radiate that he’s drawn to. This feeling of familiarity haunts him. “How can she feel so familiar without knowing her?”The way i looks, my voice, everything is like a forgotten memory for him. It seems like he doesn’t really flirt at our first meeting, as he is irritated by me (in a positive way), i makes him nervous and he doesn’t want to screw it up. him giggling and blushing like a child when im is around. i will somehow remind him of his childhood or makes him feel like a child again? Either way, we both will feel very familiar with each other other.

long ass post for what?? But nothing less for my man

(who i dedicated my “love look so pretty on you” album to which you could find through my account with a playlist included 🤭)