#but I feel I have nowhere else to say this

[trashytracktales]

girl hi hi hi hi i am in love with your writing 😩😩

as someone who’s terrified by getting her driver license can i request boyfriend Lando giving you driving lessons and you know, good old soft dom lando giving you INSTRUCTIONS and praising you !! You know what i mean? 🥹🥹

and ofc throwing in a lil nice smut won’t be bad idk

Maybe this way i’ll feel inspired to finally get my license

(gorgeous gorgeous girls are obsessed with cars but scared to drive 🤩)

ily T!!

Fast learner | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── First of all, you got this, babe!! Getting your license can be scary, I remember being absolutely terrified. It definitely takes time and determination, but you can do it, I promise 🤞🏻 Also, so sorry it took me AGES, but I am struggling to finish my works lately *sad sounds idk*. I hope I did this one justice though. Fingers crossed and let me know when you get that license, queen. Enjoy 🤍✨

. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── Lando surprises his girlfriend with a gift she can’t say no to. Despite her fear, his guidance helps her gain confidence behind the wheel. But back home, the lessons continue in a much more intimate way, as Lando makes sure she knows just how good she is at following his instructions, both on and off the track.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── explicit

. ݁₊ ⊹ category ──── F/M

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 18+, driving anxiety, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, sexual metaphors & euphemisms, light choking, soft dom!Lando.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 5.6k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Feb. 28, 2025

WHEN SHE OPENS her eyes, the first thing she notices is that his familiar heat is pressing on her from every direction. With Lando’s arm resting like a sluggish weight around her waist and his fingertips brushing the exposed flesh beneath the hem of his hoodie, which she had stolen before bed, she feels secure in the warmth they’ve created.

His nose is buried in the crook of her neck, and the second thing she notices is the quiet, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against her back, his steady breathing blending with the morning silence, and the delicate, smooth kisses he’s planting on her skin.

The girl shifts slightly, only for him to tighten his grip, pulling her closer; she smiles, understanding he is already awake.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks Lando, his voice languid.

Her body is melting back into his embrace, Lando’s slightly aggressive curiosity making her giggle. “Nowhere.”

“Good,” he presses a tender kiss to her shoulder, then another, trailing his lips back up the curve of her neck. “Because it’s your birthday, and I get to hold you for as long as I want.”

She smiles again, her heart swelling at the way he always makes her feel like she is most important thing in the world.

“That’s exactly what you said when it was your birthday,” she reminds him. “And last Friday, when it was… just Friday.”

“Still applies, as you can see,” he speaks softly against her skin. “Happy birthday, my love.”

A mellow hum leaves her as she turns in his arms, finally opening her eyes to meet his. They’re still laced with sleep, heavy-lidded and warm, the early, weak sunlight filtering through the curtains and cascading all over his face. His hair is a mess, his cheek faintly creased from the pillow, but she thinks he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in the mornings. Mostly because no one but her knows that his eyes are incredibly clear when he opens them for the first time. Or that his hands, still asleep, do not grasp her with the same strength they do at night, but have a tenderness she knows she will never find anywhere else, except their own bed.

“Thank you, pretty boy,” she whispers, running a gentle finger over his jaw, then following the pillow marks up his cheek. Lightly, she cups his face, her thumb pressing on his dimple, making Lando grin.

He leans in to nuzzle his nose against hers before capturing her lips in a sleepy, lazy kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that lingers, tender and sweet, the kind that makes her toes curl under the blanket. His hand skims up her side, slipping beneath the hoodie, fingers brushing against warm skin as he pulls her impossibly closer.

When they part, he sighs contentedly, resting his forehead against hers. “Sorry for waking you up.”

She hums, “You can wake me up like this everyday.”

“Yeah?” Lando giggles. “I actually had half a mind to let you sleep in, but I got too excited.”

She laughs softly. “Excited for what?”

Instead of answering, Lando reaches over to the nightstand to grab a small, beautifully wrapped box. He holds it out to her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Her brows knit together as she pushes herself up onto her elbows. For a second, she thinks he’s about to propose, but he looks way too relaxed for that, which makes her question everything she knows about her boyfriend.

“What did you do, Lando?” she asks. “I told you no gifts this year.”

He smirks, nudging the box toward her. “It is not a gift. Think of it as an... investment. Come on, just open it.”

She hesitates, much more suspicious now, casting Lando a tamed look before carefully removing the ribbon. The paper falls away, revealing a sleek black velvet box. Her heart picks up its pace as she flicks it open and finds out that inside, resting against the dark fabric, is a car key.

She blinks, confused.

The logo gleams up at her, adding to her state.

“Lan…” she stares at the key, then back at him, as if waiting for him to laugh and tell her it’s all a joke. “This is a car key.”

Lando nods, biting his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. “Your dream car’s key,” he corrects her.

Her stomach flips violently. “No way. No. Lando, no. Absolutely not,” she keeps saying, shaking her head. “That’s too much,” she adds, shoving the box toward him as if it burns to touch. “You did not buy me a car for my stupid birthday.”

Incapable to hold his laugh any further, Lando lets out a little giggle. His voice is light, but there’s nothing but sincerity in his expression when he speaks again, “It’s not stupid. I wanted to. I’ve been planning this for a while now.”

She gapes at him, her brain struggling to process. “You bought me a Porsche.”

He shrugs, reaching for her hand and intertwining his fingers with hers. “I bought you your Porsche. The exact one you’ve been obsessing since forever,” he leans in, brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Don’t make me beg you to accept it. You deserve it and I can afford it, so just—”

“It’s not about deserving, Lando,” her heart swells, but panic creeps in. “I appreciate you for doing this, but I don’t even have a driver’s license. And I’m definitely not ready to get it any time soon. So please, can you take it back?”

His facial expression turns mischievous, raising a finger in the air, “Oh, no. You are ready. Which brings us to the second part of your present,” he says, tapping her nose playfully before throwing the covers off and getting up. “Get a comfy pair of shoes on. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

She looks at him warily. “Where exactly?”

Lando smirks, stretching before tugging a hoodie over his head. “Driving lessons,” he says, pointing at himself, “With me.”

Her stomach drops. “Lando, no.”

“Lando, yes,” he winks, crossing the room to where she sits on the bed, still in shock. “Baby, I know you’re terrified, but I wanna show you it’s not as scary as you think. It’ll be fun, I promise. And if not, we can stop at any time.”

Her lips part, but no words come out, only a strangled noise that makes Lando chuckle. He crouches in front of her, taking her hands in his, looking up at her. Sometimes, she thinks that the way he does it is so annoying, because she can’t say no when he gives her those puppy eyes. She realizes, looking back at him, that chances are Lando is even more excited than she is, which makes her feel a little guilty.

“Look, it’s okay to be nervous,” he says gently, pressing a kiss to her palm, “But I’ll be right there with you.”

Her chest tightens — not from anxiety this time, but from the sheer love she feels for this man, and for the way he always knows how to push her while making her feel safe.

She ends up nodding and, with that, Lando pulls her into a lingering kiss, as if sealing the promise between them.

WHEN LANDO SAID driving lessons, she thought he meant a quiet, empty parking lot somewhere in the city. Or maybe a back road with little to no traffic. What she did not expect was an entire race track at their disposal.

It’s February, and the cold still bites through the air, the kind of chill that seeps into her bones despite the heat blasting inside the car. The sky is now a heavy shade of gray, fluffy clouds stretching endlessly above the open space of the Silverstone Circuit. The grandstands stand empty, ghostly in their silence, the wind whistling through the steel framework.

Her hands tighten into fists as she stares at the massive expanse of the track. She’s been here before, sure, but she’s never seen this place so devoid of people and so lifeless. What strikes her, though, is that it doesn’t even matter, because the circuit has the same beauty — perhaps even more alluring when it’s not animated by the roar of people and the deafening sound of engines. It’s almost haunting. She can’t shake the feeling that it’s the same place where world-class drivers push their limits at blinding speeds, where Lando himself has raced countless times. And just for tooday, it belongs entirely to them.

Her heart pounds harder in her chest as she’s turning to look at him, “You got me Silverstone for my first driving lesson?”

Lando smirks, shutting the engine off. “Had to pull some strings, no biggie.” He looks back at her, his eyes gleaming with excitement under the thick, long lashes. “I didn’t want anything to distract you or to feel any external pressure. Just us, and your car.”

Her car.

She still hasn’t fully processed it. She spent the entire two-hour drive here just staring at it, running her fingers over the pristine leather seat when Lando wasn’t looking, and tracing the sleek dashboard, memorizing every detail. It smells brand new, the engine purring under his control like a well-tamed beast. But now, as he opens his door and steps out, the reality of what comes next hits her, and panic creeps up her spine once again.

She grips the seatbelt tightly, her fingers going numb, as she watches Lando walk around the car. He looks so at ease, so effortlessly confident as he gestures for her to switch places. Meanwhile, she feels like she could throw up in T minus five seconds.

“Come on, baby,” he calls, grinning as he taps the roof of the car. “Time to make you a driver.”

Yes, that sounds good. And yes, she wants this. She really does. But the moment she steps out into the cold air and faces the car from the driver’s side, the same doubt settles deep in her chest. It’s not that she’s scared of driving — well, she is. But that’s not the only reason why she postoned getting her license for so long. The simple thought makes her stomach flip, because she knows that the second she puts foot in a car, so many things can go wrong, especially if you’re afraid.

Lando notices her hesitance immediately, and his playful grin softens as he steps closer. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head. “What’s bothering you, hm? Talk to me.”

The girl exhales shakily. “I’m not sure about this, Lando. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Of course you can,” says Lando in a determined voice.

She looks at the car, then at the track ahead of them. “It’s...” her voice trails off, trying to come up with the best excuse and go back home to nestle between their warm sheets.

“It’s just tarmac, baby,” Lando’s tone is calm and reassuring. “It’s no different than any other road. Just bigger. Safer, actually.”

Her arms wrap around herself instinctively, bracing against the cold, but mostly against her own emotions. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you mess up,” he shrugs, “That’s what learning is, isn’t it?”

She knows he’s right, but the fear still lingers, coiling tight in her stomach. “And if I crash?”

“You won’t crash,” he answers with the same determination yet slightly amused, taking her by surprise, because Lando uses that voice only when he is sure of what he’s saying.

She scoffs, “Sure, how do you know that?”

Lando smiles, reaching for her hands, rubbing warmth into her fingers before bringing them up to his lips. “Because I am here.”

Ha.

She nods slowly, suddenly realizing that there’s no going back — not when Lando is so committed to show her a side of herself that even she’s not aware of. And the fact that he believes in her does something to her brain; it gives her a bit more confidence and courage. She’s seen Lando drive countless of times before. She watched him, his movements instinctive, so measured and smooth that it’s become second nature to him. Maybe she can try to replicate that to a certain degree.

For her own sake, she owes him that.

“Alright,” she manages to say, her voice much tamer than expected.

“That’s my girl,” he presses one last kiss to her knuckles before stepping back, gesturing to the driver’s seat. “Get in there.”

With a deep breath, she finally slides into the driver’s seat, and her entire body tense as she grips the steering wheel; it feels hard under her touch, yet delicate at the same time. Lando follows, settling into his place effortlessly, like this is just another normal day at the track for him.

“Okay,” Lando starts, his voice patient. “First, get comfortable. Adjust your seat, mirrors, whatever you need. Make sure you see everything and, most importantly, make sure you feel everything. All the points where your body makes contact with the car, yeah?” he watches her nodding, swallowing the lump in her throat, then adds, “There is no rush, so take your time. We’ve got plenty.”

Her movements are stiff and mechanical as she reaches for the seat adjustment; she can feel her pulse in her fingertips while she does it. Then, she places her hands on the steering wheel, feeling it firm under her grip, and she suddenly becomes hyper-aware of how tight her fingers become around it.

“Babe,” says Lando, noticing she’s still fighting on the inside. “Relax your hands. You don’t need to strangle it.”

She forces herself to loosen her grip, but her fingers still tremble slightly.

“That’s better,” Lando reaches over, placing a hand on her knee to ground her.

She inhales sharply, then exhales, trying to shake the nerves. Lando waits until she goes through everythig he’s just instructed her, without rushing or teasing at her hesitation. He’s just there, a constant presence that makes her feel more comfortable.

And then, “Think of it like when you’re on top,” he continues casually.

Her head whips toward him, eyes wide. “What?”

Lando’s expression changes, looking like he’s just mentally high-fived himself for the comparison. “When you’re on top, you’re in control,” he reminds her. “You set the pace. You decide how fast or slow you wanna go,” his fingers tighten on her thigh as he leans in slightly, his voice dipping lower. “The car will respond to everything you do. Try it. I’m here to guide you.”

“Lando.”

He keeps going, completely undeterred, “Baby, I know you know how to move. It’s all about finding that rhythm,” he says, his fingers tapping against her thigh for emphasis. “It’s literally the same thing. Smooth, steady, no sudden jerks. And when you’re ready to pick up speed…” Lando grins, his eyes darkening just slightly. “Well. You know what happens then.”

A laugh bursts from her chest, all the tension snapping like a rubber band. She slaps his arm away, her face heating at his ridiculous but so on-brand analogy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he teases, laying back in his chair, “You’re finally breathing properly now.”

She blinks, realizing he’s right. The tightness in her chest has eased, her grip on the wheel no longer desperate. Her shoulders have dropped, her muscles loosening bit by bit. Lando sees the realization settling over her, content that he managed to put other images inside her head in order to make it easier to handle.

He chuckles, then gestures toward the track in front of them, “Alright, birthday girl. Ready to take me for a ride?”

She groans, covering her face with one hand. “You just can’t stop, can you?”

“Nope,” he says after a moment. “Foot on the brake.”

Instinctively, her foot finds the pedal, pressing down tentatively.

“Now, start the car.”

She swallows hard and reaches for the ignition button. The engine roars to life beneath her fingertips, smooth and powerful, vibrating through her entire body.

At the sound, Lando grins proudly. “There she is.” His hands go to rest on the armrest, his thumb brushing the fabric lightly. He watches carefully as she moves to adjust the mirrors with a focused look in her eyes. “Good,” he continues, his voice a soft command that she knows so well. “Now, keep the wheel steady, just like we talked about. Look ahead. Your eyes should be on the next corner, not the one you just passed.”

She nods, keeping her focus on the track.

“So, this car is rear-engined, which means most of the weight is at the back. That makes it a little trickier to handle if you throw it into a corner too fast. But,” Lando pauses, looking at her intently to assure her there’s nothings to be afraid of, “I’m here to make sure you drive it right.”

She scoffs nervously, “Is there a wrong way to drive it?”

“Plenty, actually. Relax your hold I said,” he instructs her again, “Baby, if it’s too tight, you won’t feel what the car is telling you.”

“Telling me?” she echoes, glancing at him with furrowed brows.

Lando nods, “Yeah. The car talks to you, just not with words. It tells you when it wants to rotate, when it has grip, when you need to be gentle or when you can push,” he says, gesturing toward the long straight. “Speaking of. Go on, give it some gas.”

Her heart jumps into her throat, but she listens, pressing down on the accelerator tentatively. The car responds instantly, surging forward with smooth, controlled aggression. She gasps, the force pressing her back against the seat, and Lando chuckles beside her.

“That’s it,” he praises. “A lot of power, hm?”

She lets out a breathy laugh, still nervous but slowly melting into the feeling of it all.

“Next, the corners,” Lando adds, eyes locked on the road as they approach one. “You want to brake before you turn, not while you’re turning. That’s how you keep it stable.”

She follows his words, pressing down on the brakes a little too early, but the car slows smoothly.

“Good,” he says, nodding approvingly. “Turn in,” he pauses, lips quirking into a smirk. “Like the way you move your hips when you ride me. Controlled, but with intention.”

Her foot nearly slips off the pedal. “Lando, stop that!” she squeaks, turning her head for a second, just to glare at him.

She feels the tires gripping the asphalt in a way that sends a thrill through her, despite the nerves still buzzing beneath the surface.

“I’m trying to speak your language,” he laughs, “Ease off the throttle and prepare to brake again,” Lando’s voice is smooth, “Yes, keep your foot light on the brake. Feel it?”

She does. While following his instructions, gently, she eases her foot off the gas, then applies just the right pressure to the brake, her heart racing with each turn. Lando watches her closely, but she can tell he’s holding back, not overloading her with instructions but guiding her just enough so she feels the car’s movements.

“Perfection,” he praises as she hits the apex of the corner, the car hugging the track with a controlled grace. “Accelerate again, gently. Let the car do the work for you. Don’t overthink it.”

She hesitates for a moment, her fingers adjusting their grip on the wheel, before she picks up speed, feeling the engine roaring beneath her. Despite the fear gnawing at her, there’s a strange thrill beginning to bubble inside, a sense of freedom she’s never felt before. She can feel the car responding to her, listening to her movements, exactly like Lando told her it will. Which makes her eager to go faster, to push.

But as she rounds another corner, a new wave of uncertainty floods her chest, and she glances over at her boyfriend again. “Lando, I don’t know…”

“You do,” Lando’s voice is almost a growl, “Bury your foot on the pedal. See what this car is capable of.”

Her pulse quickens, but there’s more excitement behind it now. With Lando’s words echoing in her mind, she takes a deep breath, presses her foot into the pedal, and feels the car surge beneath her. For a moment, he senses her hesitation, but then the car roars to life, and she feels the pull and the adrenaline racing through her veins. The acceleration is immediate and, before she knows it, the world outside blurs, the track stretching out before her like an endless ribbon.

To her surprise, she loves the feeling.

Next time he speaks, Lando’s words sound like a whisper over the roar of the engine, “That’s it, baby,” his eyes sparkle with approval, and she can hear the pride in his voice all over again. “You did it!”

THERE IS A faint smell of leftover takeout that lingers in the air, blending with the sweet vanilla of the birthday muffins he insisted on getting as dessert. There will be a cake and they’ll get to properly celebrate with her friends at the end of the week but, until then, her birthday was a success, topped with adrenaline and excitement, which she never thought she would ever enjoy.

Now, she stands by the full-length closet mirror, running a brush through her hair, the weight of the day settling into her body. It was terrifying yet thrilling in ways she hadn’t expected. What surprises her even more is her sudden desire to get back in the driver’s seat. She’s slowly realizing how addictive the feeling she experienced on the track is, and even though she knows that driving around the city won’t compare to what Lando offered her today, she feels — perhaps for the first time in her life — ready to take that step.

Lando moves behind her right after she puts the brush down, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his chest against her back.

“So, when can I drive again?” he hears her asking in a teasing voice, though there’s a genuine spark of nervousness behind it.

He smirks against the curve of her neck, lips barely brushing her skin. “You can give me another ride now, since you insist,” Lando suggests, his voice dripping with smugness.

She rolls her eyes and, twisting in his hold, she faces him, her hands sliding up his chest, fingertips tracing the contours of his collarbones. “Sounds good, but aren’t you afraid that too much control will get to my head?”

“Not at all.”

Lando steps forward, kissing her with enough force to show her that he means every word. His hands are now everywhere — on her hips, up and down her back, in her hair, then gripping her thighs as he lifts her effortlessly. She lets a surprised gasp into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist as he presses her back against the mirror. It’s hard against her skin, a stark contrast to the softness rolling off him in waves.

Her fingers end up tangling in his soft curls, tugging just enough to make Lando groan, a sound she’s never learned how to properly react to, since it drives her wild every single time she hears it. He tastes like the vanilla from the muffin that they shared earlier, so sweet and sinful.

When he comes back to his senses, Lando brushes his nose against hers, his voice hushed but firm, “I’m so proud of you, you know that?” he asks in a whispered voice. “You’re gonna do great.”

A shiver runs down her spine, not just from his words but from the unwavering belief behind them. Lando has always been her greatest cheerleader, the one who never let her doubt herself, even when she wanted to.

Her exhale is soft as a baby’s breath, fueled by the praise that sets her skin ablaze. “Lando,” she whispers, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck.

He chuckles, the sound of it full of want. “Right here, baby. What do you need?”

She can’t use her words at the moment. Instead, she just presses herself closer to him, silently telling him what she needs. And Lando gets the message loud and clear. With a firm grip, he walks them toward the bed, her body flush against his.

Clothes come off in a frenzy: her shirt lifted over her head, his sweatpants kicked away, her underwear dragged down her thighs in a rush. His lips are on her skin the entire time, trailing fire along her collarbones, down the valley between her breasts and over the curve of her stomach.

When she’s bare beneath him, he pulls back, drinking her in.

“Want on top?” asks Lando, a little smirk hanging in the corner of his mouth.

The girl shakes her head, “You first,” she teases, already breathless.

He doesn’t answer, but runs a hand down his face before gripping her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. She gasps as he positions himself behind her, big hands spreading across her waist. Lando’s fingers flex, gripping her like she belongs to him in ways neither of them can describe, but both agree on.

Gently, he presses a kiss to her shoulder blade, then another, before dragging his teeth along her heated skin. “Let me show you how high confidence can get you, baby.”

And then, he pushes inside.

A muffled moan spills from her lips, her back arching hard into him as he bottoms out, filling her completely. He presses his lips in a thin line at the feeling, at the way she welcomes him so perfectly, clenching around him like she was made for this. It’s hard to keep quiet, yet he wants to give himself the priviledge of being able to feel her like this a little longer.

“God, you feel so good,” he mumbles, his hands sliding up to her shoulders, fingers curling around them.

“Move then,” she orders, managing to get a chuckle out of him.

Lando’s thrusts are calculated at first, dragging along every sensitive spot inside her, pulling sounds out of her that go straight to his cock. But then he shifts, picking up speed, pounding into her with a precision that leaves her gasping further more.

Before she knows it, she’s drowning in all of it. The feeling of him, the way he takes control, and how patient he is with her.

“Lando,” she whines, voice muffled against the sheets.

“I know, baby,” he breathes, bending over her, pressing a hand to the pillow beside her head. “Just take it.”

He switches between teasing strokes and deep, hard thrusts, keeping her on edge, making her feel every inch of is length. The air around them is charged, filled with the scent of skin and something intoxicatingly sweet. Heat clings to them, heavy and thick, as if the room itself is suddenly caught in the same fever they are.

When he feels her tightening around him way too soon, Lando doesn’t hesitate to flip her onto her back again, eyes locked onto hers as he slides home once more. She whimpers at the quick change, at the way he goes so deep in this new position, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him even closer. Lando whimpers, dropping his forehead to hers, breath ragged against her lips.

“Look at you,” he can barely speak, “So. Good.”

She shivers at the praise, nails raking down his back, grounding herself in the heat of his skin. He watches her, pupils blown wide, drinking in every expression that flits across her face, from the parted lips and the way her brows knit together as pleasure overwhelms her, to the sheer need burning in her gaze. It’s almost too much for him, but the desire to see her crumbling for him like that is stronger.

The roll of his hips, every stretch, and every inch of him pressing into her it’s enough to send shudders through her body. He feels her everywhere: surrounding him, clinging to him like she’s planning to never let him go. And fuck, he never wants her to.

His hands roam her body, admiring every soft dip of her skin. One traces the swell of her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple before his lips follow, dragging warm, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, her neck, and anywhere he can reach. She tilts her head back, offering more of herself to him, and he groans against her skin, nipping at her pulse just to feel the way she gasps.

“Harder,” she breathes in such wrecked manner that sends a bolt of heat straight through him.

His body tenses for a split second before a sudden hunger flickers in his eyes. No hesitation. No teasing. Just a low, guttural curse as he grips her hips and thrusts into her with purpose, each snap of his hips punishing in the best way possible.

“That good for you?” he rasps, voice tight with control, but his pace says he’s barely holding on. She nods, but it’s not enough for him. Lando grips her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let me hear you.”

“Yes,” she moans, voice breaking as he drives into her harder. “Yes, you feel so good, baby. Don’t stop...”

Lando finds the strength to smile at her, watching her slowly coming undone beneath him, her body arching, legs tightening around his waist. “Won’t,” he assures her, “You take it so well, it drives me crazy,” he groans, his hand sliding between them, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling, teasing.

Her legs start trembling around his waist, and he knows she’s close. He can feel it in the way her body is betraying her, spasming around him, the way her breaths grow uneven, and how her hands tighten in his hair as if anchoring herself to him.

“Mhm,” he hums, his forehead pressed to hers. “Ready to come with me, love?”

She doesn’t have time to answer as she moans his name, a cry lost in their furtive kiss, just as her body tightens around him, pulling him over the edge right with her. His repetitive moans are maddening as he spills inside her, hips jerking, hands gripping her with a force that’s going to leave marks.

After that, he refuses to move. They just breathe, chests colliding against each other, bodies pressed so tightly together that it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Then, Lando tilts his head, pressing another lazy kiss to her lips before whispering against them. “Best student I’ve ever had.”

She laughs, smacking his shoulder, but she doesn’t deny it.

A shiver rolls down Lando’s spine as he pulls out, his body thrumming with aftershocks, oversensitive but still craving her. His eyes flutter shut for a second at the feeling — she’s still so tight, greedily clenching around nothing, the evidence of their release slick between them, a mess they should deal with but won’t. Not yet.

His cock, still heavy and slick, rests between them, twitching slightly as he leans down to kiss her again. It’s slow, languid, an extension of the pleasure still simmering in the air between them. His lips move against hers with a practiced ease, his body pressing into her as if he’s trying to mold them into one.

Then, his hand finds her neck. He squeezes lightly, just enough to make her breath hitch; his smirk against her lips is pure sin.

“Get on top,” he orders, voice thick with something commanding. His hands find her hips again, thumbs stroking the heated skin there. “I want you to reproduce every single thing I explained to you at the circuit today. Show me what you learned,” he provokes her, eyes dark with challenge.

She bites the inside of her cheek, chest burning at the way he looks at her — his lips parted, eyes filled with lust —, fueling her desire to show off.

Slowly, she sinks down onto him, gasping at the way he stretches her as if he wasn’t inside her not even two minutes ago. She lifts herself before easing back down, soon finding a rhythm that makes him curse under his breath.

“Keep your grip firm,” Lando instructs, trailing his fingers up her spine. “Don’t be afraid to push a little harder.”

She presses her hands to his chest and moves faster, earning a deep, satisfied moan from him.

“Fuck,” Lando swears under his breath, eyes flickering between her face and the way she moves on top of him. “Such a fast learner.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 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

[wonweige]

I want to see more of the princess's life on being a reminder of someone everyone lost! Maybe she acts like them unknowingly and Mydei is getting more overprotective cause of it!

❝ 185139144 ❞ ✶ but I see her in the back of my mind all the time ! ; not proofread — ignore typos </3 ++ reader (gn!) referred to as ‘you + parent + beloved’ (reader is NOT the little princess)

low-key feel like i didn't do this req justice erm </3 if you want me to redo this just tell me and i will !!

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who can feel the watchful eyes of guards no matter where she goes. her small hand clings to the skirt of her governess/nanny as they walk through the market, her expression not showing how she was slightly unsettled and also exasperated. seriously, did she really need guards watching over her 24/7 from the shadows? it was bad enough her uncle phainon constantly popped up out of nowhere and- oh, there he is now.

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who deadpans comically as her father enters her room for the umpteenth time that day, checking up on her and making sure she was safe and unharmed. she hadn't even left her room for half of the day, simply playing with the many toys her father had gifted her with, and here MYDEI was, fussing over her like she had been battling nikador himself.

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who finds herself staring at the painting of her parent more and more, finding the resemblance between her and them a bit... uncanny. down to the even the smallest curve of the face. she really was a carbon copy of them.

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who has been sleeping next to her dad for a while now.. she thinks he's been having nightmares, but she can't really be sure because her father isn't the type of guy to want company while he sleeps just because he's been having nightmares. still, every night, he either goes to her room or she goes to his and he holds her in his strong arms like she'd vanish if he let go.

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who likes watching her father train and spar with others. she'll sit to the side, her uncle phainon next to her in case anything went wrong, and cheer on her father with a dazzling smile on her features, confident he'll win because he's the crowned prince and her super strong dad who could take on the entire galaxy if he wanted to!

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who does not know how MYDEI's heart feels heavy as he hears her cheer him on from the sides, her words the exact same as his late beloved's. it's almost enough to make him lose his focus.

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who adores the same food as you. it even has to be prepared the exact same way or else she won't even spare it a single glance. much to her delight, it seems that everyone she asks knows how to make it exactly to her liking, telling her that they've made it a million times before. she does her best to ignore how the people that prepared the dish look at her with looks of nostalgia.

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who notices how her outings with her governess/nanny grow less frequent and her outings with her father grow more frequent. not that she's complaining! she loves spending time with her father, especially because he can never say no to her and spoils her rotten even if it's unintentional. she doesn't like how she can't run off, though.. her father always holds her hand or carries her when they're out.

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who gives an unamused look to her father as he squints with disapproval whenever a boy talks to her. "daddy, he was just asking me where the nearest bathroom was." "he should've asked someone else." "..."

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who is adored by the people. who wouldn't love her? sure, she may be a bit bossy at times, but she always wants the best for those around her. such a smart little girl.

── .✦ THE LITTLE PRINCESS, who can't help but giggle as her father leaves their daddy-daughter tea party, pretty [color] bows in his hair, to attend a meeting. nobody would dare say a thing to MYDEI, however, because who would dare question the crowned prince? (phainon did not let it go, however.)

[prettyangellllll]

Rafe admits that he loves you while making love to you

Warnings: (mature content (sexual themes), emotional vulnerability, angst, on-and-off relationship dynamics, slow-burn tension, confessions of love)

----

The room was bathed in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, its soft light flickering against the walls, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted with each slow movement. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of skin and something unspoken, something that had been lingering between you and Rafe for longer than you could pinpoint.

His hands were warm as they trailed over your skin, fingers ghosting over your ribs, down the curve of your waist. It wasn’t like before—before, when his touch had been rougher, filled with an almost reckless need. Before, when you weren’t sure if you were just another passing moment to him, something he could have and then forget. But now, his touch was different. Careful. Intentional. Like he was afraid you might slip away if he wasn’t careful enough.

You weren’t sure when the shift had happened—when Rafe had gone from keeping you at a distance to holding you like this, touching you like this. Maybe it had been gradual, so slow and subtle that you hadn’t noticed it happening until now. Until he was above you, his forehead resting against yours, breath warm against your lips, his fingers lacing through yours like he needed to hold onto you just as much as you needed to hold onto him.

Your mind barely had time to process the thought before he kissed you, slow and deep, like he was savoring every second. His lips moved against yours with a kind of tenderness that made your stomach tighten, your chest ache with something you didn’t know how to name. And when he pushed deeper inside you, his movements unhurried and deliberate, you felt everything all at once—the weight of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the way his body molded against you like he was made to fit there.

It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just lust-fueled need. This was something else. Something deeper.

And then, in the heat of the moment, when your body arched against his, when your nails dug into his shoulders, when you gasped his name like it was the only thing that existed in the world—he said it.

“I love you.”

The words came so quietly, so breathless, like he hadn’t meant to say them but couldn’t stop them from slipping past his lips.

But you barely had time to process them, too lost in the way he was holding you, the way his hands were gripping your hips like he didn’t want to let go, the way his mouth moved along your throat, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he could reach. The words got lost in the haze of pleasure, in the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered.

And then it was over.

The room was still, the only sound the quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the soft, uneven breaths between you. Rafe lay beside you, his body still tangled with yours, his arm draped lazily over your waist. His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles on your hip, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

You were still coming down from the high, still processing the way he had touched you, the way he had looked at you—like you were something fragile, something precious.

And then, out of nowhere, his voice broke through the silence.

“I meant it.”

You blinked, your heart stuttering in your chest as you turned your head to look at him.

He was staring at the ceiling, his expression unreadable, but there was no hesitation in his voice. No backtracking. No excuses.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. His fingers tightened slightly against your skin, like he was grounding himself. “I love you.”

This time, you heard it. This time, it wasn’t lost in the moment.

You were still caught in the aftermath of everything—the way his words had lingered in the air between you, heavy with the weight of something you hadn’t expected. Your heart was still racing, your chest still rising and falling in uneven breaths. The room felt too quiet now, too still, as if the very air had shifted in response to what he’d just said.

“I love you.” The words echoed in your mind, their meaning settling deep inside you, rattling around your chest like something fragile, something you didn’t know how to handle. It was a confession you hadn’t been prepared for, not from Rafe. Not from him.

You’d spent so long unsure of where you stood with him. His touch, his words—everything had been so inconsistent, like he was afraid of what he might feel, afraid of letting someone in. But now… now it was clear. He was still here. And he had just given you something you hadn’t realized you needed: the truth.

You turned your head slowly to face him, your eyes searching his profile. His jaw was tense, his lips slightly parted, like he was waiting for you to say something. But what could you say?

“I don’t—” You started, but your voice faltered, caught somewhere between confusion and something else, something softer. You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Are you sure?”

He shifted, his eyes finally meeting yours. There was no hesitation, no regret in his gaze—only something raw and real, something that had always been buried beneath the layers of his walls. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. His voice was steady, but you could feel the vulnerability in it, the honesty that was so rare for him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything more. The room was heavy with the weight of his words, the truth settling between you both. You wanted to say something, to ask him what this meant, to ask why it had taken so long for him to admit it, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you closed your eyes, letting the quiet envelop you, letting the feel of him next to you, his warmth, his presence, be enough for now.

Then he shifted, pulling you closer to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered again, softer this time, like it was a secret, like it was something only the two of you could share.

You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned into him, closing the gap between you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that this was real. That what you had with Rafe—whatever it was��was something worth holding onto.

And when the world outside felt too loud, too uncertain, you found solace in the quiet moments with him, in the way his arms held you, in the way his words, once so hard to come by, were now spilling from his lips like they’d always belonged there.

[pansexualkiba]

to begin with, I am sorry for your lived experiences, and I wish you hadn't gone through that. you deserve to have guardians who care for you, food you enjoy eating, and a government vested in your betterment. these are simple facts, and they are something we all deserve.

as a response, however, i am not telling you what you meant. i am making assumptions based on how you reacted to both the quoted statement and your response to someone screenshotting your starement. in short, your response was incredibly disproportionate and, frankly, inappropriate for the actual quote. what Bourdain is doing here is answering the question in a publication, "what is the sexiest thing [one] can do on a date". his response is a bit wordy, but what he describes is about how people who eat reservedly and self-consciously, as if to serve some unknown audience, are less attractive compared to, say, his wife, who has such zeal for what she eats that he, assumedly, married her. anthony bourdain is richer than both you and i will ever be (yes, combined), so assumingly he is talking about dates that he has been on, with another party who was similarly attracted to him, and were in rather fancy environments as well. he is talking about decorum here, and how, in his experience, if they are so obsessed with such in a low-light and intimate setting as a restaurant date, then in a furtherly intimate setting, such as sex, they will not be much more fun to be around.

you, admitting you do not know much about bourdain, stated that from this anecdote, he sounds like a creep and an "alpha male", because he makes a direct link from a date both agreed to to sex, and therefore further make a value judgement based on him answering a question about what he personally found attractive - a married man, who is presumably not seeking a third and spends a half of the question relating his experiences dating his wife. there is an inherent sexusm as to judging how someone eats, but you seem to misunderstand that this is supposed to be judging a woman on how she eats and insisting she should be more demure or polite - something bourdain is actively stating should not be the case. he is not taking a woman out to watch her eat (and even so, this is a rather neutral stance to have - presumably, she is also on the date because she wants to be there, and she can always leave because it is a public space), he is taking her out to eat and making a note of her dining habits to gauge her personality in private and, again, intimate settings.

your response and gut reaction were, in a word, disproportionate. however, this is your personal opinion, and that cannot be helped. improved upon by interacting with the text critically, yes, but i cannot put words into your mouth. however, you further responded to the text by acting as if bourdain discussing something he finds attractive about his wife (and, yes, kissing and sex, two things that tend to happen after a date) was somehow a personal attack on you. that, because he related that his wife likes lobster and beef, he is railing against veganism (a stance that comes up nowhere in the quoted passage), and therefore he is against you, as a person. he is not. you are reading so far into his words in a published interview that you are completely not interacting with the words on the page. your spite is completely unfounded and misplaced, and to simply say "its just my mental state" does not exonerate you from the fact that you decided what a person you will never meet finds attractive in someone who is not you was a personal attack against you regardless, and you lashed out against this perceived slight on a platform he will never be on on a post he will never see, and when someone else reacted to this with a picture that felt, to them, similarly absurd (allegedly), you, still feeling you were in the right for your completely detached response, said, "what's not clicking".

none of this is to invalidate your personal tribulations or your experiences as a woman. however, one must understand that, in a public forum, how you react to generally-neutral statements as "i like it when my dates don't care about restaurant etiquette" are going to be perceived by the public, especially people who read the tags out of curiosity, such as myself. no amount of "i wish to not be perceived" will change that. were my perceptions of you lacking in context and based on my own personal feelings? yes, and i apologize for overstepping in that regard. however, understand that i am also not stating you were right. because you weren't. and that, while the context for your eating habits are miserable, they do not change that you have a less-than-positive relation to both food and the act of eating, and that you took a man discussing eating in, likely, a high-end restaurant during a romantic excursion, and took it to be a criticism of you in your own house rationing out your food for the next month, and reacted publically and explosively along those lines. just because its your blog and your own personal thoughts does not mean people do not read them and react accordingly.

all this to say, i am returning to my original question: are you alright?

[hockeyluvrr]

BLENDER || lh43

MAIN MASTERLIST

summary: Love was never the problem-but distance, doubt, and heartbreak were. You tried to hold on. So did he. But when love stops being enough, what's left?

based on the song BLENDER by 5SOS

warnings: arguments, emotional tension, swearing, miscommunication, jealousy, confrontation, desperation, uncertainty, breaking up, heartbreak, emotional limbo, unresolved feelings, basically all the basic angst stuff lol

notes: holy shit, this came out of nowhere ngl... this is my longest fic yet and I love it so much. shoutout to my 5sos girlies, this is for you (mostly me though 🤭)

word count: 6,410

The fight had been over for an hour, but your phone was still buzzing.

LUKE: can you just pick up?

LUKE: i don’t want to end the night like this.

LUKE: please.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the notification. Your body still felt tight, wound up from everything you’d just screamed at each other. The distance was getting to both of you. Maybe it had been from the start.

This was supposed to be easy. A summer fling that accidentally turned into more.

You met Luke last July, when the air was thick with humidity and the nights bled into each other without much consequence. You didn’t think twice when it started—just a guy and a girl caught up in something fun, something fleeting.

But then August came, and instead of ending things, you found yourself tangled in his sheets, whispering promises neither of you had planned to make.

So now, months later, you were here—staring at his name on your phone, wondering if loving someone like this was supposed to feel like free-falling with no parachute.

Another buzz.

LUKE: i’m calling.

The screen lit up with his name, and you swore under your breath before finally answering.

“What?”

A beat of silence. Then, his voice—tired, frustrated, but still laced with something soft. “You actually picked up.”

“I figured you weren’t gonna stop until I did,” you muttered, shifting in bed. Your voice came out flat, but you weren’t sure how else to talk to him when your heart was still beating too fast from the argument.

Luke exhaled sharply. “I don’t get why you’re acting like I don’t care.”

“You don’t get it because you’re never here.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and aching.

His silence was louder than the words themselves.

“Y/N…” He sounded exhausted. “You know I can’t just—”

“I know, Luke,” you cut in. “I know you have a career. I know you can’t just drop everything for me. But I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one trying.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You sat up, gripping your blanket. “I call. I text. I make time. But when was the last time you put in the effort? When was the last time you planned something instead of just squeezing me in when it was convenient?”

His breath hitched, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the words.

The silence stretched.

You should’ve let it sit. Let him stew in it. But instead, your voice broke when you whispered, “Do you even miss me, Luke?”

The question must’ve hit him harder than anything else, because when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “Are you serious?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure you could.

“Of course I fucking miss you,” he snapped. “Every damn day. But I can’t just—” He cut himself off, cursing under his breath. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Y/N. I can’t fix the distance. I can’t fix my schedule. I can’t—”

“I don’t want you to fix it,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I just want to matter enough for you to try.”

The silence came back, heavier than before.

You closed your eyes. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Wait—”

“I need space, Luke.” Your throat tightened. “Just… goodnight.”

Then, before he could say anything else, you hung up.

You threw your phone onto the nightstand and curled up into yourself, letting the weight of it all crash down.

Outside, the city lights flickered through your window, but they didn’t feel warm. Not tonight.

Not when you weren’t sure if this was just another fight—

Or the beginning of the end.

———

You didn’t sleep.

Not really, anyway. You drifted in and out, your mind replaying every second of last night’s fight, twisting his words in a way that left a hollow ache in your chest.

By the time morning rolled around, your phone was still dark. No texts. No missed calls.

Luke had listened when you said you needed space.

You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or worse.

With a deep sigh, you pushed the blankets off and sat up, rubbing your hands over your face. The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional hum of traffic outside. It felt unnatural, like the silence had taken up permanent residence in your head, stretching far beyond last night.

You hated how much you missed him.

Even now, your body was wired to check your phone first thing in the morning, waiting for one of his lazy, half-awake messages. Morning, pretty girl. Wish you were here. Call me when you wake up.

But today, there was nothing.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. You were the one who ended the call. You were the one who asked for space.

So why did it feel like he was the one pulling away?

With a groan, you flopped back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling, replaying the fight in your head. Maybe you’d overreacted. Maybe you should’ve let him explain instead of throwing accusations like knives. You knew his schedule was hell. You knew long distance wasn’t easy.

But at the same time… when was the last time he really made you feel like a priority?

Before you could spiral any further, your phone buzzed.

Your heart jumped.

But when you grabbed it, the screen didn’t show Luke’s name.

It was your best friend, Riley.

RILEY: u up? brunch. now. no excuses.

You hesitated. Normally, you’d decline, opting to stay curled up in your thoughts. But today, with the weight of last night still pressing on your chest, you needed the distraction.

YOU: be there in 20.

—

The café was small and familiar, the kind of place you and Riley had claimed as your own years ago. The smell of coffee and syrup hung thick in the air, and the morning crowd buzzed around you.

Riley spotted you before you even reached the table. “Oh, yeah. You look rough.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped into the seat across from her. “Thanks.”

She pushed a mimosa toward you. “Drink. Then talk.”

You didn’t argue. One sip turned into two, and before you knew it, you were spilling everything—how Luke had called, how you fought, how you hung up first. How he hadn’t texted since.

Riley frowned. “So you told him you needed space, and now you’re mad that he’s giving it to you?”

You groaned, slumping in your seat. “Not when you say it like that.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to say it?” She arched a brow. “Did you expect him to blow up your phone? Show up at your door?”

You hated that you didn’t have a good answer.

Riley sighed, softer this time. “I get it, babe. I do. Long distance sucks. And I know you’re tired of feeling like you’re the only one putting in the effort. But you guys love each other, right?”

Your stomach twisted. Love.

Neither of you had said it yet.

Riley noticed your silence and leaned forward. “Wait. Have you guys even talked about—?”

“No,” you cut in quickly, suddenly regretting this conversation. “It’s not like that.”

She gave you a knowing look but didn’t push. “Okay. So what is it like?”

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “It’s…” You struggled for the right words. “It’s messy. It’s intense. It’s too much but never enough at the same time.”

Riley nodded like she understood, even though you weren’t sure you did.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then, she reached for her phone.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, with a pointed look, she turned the screen toward you.

Luke’s latest Instagram post stared back at you.

Your chest tightened.

It was a photo of him at practice, mid-laugh, sweaty and effortless in a way that made your heart ache. The caption was simple. Back at it.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing emotional.

But all the comments blurred together in your head. Can’t wait to watch you this season! Missed you on the ice! Looking good, Hughesy!

It was a reminder that, while you were sitting here overthinking everything, Luke was out there living.

Like last night never happened.

Like you didn’t happen.

You swallowed hard. “So what? He’s just… moving on?”

Riley gave you a sympathetic look. “Or maybe he’s just waiting. For you to reach out first.”

You stared at the screen, your stomach twisting into knots.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you should text him.

Or maybe the cracks were already too deep to fix.

———

It had been three days.

Three days since the fight. Three days since you hung up on Luke. Three days of absolute silence.

You told yourself you wouldn’t be the one to break first. If he cared, he’d reach out. If he wanted this to work, he’d try.

But every hour that passed without his name lighting up your phone chipped away at your resolve.

You were starting to wonder if maybe this was how it ended—not with a dramatic goodbye, but with a slow, suffocating silence that swallowed you whole.

And yet, even with the weight of it pressing down on your chest, you still couldn’t bring yourself to text him first.

Instead, you did the worst possible thing.

You checked social media.

Luke wasn’t the type to post often, but his teammates were. And there he was—in a video on Jack’s story, laughing in the background, surrounded by friends, a drink in hand like the last three days hadn’t meant anything to him.

You stared at the screen, your grip tightening on your phone.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe you were reading too much into it.

But the longer you watched, the worse it got.

Because then she appeared.

A girl you didn’t recognise—blonde, wearing a Devils jersey far too oversized to be her own—sidling up next to Luke, whispering something in his ear. He didn’t move away. Didn’t look uncomfortable. Just smirked, shaking his head at whatever she said before taking another sip of his drink.

Your stomach twisted.

The worst part wasn’t the fact that she was there. It wasn’t even the fact that Luke didn’t seem to mind.

It was the fact that, for the first time since you met him, you had no idea where you stood.

You weren’t his girlfriend, not officially.

Not really.

Because when the summer ended, neither of you had wanted to put a label on it. You told yourselves it was easier that way—no pressure, no expectations, just whatever this was.

But now, as you watched him on that screen, looking so effortlessly unbothered, it hit you like a fucking freight train.

Maybe you’d been wrong.

Maybe you weren’t something worth holding on to.

The buzzing in your head was so loud that you almost didn’t hear Riley calling your name.

You blinked, barely processing that she was standing in the doorway of your apartment. “Are you even listening?”

You swallowed hard, locking your phone before she could see the screen. “What?”

She sighed, stepping inside and dropping onto your couch. “I said we’re going out tonight. You need a distraction.”

“I don’t need a distraction,” you muttered, even as you stared blankly at the wall.

Riley rolled her eyes. “Okay, so what? You’re just gonna sit here all night, refreshing Instagram like a psycho?”

Your silence must have been answer enough.

She groaned. “Y/N. Come on. I love you, but this? This isn’t healthy. You don’t even know what’s going on.”

You clenched your jaw. “I know enough.”

She gave you a long look, then sighed. “Fine. If you’re not gonna let it go, then at least don’t let him be the only one having fun tonight.”

You hesitated.

Riley saw the crack in your resolve and jumped on it. “Just a couple drinks. That’s all I’m asking.”

You weren’t sure why you agreed. Maybe it was the fact that you’d barely left your apartment in days. Maybe it was the need to feel something—anything—other than this ache in your chest.

Or maybe, deep down, it was the smallest, most pathetic part of you that wanted Luke to see you moving on, too.

———

The bar was packed. Music pulsed through the speakers, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol and too many bodies crammed into one space.

It should’ve felt suffocating.

But instead, with a drink in your hand and Riley’s laughter ringing in your ears, you almost managed to forget.

Almost.

At least, until your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You knew who it was before you even checked.

LUKE: are you out?

Your heart nearly stopped. After three days of nothing, this was how he chose to reach out? Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and typed back before you could think better of it.

YOU: why do you care?

His response was instant.

LUKE: where are you?

You stared at the message, pulse pounding in your ears.

He had no right to be asking that. Not after ignoring you. Not after letting you sit with the weight of this fight while he went out, acting like he didn’t care.

So instead of answering, you did the stupidest thing possible.

You let some guy buy you another drink.

You didn’t know his name. Didn’t care. He was tall, attractive, and most importantly—he wasn’t Luke.

And if you felt the burn of guilt in your chest when he leaned in closer, when his fingers brushed against yours. You shouldn’t even feel guilty, right? Luke’s been doing the same thing.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until your phone buzzed again.

LUKE: Y/N.

One words. Your name. That’s all it took to make your breath hitch.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a fight. It wasn’t just a rough patch.

This was a game.

———

The tension had been simmering all night.

It started with Luke’s text. One simple word that crawled under your skin, wrapping around your ribs like a vice. But what pissed you off the most wasn’t the message itself.

It was the fact that he suddenly cared.

After three days of silence. After her in his Instagram story. After making you feel like you were the only one suffering through this distance.

And now, here he was, acting like he had a say in what you did.

So you ignored the text.

And maybe you let that guy keep flirting with you a little longer than you should have. Maybe you let his hand linger at the small of your back when he leaned in to talk. Maybe you even laughed a little louder, tilted your chin just enough that if Luke somehow saw—if he was watching—he’d know exactly what you were doing.

It was petty. It was reckless.

But so was loving someone who could make you feel this small.

The tension cracked the second you stepped outside the bar.

Luke was waiting.

You nearly tripped when you saw him, heart slamming against your ribs. He was standing near the curb, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was trying to grind his teeth into dust.

Your stomach flipped. He was here. He actually came.

But you weren’t sure if that made things better or worse.

His eyes locked onto you immediately, flickering down to the guy who had followed you out. And in that moment, the simmering tension didn’t just build. It exploded.

“The fuck is this?” Luke’s voice was low, controlled—but you knew him well enough to hear the storm brewing beneath it.

You blinked, still caught off guard by the fact that he was here. “What?”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “Who the hell is he?”

The guy next to you—God, you didn’t even remember his name—shifted awkwardly. “Uh—”

“Not your business, Hughes,” you cut in before he could finish.

Luke’s eyes snapped back to you. “Not my business?”

“You heard me.” Your pulse was pounding, but you forced yourself to hold your ground. “You don’t get to disappear for three days and then show up acting like you have any right to be pissed.”

Luke let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “That’s funny, because I could say the same thing. You tell me you need space, ignore me for days, and then I see you all over some guy?”

“I ignored you?” You scoffed, anger bubbling to the surface. “That’s rich, Luke. Where the hell were you? Oh, right—too busy playing NHL golden boy, letting some random girl hang off you—”

“What girl?”

The fact that he had the audacity to act confused made your blood boil. “Don’t play dumb.” You crossed your arms, nails digging into your skin. “The blonde. The one in your jersey.”

Luke stared at you for a moment, then let out another disbelieving laugh. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“She’s Jack’s friend. She was at the game. I barely talked to her.” He shook his head, eyes dark with frustration. “Jesus, Y/N. You saw a story and what—just assumed the worst?”

You hated the way your stomach twisted at that.

Because maybe—just maybe—he was right. Maybe you had let jealousy cloud your judgment. Maybe you had let the silence between you turn into something uglier than it was ever meant to be.

But that didn’t change the fact that this wasn’t just about her.

It was about everything.

The late-night calls that were always cut short. The weeks without seeing each other. The way it felt like you were constantly reaching for him while he was always a step too far away.

“You let me assume the worst,” you muttered, voice shaking despite yourself. “Because you never do anything to prove me wrong.”

Luke’s expression flickered—just for a second. And in that second, you saw it. The guilt.

But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” His voice was quieter now, raw around the edges. “That I wish I could be around more? That I fucking hate the distance just as much as you do?” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You act like this is easy for me. Like I don’t miss you every goddamn day.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why don’t you act like it?”

He stared at you, breathing hard, like he was trying to find the right words—but they never came.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

There was always so much left unsaid.

Neither of you spoke. The tension that had been simmering all night was now crackling in the air between you, but this time, there was nowhere left for it to go.

The guy you had walked out with cleared his throat. “Uh—”

Luke’s head snapped toward him. “Leave.”

“Luke—”

“No, it’s fine.” The guy held up his hands, clearly deciding that whatever this was, it wasn’t worth the drama. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You didn’t watch him leave. You didn’t even care.

Because all of your attention was on Luke.

On the way his shoulders were tense, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes locked onto yours like this was some kind of battle neither of you knew how to win.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you exhaled. “So what now?”

Luke hesitated.

And that hesitation—that tiny moment of uncertainty—made something inside you crack.

Because if he didn’t know, then maybe you already did.

Maybe you’d known for a while.

Maybe you just hadn’t wanted to say it out loud.

You swallowed hard. “I can’t keep doing this, Luke.”

His face fell.

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth.

I can’t keep doing this, Luke.

Because now they were out there, hanging heavy in the space between you, and you couldn’t take them back.

Luke’s face twisted, like the weight of them had hit him straight in the chest. He shifted slightly, like he wanted to move closer but didn’t know if he was still allowed to. “You don’t mean that.”

Your throat tightened. Didn’t you?

“I don’t know,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of the city around you. “I don’t know what I mean anymore.”

That seemed to snap something in him. His jaw clenched, frustration bleeding into his voice. “So what? You just want to walk away?”

Your stomach twisted. That wasn’t what you wanted—not really. But maybe it would be easier. Maybe it would hurt less than this constant, suffocating ache in your chest.

“I don’t want to,” you admitted, voice cracking. “But, Luke… I don’t know how to keep this from falling apart.”

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Then we figure it out.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “And how do we do that? Because I’m fucking exhausted. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one fighting for this.”

That made something flicker in his expression—something wounded. “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened. “You think I don’t fight for this? You think I don’t want to be with you?”

“I think you want me when it’s convenient.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take them back. “When you have time. When it doesn’t get in the way of your schedule.”

Luke took a step closer, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” You could feel your control slipping, the frustration bubbling over. “Because I spend every day waiting for you to call, waiting for you to show up—and half the time, I’m left wondering if you even remember I exist.”

Luke’s brows furrowed, his expression torn between anger and something softer, something that looked like guilt.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, voice tight. “You have no fucking clue how hard this is for me too.”

“Then tell me.” Your voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Because all I know is that I feel like I’m constantly reaching for you, and you’re never there.”

Luke let out a frustrated breath, his hands flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I don’t know how to do this, okay? I don’t know how to give you everything you deserve while I’m a thousand miles away.”

Your chest ached at the confession, at the vulnerability underneath the frustration. But it didn’t change anything.

“I’m not asking for everything, Luke.” Your voice softened just slightly. “I’m just asking for something.”

Luke shook his head, exhaling sharply. “I—fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to pull himself together. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenched.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Neither of you knew how to fix it. But neither of you could bear the thought of letting go.

Luke’s gaze searched yours, desperate and pleading. “Tell me what to do.”

Your throat felt tight. “I don’t have the answer.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The tension was suffocating, your emotions teetering on a knife’s edge.

Then, suddenly, Luke moved.

He reached for you like it was instinct, his hands cupping your face, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath was shaky, his grip almost too tight—like he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers.

“I love you.” The words were barely above a whisper, but they hit you like a punch to the chest.

Your breath hitched.

Because he’d never said it before. Neither of you had.

You felt your resolve cracking, splintering under the weight of those three words.

But love wasn’t always enough.

And as much as you wanted to believe this was the turning point—the moment everything changed—you weren’t sure if this was a beginning or just the messiest part of the end.

Because Luke had never said those words before.

And you’d spent so long wondering if he ever would—if he ever could.

Now, here they were, hanging in the air between you like a lifeline you weren’t sure you could reach for.

I love you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the way his hands trembled against your skin. He was holding you so tightly, like he thought you might slip through his fingers if he let go.

And maybe he was right.

Because as much as you wanted to say it back—as much as you felt it—you weren’t sure love was enough to fix this.

Your throat felt tight. “Luke…”

He shook his head quickly, like he already knew what you were going to say. “Don’t. Just—don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

Your heart twisted. “I do mean it.”

Luke’s breath hitched, but before he could say anything, you continued.

“I love you, Luke.” The words tasted like the truth, and you hated how much it hurt to say them. “But I don’t know if that changes anything.”

Luke exhaled sharply, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were desperate, searching. “Of course it changes things.”

You swallowed hard. “Does it?”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to ask that. “It has to.”

Your chest ached. Because you wanted to believe that. You wanted to believe that loving each other was enough to make the distance bearable, to make the jealousy fade, to make the ache in your chest disappear every time he left.

But love wasn’t a bandage. It didn’t erase the late nights spent staring at your phone, wondering if he’d call. It didn’t undo the fights, the silences, the way you felt like you were constantly fighting a battle you didn’t know how to win.

Luke must have seen the hesitation on your face because his grip tightened. “Y/N, I need you to tell me what to do here.” His voice was quiet, but it was raw, edged with frustration and fear. “Because I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to make this work.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know either.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Neither of you had the answers.

You loved him, and he loved you. But love alone wasn’t fixing anything.

Luke clenched his jaw. “So what? We just give up?”

You inhaled sharply. “I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” he pleaded. “Stay.”

Your heart cracked straight down the middle.

Because God, you wanted to stay. You wanted to hold onto him and pretend like love was enough. You wanted to ignore the distance, the fights, the uncertainty.

But how much longer could you keep pretending that love was enough to stop this from falling apart?

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “Luke, I don’t know how to keep doing this.”

His expression twisted, something breaking in his gaze.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

The silence felt heavier than ever before. Stretching between you, thick and suffocating.

Luke’s hands were still on you, but his grip had loosened—like he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t hold on forever.

But neither of you were ready to say it out loud.

Not yet.

“I can do better,” he said suddenly, voice hoarse. “I’ll—fuck, I’ll make more time. I’ll fly out every chance I get. I’ll call more. Whatever you need.”

Your chest ached at the desperation in his voice.

Because he meant it. You knew he did.

But the problem was never him meaning it.

The problem was reality—the way life always seemed to get in the way, no matter how much either of you wanted to pretend otherwise.

You swallowed hard. “Luke…”

“Just give me a chance,” he pleaded. “One more chance to make this work.”

You hated how badly you wanted to say yes.

Because you did. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that one more try would be enough. That if you just held on a little longer, fought a little harder, things would get easier.

But history had already proven otherwise.

Still, when you looked at him—at the raw emotion in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers—you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

Not yet.

You exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

Luke’s shoulders sagged with relief, and before you could second-guess it, he was pulling you against him. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in your hair, like he was trying to memorise the feel of you against him.

“I love you,” he murmured again, like saying it enough times would make everything okay.

You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the back of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

And you did.

But deep down, you had a sinking feeling that love wouldn’t be enough to save you.

Not this time.

———

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

For a little while, it almost felt like things were okay. Luke called more, sent you stupid texts throughout the day, made an effort to remind you that he wanted this, that he wanted you.

And maybe that should’ve been enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because even when he was trying—when he was doing everything he promised he would—the ache in your chest never really went away.

It wasn’t just the distance. It was the exhaustion. The weight of trying so hard, only to feel like you were running in circles.

Like you were holding onto something that was already slipping through the cracks.

And now, standing in his apartment, you felt the final thread start to snap.

Luke was frustrated. You could see it in the way he raked a hand through his hair, in the way his jaw kept clenching like he was trying to hold something back.

“Jesus, Y/N, what else do you want me to do?” His voice wasn’t raised, but it was edged with something sharp, something tired. “I’m trying. I’m here. What more do you want?”

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding against your ribs. “I don’t know.”

Luke let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You have to know. Because I can’t keep guessing what’s going to make you happy.”

Your stomach twisted. “This isn’t just about me.”

“No? Because it sure as hell feels like I’m the only one bending over backward to make this work.”

That stung.

Because you had been trying. You had been fighting for this.

But maybe that was the difference.

Luke thought fixing this was about doing things—calling more, texting more, showing up when he could. And sure, those things mattered. But that wasn’t what was breaking you.

It was everything in between.

The distance that couldn’t be closed by a few extra phone calls. The silence that still felt heavy, even when you were together. The way you still felt alone, even in the moments he was right in front of you.

It wasn’t about effort anymore. It was about the fact that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t supposed to keep fighting for something that hurt this much.

Your throat felt tight. “I don’t think we can fix this.”

Luke froze.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, his expression hardened. “So that’s it?”

Your chest ached. “Luke—”

“No, seriously. That’s it?” He let out a sharp breath, stepping back like he couldn’t stand being this close to you anymore. “We hit a rough patch, and you just decide it’s not worth it?”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “This isn’t just a rough patch.” Your voice wavered. “We’ve been fighting for months. We keep trying, and it’s not working.”

Luke shook his head, eyes dark with frustration. “No. You keep doubting us. You keep looking for an excuse to leave.”

That felt like a slap.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Your voice cracked. “Do you think I want to feel like this? To feel like I’m constantly begging for something that’s never enough?”

Luke’s expression flickered—like maybe, just maybe, he finally saw how much this had been hurting you.

But the worst part?

You knew it was hurting him too.

That was what made this so fucking unbearable.

Because this wasn’t about not loving each other.

It was about the fact that love had stopped being enough.

Luke’s hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, but it still felt like a punch to the gut.

“You really want to do this?”

No.

God, no.

But what choice did you have?

Your chest felt like it was caving in, but you forced yourself to nod. “Yeah.”

Luke inhaled sharply, like he’d been punched.

And just like that, it was over.

The fight drained out of him all at once. His shoulders slumped, his eyes flickering toward the floor. “Okay.”

You weren’t sure which hurt more—the frustration, the fighting, or this.

The emptiness.

The realisation that there was nothing left to say.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I should go.”

Luke didn’t stop you.

And somehow, that was the worst part of all.

———

The apartment felt too quiet.

Your suitcase sat half-open by the door, clothes spilling out of it. You hadn’t unpacked since you got back a week ago, pathetically trying to cling onto something you weren’t ready to let go of.

But what was left to stay for?

Your hands shook as you opened it further, starting to finally unpack. Your chest felt hollow, like the fight had carved out a part of you that you weren’t sure would ever feel whole again.

You had been the one to walk away.

So why did it feel like you had just lost everything?

You had told yourself that this was the right decision. That love—no matter how deep, no matter how real—wasn’t always enough. That some things just didn’t work, no matter how badly you wanted them to.

But God, it hurt.

Your phone sat on the bedside table, untouched since you got back to your apartment.

Luke hadn’t called.

And you weren’t sure what hurt more—the idea that he was too angry to reach out, or the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he had already accepted this.

That he was ready to let you go.

You weren’t sure you were ready to let go of him.

But you had already done the hardest part. You had walked out of his apartment, out of his life.

Now, you just had to figure out how to live with it.

———

The silence in the apartment was unbearable.

Luke had never noticed how loud it was when you were here—the hum of your voice on the phone, the sound of your laugh echoing from the other room, the way you always seemed to fill the space in a way he never had.

Now, it was just quiet.

And he fucking hated it.

His hands flexed at his sides as he paced the living room, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

You were gone.

And it wasn’t a stupid fight. It wasn’t a rough patch.

This time, you weren’t coming back.

Luke had thought about calling you. Had stared at his phone for so long that his vision blurred, the screen taunting him with your name.

But what would he even say?

That he was sorry? That he still loved you? That he wanted to take it all back, but he knew deep down that nothing had changed?

That no matter how much he wanted to fix this, some things just weren’t meant to be fixed?

Luke sat down heavily on the couch, staring at the door like he half expected you to walk back in.

But you wouldn’t.

And he wasn’t sure how to live with that.

———

Time was supposed to make this easier.

That’s what everyone told you. That eventually, the ache in your chest would dull, and one day you’d wake up without the weight of him pressing against your ribs.

But weeks had passed. Then months.

And Luke still felt like a ghost in your life.

He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. In the song that played in the coffee shop, in the hoodie still shoved in the back of your closet because you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away. In the fleeting moments when you reached for your phone before remembering that he wasn’t yours to call anymore.

You had moved on, technically. You did all the things you were supposed to do—went out with friends, filled your days with distractions, pretended like the hole in your chest wasn’t still there.

But every time you saw his name in a headline, every time you heard his voice in an interview, it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Because you still missed him.

And no matter how much time passed, you weren’t sure you’d ever stop.

———

He didn’t talk about you.

Not to his teammates, not to his family, not even when Jack asked in that quiet, careful way that made Luke’s jaw tighten.

Because if he didn’t talk about you, maybe he could pretend like he wasn’t still thinking about you.

Like he didn’t check his phone some nights, scrolling mindlessly, hoping to see your name somewhere even though he knew he wouldn’t.

Like he didn’t still hear your voice in the back of his head sometimes, teasing him, laughing, telling him you loved him.

It was pathetic, probably. Holding onto something that was already gone.

But Luke had never been good at letting go.

He threw himself into hockey. Into practices, games, anything that kept him too exhausted to think about the way his apartment still felt empty without you.

But some nights, when the adrenaline faded and the silence crept in, he wondered.

If you still thought about him. If you still missed him the way he missed you.

If this was really over.

Or if maybe, just maybe, it never really would be.

[narcissisticsmoker]

The door clicks shut and the silence is suffocating. The weight of the day sits heavy in my chest, but none of it matters the second I see her. My girl. Sitting at her desk, bathed in the soft glow of her screen, oblivious to the way I am watching her.

The second my eyes land on her, it’s over. The exhaustion is still there, gnawing at my bones, but it can’t compete with the hunger. Not when she’s sitting there, in my space, under my roof, wearing my shirt and nothing else, like she forgot who it belongs to. Like she forgot who she belongs to.

I don’t speak. I don’t have to. My hand wraps around the back of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her head tilt back. She gasps, her body arching for me before her mind can catch up. Her lips part, but no words come out because she sees it in my eyes. The need. The obsession. The dark, unrelenting claim I wear like a second skin.

You left me waiting, I murmur, my mouth against her jaw, tracing the line of her throat with my teeth, feeling her pulse jump beneath my tongue. You sat here working while I was out there losing my mind thinking about you. My fingers trail down her chest, her stomach, slipping under the edge of the shirt that barely covers her. I should punish you for that.

Her breath stutters, her thighs clenching instinctively, but I slide my hand between them, fingers pressing into her inner thigh, spreading her open before she can even think to resist. Her head falls back against my shoulder, her body already melting into mine like she knows fighting me is useless. There’s nowhere to go. There’s only me. There’s only this.

I’m too tired to be gentle, I whisper, my teeth grazing her ear, too tired to ask. I’ll take what’s mine and you’ll give it to me because you belong to me. I pull her up from the chair, dragging her back into my chest, my hand locked tight around her throat as I walk her to the bed. Her knees hit the edge first, and I shove her forward, watching her fall onto her hands before I press my body down over hers.

My weight keeps her pinned, her breath coming faster, her fingers curling into the sheets as I shove the shirt up to her waist. You know better, I growl into her ear, my hand sliding between her thighs, fingers spreading her open until she’s gasping, already wet, already mine. You know better than to make me wait for you. I’m not patient. I’m not gentle. Not after a day like this.

Her voice breaks when I push into her, my hand still around her throat, holding her still, making her take every inch, making her remember exactly who owns her. My girl. My possession. The only thing that keeps me sane and drives me insane all at once.

I don’t stop until my name is the only thing she remembers how to say. Until I’ve left my fingerprints on her skin, my marks on her throat, my obsession buried so deep inside her she’ll feel it tomorrow.

I’ll sleep when I’m done with you, I whisper into her hair, and not a second before.

Because no matter how tired I am, I will always need you more.

[irisintheafterglow]

suggestive. (yes i'm listening to too much epic: the musical again)

the tell-tale clang of a metal hat being set on your table reaches you in the kitchen. you can hear his shit-eating grin from around the corner and use a considerable amount of effort to keep your voice nonchalant. "where were you?"

"i'm flattered you missed me," he drawls, unbothered by your crossed arms and withering glare as you enter the dining room. "i know you have a soft spot in your black heart for me."

"you're putting words in my mouth," you grumble as he continues to float carefreely around you, gliding along like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. his lips twist into a mischievous smile and he's about to retort something suggestive when you cut him off. "if you say something foolish, i will sic my dogs upon you."

"you're no fun," he says with an exaggerated pout. with the back of his calves resting on the nearest ceiling beam, he hangs upside down in front of you like a fruit bat; his bright white hair and ice-blue eyes stand out among the dim candlelight of your home. "if you must know, i was with a mortal." he knows the effect of his phrasing, even if you try to hide the irritated twitch of your eye as you brush past him.

"i don't wish to hear of your...escapades," you deadpan.

"it was a man," god of mischief!satoru amends, but you're still skeptical.

"he wouldn't be the first."

"hey!" you finally crack a small smirk at his indignance but quickly wipe your face into blankness. "he's my great-great grandson."

"a hero, then?"

"you could call him that." you roll his eyes at his cryptic answer and continue to take inventory of various spell ingredients as a way to deprive him of attention. "c'mon, there's no need to be jealous," he says in that melodic voice that had your knees weak and simultaneously made you want to send him to the underworld.

"i feel nothing of the sort," you say through gritted teeth, which only makes him grin further. you turn and lean back against your kitchen counter as he noiselessly lands on the floor to stand in front of you, resting his hands on the counter at your sides. "this isn't going to work, you know."

"you've told me that before and still ended up in my chambers," he says in a hushed tone, leaning close enough to brush his nose against yours. your cheeks flush hot and your heart hammers in your chest, but you refuse to back down. it certainly doesn't help that his tunic is draped in such a way that accentuates his broad shoulders and barely covers the bottom half of his chest. damn you, god-bod satoru.

"i mean, you're not getting off that easily for stealing," you state dryly, placing your hands on his chest--taking care not to touch any exposed skin or you'd be compromised instantly--and pushing with just enough force to escape.

"stealing? i've done nothing of the sort!" he protests. you sense him reach for your wrist a split second before his fingers make contact with your skin and you feel his irritation when you pull away just before he grabs you. he groans like you'd told him he wasn't allowed dessert after dinner and you can imagine him stamping his feet behind you childishly. "you're being cruel."

"and you're lying to me," you reply. "though i can't say i'm surprised, considering you treat everything like a toy in your playpen."

"you're not a toy to me," he says with a gravely serious tone. you hum, unconvinced. stealing moly wasn't the harshest slight, not by a long shot, but the opportunity to have the great god of mischief groveling at your feet was too good to pass up.

"almost bought that one, but good try." something shifts in his expression that makes your stomach flip involuntarily.

"i'm serious. you've never been temporary to me," satoru reiterates, attempting to charm through your defenses again. "go ahead, cast a spell on me. order me to tell the truth and what you hear will remain the same." he takes a careful step forward and, by some miracle, you don't take a step away in turn. "well? cast it."

"that...that won't be necessary," you mumble, fully aware that your guard was crumbling with every inch he closed the distance between your bodies. when he's close enough that you can feel the pure sunlit warmth radiate from his body, you avert your eyes and study the gaps between the paving stones. "i'm still mad at you," you remind him when you let his finger tilt your gaze to face him. his expression is gentle, vulnerable in a way that he wouldn't dare to act with any other. "and i won't let you kiss me until you admit your crime."

"crime is an exaggeration," he attempts and you shrug, abruptly turning to leave when his hand shoots out with inhuman speed, finally catching your wrist and spinning you back to face him. "fine. yes, i stole the moly."

"what did you do with it?"

"i gave it to that hero we were talking about," he says a little too quickly to be considered innocent.

"and?" he blinks at you and hopes you would let him off the hook. you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side and he relents.

"anditoldhimtouseitagainstcircebecausehemadeareallygoodspeechandithoughtitwouldbefunnyifhefoughtherusingmoly." your jaw hangs open and you have no other option but to stare at him, incredulous.

"you gave my most powerful root to a mortal...because you thought it was funny?" you echo in disbelief.

"in my defense--"

"no, not 'in your defense' satoru," you huff as he sputters to give you a reasonable explanation. "if you're going to play with the mortal world, leave me and my work out of it." his shoulders sag in defeat and his lips dip into a pout. he's one more word away from grabbing his hat and never bothering you again when you speak--

"now kiss me before i remember how much you vex me."

lit up like every constellation combined, he wastes no time in grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against his body. he cheekily attempts to tease you, leaning just close enough to brush your lips, but fails at his own trap and ends up kissing you more fervently. threading your fingers into his hair, he hums into your mouth and takes your breath in a way that becomes more addicting than any concoction you could create in your kitchen.

"so," he murmurs when he lets you take a breath, "am i forgiven?"

"take me to bed and ask me when the sun appears."

[thranduel]

reminder: mike was will’s friend first. will loved mike first.

el wouldn’t have even met mike if she didn’t open the gate that resulted in will’s disappearance where mike ended up searching for him.

mike and el’s relationship would be over and mike never would’ve told el he loves her if WILL didn’t lie to him in the van with his own painting and confession and pretend it was all from el when it wasn’t.

so really, if you want to talk about “stealing” (even though none of these kids would intentionally steal anything from each other and i’m obviously not directly blaming them, but i’m definitely blaming the writers), wouldn’t it be correct to say that everything was stolen from will?

his first love, his best friend, his childhood.

oh, and don’t even get me started on entire plot points and things mike does - most of the things people romanticise about mike doing for el (looking out for her, giving her a safe space, crying when he loses her, hugging his mother after she disappears, holding something that reminds him of her in his basement, never giving up on trying to contact her, being extremely worried and protective of her when she returns) is literally what he did for will first. every single thing i listed is what he did for will first. yet of course, no one seems to care about the closeness of their relationship and loves pretending that mike only did these things for el.

anyways, back to what i was saying before - the moment that gate opened because of el, will’s life changed in a way that could never, ever go back to how it once was.

while will was all alone in the upside down suffering, el randomly appeared out of nowhere, met mike and became closer to him, and they eventually started a romantic relationship at 12 years old after knowing each other for 6 days when mike kissed her.

when will returns, not only does he have ptsd and physical symptoms from the upside down, but he also has to live with the fact that the boy he loves most is now focused on someone else - the same person that caused his disappearance in the first place. i could truly think of no bigger slap in the face for this character… this is unbearable and cruel and the writers did all of it on purpose knowing that he loved mike the entire time too.

how could they do this and not intend for will to finally get the boy he loves in the end?

how do you have the audacity to say that will would be “stealing” mike from el when mike was the one stolen from HIM in the first place? and in case you had forgotten, will is the only reason mike said he loved el because he sacrificed his OWN feelings for mike and lied about the painting. he didn’t have to do any of that for them, but he did. i don’t even know why, after all the suffering he’s been put through, but it just shows he’s too good and kind. so don’t you dare ever say that will would be “stealing” mike from el when he loved him first AND sacrificed so much for him. THAT is the definition of true, unconditional love, the type of love that mike wants and needs, and it’s all from will.

[winterlico]

SEVEN DAYS WITH A DEMON — SJY

⋆.˚ pairing : demon!Jake x fem!reader | status : on going

Summary : You thought summoning a demon for seven days would be temporary. You were wrong.

⋆.˚ word count : 6.3k

Genre : Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Light Angst, Fluff

⋆.˚ warnings : 18+ joke (implicitly), harsh words, making out, LOTS of teasing (buckle up)

⋆.˚ a/n : English is not my first language and this is the first time i uploaded a fanfic, i'm sorry if there is still a lot missing words. If you want to be tagged, comment here!

❛ feedback & reblogs appreciated! ❜

Night Seven: The Final Wish

The television hums quietly in the background, flickering between news channels, late-night talk shows, and commercials that neither of you are paying attention to. The apartment is dim, bathed in the glow of the screen, casting long shadows against the walls.

You are both sprawled on the couch, slumped against each other like it's the most natural thing in the world—Jake’s body warm against yours, his arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, his golden eyes fixed on the flickering images but his mind clearly elsewhere. And yours? Yours is nowhere near the television either.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting like this, tangled together, neither of you moving, neither of you speaking. It should be comfortable—it always is. But tonight, the air feels different. Heavy. Like something is about to happen. Like something is changing. Your fingers grip the edge of the blanket draped over your lap, your breath slow, measured, as if holding it steady will keep the thoughts from crashing into you all at once.

Because tonight is the last night.

Tonight, he’s supposed to leave.

Your throat tightens at the thought, your stomach twisting with something you refuse to name. Seven nights. That’s all you were given. Seven nights with a demon who has done nothing but infuriate you, tease you, unravel you. Seven nights where he has become more than just a summoned being bound by contract—more than just a temporary presence in your life.

And now?

Now, it's over.

Jake shifts beside you, and when you glance at him, your breath catches slightly. He isn't watching the TV anymore. He's watching you.

His golden eyes flick over your features, slow, careful, like he's committing every detail to memory—the way your lips part slightly as you take a shaky breath, the way your fingers curl into the fabric of your hoodie, the way your chest rises and falls just a little too unevenly. He doesn't say anything, but you can feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his jaw tightens slightly.

He's thinking it too.

He should be relieved. He should be eager—this is what every summoned demon waits for. The contract is nearly fulfilled, the bond will be severed, and he will be free. And yet—he hasn’t moved. He hasn’t said anything about it. And the weight of that realization settles deep into your bones.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, until finally, you break it.

"Jake." Your voice is quiet, hesitant, but it’s enough to make his golden eyes sharpen, locking onto yours with unnerving intensity.

He doesn’t speak.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to say the words that have been sitting heavy on your chest all night. "This is our last night."

Jake doesn’t react right away. He just watches you, unmoving, unreadable. But something flickers behind his eyes—something dark, something restless.

You inhale shakily, your next words barely above a whisper. "Will you forget me?"

Jake's expression shifts, just slightly, but enough for you to notice. His lips part, his breath hitches for the briefest second, and then—his voice drops lower, softer. "Demons don’t forget."

Your chest tightens. You exhale slowly, gripping the blanket between your fingers. "So… what happens now?"

Jake tilts his head slightly, golden eyes searching yours, and then—he smirks. But it’s different this time. It’s not teasing. It’s not arrogant. It’s something else. Something heavier. "That depends on you, angel."

Your heart stumbles. You know what he means.

This is it.

Your final wish.

Jake leans in slightly, his voice dipping lower, rougher, almost desperate. "Tell me what you want."

You want to be selfish. You want to keep him.

And so—you say it.

"I wish you could stay."

The words leave your lips in a whisper, barely audible, but they shatter the space between you.

Jake freezes.

His golden eyes widen, lips parting slightly as if he wasn’t expecting you to say it—like the very idea is unbelievable. Then—something breaks.

A deep, aching longing cracks through his expression, raw and unguarded, something desperate clawing its way to the surface. His fingers twitch against his knee, his breath hitches. And then—he moves.

Fast.

Before you can react, before you can say another word, his hands are on you. His fingers are warm, solid, desperate as they find your waist, pulling you in with a force that steals the air from your lungs. And then—his lips crash into yours.

It’s not soft.

It’s raw. Uncontrolled. Devouring.

Jake kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s drowning, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into this moment. His hands grip your body like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like he’s grounding himself in the reality of you. A soft gasp escapes you, and Jake groans in response, tightening his hold. One hand slides up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just right as he deepens the kiss.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, closer. But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

His tongue flicks against yours—teasing, testing, taking. A shiver runs down your spine as you arch into him, the heat in your stomach coiling tighter, spreading, consuming. His breathing is ragged, uneven, wrecked. His hands move lower, pressing, gripping, claiming.

He pulls back. Not far. Just enough to look at you.

His forehead presses against yours, his breath heavy, golden eyes dark and burning. His thumbs trace slow, lazy circles against your skin as if he needs to memorize every inch of you.

He whispers.

"Angel," his voice is hoarse, almost broken. "You have no idea what you’ve just done."

Because some contracts aren’t just words.

Some wishes are stronger than magic.

And some demons—no matter how many centuries they’ve lived—find themselves falling for the one thing they never thought they could have.

A home.

A love.

You.

And this time?

This time, neither of you are letting go.

The air is thick, too thick, suffocating in a way that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature and everything to do with what just happened.

Neither of you have moved.

Jake is still close—too close. His golden eyes burn into you, his breathing uneven, his hands lingering just a little too long on your waist, like he's forgotten how to let go. Like he doesn’t want to. And you? Your body is still buzzing, shaking, alive in a way that makes you feel too aware of everything—of his warmth, of his weight, of the fact that this isn’t a game anymore.

Something has changed. Neither of you know what to do about it.

Abruptly—Jake lets go.

Not smoothly. Not like the smug, arrogant demon you’ve gotten used to. Not like he meant to. He steps back too quickly, too suddenly, like something inside him just snapped, like he can’t trust himself to be this close to you any longer.

His hands twitch at his sides, his jaw clenched too tight, his chest rising and falling too fast. He drags a hand through his hair, exhales sharply, golden eyes flickering with something he doesn’t want to name.

You stare at him, your own breath still shaky, your lips still tingling from the way he had kissed you—the way he had taken, devoured, wrecked. And yet now, standing just a few feet away, he looks like he’s the one falling apart.

And you realize—he’s trying to run.

"Jake," you say, softly, carefully, like one wrong move will make him vanish completely.

His golden eyes snap back to yours immediately, and for just a second—just a fraction of a second—you swear he looks... uncertain. But then, the moment shatters. His expression shifts, a smirk tugging at his lips, the familiar arrogance slipping back into place like armor.

"Careful, angel," he murmurs, his voice dropping low, casual—too casual. "Say my name like that again, and I might start thinking you like me."

The whiplash is so strong, you almost choke.

"Are you serious right now?" you snap, still breathless, still shaken, and yet here he is—acting like he didn’t just kiss you like he was never going to get the chance again.

Jake grins, sharp and lazy, but his fingers are still twitching. "What, did you expect pillow talk?"

He tilts his head, golden eyes gleaming with mischief, but something else lingers underneath it—something real, something raw. "Maybe a confession? Should I tell you how I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the second you summoned me?"

Your breath catches.

Jake notices and suddenly, that lazy grin tightens. His fingers flex at his sides again, his body still tense, like he’s barely holding something back. Like he’s trying too hard to act unaffected.

So you do something reckless.

Something that makes his composure snap.

You step forward until the space between you disappears. Until you’re close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that he has to look down at you, close enough that there’s no way for him to ignore what’s happening between you.

Then, in the softest, most nonchalant voice you can manage, you murmur—

"Jake."

And just like that—he’s gone.

Not literally. Not yet.

But the mask? Destroyed.

He exhales sharply, his entire body tensing. His golden eyes darken, his smirk faltering for just a second before he grabs you again.

Not like before. Not in some rushed, desperate way.

This time, his fingers skim along your jaw, tilting your face up, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that feels different. More focused. More deliberate. More... dangerous.

"You," he murmurs, his voice rough, strained, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. "Are going to be the end of me."

The weight of those words settles into your chest, into your skin, into the space between you. Before you can respond—before you can even breathe—he leans in.

Not kissing you. Not yet.

But close enough that you feel everything.

His nose brushes against yours, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your jaw, like he’s savoring this moment—like he’s memorizing it.

Like he’s terrified of what it means. In a whisper—so soft, so unlike him, so wrecked—

"Say my name again."

Your stomach flips. The air burns.

Jake is still too close.

His nose brushes against yours, his breath warm, slow, deliberate, teasing. His golden eyes are locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, but there’s no more amusement there—only heat, only something heavy, something dangerous, something wrecked. His fingers stay on your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to keep your eyes on him, just enough to keep you trapped in this moment, just enough to make it impossible to look away.

And then—he says it.

Soft. Low. A command wrapped in velvet.

"Say my name again."

The words send a violent shiver down your spine, heat coiling in your stomach so tight, so unbearable, you forget how to breathe.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Not yet.

He notices. Of course, he does.

His smirk returns, but it’s different now—sharper, more dangerous, more certain. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, slow, lazy, taunting. His voice drops even lower, barely a whisper now, but still dripping with control.

"Come on, angel," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, golden eyes flickering with something wild. "I know you can do it."

You swallow hard, fingers curling into the fabric of the couch, nails pressing into the cushions to ground yourself, to keep yourself from completely falling into whatever this is. But Jake? Jake isn’t letting you go anywhere.

And that’s when you realize—he’s testing you.

He wants to see how far he can push you.

And you?

You don’t want to lose. So, you push back.

Your lips barely move, barely form the shape of his name, but it’s enough.

"Jake."

The second the word leaves your lips—he’s gone. Not literally. But the last bit of restraint?

Destroyed.

Jake moves fast. Too fast.

One second, you’re sitting there, taunting him, teasing him, testing him.

The next?

You’re on your back.

Jake is above you, over you, pinning you into the couch, his hands gripping your hips, his body pressing against yours so solidly, so completely, there is nothing else left but him.

His golden eyes are wild now, dark, dangerous, wrecked beyond belief. His smirk is gone—completely gone.

And his voice. Low. Rough. Desperate.

"You have no idea what you’ve just done."

The moment his lips crash into yours, you forget how to think.

Jake doesn’t kiss you like before. It's raw. Consuming. Overwhelming.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, holding, pressing. His body is solid, warm, heavy, unyielding. He kisses you like he’s never going to get another chance. Like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting for this longer than he wants to admit.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling him closer, as close as possible. But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

Jake groans against your lips, deep and wrecked, his fingers tightening against your waist, his breath shaky, uneven. His tongue flicks against yours—teasing, tasting, demanding. A soft sound escapes you, and the second it does—he growls, low and pleased, his grip tightening, his body pressing down harder.

"God, angel," he mutters against your lips, his voice so rough, so wrecked, so unlike the smooth, cocky demon who’s been teasing you all week. "You feel so damn good."

You barely have time to react before he kisses you again, hungrier this time, rougher, deeper. His weight pins you down, his hands tighten, his lips move against yours like he’s losing himself completely.

And you?

You let him.

You arch into him, fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper into this moment, into you. His lips trail away from yours, down to your jaw, down to your throat, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, hot breath leaving your skin tingling, burning.

And then—he stops.

Abruptly.

Jake’s breathing is heavy, uneven, completely wrecked. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his entire body tense, shaking, like he’s barely holding himself together.

And then—he laughs.

Low. Rough. Almost bitter.

"Shit."

You blink, trying to process anything at all.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his golden eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. He exhales sharply, his fingers tightening against your waist like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, like he’s trying to understand what the hell just happened.

And then, softly—almost like he hates himself for it—he whispers,

"This wasn’t supposed to happen."

You stare at him, breathless, heart pounding.

And you realize something. He’s not talking about the kiss.

He’s talking about you.

Jake hasn’t moved. Not in the way he should.

His forehead still rests against your shoulder, his breath heavy, his entire body shaking with the weight of what just happened. His hands are still gripping your waist, still pressing into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

His breath ghosts along your jaw, warm, slow, deliberate. His fingers slide higher, trailing up your sides in a way that makes you shudder beneath him.

He moves slowly. His lips find your jaw first, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the curve of it, his mouth warm, open, teasing. His fingers tighten just slightly, his body pressing down against you, making sure you feel all of him, every inch, every part of him that is holding back.

You suck in a sharp breath, your fingers tangling into his hair, your body arching just barely beneath him.

Jake notices and that’s exactly why he smirks against your skin.

"You like that?" he murmurs, his voice so low, so dark, it nearly wrecks you. His lips trace along your jawline, slow, lazy, dangerous. "You’re so quiet now, angel. Not gonna fight me this time?"

Your breath catches, you don’t answer. You can’t.

His lips are moving again. They trail lower.

Down the curve of your throat, down to that spot just beneath your ear, the one that makes your pulse hammer against your skin. He pauses there, pressing a kiss so slow, so deliberate, you swear you feel your entire body ignite.

You whimper before you can stop it.

Jake groans.

"God, angel," he mutters against your skin, his voice strained, wrecked, like he’s losing himself completely. "You’re killing me."

And then—he bites.

Not hard. Not enough to hurt.

But enough to make you gasp. Enough to make your back arch. Enough to make heat coil low in your stomach, burning, unbearable.

"Jake—"

You don’t know what you’re asking for.

But it doesn’t matter and he knows.

His lips part against your throat, his tongue flicking against the mark he’s just left, soothing, teasing. His hands slide lower, gripping your hips, pressing you deeper into the couch, making sure you feel him—every inch of him.

"Say my name again," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

You shudder. "Jake."

That’s all it takes.

He breaks.

He grips you tighter, his body pressing flush against yours, his mouth moving lower, tracing along your collarbone, down, down, down. His teeth graze your skin, his tongue flicks against every sensitive spot he can find, his hands sliding up beneath your shirt, warm, firm, desperate.

And then—he pauses.

Breathing heavy.

Shaking. Like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he knows if he takes this any further—there’s no going back. He curses, low and sharp.

Jake is still kissing you.

His lips trail lower, slower, hungrier, his hands tightening against your waist, pulling you closer, pressing into you like he wants to drown in the feeling of you. He’s groaning softly against your skin, his breath uneven, his body a furnace against yours. You don’t stop him.

You don’t want to stop him.

Because it’s too much, and yet, not enough.

Then—it happens. Suddenly. Abruptly.

Like a snap of magic in the air, like a thread yanked too tight before breaking completely.

Jake flinches.

His breath catches in his throat, his entire body going rigid above you, his grip on you suddenly unsteady. His golden eyes flicker, his smirk faltering, his lips parting as if he’s about to say something—but nothing comes out.

You blink, dazed, breathless, confused.

"Jake?"

Something shifts in the air. Something wrong. Something deep, heavy, old—something cold pressing in around the both of you.

Jake's entire body tenses. Then, suddenly—he’s not touching you anymore.

He yanks himself back, violently, like he’s been burned. Like the weight of what just happened between you has finally crashed down on him all at once. His hands tremble at his sides, his breathing is too rough, too uneven, too wrecked. His golden eyes flicker—not with heat, but with something else now.

Panic.

No.

Not just panic.

Fear.

That makes your stomach drop. Because Jake is never afraid.

Your chest tightens, your heart hammering for an entirely different reason now. "Jake, what—"

But he’s already shaking his head.

"No."

The word is sharp, rough, clipped, like he’s trying to shake something off. He moves fast. Too fast.

He’s off the couch, putting distance between you, between whatever just happened, between whatever he’s suddenly afraid of. His hands are in his hair, his jaw clenched too tight, his breathing too unsteady, his golden eyes flashing with something wild.

And for the first time since you met him, Jake looks truly, completely lost.

You push yourself up, your own breath still shaky, still uneven, still trying to make sense of what just happened. Your lips are still tingling from his kiss, your body still feels the weight of him, but now—now, there’s something else filling the space between you.

Something colder.

Something you don’t understand.

"Jake," you say, your voice softer now, careful.

He flinches.

Not visibly. But you feel it. Like a barely-there tremor in the air, like a ripple of tension across his shoulders, like something inside him is already pulling away.

And you hate it. You stand up, taking a step toward him, and that’s when he moves again.

He turns his back to you. Not lazily, not teasingly, not with the smug arrogance you’ve gotten used to.

But like he can’t let you see him like this. Like if he looks at you now, something will break. And you have no idea if it’s him or you.

"Jake, what’s wrong?"

Silence.

He inhales sharply, exhales even slower. his voice isn’t teasing. It isn’t playful. It’s wrecked.

"You don’t understand what you just did."

The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s no heat in them. No amusement. No arrogance.

Just—something else.

Something softer. Something terrified. And you realize—

Jake isn’t pulling away because he doesn’t want you. He’s pulling away because he does. Your heart pounds loudly, painfully, heavy against your ribs.

This is different. This isn’t just tension. This isn’t just desire.

This is Jake unraveling and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, your mind racing. But before you can overthink it, before you can let him slip through your fingers completely—

You move.

One step.

Another.

Until you’re right behind him. For a second—just a brief, fleeting second—he doesn’t move away. You reach out, your fingers hovering near his arm, hesitant. But before you can touch him—

Jake speaks again. His voice is quieter. Softer. And completely wrecked.

"If you don’t stop looking at me like that, angel…"

A pause.

His fingers twitch at his sides. Then—a whisper.

"…I won’t be able to stop myself."

The silence stretches.

Thick. Suffocating.

Jake still isn’t looking at you. His back is rigid, his fists clenched, his breath uneven, his entire body strung too tight, like he’s barely keeping himself together. The weight of his words still lingers in the air between you, heavy, impossible to ignore.

"If you don’t stop looking at me like that, angel… I won’t be able to stop myself."

You should step back. You should give him space.

But you choose not to. Because you know this isn’t what he really wants.

So, you do the opposite. You step closer.

Jake inhales sharply, his body tensing even more, but he still doesn’t move.

That’s all the confirmation you need. Your fingers brush against his arm—light, tentative, testing. A silent question. A plea.

And that’s when Jake finally—finally—snaps.

He turns so fast, you barely register what’s happening before you’re pinned against the nearest wall.

Not rough.

But not gentle, either.

Just desperate.

Jake’s hands frame your face, his golden eyes burning into yours, his breath uneven, wrecked, completely and utterly gone.

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is low, strained, full of something he doesn’t know how to say.

Your own breath catches, your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt, steadying yourself, steadying him.

"Then tell me," you whisper.

Jake exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers trembling slightly against your skin.

And then—he gives in.

His lips crash into yours with no hesitation this time, no teasing, no holding back. Just raw, consuming, unbearable need. The kiss is hotter than before.

It’s not slow, not careful.

It’s deep, hungry, desperate.

Jake’s hands tilt your chin up, angling your face just right, his body pressing into yours so completely, so solidly, there’s no space left between you. His tongue slides against yours, teasing, tasting, taking, and the second you whimper against his lips, he groans.

Low. Rough. Completely wrecked.

"God, angel," he mutters against your mouth, his hands dragging down your sides, gripping your hips, pressing you further into the wall. "You have no idea what you do to me."

You do.

You do feel it. Everywhere.

The heat of his body, the weight of him holding you there like he doesn’t want to let go, like he won’t let go.

His lips trail down your jaw, down your throat, hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your entire body ignite. His teeth graze sensitive skin, his tongue flicks against every mark he leaves, soothing, teasing, driving you insane.

And then—he goes lower.

Your breath hitches, your fingers tightening in his hair as his mouth moves down, down, leaving a slow, lingering kiss at the base of your throat.

You shudder.

"Jake—"

His name leaves your lips like a breathless plea, and that’s all it takes.

Jake growls, low and dangerous, his grip tightening, his body pressing even closer, his lips tracing lower, his hands moving higher.

His breath is still heavy, his body still tense, still wanting. But he stops. His hands still against your waist, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his body shaking slightly against yours.

He laughs. Not cocky. Not in a teasing tone.

Something else. Something bitter. Helpless.

"Shit," he mutters, his voice rough, his breath unsteady.

Your fingers twitch against his back, your mind still spinning, your body still burning from where his lips had been.

"Jake," you whisper, and this time, he flinches.

You feel it like a tremor beneath your fingertips. Like something about to break.

"Tell me what’s wrong," you murmur, your voice softer now, careful.

Jake exhales slowly. He lifts his head. His golden eyes meet yours, and this time?

There’s no arrogance. No teasing. No cocky, insufferable smirk.

Just something raw.

"You," he whispers.

A pause. A sharp inhale.

Then—his voice drops even lower.

"You’re what’s wrong, angel."

Jake swallows hard, his grip tightening just slightly against your waist. His eyes burn into yours, unblinking, like he’s struggling to say the words, like he’s fighting himself even now.

And then, softly—almost like he hates himself for it—he whispers, "You make me want things I shouldn’t want."

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

And you realize—this isn’t about just tonight.

This isn’t about the kiss or the tension. This is about everything. Everything that’s led up to this. Every moment. Every touch. Every glance.

Jake isn’t just afraid of what happened tonight. He’s afraid of what you’ve become to him.

You don’t let him run.

Your pulse pounds. Not just from the way he’s touching you. Not just from the heat still lingering between you. But from the way he’s looking at you now.

Like he’s afraid.

Like he’s losing himself completely.

That’s when you know—you have him.

So, you move. You reach up, your fingers brushing against his jaw, tilting his face slightly, forcing his golden eyes to stay locked onto yours. He tenses, his breath hitching, but he doesn’t move away.

He lets you.

And in the softest, most certain voice you’ve ever used with him, you say—

"Then take it, Jake."

His entire body goes still. The air between you ignites. Neither of you are stopping. Your words still hang heavy in the air between you, coiling around the both of you like something living, breathing, waiting.

Jake stares at you now, golden eyes dark, still burning, still wrecked. His grip on your waist tightens, just barely, like he’s still trying to ground himself, like he’s still fighting the urge to just—

Take.

He e exhales, slow, deep, controlled. His fingers twitch against your skin, his jaw clenched tight, his body so impossibly still. And then—he smirks.

Slow. Lazy. But different this time.

"Careful, angel," he murmurs, his voice low, wrecked, full of something he won’t name. "Say things like that, and I just might listen."

Your breath catches. You know he means it. And for a long, stretching moment, you both just stay there.

Close. Too close.

He’s still pressed against you, his hands still warm, still holding, still wanting. Your pulse still pounds in your ears, your skin still tingles where his lips had been, where his fingers had traced.

And he shifts. Just slightly.

Enough for his lips to ghost over your jaw one more time, soft, deliberate, slow. Enough for his nose to nudge against yours, a quiet, lingering touch that feels more like a promise than anything else.

He pulls back to look at you again, really look at you. Something flickers behind his golden eyes. Something deep. Something undeniable.

Then—he grins.

And just like that, the tension shifts. Still there. Still burning. But settled now.

Controlled.

Waiting.

Jake exhales, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps away, his smirk still playing at the corner of his lips. "Guess I should let you breathe now, huh?"

You glare.

"Shut up."

He laughs—warm, amused, easy, like he wasn’t just about to devour you whole. You fall back into rhythm.

The teasing. The banter.

But this time?

Something is different.

Jake doesn’t sit across from you anymore. He sits beside you.

His arm draped over the back of the couch, his knee brushing against yours. Casual. Effortless. Like he belongs there. And when he steals your blanket—just to mess with you, just to see you huff in frustration, just to make you shove him half-heartedly—

He doesn’t move away.

Not even a little.

The morning greets you slowly, stretching through the curtains in soft golden light, casting warmth against your sheets. The world outside stirs lazily, the faint hum of distant traffic, the occasional chirp of a bird somewhere beyond your window, the quiet rhythm of a day beginning.

But none of it matters. Because the only thing that does—the only thing that exists in your world right now—is him.

Jake is still here.

The realization settles into your bones before your mind is even fully awake, a quiet, steady truth that lingers in the air between breaths. He’s leaning against the doorway, arms folded, golden eyes already on you—watching, waiting, unmoving. His hair is a mess, strands falling into his face in a way that looks entirely effortless, and his shirt is still unbuttoned at the collar, hanging loose over his frame as if he hasn’t bothered to fix it. And the smirk? It’s already there, lazy and knowing, like he’s been waiting for you to notice him, like he’s been waiting for you.

"Morning, angel," his voice comes slow and warm, wrapping around you like something indulgent, something meant to stay beneath your skin long after it’s gone.

His smirk deepens just slightly as his gaze drags over you, taking in the way you blink at him, still caught between sleep and disbelief. "Sleep well?"

Your body still hums with the weight of the night before, your skin still tingling with the ghost of his hands, his mouth, his breath against your throat. It’s too much and not enough all at once, the memory of him pressing against you, pinning you down, whispering things he shouldn’t have said but couldn’t stop himself from saying. And yet, despite it all—despite everything—you find yourself staring at him now, lips parting slightly before your voice finally comes, softer than you expect.

"You're still here."

Jake tilts his head, golden eyes flickering with something unreadable before he lets out a slow exhale, feigning indifference, but there’s something beneath it, something too controlled. "Where else would I be?"

And that makes you pause. Because you don’t know. Because you don’t have an answer. Because he was supposed to leave. Because this—whatever this is—wasn’t supposed to last past last night. Because this was meant to be temporary, fleeting, a moment stolen between two people who were never meant to keep each other. And yet, here he is.

Before you can say anything else, before you can try to make sense of why he’s still standing there like he belongs, he moves. Casually, smoothly, without hesitation. Like this is natural. Like this is just what he does.

He steps toward the nightstand, fingers brushing against the glass sitting there before he lifts it, turning back toward you with a motion so effortless, so painfully normal, it makes your chest tighten in ways you don’t understand. And then—he hands it to you. A simple gesture. A cup of water. Nothing remarkable. Nothing grand. But everything.

You take it slowly, fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment, and you swear you feel the shift, the way something inside him stiffens, the way his breath almost catches before he schools himself back into ease. As you lift the glass to your lips, as the cool water runs down your throat, you realize he’s watching you again. Not in the way he usually does—not with amusement, not with smug victory, not with teasing intent—but with something else. Something quieter. Something dangerous in an entirely different way.

The moment lingers, stretching between you like an unspoken question. And then, just like that, it’s gone.

Jake exhales through his nose, the smirk slipping back into place, easy and sharp. "Disappointed?"

His voice dips into something playful, something meant to pull you back into familiar ground. "Were you hoping I'd disappear before you woke up?"

You scoff, shaking your head, trying to ground yourself, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling into places you aren’t ready to confront. "I don't know what I expected."

He hums, stepping closer, resting a hand against the frame of your bed, his gaze flickering with something that shouldn’t be there. "Liar."

And you don’t deny it. Because you don’t know if you wanted him to stay or not. Because this is dangerous. Because this is so much more than it was supposed to be.

The morning drifts forward, slow and seamless, stretching into something neither of you try to define. Jake doesn’t leave. He doesn’t act like he has somewhere else to be, doesn’t make excuses, doesn’t vanish the way a demon should once their contract is fulfilled. Instead—he stays.

And you let him.

You don’t ask why. You don’t press, don’t demand an explanation. Because you know, somehow, he wouldn’t give you one. Because whatever this is, whatever is keeping him here, he’s not ready to name it either.

So, you fall into something that feels easy.

He steals your coffee. He complains about your choice in breakfast. He stretches out on the couch, arms behind his head, golden eyes watching you move around the apartment with something unreadable but steady, something lingering.

And when you sit beside him, when his arm casually drapes over the back of the couch, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, close enough that it would be so easy to lean in—

You don’t move away and so he is.

The morning fades into afternoon. The afternoon drifts into evening. And Jake? Jake never leaves. Not that day. Not the next. Not the one after that.

Days pass. Then weeks.

And somehow, without either of you acknowledging it, without either of you saying the words out loud—Jake just becomes part of your life.

He doesn’t sleep in another realm anymore. He sleeps on your bed. He doesn’t linger in the shadows, waiting to be called. He just exists here now. In your space. In your home. In your world.

Like he was always meant to. Like he was never meant to leave.

THE END.

back to the list ⋆˚࿔

taglist : @firstclassjaylee @tya0 @limerenceisserenity @lavendersloane @nodoubtily @rairaiblog

If you want to be tagged, comment here!

⋆.˚ a/n : tmi, i'm tweaking SOO BADD when i write this chapter, ik i'm so so down bad for him ugh i can't help it

[multiheadcanons]

HOW THE MERCS TELL YOU THEY LOVE YOU. SEE YOU TOMORROW ❤️

scout: it’s an odd call and response. you ask if he likes you, almost offhandedly, and he responds in a similar manner. “you’re like my best friend, man! i wouldn’t know who else to hang out with except you.”

soldier: it’s been a tiring day on the field. but when he sees you, it’s better. the day becomes better. and as he asks you what you’ve done with your day, exhausted and bloody, he smiles, and pats your shoulder. “a good day for you is a good day for all of us!”

pyro: you sit next to pyro in the dark of the night, staring at the sky. there is no moon, there is no light, it is just you both under the infinite expanse of stars. and you feel the brush of a glove against your hand. tentatively, you grab it. there is no motion to look at the other. just a continued watch of the night sky.

demo: you’d gone on one date with demo. if it could even be called that, he got swept away by work pretty quickly. so to see him at your door, dressed in his best casual wear, with a bouquet… it’s a charming apology, you think. so you aren’t prepared for him to say “i love you, and i don’t want to lose you to my job.”

heavy: you just needed to drop something off in his room. you knocked on the door, and he called you in. you don’t know how it devolved into a conversation, you just know you never really got to see heavy so… relaxed. comfortable. when the conversation lulled, you went to make you leave, but he stopped you. “stay a little longer. you’re good company.”

engineer: engie never really lets people go with him places, so to ask is a far shot. but you did. and he went quiet for a moment, looked you over. and decided today, you could. under the terms that you don’t tell anyone what you two do. don’t looked too shocked. he’ll leave without you. “well, come on then!”

medic: you were warned against involving the doctor in nonsense. and you didn’t quite understand, as it seemed he wasn’t one to be so serious, so to catch him in his downtime, still rushing around the infirmary, with one offhand, silly-to-you little question… it stops him in his tracks. his eyes flick to you, and in the moment you gained his focus, you watch him go through an unknown thought process, landing on a mischievous smile almost instantaneously. “i love your thinking.”

sniper: you just needed a minute away from people right now. so as you walked the road, you didn’t think much about the sound of the vehicle behind you until it slowed to a crawl beside you. you turn to look, meeting yellow aviators, and a stoic face. “you’re not walking out in the middle of nowhere. get in the van.”

spy: spy is not what one would call a crisis individual. he’s not the one to contact if you are in a dire emergency and need immediate aid. but you had no one else to turn to. and it, admittedly, did shock you for him to pick up the phone at all. you didn’t have time to explain the situation. you just told him to get to you. and the line remained silent. then a response came through. “i’ll be there shortly.”

[somethings-are-meant-tobe]

"All the Stars in the Sky"

Dean doesn’t do big speeches. He doesn’t do grand, sweeping declarations.

But he does do road trips.

So, after everything—after fighting his way through the Empty, after pulling Cas back, after finally saying the words—Dean does what feels right. He packs up the Impala, tells Cas they’re going for a drive, and just goes.

They end up in the middle of nowhere, somewhere with open roads and golden fields. Cas doesn’t question it, just sits in the passenger seat like he’s belonged there forever. Dean slips a tape into the player—one he made just for this, full of songs that don’t quite say "I love you" outright, but sure as hell mean it.

Cas doesn’t say anything, but his hand lingers on the seat between them, close enough that Dean could take it if he wanted.

And maybe someday, he will.

---

By the time they stop, the sun is setting over a lake. It’s quiet, still, nothing but the sound of water lapping against the shore. Dean grabs two fishing poles from the trunk.

Cas raises an eyebrow. “You fish?”

Dean smirks. “It’s supposed to be relaxing.”

Cas hums like he’s not convinced, but he follows Dean to the dock anyway. They sit there, legs dangling over the edge, lines cast into the water. They don’t catch a damn thing, but Dean doesn’t care. Cas looks content, and that’s enough.

---

Later, when the sky turns to velvet and the first stars flicker to life, Dean turns on the radio. A slow song plays—soft, old, the kind that makes you want to sway without thinking about it.

Dean hesitates for all of two seconds before holding out a hand. “C’mon, angel. Humor me.”

Cas blinks. “You want to dance?”

Dean shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Figured you earned it, what with me dragging your ass outta the Empty and all.”

Cas smiles—small, fond—and stands.

Dean’s not graceful, never has been, but Cas doesn’t seem to care. They move slowly, swaying under the open sky, the Impala’s headlights casting them in gold. Dean’s hand is warm against Cas’s back. Cas’s fingers are steady where they curl around Dean’s shoulder.

The song ends, but neither of them lets go.

---

They lay on the hood of the Impala, looking up at the stars. The night stretches wide above them, endless.

Cas points toward a cluster of stars, tracing them with his finger. “That’s Orion. A great hunter, like you.”

Dean scoffs. “Dude got stuck in the sky. Not exactly my kinda ending.”

Cas turns his head, watching Dean carefully. “I could tell you another story.”

Dean smirks. “Yeah?”

Cas nods, then points to another constellation. “That’s Cygnus. In one story, it was a man who sacrificed himself to save his friend. The gods turned him into a swan so he could live among the stars.”

Dean swallows. “Sounds like a raw deal.”

Cas tilts his head. “He got to be with the people he loved. I don’t think he saw it that way.”

Dean doesn’t have a response for that. Instead, he looks at the sky—at all of it—and thinks about how Cas helped build it. How the angel who shaped the stars, who stitched light into the universe, loves him.

It’s almost too big to hold in his chest.

Cas shifts beside him, quiet for a long moment before whispering, “Do you think you would have loved me, if I were still an angel?”

Dean turns his head, meets Cas’s gaze in the dark. “Cas,” he says, voice rough, soft. “I did.”

Cas doesn’t breathe for a second. Then, slowly, he reaches out, taking Dean’s hand where it rests on the hood of the car. Dean squeezes back.

They don’t need to say anything else. The stars above them have already heard enough love stories.

------------‐--------the end---------------------

What do you think?? This was so beautiful to write, and I love the idea of Dean being awed by the fact that the angel who built the stars loves him back. It’s such a perfect way for him to realize just how huge and real Cas’s love is.

[sharksfrommars]

what if the pines family were cursed to have constantly terrible love lives.

like Filbrick pissed on some ancient enchantress so bad that she decided to curse the bloodline. That’s why no pines can get a date that lasts.

wrote this a while ago on the tube. Please steal the idea and run with it. Idk if I’m gonna…

The love curse

Dipper wanted to ask Pacifica Northwest out. They’d been friends for 4 years, texted all the time, and they kept having these intimate moments that ended in awkwardness. Pacifica even said she’d be upset if Dipper dated someone else! It was practically a done deal.

Except every time he tried to ask her out, something went comically wrong. The first time, at the beginning of the summer, dipper was about to ask, when Stan came out completely naked. Apparently, he’d pissed off a gang of pixies, who kept stealing Stan’s clothes as he was putting them on. Needless to say, it ruined the moment.

The second time, they were at the lake. It was just Dipper and Pacifica, a nice quiet day. But just as the sun was setting and Dipper was about to ask, the Gobblewonker decided to take a bite out of the boat, and they had to swim to shore. The gobblewonker barely came out in the day! It was absurd!

Then there was the time with the gnomes, that one time a piano fell out of nowhere, when Ford accidentally set the stanleymobile on fire, when that witch decided to turn pacifica into a tapeworm… it was frankly ridiculous how many things kept getting in their way. After the 27th time, Dipper had had enough.

“I don’t get it, Mabel!” Dipper said, pacing around their room, “Yesterday, i tried to ask her out and I was STRUCK BY LIGHTNING!  It wasn’t even raining! It’s like I’m cursed or something!”

Mabel was dressing up waddles as she considered this. “maybe you ARE cursed, dip!”

Dipper stopped pacing and turned to Mabel.

“OF COURSE! That’s the ONLY. Possible explanation! Someone or something must be pissed that I’m trying to ask Pacifica out!” Dipper resumed his pacing. “But who…”

Mabel looked at dipper with wide eyes. “I have an idea, dipper! The Woodstick Festival is back in town next week, and guess who’s going to be there” Mabel shoved a poster in Dipper’s face. He grabbed it and then looked at Mabel.

“The love god? Doesn’t he hate you for stealing his potion or something?”

Mabel waved him off.

“Pffft water under the bridge, brother. We can ask him for advice on whatever love curse you got!”

So the next day, the two went looking for the Love God. It wasn’t hard, they just had to follow the trail of kissing teens to greasy’s. They sat opposite from him, uninvited, and gave him a look.

“Ah, you kids looking for some love?” Love god said. Dipper glared, and Mabel stuck out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Mabel! Big fan of your work!”

“I know you! You stole my love potion!”

Mabel looked away sheepishly. “ uh… sorry about that. I realised it was a bad idea pretty quick. Anyway my brother needs your help!”

Love god turned to look at Dipper. He gave him a charming grin. “How can I help you, kid! You seem like you would be into …” Love God closed his eyes and wiggled his fingers, “…lumberjacks and mean girls. I can do that in a heartbeat, just say the word!”

Dipper blushed. “Um no thanks, mr Love God. Actually I think I’m cursed.”

“Ahh” replied Love God, “I see what’s going on. Look, kid, it’s normal for boys your age to feel like you’re cursed when It comes to lo-“

“Like actually cursed! Not just bad at talking to women!” Said dipper. The love god gave him a strange look. 

“Kid I’m telling you, it’s probably nothing.”

Dipper sighed. “Can you just check! Please, then we’ll leave you alone.”

The love god sighed and held out his hand. Warily, dipper took it. Love God sprayed some blue liquid onto dippers face and waved his arms around. He looked confused, so he did it again. And again. He then let go of dipper’s hand.

“What is it?” Asked dipper. Love God ignored him and turned to Mabel.

“Give me your hand…”

Mabel offered it and Love god did the same to Mabel. He gave both of them a grave look.

—————————

“Our bloodline is cursed?!” Cried Ford at dinner that night. 

“That’s what the love god said” dipper said with a sigh, “cursed to have terrible love lives.”

“Honestly, that explains some things” said Stan.

“The worst part” cried Mabel, “is that we can’t break it without figuring out who cast it! How am I supposed to find the perfect boyfriend like this!” She cried into the table. Ford got a look of consideration on his face, before he pulled out the second journal.

“Don’t worry kids, we can summon the person who cast the curse with this Curse Tracing spell I found in the 70s! It will bring them here, and then we can demand they break it!”

So half an hour later, the Pines’ were standing in a circle, chanting something in Latin.

—————

the idea I had was that the Pines (read: Stan) have to reconcile with all their exes before the curse is lifted. I think it would be funny. But please! Steal the idea! Make it your own! I want other people’s ideas constantly.

[tamzzz69]

Switched Up

Max Parker had always been the nerdy kid—the one who spent his time coding, reading comics, and staying out of the way of guys like Jake Walker, the star quarterback. Jake, on the other hand, was the definition of a high school jock—muscular, confident, and a little too cocky for his own good.

But everything changed when they woke up in the wrong bodies.

Max jolted upright, feeling strangely… powerful. His reflection in the mirror made his jaw drop. He was in Asher Angel’s body—tall, athletic, and famous. His once scrawny frame was gone, replaced by defined muscles and a face people actually recognized.

“This is insane,” Max whispered, flexing his biceps. “I look like a superhero.”

Jake, meanwhile, was having the opposite reaction. He groaned, pushing himself up and immediately feeling… weaker? He looked down at his arms—lean, toned, but nowhere near the bulk he was used to. His reflection showed Avi Angel’s face staring back at him.

“Oh, hell no,” Jake muttered, scowling. “What kind of prank is this?”

They didn’t know what had happened or how, but they both had the same instinct—to find the other and fix this mess.

When they met up, things got confusing fast.

Max, still marveling at his new body, recognized Jake instantly—but he wasn’t expecting what came next.

“Avi?” Max asked, blinking.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Asher?”

Max sighed in relief. “Oh, good, it’s actually you, Avi.”

Jake crossed his arms. “Wait… you’re not Asher?”

Max shook his head. “No, dude, it’s me, Max! You’re not really Avi, are you?”

Jake groaned. “Oh, great. This just got even weirder.”

Both boys realized the truth—they were stuck in celebrity bodies, and no one else seemed to notice. While Max was geeking out over his newfound fame and strength, Jake was struggling to accept his leaner build.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Jake grumbled, “but I actually miss my real body.”

Max grinned, flexing again. “Yeah, well… I don’t.”

[child0feden]

okay i just had a very bizarre idea and i do not know how to word it so sorry if this sounds like unintelligible nonsense but older! bård somehow travelling back in time with younger! reader out of nowhere? like one day after spending the night at your apartment, he wakes up beside you in bed and for the most part everything seems normal because you are asleep next to him and look the same… his tired brain fails to take note of the multiple small differences in your bedroom and the way that you look just a couple of years younger than when he saw you awake last night…

it is only when he looks down and sees his arms that a strange cold feeling rushes over him… his arms, which were built and covered in tattoos just last night, are bare and pale and small… and he freaks the hell out, mumbling out a deep and beyond confused sounding “ what the fuck? ” before he throws the blankets over him and stumbles over to your bathroom, lifting his head to meet his own eyes as he sees his face being reflected back to him… whilst his face is being reflected back to him, it is his face from just over thirty years ago! long brown hair, big chocolate eyes, sad excuse for facial hair and all… that is when his face goes pale as a ghost and he cannot even attempt to stop himself from yelling as a loud “ what the fuck! ” tears out of his mouth…

obviously, the loud yell wakes you up and you come rushing into the bathroom with a look of concern all over your tired face as your eyes land on him but what confuses him even more is how unbothered you look when you see him… he expected you to be just as baffled and just as freaked out as him when you rushed through the open bathroom door and saw his eighteen year old self standing there, his past self that you had only ever seen pictures of when he let you look through his old pictures from the early 90s but instead, you look at him as if nothing at all is out of place… and as his eyes stare back at you, he realises that you look different too! though it is much less noticeable than his own sudden appearance change because you just look a little bit younger than you already were! i mean, you were twenty five last night but now, he would take a guess and say that you were eighteen now too…

so like, somehow, all of those dreams he had about what his life would have been like if you had existed when he was a teenager? what his life would have been like if the two of you had met and fell in love way back when? somehow, those dreams had come true in such a strange way… because you seem to have no idea of anything at all, you seem to have no idea that you were twenty five and living in the year 2025 just last night… but he remembers quite literally everything! he is kind of still himself from 2025 but thrown back into his old self and pushed back into those past years… and you are still you but you have no idea who you were in the future and just…

like bård would have to act so normal despite knowing everything that everyone else does not… hell, he finds himself actually having to get used to not having a mobile phone anymore whilst you act like someone who does not think a touch screen will ever be possible… despite the fact that you were always more into tech than he was before whatever made all of this happen happened… bård fails to resist pulling øystein into a tight hug when he sees him for the first time since he woke up, just standing there in helvete with a coca cola in hand as he always did… bård has to stop himself from mumbling “ what the fuck ” every single time he sees you casually chatting with øystein and vegard, every time he sees you somehow know how the hell a vhs works… and he accidentally makes himself seem weird when he asks you what year you were born in, having to shut himself up from mumbling yet another baffled “ what the fuck ” when you look at him funny before telling him that you were born the same year he was, raising your eyebrow at him and asking if he had been out drinking again and why he was asking you such a random question...

it is basically a cliche time travel idea but instead of the reader going back in time, it happens to both of you in a very weird way! and whilst bård still remembers everything from the future he was just in, you do not have any idea, you have no idea that you were not even born until the year 2000… you have no idea that in the real timeline, per say, you never knew his old friends nor did you even exist in the early 90s…

this sounds like a big mess and i am trying to explain it! hopefully some of you understand what i am saying here? please? lol T_T

i thought this was kind of a neat idea but i do not know </3

[austinslounge]

To the venting Anon.

It will be harsh to hear but this is the truth: Austin simply doesn't come across as sincere for someone who is not deep into the fandom. Compared to TC who seems always "on brand" and being himself ( love or hate this) Austin seems performative. For example, in the Actors on Actors video, he has these fake sound hummings, when he says "hmmm... exactly..." Sorry, but this is not seems honest, just an act. I do not like TC but he is never fake.

On the singing: TC sings all of the songs in the Dylan movie, AB doesn't sing all of the songs. Maybe he recorded all of it, but in the movie it's a mix. So there is a no question. Singing by yourself is a bigger achievement. Ramy Malek won an Oscar but he also got backlash for something similar, so since then, people judging harder this type of movies.

On the fame: being an actor and wanting to be famous is 2 different things and I don't like entitled fans who think they have a right to gain access or tell their fave to change profession. Margot Robbie doesn't have an insta, she deleted it and she is just fine and she is bigger star than Austin.

But the main problem is the first one. there is something in Austin that repels people if they are just ordinary moviegoers and not fans. He is like Henry Cavill who literally has no career anymore.

Okay, now see, what we're not going to do is have you, a Timmy Stan Anon (idc what you call yourself), come on to an Austin Butler fan Tumblr account (the blog name and pfp are pretty obvious) and proceed to just insult the man and not get checked for it.🤨

Second, I'll just add that I think it's very sad that people like you (who don't even know Austin), are just blindly following others online like sheep, and hopping on the "let's all hate on Austin Butler!" Train, instead of just thinking for yourself.

Honestly? I think a lot of the hate that Austin gets is not just because he's good-looking, or because of the Vanessa breakup (I've known plenty of actors to breakup with their gfs and they never received this amount of hate online), but also because so many girls/women online stan their favorite actors (like say Timothee), and they're threatened because Austin actually won two prestigious awards before Timothee Chalamet has, in half the time. I think some fans in some fandoms of famous actors are just upset that Austin (in their minds) seemed to come from out of nowhere, and shook things up a little bit, and now, their faves have someone else that they didn't expect to see coming competing in the big leagues right along with their faves. That (imo) is where most of the hatred online (especially from women) stems from. It's just jealousy and feeling threatened on behalf of their own faves if you ask me. Which, I'm not even sure why, because most of these actors don't even view themselves as competing with each other smh.

Anyway --- Before I go into this further, I have to say this:

**Disclaimer: I don't really like making too many comparisons when it comes to actors and comparing them to each other. It's just not really my thing, and it's kind of silly (imo), but for the sake of this post, I'll engage your comparisons.

It will be harsh to hear but this is the truth: Austin simply doesn't come across as sincere for someone who is not deep into the fandom. Compared to TC who seems always "on brand" and being himself ( love or hate this) Austin seems performative.

Umm first of all, Austin has NEVER been fake, EVER in his life. You can even look back to his old Tumblr posts and Tweets. He has always been who he is, which is a very sweet, kind, and down to earth guy. You (and some others on the internet) are the only ones calling him "fake", "pretentious", or "performative". 🙄 Those are your personal labels that you're putting on to him. Learn to know the difference. You don't even know him personally, yet you're putting negative labels on to him like you know him personally. 😒

Everyone who has ever worked closely with Austin has always had nothing but glowing things to say about him as a person, and has never ever called him "fake". From his co-stars on "The Carrie Diaries", his co-stars on "The Shannara Chronicles", his co-stars and even extras on set of "Elvis", to even his co-stars in Dune Part 2 (including Timmy, mind you), everyone has always said what a pleasure it is to be around him, and have never once called him "performative", or "fake". Not once. Not film crew, not interviewers who have interviewed him. NOBODY. Everyone (even directors) talk about how genuine and down to earth he is. Even that woman on the plane said just how "normal" he was and didn't seem like a celebrity at all. He's certainly never been called a "diva" before, unlike your precious Timothee Chalamet.😒

Even fans who have met him just briefly in person have always had wonderful things to say about him, and have never ever said he was fake. ☺️ If anything, they have said quite the opposite -- They've always said just how kind and genuine he is as a person. He's really someone who is attentive to you, listens, takes in what you're saying, and is very present and in the moment with you. ☺️ But yet, we're supposed to believe you, who doesn't even know the man, has never met him, and doesn't take into account what people who actually do know him have said about him? 🤨 Yea, okay.

For example, in the Actors on Actors video, he has these fake sound hummings, when he says "hmmm... exactly..." Sorry, but this is not seems honest, just an act.

Since when has saying "umm" or "hmmm" ever been seen as being "fake"?? Are you serious? 🥴

I do not like TC but he is never fake.

Uhhh actually, there are a lot of people who find Timothee fake. Some people find him (and his team) super calculated. There have even been rumors of him having diva behavior on set, which would negate the whole "wholesome good guy" image that he has curated for himself.

Could these articles/rumors be fake? Sure, they could be. But what I'm saying is that Austin hasn't even had anything of the sort like this come out about him. Yet, he's the one who's fake? 😒

Anyway, make of that what you will.

On the singing: TC sings all of the songs in the Dylan movie, AB doesn't sing all of the songs. Maybe he recorded all of it, but in the movie it's a mix. So there is a no question. Singing by yourself is a bigger achievement. Ramy Malek won an Oscar but he also got backlash for something similar, so since then, people judging harder this type of movies.

Excuse me, but please get your facts straight before making up stuff like this. First of all, Austin prepared to sing all of the songs in the "Elvis" biopic. He's a very thorough person and actor, so it's not something that he would have neglected.

He also sang all of the Elvis songs from the 1950s in the film because the older original Elvis songs were in such bad quality for a modern movie, that Baz simply had him sing all of the younger Elvis material. That included "Trouble", and everything prior to the Vegas scenes.

For the Vegas scenes, Baz shot the film with Austin actually singing live, and they blended Elvis' voice in some of the songs for the latter years of the film, but Austin is still singing. The decision to blend the voices was Baz's idea. Maybe he wanted to pay homage to the real late Elvis (who is dead btw -- Bob Dylan is not), and felt it was a nice way to show honor to the late singer.

But Austin can sing. He's been singing for years on TV shows. He also sang on SNL for Cecily's departure. The man can sing. It's not his fault if Baz wanted to blend the voices of the two singers in the latter Elvis years. That wasn't his fault.

He worked with a vocal coach and a movement coach and trained for a long time to be able to sing, move, and perform like Elvis. The man dedicated a lot of hard work and years to his craft for that film. So I don't really appreciate you trying to undermine his work.

But the main problem is the first one. there is something in Austin that repels people if they are just ordinary moviegoers and not fans.

No girl, that's just you and a few other bitter weirdos on the internet. 🙄 Real people (who can think for themselves) and who actually have met Austin, who know him, and who don't just follow the trends of whatever people are saying on the internet actually love Austin. Even those who aren't fans of Austin love him.

He is like Henry Cavill who literally has no career anymore.

No he's not. Girl, you lost all credibility with this statement alone. And what on earth does Henry Cavill have to do with anything? 🥴

Austin has like 4 projects lined up, has won a lot more prestigious awards than your Timothee, and directors love working with him. Not sure why you're comparing him to Henry Cavill (who just had a baby btw with his partner).

You may want to go back to the Timothee tumblr fan accounts, and please leave us Austin fans here alone. 😤 Thank you.

[raven-dor]

tell me you love me

in which bucky barnes is told some startling news on the phone…

PAIRING: bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x avenger!reader

WARNINGS: miscommunication, nosy roommates, sass, sam wilson teasing peter parker, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

🎶 : two hands - tate mcrae

AN: literally one of my favorite fics i've ever written!! also, this is a Avengers live in the tower AU, no civil war ever occurred, so yay!! ALSO - let me know if you want to be on my taglist!! i'd love to have you!!

It had been out of nowhere. You hadn’t even realized the gravity of the situation until you were met with silence from the other line. 

“What’s for dinner?” His gruff voice had shivers running down your spine.

“I don’t know.” You hummed, the phone tucked between your shoulder and ear as you walked down the grocery store aisles. “What are you craving?” 

“Burgers?” It was more of a question, he was waiting for you to confirm you were also craving said meal. He always did this, waiting for you to decide before he made his decision. It was not missed by you that earlier that week, you’d talked about how badly you craved a classic cheeseburger.

You laughed, the others in the aisle giving you annoyed looks, not that you minded. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Barnes.” 

“Oh?” You could tell he was holding back laughter. “You would think after all that time in HYRDA...” 

“Bucky!” You yelled, this time noticing the looks your fellow shoppers gave you. Whispering, you chuckled to yourself. “Don’t joke about that.” 

“Why not?” He was most certainly frowning. 

“If that’s how you want to cope…” You trailed off, looking at the price tag on the buns, eyes widening at the amount and quickly setting them back down. “You sleep well?” 

“Next to you? Always.” He sounded spirited, much more spirited than he’d been when you left him to go shopping. Good, you told yourself, he was too often found brooding alone, it was nice to hear him so… so mischievous. “You know I do, Doll.” 

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, biting your bottom lip to keep from grinning too widely. “I know. Just wanted to hear you say it.” 

Grabbing the meat from the deli counter, you walked toward the checkout, frowning when you saw that the self-checkout kiosks were out of order. “Babe?” 

He hummed. 

“I’m gonna have to let you go, okay? The kiosks are out of order.” 

He groaned. “Again?”

You nodded as if he could see you. “Unfortunately.” 

“I’ll see you soon, then.” 

“See you soon. I love you.” The peace before the realization had been fleeting, reality hitting you like a truck. Almost instantly, your heart flipped, and your eyes widened.

Bucky had been dead silent, and you secretly hoped your voice had cut out, that the service had saved you, and he hadn’t heard it. 

Not that you didn’t mean it. You’d loved him for longer than you cared to admit, but with his past, you hadn’t wanted to rush anything. You didn’t want him to feel forced. Like right now.

“Buck?” You whispered, eyes welling at his lack of response. “Are you there?” Again, no response. You pushed the red button, hands shaking as the call disconnected.

Shit. 

Which led you to now, racing home without the food you’d promised. When the team had decided to all live in the tower together, they made a pact. If you asked anyone else, it had been more of a forced pact, thanks to Steve. 

Each Avenger would make dinner, alternating every night. Today had been your day, and now not only were you coming home empty-handed, but you were also planning to drop off the face of the Earth, which completely defeated the purpose of your job and its responsibilities. 

It was a wonder, you told yourself as you waited for the elevator doors to open, that Bucky hadn’t been there to meet you in the lobby, waiting for an explanation. Or worse, disgust on his perfect face. 

You kept your head down as you landed on the top floor, all but running to your room. Slamming the door behind you, you ordered Friday to bar everyone from entering.

The computer system spoke back, voice as posh as ever. “Does that include Mr. Barnes?” 

“Yes.” You huffed, heart thumping. “Especially Mr. Barnes.” 

“Has something happened?”

“You could say that.” Checking under your bed, the balcony, the closet, and the bathroom, a sigh of relief left you knowing that Bucky wasn’t already there, hiding.

Everything had been perfect, up until your slip. He asked to take it slow, mainly due to ‘not wanting to disrupt the team dynamic.’ You’d understood, and you’d also understood that he had another reason, one that he wouldn’t speak aloud, but that you both knew. 

He wanted to take it slow and slow did not contain saying ‘I love you’ four months after you started dating. 

A knock rang through your room, breaking you from your thoughts. Looking at the door with fear pumping through your veins, you waited for him to speak. 

“Y/N?” 

You’d almost sighed with relief. Almost. “Yeah?” 

“What’d you end up getting for dinner?” Nat called out. “Wilson’s asking.” 

“I-” Grabbing your wallet, you slid your credit card under the door. “Order whatever you want.” 

“Okay.” Nat sounded curious. “So, what happened?” 

“Why- why would you ask that?” 

“Other than the fact you won’t show your face, and Friday is barricading me from entering?” The super-spy sounded fed up. “What did he do?” 

“He?” Your voice was a mere squeak. 

“Yes, he. Everyone knows you two are dating, don’t act so surprised. It’s my job to know these sorts of things.” 

You glared at the door. “That’s not at all your job, Natasha.” 

“What’s going on?” 

You groaned, shoving your face into your pillow. At this point, the whole team would know your business by dinner. “Go away, Wanda.” 

“What’s happened?” The Sokovian whispered.

“Barnes did something,” Nat muttered. “Won’t say what exactly, but-” 

“Nat!” You yelled, lifting your head. “I can hear you, you know.” 

“Let us in, Y/N.” Wanda sounded as if she was frowning. “What did he do that was so bad-” 

“It wasn’t him.” You sighed. “It- it was me.” 

“What happened?” Wanda’s voice was gentle. “You can tell us.” 

“I really can’t.” You whined. “One second.” Grabbing a piece of paper from your desk, you scribbled down the infamous three words, slipping it under the door. “Shit, Y/L/N. Isn’t that a little soon?” 

Your eyes widened. “What the hell, you two? Why is Sam there?” 

Wanda sounded deeply apologetic. “It’s not just Sam.” 

“I’m here too.” Peter squeaked. 

“Me too.” Tony’s voice sounded much too entertained, and you glared at the door.

“Yeah!” Clint sounded suspiciously high like he was in the vents again. You reminded yourself to reprimand him when the dust cleared. 

“Y/N! Why are you hiding in your room?” Thor’s thunderous voice rang clear over the rest of the supposed crowd that had formed. 

“Thor.” Bruce sounded extremely annoyed. “We’re inside, you don’t need to shout.” 

“Yeah, what the green guy said.” Rhodey’s voice echoed. 

“Go away!” You yelled, sitting against the door. “I-” 

“What’s going on here?” Steve’s voice sounded distant, like he was walking down the hall. You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for him to do what everyone else had done. 

But it never came. 

“Have any of you seen Buck? Last time I saw him, he was on the phone. Haven’t seen him since.” 

You were certain Nat and Tony were smirking. “Why don’t you ask Y/N.” 

“Why? Are they together?” 

Tony sounded like he was holding back tears, not from sadness, but from laughter. “After this? Questionable.” 

“Tony!” You yelled, smacking the door. “Shut up!” 

“Give me that.” Getting off the floor, you looked through the peephole, watching in horror as he read the paper. “Break it up, all of you.” Protests broke out, all of them yelling at Steve. “We’re not talking about this any longer. It’s not our business.” 

“C’mon-” 

Steve glared at the billionaire, and he instantly shut up. “Tony.” 

He raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. What’s for dinner then?” 

“Whatever you want.” You yelled out. “Just use my card.”

Tony shook his head. “After the day you’ve had, it’s my treat.” 

You nodded, a faint smile gracing your lips. “Just leave the food at my door when it gets here.” 

“No.” Steve’s hands were on his hips, and you could see Peter and Wanda holding back laughter. He looked like a concerned father. “You will leave your room and have dinner with the rest of us.” 

“Yeah, Y/N.” Tony echoed, not even trying to hide his laughter. “C’mon out.” 

“Steve, please.” You begged. “I can’t see him right now.” 

“He’s not even here, дорогой (sweetheart),” Wanda yelled out. “Please come out, we’re worried about you.” 

“I am not leaving.” You shook your head. “You can’t make me.” 

The dinner table was quiet, the entirety of the Avengers (minus Bucky) staring at you with utter fascination. Well, more like a mix of pity, worry, and fascination. 

Peter cleared his throat, smiling kindly. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I did the same thing, and it all turned out fine.” 

That brought you some inkling of hope. “Really?” 

The teenager nodded. “She was very nice about it. We’re still friends.” 

Your face fell, dropping your head into your hands. The table erupted with laughter, and Peter’s cheeks grew bright red in record time. 

“Not exactly the smartest thing you could’ve said there, kid.” Tony snickered.

“Ease up, Tony,” Steve interjected. “He’s trying, unlike all of you.” 

“He meant well.” Vision finally spoke, much to everyone’s surprise. “There was no malice in his tone.” 

Clint smirked. “Yeah, Y/N. No malice. Does that bring you comfort?”

You raised your right hand, flipping him off.  

Sam shook his head. “I just want to eat, man. Eat, and see Bucky’s reaction.” 

Sitting up, you glared at the Falcon. “You’re excited for my demise, you psychopath.” 

“Not exactly.” 

“What’s-” The table turned around, dead silent as they stared at the Winter Soldier, who looked perfectly fine, content even. He stood in front of them with a bright smile, food in hand. “What’s going on?” 

“What’s going on?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell us?” You wished your superpower was invisibility. Unfortunately, it was not, so you opted for sinking further into your seat. “Nothing happened recently you want to share?” 

His smile fell. “No?”

Sam groaned, standing up and pulling the food from the super soldier’s hands. “Please. I’m starving.” 

Nat laughed. “I thought you wanted to see his reaction.” 

“Reaction?” Bucky sounded confused. “Reaction to what, exactly?” 

Thor was the final push. “I love you!” 

“I love you too?” Bucky sat down, eyes brightening when he met yours. You quickly stared at your hands, which were placed in tight balls in your lap. 

“Not me. Y/N. The words Y/N-” 

Clint slapped a hand over Thor’s mouth, glaring. “That’s enough out of you, big guy.” 

“What?” Bucky tilted his head, staring at you, with what seemed to be a glimpse of hope in his gaze. “When did you-” 

“On the phone?” Nat interjected. “You were on the phone, and Y/N said-” 

“Nat.” You hissed. “Stop, please.” 

“Y/N?” Bucky looked at you. “What’s going on?” 

So the phone had cut out. The phone had cut out, meaning if you had just kept your big mouth shut, everything would have been fine. 

And if Thor hadn’t opened his mouth, maybe you could have made it out with your dignity. “Nothing, James.” Reaching out, you grabbed your order from the pile, the rest of the Avengers following suit. Bucky stayed still, staring at you intently. 

You tried to focus on your dinner, on the conversation that started after, but every time you looked up, he was staring at you with his ice-blue eyes. “Doll?” The table quieted, staring at the pair. “Can we talk?” 

You swallowed the food that you’d been chewing, nodding slowly. You felt like you were being marched to your death as you followed him out of the dining room. Sparing one last look at the dinner table, Wanda and Peter gave you a half-hearted thumbs up. 

The hall was dim, Bucky’s eyes bore into your soul as he waited for an explanation. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Nothing-” You grew small when he sighed, crossing his arms. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” 

“Yeah?” He smirked, but you could tell he was panicking. You told each other everything, you were sure he was breaking a sweat from your lack of transparency. “Then tell me.” You stayed silent, and he took a step forward, practically backing you up against the wall. “Please, Doll.” 

You were sure this was a nightmare. A horrible horrible nightmare. “We were on the phone… and I um… I may or may not have said that I love you.” He did not react, continuing to stare at you. That’d made you even more nervous, and you began to ramble as a result. “And you didn’t reply, so I panicked, and then I hung up. I came home and hid in my room and then everyone found out and then I found out you didn’t even hear it, and-” You took a shallow breath. “I don’t want you to feel rushed or forced because I want you to feel comfortable, because I really do-” You stopped, looking up at him hesitantly. “I really do love you.” He was fully grinning now, and you frowned. “Are you about to laugh at me?” 

He shook his head placing his hand on the wall above you as he leaned down. “No.” 

“No?” You scoffed, ignoring the way his eyes had darkened. “You’re smirking, and I’m being vulnerable and you’re- you-” You huffed, walking away from him. “Maybe we should just-” Escape had almost been achieved when his metal hand wrapped around your wrist, spinning you around. “Stop.” You felt trapped in a spell, a horrifyingly beautiful spell. He stared at you so intensely that your knees buckled. “Buck-” 

He was still grinning. “I love you too.” 

“I-” You smiled. “You do?” 

“C’mon Doll.” He teased, brushing his nose against yours as he reached for your lips. “Of course I do.”

“Yeah?” You whispered, still not believing this was real life. “You-” His lips were rushed; like he needed to kiss you to live. Placing his other arm around your waist, he pulled you impossibly close, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He could have gone on kissing you senseless for hours, but you pulled away, gasping for air. “Buck-” 

“You are so considerate, too considerate even.” He whispered. “I did want to take things slow, you’re right.” 

You nodded. “If you-” 

“Did I-” He kissed you before you could finish your sentence. “Or did I not,” He kissed you so gently, so longingly. “Just tell you that I love you too?” 

You were positively weak in the knees. “You did.” 

“I did want to take things slow, but you…” He almost growled. “You happened.” 

“Oh?” You were grinning now, actually grinning. “I’m assuming I happened in a good way.” 

“In a perfect way.” He corrected, pushing a hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. “You’re too good for me, Doll. Don’t deserve you.” 

“I don’t know, Barnes.” You shook your head, kissing the corner of his mouth so lightly he could have sworn it never happened. “You’re pretty swell.” 

He rolled his eyes, pushing you away teasingly. “Never mind then.” 

You gasped, stalking back into the dining room, the Avengers observing from the safe distance the table provided. “In that case-” 

His hand wrapped around your wrist once more, pulling your lips to his instantly. Wolf whistles erupted, all of them laughing at the couple in front of them. Your hands rested on his chest, smiling as he pulled away, lips still touching. “Did you really have to do that?” 

He shrugged. “Just wanted another reason to kiss you.” 

“So sappy.” You teased. “What a charmer you are.” 

“Well,” He leaned toward your ear, whispering. “I aim to please.” 

“Break it up!” Sam yelled, mouth full of food. “I’m trying to eat here. Plus…” He pointed to Peter, laughing. “There’s kids present.” 

“I’m eighteen, Sam.” 

“Still a kid, Parker.” 

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