#but at the same time I wanted to tell someone

[always-just-red]

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.  

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly. 

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He’s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

…

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”  

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”  

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d… rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”    

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.  

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.   

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

[kooyabooya]

CALLA

m reader x chaeryeong // 7k words

“You’re gonna be late,” says Chaeryeong, carelessly kicking her feet up in the air off the kitchen counter. “I told you to set your alarm last night after we uh- yeah, then look what happens.” 

She’s not wrong here, honestly. You are going to be late. And it isn’t helping your case when the stolen dress shirt from your closet is being worn by her, staring shamelessly at you with an apple slice in her mouth as you’re cleaning the sink. 

But here you are making things worse, giving in to the sultry grin that Chaeryeong gives when your arms are wrapped around her waist, crumpling up the perfectly ironed piece of cloth when her hands snake up to the nape of your neck, and upwards. “Can’t you just like- call off today?” she asks, carding her fingers deep into the back of your head, massaging, “It’s always so boring here when you’re gone.” 

Your forehead bumps hers, and some of that bedroom hair starts to pool over her right collarbone, compensating for the increasing tilt of your head as the tips of your noses brush together as a small tease as you retreat with Chaeryeong leaning forward to chase that wanting kiss. 

“As much as I want to,” you’re telling her, swooping back in for a quick peck across her cheek. “I can’t. Besides, I called off that other time to stay here with you.” 

Chaeryeong pouts, eyes fixed on your face as she pulls the upper part of your shirt just underneath the collar, revealing. You take into account the scattered marks of cherry fading across her chest and neck, remnants from a list of preferences she loves you to indulge in: her lips, her breasts - especially when she’s bent over or pressed into the mattress with the end of your cock being the closer. 

“I know that look.” You dip your head down at the familiar sight, hands scooching her to the edge of the counter as you feel her ankles hook your backside loosely. “The guilt trip isn’t gonna work on me today honey, sorry.” 

Chaeryeong rolls her eyes at that, and blinks. She has this kind of tendency no matter what given situation it may be, for her to let the eyes lock onto something over your shoulder or let the mind just wander. It’s only for a few seconds and nothing more than that, but with the way that her fingers curl around your neck again, darting her eyes back towards you, signaling to something. 

“Not letting me go, are you?” You prompt. 

“Are you sure you can’t call off again?” Chaeryeong reels you in with the pull of her knees, smiling at the dry laugh leaving your lips. “Please? For me?” 

So you lower your guard, tip your head downwards to get those first tastes of her lips. She tastes like coffee, and you’re probably sure that there’s a little bit of ketchup stuck on the outer room of her bottom lip. 

You’ll be partial to the playfulness that Chaeryeong exerts, the seemingless gravity that makes everyday worth treading through. If you roll your eyes at her, she’ll do the same thing, because that’s the kind of person that Chaeyeyong is: someone who gets what she wants, even when the common denominator of all things is you. 

She’s an easy person to let by. Frankly, you’re quite the opposite. 

You like when she has a little bit of an attitude towards you, riling her up and pressing all the right buttons with all this teasing and the usual back and forth banter that ends up with a flying hand to a shoulder or face, but you love when she does that - consider it to be a hidden charm.

“Not today, princess,” you finally answer, a finger treating the corner of your lip as you quickly glance at Chaeryeong wetting her lips some more leaning again but you’re pulling back just a bit just to get the funny little shake she does with her arms when she’s being messed with. “As much as I love to, I’ve got some stuff to be done today.” 

“Like what?” Chaeryeong asks, using her hands to shake your waist in place, kind of like a little kid throwing a tantrum in the middle of the grocery store, her whining tone a further emphasis. “If you don’t go in, then-”

“My manager would be on my ass,” you answer for one. “Plus, our project would be pushed back a bit. Worst case scenario: I could get fired since this is the third time in the past two weeks where I had to call off.” 

“That won’t happen.” 

“You’re right, but I could lose my job if we keep this up. We would lose one of our primary sources of income. Bills won’t be paid, no groceries - imagine the house goes too, now that would be tragic.” 

Chaeryeong listens dutifully, but her grip is still somewhat tight on you. 

“Is that enough to sway you, my dear?” you ask, thumbs massaging the back of her (your) dress shirt that she’s practically swimming in all of it’s unbuttoned glory. And Chaeryeong here leans her head towards the bridge of her left collarbone, retreating a hand back firmly onto the counter. That same side also opened up a bit to where you could see more of her exposed chest right down the middle. Her thoughts are in order, and her right hand is sending the clear message. 

She’s not letting go. 

“Tempting,” is what she gives, her voice a bit off, not exactly defeated nor depressed, but firm. She’s pulling you in the more she leans back, flashing those pleading eyes with the hint of lust hidden beneath them. “I guess you can be on time for once.” 

Well, fuck it. What’s one more earful from your boss later today when you come in? 

Whether or not it’s your fault or Chaeryeong’s will be decided sometime later, but it doesn’t take any more of an ounce in your mind when her arms wrap around the broad shape of your back, feeling the heat of her cheeks grow with every passing second as you’re picking up on the familiar rhythms and movements from last night’s escapades. Through all the hot, slick mouths to the consuming presses of your faces against each other, you’re doubling down your efforts when you lay her across the marble as she tugs your hair gently. 

Chaeryeong gets a single leg wrapped around your waist as she shimmies herself down a bit to where the tent of your pants is, the slight raise of her hips hoping to be satisfied with an early form of friction to get a feel of the real thing following the next couple of minutes. You pull back with an audible smack off of her small, plump lips. “Figured you changed your mind?” She asks, and the lazy smirk she pulls is nothing short of playing calm and collected as you snake a hand beneath the dress shirt, feeling up the cold skin since the lack of layers is playing to her disadvantage. “That look in your eyes says ‘yes’ to me.” 

“You’re not really offering me much choice here,” you’re saying, thumb grazing the curve of her underboob. Chaeryeong never likes wearing clothes in the morning unless it's just her underwear. Today was certainly no exception. 

The more you sink your body onto Chaeryeong’s, the more you’re starting to become more familiar with the sloping curves and lines of her body that your fingers glide over - she’s tightening the noose that’s formed within her arms, slithering along with the additional pull of her ankle pressed into the posterior of your thigh. 

It’s the question she asks so innocently, even when her actions don’t really speak for her words: 

“I’m always offering you a choice here, babe.” You consider that to every avenue possible, even when you’re bent over the kitchen counter with your girlfriend under you, and she isn’t wrong in this case either. There’s always a choice for you to hide away from the rest of the world with her without having repercussions. There’s always a choice to follow when you’re making her cum over and over and over until the eventual trade off happens in emptying yourself, heaving and exhausted only for the cycle to repeat again not long after. “You just have to think critically here.” 

“Which I am,” you’re telling her, a stray finger sweeping the strand of hair stuck to the side of her cheek, meticulously tracing every fine detail along the line of her profile, studying and admiring the beauty right in front of your eyes, where the appearance is all natural and without the added effects of lighting and makeup. 

It isn’t any different, this gaze you’re bearing. Call it straight out of a romantic movie, the way that you wait at the bottom steps of Chaeryeong’s office building, waiting for her to get out at approximately five o’clock every day of the week and when she does get out, the glint in your eyes and pretty much everything around just seems to bright up instantly as she gracefully makes her way down like that typical Cinderella story, expect that both of her heels stay on throughout the whole time, but you’d love to put the heel back with it’s rightful owner if it came to that. A fairytale story imitated in real life. You would love to be stuck in that little world with her no matter where it takes you, exploring and sharing the new experiences because she’ll be there right at your side. 

But if it’s during the late nights or mornings like these, it usually entails a different story entirely. 

Chaeryeong knows what she’s doing at times when you’re up late writing reports or getting those late night reads. You know what she does to you in the mornings especially after a night out with her limbs bundled up all over you beneath the sheets - the eventual mixup culminated after you’ve rucked your fingers deep into her hair, her skin, until she’s a whimpering and whining mess in the dim lights, muscles having a mind and memory of their own in making her feel good. All of this was led from the subtitles advances, the taunts, the hushed whispers of what she would do to you or vice versa. 

The wavelength is well connected, you’re still looking deep past those whisky irises of hers, a shimmering sparkle lying beneath as she pulls a lazy smile at the corner of her lip. 

“Wanna know what I’m thinking about right now? You ask, pressing your head across the underside of Chaeryeong’s jaw and at the top of her neck. As if it were second nature or just practiced, she inhales deep, arches her back up and away from the counter, giving leeway for your arms as she grasps you close. Closer. As if she’ll melt right into your skin then and there. She’ll want more of you. The touches, the kisses, just anything of substance that makes her feel amazing. Your nose gets filled up with that sea breeze scent from her shampoo the other night, nuzzling at the tilt of her chin when you’re saying, “Forget about work, it’s just you, you, you. It’s all about you.” 

“That’s flattering,” Chaeryeong says, moving her head when your lips continue to canvas across the slender column of her neck, leaving her with these quick gasps as her body shivers beneath the dress shirt. “You’re like- so crazy about me. It’s a bit concerning, but when you’re equally insane as me-” 

“Chaery,” you say, and even with the low timbre your voice is presented with, it does something to her head, the way her eyes flutter at her own name. The sigh she lets out is heavenly. “You don’t have to tell me. I know.” 

And here you catch wind of Chaeryeong doubling back on the defensive, her face flushed as her eyes are fixated on your face again, the breathing suddenly getting irregular but only for just a second - her position is rapidly deteriorating when she averts her gaze away from yours, like she wasn’t the one who swiped your dress shirt for her to put on while you were in the shower, the way she sat so leisurely on the kitchen counter as you wrap up breakfast, and the fact that she got on top of you before you even did all that, fluttering her pussy lips across your growing cock in the hope that you’d give her a quickie. 

But here she is, splayed across beneath you. It didn’t matter whether it’d be on the couch, the floor, the bathroom floor, the mattress; anywhere you go, there’s a certain hierarchy to be followed. “God, you’re so effortless with it. You-” 

You’re shaking your head here, the air leaving your nostrils hitting right above her lips as you slide your right hand down her waist starts this little aftershock effect of shuddering when your fingertips start to dance along the lacy elastic of her panties, her legs moving with unease as she’s anticipating the inevitable creaming and jutting her hips for more. She hates the teasing to an extent, but knows that you’ll play into her game before she lets you have free reign. “Keep telling me what I want to hear, babe. It’s okay.” 

Chaeryeong however, when the right moment matters the most, doesn’t say anything. The only thing coming out of her mouth is another moan when you’ve got a handful of her ass on your palm, pressing your lips and nose deeper into her neck again. Your weight is pressing deeper to the lower half of her body as she manages to get her other leg wrapped around your waist as her lips capture yours, pulling and biting the slick parts to get more out of you. The desperation. She wants it. She needs it. You could agree with the craving aspect all by itself. 

“Not hearing anything from you,” you mutter as your lips slide across hers, dragging your hand in this perpendicular motion that catches her panties at the edge, moving it down as the cloth goes along with it. She’s still shifting about underneath, a bit erratic though it fits her so well. You don’t have to say an inkling of praise as to how good she looks when she doesn’t get what she wants. No point in telling because you’ll spread her legs apart and give exactly what she needs before she can even put in a proper request. 

“Bitch,” Chaeryeong hisses, the line of her spine jagged in a weird formation as she tilts her head back, muscles tensing as the hooks of your arms really do their work as intended. “Don’t- Don’t do this shit with me. I know what you’re doing.” 

Part of the dress shirt falls past her shoulder. Her chest opens up to you as your head goes a bit lower past her neck, letting the pale skin stretch below as the hand focusing on her panties reaches to her thighs. Almost on impulse, probably instinctually, her legs open up revealing the usual site of damage waiting to be bombarded on again, hips moving out of their own will as she keeps on fidgeting at your touch. 

Normally you’d be off to work around this time, or hit the front door in the main lobby, but not today. “Doing what, exactly?” you reiterate, fingers grazing her inner thigh as the panties eventually get discarded from her legs with all the moving that she keeps on doing, the bottom of your wrist hitting her aching lips on accident (calculated, actually), “Cause from the looks of it, I’m not doing anything wrong here.” You can’t really help yourself in these types of situations: the teasing, being playful with all of the nonchalance of talking. The first pressure point was the cursing, and that’s already done. What follows with that first barrier cracking in front of your eyes would be all of the swearing and the lovely pleads of her begging - giving it to her like she deserves, in the arched backs, the press of her calf on the small of your back, her toes curling, fingers digging into the back of your head, letting her vocal cords sing as you’re filling every single bit of her fantasy of the kind of unfathomable sex that kind of feels a bit unrealistic; though it’s real, all of it. Like you’re good at reading all of the signs and lines that the body gives without any additional help at all. “I’m just getting you ready. Exactly in the way that you want.” 

Boom. Bullseye. Chaeryeong knows all too well, and she’s yours. Her eyes roll back as the upper profile of her teeth catches her swollen bottom lip, because it’s a rinse and repeat of the countless times that you’ve fucked her over and over with your tongue, your lips, your cock. She’ll keep spilling out these praises and swears of you carrying her to bed, or dragging her at times, all of the good and bad things that she’ll late on forget when you’re burying her into the mattress or letting her ride you out in the open air. You’ll be her enemy, and she’ll be yours. But here’s the thing: it cuts both ways. 

She gets a nail or two into your nape, a bit too deep, another mark of dishonor. The growl rumbling in your throat finds its way into the upper profile of her chest, but the return of delight coming from Chaeryeong serves as the proper antithesis that cancels it out completely. “Look at you,” you drawl, “I can see the fucking glisten from up here.” 

Chaeryeong manages to get an elbow up for stability, leaning back as you find the grooves to grip into her waist, holding the bottom of her thighs with your hips as they finally rest at the edge of the counter. 

Your hand works behind the scenes as Chaeryeong keeps her lidded eyes up, just barely. “You-” Is a firm attempt for her to reply to your remark, but when the root of your palm presses down onto her heat, she moves up on reflex, wanting that roughness in the lines to momentarily sate the growing want with every small shift. Her voice hides well under her loud breaths, and all she mumbles off of her lips is a very timid, “need.” 

There’s a fair share of sights you’ll drink your eyes into for as long as you need. Oddly enough, the displeasure of making Chaeryeong wait, to whittle her down into nothing less than just impatience and desperation - it’s adorable, because this is payback for what she did to you the night before. 

You remain stoic, unfazed. Her eyes keep focusing and unfocusing as her chin goes low, looking up. 

“Gotta help me out here, love,” you adjust, swaying your head from side to side slowly as you ease up with another kiss or two, leaving nothing untouched with the soft presses until you figure enough is enough for the time being. “What is it that you need?” 

She inhales deeply. Collecting her thoughts. Her favorite kind of truth serum: the neediness. “Need you to feel me.” 

“Need me to fix you up,” you rephrase, allowing her a small victory when her arms pull you in again, the taste of your lips too addicting to ignore, holding her close at the waist that makes her stop abruptly. “Make you cum so hard that you’re aching for more.” 

The nods she makes are frantic, and you can see the lump in her throat roll downwards as she leans up for another quick kiss to your chin. 

“Please baby.” Chaeryeong’s drawing another sharp inhale into her chest when you pick her up off the counter, sitting her upright. Some of her hair catches your cheek, just by a few strands, but she takes this opportunity to recount and compose herself. “For me.” 

“You’re pretty,” you huff into her ear and she hums this nice tone against her throat when you’ve slid her right at the edge of the counter, easing up the tension in her body when you flip your fingertips at the growing warmth between her legs. She does the easy part all by herself when she slips out of the dress shirt even more, the bottom part of the cloth rumpling across the smooth surface behind her. “I’ll give you exactly what you need.” 

She’s nodding against your ear, you’re smiling deep into her hair. This is the best way to start the morning. 

When the two pads of your fingertips make that first dip into her cunt, she’s clutching onto you like her life depends on it. Like the shackles of every chain of common sense she had left finally severed. She hisses again, you realize how wet she’s really gotten, the ruts she continues on doing only makes that craving even more deserving to satisfy. 

The quick murmur of a ‘fuck’ doesn’t go unoticed when you’re calculating every move your finger makes as it inches further down the soaking trenches of her cunt. It’s all in the right amounts of pressure, the curls, inching deeper and deeper to elicit these beautiful hymns of pleasure infecting your ears. She’s spreading herself winder, mirroring the stretch of her pussy lips when you finally give her that fill that she’s been wanting all morning. You’ve got all three knuckles up inside her, each move makes her pussy gush around your fingers as you pick up the pace a bit. 

Chaeryeong isn’t one to just sit and let anyone do the work for her. She equally wants the effort just as much as you, rolling her hips into your hand as you’re dividing and conquering her body with another fast shower of kisses across her neck and chest. In the ‘ahh’s’ and ‘mmm’s’ and ‘mhm’s’ brings her closer to the edge that she oh so yearns for. Only you can pull it off and out of her in record time. 

Her fingers keep traversing into your hair, until you’ve got her in that lecherous spot to where her head shoots back in a momentary shock and buries her chin into the crater where your collarbone is as you can picture the crinkle in her eyebrows. She coos when she feels the ends of your teeth nibble over her neck, adding onto the catalog of bruises from the night prior and where the concealer will have to work a little bit harder when she goes out later in the week. 

And you curl your fingers right before the opening, and the thumb on her clit throws itself into the mix. A pinch happens somewhere here too. You’re closing in on the staggered breathing that steadies itself as the wetness starts to seep into your hand. She knows she’s close, and you know her better than anyone when she finally reaches the first layer of her orgasm, holding her at the rim of her ass as the bottoms of her thighs slide across the counter. 

“Shh, I’ve got you,” you’re whispering amidst the sucking gasps of her rapture. Her head faces up towards the ceiling, her eyes roll back before they’re fading behind her eyelids. “Some wiggle room as you’re cumming. Thank me later.” 

Chaeryeong keeps her lower half moving as she manages to pull your head back so that you can make eye contact with her. Those fucking eyes. The mocha shade of them focusing and unfocusing as her jaw slackens, the shade in her cheeks flushed as you’re grinning of her sought-after reward. You’re pretty sure that she’s mouthing a ‘thank you’, but the whines fill in as the harmonious sound to which you nod at how proud you are of your own handiwork. 

She’s riding herself without a single care in the world, chest heaving so high and low deep as the heat’s already spread out to every part in her body. 

When you do eventually draw your fingers back from her pussy, there’s a slight coat covering them as you take the time to indulge with your tongue all over them, making her watch as you’re wiping the mess off of your lips. You’re evil, but not that evil. You give her the good grace of making Chaeryeong taste herself, lips and tongue quick to pick up on the spots where you didn’t treat on purpose, watching as she sucks and licks her own slick off that brings a familiar image to foreshadow. The mess. The sloppiness of her. She’s perfect. 

You stare for a little too long as she comes down from that deserved high. Her tongue wetting her lips from the aftertaste. She leans back a bit, watches you breathe out the exhaustion as a twinkle shines in her eyes - another spark - gets both hands on the rim of the counter and lets herself down. She’s a few inches shorter than you. Her forehead right at the end of your chin, and here she looks up. It’s like this optical illusion, how she starts to shrink right in front of your eyes. 

She sinks down slowly, dropping to her knees, hands at the front of your pants, pulling them. 

You can’t let her have a head start, so you don’t even think twice about what she wants next.

It all comes in a black flash. A spring forward in time. She’s on her knees with a finger wrapped around the base of your cock, tongue sweeping the underside as she works her way up the shaft, the heat and slickness of her mouth leaving a trail of her until she’s at the end of it. 

“Chaery,” you hiss, eyes fixated at the sight of her pouty lips lathering up your cock in her spit, watching as she gently bobs her way down the line, slurping and hollowing her cheeks to her heart’s content. “Fuck- fucking hell. God-” 

A pull back with the graze of her teeth is one thing. The swirling tip of her tongue over the head of your cock is another. Then there’s the effortless dive all the way down at the base. She’s unbridled to do whatever she wants to you, and you would be okay with that. The look up with those doe eyes of hers - and the fucking cross-eyed expression with them does something to your neurons. 

She puts most of her hair behind her head while you rest your hand on top, burying your fingers in them. Chaeryeong hums as you test the first thrust of your hips slowly into the choking heat of your mouth. Bit by bit, she takes every inch of you with ease. 

You’ll get your face between her legs, it’s already happened. 

You’ll get your cock deep into the hollow of her throat, it’s happening right now. 

Fuck, and when you pull out to smack the head of your cock across her lips before you see her eyes go wide to that repeated deepthroat motion, she’ll take it well and you’re sure of it. 

Doesn’t change the impending outcome whatsoever: you’re still going to be late. 

You’re surprised at how the dress shirt has managed to stay on Chaeryeong’s body this entire time, hitting the back of her mouth with obscene precision. She’s giving you this sort of payback when her hands hook to the back of your thighs; they go a bit higher to rest on your ass as she relaxes her throat, resting your cock into the cyclonic heat in every passing stroke. 

She gags a bit for a second, the puff of her cheeks letting you know that the choke is a positive implication, and you gasp in surprise. 

Her heavenly locks are even messier than they were before, when you’re pumping yourself into her mouth, holding her still to prolong the amazing feeling she has over your cock. The sounds she makes happened the morning before when your body decided to have a mind of its own, in response of the cold air to which Chaeryeong accepted the gift wholeheartedly: fucking her mouth until you’ve got your cum spilling out the corners of her mouth and a few spurts painting her cheek soon after - it isn’t any different here.

You could cum right here, right now, and she’d be happy with the result. 

But when her eyes drop low, dead in the water, hazy, the puff up of your chest prepares you for the worst. 

She hums. Her mouth slips across your hard length slowly, meticulously. The little notion of control takes over when she drags her lips across the sensitive surface with so much care - so much detail, the grip you have in her hair only makes it much more excruciatingly difficult to keep yourself upright, in the buckling of your knees every few other seconds. You’re not simple to take on, and where she’s gargling all over the length, she diverts some of her attention to your balls soon after, nails lighty dragging across the ridges as you nudge down deeper into the opening inside. 

“Umgph,” she finally says when nothing is said except for the leaking gags coming out of her throat, and you’re starting to feel a tad bit dizzier. 

You drag yourself out, pull a bit too hard where the roots of her hair are tangled along with your fingers, and she looks up, a third of your cock sticks out to the inside of her cheek, then her eyes roll back. The hollow she does with her cheeks, the suction- the fucking suction. 

“Jesus girl,” you taunt, almost defensively. “Fuck. Love it when you do that.” 

“Mmph,” she hums, nodding with your tip captured between her lips still. She does a few additional bobs as the clutch of your fingers starts to loosen over her head, slipping, retreats a second later. “Was that enough to convince you to stay?”

The way that you bend yourself down, reach to her level. Her fingers slide over your wrists while your hands get her face in between them, pulling the old bag of tricks and kisses - pulling and biting and sucking off the slop, melding every little part of her towards you. Everything starts to fade out from the outside, as if you’re sinking down deeper into the never ending abyss that’s Chaeryeong. 

Except, she’s the one who pulls away first - not you. The irregular breathing returns after a short stint away, hot and haphazardly, rising up from the floor with a hand quickly wrapped around your cock still. “Maybe you need a little bit more persuading.” 

“I’m all ears,” you tell her, willingly. 

“Really? Okay then. Couch.” 

Your cock is tethered between her fingers, following along to the hypnotic fashion in the movement of her hips. She’s gliding along the hardwood floors on the balls of her feet, humming along shamelessly until you find yourself in a usual territory, just a few steps away from the first battleground. Chaeryeong doesn’t let up with the racking of your brain when she twirls around and captures your lips with hers, her hand languidly sliding along your slick cock that shuffles an influx of these scattered breaths to where she’s smiling into your parted lips. Though, she pushes you onto the cushions of the couch, straddling you as she cradles the back of your head so gently, to where you’re looking up and the only things you can feel are the stray strands in her hair brushing along the side of your face as your lips are under attack again. 

But your hands have their own ideas in mind, acting as an additional weight to her hips, your cock twitching when the outer rim of her puffy pussy lips, making your lips and hers buck on impulse from the contact, chuckling at the twitch. 

“I think teasing you would be better,” she suggests, finally letting herself rest on top of you, the wetness staining the underside of your length, gasping a bit when she realizes that the growth of your cock actually feels a bit thicker than usual. “Wow babe, oh- god. Did you-” 

“Could say that I’m properly convinced,” you sigh, dropping your head back when she slides up a tad bit- jesus. 

And Chaeryeong nods at the resolve, leaning her head to the left as she manages to get a hand underneath your chin, hips moving dangerously slow on purpose. This can be an agenda of sorts, the usual wake-up routine that you would have no problem in following. Until one of you wants to tear the page to start something anew; you could have the ending of digging your cock deep into her until she’s shaking her head for more. 

“Had I done enough already?” she then asks, the drag of her lips past the corner of your mouth, her breath enchanting enough for you to pass out figuratively. 

“I’m passive to changing my mind. But seriously, Chaery, your fucking hips-” 

She hums and nods, grinding down your cock a bit more harshly. Anything that she does would be enough to make you snap. 

“Don’t think too hard about this.” Chaeryeong grins, her soft chuckle in the open space between your lips and hers. It’s a brief moment of embrace - the intimacy - something that happens effortlessly without even the move of a muscle or nerve. You kiss her again, trying to do everything in your power to not give a shrivel of attention in the way that she grinds her pussy over your cock. A tongue gets swept across your lower lip, followed by another sharp inhale; she’s happily skating along your length, makes your eyes drop low, and your head feels dizzy. Only when she pulls away, brushes the tip of her nose against yours, biting her lip down and breathing, “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?” 

Your only logical choice here is to look up, watch Chaeryeong’s face as she licks her fingers, runs them through her folds a few times, grabbing your cock carefully and runs your tip across the first waves of heat, sponging up the soakage as she lets herself down; she slides down to a third - right above the halfway point, and sinks soon after. 

Her cunt molds around your cock perfectly. At the mere fit of her, your lower half twitches in response. She rests for a second as her eyelids drop from above, frozen. You’re positive that you can’t move either; neither of you want to, because everything pretty much made sense in the moment alone, making you forget about everything else. 

“Slow,” you’re telling her, thumbs resting at the creases of her hip. “Slow.”  The anchor of your hands to her impossibly small waist guides her in the same motion she was doing a few minutes ago, gyrating her pussy down to the base of your cock. And then she rises, drops her ass onto your balls and the rebound transfers over to your thighs. “Yeah, right there. Good girl.” 

Chaeryeong does the same motion again, and slams her ass down. She repeats it, and the second time you’re thrusting up a bit to reduce the impact, but the weight on top of you becomes a bit unbearable, and you’re filling the crater of the cushion once more. You’re going to be fucked, the same can be said for her too; it’s a competition as to who can reach their edge first, or at the very least, who can get so needy for their own release that all bets are thrown off the table and one of you will just fuck the other into oblivion. 

“Every fucking time,” she curses, her body almost levitating over your hips at this point. You’re biting down the groan ripping between your vocal cords, each one more aggressive than the last. That’s what she’s working towards - to break you both mentally and physically - bringing out that side of you that’s mere putty one second, make the complete one-eighty to flip her over and make her suffocate through the cushions. You can feel it in the audible slaps her legs sound against yours, the drag of her unbelievably tight pussy piloting the usual aches back to the forefront, unraveling the slack as you struggle to keep it altogether. “Ugh. Amazing.” 

“Chaeryeong,” you sputter out, and this in one of the few rare instances where you’re saying her name properly, and the sight above is always something to get lost into; her head falls forward, shielding the sly smirk and whimpering whines leaking out of her lips. She throws her head back when you’re yanking her back down onto your throbbing length - a test run, an assessment. The way that she fits all around you is second to none, the smoothness and intuition to double down serves as a dangerous addiction that you see yourself relapsing in no time flat. “Hold yourself down here, close to me. Bounce on my fucking cock - shit, just like that.” 

She nods, her upper half finding a hold as she lets the other do it’s thing, moaning mindlessly and all of the good things about how your cock fills her up so easily. The desperation, the hint of panic, that natural instinct of wanting to be fucked, drench your cock with her slick any chance she can get like right now. Her huffs are starting to pick up in pitch as your hands play second fiddle of driving yourself into her as deep as you can get it, and you start to feel your eyelids drooping while the sounds of her thighs start to fade out between your ears. Keeping it together here was never the option. And she holds herself down at the hilt, grinds a bit once you’ve bottomed her out, gyrating your embedded cock as the press of your fingers starts transforming into this claw-like grip. 

Innovative as she is, Chaeryeong moves her legs a bit, plants her feet onto the seat of the couch. Your hands find their way to the underside of her thighs, raising up the intensity with the same motion as before. 

“S’that feel good, baby?” She asks sweetly, innocently. “Your fucking cock feels so good. I could live like this if I wanted to. 

You’ve reduced yourself to nods. There’s nothing left to be said, this indescribable feeling.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” The assurance is cute, but with her pretty little body in the form that it is, the flushed face and heaving coming out of her chest almost undermines the appearance entirely. 

So you’re back to the drawing board. Square one. Chaeryeong is an endless bundle of lust when she squats down on your cock again, doing exactly as she said. She’s fucking you relentlessly as the entire frame of her body plays victim to the aftershocks of your cock and hips; the crash sending a ripple effect of her ass, her thighs, her tits, all shaking up in different paces of motion, and the feeling is the same result every time. 

Everything starts to stir within your body, nearing that eventual end that you and her have been working towards, breaking her body down in endless spires of nerves, right until the very second where she’s clenching around your cock, cumming on your waist. She’s holding herself down to you again, hips moving in this counter-clockwise motion, hoping to reduce the overbearing sensation when she’s peaking again, biting down her scream. It’s in the cinches of her face, the patchwork of scratches forming across your neck and shoulders, the signs of a pretty girl losing their mind over a good dick, wanting to have more like she depends on it. 

“Look at you, baby,” you appraise, combing a handful of her hair as you keep up the stable pace of upward thrusts into her cunt. You know how this story goes - how it’ll be from here on out, where Chaeryeong can’t even come up with the right words on the tip of her tongue, when she’s all fucked out where she can’t even think straight, lets you take the reins away from her. It’s a bit of a facade when she’s holding your neck by the arms, the kind of hug in a reunion after for being away for so long, palms pressing down on the small of her back as you get yourself in the prime position to really fuck her in the way that she knows and likes. The inside of her knees squeeze the outer rim of your legs, holding herself in palace as you get the right angle to the degree, fuck her through and through until she’s screaming and cumming the absolute mess out her. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. Just relax. Let me.” 

Chaeryeong sighs into your collarbone, resting her lips across the skin. You zero in on the imaginary line that you’ve created in your head, gliding into her tight hole. The sound of her slick getting louder and louder with every harsh thrust. There’s also a hint of care in the back of your mind: to not let her squirt over the cushions, since that’ll be another hassle to handle once all of this is over until the next round. 

You’re pulling a lazy grin at the corner of your mouth again, and she takes notice, an airy laugh following soon after. Chaeryeong knows that look all too well. She lives to see that look each and every time - to shake your goodwill down and morphing it into mere impulses of her infectious lust, the rawness of which you’ll completely forget what you were doing minutes prior as you’re only fixated on pounding her cunt to where she’ll beg for more, wail when she hasn’t had enough, just a full on fledged mess. Just when she’s got a few scraps of sense back into her head, she pulls her head sideways, and a siren’s call passes her lips, “do it, want to feel all of you.” 

Well, you’ll do just that. Chaeryeong’s body is one with yours, her hot breath flushing over your neck, peppering your cheek with kisses and huffing out these sorrowful gasps every stroke your cock does inside her, ripping apart every ounce of self control you have left to give. You’ll bask in the glorifying graces of her rapid cunt tearing your cock, the melting heat amidst the heaven that space between her thighs possesses - each passing movement more addictive as you’re pistoning your cock into her pussy - you’ll fuck her well, you’ll fuck her right. The clench she has on you is too strong, and it’s gotten so fucking simple for her to slide from the head of your cock to where your balls is at. She’ll ride you like there’s no tomorrow, and you would be fine with that. 

Harder. Deeper. She whispers into your ear, gasping out more with utter desperation, the voice wracked with pure pleasure, though still stable above the constant slaps your balls and thighs make against her ass; the begging hasn’t stopped too, and she really just wants one thing here from you. She can easily tell that you’re at the edge, the muscles along your cock and around your waist are contracting and relaxing in all the right areas. “Fuck your cum into me, baby. I want it. I want it bad. This pussy is yours. Yours. Own it like you mean it, I want it right in my fucking stomach.” 

‘Chae, fuck-” You bite down hard, drag your teeth against themselves. She’s fucking insane. Her pressure is too much on one point, actually on many points. Your mind and body are out of sync - everything all at once is too much to handle. You’ve got no control anymore. “-your pussy, feels wonderful.” 

“I know, I know,” she coos, managing to get a thumb across your bottom lip, fingers sliding across your cheek, barely keeping it together from the high ground. Her eyes go cross again, jaw slack when your cock drives itself deep into her sopping socket. “Can feel you throbbing. Fuck me. Fuck my pretty little pussy.” 

Your stomach collapses, and you manage to get a few more good thrusts in. “Chaer- god.” 

She slams her ass back down as you hold her there, cumming into her cunt. The first few pulses are lethal, and you’re pretty sure you’re seeing white in your head.

“Shh, there we go.” Chaeryeong sighs, hushing you with a palm over your mouth, muffling out the listless groans and curses that are trapped deep within your lexicon. “Can feel your cum- oh my god, it’s so much.” She’s still clamped well around your cock, squeezing you dry and the lazy follow up thrusts wrings out the last savoring pulses of cum where you can get it. The throbbing hotness finally taking rest within her slick. 

Though she doesn’t take herself off from you right away, and you’re not bothering the idea of pulling out, because she’s meant to stay where she’s at. Her hips continue to massage your cock inside of her as you’re doing your best to come down from your high. You and her mesh the heavy breathing, the exhaustion washing over you as the lustful aura starts to fade away. 

Chaeryeong places her head right next to yours, lightly scratching the back of your head as she lazily looks up to the low hum of your phone vibrating on the kitchen counter. 

“I think that’s your boss calling,” she tells you, placing a kiss to your temple, hips slowly grinding against yours to keep your focus on her, a foreshadow of what’s yet to come, “You should probably tell him that you’re coming in late.” 

[jane-the-geek]

Here’s a quick review of the amazing opening of Arcane season 2:

Vi seems to be struggling with her identity / Loss of identity

Vi is wearing the tank top that I believe is the one she wears under her enforcer uniform. That’s the outfit she’s wearing throughout the opening.

Jinx, who was hiding behind, rises and steps into the light—maybe a way of showing that she’s grown symbolically, that she’s now 'bigger.'

Ekko with his shadow resembling a clock winding back time.

Caitlyn is shown in her turtleneck (also what she wears under her enforcer outfit ? ), With a curtain to suggest a stage, she takes a deep breath before stepping into the light with a fake smile. Honestly, if I analyze it, we can say without much risk that she's in inner conflict, that she has to step into the spotlight and is showing a different face from how she really feels.

There’s so much to say about the other scenes, but others will handle that perfectly; I have a special focus on CaitVi (😂). Here they are again in the same outfits—the turtleneck and tank top. It’s an interesting way to present them, and there’s a lot that could be said, which I won’t go into, but I wanted to point it out. Cait and Vi are more vulnerable in these outfits; it’s very intimate, as are all the shots with them in this opening. We’re really in deeply intimate territory.

The looks are very intense, filled with hatred or something else? (my poor babies).

At first, I thought they were kissing, but now I think they’re fighting. They could be kissing or strangling each other in that shot; it’s hard to tell. In both cases, it’s very interesting because this little backlit scene with its colors is very intense. And, as I read elsewhere, very lesbian flag.

And Caitlyn is still struggling, with her shadow looking like the Evil Queen, I think (lol 😆). And the effect on her hands gives the impression that she has blood on them.

And I really like this shot because that's my Caitlyn; she has the look of someone who’s realizing, who understands. And maybe she’s coming back to her senses? So, there you have it—just my initial thoughts. I was so awestruck by this new opening that I just had to watch it again and again.

[helen-with-an-a]

Hi, if I may request!

Barca team x teen reader [19] where R has started dating someone, maybe older then her by a year or so but decided not to tell the team because they can be -Too scary- and scare her girlfriend off but they figure it out after they see R out with the Girl, multiple times.

And after one of the matches they catch them before R could Leave and decide to give R's girlfriend 'The Talk' but like she's not scared and actually wins them over.

Change whatever you'd like :) Thank you!

I've changed this slightly but I think the concept is still the same. I wanted to make it someone within the team and I went with Patri because ... she's Patri. They don't have the talk in the conventional sense but I think its still good. I think this is kinda cute but also kinda funny. I hope you enjoy.

Older

Patri Guijarro x Reader; Barça Femeni x Reader

Description: Patri and R are concerned that the team will disapprove of their relationship. Who would have thought they would be exposed by a bra?

Word Count: 3.7k

You were 20 years old, and it was vital to emphasise this detail. Despite your age, which indicated that you were fully capable of managing your own affairs and making responsible decisions, the team often seemed to overlook it. This was especially apparent in interactions involving your partners.

Your personal preferences were well-defined. You had a particular type when it came to attraction, and it was almost a given that older women would capture your interest. In bustling, dimly lit clubs, your eyes would naturally seek out women who had a few more years of life experience, particularly those with dark hair. The dynamic of your attraction was often reciprocal – any older brunette who showed even the faintest sign of interest in you would frequently end up being the one to take you home after a night out. This pattern, though seemingly casual, was a significant part of your social interactions and personal experiences.

That was until Patri caught your eye. You weren’t quite sure what shifted in you, but something was undeniably different. You had known her for well over a year at this point, but until now, she had always been a teammate, a friend. Maybe it was the alcohol, loosening the usual boundaries and inhibitions. Maybe it was the way she smiled at you with an easy grace as you handed her another drink, her eyes holding a warmth that made you feel seen. Or maybe it was the way she kept glancing at your lips as you sang along to some song whose lyrics you only half understood, her gaze lingering in a way that made your heart race.

It was during a brief hiatus from international commitments, a period when the usual whirlwind of club games came to a halt. You were dealing with a minor injury that kept you off the field, and Patri … she didn’t answer her call ups anymore. You had started the evening with the other teammates who were also free from international obligations. The night had begun with light-hearted conversations and the clinking of glasses, but it quickly evolved into something more intense. As the night wore on, you found yourself gravitating toward Patri. The connection you felt with her seemed to intensify with each shared drink and every stolen glance. The casual flirtation of earlier in the evening became more charged, more electric.

Before long, you ended up underneath Patri, her nimble fingers leading you to the brink of pleasure again and again. The way she touched you, with a mix of tenderness and urgency, was unlike anything you had ever experienced. It felt like a dance of its own – a rhythm that resonated with something deep inside you. For her, it might have seemed like just another one-night stand, a fleeting moment of passion with someone she had always seen as a friend and teammate.

Yet, beneath the surface, Patri was grappling with her own emotions. Was it risky to cross that line with someone she worked closely with, someone she would have to face day in and day out after this? Absolutely. But the way her heart soared when you smiled at her, the way your touch made her feel alive in a way that no one else had before, was impossible to ignore. In those moments, when the world outside seemed to fade away and it was just the two of you, the usual concerns and boundaries seemed insignificant compared to the intensity of what she was feeling.

As the night drew to a close, and the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, the two of you lay together, breaths mingling and hearts still racing. The aftermath of such an encounter left both of you in a state of introspection. For you, it was a realisation that the connection with Patri went beyond mere attraction – it was something deeper, something that had the potential to redefine the dynamics of your relationship with her. For Patri, it was an unexpected awakening, a challenge to her preconceived notions of friendship and romance.

You had entered her bed one night, and never left. The following more … well, more like early afternoon … she found you at her stove top, your hair piled up on top of your head, one of her t-shirts covering your body. You had presented her with a pile of pancakes, made with a secret family recipe that she had tried to coerce out of you with the promises of going back to her bedroom. The day had bled slowly into the night and once again, you were wrapped up in her arms. It was a cycle that neither of you wanted to end.

You had both agreed that you would not be sharing this particular development with the team. She was well aware of the overprotective nature of some members, and she quite valued her life. You had laughed, a musical sound that made Patri’s heart flutter before agreeing to whatever she wanted.

That didn’t stop the team from prying though.

Alexia couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she was certain that something was different about you. There was an unusual, almost otherworldly glow surrounding you, a gentle radiance that seemed to emanate from within. It was as though you carried a secret warmth that made you stand out from everyone else.

Your smile, too, had changed. Where it once had been rare and fleeting, you now wore a soft, almost perpetual smile that seemed to touch every aspect of your demeanour. It was as if you had discovered a new layer of contentment or joy that was reflected in your constant, serene expression.

You were always on the quieter side during training; the pressure to perform well and the worry of constant scrutiny were always on your mind. But lately, there was a noticeable shift. The intense focus and anxiety that had once characterised your approach seemed to have softened. You approached your training sessions with a newfound ease and confidence, as if you had found a balance between your inner strength and outer performance. It was almost as if the weight of expectation had lifted, allowing you to focus more on the joy of the practice itself rather than just the results.

Outside the walls of the training ground, however, the transformation was even more striking. You always had a level of confidence to you, but it was still reserved. But now exuded a vibrant energy that matched the exuberance of Cata or Pina. Your laughter was more frequent, your conversations more animated. You were more willing to join in on spontaneous adventures and social gatherings, embracing life with a zeal that was both infectious and heartwarming.

“Something is different with Nena,” Alexia announced to Mapí and Ingrid. Her voice carried a note of curiosity, mingled with the faintest trace of concern.

Mapí glanced up from the book she was pretending to read, her brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean? She seems fine to me. Maybe even better than fine – she’s been in a great mood lately."

Ingrid, who had been stretching on the floor, paused mid-stretch and looked over at Alexia with a thoughtful expression. "I noticed it too. She's... different. Calmer, maybe? Happier, for sure."

Alexia nodded, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed as she considered her next words. "It's not just that she's happier. It's like she's changed on a deeper level. She used to be so on edge during training, always overthinking, stressing out. But now... I don’t know, she’s just glowing. She’s more confident, more open. And have you seen how she’s interacting with people? It's like she's suddenly unlocked this whole new part of herself."

Mapí closed her book, giving up the pretence. "Yeah, she's been more involved lately. She used to stay quiet or just follow along with whatever we were doing, but now she’s right there with us, cracking jokes, coming up with ideas. It’s like she’s finally letting herself have fun."

Ingrid nodded again, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It's a good change, though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this relaxed. Whatever it is, it seems to be working for her."

Alexia sighed, though it was more of a release of tension than a sign of worry. "I know, I’m happy for her. But I can’t help wondering what brought this on. It’s like she’s had some kind of breakthrough, and I just wish I knew what it was."

“Brought what on?” Patri asked, coming to stand next to the trio.

“Nena is different,” Alexia answered. Patri froze, her eyes widening imperceptibly. Shit, did they know?

For a split second, Patri’s mind raced. She struggled to keep her expression neutral, to not let the panic she felt bubbling up inside show on her face. Had they somehow discovered the secret you had been carefully keeping? Or was this just idle curiosity, a harmless observation?

She forced herself to take a slow, steadying breath before speaking. "Different how?" Patri asked, hoping her voice sounded as casual as she intended.

Mapí leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied Patri. "She’s just... more relaxed, more confident. Like something has shifted in her. It’s a good thing, we’re just curious about what might have caused it."

Patri nodded slowly, her mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. She knew she had to tread carefully; one wrong word, and the others might start asking questions that neither she nor you were ready to answer.

"Maybe she’s just finally found her groove," Patri suggested, hoping to steer the conversation in a more benign direction. "You know how it is – sometimes everything just clicks, and you start feeling more comfortable in your own skin."

Ingrid seemed to consider this, nodding slightly. "Yeah, that makes sense. She’s been working really hard, so maybe she’s just more confident now that she’s seeing the results."

Alexia, however, wasn’t entirely convinced. "Maybe. But it feels like more than that. Like there’s something else going on. I just hope she knows she can talk to us if she needs to."

Patri’s heart pounded in her chest, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "I’m sure she does. We’re all close, and she knows we’ve got her back."

Mapí leaned back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with Patri’s explanation. "Yeah, you’re probably right. Whatever it is, I’m glad she’s doing well. She deserves to be happy."

"Oh please, you guys cannot be that dense," Cata interrupted. "She’s having regular sex."

The room went silent for a moment as Cata’s blunt statement hung in the air. Patri’s breath caught in her throat, and she fought to keep her face from betraying the shock coursing through her. She hadn’t anticipated this turn, and her mind scrambled for a way to deflect the situation.

Mapí’s eyes widened in surprise, and Ingrid nearly choked on her water, sputtering as she tried to recover. Alexia blinked, her mouth opening and closing as if she were trying to process what Cata had just said. "What? Are you serious?" Alexia finally managed to say, her tone a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

Cata leaned back, folding her arms across her chest with a smirk. "Come on, it’s the most obvious explanation. The glow, the relaxed attitude, the sudden confidence – classic signs. Trust me, I’ve seen it before."

Ingrid shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around the idea. "But who? When? How do you know?"

Cata shrugged nonchalantly. "I don’t know the details, but I know what I’m seeing. It’s not rocket science."

Alexia still looked skeptical, but she couldn’t completely dismiss Cata’s theory. "I mean... I guess it’s possible," she said slowly, glancing over at Patri, who was doing her best to appear unfazed. "But surely she would tell us?"

“I don’t tell you when I have regular sex,” Cata replied with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Ew,” Mapí muttered, wrinkling her nose, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips. The tension in the room eased slightly as the conversation took on a more teasing tone.

“Besides, you guys can be pretty scary when you want to be,” Cata continued, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Remember when Jana brought Jill to one of the Champions League matches? You nearly bit her head off.”

Ingrid snorted, unable to hide her amusement. "That was different! We were just... protective."

"Protective?" Cata shot back, raising an eyebrow. "You were practically interrogating her, asking all those questions like you were her older sisters or something. If I were her, I’d be a little hesitant to bring anyone around you guys too."

Alexia opened her mouth to argue but then stopped, realising that Cata might have a point. They were a tight-knit group, and while that closeness brought comfort and support, it could also be intimidating, especially when it came to personal matters like relationships.

Patri took the opportunity to steer the conversation further away from any potential landmines. "Cata’s right, though. We can be a bit much sometimes. Maybe she’s just enjoying this part of her life privately, and that’s okay. We don’t have to know every detail."

Mapí sighed, nodding reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess. I just hope she knows we’d be happy for her, no matter what."

"We’re just being nosy, as usual," Ingrid added with a chuckle. "But we should probably let her come to us if she wants to share."

Cata nodded in agreement, her playful demeanour softening slightly. "Exactly. If she’s happy, that’s all that matters."

You and Patri had been relatively successful at keeping your relationship quiet. It helped that you already lived in the same building, making it easy to slip in and out of each other's apartments without drawing too much attention. The close quarters provided the perfect cover – no one thought twice about seeing you together at odd hours or spending time in each other's spaces. It was just what friends did.

Patri’s naturally tactile nature also played a significant role in keeping suspicions at bay. She was always affectionate with everyone, always the one to throw an arm around a teammate, pull someone into a quick hug, or casually rest her head on a shoulder during team meetings. Her easygoing, physical approach to friendship meant that no one batted an eye when she touched you – no one suspected that her touches lingered just a little longer, or that her gaze softened whenever she looked at you.

This façade had worked well for months. You could share secret smiles across the room, brush fingers when passing each other in the hallway, or steal a quick kiss when no one was looking. It was thrilling in its own way – like you were both in on this wonderful secret that no one else knew about.

But as the weeks passed, the subtle changes in you were becoming harder to hide. The joy of being with Patri was seeping into every part of your life, and it was starting to show. The way your face lit up when she walked into the room, the newfound confidence that had everyone talking, the soft smile that seemed to have taken permanent residence on your lips – all of it was evidence that something had changed, something more than just a good mood.

Who would have thought that your carefully constructed illusion of smoke and mirrors would come crashing down over a bra? It was a very pretty bra – almost entirely see-through mesh with little blue flowers and vines draped artistically over the cups and bands. Delicate and elegant, it was a piece Patri had chosen carefully, knowing you would appreciate the details, knowing you would appreciate it immensely against her tanned skin.

It had been one of those rare, lazy mornings when you and Patri had lingered in bed longer than usual, wrapped up in each other and the comfort of your shared space. The early light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the tangled sheets. The world outside felt distant, and the pressures of your busy lives seemed to melt away in the quiet of the morning. There had been laughter – Patri had a way of making you laugh, really laugh, even when you were trying to stay serious. Soft kisses followed, the kind that spoke of unspoken promises, of shared secrets, and of the deep affection that had blossomed between you. Whispers filled the room, conversations so tender and intimate that they made the rest of the world fade into insignificance. It was just the two of you, in your own little universe, where nothing else mattered.

When it finally came time to get up and face the day, the reality of the outside world came rushing back in, and the easy rhythm of the morning turned into a scramble. You had dressed quickly, grabbing clothes off the floor in a hurry, not thinking twice about which items belonged to whom. There was no time for careful sorting or folding – just the frantic rush to stuff everything into your kit bags before heading out the door. In the chaos, it hadn’t even crossed your mind that something as small as a bra could unravel everything you’d worked so hard to keep hidden.

The rest of the day had passed in a blur – training, meetings, more training. You hadn’t thought about the bra once, too focused on your performance, on the game coming up, on the usual demands of your life. It wasn’t until you were all gathered in the common room later that evening, relaxing after a long day, that the forgotten piece of lingerie decided to make its dramatic reappearance.

Technically, it was Patri’s fault – she had pulled her stuff out while gathering her towel before heading to the shower, a familiar routine in your post training haze. The bra had slipped from her pile of clothes, falling carelessly onto the floor and lying there, unnoticed, as the team of you rushed to get ready. It was a simple mistake, the kind that happens in the rush of daily life, but in your situation, it was a mistake with consequences.

Jana was in between you and Patri’s lockers when she spotted the lacy material sprawled carelessly on the ground. She picked it up with a puzzled look, clearly intrigued by the delicate piece of lingerie. The room was bustling with the usual post-training chatter, but the atmosphere seemed to shift subtly as she held up the bra.

“Hey, I think you dropped this,” Jana called out as you approached your locker, extending the bra toward you with a slightly raised eyebrow.

Your reaction was almost instinctive. You had been caught up in the rhythm of the conversation, and without thinking, you waved off Jana’s gesture. “Oh, no, that’s Patri’s,” you said dismissively, barely registering what you had just revealed. The words slipped out before you could fully process their implications.

The instant the words left your mouth, the room seemed to go still. Alexia, who had been chatting with Mapí and Ingrid, turned sharply toward you, her eyes narrowing with curiosity and a hint of suspicion. “And how would you know that, nena?” she asked, her tone carrying a mixture of intrigue and challenge.

Your mind went blank, a wave of panic washing over you. You could feel your face flushing as the realisation of what you had inadvertently confessed began to sink in. You froze, your mouth opening and closing as you scrambled for a plausible explanation. “Uhhhhh,” you stammered, struggling to find the right words. “N-no reason.”

Alexia’s gaze was unwavering, and the room seemed to hold its breath as she waited for a more satisfying answer. “How do you know that bra belongs to Patri, nena?” she asked again, her voice firmer this time.

The question felt like a spotlight shining directly on you, exposing your every thought and emotion. Your heart raced as you tried to piece together a response that wouldn’t draw more attention. The easy-going vibe of the room had vanished, replaced by an uncomfortable tension that seemed to settle over everyone.

Patri, who had returned from her shower at completely the wrong time stiffened visibly at the mention of the bra. Her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and resignation. You could see the internal struggle reflected in her eyes as she glanced between you and the inquiring teammates. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything, leaving you to fend for yourself.

“Uh, well,” you began, trying to regain your composure. “I just – ” The words felt inadequate, and you could see the doubt in Alexia’s eyes growing with each passing second. You glanced around, hoping to find a way out of the situation, but all you saw were the expectant faces of your teammates.

Jana, sensing the rising tension, looked between you and Alexia with a mix of confusion and concern. “Maybe it was just a mistake,” she suggested, her tone softening as she tried to defuse the situation. “I didn’t realise it would be such a big deal.”

Alexia’s eyes softened slightly, but she wasn’t ready to let the matter drop completely. “I get that. But if it’s Patri’s, then it’s a bit more personal than just a forgotten item of clothing. So, how did you know?”

The pressure was mounting, and you could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Alright, fine,” you said, your voice steadying as you faced Alexia. “Patri’s my girlfriend, that’s how I know it’s hers.”

There was a collective intake of breath as the truth finally came out. The room seemed to shift, the realisation settling over everyone like a sudden wave. Patri, though visibly relieved, still looked a little flushed. You could sense a mixture of surprise and understanding in the reactions of your teammates.

Alexia’s expression softened from curiosity to a look of genuine acceptance. “Oh,” she said quietly, a smile forming on her lips. “Well, I guess that explains a lot.”

“It does?” You and Patri asked simultaneously.

“Yeh, it does, Patricia. Nena has the sex glow and you look at her like she hung the moon and stars.”

[nokingsonlyfooles]

If you weren't scared until Tuesday night... *hand over eyes, pause to collect self* You are collectively in an abusive relationship with your government and I know lots of people don't have any other experience with that kind of situation, or haven't applied it at scale. I have been there and I know I can't just yell at you to stop enabling the people who are killing you slowly, and killing a lot of other people quickly, right now. That will not get me the behaviour I want to see.

However, if you were able to ignore the danger until Tuesday night, not just the danger to yourself but to your friends and families and communities, or if it seems way worse now, you have been in a privileged position and you need to understand that not everyone watching you vent your anxiety is in the same place.

(Personally, I believe my high horse pancaked right about the time they put a for-profit child prison in my town. It's still there. I'm sure Biden and Harris would tell you that makes them feel very sad, and they will fight so very hard to close it down, but it's still there and there are still children in it. I'm just not there anymore, that's why I'm spelling "behaviour" with a u in it. This is also a privilege, but it's not so much of one that it kept us from understanding what was happening.)

And, if you're speaking where someone with loved ones in Palestine (or Lebanon, or Syria, or any immigrants at the southern border, or a family who had someone gunned down by the police, or anyone else who's subjected to the real bad stuff), you need to be prepared to apologize. You were not paying attention. The US government has been an existential threat for a long time. I'm sorry the threat has become obvious enough for more of you to see it, that's not fun for anyone, but you're going to need to approach that with humility and listen to the people who've been surviving it already. They know what they're doing, we've been failing to kill them for a long time, just ask.

i've been feeling incredible anger and frustration lately with these posts lamenting what the next four years will look like in the u.s., how much "worse" things will get under the trump administration, as if we haven't been witnessing a holocaust for the past year funded by the biden administration. if you have seen a single video from gaza, a single picture, read a feature from a gazan journalist, spoken to a single person in your inbox when they plead for your attention and help, words like "worse" or "better" turn to ash in your mouth. just yesterday my friend hilda texted me that even when her family manages to get food, smoke from the fire needed to cook aggravates her sinus allergies, making it difficult to breathe. this is how she's been living for the past year and a month, under a democrat-funded genocide.

below is a small fraction of the palestinians who have reached out to me for help with their campaigns. it is a huge source of shame to me that i can't keep up with all of the people in my inbox. please go to their accounts and read their stories. and please give what you can spare.

hilda @hildanasr1 / GFM - 5%

dina @dina179 / GFM - 33%

yousseff @youseffamily / GFM - 92%

suad @suad-khaled / GFM - 51%

nada @nadamd44 / GFM - 1%

asma @asmaayyad2 / GFM - 62%

shehab family @reemshehabnew / GFM - 90%

yahya @yahyabkheet-blog / GFM - 21%

mohammed @mohammed-hassouna1 / GFM - 19%

abdulrahman @3bdulra7manosama / GFM - 9%

mai @abuhamdasblog / GFM - 5%

ibrahim @aburakhiaibrahim / GFM - 22%

mona @mansh99 / GFM - 13%

ahmed @najah-meshal5 / GFM - 16%

noor @noor-yashour / GFM - 10%

*ALL CAMPAIGNS ARE VETTED*

[heavyhitterheaux]

Black, Purple, and Blue

AN: fluffy goodness 😘💕

Synopsis: The amount of times your husband gets hit during the Ravens game quickly has you concerned, but he tries to reassure you that there is nothing to worry about

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a beautiful anon 😍

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Hit after hit after hit

You watched your husband get pummeled to the ground multiple times against the Ravens from the comfort of your bed at your home in Cincinnati and it seemed as if there was no end in sight. Multiple people had asked if you wanted to watch the game with them, but you quickly decided against it. You would rather be at home by yourself and not be at some random bar hearing people drunk off their asses talking about your husband if he were to lose.

A fight almost ensued between you and another fan during Joe’s second season with the Bengals and from that point on, you knew it wasn’t even worth your time. You knew Joe was an amazing quarterback and his stats proved it despite what people may say about him.

The game was not moving in the direction that you originally thought, but despite this you still held onto hope since the score was so close.

Joe had confessed to you earlier in the week how anxious and nervous he was for this game and it was to be expected. They were playing in Baltimore on their turf, but seeing how the Ravens caused them an upset at home, it would only be right if the Bengals did the same thing.

Joe was always focused during the season, but it went to a different level when he was playing any team within the same division as the Bengals were.

When the Ravens had gotten the ball back, the camera suddenly cut to the Bengals sideline and you could see Joe wincing in pain as he was holding the left side of his body, Silently cursing to yourself before letting out a sigh, the wheels in your head began to turn and immediately thought the worst.

This time last year as he was playing the Ravens, he sustained his wrist injury that put him out for the rest of the season and the last thing you wanted was for him to go through that all over again. You saw the way it bothered him deep down, even though he thought he was being good at putting up a front for you.

Being married for a total of four years, you could see right through his bullshit and could immediately tell when something was off with him.

You took a sip of your strawberry flavored Truly as you saw Joe throw to Ja’Marr and end up with a touchdown and quickly placed it back down on the table in order to celebrate.

But now, it was time for your nerves to be turned up to another level because you saw them wanting to go for a two point conversion.

“You cannot be fucking serious right now.” You quietly said out loud, even though there was no one in the room but you.

During the play, someone on the Ravens defense had pulled Joe’s face mask and you were yelling at the television seeing as how they never even called it.

Suddenly, your phone rang next to you and you debated on whether you should answer it until you saw that it was your cousin Yalisa. Clicking accept, the first thing you heard was her yelling.

“Y/N! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON IN THIS GAME?! DO YOU SEE HOW MANY CALLS THEY MISSED?! And not them beating your husband like he stole something.”

“I’m so over this, I don’t even know anymore. It seems like they are personally working against them. Did you see him grab Joe’s face mask?”

“Yes! And that’s why I called you! Are the refs blind?!”

“Um, the only names I’ve heard all night are Joe and Ja’marr. It doesn’t seem like anyone else showed up to play today.”

“See? That’s why Joe is as ripped as he is now because he’s carrying this team on his fucking back!”

“And he keeps wincing, so I’m concerned because he has yet to seek medical attention. He just keeps going back in and I can tell that something is wrong with him.” You quietly said and tried to take a deep breath to help ground you from the uneasy feeling that was creeping in.

“I guess he sees it as he has to go back in because who the fuck else is going to? They are seriously pissing me off. Is this the week that Zac gets fired?” She asked and you immediately stifled a laugh.

“As much as I would like that to become a reality, a lot more things need to change beside that one.”

It was one in the morning when your phone rang alerting you that you had a facetime call from your husband and you immediately answered.

The two of you stared at each other as you noticed Joe was laying down. In order to get more comfortable, he adjusted himself and you once again saw him wince. But before you could say anything about it, you heard his voice.

“I didn’t wake you up did I?” He asked and you simply shook your head no.

“No, and you know I always wait for you to call me before I go to sleep. I have to hear your voice one way or another.”

“And hearing your voice has to be my favorite thing in the world. I just can’t wait until tomorrow when I actually get to hold you.”

“I can’t wait for that either and I am going to fix all your favorite comfort foods and we’ll eat ourselves into a food coma to get through this.” You replied as you brought the comforter higher up your body since you were getting cold.

“While watching rom coms of course.”

“A man that knows a way to my heart.” You told him and he gave you a small smile.

It was quiet for a few seconds and then you spoke up again.

“Baby?”

“Yes?”

“I saw you wincing during the game. I don’t like when you wince.”

“I’m okay, really. It’s not a big deal.”

“Joey, don’t give me that. You got hit multiple times. If something happened then…”

“I promise that I’m okay, just a little sore. I already took the motrin that you slipped in my bag for me earlier.”

“Well someone has to do it seeing as you always forget.”

“True, and I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Stop! Stop being so cute when you’re so far away and I can’t kiss you until you get back, it’s not fair.” You whined and Joe let out a small laugh.

“You can have all the kisses you want once you see me. Promise.”

“Joey? How are you and do not under any circumstances bullshit me right now because I will be on the first flight to Baltimore if you do.”

The deep sigh he let out before giving you a verbal answer was telling.

“Frustrated.”

“Go on.”

“It seems like there is a disconnect somewhere and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Cough your coach Zac Taylor cough.”

“Well, that and there is something else. Just haven’t quite figured it out yet.”

“Can I be honest? You are amazing in your own right and even though I know that you already know this, Joey the last thing I ever want to happen is for you to in lack of better words waste your career for an organization that doesn’t quite seem like they value or care about you. Like, my husband is the shit and I’m not being biased. You are one of the best, if not the best, okay now I’m being biased. But, you’re amazing and I just want so much better for you. Do you know how much it hurts to see you so upset every week that you lose knowing that you show up every time for your team and give 100% while others don’t?”

—

Hearing the front door open from you and Joe’s shared office as you were working on your laptop, you immediately hopped up and ran to the foyer to greet him.

As soon as he spotted you, his bag was thrown to the side as he opened up his arms to embrace you as he placed several kisses on your lips.

When you did bring him in for a hug, once again you saw him wince.

“Joseph….”

“No, stop. I’m fine.”

“Hmm, pull up your shirt.”

“Damn, you want me to fuck you already? I was thinking…” Joe started to say, but you cut him off.

“No! Well yes, but not yet! Lift it.”

“But…”

“NOW.”

Once he did, you saw a black, purple, and blue bruise in the area where his ribs were on the left side and immediately gasped.

“BABY!”

“I’m fine, just a little bruised. I don’t want you to worry yourself.” He told you as he put his shirt back down and grabbed your hand as he kissed the back of it.

“A LITTLE bruise? It literally takes up a very good portion of your torso. And how can I not worry? My husband is a professional football player. Worrying is ingrained in my brain now. It got ingrained when I met you at LSU so stop.”

“Would it make you feel better that I got checked out before we got on our flight to come back home because it was bothering me when I woke up?”

“Yes. Kind of. But still!"

“And I’m fine. I promise like I said, and you're so cute when you worry about me."

"Not cute, I get flustered and pray nothing bad happens to you."

Crossing your arms, you nodded your head as Joe uncrossed them and leaned down to kiss you.

"Nothing is going to happen, and I'm going to need you to relax for me. Now that we got that out of the way, I’m also going to need my wife to lose her clothes.”

[intheemptymirror]

drunk dazed !

drunk-roommate!sunghoon x roommate!reader

summary: you never would’ve expected sunghoon— resident ice prince— to be the clingy type of drunk

genre: fluff

warnings: mentions of drinking, sunghoon is drunk (duh), sunghoon and reader aren’t dating but they definitely have a crush/lil somethin goin on, you and sunghoon are roommates, you take sunghoons clothes off but it’s in a non sexual manner, he asks you to help him change, ooc sunghoon

a/n: i would consider myself an engene but i think they’re one of the groups i’m more of a casual fan about if that makes any sense? like i like their music and i consume their content and i have a bias and everything but they’re not one of my MAIN-main groups yknow? but i still love them and wanted to write something for them and i got this idea about how cute it would be if sunghoon was like clingy n stuff so here we are. tbh i don’t love this fic but i just wanted it done and i thought that even if i don’t like it maybe someone out there will. i have a jay fic idea in the works too so if you like enhypen that’ll be out eventually too ;)

if somebody bet you twenty bucks that sunghoon was the clingy type drunk, you would’ve paid them right then and there.

but here you were.

for the past few years you guys had been friends, you don’t think you could remember a time you ever saw him drunk. a little tipsy, sure, but never drunk. and then after you became roommates— which meant spending even more time around each other than before— you still hadn’t seen him get to that state. you had always just assumed he either had a scary high tolerance to alcohol or just didn’t like alcohol all that much.

sunghoon had gone out with the rest of the enhypen boys for a couple of drinks that night, which wasn’t anything unusual or new. what was unusual and new was the extent to which sunghoon drank himself. when he walked out the door three hours ago you weren’t expecting to get a phone call from jay telling you to come pick up your very drunk, very clingy best friend. having to carry a practically incapacitated grown man down the streets of seoul for fifteen minutes and then up a flight of stairs wasn’t a scenario you thought about very often but it was as hard as you would’ve originally imagined.

“y/nnie!” sunghoon whined out into your ear, his weight heavy against your back. a feeling that you would normally find comfort in was now a bit of an inconvenience. you huff out a bit of air and incoherently grumble a bit in what most would consider barely a response, but sunghoon didn’t seem to pay much mind as he pressed himself impossibly further into you. it felt like his whole goal was to make this as difficult as possible, as if gravity was dragging his body down to the ground and wanted to take you with him. you trip over your feet but manage to stay somewhat upright, which only makes sunghoon giggle.

you finally managed to stumble your way down the hall to your apartment door, stopping to catch your breath for a moment. as you stood still and panted with your eyes mindlessly locked onto the small apartment numbers on the door, sunghoon took the opportunity to nudge his nose into your cheek, his dark hair tickling the soft skin of your face. the sensation suddenly snapped you out of whatever trance you were in, making your body jolt slightly before you started the process of trying to open the door. you’re not sure why you were so eager to get sunghoon physically away from you while at the same time wanting him to stay attached to you forever. maybe your fast beating heart was from the physical exertion sunghoon put you through; maybe it was from the emotional. you didn’t have time to dwell on it now.

you grunted as you tried to shift sunghoon’s weight on your back so you could reach the keys sitting in your back pocket. he must’ve thought you were trying to get him off when you started to move because he let out a whine before gripping onto the front of your shirt in his large hands and tightening his arms around your neck to keep himself on you, which only threw your balance off and made you stumble back. you caught yourself before letting out an exasperated groan. “you’re making this really difficult, yknow.” sunghoon simply giggled in response and poked your cheek with his pointer finger, moving his head to press his face flat into the side of yours.

“you’re making this really difficult,” he slurs out his words. you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile and soft laugh that escaped your lips.

“that makes no sense,” you say more to yourself than to him as you finally manage to slide your hand into your back pocket to fish out the apartment keys before unlocking the door and stumbling into the entry way, the sound of your bodies knocking into the wall disturbing the serenity of yours and sunghoon’s (and probably your neighbors) apartment. you somehow managed to slip your shoes off without falling to the wood floor before hauling sunghoon off to his room.

you turn your back to the mattress and completely let go of his weight, letting him flop onto the bed unceremoniously. he let out a grunt as his back hit the sheets, his arm pathetically coming up to try and reach for you once more. you huffed and turned to watch over him for a moment with your hands on your hips while you caught your breath. you watched him paw at the air in search for you before you grasped onto his hand to gently sit him up. he went silent as he tiredly blinked up at you, his pretty, brown eyes practically staring you down.

his intense gaze started to make you nervous, reminding you of a cat watching its owner. his eyes never wavered as he watched you walk over to his closet and rummage around it for a moment before pulling out a plain white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before dropping it onto the bed next to him. “get changed, i’ll leave the room.” as you start to walk away, sunghoon gently grasped your wrist in his hand, stopping you in your tracks. your eyes widen and lips part in surprise as you look between his half-lidded eyes, then to where his hand is making contact with your skin, then back again.

“help me,” he mumbles out. you open your mouth to deny his request, but upon seeing how he slightly sways side to side from intoxication and exhaustion you decide it would just be easier (and probably safer) to help him. “please.”

you study his face for any sign of hesitation before you slowly nod. “okay.” you step closer, standing between his legs as he stares up at you. your heart rate spikes at the sight of his flushed face and cute moles and messy hair and gorgeous eyes with their attention completely on you. you blink a few times to snap yourself out of the trance he’s put you in before your shaky hands hesitantly reach for the hem of the shirt he has on.

“lift your arms up.” you direct him once you’ve taken the fabric in your grasp to which he complies immediately, limply throwing his arms up into the air. you tug the shirt up— it gets stuck to which he thrashes around a bit to get it undone— and over his head before tossing it into the laundry basket sat in the corner of his room. you try not to stare too hard at the expanse of bare skin suddenly available to you, averting your eyes and swallowing harshly to calm yourself down. you choose not to say anything else before reaching for the black jeans he has on, hooking your fingers through the belt loops to tug him to a standing position. he stumbles slightly before balancing out and giggling, standing like a mannequin waiting to be dressed. which in a way, he kind of was.

you unhook his belt and tug his pants off gently before quickly grabbing the pair of sweats and crouching down to help him step into each leg of the pants. you’re glad you were too focused on getting him into them without him falling to focus on the fact that he had been practically naked in front of you for a few moments. you stand back up and tell him to lift up his arms once more, slipping the shirt on— without getting it stuck this time— and watching the moles that dotted his body disappear underneath the cloak of white fabric. throughout this whole process, his eyes hadn’t left your figure even once.

finally having him dressed in clean clothes, you usher him to get into bed, pulling back the covers and gently nudging him onto the mattress. he follows your direction with little resistance, little hums escaping his mouth here and there as he watched you pull up the soft covers and tuck him in gently. “comfortable?” he does a close eyed nod and smiles softly in response. you smile and nod in return. “good,” you whisper.

“i’m gonna go get you some water,” you brush his hair off of his forehead and make barely any moves to leave the room, but are stopped by him sitting upright so fast it was as if he was coming back from the dead and his hands shooting out to grab your arm.

“no!” sunghoon lets out a whine of protest, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes starting to gloss over with tears, his bottom lip jutted out in a pout as it starts to tremble. you’re completely caught off guard by his reaction, even more so when he starts to tug you back towards him until your knees are knocking against the bed. “don’t go, don’t leave me,”

you think you can hear your heart breaking at the sight, the feeling of it clenching uncomfortably in your chest overwhelming. you smile softly at him and reach out your free hand to pet his head in an attempt to soothe him, his lashes fluttering and head leaning into your palm at the sensation. “i’m just gonna go get you some water. you won’t even notice that i’m gone.”

“i always notice when you’re gone.” sunghoon’s voice rings out so clear and suddenly he looks the most sober he’s been the entire night. his vulnerability; it catches you off guard, but you can’t help but like the way it feels coming from him. it’s silent for a few moments more as you let the words he’s said sink into your brain. “just stay with me,” he whispers, as if afraid that if he speaks too loud, the fragile, glass-like state of whatever it is you two are in will shatter under his words.

you blink at him a few times before nodding softly. “okay,” you whisper back. sunghoon pulls back the covers before he guides you onto the open space he’s left you, laying down and tugging the blanket over your shoulders. after he deems you properly tucked in, he rests his cheek on his hands and stares. you both study each other in the moonlit room, your features somehow more ethereal in the soft glow. “you should go to sleep. you don’t want a hangover in the morning,” you whisper.

“i will in a minute,” he whispers back. you can see the cogs turning in his head, as if he was debating both for and against himself in his mind. you realize what that look was for though when the bed dips slightly under his weight as he shuffles closer to you, his arm coming up to rest heavy on your waist. “just let me do this,” he slides his other arm under your head before pulling you until you were pressed against his body. he lets out a sigh into the quiet night as his body finally seems to fully relax, the feeling of you against him helping his hyped up state from the clubbing and alcohol dissipate. he tucks your head underneath his chin, his hand mindlessly rubbing back and forth on your back, lulling you into a sleepy state as well.

you press yourself closer to him and bring your arms to wrap around his torso to hold him in return as you let your eyes flutter shut. “goodnight, sunghoon.”

“goodnight, y/n.” he replies, his breathing evening out as he drifts off to sleep. you smile to yourself before you drift off shortly after, meeting him once more in your dreams.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

When Wifey talks about her union organizing work, she talks about prospective contacts on a 1-5 scoring system. On the one end you have Conservative David who is considered a long term cultivation possibility, but someone who must be approached strategically and adaptively. And on the other end you have Leftist Jane who is not only already jazzed about the union, but seems like possible future leadership material because she has a great rapport with her department and solid social skills. How someone falls on the spectrum tells you how to approach, how much time/resources to invest in someone, and what expectations might be reasonable to have of your contact.

I think that it can be hard to let go of the instinct that we don't want to coddle people when they say stuff we know to be anti-labor. Especially when it's rare for more broad spectrum social skill building to focus on conflict resolution (as opposed to conflict avoidance). But conflict resolution isn't just for fights! It's for any time that you and another person are on different sides of an issue and need to reconcile yourselves somehow. Community organizing involves a lot of that, as well as rapport building, learning to hold the people around you in unconditional regard in ways they receive without sliding into their ideological camp, and how to de-escalate a situation where someone is becoming agitated.

And if you feel anxious about those things, don't be! It feels scary and threatening because you weren't taught how to do it. But if you join a program like a union where they WILL, once you start to get the hang of it, that sense of mastery translates into less anxiety doing the thing! It's always easier to do something you have a lot of tips and tricks to manage weirdness for right? Same thing here.

So honesly? If you're someone who wants to get into organizing and doesn't know how, maybe just start by reaching out to local unions, social coaches, peer group facilitators, etc and see if any of them would teach a class if you got a group together! Learn as a community how to talk to each other and share space in ways that make it feel easier, not harder, to do the work that needs doing.

Activism is not cold-calling.

Activism is not cold-calling, and this is critically important to understand.

I'm seeing a lot of posts on here about 'building bridges' and 'finding community,' and then (extremely valid) response posts saying "BUT HOW??" And I'm going to explain something that can be very counter-intuitive: there is strategy involved in community.

As a longtime volunteer labour organizer, I’ve taken and taught many trainings on the strategy of talking. Something that surprises a lot of people is the very first thing you do in a union campaign. You sit down with your organizing committee, take out pen and paper, and literally map it out. You draw a physical map of the workplace: where are the entrances, exits, break rooms, supervisor offices. Essentially, ‘where is it safe to have a union conversation.’ Then you draw another physical chart of your coworkers. You sort out who is union-friendly, openly hostile to unions, or somewhere in the middle, and then you plan out very deliberately and carefully who talks to whom and in what order.

Consider: If Vocally Leftist Jane walks up to Conservative David and says "hey what do you think about unions," David is going to shut down immediately. He's not inclined to listen to Jane. But if Jane talks to Moderate Jason and brings him into the fold, then Jason is a far more effective strategic choice to talk to David, and David may actually hear him out without an instant reaction.

IMPORTANT CAVEAT: If Conservative David turns out to be Alt-Right David, and could be dangerous to follow organizers, we write him off. We are not trying to reach Alt-Right David. We are trying to reach Conservative David, who may actually be persuaded to find solidarity with other employees as fellow workers. Jason is a safe scout to find out which one he is. It does no one any good if Leftist Jane (or even Moderate Jane who is a visible minority) talks to Alt-Right David and puts herself on his radar. Not only has she done nothing to convince Alt-Right David to join a union - she's probably actively turned him against the idea - but now she's also in danger and the entire campaign is at risk. NOBODY WANTS THIS. Jane was NOT a hero for doing this. The organizing committee was foolish and enacted a terrible strategy to everyone's detriment.

Where you can make a difference is with people who will listen to you. You having a conversation with your well-meaning but clueless Centrist Democrat Auntie, and maybe gently helping her understand some things the media has been glossing over, is way more strategically useful than you marching up to MAGA Neighbour You've Met Once and trying to "build community" or "understand" them. They don't care. They're impervious, dangerous, and cruel. But maybe your beloved auntie will think about what you said, and then talk to her friend Anna who IDs as "fiscally conservative" but didn't vote because she can't bring herself to get on board with Trump. Then perhaps Anna talks to her brother Nic who has MAGA leanings but isn't all the way there yet. Proto-MAGA Nic would not have listened to you, nor would he have listened to Centrist Democrat Auntie, but he might absorb some of what his sister is saying.

This is not a cop-out or an echo chamber. This is you spending your time and energy strategically and safely. You are not a useful activist to anyone if you’re dead. Anyone who is telling you to hurl yourself directly at MAGA assholes like cannon fodder has no understanding of the strategy behind community building, and you should feel comfortable writing them off.

Last point: If you are tired, emotionally devastated, and/or in danger: take a break. This post is for people who would feel better jumping into action, not for people who are too overwhelmed to even think about it right now. You are worth so much even if you’re not actively Doing Activism, and your rest is worth more than “a break period so you can recharge and Do More Activism.” We all deserve the individual dignity of being worthy of comfort, rest & safety just on the basis of being human, outside of whatever we're doing for others' benefit. To deny ourselves that dignity is to devalue ourselves, and that’s the absolute last thing any of us should be doing right now.

[forzarma]

Between the lines

Lando Norris x Law student!reader

A/N: ok amma just act like i didn’t ghost this app for months and came out if nowhere but here we are ig. Also the Brazilian gp??? What the heck like wild race istg😭

It all started one night in Monaco, on a break from law school. You were on vacation with a friend, celebrating the rare freedom that came with a brief pause in your intense study schedule. A night at the casino was not usually your scene, but your friend had insisted.

After about an hour, she’d struck up a flirtatious conversation with some guy who’d been lingering by the bar. You waved her off, telling her you’d be fine, and took a seat on your own near a roulette table.

That’s when he walked up. Unassuming at first, with that messy hair and a slightly cocky smile that had “trouble” written all over it.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, a hint of an accent in his voice.

You shrugged, amused. “Go for it. But I’m not particularly good at this.”

He chuckled. “Neither am I.”

You exchanged a few more jokes, but it didn’t take long for him to introduce himself, giving you his number in a smooth, unhurried way.

“Lando,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You stashed the number away without much thought. It was only the next day, when you mentioned the encounter to your little sister over FaceTime, that you realized who he actually was.

“Some guy named Lando gave me his number at the casino,” you’d said offhandedly. Her jaw dropped.

“Wait, Lando who??.”

You blinked, stunned, and then laughed. “I don’t know, apparently he’s famous”

“so it’s lando fucking norris what” she said wide eyed

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Only my sister would be this oblivious to F1 drivers. I’ve been a die-hard fan since I was, like, ten, and you meet one without even knowing?”

From there, you let yourself get to know him, intrigued by how normal he seemed compared to the hype you’d suddenly realized surrounded him. When he asked you out, you thought, why not? You were used to focusing on your studies and keeping your personal life private, so it didn’t seem like much would change. But with Lando, everything was different.

-

Months later, you’d fallen into an unexpected but steady rhythm with Lando. Despite his career, he managed to keep things low-key. Neither of you posted much about each other. Hell, you barely posted anything at all. You were still a law student with a private life, and the last thing you wanted was for the whole world to know who you were dating.

One evening, you were lying on his couch, scrolling through your phone, when Lando turned to you with a sly grin.

“Babe, you know… you’re eventually gonna get caught, right? Someone’s going to snap a picture of us, and then the cat’s out of the bag,” he teased, nudging your leg with his.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Oh, sure, because every random person with a camera is just dying to know who you’re dating.”

He snickered, leaning in closer. “Maybe. But you know, it could be kinda nice… to go out sometimes. Like, properly. We don’t have to make a big deal of it.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. As much as you loved being with him, the idea of being recognized—or worse, photographed—made you cringe. Your accounts were private, your life simple, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about people seeing you with him.

But, at the same time, you knew it wasn’t fair to keep him hidden away forever. So, you took a deep breath and gave him a small smile. “What if we make a deal?”

His eyebrows shot up in interest. “I’m listening.”

“You can have me at the paddock,” you said, already dreading the idea. “But my accounts stay private, no tags, no ‘girlfriend reveals’ on Instagram. I’ll show up, I’ll be there for you but I’m not trying to become some celebrity.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Deal. Although I can’t promise you won’t end up in a couple of team photos. You know how they love to catch every damn moment.”

You chuckled, trying not to think too hard about what you were signing up for.

-

A couple of weeks later, you were lying in bed with Lando, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, when you felt a pang of guilt.

“I never actually told you about my sister,” you said suddenly.

“Oh?” He looked over at you with interest.

“Yeah, she’s been obsessed with F1 since she was like, ten,” you explained, laughing softly. “She’s begged me to take her to a race for years, but I was always too busy with school. Now she’s a full-on Ferrari fan… and she’s probably never going to forgive me for dating you.”

He grinned, intrigued. “A Ferrari fan, huh? That’s rough. Maybe I can convince her to switch sides.”

You snorted. “Good luck. She’s already sworn allegiance to Sebastian Vettel. In her words, McLaren’s colors are ‘an offense to her soul.’”

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Well, in that case, we’ll have to win her over somehow. Why don’t we bring her to a race? I’ll make sure she gets the best seats, full experience,

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “She’d lose her mind. Seriously. Are you sure? Because I can tell you right now, she’d never root for McLaren.

“Absolutely,” he said, squeezing your hand. “If she’s as big a fan as you say, she deserves a proper race weekend. Plus, I think it’s time we officially break her ‘Ferrari-only’ heart.”

-

On race day, you and Lando arrived at the paddock, and immediately, heads turned. You’d chosen a classic, chic outfit and despite your initial nerves, you managed to keep your cool.

You spotted your sister down the row, and her jaw dropped as soon as she saw you. She approached, barely able to contain her excitement, though she shot a mock glare at Lando.

“Such a shame I don’t like McLaren,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “You just wait. One lap, and you’ll be a fan.”

She rolled her eyes, but you could tell she was thrilled, practically bouncing on her heels as she looked around at the spectacle. She turned to you, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re really here… at a race. I don’t know whether to thank you or disown you.”

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “I’m still not a fan, if that helps.”

She huffed, pretending to be offended. “I guess I’ll forgive you. But only if you bring me every single time from now on.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of cameras, fans, and the hum of engines. You couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that came with being part of the chaos, even if it meant being in the public eye. And when you saw your sister’s face, completely lit up as she took in every second, it felt worth it.

-

The relationship slowly became public, just as you and Lando had agreed. You kept your accounts locked down, but fans began to recognize you, and a few photos of you two at the paddock circulated on social media.

Your sister stayed true to her Ferrari fandom, texting you regularly to tease you about your “betrayal.” But every now and then, you’d catch her slipping in a comment about McLaren usually something along the lines of, “Okay, that car looks pretty badass.”

One evening, Lando turned to you with a satisfied grin. “I think we’re doing alright, don’t you think?”

You looked around the Monaco apartment you’d somehow started calling “home” without even realizing it, at the life you’d built together. You leaned over, giving him a soft kiss. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

In the end, you realized you didn’t need to post, announce, or shout your relationship from the rooftops. Being there for each other was enough, even if it meant sharing some of the spotlight.

After all, Lando may have been the one the world wanted to see, but you were his, and that was more than enough.

[okwonyo]

（ 标题 ） STRAWBERRY HEAD.

PREC𝒾S ⠀⟡​⠀a guy with a fun costume flirts with you at a party.

( 엔하이픈 희승 ) ୨୧ f .. r 12OO fluff meet cute ── flirting skinship ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ recue𝒾l

지아 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒ㅤ i am not leaving tumblr everrr don’t worry, luvdolls 💌

( ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK )

it always ends up the same. no matter what the conversation is, no matter how it began or where; it always ends up with the same conclusion. why don’t you have a boyfriend, yet?

as always, you groan while tilting your face to the ceiling. like a tradition, it is like you are begging a superior being to end your misery now and just take you before they all start to recall all your failed dates and talking stage over the past few months. it is not like they are that many, anyway.

you can try to tell each one of the people surrounding you that you are not interested in a relationship, that you think boys are fun to mess with but truly useless and that you are fine on your own— they never listen.

you successfully disappear amongst the crowd of diverse book, movie and game characters— and even … fruits? — costumes to get a drink. suddenly feeling very thirsty. 

no one notices you, too hang on debating on your love life when you are not even there to begin with.

pouring something into your glass, you feel someone standing a bit too close to you. 

“hey,” a voice greets you loudly. making your heart jump all the way to your stomach. 

you almost giggle as you turn around; a tall, grown man in a bright red hoodie, the same color as his joggings and a strawberry sort of hat wrapped around his head. 

his voice is way too deep to go with his costume.  

a smile tugs your lips, “hi.”

he smiles back. this time with a much much softer, he tells you back, “hi,” he eyes lingers on your face. “you come here often?”

you actually giggle at that, with your face falling towards the ground, with his face following yours, with his gaze never leaving you as he smirks. 

you cross one arm under your chest and plant your free arm’s elbow in your wrist, holding your drink close to your mouth, “please, don’t tell me that line has ever worked for you,” he chuckles at that, “i wouldn’t stand it.” 

the strawberry head shrugs, “tried and tested true for a reason,” then he leans his shoulder against the wall next to you. 

“what’s your name, bambi?” he asks you, biting down his lip as he smiles. 

the nickname comes from your doe makeup and the little tail on your skirt. looks like you are not the only one who makes nicknames. 

you respond while turning to face him, “what is yours?” 

“heeseung,” you admit it, ‘strawberry head’ will be missed but you like this one better. 

“it’s cute,” you nod and he laughs. 

“and yours isn’t?” he immediately says back. he rolls your name on his tongue, dear god . “it suits you well, i like it.”

you huff humoredly, “i will tell my parents you are a fan,” you don’t forget to emphasis on his name and hold your drink up, “heeseung.” 

“i hope i will be able to tell them myself one day,” he teases when you drink, making your choke. 

well, that was quite risky— although, still very smooth, you will give him that. 

your eyes wide and your mouth falls open is a surprised smile. your face must be funny because heeseung lets out a genuine laugh, that goes beyond the sound of the loud music. 

“take me to dinner first!” you tell him, while watching his body vibrate because of his laughter. 

the tall man gets serious pretty quickly after the words leave your mouth, he looks at you like he had you exactly where he wanted. 

“well,” he starts and his smirk is back again. “what about tonight?”

you can only blink at him for a moment. as if it was written on it; you scan his entire face in a hope of an answer. oh. 

“diner?” you ask, he hums. “tonight?” he hums again and your knees weaken a bit. “but we barely know each other!”

“we can get to!” his smile is more than evident in his voice, on his pink lips. “over diner!” 

he got you pressing your lips together and fighting back a smile like a highschool girl. the debate doesn’t take very long in your head, you just need to bite your inner cheek to get yourself to say it. 

strawberry head’s face is full of apprehension and enthusiasm, so much that you wonder who looks the most idiotic between the two of you. 

you sigh, then giggle, “fine, you convinced me.” 

the guy smiles. and after you successfully say goodbye to your friends while avoiding all their questions, everything gets wrapped pretty well. 

soon you stand a few meters away from heeseung’s means of transport.

“you have a bike,” you sound half impressed, half incredulous. 

heeseung, with his strawberry costume, has the audacity to look at you with an utterly shocked and offended expression splashed on his face. he even puts his hand on his heart. 

“am i not cool enough to have one?” he asks as he leans on his motorcycle. 

you take one step closer to him, letting your fingertips run through the leather seat. it is cool, very much so. him, despise his bright red ensemble, too. 

you chuckle, “it just doesn’t match your costume,” you confess and he chuckles. “you are like my very own james dean,” you turn your gaze back to him, “very cool to me.”

his look softens, his hand offered to you and helping you when you get on the passenger sit. he speaks again : 

“i promise to take care of you.” he whispers before letting your hand go gently. “i know a good restaurant a couple of blocks away.” you want to ask him if he doesn’t feel a bit ridiculous wearing this. “are you comfortable?

you thank your past self for choosing a black short instead of a skirt to wear with your black top and boots, “yeah,” you nod. “thank you.”

the wind runs through his hair when he takes off his strawberry head. it takes your breath away instantly. he was already beautiful before but now, this is something beyond and different. 

of course, his hair is pink.

“wouldn’t like to see it flying, would we?” he jokes and you only blink, eyes following him as he gets behind the bike and puts the strawberry in the box. he takes a helmet and comes back to you. 

he gets on the bike, so close to you when he turns around. 

your world completely collapse when he puts the helmet on your head for you, “i only got one,” he speaks, eyes focused on his fingers adjusting the helmet. “didn’t know a pretty girl like you would let me carry her around, you know?” 

thankfully, the tinted visor can hide your blushing face. and your stupid smile. halas— it can’t hide your giggles.

“i saw it in a dream of mine,” you respond when he turns around. you embrace his waist, “i knew the trajectory of you life would be changed tonight.” 

heeseung laughs again.

as he starts the engine you whisper in his ear, “is it the part where you tell me to hold on tight?” 

“i think you are doing that already, doll,” he taps your hand. 

and man, what a ride it was.

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open

[largishcat]

Okay. Okay. Okay. This post has been going around on my dash for a while with variations on the above reply. I picked this version because i think it’s nuanced, i think it’s well thought out, i think it’s from someone who, like me, Cares About the Welfare of Women. I swallowed down my knee-jerk defensiveness because i decided yesterday that I’m never going to play defense again for the rest of my life, im offense forever babyyyy—but enough about my personal journey

I just want to address one thing, which has been indirectly talked about, but does need to be stated out loud and plainly. the push to de-radicalize radicalized men cannot be the sole responsibility of women. It cannot be the sole responsibility of any oppressed group to reach out to people who actively wish them harm. That’s not safe and it’s not fair and it’s not effective

The above replier, as they say, is able to make connections with right wing men because they are perceived as a cis man. Specifically because they are perceived as a cis man—as they say, if they had been perceived as genderfluid, or as a woman, or anything else, that dialogue would not have happened. We do need men on the left; we need every warm body we can get, frankly. At the same time, we cannot give ground. We’re all familiar with the unreasonable man who wants to meet us in the middle, by now. They need to take a step towards us.

If you are a white man who thinks all this *waves vaguely* is Kinda Fucked, if you think it’s Kinda Fucked that doctors in Texas are watching as teenage girls die of preventable miscarriage complications, if you think it’s Kinda Fucked that black college students are getting text messages telling them they’re gonna have to go pick cotton, then you’re in a position where you can push back. You can have conversations with your brothers, friends, dad. Hell, sisters and mothers too if they’ve also got the fascism brain worms. They might listen to you. They won’t listen to me if i tell them there’s a place for them on the left, I’m a big tiddie femme with a high voice. I literally had blue hair and pronouns years before it ever became a meme. Look in my winged eyes. They might listen to you.

Bystander intervention model of anti-bigotry. This moment is a call to action for every single one of us, including you

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[syluslnd]

Hello ! May I request some angst 🥹 You and Sylus are fwb but you love him and later you catch sylus and mc having sex and you leave and he regrets it? Whether they get together or not up to you !

tags-angst no comfort,sylus pov,implied suicide

word count 1.8k

(note-if I went a little off script and you want me to rewrite pls lmk anon,when I get the creative freedom of an ending I always get so excited lol!🥹)

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You’d spent weeks trying to gather the courage to finally tell Sylus how you felt. What started as a casual arrangement had turned into something far more intense for you, with every moment, every stolen glance and every word he spoke weaving tighter knots around your heart. Tonight was the night you planned to tell him everything, to lay it all out and see if he felt even a fraction of the same.

You rehearsed the words over and over in your head on the way to his office, holding onto a shaky hope that maybe he, too, had noticed the subtle shift between you. As you walked down the corridor, anticipation and anxiety blurred together, making your pulse quicken with every step.

But when you finally arrived and opened the door to his office, everything you’d imagined, everything you’d hoped, shattered in an instant.

Sylus was there but he wasn’t alone.

The scene before you was like a punch to the gut, one that left you breathless and frozen. He was with the very woman he’d once told you not to worry about, the so-called “hunter girl” and they were wrapped up in each other, utterly absorbed, not even registering your presence. It wasn’t the fact of him being with someone else that hurt—it was that he was with her, here, in a place that had once felt like it was partly yours, and he didn’t even look at you.

A cold wave of realization washed over you, tinged with humiliation and pain. You’d come here with a heart full of hope and he hadn’t even noticed.

When Sylus finally glanced your way, there was no apology in his eyes, no explanation, not even the courtesy of a break in his actions. He looked at you almost dismissively, a fleeting glance, as if you were nothing more than an inconvenience and then, with a coldness you never thought you’d see, he turned his attention back to her, ignoring you completely.

In that moment, you felt something break inside of you, a part of yourself you couldn’t repair. A thousand emotions flooded through you—anger, sadness, shame. The weight of unspoken words, of all the feelings you’d held back, now felt like a burden you could barely carry.

Stumbling backward, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The realization that you meant so little to him, that he could simply disregard you like this, was a hurt that went deeper than words could express and as you left, the door closing softly behind you, you promised yourself you’d never let anyone make you feel this small, this inconsequential, again.

Sylus hadn’t planned for it to be this way. A part of him knew he was treading on dangerous ground the moment he let things go this far with the hunter girl, a lingering decision he could already feel weighing on his conscience. But he had convinced himself it was fine, that it didn’t mean anything—and most importantly, that you’d never find out.

But when he glanced up and saw you standing there, his heart sank.

The shock on your face, the confusion—it struck him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He cursed internally. Of all days, why did it have to be today? Why did you have to see him like this, at his worst? A flicker of regret crossed his mind as he realized the full extent of what this would do to you. He could tell, even from a distance, that your heart was breaking in real-time.

For a split second, he wanted to call out, to explain, to reach for you. But guilt held him back, keeping him rooted in place. He’d never seen you look so vulnerable, so defeated and in his mind, he could already feel the words he’d rehearsed to you, the subtle hints he’d dropped over time—words that, he now realized, had only served to deepen your trust in him. That trust, something he had taken for granted, was slipping through his fingers.

When he looked away to continue the kiss and passion with that hunter woman, it wasn’t because he didn’t care; it was because he couldn’t bear to look at the pain in your eyes,he knew no matter what in this very moment he couldn’t possibly have the correct words to say.

It’s been a day since you’d walked in on him and yet, the scene keeps replaying haunting your mind. You hadn’t meant to purposely walk into his office unannounced; you’d only come by to tell him the truth—that maybe, just maybe, what you felt for him wasn’t so casual anymore. But the second you opened that door and saw him tangled with her, every thought, every word you had planned to say, fell silent.

The memory of it echoes in you. His indifference, the way he’d looked away when he finally noticed you standing there, stunned. He didn’t say a word, didn’t reach out. It was as if you were invisible.

You’d always told yourself you could handle this. You’d always told yourself that this was just a fling, something fleeting. But here you were, alone in your apartment, the reality settling in like a weight in your chest. You’d lost something in that room—something you’d never get back.

It feels like a betrayal, not just from him but from yourself. You’d let him into places in your heart that you’d sworn would stay locked. You’d shared things, vulnerable moments, pieces of yourself that you couldn’t take back. You’d given him everything—everything that mattered.

A soft, cold wind moves through the open window as you sit there, tears slipping down your cheeks. The city lights blur outside and somewhere in the haze of pain, you make a promise to yourself: no one would ever make you feel this small, this broken, again.

You reach for a pen, feeling the sharp tip against your skin as you press down, writing a reminder on your wrist. It’s a small vow but it feels like a lifeline. No one else will ever be given the power to hurt you this way. Not again. You’ll keep that vow to yourself, protecting your heart from the world outside.

The pen trembles slightly in your hand, heavier than it has ever felt before. But this is no ordinary pen; it's a relic of quiet promises and unspoken pains. Not just a tool for writing, it becomes an instrument, a bridge between the ache in your chest and the words you're too afraid to say out loud.

As you press it against your wrist, it's as if you're pouring everything unsaid into that red ink. The curve of each letter, the way it bites into your skin-it's a reminder, a vow you're making to yourself, a way to draw strength from this hurt. It's not just ink staining your skin; it's the permanence of a promise to guard what's left of your heart, a declaration that no one will be allowed to leave marks on your soul again.

The act is delicate yet deliberate, like the slow drag of the pen is creating a map of the pain you've endured, and perhaps the resilience that will follow. You feel the chill of the ink settling on your skin, mingling with the warmth of your blood beneath and the pain sharpens into clarity.

For the first time, in this quiet moment, you realize that the pen has become more than just a promise,It's a knife full of promises sinking into your skin;you’ll never hurt get hurt again from this world that once took so much without asking.

Sylus stares at his phone, frustration gnawing at him as he watches the screen flash with another unanswered call. He’s tried five times already but each time, the phone rings and rings, only to be met with silence. His fingers hover over the screen, ready to dial again, but his hesitation claws at him.

The image of your face keeps flashing in his mind. The look of shock, the raw pain in your eyes—it’s all he can see. It’s like a punch to the gut, one he can’t escape. He’s always been able to maintain control, to keep things casual but in that moment, when he saw the hurt in your eyes, the walls he’d so carefully built around his emotions shattered.

What the hell was he thinking? He thought he could keep things light, just a hook-up, no strings attached. But the guilt—God, it weighs on him like a hundred-pound anchor. He knows you never asked for anything more but the reality of how he treated you after everything—that—had started to gnaw at him. The hurt on your face, that unmistakable sting of betrayal, it’s all he can think about.

Sylus knows he’s not supposed to care. He’s supposed to be fine with this arrangement. But he’s not fine and it’s terrifying, because he’s never let anyone have that kind of effect on him before. But now, all he can feel is the burning ache in his chest, the overwhelming need to hear your voice, to apologize, to explain that he fucked up.

Why aren’t you answering?

He grits his teeth and stands up, pacing around the room, phone clutched in his hand as if it holds the key to fixing this mess.

He doesn’t know what happened. He thought he could just be selfish, just have you, keep you close in his life the way he wanted, without the mess of feelings. But you—you, with your eyes full of trust and warmth—somehow slipped past his defenses.

He needs you to hear him. He needs to tell you that he feels something more than what you agreed on. He just doesn’t know how. He’s never been one to show vulnerability, to let someone see how much they mean to him and yet, for some reason, when it comes to you, he knows he’s lying to himself.

Sighing heavily, he presses the phone to his ear again, dialing your number once more. The ringing sounds so much louder this time and with each ring, his frustration builds. Come on. Pick up. Please pick up.

But the call goes to voicemail and his shoulders slump in defeat. He leans back against the wall, staring at the phone in his hand, fingers curling around it tightly.

He can’t keep pretending this is okay. He can’t keep pretending it’s just physical. The feeling in his chest has become too strong and it’s not something he can ignore anymore.

His thumb hovers over the screen, typing a message that feels too raw, too honest to send. But he does it anyway.

“I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Please just pick up the phone and let me explain”

The words feel insufficient, like nothing more than a weak attempt to fix everything that’s broken. But it’s all he can offer.

He throws the phone down on the couch, pacing again, this time with a much heavier heart. It’s the first time in a long while that Sylus feels like he’s lost control of the situation. And it terrifies him.

Now, all he can do is wait.

[lnfours]

close to you | l.n

summary: chemical override, ultraviolet, you could be mine tonight ; or having a crush is mind boggling, soul crushing and confusing, but also so exciting at the same time.

warnings: inspired by close to you by gracie abrams, friends to lovers (bc it’s my brand), pining, all the feels, reader is childhood best friends with pietra, fluff, and some language here and there

jordans notes: hi everyone! long time no see (😅) i’m slowly getting back into writing, school has been kicking my ass. i don’t think this is my best work, but i really wanted to get something out for you guys since ive been gone so long! i promise there’s more to come than just this! i hope you all are well!! sending you all my love 🤍

masterlist | listen to the playlist

before you met him, you didn’t think about the color green too often. it was one of those colors you didn’t necessarily love or hate, it was just kind of… there.

to you, it was just one of those colors where shades of it were prettier than the actual color itself. or a color you only really liked during the fall. like how, typically, people only liked the color blue during the summer.

that was until you met him.

the boy with those big, beautiful, slightly blue but slightly green, water-colored eyes. now you love the color green. obsessed over it. thought about it every second of every day. it was crazy how a simple opinion could change in a matter of seconds, all because of those stupidly pretty eyes.

You lie awake on your back, staring at the ceiling. surely it wasn’t normal to obsess over someone this much, right? especially over someone you weren’t even sure would ever feel the same.

sure, you had crushes before, and had your fair share of falling quickly and all at once. it wasn’t an unusual feeling to you, no stranger to catching feelings rather quickly.

but this time around, everything was different. everything felt more intense, more mind-boggling and confusing and pulse rising. the feeling so foreign that sometimes you wish you had never met him so you wouldn’t have fallen so hard so sudden, but deep down you were so glad that you had.

it was the little things that made you wonder what it was like to be loved by him. the subtle glances in your direction, the gentle but lingering touches. you had thought you were going crazy, reading too much into things in the beginning. over-analyzing every little thing that made your body light up with excitement.

until pietra confirmed your suspicions.

“he’s totally into you,” she said, leaning closer to your ear as you watched him from across the room, his head tilted back, nose scrunched and eyes half shut as he laughed about something max had said, which was likely something stupid, “like, one hundred percent, down bad, into you.”

you tilted your head at the blonde, “you think so?”

she scoffed, “more like know so,”

“who told you?”

“no one has to tell me anything,” she said, “i can just tell.”

you rolled your eyes at her, “p, i’ve told you a million times, he’s not into me.”

but she was right. he was one hundred percent, undoubtedly, down. fucking. bad.

ever since the moment he met you at that stupid pub with max and his group of friends, all he wanted to do was get to know you. he didn’t want it to seem obvious when he asked max about you, but he knew no matter what he did it was going to seem obvious. just from the way he looked at you like you hung the stars in the night sky, he was no where near subtle.

he hated to admit it, but he had even done some lowkey instagram stalking through one of his private accounts. he had seen all the pictures of you and pietra, a life long friendship explained to him in front of his own eyes.

and every time his fingers would swipe through your account, all he could think about was how beautiful you were. how your eyes sparkled every time you smiled for the camera, how happy you looked when you genuinely laughed, and how he wished to be the reason behind the gorgeous sound forever.

he wasn’t trying to make it obvious tonight, not wanting to make it well known that he had his eyes on you for a while. but he had lost track at the amount of times you had caught him looking at you, and he swore he had even caught you looking at him first a handful of times.

so when everyone in the house decided that it was the end of the night and started filing through the door, he took it upon himself to make his way over to you. you were talking with pietra, a smile on your face as you giggled about something she had said. the brazilian woman’s eyes landed on him, to which she looked back at you and said something before you turned to look in his direction.

he smiled when your eyes met his, “hey, did you need a ride home?”

your heart threatened to leap out of your chest, “uhm, i was just gonna call an uber, you don’t have to-“

“no, no,” he said, shaking his head, “i insist, really. it’s not a big deal.”

how could you argue with him? those pretty green eyes, that smile, the face. you simply couldn’t. it was impossible. you couldn’t see the look pietra was giving you, but knowing her, you knew it was a look that said ‘go with him’.

and do you did, the cool, crisp autumn air in london suddenly making you wish you had brought a jacket. you had wished you planned for the nightly breeze, wishing you had opted for a long-sleeved shirt for the night instead of the spaghetti strap tank top you had chosen.

as you walked to the car that was parked down the street, he noticed you shivering. he saw the way you hugged yourself, your hair moving with the breeze. his curls danced in the wind and he knew if he was slightly cold, you were definitely freezing.

he tugged off the hoodie before passing it to you, the sound of the doors to the mclaren echoing before he turned to you.

“here,” he said, “it’s a little windy out, i know you’re probably freezing.”

your stomach did backflips as you took the soft black material from his hands, “oh, are you sure? aren’t you cold?”

he sent you a shrug, “i’ll live,”

there was no use arguing with him, so instead you sent him another smile in appreciation before tugging the sweatshirt over your head. it was already warm from hugging his body, and you couldn't help the way the smell of his cologne lingered in the soft material. you had to keep yourself from burying yourself in it, the feeling of being close to him without actually being close to him sending butterflies to your stomach.

the car ride was filled with comfortable silence, music softly playing in the background. he stole occasional looks over at your figure as you looked out the window, the neck of his hoodie pulled up to your face as you watched the street lights pass by. you looked beautiful in the dim light, he couldn’t help himself.

he thought about taking the long way to your house. a simple but effective way to be able to spend more time with you. however, the thought of you being confused and questioning his actions was enough for him to stay straight at the stop light instead of taking a right for the longer way.

he tried not to look disappointed when he reached your house, parking in front of it. he wondered if your roommates were home, if you’d tell them about the fact that he drove you home.

he turned the engine off, unclicking his seatbelt, “i’ll walk you up.”

you nodded, the both of you getting out of the car and walking through the dewy grass up to the wooden door. you fished for your keys in your purse, putting them into the lock before turning to look at him, “thanks for the ride,”

“anytime,” he smiled. he meant it. and you knew he meant it. he’d come get you at anytime of the day, wether it was early in the morning or late at night, he was always going to show up.

you stood there, eyes searching his face. he was so pretty to you, the brown curls that were slowly growing into a mullet to the sparkling eyes that you loved so much. the dimples in his cheeks that appeared whenever he smiled, the slight facial hair he had managed to grow, but your favorite part was the moles and freckles that covered his skin. the ones he had once complained about, but you loved the way they scattered his skin.

you dreamt of kissing each and every single one of them.

“hey, lando! long time no see!”

you both averted your attention, neither of you hearing the door open behind you. in the doorway stood your dark haired roommate, faith.

“hey,” he smiled softly, trying once again to not look disappointed from the way your moment was interrupted.

“we’re having drinks and watching movies if you wanted to join,” she smiled, ignoring the look you were sending her way.

“oh, uhm,” he started, not sure how to answer, “it’s getting kinda late, i dunno-“

“you can crash in y/n’s room, im sure she wouldn’t mind.”

what was that supposed to mean?

you looked over at him, “you don’t have to stay-“

“he’s been gone for weeks, he’s legally obligated,” she said, reaching from the doorway and grabbing both of your arms, “c’mon, liv is making martinis.”

you sighed heavily and he laughed softly at your protest that went unnoticed by her. your other roommate, olivia, stood in the kitchen.

“look who i found!” faith exclaimed excitedly.

“oh, hey guys! just in time,” she smiled, “it’s martini and movie friday!”

lando leaned over to you as the other two talked, “they do this every friday?”

you sighed again, nodding, “unfortunately,” you turned to your roommates, “we’re gonna head up to my room, actually,”

you led lando to the stairs, ignoring the playful teasing from the girls in the kitchen, “oooh!!”

“up to your room, huh?”

you shook your head, opening your bedroom door and letting him in before closing it, “‘m sorry for them, they’re… how do i put this?”

“a lot?” he asked, a smile playing at his lips.

“yeah, we can put it that way.”

he chuckled, sitting down on the bed as you put your things down. he looked around your bedroom, not much had changed since the last time he had been in it. the fairy lights dimly lit up the room, photos littered the walls. the desk that sat in the corner of the room kept your makeup bag and brushes, a mirror sitting in the middle.

he looked at your nightstand, a picture of you, him, max and pietra sitting on the wooden surface. it was a picture from miami, smiles on all of your faces. you stood in the middle, arm wrapped around his middle as you smiled for the camera, his trophy in the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your middle.

“i’m gonna change,” you said, “i might have a pair of your sweatpants somewhere if you wanted to change.”

he nodded, “yeah, that’d be great.”

you turned back to the dresser, opening drawers in search for the pair of sweatpants he leant you one day. the same day he picked you up from the failed date. the one that left you crying outside, swearing up and down that you’d never find love. despite it being in front of you this entire time.

finally finding the black material, you handed them to him, “i meant to give them back, but i just haven’t seen you,”

he shook his head. you could’ve kept them forever and he wouldn’t have minded one bit, “it’s alright,”

you grabbed your pajama bottoms from the foot of the bed, “be right back.”

he changed into the sweatpants while you were gone, still looking around your room. he smiled at the picture of you and your roommates, clearly taken at a party. you wore the prettiest smile he had ever seen, dressed in a black off the shoulder top. it was from the same night he realized he liked you in more than just a friendly way.

the door opening brought him back to reality, his eyes landing on your figure and how you were still wearing the black hoodie he had given you earlier. it brought a small smile to his face.

you noticed his eyes on you, looking down at the black hoodie, “i swear i’ll give it back once i wash it.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head, “it’s okay. it looks better on you anyways.”

you smiled, fighting the heat that was rising your cheeks but it was no use. he joined you on the bed, watching as you flipped through different things on netflix.

“you don’t have to stay, y’know,” you said, looking over at him, “if you have better things to do..”

“i don’t,” he said, turning his head to look your way, “in all honesty, there’s no where else i’d rather be.”

you sucked in a breath, your eyes dancing across his face once again. it was hard for you not to stare, not when he looked so pretty like this. back pressed against your headboard, hair slightly messy, and he looked so cozy. it made you want to wrap yourself around him, lay your head on his chest.

he did the same, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every single feature, every single imperfection that he thought was still perfect. the same ones you’d argue about, but he still always found adorable.

his voice broke the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you, “do you ever have something to say but can’t find the words to say it?”

your furrowed your eyebrows, “like?”

he licked his lips, his attention now fixed on his hands as he fiddled with the ring on his middle finger. you never thought he’d be the type to get shy, almost embarrassed as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“like, i dunno,” he mumbled, “i just.. i don’t know how to put it, but ever since the moment we met, i’ve found myself just.. thinking about you. thinking about what it’d be like to cross this weird, thin, little line we’ve drawn. if we both just said ‘fuck it’ and dove head first into whatever uncharted territory we’re tiptoeing around.”

his eyes met yours again as he let out a nervous breath. you hadn’t realized you had been holding yours, shock clearly written on your face which made him shake his head.

“never mind, it’s dumb-“

“lando,”

“- i knew i shouldn’t have listened to what max was going on about-“

you rolled your eyes as he kept blabbering away, talking nonsense. your body moving before your brain could comprehend what you were about to do, only catching up when your hands met his jaw and you were suddenly catching yourself a mere few inches from his face.

it was too late now, no going back.

you pulled his face closer to yours, his blabbering coming to a halt when you pressed your lips to his. his brain short circuited, you pulling away before he had the chance to kiss you back.

“‘m sorry,” you immediately apologized, “i don’t know why i did-“

it was his turn to cut you off now, grabbing your chin and pulling you back to his lips. his thumb traced along your jaw, his pointer finger sitting underneath your chin.

you kissed him back after a second of surprise, letting his free hand reach down to grab your hip, pulling you on top of his lap. your hands threaded through his curls, nails scratching his scalp.

when you both finally pulled away, all you could do was smile. giggles and chuckles echoing through the room as you both sat breathless, his nose bumping yours as he tucked a piece of stray hair away from your face.

“so we’re in agreement then, huh?” he asked.

“isn’t that obvious?” you smiled and he shook his head, letting out another boyish laugh.

“how long have you.. y’know, had feelings for me, i guess?”

“since the minute i saw you,” he confessed, “you were the most beautiful girl in the room, a smile that would make everyone stop and stare. it’s always been you, i’ve just been too scared to tell you.”

you smiled again, heart fluttering in your chest. all the dreams and wishes you spent with him on your mind, it was all finally paying off, “it’s always been you for me, too. i thought i had been way too obvious, but clearly i wasn’t obvious enough.”

“we were both too oblivious,” he said, moving more hair from your face, “but it’s okay, we’re here now.”

you were convinced your smile was never going to be wiped off your face, “kiss me again,”

“with pleasure,” he mumbled, lips finding yours once more as you melted into him.

[drunkinyourbenz]

YOU DON'T REALLY NEED A BREAK

☆ SYNOPSIS: in which billie is stressed, so naturally she needs you more than ever. unbenkownst to her, she takes it too far. ☆ PART ONE ☆ RELATIONSHIP: dom!billie eilish x fem!reader ☆ WARNINGS: SMUT, use of safe word, angst, fluff, comfort, mean billie, reader is a little bratty, situationship/fwb, angry sex, crying, strap-on, edging, degradation, petnames, name calling (slut, whore, brat, etc.), choking, hair pulling, humiliation, dumbification, toxic dynamic (except less so because billie's realising things hehe), unedited. ☆ REQUESTED: yes, by a bunch of anons ☆ NOTE: y'all read my mind with these reqeusts i was already thinking of writing a part two abt exactly this and you all had the same idea!! sorry this took so long lmao exams are kicking my ass :/ this is very unedited sorry for any mistakes i read it through once and then posted it lmao read part one first for it to make more sense ☆ WORD COUNT: 3.5k words

billie hadn’t texted you in a little over a week, and you almost thought that she wasn’t ever going to again. the last time you’d seen her had ended like all of the other nights, she’d cleaned you up and then left you alone in the silent hotel room. usually, she’d text afterwards, just to make sure you were feeling okay, but there was nothing. the last text between the two of you was when you’d asked where she was when she was late that night. 

the two of you normally hooked up at least a few times a week, and you’d never actually gone a week without her since you started this four months ago.

you thought the worst: someone else had replaced you as her favourite. you’d always thought it would happen, but you thought you might have a few more times before it was over. but from the looks of it, you weren’t ever going to see her again. 

which was fine, obviously. you didn’t care—or that’s what you kept telling yourself. you had agreed to a no-commitment thing when you two started whatever this was, and she could do whatever she wanted. it stung a little bit that she wasn’t doing you, but ultimately, there was nothing you could do about it. 

so when you got home from a long day, thoroughly exhausted, your plan for the night was to hide in your bed and watch 2000s tv shows until you passed out. you showered, taking your time to wash your hair and feeling your tense and tired muscles relax under the hot stream of water. once out of the shower, you changed into some comfortable clothes, flopping down on your bed in relief. you were ready to finally just cuddle up under the blankets like you’d been wishing you could do all day.

about eleven minutes into the gilmore girls episode you were up to—rewatching for the hundredth time—your phone pinged, and you almost just ignored it, but you picked it up with a groan. 

your eyes widened when you saw it was from billie, the last number you expected to text. your heart almost skipped a beat.

billie: come over?

you paused for a moment, conflicted. you truly were exhausted, and it had been such a long day, and all you wanted to do was sleep, you honestly weren’t in the mood for what you knew billie would want. but… it was billie. 

so, inevitably, you ended up at her door. you were still in the clothes you’d changed into the moment you got home, just some comfortable sweatpants and a top—billie wouldn’t care about what you wore, she wanted you to be comfortable. plus, you knew full well that you wouldn’t be wearing them for long. 

you knocked on the door, and it opened within mere seconds, almost as if billie had been waiting by the door for you to show up. from the look on her face, you wouldn’t be surprised. she looked stressed, angry, and desperate. you looked her up and down, your eyes settling on her face. she was wearing a pretty similar outfit to you, sweatpants that hung low on her hips, the “HIT ME HARD AND SOFT” waistband of her boxers peeking out, and a white tank top that you could see the slight hint of her nipples peeking through. her arms were bare and your eyes seemed to gravitate towards the toned muscles there, which never failed to make your brain short circuit. paired with the noticeable outline of her strap in her pants, it was almost too much for you to take. 

you noticed the way her eyebrows were slightly furrowed and her eyes were narrowed in a firm gaze, the frustration was clear on her face. “rough day?” 

she groaned, and when she spoke, her voice had a slight rasp to it, “you have no idea.” 

the two of you fell into silence, just staring at each other for a few long moments. it wasn’t a comfortable silence, it was one that hung in the air around you, a claustrophobic silence. there were words left unspoken between the two of you that poked their heads around the corner but never truly revealed itself, it left you wondering when it would snap, but it never did. the two of you stared at each other for what felt like lifetimes, you waiting for billie to do something, and billie simply savouring the feeling of having you in front of her again. 

finally, she spoke, her voice still holding that same raspiness—which alone could get you on your knees for her. “it’s pathetic that you’re here so fast, considering i ghosted you for a week. you’re just a desperate slut for me, aren’t you? not that you’d be good for anything else.”

the bluntness of her words sent a chill down your spine, this was exactly what you’d expected. why else would billie text you after a week of not talking, if not to use her favourite girl? 

billie continued talking before you could even get a word in, it was like she’d read your thoughts. she leaned closer, her lips brushing your ear as she spoke, “you know i could just call over any of my girls and they’d be here in a heartbeat, and they’d be exactly the same. pathetic, desperate, and begging.”

you raised an eyebrow at her words. you knew what she was doing, trying to wind you up, get you to act out. you had honestly intended to just be her good girl tonight because you were so tired, but you knew she adored it when you acted up. so you spoke with the bratty tone you knew she loved.

“sure you could. but none of them are here now, are they? you called me.” 

the brattiness, especially when she was in a mood like this, made her eyes light up. your brattiness was her favourite thing, she loved it when you gave her an excuse to be harsher and meaner than she was on a normal day. so, when you talked back to her, she lets out a dark laugh. “don’t fuckin’ test me, mama.” 

you let a soft scoff fall past your lips, “or what?” 

“you know i’ll put you in your place, i’ve done it before.” and then you realised, this was what set you apart. this was why you were her favourite. you weren’t afraid to act up, so she didn’t have to be afraid of taking it too far. she could push you, because you pushed her. “maybe you should. you want to blow off steam, don’t you?”

at your words, her lips twitched upwards into a slight, barely noticeable smirk. you knew she would be taking them as a challenge, “you’re gonna have to drop the bratty attitude eventually, mamas.”

“maybe you should make me.”

that was exactly what she wanted—she wanted you to keep going, keep winding her up. she wanted you to give her a reason to pin you down and tear you apart; and you gave her that reason with that simple suggestion.

she took your wrist in her hand, her grip almost painful as she tugged you behind her to her bedroom. the air felt different than it normally did when you were here, everything felt so tense. her entire body language screamed irritated, dominant. but it wasn’t the normal kind of dominance she normally exuded. billie always had this kind of casual dominance that just hung around her, her presence was just effortlessly assertive. this is different, she had a look in her eyes you hadn’t seen before—she was always mean, but this was her normal level of mean times ten. 

she was clearly in a whole new headspace, not one you were familiar with. this wasn’t just dominant, wasn’t just mean, no, it was something else. she wasn’t just a little stressed, she didn’t just have a little bit of frustration she needed to take out on you, this was worse. it was an almost animalistic kind of energy, one that’s so raw, so intense, you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk by the time she was finished with you.

she took one of the belts from her merch from her dresser, shoving you backwards onto the bed and tying your hands to the headboard. she tugged it slightly, making sure it was firm but not too tight. it sent a rush of excitement through you, and you knew she felt the same. 

“gonna use you, mamas,” you knew from those words that she was going to absolutely ruin you, and you could tell by the look in her eyes.

sure enough, no more than five minutes later, she had her strap deep inside of you and was pounding into you at a bruising pace. the strap was bigger than the one she usually used, and it made you ache with a constant stinging pain. she hadn’t given you any time to adjust, and had started as she meant to go on. you were naked and on her bed, with her on top of you, fucking into you at a brutal pace. your hands were still tied up with her belt and the ache it brought only amplified the pleasure. one of her hands had your hair in a firm grasp, solely to make you feel the sting of pain it brought. she wanted to bring you to tears. her other hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it before letting her hand fall down on your ass in a harsh slap. 

the intense pleasure of her cock inside you and her finger circling your clit was a perfect contrast to the pain her hands brought you, and a trail of moans fell from your lips. “b-billie-” 

a mean, almost cruel laugh left her lips, “god, you’re such a slut.” another slap landed on your ass, “it’s pathetic, really. i mean, i can ghost you for as long as i want,” another slap. “and you’re still at my door in five minutes as soon as i ask.” slap, “pathetic fuckin’ whore.” 

you whined, which simply made her laugh. in her own sadistic way, she was enjoying this. 

this continued for what felt like hours—maybe it was, you had no idea. every time you got slightly close to your orgasm, she’d pull out, tugging you away from the edge. by now, you had tears rolling down your cheeks, and the fine line between pleasure and pain was slowly but surely being crossed. 

“fuckin’ take it,” she breathed. “god, you look so dumb around my cock. all you’re good for, hm? spreading your legs and taking it like the slut you are?”

you whimpered, and she simply slapped your ass again. 

this continued for much longer, and she wasn’t even mad at you for being bratty, not in the slightest. she just needed an outlet for her bad mood, and that was what you were. merely a way for her to release her frustrations. 

you let out a choked sob, your body trembling, “billie, please, i can’t—” 

you knew she wasn’t doing this because she had anything against you, there had been something deeply wrong with her day. she had never been this downright cruel before, and you knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t act like this without reason. but it was too much, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. she hadn’t asked for your colour even once tonight, and that thought alone was putting you on edge. sure, her being rough turned you on, but right now it was scaring you just as much. this was darker than you’d experienced in all four months of your friends with benefits situation with her, and you weren’t sure if you liked it. 

you felt the strap hit your most sensitive spot, and you let out a sound that was a mix of a moan and a sob. “billie–” 

“like being used by me, yeah? taking everything i give you like a slut?”

you weren’t sure when you realised that you actually weren’t enjoying it anymore, but it was obvious all of a sudden. it hurt, and not in a good way. you were exhausted from both your day and the sheer amount of time she’d been edging you for. the way your arms had been tied to the bed for so long was making them ache painfully, and at some point down the line, your tears of pleasure had turned into tears of pain. 

you normally had the safety net of knowing that she was paying attention to your signals, knowing that she didn’t want to hurt you. but it didn’t even feel like she was aware of what she was doing, she was so caught up in herself and drowning out her own frustrations. you hated that lack of awareness, it was like she wouldn’t even notice if she actually hurt you. 

she looked like she was about to speak again, so before she could get out another degrading comment, you gasped out, “red, billie–”

whatever half formed sentence billie had been about to say died on her tongue, your gasped words making her freeze inside of you. her mind suddenly went silent, her frustrated thoughts about her day coming to a halt as she looked down at you with wide, almost scared eyes. you’d never actually used your safeword—obviously it was something that the two of you had communicated, but billie had never expected to actually go too far, to push you to that. she was meant to check in on your colours, and she felt an intense pang of guilt when she realised that she hadn’t done that. 

as she looked at you, noticing the tears and the exhausted expression, as well as the way your wrists were visibly sore from being tied for so long, she felt a sense of dread. she was overcome with shame and she didn’t know what to do about it. her breath caught in her throat as she processed what was going on.

“shit, i’m so sorry.” after a moment, she shook herself out of her paralysed shock, she would’ve pulled out immediately, but she was aware that that would just hurt you even more. so she leaned over, quickly untying the belt around your wrists and letting it fall to the ground beside the bed. she massaged your wrists gently for a moment, trying to soothe you. 

her hands moved over your tense muscles, trying to ease some of the soreness. she brushed some of your hair out of your eyes, her touch soft and cautious. “i-i’m so sorry, baby. i never wanted to push you that far.”

you knew that. you knew that she would never actually intend to hurt you, you knew that she wasn’t herself. you didn’t need her to over explain herself, you just needed her to hold you. the hand that had been pushing your hair out of your eyes moved to stroke your cheek, and you could see the intense guilt in her eyes. 

“i’m gonna pull out now, okay?” her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, eyes fixed on your face. 

you simply nodded, hissing slightly in pain as she gently pulled the strap out of you. billie felt her stomach twist at your obvious pain, knowing that she had done that. “i know, i’m so sorry.”

once she was out of you, she climbed off you and gently shifted you so you were sitting further up the bed, propped up on the pillows slightly. her mind was clearly racing with what she could do to help, “do you need anything? water, food, whatever?”

you shook your head softly. if your brain hadn’t been so exhausted, you probably would have thought more rationally about this. but you didn’t, and you didn’t once consider the limited affection in your dynamic. “can you just hold me?” 

billie didn’t hesitate, she just nodded instantly. “yeah, of course i can.” she joined you further up the bed, pulling you into her arms. she held you against her chest gently, her fingers soothingly running through your hair while her hand rubbed your back softly. 

you could hear her heartbeat, it was fast and a clear reminder of how stressed she was. you spoke softly, “it’s okay, seriously.”

but it wasn’t okay, not to billie. she had hurt you, she had pushed you too far, even when you were already clearly tired. she should’ve known better, and the guilt was weighing down from her and eating her up from the inside. not to mention she was terrified that this might be your last straw, that you might never want to see her again, that she might have broken your trust. wondering why she cared so much about her casual fling’s feelings was something that would have left her perplexed on any other day, but it was not currently at the forefront of her mind. “but–”

“it’s okay.” you said firmly, “i wouldn’t be asking you to hold me if i was uncomfortable around you.” 

those words seemed to ease billie’s nerves slightly, and she tightened her arms around you, holding you close. after a few minutes of this, she gently pulled you to sit in your lap, and you shifted so that your head was buried in the crook of her neck. you could feel her breathing on your skin, and you could feel her chest rising and falling with each breath. it was incredibly grounding, the feeling of just being close to her. ever so slowly, you felt your breathing calm and your heart rate slow down. 

at least an hour passed as you were just laying there in her arms, your breathing syncing with hers as her fingers ran through your hair. it was a foreign thing, for the two of you to be this close without sex, but it felt so right. it was like you were made to be in her arms, despite the situation that had brought you here. you could sense her guilt, and if you’d been a bit more aware of what was going on, you probably would’ve realised that there was something more behind that guilt—something deeper than just feeling bad for pushing you. but you were unaware, it wasn’t really what took place at the front of your mind. 

the room was filled with only the sound of both of you breathing, and your mind was taken over by the calming feeling of her playing with your hair. after a while, she broke the silence. “d’you wanna borrow something to wear?” 

you couldn’t deny that you liked the feeling of this skin to skin contact, but you also knew that it was a good idea. so you nodded quietly, and she delicately lifted you off her lap and set you down on the bed. she walked over and grabbed you an oversized t-shirt to wear, and she walked into the ensuite to grab a damp cloth. she came back over and gently wiped your thighs with the cloth, at this point you didn’t flinch too much because it had been so long. she held out the t-shirt, which you recognised as one she had worn at some point.

“arms up, darling.” that was a new pet name, but you didn’t comment. instead, you just lifted your arms and allowed her to slip the top over your head. it smelt like her, which somehow just added to the comfort. 

soon enough, she was back on the bed and you were back in her arms. she was laying down and you were laying with her, partly on top of her and partly just cuddled up to her side. this hadn’t happened before between the two of you, but you certainly weren’t complaining. her bed was comfortable, and her arms around you felt like a cocoon you never wanted to grow out of. 

gradually, your breathing started to slow as the exhaustion caught up on you, both from the recent events and your already tiring day. your head slumped onto her shoulder as a yawn fell from your lips, to which billie smiled softly. 

“do you want to stay the night?” 

that was not something you’d ever expected billie to say, but you hummed softly against her shoulder. “if that’s okay, yeah.”

you could’ve sworn you heard a sigh of relief from billie, “of course it’s okay, please stay. i want you to stay.” 

and so you did. you stayed that night, wrapped up in billie’s arms. it was so new, but it felt so right. that night had been an irreversible shift in your relationship, for both obvious reasons and more hidden ones. you knew that the two of you would have to talk about some stuff in the morning, and you knew you’d have to set some more boundaries. but you also felt closer to her than you ever had, somehow. 

little did you know, that night was just as  meaningful for billie as it was for you. she had had a revelation, one that she would likely keep to herself for a while, although there was no doubt you would find out eventually. 

but there was no doubt that billie wanted you to stay, longer than she’d ever thought.

[saikenakoego]

And I continue again with another OC ask thing that nobody but myself asked.

Because it's fun!

This time again with Sammy, the walking contradiction! A vampire hunter turned vampire against her will!

Because I love her--

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv This gal vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

1. Are you superstitious?

SM: That would mean putting my fate in the hands of someone or something else. No.

2. Would you be phased about walking under a ladder?

SM: No.

3. What would you do if a black cat crossed your path?

SM: ...Nothing? What does it matter?

4. How would you react if you broke a mirror?

SM: Depends on who it belonged to.

5. Do you avoid any certain number? If so, which ones? Why?

SM: Not a fan of 7... dunno why. It makes me mad.

6. What's your favorite cryptid?

SM: If there's any that doesn't mess with people, then that one. Otherwise, I hate all of 'em.

7. Would you ever go cryptid hunting? If so, why?

SM: ...You're asking me? The vampire hunter? Gee, I wonder why I do it?!

8. What do you think about ghosts?

SM: Depends on the type. Some are tragic, others not so much.

SM: Johnny knows more about this kind of stuff. I just do my job.

9. Have you ever seen a ghost?

SM: ...What're ya, a cop? Not telling.

10. Have you ever gone ghost hunting? If so, why?

SM: ...Yes, I have. Because it's kind of necessary for me-- us. Its annoying that I have to state that out loud, thought it'd be obvious.

11. What do you think about magic? Are you generally in favor or against it?

SM: Cheating. Dirty tricks for cowards that can't do anything by themselves. It corrupts the mind and leads you to become complacent. That's why THEY use it.

12. Do you know any magic? If so, is it a natural or learned skill?

SM: Even if I know it, that doesn't mean I'd use it. Or want to use it. Much rather put my trust in steel and silver.

13. What would you say would be your favorite use of magic?

SM: The only good use of magic is keeping it locked up.

14. Have you ever made a deal with a magical or supernatural entity?

SM: IT. WAS. NOT. A DEAL.

15. What form would your familiar take?

SM: A grenade. So I can blow it up alongside my target, and never see it again.

16. Have you ever traveled into the past, and so, what did you change?

SM: No. If only...

17. Have you ever traveled into the future, and if so, how was it like?

SM: No. The only future I have is in the grave, once this is all over.

18. Have you ever had a prophetic vision or dream, and if so, what was it like?

SM: None that I recall.

19. Have you ever had an astral projection or out of body experience?

SM: No. Johnny says he has though, and with how weird that kid is, its probably true.

20. Have you ever visited another plane of reality or existence, and if so, what was it like?

SM: No.

21. Have you ever attended a seance or used a ouija board? What happened?

SM: I think I did it once with my old friends. The details are... blurry, though.

22. Do you keep things like salt, garlic or silver on hand for defensive purposes?

SM: Salt is more Johnny's thing. Says it's spiritual protection or something. Can never go wrong with some silver, though. Punch a good hole into a bloodsucker with ease. The garlic thing though? Totally fake. If its not blood, they can't smell it.

23. Have you ever cleansed your surroundings with sage or holy water?

SM: Again, more Johnny's thing. I can't even stand the thought of holy water.

24. Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials? If so, why?

SM: I didn't believe Johnny at first, but then I saw them.

25. Do you believe in any conspiracy theories? And if so, which ones and why?

SM: When you're unaware of what's goin' on behind the curtain, it's easy to discard any theory as baloney. Take a peek, and you'll never doubt again.

26. What would you do if you came face to face with a rabid zombie?

SM: Same as I do with any bloodsucker. Fill it with silver, then tear it apart limb by limb. My only regret would be not being able to make it suffer more.

27. Would you allow a vampire into your home?

SM: My father did. Once.

28. Have you ever witnessed a werewolf transformation?

SM: Yeah. It was like watching vampirification take place in the span of a couple of seconds.

29. How likely is it that you would be charmed and fall prey to mermaids?

SM: Null. Flesheaters are the same as bloodsuckers. No mercy for either.

30. What supernatural creature would you most prefer to be?

SM: Anything else, but this.

you: me: me: here’s a weird oc ask meme involving various mysterious, supernatural, and paranormal subjects that you can fill out on your own or with the help of your followers 👽✌

(01) Is your OC superstitious? (02) Would your OC be phased about walking under a ladder? (03) What would your OC do if a black cat crossed their path? (04) How would your OC react if they broke a mirror? (05) Does your OC avoid any certain numbers? If so, which ones, and why?

(06) What is your OC’s favorite cryptid? (07) Would your OC ever go cryptid hunting? Why or why not? (08) What does your OC think about ghosts? (09) Has your OC ever seen a ghost? (10) Would your OC ever go ghost hunting? Why or why not?

(11) What does your OC think about magic? Is your OC generally for or against magic? (12) Does your OC know any magic? If so, is it a natural talent or a learned skill? (13) What would your OC say would be their favorite use for magic? (14) Has/would your OC ever made a deal with a magical or supernatural entity? (15) What form does/would your OC’s familiar take?

(16) Has your OC ever traveled into the past? If so, did they change anything? (17) Has your OC ever traveled into the future? If so, what was it like? (18) Has your OC ever had a prophetic vision or dream? If so, what did they see? (19) Has your OC ever had an out of body experience or astral projected? (20) Has your OC ever visited another plane of reality or existence? If so, was it by choice?

(21) Has your OC ever attended a seance or used a ouiji board? What happened? (22) Does your OC keep things like salt, garlic, or silver on hand for defensive purposes? (23) Has your OC ever cleansed their surroundings with things like sage or holy water? (24) Does your OC believe in the existence of extraterrestrials? Why or why not? (25) Does your OC believe any conspiracy theories? If so, which ones, and why?

(26) What would your OC do if they were face to face with a rabid zombie? (27) Would your OC allow a vampire into their home? (28) Has your OC ever witnessed a werewolf transformation? (29) How likely is it that your OC would be charmed by and fall prey to mermaids? (30) What supernatural creature would your OC most prefer to be?

[wstviewvidal]

birthday- w. maximoff

pairing: fwb!wanda x reader

summary: misunderstandings can change things.

a/n: hi all! i hope yall are good! i wrote this a little bit after the first part came out. i love angst! unsure if i want a third part. also, if you don’t like this literally don’t tell me because im sensitive and cry easily

minors do not interact

“i assumed you would’ve confessed to wanda by now” natasha says as she fixes a pile of papers on your desk, “you know, since you’re head over heels for her”

nat smirks as you give her the side eye and roll your eyes, you swivel your chair towards her.

“i’m not head over heels for her. i’m ju-“

“stupid?”

narrowing your eyes and tilting your head to the side, “okay, no”

meeting natasha was by far one of the greatest strokes of luck in your life. sure, she could be blunt at times— but when it comes down to it, she tells you what you need to hear.

unfortunately, this was also one of those times.

she has constantly insisted on the idea that you need to muster up the courage to tell wanda about your feelings for her. she always says that she believes wanda feels the same towards you, but your insecurities and doubt always get in the way.

except this would actually be the second time you confess, not the first. not that you even are aware of that fact.

you don’t really recall the first time you told wanda how you felt about her. you were drunk at a party, and only wanda has a clear memory of it. however, out of respect for you and your ability to get embarrassed quickly, wanda never brought it up again.

“i just feel like it’s a losing game, you know?” you say softly, rubbing your temples, “i always thought that if one of us were to tell the other if we caught feelings, it would be her. she’s always been more upfront with her emotions than i have. i think she really only sees me as what we’d agreed upon, nat. what if im just a way for her to pass time?

you pout softly, your emotions now coming forth in front of your long time friend and colleague.

“i just feel like she treats me like a girlfriend some days, and other days it’s just,” you take in a deep breath and groan out of frustration, “other days she tells me about a girl she saw, or someone she matched with on a dating app. do you know what i mean? i get mixed signals sometimes”

nat looks at you with a sympathetic look on her face, biting her lip slightly to keep from saying anything she really shouldn’t.

truth is, nat always had an feeling that you two would end up together one way or another, she’s always rooted for you two. the only way that could happen is if the two of you get your head out of your asses. in fact, she’d tried to get wanda to come forth about her own feelings.

however, wanda was dating someone at the time of said conversation— and out of respect for her then partner, wanda kept her quiet and buried her feelings deep inside. timing has never been on your side, will it ever?

“i don’t know if there’s anything i can say to get you to tell her, but,” she raises her eyebrows and makes her voice firm to try to emphasize her point, “all i can say is that wanda is a beautiful girl who’s got brains and a personality on her. she won’t be around forever. you know you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t at least try with her”

there it is, the brutal truth you knew that natasha was going to throw at you— and what sucks the most is the fact that it’s exactly what you needed to hear.

wanda has had to call off your agreement on a few occasions because she’d gotten serious with two girls; and each time it’d left you sobbing in natasha’s arms in her apartment because you couldn’t fathom the thought of wanda with another girl.

with a soft nod, “how should i even do that? or when?”

natasha begins another one of her long speeches about how you could be losing the person who could be the one, emphasizing how you’d be the one at fault if you let her get away.

on the drive home, you can’t help but replay natasha’s words in your mind, you aren’t sure why they they’re resonating this specific time.

“don’t wait too long, you know. you never know who could come along and sweep her off her feet. that’ll be the last time you have wanda like how you have her now”

those specific words echo in your head as you get home, unsure why they’re weighing heavy on your chest this time.

sighing softly, “come on, baby, i need to get you home,” wanda says as she guides you to her car with her hand guiding you by the lower back. she had your purse and coat in her other hand, ensuring she’d grabbed everything you’d brought with you.

you two were finally at the end of the road, officially a month from graduating college and decided to attend one last party together before you were thrown into the deep end of adulthood.

you had a few too many to drink that night and wanda knew by the fourth drink and the way you couldn’t keep your hands off of her, she had to get you home safely before you ran off somewhere as soon as she took her eyes off of you.

you reached for the handle of the car door before having your hand gently smacked away.

“you know better than that,” she started softly before opening the door for you and allowing you to get comfortable in her passenger seat. wanda knew you hated having your heels on in the car, so she crouched down to remove them before giving you a quick kiss to the cheek.

wanda pulls back gently to look at your face, your glazed eyes looking back at her with a look of.. adoration?

she smiles softly and places a gentle hand on the side of your face, “you’re beautiful”

rolling your eyes and trying to hide your blush, you giggle and nudge her shoulder in a playful manner.

wanda chuckles at how you’re easy to fluster with just two words. placing another small kiss to your cheek, she closes the passenger door.

you watched as she rounded the car and get into the drivers seat with low lidded glazed eyes, a small crooked smile on your face as you watch her. the maroon mid length dress she wore was nothing short of elegant. her curled dark hair and light makeup enhanced her features so beautifully that you feared you’d somehow spill your guts to her if she made one more right move.

but you couldn’t. wanda was seeing someone— granted, it wasn’t serious nor do you think they’d even slept together, but you were terrified of being that girl.

in fact, you were too. you had been seeing maria from your public policy course for the past two months but you could never bring yourself to feel for her what you so deeply felt for wanda. you two had a mutual break up a few days later.

wanda enters the car and shrugs off her coat, her arm muscles now showing even more with the street light illuminating the inside of the car in a specific way. she fixes her hair and puts on her seat belt before she looks over at you with concern.

“you okay, bub? what’s wrong?” wanda asks softly, placing a gentle hand on your thigh as she furrows her eyebrows at your distant far off look.

wanda had no idea what was going through your head, not a single clue as to what was about to come out of your lips.

“do you ever think meant to be together? or are we just destined to be some sort of parallel line that run close but never touch”

a flicker of panic come over wanda’s face and her gentle caress on your thigh stops abruptly.

the air in the car now feels heavier, as if the spoken words have broken the ‘casual-ness’ of your spoken agreement.

wanda always hoped you two would speak about this, but when you were sober and coherent.

it came out of your lips so naturally, as if you’d said it before.

like this has been weighing heavily on your mind for a while.

wanda’s heart clenched, especially at the fact that she had finally realized that you’d been wondering about the same thing she had for years.

“i-“

wanda was completely and utterly dumbfounded for the first time when it came to you. she often, no— not often, always had an idea of what would come out of your mouth.

she often found herself staring at you when you’d speak to your friends from across the room. she’d smile at how animatedly you’d react to people words and how you’d cover your mouth as you’d giggle at a joke someone said. she could easily pride herself in the fact that she knew you.

but this, what you’d just said, had her tongue tied.

she wished you were sober. she wished you were sober so she could confess that she’d been in love with you for so long, before you two even agreed to get into bed with each other. that ever since you two were nineteen during your first year of college, she couldn’t stop thinking of you in a way that friends shouldn’t think of each other in.

but you were drunk.

you were seeing someone and so was she.

so she made the hard decision to keep her silence and take you home safely, without any casualties.

“you’re drunk,” she says sadly, her eyes showing every ounce of emotion going in through her head, “let’s save this for another day”

that day never came.

walking through the door of wanda’s apartment to get into the party wanda said she’d throw you, you’re instantly greeted with a bunch of your closest friends and a few extra guests who happened to be their plus ones.

immediately, you found yourself scanning the room and smiling at the people who were in the space. you could hear chatter and laughter, warming your heart knowing that it all came from the people you knew and loved.

with soft music in the background and the smell of wanda’s cooking, you feel immediately at ease with the atmosphere of the party.

you walk in and are greeted by your friends wishing you a happy birthday. after thanking them and giving them hugs, you find yourself by the drink table to try and loosen up.

wanda was considerate enough, as always, to ensure that the people who were invited to the party were people you could actually stand to hold a conversation with unlike other parties where you had to endure endless small chat that rotted at your brain.

speaking of wanda, you’d yet to see her even though this is her apartment. you try your best to subtly look around the room for any sight of the girl who takes up space in your mind every day.

scanning the room, you look for the dark haired girl but come up short. pouring softly, you take another sip of your drink and go to find natasha who has a look of amusement on her face as she watches you search for wanda.

“how nice of you to finally make it to your own birthday party,” she teases, “you look nice. is this the dress wanda bought you?”

it was. in fact, you’d never been a fan of dressing too girly until wanda coaxed you into letting her buy you a dress, and this one happened to be the most recent one she’s bought you.

she was always a fan of how baby blue looked on you. she liked it so much on you that she took it upon herself to buy you another two dresses, each could be used for different events.

this specific dress fell just below mid thigh and you paired it with a simple pair of white heels. you kept your makeup natural and did your hair, subconsciously styling yourself the way you know wanda would compliment. i mean, she is the one who bought you this dress and threw you this party.

what are friends with benefits for if not that?

trying to hide a small blush at natasha’s words, you nod softly and try to look away to avoid her incessant teasing.

she laughs softly and nudges your shoulder, “i haven’t seen her”

you turn back to her with a furrow of your brows and try to act like you don’t know what she’s talking about.

“your girlfriend,” she says in a monotone voice, as if it’s obvious who she’s talking about.

a small pout forms on your lips as you realize that no one’s seen wanda. everything seemed to be flowing smoothly and it didn’t seem like she needed to go out to get anything for the party, so where could she be?

turning back to natasha and excusing yourself to go grab a quick snack from the kitchen, you turn on your heel to grab a quick breather before having to go back out and socialize all night.

while at the table, you feel a presence right next to you, staring. agatha.

“well, well,” she begins in that tone of hers, “it seems like your girlfriend isn’t yours anymore, huh? is that why you’re all alone?”

you quickly whip your head towards her. not yours anymore? your body feels like it’s gone cold and you can’t pry your eyes away from agatha, almost trying to urge her to say something else, to continue on with what she just started.

“what do you mean?”

agathas’s smirk widens as she realizes shes hit a nerve.

“well, she’s not glued to you like usual. no cozying up, no fetching you whatever you need, having you on her lap. i mean, what do you mean what do i mean?”

patience wearing thin and not wanting to deal with agatha beating around the bush, you step closer to her with a firm look on your face, “where is wanda? who’s she with?”

agatha is caught off guard by your sudden jealous and angry demeanor, she drops the act.

tilting her head towards the crowd, and giving you a look of pity, “sorry, babe. last i saw her she was cozying up with a girl with a green dress. you took to long to get your girl.”

your blood runs cold for the umpteenth time in just the past twenty minutes. it’s almost like your body knew this was coming but your brain didn’t. had you just lost wanda? was it for good this time?

you turn your head to look for natasha in the living room, she’s already looking at you with a look of pity. she nods her head to the opposite side of the living room, gesturing towhere wanda is with a dark haired girl.

a knot twists inside of your chest and it feels like the air has been knocked out of you. it’s like a movie you hate but can’t tear your eyes away from. wanda looks beautiful, happy.

and you hate it.

the two look comfortable together, sitting too close for your liking. wanda’s left leg is over her right and the girl has her hand placed on her thigh.

wanda’s looking at her with a look you believed was only meant for you. the softly smile on her face and the way her eyes drift down to the girls lips makes you sick.

they’re well into a conversation and you can see how wanda is laughing at her jokes, placing her hand on the girl’s forearm as she throws her head back in a fit of laughter.

it seems all too natural and intimate.

every interaction you watch them share feels like a blow to the stomach, the air feeling like it’s being knocked out of you again.

in this moment, you slowly begin to realize that wanda was never yours. every shared moment that you two shared together, every kiss and caress, was just a way to pass the time.

you feel nauseous.

you excuse yourself from agatha and quickly find a way to wanda’s patio, where it’s vacant and you can hide for a while out here.

wanda’s apartment had a beautiful view of the city. you two often sat outside together and cuddled with a blanket and a cup of coffee after work often. you found comfort in wanda, even if you were unsure of what you two were.

she worked hard for everything she had in life and it was something you truly admired about her. she didn’t have the easiest upbringing and the fact that she still remains soft after it all and continued to be a beautiful is something you love about her.

replaying the conversation with both natasha and agatha, you can’t help but feel like a complete idiot as you realize how everything almost felt as if it was foreshadowing to this very moment.

you hear the door to the patio open but don’t turn back, you already know who it is.

familiar soft footsteps stop right next to you and you immediately smell her perfume. it’s the same one you gave her a few years ago and for the first time, it makes you sick.

“you’re wearing the dress,” amusement in her voice as she looks at the city with you, “and you look beautiful”

you smile softly but don’t engage in conversation, just acknowledging her compliment. wanda frowns softly at your lack of attention, not used to you immediately turning around and throwing back a flirt remark at her.

watching you from the side of her eye, she can tell just by your body language that something is bothering you.

you two stand at the patio railing for another few minutes, just in each others presence, until she decides to point out the elephant in the room.

“are you okay?” she asks, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

wanda’s concern warms your heart, but you know it’s just meant to be in a friendly way. the way she always looks out for you always tugs on your heart strings.

you want to get angry with her. you want to yell and scream at her to get the hell away from you. ask her why she would string you along with pretty words and gentle gestures that screamed ‘i love you.’

but you can’t.

because at the end of the day, somehow you always find yourself back in wanda’s arms and you could never tell her you hate her. it just isn’t true. it couldn’t ever be true.

forcing the emotion down your throat, you force yourself to tell her you’re okay. forcing a smile as you look at her, you try to fake it.

but wanda knows you.

“bub,” with a soft voice, “what’s wrong?”

there it is. she knows exactly what to say, how to say it, and how to get her way.

“i just,” a deep breath, “i didn’t know you’d be bringing a date to the party.”

wanda’s face falters and she doesn’t know what to say. the girl back there was not at all her date, nor could she even fathom the idea of bringing another girl when today was supposed to be about you.

she dismissively waves a hand in front of her as she looks away, almost trying to deflect and avoid the topic, but she sees the way you’re trying to hide your hurt at the whole situation.

she begins picking at her finger nails, a nervous habit you’ve tried to help her stop. trying to figure out what to say, she stares at the ground. the last thing she’d ever want to do it hurt you, and yet here she was.

“she’s,” a slight moment of hesitation “she’s not my date. she just..”

her voice falters and she doesn’t know how to carry on so she just sighs and looks at you with an apologetic look.

wanda looks beautiful. i mean, how could she not? she’s wearing the outfit you love so much. the black pants and white top that you’ve always said makes her look sophisticated. you two always laugh at that, especially since the thought of you two now looking and acting like fully fledged adults is something that neither of you could never wrap your heads around.

“she’s just someone i’m talking to for the night, i swear” wanda fidgets uncomfortably, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. she’s never seen this side of you, the way your hidden jealousy wants to boil over.

you give her a sad smile and just shake your head, silently telling her she doesn’t have to continue. placing your hands over hers, you hold onto them tightly and bring them up to your lips to place a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“thank you for the party, wands”

wanda panics immediately, the way you said that felt like it had some sense of finality to it. anxiety fills her chest and she feels like her legs could give out at any minute. she tries to say something, anything, to get you to stay with her.

but she’s caught off guard and she doesn’t have anything on the tip of her tongue, except for the three words she’s wanted to say for so long.

giving her a hug, you hold her tightly and allow yourself to feel her touch one last time. you want to tell her you love her, tell her everything that you’ve been meaning to say.

but you fall short, like on every occasion you’ve wanted to confess.

you give her a kiss on the cheek and hold her waist as you pull back, smiling softly at her.

in this moment, you fully understand what natasha meant by telling you, “if you’re not going to tell her how much she means to you and you love her, you need to let her go. you know she deserves that much.”

wanda tries to hold onto you tightly, as if you’ll float away if she even let go for a fraction of a second. her heart was racing and she was on the verge of tears.

you release wanda as you take a step back, looking at her face and trying to take in as much of her as possible knowing this very well may be the last time you see her.

“i’ll see you.”