#but hope this serves as a good start to it!

[thespianinthebackcorner]

I think part of the reason this narrow definition of "canon" is also part of why people are so incensed about other stuff that has degraded fandom culture nowadays too. Along with a lack of media literacy, people have begun to expect things served to them on a platter exactly as it says on the tin- but that's just not how art works. You cannot have a functional clock without the gears, and good art has a great many gears hidden beneath the surface. For a piece of media to operate at its full capacity and do what it is meant to- in this case, serve as queer representation- you cannot show every single gear in the clock, and often- especially in modern society, where it is still for some reason a dangerous struggle to have that queer representation included in mainstream media- sometimes it is better, necessary, to hide the gears and let the audience figure out the true nature of the clock and what makes it tick the way it does. It's a very recent phenomenon that media has begun to be blatant about their representation and allowed the characters to be obvious about who they are, and people are taking this openness for granted and not looking back to see how we got to this point.

This also means people don't learn to see what is and is not good representation, as when you learn the structure of the gears and how to spy the right kind of a clock, it becomes easier to find the gilded models made only for money and not out of love for the craft and the purpose. If you do not learn to find the "hidden" representation, the gears just below the surface, you cannot possibly learn to find everything below, all the mechanics that make the gears turn, the source of the energy- and, in turn, you cannot recognise a good, beautiful, clock deserving of your love and worth the time and effort made to make it, and you cannot learn to tell those from the cheap imitations made to trick people into buying half-broken clocks with no soul behind their creation, only greed. I myself, as of now, can often only find the mechanics of the upper layers, the more obvious things, and often have to be told what is and is not good representation by those who are more experienced. But it is a skill you must learn and hone, as the more you learn to recognise the maker's mark of a good clock, the more you learn to discard the fakers and push them to do better.

As artisans like I am, it is even more vital a skill, to recognise what you may be unconsciously putting into what you are crafting. I can create a few levels deeper than I can recognise, but analysis of your own work- and asking others to analyse it for you- is necessary to grow this skill so that not only do you avoid mixed messages, you can fight biases hidden further than you might be able to see at first. This is still something I need to learn and hone, too- I still have some internalised ableism, and I've had to come face-to-face with that as I write my first HMS fic (hence why chapter 2 is taking so long, sorry guys. I didn't know it was there until I started research for Heart). I have to learn to discard it and put the effort in to ensure I don't accidentally write that into the story as a subtextual message, and that isn't easy, but I'm learning. And so long as I keep learning, eventually I will overcome it and by nature learn to see and create even deeper into the gears of this clock I am just beginning to craft- and all the others I haven't started and haven't finished and haven't yet come across but will in the future.

I hope this analogy makes some sense.

Discussions of what "counts" as "canon" queer representation fall apart the second you start talking about media older than about five years or so. If your only metric for "canon queerness" is a character looking directly into the camera and explaining their identity in specific, modern, US-American-English terminology, you're not going to get a good picture of what queer media looks like. If your barometer for what counts as "canon" requires two characters of the same gender to kiss on-screen, you're not going to get a good picture of what queer media looks like.

Dr. Septimus Pretorius (portrayed by Ernest Thesiger in 1935's Bride of Frankenstein) was never going to look directly into the camera and explain his sexuality in 2024 terms, but he remains an icon in queer media history. You cannot look at that character (blatantly queer-coded in the manner of the time, played by a queer man in a film directed by another queer man) and tell me that he isn't a part of queer media history.

To be honest, even when discussing modern queer media, I would argue that the popular idea of what "counts" as "canon" is very narrow and flawed. I've seen multiple posts in the past few days that say the Nimona movie is "implied" trans representation, and I just...no, y'all, it's not "implied," it's an allegory. The entire damn movie is about transgender struggle, and the original comic is deeply tied into N.D. Stevenson's own queer journey. It isn't subtle. You cannot look at that movie and pretend that it isn't about trans struggle. It's blatant, and to say that Nimona "isn't canonically trans" is a take that misses the story's entire message, and the blatant queerphobia that almost kept the movie from happening. (I wrote a five thousand word essay about the topic.)

Queer themes, queer coding, queer exploration, and queer representation can all exist in a piece of media that doesn't seem to have "canon queer characters" on the surface. Most queer characters are never going to be able to explicitly state their specific identity labels, be it due to censorship or just due to the fact that scenes like that don't fit in some narratives. Some stories aren't conducive to a big "so what's your identity?" scene.

Explicit, undeniable, "this is my identity in no uncertain terms" scenes are very important and radical, and I'm not saying they shouldn't ever exist. I am saying that you can't consider those scenes the only way for queerness in a piece of media to be "canon."

[gpcwsl]

Leah Williamson x Waitress!Reader

- Hard to focus -

MasterList

Warnings: kissing?

It’s a typical Friday night, and the restaurant is buzzing with activity. You’re weaving through tables with practiced ease, balancing plates and drinks, when you hear the loud laughter of a group that’s just been seated in your section.

As you approach their table, you immediately recognize them. Arsenal Women’s team. Leah Williamson sits near the middle, her blonde hair loosely tied back, her smile lighting up the entire room.

You swallow the slight nerves creeping in and put on your best professional smile. “Good evening! Can I get you all started with some drinks?”

The group turns their attention to you, tossing out orders and banter as you jot everything down. Leah is quiet, her gaze fixed on you as you write. When you glance up, her blue eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the table disappears.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment. “I’ll be back with your drinks,” you say, giving a polite nod before walking off.

As the night goes on, you can’t help but notice Leah’s eyes following you every time you pass by. She’s subtle—her teammates are far more obvious. Beth Mead nudges her, whispering something that makes Leah roll her eyes and mutter a response.

When you return to their table with their food, the teasing starts.

“So,” Beth says, leaning forward with a grin, “do you always get this quiet around attractive waitresses, Leah?”

“Beth,” Leah warns, shooting her a sharp look, though her cheeks flush slightly.

You smile politely, pretending you didn’t hear, but your heart races a little faster. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” you ask, addressing the group.

“Actually,” Katie McCabe cuts in, her grin just as mischievous as Beth’s, “do you have a name? For, you know, great customer service purposes.”

You give them your name with a small laugh, feeling the weight of Leah’s stare.

The rest of the meal is a blur of stolen glances and light teasing from Leah’s friends. By the time you bring the check, Leah is the one to take it, her hand brushing against yours as she does.

“Thanks for putting up with them,” she says softly, her smile more reserved but just as captivating.

“It’s no problem,” you reply, feeling warmth creep into your cheeks.

As the team gathers their things and heads out, Leah lingers behind for a moment. “You work here often?” she asks, her tone casual but her eyes giving her away.

“Yeah, most weekends,” you say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Leah nods, hesitating for just a second before pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling something down. She slides it toward you.

“If you ever feel like getting dinner instead of serving it,” she says with a small smirk, “give me a call.”

You glance down at the paper—a phone number. When you look back up, Leah’s already walking out the door, her teammates grinning and giving her a hard time as they leave.

You can’t help but smile, tucking the note into your pocket.

You finish your shift that night with a lingering smile, Leah’s number burning a hole in your pocket. By the time you clock out, the restaurant is quiet, and you finally have a moment to replay the evening in your mind. Her smirk, the way her gaze seemed to follow you, the way she lingered just a little longer than she needed to.

When you get home, you stare at the piece of paper for what feels like forever before finally picking up your phone. You type out a simple message, hesitating before hitting send.

You: Hi, Leah. This is the waitress from tonight. Hope I’m not texting too late.

To your surprise, the response is almost immediate.

Leah: Not at all. I was hoping you’d text.

You feel a flutter in your chest, and before you know it, the conversation flows effortlessly. Leah is charming, funny, and easy to talk to. She asks about your job, your interests, and even jokes about her teammates embarrassing her.

Leah: They’ll never let me live it down, by the way. Beth and Katie have been on my case since we left.

You: I could tell. They seemed relentless.

Leah: You have no idea.

The conversation stretches into the early hours, and by the time you finally say goodnight, you’ve already agreed to meet for coffee the following week.

A week later, you’re sitting at a cozy café, nervously sipping on your drink as you wait. When Leah walks in, wearing a simple sweater and jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders, she spots you instantly and smiles.

“You look even better out of uniform,” she says as she sits down, her tone teasing but genuine.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, earning a soft laugh from her.

The date goes by in a blur. Leah’s easygoing nature puts you at ease, and the chemistry between you is undeniable. She tells stories about her teammates, her career, and her life outside of football, and in return, you share bits of your own world.

By the end of the date, Leah walks you out of the café, her hands tucked into her pockets.

“I don’t usually do this,” she says, stopping just outside the door.

“Do what?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Get this distracted by someone,” she admits, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. “But you… you make it hard to focus on anything else.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world seems to slow. Leah steps closer, her hand brushing against yours.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” she asks softly.

You nod, unable to form words, and before you know it, her lips are on yours—gentle, warm, and everything you didn’t know you’d been waiting for.

When she pulls back, her eyes meet yours, and the smile that spreads across her face is enough to make your heart race.

“Dinner next time,” she says, her voice low but certain. “And this time, I’m paying.”

After that magical first date at the café, you and Leah fall into a rhythm that feels almost effortless. The texts come daily, the late-night calls stretch into the early morning, and every moment you spend together only deepens the pull between you. But there are moments—electric, heart-racing moments—where neither of you can ignore the sheer magnetic attraction that keeps building.

It’s a Friday night when Leah surprises you at work, waiting by the exit just as you’re finishing your shift. She’s leaning against her car, hands in her jacket pockets, her hair slightly tousled by the wind.

“I thought I’d take you home tonight,” she says casually, though the smile she gives you is anything but casual.

“I could’ve taken the bus, you know,” you tease, stepping closer.

Her eyes soften, and she tugs you gently by the hand until you’re standing right in front of her. “I wanted to see you,” she admits, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, the skies open up, rain pouring down out of nowhere. You let out a squeal of surprise, but Leah doesn’t move to run for cover. Instead, she laughs, her eyes locked on yours.

“You’re going to get soaked!” you shout over the rain, but she just shrugs.

“You too,” she counters, stepping even closer until her hands are on your waist.

And then she kisses you. It’s slow and deliberate, her lips warm against yours despite the cold rain falling around you. Her hands slide to your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, and the world around you fades into nothing but her.

By the time you pull away, both of you are drenched and breathless. Leah grins, brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Best rainy night I’ve ever had,” she murmurs.

A month into your relationship, Leah invites you to stay over for the first time. You wake up in her bed, tangled in the soft sheets, with her arm draped lazily across your waist.

She stirs before you do, her lips pressing against your bare shoulder in soft, lingering kisses.

“Morning,” she whispers, her voice husky with sleep.

You turn to face her, smiling as her hand trails up to cup your cheek. “Morning,” you reply, leaning into her touch.

She closes the small distance between you, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that starts slow but quickly deepens. Her hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel her heartbeat against yours as the kiss intensifies.

When you finally break apart, her forehead rests against yours, her eyes half-lidded as she grins. “I could stay here with you all day,” she murmurs.

“Who says we can’t?” you tease, and Leah laughs, pulling you back into another kiss.

It’s a big match for Leah and the team, and you’re in the stands, cheering louder than anyone else. When Arsenal clinches the win, Leah’s face lights up as she scans the crowd, her eyes immediately finding you.

Later, at the post-match celebration, you’re standing off to the side, sipping a drink, when Leah sneaks up behind you.

“Hey,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around your waist. She smells like fresh grass and victory, and the warmth of her body against yours sends a thrill through you.

“You were incredible out there,” you say, turning your head to look at her.

Leah doesn’t reply with words. Instead, she spins you around, cupping your face in her hands before pulling you into a kiss. It’s passionate, almost desperate, like she’s been holding back all night. When she pulls away, you’re both slightly breathless.

“I couldn’t wait anymore,” she admits with a small smile. “I needed to kiss you.”

You smile back, your fingers brushing against the back of her neck. “Anytime, Captain.”

The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, stolen kisses, and soft touches. By the time you leave, Leah’s hand is firmly in yours, her teammates shooting you knowing smiles as you walk out together.

One night, as you’re both curled up on her couch watching a movie, Leah suddenly pauses the screen. You turn to her, confused, but the serious look in her eyes makes your heart skip.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing a thumb over your hand. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you ask, your voice equally soft.

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching yours. “I’ve never felt like this before,” she admits. “With anyone. You… you make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel.”

You feel your chest tighten, your hand reaching up to cup her face. “Leah…”

“I mean it,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “You’re it for me. I don’t know where this is going, but I know I don’t want it to end.”

Tears sting your eyes as you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s soft but filled with all the emotions you can’t quite put into words. When you pull back, you rest your forehead against hers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

Leah lets out a shaky breath, pulling you into her arms. “Good. Because I don’t think I could let you go.”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

First Meetings – Headcannon Edition

Pairing: Task Force 141 x Civilian!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff! Some protective behavior, mild flirting

Author's Note: I love the idea of the 141 boys meeting a partner outside of their usual military world. I just love knowing the boys have someone to come home to but here is how they meet you. Let me know if you’d like any of these expanded!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

John "Soap" MacTavish

- You meet Soap while he’s on leave, enjoying a quiet drink in a cozy Scottish pub. It’s one of those places where the locals know each other, and you stick out like a sore thumb.

- He notices you sitting alone and, never one to leave someone out, walks right over with a cheeky grin.

- “New in town, are ya? Can’t be sittin’ all by yourself, that’s just a crime.” He slides into the seat across from you without waiting for permission, his energy contagious.

- What starts as small talk turns into a lively conversation filled with his playful teasing and exaggerated stories (you’re sure he’s embellishing, but it’s entertaining).

- By the end of the night, you’ve both laughed more than you have in weeks, and he’s already trying to get you to meet up again.

- “Tell ya what, next round’s on me—tomorrow night?” He winks, clearly hoping you’ll say yes.

---

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

- You meet Gaz in the most embarrassing way possible—by tripping right in front of him. You weren’t paying attention, too distracted by your phone or the book in your hands, and next thing you know, you’re falling forward.

- He catches you effortlessly, his grip firm but gentle. “Easy there, love. You alright?” His voice is warm with just a hint of amusement.

- You’re flustered, mumbling something about not watching where you were going, but he just grins.

- “Happens to the best of us,” he reassures you, then playfully adds, “But I think that’s the first time someone’s literally fallen for me.”

- If you meet at a coffee shop instead, he ends up sitting near you, noticing how intently you’re reading. Eventually, curiosity gets the best of him, and he strikes up a conversation.

- “Good book? You looked like you were in another world for a second.” His easygoing nature makes it impossible not to chat with him.

---

Simon "Ghost" Riley

- Ghost isn’t the type to seek out company, but somehow, you end up sitting across from him at a quiet café.

- You didn’t realize the table was occupied when you put your drink down, and by the time you do, you’re already halfway through apologizing.

- “Didn’t see you there. I can move—”

- “It’s fine,” he interrupts, barely sparing you a glance as he stirs his tea.

- Most people would take that as a sign to leave, but something about him intrigues you. Instead, you stay, making occasional comments about the book you’re reading or the pastries they serve here.

- At first, he doesn’t respond much—just nods or hums in acknowledgment. But eventually, after a particularly amusing remark, you catch the slight twitch of his lips.

- “You talk a lot,” he finally mutters, but there’s no annoyance in his tone—just quiet amusement.

- It takes a few more chance encounters before he actually starts engaging in conversation. But once he does, you realize he’s a lot more interesting than he lets on.

---

John Price

- You meet Price when he steps in to help you out of a tough situation. Maybe some guy at a bar won’t take no for an answer, or someone is giving you a hard time at a store.

- Either way, Price intervenes with that calm, authoritative voice that leaves no room for argument.

- “That’s enough, mate. Walk away.” The guy doesn’t even hesitate before backing off.

- You’re left staring at your unexpected savior—a ruggedly handsome man with a soft smile but sharp eyes.

- “You alright, love?” His voice is gentler now, checking to make sure you’re okay.

- If you meet somewhere more casual, like a bookstore, it’s because he helps you grab something from a high shelf. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but that’s a fine choice of tea,” he comments when he notices what you’re holding.

- He’s not pushy, but there’s an easy confidence about him that makes you feel safe.

- “Can I buy you a drink? As long as no one else needs rescuing tonight,” he jokes lightly.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[pseudonymousposting]

Just use the word from before. You don't really need to worry about having a different word for everything unless the difference serves a purpose.

If your story is first person or primarily follows a specific POV or is told by a specific narrator, wouldn't it make sense that the storyteller is not a walking dictionary?

When people speak, they tend to have patterns anyway, and you don't notice them unless you're looking for it. I can refer to Hbomberguy's bit in his plagiarism video where he mentions that an AI asked to write a segment in his style uses the words, "buckle up." This points to how he uses that phrase often.

He jokes that this is because he's bad at writing. I beg to differ. The consistent use is really fucking good, actually, and I hope he doesn't correct for it in the future.

The pattern, when used specifically by him, has certain implications that will prompt a fan of his videos to notice when he is making a salient point integral to the theme he is conveying throughout the entire video. You also know that the example he is about to use is probably pretty goddamn funny, or notable, or egregious. Maybe you noticed that before. Maybe. If you've watched all of his videos, like twice each, at least.

If you're a fan of Dimension 20, it's quite likely you know all the words Brennan Lee Mulligan uses ALL the time.

Rad

INcredible

Hell yeah

All are little communicators from him as a DM. They're used so often, even casual watchers meme about it. Also Matt Mercer saying "how do you want to do this." Also make note, if Brennan Lee Mulligan starts monologuing with a question, brace yourself.

The use of these common, consistent, repetitive phrases actually communicates more. It would be ridiculous if Brennan Lee Mulligan got shy about using the same term and clumsily said "inferno affirmative," or something. Unless he was purposely doing it as a clunky bit just for laughs, and even then, doing it unprompted would just get a blank stare at this point. The repetition has a benefit, not a deficit.

Your peerless vocabulary is not the most important component of your craft. Your story is. Care less about finding a million different words to say the same thing, and focus more on saying what you need to say. Story good, not word good.

When people read a story, they might say "the plot was well constructed." Or, "the suspense kept me on my seat." Or, "I laughed so hard."

You know what they won't say? "There's was a nice diversity of words there. The writer did a good job of making sure they didn't use a word twice on a given page." I'd argue that if that's what a reader notices, the writer failed to craft a good story.

Complimenting a person on their extensive vocabulary is more a thing an adult does for a 'gifted' child. It's better to write an excellent narrative at a 3rd grade reading level than to write a bad story at a collegiate level.

Hell, it's better to write a good story at a 3rd grade level than it is to even write an amazing story at a collegiate level. You're communicating. Make sure you are doing so effectively first and foremost. Everything else is just fluff.

This falls in line with the thing where people will try to cap off quotes with unnecessary modifiers where "said" does just fine and is almost invisible. Y'know, the ol' "'snape!' Slughorn ejaculated." Why say many words when few words do trick, eh?

Not to say finding the right synonym isn't useful. Sometimes, a synonym carries specific implications or a slightly different meaning more suited to that particular use case. In this case, that synonym might actually be a better fit to serve your purpose.

Alternatively, it's possible the character could be more likely to use that word over another for any particular reason. It can speak to who they are in a way that can help you avoid a little exposition here and there. Hell, using outdated terms might do the same.

For example, a now deceased man who was an instructor before I flunked out of college, who was nearly 90 years old. I think he sometimes used stories from his career to try and provide a point without giving answers.

He started one such story with "there was this guy I worked with a long time ago. He was uh ambidextrous, yknow what I mean? Uhh, he was a switch-hitter or a uhh..a bisexual..."

I'm not gonna lie, I was fucking awestruck at the term "switch-hitter," referencing bisexuality. That term instantly made me a patriot for about two weeks. I'd never heard anything more apple-pie, bald eagle with a single tear, and inside the tear, you can see the twin towers, Ole Glory waving proudly in the background with fireworks bursting over the top motherfuckin AMERICA than "switch-hitter" meaning "bisexual" holy shit.

Anyway, shortening things, I flunked out, met my abuser, and fled town because I just couldn't live in the same town as them anymore. He called to check on me.

He told me he keyed in that something was wrong and felt the need to check in. He believed my story. He said a lot that helped me with my recovery.

Part of my story involved the fact that I'm trans, as queer relationship dynamics were, like, central to the abuse. Interestingly, unlike many people in their 40s, 50s, and 60s, this man pushing his 90s understood every single damn word of what I was saying.

I bring up this story because of the synonyms he uses and how we can think about their use in context. My mind trails back to the term "switch hitter," a 1960s slang term for bisexual used right after "Ambidextrous," an earlier term. Of course, the man immediately understood all this queer mumbo-jumbo I was saying and didn't flinch even a little about my being trans.

However, its use from a 90-year-old right after "ambidextrous" tells an entirely different story. It drops a hint that this guy may have been, at the very least, accepting of people who were involved in the gay rights movement during the time.

Desperately seeking a synonym for "bisexual" might yield you to terms which are today potentially offensive or harmful, but before the 1970s were descriptors that bisexuals would sometimes use to describe themselves. So, depending on who uses that term, it could be harmful, or it could be someone who fought against that harm long before that term ever had potential negative implications.

Also, note how many times I just said, "bisexual?" Did it feel repetitive? Probably not.

If the use of the synonym serves no purpose other than feeling like you need to use a different word, consider, "Why am I really looking for a synonym, here?" If it doesn't serve a specific purpose, then feel free to just use whatever word makes sense. If it matters for one reason or another, use that. Just use what works. This ain't a vocabulary test. You don't need to impress your middle school English teacher anymore. You're free.

[waves-realm]

Sakusa Kiyoomi || Clean serve, messy heart

Sakusa Kiyoomi liked order. He liked routines, neatness, and knowing exactly what to expect. His world was made up of carefully folded towels, perfectly timed serves, and a comfortable distance from anything—or anyone—that could disrupt his sense of control.

Then you joined Itachiyama as the new team manager.

And suddenly, Sakusa’s world was an absolute mess.

It wasn’t dramatic, like in the romance movies Komori teased him about. There were no slow-motion moments or violins playing in the background. It was simple—too simple, really. You walked into the gym for the first time, clipboard in hand, offering a polite smile to the team, and Sakusa felt his heart do something completely unfamiliar.

A skip. A stumble. A full-on dive into chaos.

Of course, he’d never admit it.

Instead, he became strategic. If he liked you—and he wasn’t ready to use that word just yet—he’d be subtle. Calm. Rational.

But Sakusa’s version of "subtle" was… questionable at best.

He started standing a little closer during water breaks. Not too close—he wasn’t reckless—but definitely within earshot. He’d clear his throat unnecessarily when you were nearby, just to see if you’d glance at him. (You always did.)

When Komori caught him lingering near the supply closet where you were organizing equipment, Sakusa muttered, “Just needed a towel,” even though he was clearly holding one already.

But his real downfall? The small, thoughtful gestures he couldn’t help but do.

You’d casually mention being cold in the gym, and the next day, an extra hoodie mysteriously appeared on the bench—one that just happened to be his, freshly washed and folded. You’d struggle to reach a clipboard on the top shelf, and Sakusa would suddenly materialize beside you, silent but helpful, retrieving it without a word.

And every time, he’d walk away quickly, face slightly pink, pretending none of it meant anything.

One day after practice, you found him alone, wiping down volleyballs with mechanical precision. The gym was quiet except for the squeak of sneakers against the polished floor.

“Hey, Sakusa,” you called softly, stepping closer.

He stiffened, keeping his focus on the volleyball in his hands. “What?”

You smiled, unfazed by his usual curt tone. “Thanks for the hoodie the other day. It was really thoughtful.”

His hand froze mid-wipe. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’re always doing stuff like that, though.”

He finally glanced up, dark eyes meeting yours. His face was carefully neutral, but there was a flicker of something—panic?—beneath the surface.

“Well,” he muttered, looking back down, “someone has to be responsible around here.”

You laughed softly, stepping even closer now. “Is that what this is? Responsibility?”

He opened his mouth, probably to deflect again, but then he made the mistake of looking at you—really looking at you. The warm light of the gym reflected in your eyes, your smile soft and genuine, and suddenly all his carefully built walls felt paper-thin.

“…Maybe not just that,” he admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Your smile grew, your heart fluttering at the rare glimpse of honesty from him. “Good. Because I was hoping it wasn’t.”

For the first time since you’d met, Sakusa didn’t look away. Instead, he nodded slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips—subtle, quiet, but there.

Messy feelings, it turned out, weren’t so bad after all.

[stellar-constellations]

Andrew Graves Kinkmas

I'm sorry this is late, I literally didn't even think of doing a Kinkmas until Christmas Day! This served as great practice for my writing, although it's very amateurish since I've never wrote any smut/sex before. Hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 13,000 words

WARNINGS (or what this includes): Sex, sex, sex. Amateurish sex scenes. Threats of voyeurism. Overstimulation (male and female). Mirror sex. Pussy eating + blowjobs. Unprotected sex. Sex toys. Praise. Poorly disguised author fetishes (wish of marriage). Bondage. Small dirty talk. Food play. Cum eating.

Kinkmas one: Pussy Eating!

        Andrew had you lying on the kitchen counter, making you lay on your back so he could easily keep your legs spread open. 

        “Andrew!” you mewled, squirming as he forced his arms under your thighs, locking them in place around his head. “Please!”

        You weren’t sure exactly what you were pleading for; if it was for him to go faster for you to that sweet release, or for him to slow down so you could savor the moment.

        “I know, baby.” Andrew hummed, his face messy and shiny under the kitchen’s lighting. “Gimme another minute.”

        “You already said that!” you whined, your eyes darting to the oven clock, breathing heavily to the point you were panting, feeling rushed for your orgasm. “I need to leave for work soon!” 

        “Y’know I love me a woman in uniform...” Andrew teasingly smirked, glancing up from your thighs. "But I'm busy."

        You looked down at him, frowning before your eyes looked back at the clock, another whine leaving your throat, more desperate than the last. “C’mon, Andrew! Please!”

        “Don’t worry, baby.” Andrew hummed, kissing your thighs, before biting down. “I won’t make you late to work. Promise. I’ll drive you.”

        That promise was a little better, but it didn’t exactly help your worries with the limited time you had before needing to clock in for work; and just thinking about trying to orgasm made you feel farther from it. 

        “Keep talking about work and I’ll get the muzzle for you…” Andrew muttered, removing his teeth from your thigh to lick at it, before moving his head and licking a straight line on your clit.

        “Ah!” you gasped, surprised at the feeling of his hot tongue on you, a whimper leaving your lips.

        “It’s that clock, eh?” Andrew questioned, speaking casually as if his tongue wasn’t swirling around your clit, causing your thighs to try and clamp up at the sensitivity—but he wouldn’t allow that. “C’mon, turn over.”

        He put your legs off his shoulders, letting you get up off the counter. He took off his sweater, leaving himself shirtless as he bent you over the counter, covering your head with the sweater so you couldn’t see.

        “Be good and spread ‘em.” He hummed, getting down on his knees and tapping your legs a few times.

        He sat so that you were facing him and the wall, while his head resting on the cabinet, facing your body. 

        Your legs were on one side of Andrew, before you opened them and placed your other foot to his other hip, standing over him.

        A squeal left your lips, surprised at the feeling of his tongue invading your pussy, circling around as he was nose-deep. His tongue scooped out your juices, greedily slurping it down before coming back for seconds, and thirds, and more that you couldn’t count.

        “Fuck!” you cried out, your cheek against the cold counter as Andrew’s tongue rotated between scooping your pussy and sucking on your clit.

        Andrew grabbed your ankle and threw one of your legs over his shoulder, his lips parting from your clit as he spit on his fingers. He allowed two fingers into your pussy at once, softly pumping them in and out for you to adjust.

        “Ngh… Andrew…” You moaned, keening at the slow pumping, before it started speeding up, his long and slender fingers going knuckle-deep, before he started to curl them up to hit that precious spongy spot in you. “Andrew!” 

        His mouth went back to your clit, licking and sucking on it as his fingers curled and uncurled at a faster rate, causing you to whine and squirm.

        His free hand that was resting on your hip went to your ass, before he gave it a warning slap, not too hard but still enough to make you jump.

        “Grind.” He commanded, lolling out his tongue for you to use. 

        You didn’t hesitate to allow your hips to take over, grinding your pussy into his mouth and onto his nose, your legs close to buckling at the pleasure, both of your erotic zones being stimulated at once.

        “Gonna cum!” you whined, your hips bucking as Andrew’s head gently hit the back of the cabinet; although he didn’t care as he continue to finger and lick you.

        A cry left your lips as your legs shook, your hips stuttering as your stomach uncoiled, closing your eyes as scratching the counter as you came, orgasming on his tongue.

        Andrew smiled, pleased as he removed his fingers from your pussy, licking them clean.

        “Always so sweet…” he muttered happily before he hit your thigh, “C’mon. Again…”

Kinkmas two: Toys

        Andrew’s cock had a nice curve that hit your G-spot every time you slammed your hips down onto it, before pulling yourself up, only to drop yourself back down.

        “Fuuuck… Just like that, pretty…” Andrew groaned, his hands resting on your hips as he helped you bounce onto his cock. 

        Little pants and gasps came out from your mouth, out of breath as you worked your thighs overtime to please him. 

        Honestly, riding wasn’t your favorite. The stinging in your legs distracted you from the pleasure of his cock hitting your G-spot, but you didn’t want to disappoint him. So you kept bouncing.

        Andrew knew something was wrong as he looked at the way your eyebrows furrowed together, closing your eyes as you tried to channel all your energy into this intense exercise. You were panting more than you were moaning,

        “Hey.” Andrew spoke up, slapping your thigh. “Stop.”

        You slowed your pace before stopping altogether, looking at him confused. You took the break to breathe, feeling your legs tremble as you saddled Andrew’s lap. 

        “S-something wrong? Am I not… d-doing it right?” you questioned, worried as you tried to catch your breath.

        Andrew sat up from the mattress, before quickly pinning you down underneath him, giving you a stern glare.

        “So this is what we’re gonna be resorting to, huh?” he sighed. “If you’re not enjoying it, tell me.” 

        “But I was!” you stammered, you felt your face burn up, embarrassed at being caught. 

        Andrew sighed, rolling his eyes before he leaned over the bed, opening a drawer from the nightstand.

        “It doesn’t feel good if you don’t feel good. Making me feel like an asshole over here…” Andrew huffed, grabbing a rose vibrator, turning it on and holding it to your clit.        

        “Ah-ha! ‘M sorry!” you cried out, squirming at the sensation.

        “Don’t apologize. Obviously you can’t use your words.” Andrew scoffed, grabbing his hard cock with his free hand and lining it up to your pussy. “I need to feel you cum around my cock. Then I’ll know if you’re sorry.” 

        Andrew smiled, gently pushing his cock into you, starting off with a few soft thrusts to get you warmed up before speeding his hips up.

        “Sorry! ‘M sorry!” you mewled, your hands coming to his shoulders and holding them for dear life.

        Andrew grabbed one of your legs and held it to his hip, causing you to hook it around him and sinking himself balls deep into you, a nasty plap! plap! echoing throughout the room as he sunk himself deeper into you, pulling out before thrusting his cock back into your pussy. 

        “I- Fuck!” you cried out, closing your eyes and moaning, your hands digging into his skin and raking down his arms, leaving fire trails in its wake. 

        Moans escaped your mouth and you were worried the neighbors would hear, but your thoughts immediately melted as Andrew raised the setting of the vibrator, a loud cry escaping your lips as your hips bucked up to chase the pleasure.

        Andrew leaned down and peppered your neck with kisses, leaving small bites as you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down and moaning into his ear. 

        Another minute of Andrew’s deep thrusts into your pussy and the vibrator toying with your clit, you came with a cry, your hips rocking against the vibrator to milk out your orgasm as you squeezed his cock. 

        A few moans escaped his mouth before he groaned, shoving his face into your neck to hide it, his hips slowing down to enjoy his orgasm.

        You squirmed and whined as the vibrator still played with your bundle of nerves, overstimulating you before Andrew turned the vibe off, pulling it away from you.

        “You feel good now?” Andrew muttered, catching his breath in the crook of your neck. 

        “Mm-hm.” You nodded, panting as you closed your eyes and enjoyed the afterglow, your brain feeling mush and no longer worrying about the ache in your legs.

        “Good,” He muttered, kissing your neck’s pulse before removing his head from there. He smiled, his stilled hips starting to thrust again. “Let’s keep it that way.” 

Kinkmas three: Grinding + French kisses

        You walked through the door and noticed Andrew sitting on the couch, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his legs, playing video games on the living room TV. 

        It was annoying to see him after your shift at work. He hadn’t bothered cleaning up, getting dinner started, or even getting up off the couch to greet you!

        “Welcome home.” Andrew muttered, not sparing a glance to you as he button-smashed the controller in his hands. 

        You huffed, walking towards him and pushing his chest, knocking him back against the couch. 

        “Hey?” Andrew huffed, confused before his girlfriend sat down in his lap.

        “Some men really got the audacity. Chivalry is dead.” You scoffed, pouting at him.

        “Wait,” Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, desperate to win his match as he leaned his head to the side to look past you. “I just gotta—damn it!” Andrew hissed, a "game over" text on the living room screen, before he glared at his girlfriend. “Happy?”

        “Very.” You smirked, glad to see you have his attention now. “You can pay attention to me now.”

        “Only until the next match starts or a teammate revives me.” Andrew sighed, before a small smile came to his face.

        He could never be mad with you if all you wanted was a little bit of affection. He reached his hand up and ruffled your hair teasingly, watching as a smile made way onto your face.

        You leaned in, your plush lips connecting with Andrew’s. He reciprocated the act, his hand combing through your hair, brushing away all of your work-stress and drama.

        You let out a protesting whine when he separated from you, mumbling something about his game starting, before you reached out and placed your hands on his cheeks. 

        A surprised sound escaped Andrew’s lips as your quickly crashed your lips right back onto his, tilting your head and attempting to deepen the kiss. 

        Andrew almost pulled away to complain about you getting in the way of his game, but a slow drag of your hips meeting his own quickly made him swallow his complaint; completely forgetting about his game when he had better things to worry about.

        He felt your hips slowly working slow grinds onto his cock, and suddenly that game didn’t seem so important. 

        He opened his mouth for your tongue to glide through his lips. Your tongue pressed up against his, causing a delightful shiver to run down his spine. 

        You squirmed into a position more comfortable, scooting closer as you pressed your chest up against Andrew’s, your clothed pussy directly against his covered cock as your legs wrapped around his waist. Andrew’s hands went to your hips to help grind them into him more firmly.

        A moan forced its way out of his throat, but it only got sucked up in yours as you started sucking on his tongue like it was your favorite hard candy. 

        “Mm… just like that…” Andrew groaned.

        He took one of his hands off your hip and moved it to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling you deeper into the kiss. His free hand resting on your hip, before it went to your pants. 

        His fingers traced your thigh, before moving up and latching onto the waistband, tugging down—before his hand was suddenly slapped away.

        “Don’t.” You grumbled into his mouth.

        “Mm… why?” he muttered, trying to pull his lips away from yours, but you wouldn’t have that as your hands went to his collar and kept your lips against his.

        You kept kissing him, sucking on his tongue before finally parting. You bit his bottom lip teasingly, before pulling away.

        “Because you haven’t done anything to earn it…” you answered. “Today was your day to cook, and you didn’t. Your day to clean too. It was your responsibility to get stuff done while I was at work.”

        “I’m sorry. I forgot. I got too distracted playing video games…” Andrew muttered, feeling a slight sting in his lips from where you bit him, the spit-glossed area swelling up. 

        “So you don’t get to fuck me.” You spoke.

        “Fuck. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Andrew spoke, furrowing his eyebrows and gritting his teeth, desperate to feel you.

        “If you’re sorry you’ll listen to me.” You muttered, your pussy grinding onto his cock. “You need to cum first before I even think of letting you fuck me.”

        “God… you’re evil.” Andrew gasped, feeling your hips speed up. 

        He threw his head back against the couch cushioning and let out a throaty groan, both hands going to your hips and gripping them tighter.

        You leaned down and kissed his neck, biting down on some areas and sucking to leave love bites. His hands helped grind your pussy onto his cock, his cock head leaking with pre-cum that stained his boxers. 

        His own hips stuttered, before he started to thrust up into you, his hard cock grinding against your clit in a way that made you gasp and disconnect your teeth from his neck. 

        Andrew pulled you in for a kiss, pinching your hip and causing you to yelp, allowing him to finally dominate your mouth now with his tongue. 

        As his tongue played with yours, Andrew could feel your pussy toying with his cock. He could taste his release, and it was like he could feel your empty pussy squeezing your walls, desperate for him to be inside you.

        “Fuck…” Andrew muttered, his thrusts quickening, albeit becoming sloppy. “G-gonna…” 

        He couldn’t finish his sentence as he groaned, his head hitting the couch as his hips shook, thrusting against his will as he chased his orgasm. His eyes closed tightly, as if trying to escape the intensity of his orgasm. His cum spoiled his boxers, a wet stain appearing on his pants as he panted. 

        “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Andrew groaned, coming down from his high, his hips letting out a weak thrust up every now and then on reflex. “G-give me a second… then I’ll fuck ya, baby.”

        “Oh?” you grinned, tilting your head to the side. “When did I say I was gonna let you fuck me? I’m still not convinced you’re sorry yet.” You purred, your hips speeding back up to a painful pace.

        “A-aha! Fuck!” Andrew hissed, his eyes shooting open and grabbing your hips to try and stop them. “(Y/N)!” 

        It felt like a spiking pain in his now-empty balls, but it was mixed with the pleasure of his cock being stimulated again, a sensation that made his head spin and mouth drool.

        “Cum again, Andrew. Make me convinced you’re sorry.” You hummed, kissing the pulse on his neck. 

Kinkmas four: Phone masturbation + small dirty talk

        Andrew had been visiting his parents’ house after not seeing them since his early college years. He decided to go alone this year since he was only going to be staying there for a weekend, but it was a weekend too long as you tossed and turned in your shared bed.

        You finally accepted that you couldn’t sleep. With a groan, you reached over and turned on the lamp by your bed, illuminating the room with a soft yellow glow.

        You stared at the ceiling, frustrated before eventually just grabbing your phone, unlocking it and searching through your gallery for a picture of Andrew.

        You had an album dedicated to him. Pictures of just mundane things like grocery shopping, running errands, eating food; you liked seeing how handsome he was just by simply existing. 

        You were head over heels for that man.

        You clicked on a picture you took of him finally getting his hair cut. It was just a slight trim, and right after they left the salon he immediately ran his fingers through his hair and messed up all the stylist’s work at trying to keep it out of his face. 

        You liked the photo because of his sly smile from ruining the look, but also because it was him being comfortable with how he normally looked, just being himself. 

        You thought about all the hugs and kisses you’d demand from Andrew when he finally returns home. Contemplating just how many hours of cuddles he owes you for abandoning you (for 2 days).

        You thought about how many hours he owes you in bed, making it up to you and your pussy.

        Damn it, now you were thinking of something else.

        You groaned, brightening the image despite how it hurt your eyes in the low lighting of the room, wanting to see as much of him as you could. 

        Your hands trailed to your panties, toying with your clit over the thin material before going to your slit. You nudged the cloth away and stuck two fingers into your pussy, not bothering in trying to re-enact Andrew’s cock thrusting into you, simply just trying to get a quick quickie in as you curled your fingers up.

        It didn’t do anything. Your fingers were barely even long enough to graze your G-spot, let alone even fill you up as well as Andrew’s fingers did. 

        You resorted to plan B.

        You reached into the bottom of your nightstand and pulled out a dildo. It was a silicone replica of Andrew’s cock that you and him made together on their three-year anniversary.

        You grabbed some strawberry lube and lathered it on your palm, rubbing it up and down the cold silicone replica. You wished it was Andrew’s cock, longing for the warmth in your palm, the feeling of his pulse throbbing between your fingers as you'd jerk him closer and closer to release, his tip turning a pretty red before shooting white blanks. 

        Once you were satisfied with the lube dripping down the purple silicone, you had the tip play with your hole, imagining it was Andrew rubbing his cock up and down your slit, putting his tip in before chuckling and removing it, leaving you wanting more. 

        Luckily, you could decide your own pace as you inserted the full length into your pussy, shuddering at the cold silicone. It was nowhere near warm as Andrew’s was, but you couldn’t be picky with him gone.

        You closed your eyes, imagining Andrew’s voice ringing through your ears as you moved the dildo in and out, trying to match that same pace Andrew would go.

        Your phone rang, ruining the fantasy as you opened your eyes with a frustrated groan. You looked over at the small device resting on your nightstand, before realizing it was Andrew’s contact.

        You immediately stopped what you were doing, before getting an idea. You answered the phone, moving the dildo slowly in and out of yourself, almost moaning at just the sound of his voice. 

        “Hey, baby.” Andrew hummed, a hint of sleep on his voice as he spoke. “What are you doing still up? You know it’s like midnight where you are right now?”

        “I can’t sleep without you.” You muttered, breathless as you held yourself back from speeding up the dildo’s pace so you wouldn’t get caught.

        “I know… I miss you.” Andrew sighed, his deep raspy voice playing out in your ears.        

        You put the phone on speaker so you could place it down on your pillow, leaning back and closing your eyes as the dildo bottomed out, before your wrist pulled it back only to slowly have it fill you up again.

        “I miss you too…” You whimpered on accident. 

        “You okay?” Andrew questioned—you could practically just see the smile on his face.

        “I just want you to come home soon…” you spoke, your body shivering as you felt a slight pang of guilt for using his voice to get yourself off.

        “Yeah?” he hummed. “I can’t wait to come back home. It’s real boring over here, talking about mundane stuff like ‘how’s work?’ or ‘when are you gonna get married?’” Andrew spoke, chuckling. “But you’d like that? Wouldn’t you?” 

        You quickly nodded, a low giggle escaping your lips as you smiled. “O-of course I’d like that…” you breathed out. “B-been waiting… for that.” You muttered.

        “Yeah? A nice ring for you? I can watch as that ring sparkles while you’re shoving your fingers in your pussy.” 

        You quickly stopped the dildo’s movements, shocked.

        “Or maybe see your hand wrapped around my cock pumping it. But I always do like holding your hands while I fuck you.” Andrew purred.

        You sat up, confused. You looked around the room for a second, wondering if Andrew was here or if you were just hearing things.

        “W-what?” you questioned, your voice a bit unsteady.

        “I could hear your pussy crying for me. Sounds like you’re using that dildo; your fingers are always sloppy and out of rhythm…” Andrew smiled.

        “I-I…” you stammered, your face flush as you were embarrassed from being caught. “I’m sorry.”

        “You can make it up to me by continuing.” Andrew hummed.

        “But—“ 

        “Don’t get shy on me now, baby. It’s not like I can see you.” Andrew chuckled, surely a smug smirk on his face. “C’mon, now. All you gotta do is fuck yourself for me… Surely you can at least do that?”

        It sounded like he was mocking or even possibly degrading you, but knowing he wanted you too—wanted to hear your cries and moans—really made you excited. 

        “Mmm…” you breathed out, re-inserting the dildo back into your hole. “O-okay…”

        “Put her on the phone.” Andrew demanded, her being your pussy.

        You listened, leaning back on your pillow and placing the phone right next to your hip, slowly pushing the dildo in and out.

        “Fuck yourself faster; I wanna hear her.” Andrew spoke. 

        You whined, closing your eyes to focus on his voice, listening to Andrew’s voice.

        There was a spitting sound on the other line, before a plap! sound, a low moan from Andrew. You didn’t even know when Andrew had begun pleasing himself, but all you could hear were the wet squelches of lotion he used as he fucked his own fist to the rhythm of your pussy crying out around the dildo.

        “Doesn’t feel as good as your cock, Andrew…” You whimpered, panting, feeling an orgasm building up the more you were exposed to Andrew’s low moans and deep groans.

        “Oh. I know, baby.” Andrew chuckled, almost cockily as he talked you through it. “Just keep going, baby. You’ll have my cock tomorrow when I come home…” Andrew mumbled, moving his hand up and down his shaft. “Keep fucking yourself for me.”

        You let out a shaky breath, a twitch in your thigh as you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet so the neighbors couldn’t hear.

        “Let me hear your pretty moans, baby. I need to at least hear you to get off…” Andrew spoke, his voice airy. “I need a part of you to come, baby.” 

        “Andrew…” you whimpered, shivering as you started taking shorter breaths, your chest feeling heavier and heavier.

        “Good girl… Fuck yourself faster for me.” Andrew purred, wanting to give you some positive reinforcement for the noise.

        “Fuck… Andrew. I-I think I’m gonna come…” you panted, your other hand coming to your clit and rubbing quick circles as you sloppily moved the dildo in and out of you.

        “Y-you just do what you need to do to make you come, baby.” Andrew spoke, letting out a breathless sigh, his stutter giving away that he was close too. 

        “I-I'm coming!” you gasped.

        Your thighs twitching as your fingers grew sloppy on your clit. Your pussy clenched around the dildo, weeping as it didn’t have Andrew’s cum to milk.

        Your thighs and back were drenched in sweat, the feeling uncomfortable as you spread your legs, feeling them unstick from the bedsheets. Some strands of hair covered your face—some even in your mouth as you just realized, your slick-covered hand moving the hair away.

        “Andrew…” you whimpered, listening to Andrew’s voice, pressing your ear against the phone just to better hear any little noise he made.

        “F-fuck! Fuck! (Y/N)!” Andrew hissed, his voice sounding muffled on the other line.

        The hem of his shirt was being held in his mouth to silence his moans. He groaned as his cock spurted white globs, dirtying his hand and stomach. 

        You could almost cry at the loss, wishing you were there to lap up his cum with your mouth—even better, if you were there, it would’ve never left your pussy. 

        “Hah… ah…” Andrew panted, catching his breath as he closed his eyes, working his way through the aftershocks of his release.

        Andrew opened his eyes and looked at his hand, letting out a sigh at the mess before getting an idea. 

        “(Y/N), baby. You still with me?” he hummed.

        “Mm… yeah?” You nodded, listening intently to whatever he had to say.

        “Turn on FaceTime for me.”

Kinkmas five: Sex in the Snow

        You didn't know that challenging Andrew to an innocent snowball fight would end up with him balls deep into your pussy outside.

        All you wanted was to go outside and play with your dear boyfriend after seeing on the news it would snow. You even set an alarm to wake up early so all the snow wouldn't melt! You begged and begged your boyfriend to get up out of your shared bed—which was a pretty hefty feat considering he usually woke up at 2 PM.

        All dressed up in your shirt, jacket, and pants (very underdressed for 10 degrees outside, but you knew that), you were able to drag your boyfriend out into the snow. All it took was a few snowballs to the face to wake him up and get him irritated enough to start chasing you with a mega snowball he composed, large enough to be the head of a snowman. 

        You let out a thrilled shriek, running away from him; but you should know by now that you can never outrun your boyfriend, he is bigger and stronger than you after all! 

        He managed to catch up with you, knocking you to the ground by throwing the colossal snowball at your back. Tumbling down in the snow, it cushioned your fall as you laughed.

        "Andrew!" you giggled, your cheeks hurting from the cold air nipping at your exposed skin. "It's cold!"

        Andrew looked down at you with a smile. He crouched down to roll you over on your back, his long legs in between yours. He couldn't help but admire that bright smile on your face, rivaling the early sun reflecting off the snow. Your now messy and wet hair stuck to your face, mini icicles forming on your eyelashes, but you looked nothing short from an ice goddess.

        He couldn't help but pressed his gloved hands onto your cold cheeks, leaning in and kissing your frozen lips with his. 

        Your eyes widened, surprised at the sudden affection, but you were always a sucker for him as you closed your eyes and enjoyed the warmth of his kiss. You enjoyed his warm breath mingling with yours to fight the cold air surrounding you both. You enjoyed his lips pressed against yours in a delightful bliss. You enjoyed his tongue sliding into your mouth with a murmured excuse of "Let me warm ya up."

        His tongue diligently and effortlessly explored your mouth, your face heating up at the close proximity of his as his tongue just went deeper down your throat. You let out a small whine, remembering you were both still in public as you tried to pull away. Your lips only part for a second before Andrew's gloved hand went to the back of your head, his lips reattached to yours, pushing you back in the snow but with Andrew's hand protecting your scalp from the cold. His tongue re-entered your mouth, swirling around your own hot muscle before sucking on it. 

        His mouth parted from yours, kissing down your jaw before going to your exposed neck. He left hot kisses as his hands unzipped your jacket, grabbing the hem of your shirt.

        "Andrew!" you gasped, feeling the cold invade your skin as he lifted the shirt above your stomach. "We're in public!"

        "So? Nobody's around..." he muttered.

        It's not like your boyfriend would ever allow anyone else to sneak a peek at you. Whenever you wore a skirt in public and dropped your lipgloss tube, he always made sure to stand behind you to block any perv from looking up your skirt (and steal the view for himself). Besides, Andrew would go to the point of murder to keep you safe, no doubt about it.

        "You didn't give me my morning quickie today so you could run outside and play. Let me have this." He muttered. 

        He pressed a quick peck to your lips before your shirt went over your chest. In your haste to come outside, you didn't bother wearing a bra, a factor Andrew took to his advantage as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, sucking on it as if he was expecting milk to dribble out. His hand kneaded and tweaked at your other nipple, feeling it harden due to the harsh winter breeze. 

        Your breath came out in icy smoke as you moaned, squirming underneath your lover as you were pinned to the ground. 

        You figured he wanted to be quick so nobody in the park could walk by and see. As his mouth switched to your other nipple, his free hand that wasn't playing with your nipple was buckling his pants and pulling down his boxers enough to reveal his swollen cock.

        "Fuck, that's cold!" Andrew shivered, a violent spike of ice rushing up his back as he visibly shook.

        You let out a giggle, deciding it would be the perfect opportunity to tease him.

        "The cold won't bother you and little Andy's performance, right?" you smirked, remembering reading online that male genitalia shrunk in the cold. 

        "Little?" Andrew questioned, visibly annoyed at your smartass comment. 

        His hands went to pull down your pants and panties, not bothering to unbutton them as he opted to simply tug them down like an animal in his haste. 

        "I'll show you little..." he muttered, whether to you or himself, you don't know. "I just need to get warmed up is all; and what better way is there other than your warm cunt?" 

        He ripped his glove off his hand with his grabbed some snow and pressed it onto your pussy, causing you to violently squirm under him and yelp.

        "Andrew! What was that for?" you whined as the snow melted into cold water on your throbbing clit. 

        "Positive punishment." Andrew smirked. 

        "Water does not work like lube!" you whimpered, feeling his warm hands rub the cold water up and down your slit. 

        "Cry about it." Andrew shrugged, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a glob of fresh snow, before sticking it and two of his fingers into your pussy.

        Another surprised cry left your lips, squirming at the weird sensation. The feeling of Andrew's warm hands mixed with the snow melting in your hot cunt almost made you cry, giving you a mental whiplash with your thermoreceptor trying to decipher if it was hot or cold... but it felt oddly good as his fingers kept fucking in and out of your pussy quickly.

        He had enough of teasing you, wanting to make this quick as you both were still out in the open. His slick-covered hand went to his cock, giving it a few pumps and shivering at the cold around him, before sticking it into your cunt. 

        "Ohhh..." he let out a relaxed groan, closing his eyes. "Fuck, your pussy feels so warm." 

        You couldn't respond back as he started to thrust in and out of you, already starting at a faster than normal pace. Quick ah, ah, ah's left your lips along with moans as your eyes squirmed shut, your head falling back on the gloved hand Andrew was still using to help protect your scalp from the cold. 

        His balls slapped against your clit, eliciting sharp gasps and whines from you, his dick rubbing your tight inner walls and hitting that sweet spot just right to have you seeing a color whiter than snow. 

        Every now and then, his lips would sloppy kiss yours, before his head retreated into the crook of your neck, his warm breath heating the skin there as your back continuously rubbed against the snow. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders and brought him in close, hugging him to protect you from the cold (and have his cock bury deeper into your wet pussy). 

        You're surprised that there isn't a hole in the snow from how heated he was roughly fucking you into the snow. It felt like utter bliss having his hips thrust into yours as deep as he could go, not being able to separate from you for more than a second as he quickly sought back out for your warmth. 

        Andrew's free hand kissed your clit, his fingers now cold after their prolonged exposure out in the snow as he rubbed quick circles around your clit to make you come. You couldn't help but come quickly after a few more thrusts, feeling Andrew rotating between kissing and groaning into your neck before his hips stuttered, pouring out all of his cum into your warm and awaiting pussy. 

        You both stopped to take some breaths, calming down after your climax. Now that you were done passionately dirtily making love, the freezing cold truly set in.

        "Shit... Let's go inside now." Andrew groaned.

        You had no complaints, not after being fucked so good. Your legs felt too wobbly to try running around in the snow again, so you let him pull out of you, watching his cum fall into the snow and camouflage with it.

        Andrew pulled back up your pants and re-buttoned his. He helped you off the ground and picked you up like the gentleman he is.

        "Hey, look." Andrew spoke. "We made a snow angel." He snickered dirtily, bringing your attention to the holes in the snow your bodies made while Andrew was warming your insides with his cock.

        Maybe not so much of a gentleman...

Kinkmas six: Sex in a fitting room

        Christmas was coming up, and that meant shopping for presents. It’s hard to try and come up with gifts as you get older. 

        Usually you’d buy a nice smelling candle for someone and call it a day, but you’re old enough to where candles don’t work as presents anymore. Your extended family has little ones now, and you can’t trust those kids with not eating cookie scented wax. 

        At least Andrew was there to keep you company, but he wasn’t no better when it came to Christmas presents, usually buying mugs that said things such as “best mom, best dad, best sister, best brother in law,” those cliche 15 buck mugs. 

        You two weren’t really the best shoppers, huh?

        It’s how you found yourself at the mall, trying to find gifts for the kids that were actually worth it. A kid won’t care about a damn mug, and they especially cannot play with fire while trying to light a candle. The best option is clothes; helps with the parents bank account and doesn’t drive them insane with the noise.

        Sure, the kid might not care too much, but they’re three, there’s not too much they like other than cartoons and sweets. 

        “Hm. Andrew, what do you think?” you questioned, holding up a black and red flanneled dress.

        It was pretty cute for the kid. It’s nice colors, soft quality (you made sure, thanks to your sensitive skin and fabric tastes), and it doesn’t have cringy words like "Daddy’s girl" or a weird hole in the back showing the kids skin.

        Seriously, what’s with these stores and their adult choices for kids? Mini bikinis for a three year old? Either the clothing companies are ran by pedophiles or “independent moms who want their kids to express their interests.” They’re three Susan, they’re in their dinosaur phase and will secretly never grow out of it. Get real.

        “Better than what most of these are…” Andrew sighed. “I mean, seriously. I get the stereotype that girls wear pink, but this is too much. It feels like I’m in a Barbie store.” Andrew grimaced. 

        “And now you see why I steal your clothes.” You hummed, ignoring the small (yet playful) glare Andrew sent your way. 

        “I should steal your clothes.” Andrew huffed.

        “You can’t fit in a bra.” You smirked. “But feel free to try the panties.”

        “You’re gross.” Andrew grimaced, annoyed. “Don’t say that when we’re in a kids clothes section shopping for Ashley’s kids…”

        “Good point.” You hummed, realizing how it sounded.

        You grabbed a pair of black leggings and threw it into the small basket you were holding. It’s always good to have a kid wear leggings under their dress, especially because they’re in the phase to pull it up any chance they get (kids just do that cause they’re bored or they’re playing with the fabric). 

        “Alright… we got the clothes.” You spoke. “Should we get a toy too? The clothes can be a gift for the parents, and the toy can be a gift for the kid?”

        You turned to look back at Andrew, but he wasn’t there.

        “Andrew?” you questioned, confused as you looked around.

        Damn it, did you wander too far again? You had a bad habit of getting distracted and wandering away from Andrew. It always makes him worried when he doesn’t know where you are.

        Wait, you’ve still been in the same damn aisle this whole time. Andrew was the one that ran off this time.

        “This is his blood niece, not mine.” You grumbled, annoyed. 

        You walked around the store, before finding Andrew at the woman’s lingerie. 

        If you didn’t know who he was, you’d assume the dude was checking out the girls in the panty photos, but you recognize that dark and moody man as your boyfriend.

        “Did you take me seriously on wearing panties?” you smirked, reuniting with him.

        Andrew sent a quick glare at you, muttering for you to “shut up.” 

        He had some things bunched up in his hands, immediately hiding them behind his back when you tried to peek.

        “Hey…” You frowned, trying to peek behind him. “What’s yours is mine. Let me see!”

        “It’s not mine yet, I haven’t bought it!” Andrew retorted, guarding the fabrics with his life.

        “Show me your fetish!” you spoke stubbornly.

        “I told you I’m not interested in your perverse male crossdressing of me!” Andrew hissed, quickly drawing his boundaries on the matter.

        “I’m gonna marry you one day; let me see your secrets!” you started to whine, your curiosity eating you alive now.

        You’ve never tried lingerie with Andrew before. He’s a simple man with simple pleasures, he doesn’t need lewd clothing to be enticed by you; your Sunday morning clothes are enough to get him going. 

        “Just wait. I could be shopping for your Christmas presents.” Andrew huffed.

        “More like your Christmas presents.” You frowned. 

        “Just c’mere.” Andrew sighed, giving in as he grabbed your hip.

        He guided you to the back where the dressing rooms were, not bothering to wait for an employee to give them a room as he dragged you into a fitting room.

        “Strip.” He spoke.

        “Right now?” you sighed, annoyed.

        “Yes. Let me see how you look in this one.” Andrew pulled one of the pieces of attire from behind his back, revealing a pretty maroon brown shade, a hint of purple in the mix.

        “Okay…” you muttered, hesitantly looking at him before giving into his request and removing your clothes.

        Andrew smirked, sitting down on the fitting room’s bench and enjoying the show of your bare skin, a perverse glint in his eyes as he held no shame in eyeing you up like meat. It would make you feel self-conscious if you weren’t aware of how bad he wanted you (which, judging by the small twitch in his cock, he definitely did). 

        You put on the set of lingerie. It was a teddy bodysuit lingerie, the G-string tight (and let’s be honest, annoying) between your buttocks. You sent a glare to Andrew, pouting.

        “Are you mocking me with this?” you frowned.

        “No, baby.” He chuckled, grabbing your hips and sitting you down onto his thigh. “Just admiring you and your body.” He smirked. 

        He grabbed the small G-string and pulling it, before letting it go and hitting you. You’re lucky it’s satin fabric, otherwise it probably would’ve hurt. 

        At least it’s not lace, that’s really uncomfortable.

        “Eh, it’s okay. But definitely not what I was expecting.” Andrew hummed.

        “Are you saying I look bad in it?” you questioned.

        “I’m saying it looks bad on you. It doesn’t flatter you. A disgrace the designer made.” Andrew spoke, grabbing the small string sleeve on your shoulder and sliding it off. “Now, take it off. I think I have something better for you.” 

        What a smooth talker… blaming the lingerie for making you look bad, not you looking bad in the lingerie. Obviously, he has experience with not accidentally upsetting you with his wrongly phrased words. 

        You allowed him to strip the clothing off you, your buttocks thankful as it didn’t have something wedged between its cheeks—well, until Andrew’s hard on instead took its place, his pants straining against you.

        “I can feel you.” You spoke, looking back at him. 

        “Thanks.” Andrew smiled, proud of his size.

        You rolled your eyes, a poorly hidden smile breaking out on your lips just as he grabbed another piece.

        This one was an emerald green, an obvious comparison to his eyes; predictable and cheesy, he was. 

        The lingerie was another teddy, lace exterior with soft cotton on the inside. It hugged your hips and torso, pushing up your breasts. The sleeves were once again string, but at least it wasn’t giving you a wedgie as it was cheeky panties instead.

        There were garter belts that hugged your thighs tightly, your muffin tops pouring out of the tight fabric like risen dough fresh from the oven.

        Andrew sat you back onto his thigh, your legs straddling his lean yet toned thigh. One of his hands went to your thigh, unapologetically squeezing the soft flesh like a stimming toy, while his other hand came up to your hair.

        “I wish you wore your hair bow today…” he sighed. “It’d match this so well…” he muttered, resting his chin on your shoulder.

        His head dipped down to your neck, pressing soft kisses, before he started to bounce his leg.

        A soft gasp escaped your mouth, zipping your lips as you felt your clit vibrate against his thigh. His foot tapped the ground, your breasts bouncing up and down from the movement as his hands moved to your chest, squeezing what he can hold. His hands kept you from falling off his leg as he started to speed up, small whines and moans pouring out of your lips.

        “A-Andrew, we shouldn’t. I’m dirtying the lingerie…” you whimpered, but you couldn’t help looking down at his leg between your thighs, watching as your clothed crotch rubbed against his grey pants.

        “I like it on you. I’m buying it.” He spoke.

        “How much is it?” you questioned, tilting your head back to look at his eyes.

        “Don’t worry about it.” He hummed, one of his hands moving from your chest to grab your chin, forcing your head to look back at the wall.

        His hand moved from your chin down to your neck, a gentle squeeze that caused a whine to escape your lips. A grin painted its way onto his face as he tightened his grip just enough to make you feel a little lightheaded, his mouth coming down to your collarbone to bite on it. 

        “So pretty…” he muttered, smiling as his canines dug into your soft skin.

        “Ow…” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes closed.

        He combated your pain by bouncing his leg harder, pressed his heel on the ground and rotating his ankle so his whole leg would move in circles, creating circles onto your clit that caused an “Ah!” to leave your lips.

        Your head fell back onto his shoulder, your eyes dizzy as his leg toyed with your little bundle of nerves, your clit throbbing as it wiggled under the friction. You could feel his hips thrusting up, his cock pressing against your ass, low pants tumbling out of his lips as he huffed and puffed against your neck. 

        The hands on your breasts moved to your nipples, gently pinching and squeezing at them, causing you to squeeze and arch your back into his cock, whining at the added stimulation.

        Your moans started to raise in volume, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation as a coil in your stomach was about to snap. 

        Only for Andrew’s hands to go to your hips, lifting you up off him.

        “W-wha? An…Andrew?” you panted, breathing heavily as you turned your head back to him, confused.

        Your nipples felt sore from his teasing and your legs were shaking, your clit throbbing with pain from your denied orgasm. 

        “Well? There’s still one more piece.” Andrew spoke, an airy tone in his voice signaling he was enjoying earlier just as much, having your ass grind down into his dick. “Come on. Try it.”

        He pulled a white lingerie hiding behind him, cheekily smiling as he showed you it.

        It was white babydoll lingerie, lace on the exterior and (once more) cotton on the interior. At least Andrew wanted you comfortable, you noted as you shivered at the feeling of removing the soaked emerald lingerie off you, exposing yourself to the cold.

        The new lingerie had a translucent, babydoll skirt that hung over the cheeky, crotchless panties, leaving your arousal exposed and dripping down your legs as your put it on. It had over-the-shoulder translucent sleeves, and a classic push up bra built in, along with white garter belts to match. 

        It felt like lingerie you would wear on your wedding night, the white symbolizing your purity you were going to get rid of to your husband. 

        “I take it back. You should’ve definitely wore your hair bow with this one.” Andrew smiled, admiring you like you were his newly wedded bride.

        Andrew stood up from the bench, picking it up and moving it to the door, that was he was sitting right in front of the fitting room’s mirror. He grabbed your waist and he guided you to the position he wanted. You were sitting down between his legs, your back pressed against his chest.

        Andrew’s legs wrapped around yours, his ankles holding yours hostage as he spread your legs open and forced them to stay open using his own. One of his hands grabbed your chin again and tilted your head to the side, the other hand moving down to the hole in your lingerie.

        His index finger slid up and down your slit with ease thanks to your arousal lubricating the area. His middle and ring finger nudged at your entrance, before sliding right in.

        A slow moan escaped your lips, before it grew in volume as his fingers wasted no time getting to the good part, curling up to hit that patchy spot in your pussy that made your clit scream.

        His fingers mercilessly abused your G-spot, all while he gently kissed up and down your neck, mumbling praises about “how good you take him” and “how pretty you were trying to keep quiet.”

        His fingers pounded that spot inside you, your head falling back to his chest as your shoulders shook and heaved, taking every ounce of your body to keep quiet, begging that nobody nearby could hear your loud pants or the soft, dirty squelching coming from your pussy as it gripped onto Andrew’s fingers desperately.

        Andrew removed his fingers from your pussy, taking them to his mouth to have a taste. He plopped them onto his tongue, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked on your taste like it was a lollipop.

        “I can never get over how good you taste…” he muttered, popping his fingers out his mouth, licking his lips to savor the taste. “When we get home I want you riding my face.”

        He slapped your thigh, prompting you to jump up from your seat. Andrew stood up with you, the sound of his belt being undone as he took his cock out from his boxers. 

        His hand grabbed yours, eloping behind you and pressing your hand against the wall, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. It was embarrassing, seeing your messy hair and the hickeys and bite marks Andrew left on your neck and collarbone; but it was arousing seeing Andrew’s eyes focused on yours through the mirror, not bothering to watch as he slid his leaking mushroom tip—purple and drooling with pre-cum—into your prepped pussy.

        A relieved sigh escaped his lips as you groaned at the familiar intrusion, feeling his pelvis meet your skin, bottoming out to his balls inside you. 

        “Focus on your pretty face, baby. I want you to love what I love.” Andrew whispered in your ear, smiling as his head burrowed into the crook of your neck, both of his hands grabbing your hips and forcing them back into his.

        He started at a nice pace, a relaxing rhythm that caused low sighs and hums to escape your mouth, your eyes drooping as your mind descended into pleasurable bliss—that was until his arm wrapped around your abdomen, bending you over as his pace became rougher.

        You had to hold your arms on the walls so you can stabilize yourself from Andrew’s harsh thrusts, loud plap! plap! plap!'s echoing throughout the fitting room.

        It was like he was trying to get caught. Like the idea of someone seeing him balls deep inside you—making your eyes roll back to your skull—turned him on. 

        His cock throbbed as his hips slapped the back of your thighs and ass, leaving mean strawberry marks as his other arm joined his against your abdomen.

        He hunched over more, forcing you to bend and take his weight above you as he used your pussy to pound into as he pleased. The angle of his thrusts like this, and his arms tightly squeezing your abdomen, made you cry out in pleasure, your hands scratching down the walls as you watched you lose yourself in the mirror. 

        Your eyes glazed over as you made eye contact with Andrew—who was still looking at you. His eyes had a dark cloud over them, small huffs and groans tumbling out of his mouth as he viciously thrusted into you like you were being punished. You cried out, wondering what you did that set him off.

        Was this punishment for teasing him earlier?

        There was a loud knock on the dressing room, the person’s words unintelligible. You could practically feel yourself die inside, utterly embarrassed as you forgot you were still in public. 

        “Occupied!” Andrew gruffed, speaking up through the wet slaps of his balls against your pussy. 

        Your knees felt like collapsing, buckling under you as your height dropped. Andrew quickly picked you back up, grabbing the bench from behind and moving it in front of you. He bent you over it, your stomach pressed against the cold wood as his hand found its way to your hair, forcing your head up to look at your reflection as you could only accept watching you come undone around his cock.

        His free hand made home on your clit, circling it mercilessly. Another loud moan tumbling out of your lips, before you whined.        

        “Andrew! Andrew! Andrew! Coming! I’m coming!” 

        Your body shook as your nervous system was overtaken with ecstasy, feeling as Andrew drained his balls into your awaiting pussy that milked him of everything he’s worth.

        “Good girl.” Andrew muttered, panting as he pressed a sloppy kiss to your neck.

Andrew licked his lips, getting down on his knees behind you, preparing for his well-deserved meal before another loud knock echoed.

        “Get out of there!” a female spoke.

        “Oh my god.” Andrew muttered, rolling his eyes, annoyed. “Terrible customer service around here. Who rushes their customers?”

        You felt humiliated as you took off your lingerie and quickly changed into your normal clothes. Andrew unlocked the door, irritated he as held your basket of items.

        “Can we buy these before you kick us out?”

Kinkmas seven: Food Play

You had cookies cooling on the counter, the smell of gingerbread wafting in the air as you pumped the icing for the cookies.

        Andrew sat in a chair, withering and squirming as you had him tied by some Christmas lights, your hands milking his cock over and over again.

        “Ah! Fuck! Ah! Baby, please!” Andrew sobbed, some tears in his eyes as his thighs shook profusely.

        “Still not enough icing…” You muttered, looking at the bowl of icing, it was only about 4 tablespoons, not enough for a whole batch of gingerbread cookies. 

        “Please. I need a break.” Andrew begged.

        Even though he was asking for a break, his hips still bucked up, chasing the pleasure coming from your hands squeezing his cock.

        You sat on the ground in front of him, on your knees are your hands moved up and down his dick quickly, your hands squeezing his shaft.

        “Please. Please.” He pleaded, his head thrown back on the chair, panting as a string of drool dripped down his chin and jaw, landing on his shirt that was raised up to his chest. 

        His abdomen shrunk and expanded, his abs shaking and cramped from how many times they clenched to come. His hands tied behind his back, restrained by Christmas lights that dug into his skin every time he tried to move, no doubt leaving dull bruises for later.

        “Keeping making the icing.” You spoke, unfazed by his begging as one of your fingers played with the slit on his big mushroom tip.

        The head of his cock oozed with pre-cum, practically covering his whole length. His tip was purple, sore and overstimulated, but that didn’t stop you from milking him of all he’s worth, ignoring his begging for a break as you squeezed the head.

        It felt like hell and heaven for Andrew, closing his eyes to focus the sensation even more. The pain of his over-milked cock filled with the thick pleasure in his stomach left his head dizzy and vision spinning, wondering what he did to deserve this treatment and how the hell he can get it again in the future.

        You stood up from the ground, confusing Andrew as he opened his eyes. You pulled down your panties, sitting on Andrew’s lap and grabbing his dick, lining it up to your pussy before sinking down on him.

        “Ah!” Andrew gasped, his voice whiny as his hips unconsciously bucked up to meet your welcoming warmth.

        Andrew would’ve grabbed your hips to stop you if he wasn’t tied up, but he couldn’t, so he was just forced to sit back and let you bounce on his cock.

        “Oh my f-fucking god…” Andrew moaned, his eyes threatening to roll back in his skull. “Y-you’re so fucking perfect. S-so fucking perfect.” 

        His hips desperately thrusted up into you, heavy pants and whiny moans escaping his lips. It was hot seeing a moody, broody man like Andrew reduced to a puddle of mush, his face bright red from his usually pale white, watching your pussy take him in and push him out, only before pulling back in.

        “I-I’m gonna come.” Andrew rasped out, only after a few bounces from you.

        “You’re already gonna come, pretty boy?” you smiled, giggling.

        Usually that nickname would make him annoyed at you, but there was truly no other words to describe him as other than a pretty boy. With his flushed, pale skin. The heavy bags under his eyes paired with the piercing green in his crying eyes. The slimness of his collar bone marked with your bites and lipgloss marks. The red—almost desperate purple—color of his flushed, throbbing cock in your pussy. 

        You continued riding him despite his whiny cries of it being “too much” and how he “can’t come anymore.” 

        His jaw dropped as his thrusting stuttered, a loud cry escaping his mouth as his whole body violently convulsed, his shoulders shivering as his feet repeatedly hit the ground like a rabbit trying to run from the hungry wolf.        

        His cock twitched inside of you as his already-empty balls worked overtime to try and produce more cum for you to take. 

        His glazed-over eyes looked at the ceiling, more tears falling down his face as his body finally stopping jerking, although he still shook. You wiped a bead of sweat off his face, pressing a soft and almost apologetic kiss on his lips, before sitting up off his cock.

        A strained whimper left his lips as your warm heat left him. You looked at the small amount of cum between your legs, letting out a disappointed sigh.

        “Andrew. This isn’t enough for the whole batch.” You frowned.

        “I-I’m —hic— sorry. So fucking s-sorry…” He whimpered, teary eyes desperately trying to open his eyes and keep them on your face. 

        You clicked your tongue, disappointed as you wiped the cum off your pussy and added it to the bowl of cum. You mixed it in with a scoop of icing, watching it all combine. 

        You grabbed a spoon and spread the mixture out on one of the now-cooled cookies, spreading the icing evenly onto the gingerbread. You grabbed the cookie and took a bite, enjoying the salty, sweet, gingery taste of the sweet. 

        “Andrew.” You spoke, holding the cookie up to his shivering lips. “Come on, eat up. You need energy for more. There’s still more cookies to ice…”

Kinkmas eight: Female Overstimulation

        It had been your fault for those cookies, tying him down to that chair and torturing (pleasing) him like that.

        You should’ve known he would’ve sought out vengeance; it wasn’t like Andrew to just let your bratty behavior go unpunished. It was your fault for dropping your guard after a tiring shift, opening your front door only to be dragged to the bedroom by your boyfriend.

        Andrew had your hands bound with a silk ribbon you’ve used in the past for BDSM. Of course he’d tie you up, he couldn’t have your hands trying to fight and push him away when the pleasure became too much. 

        The worst part was it wasn’t even his hands touching you. His hands were too busy playing some YouTube video you couldn’t give a damn to identity as you laid next to him, a vibrator stick to your clit, leaving you defenseless as you sobbed into his chest.

        One hand held his phone while the other gently brushed his fingers through you hair, the affectionate act almost mocking you as he neglected you of his cock.

        Another violent surge of pleasure shot through you, burying your head deeper into his chest as you cried, feeling your poor, used clit throb again. 

        His fingers didn’t stop brushing through your hair, as if reassuring you despite being the one to put yourself in this situation. 

        You sobbed as another wave of pleasurable pain wrecked your clit, the stimulation almost unbearable as you were forced to be overstimulated once more.

        “Please. Sorry. Sorry.” You cried, looking up to meet his eyes, big fat tears in your own as you pleaded at him.

        He ignored you, his hands still in your hair as he continued watching his video. You would assume he’d be immune to your pleads and tired moans if you weren’t aware of his hard cock straining through his jeans. 

        The YouTube video finally ended and Andrew turned off his phone. You looked up at him, hopeful to finally have his cock buried inside you, even if you were sensitive.

        “You ready to behave?” Andrew inquired.

        “Y-yes! I am!” you rasped, your voice sore from crying and moaning.

        “Do you want my cock now?” Andrew questioned, smiling.

        “Please, yes!” you nodded your head, your heart racing as it felt like a dream come true to finally have him inside you again.

        He grinned, a grin too big to let you know he was planning something. He leaned over and opened the nightstand drawer, grabbing a dildo—the replica of Andrew’s dick. 

        Your smile fell, all your hope shattered instantly upon seeing that dildo. 

        “W-what? But y-you said…” Your voice sounded weak, like a child seeing their ice cream fall, the vibrator against your clit already making your voice sound pathetic as it is.

        “Yeah. My cock. My cock replica.” Andrew smiled, a evil smirk on his face. “It’s still my dick, after all. Are you being picky?”

        “W-well, I m-mean—“

        “Do you not want it?” Andrew questioned.

        The threat of losing the closest thing to Andrew’s cock actually terrified you. You quickly shook your head, afraid.

        “N-o! Please, no! I’ll t-take it!” you responded quickly, desperate to not take away what was closes for what you could get.

        You’d just have to suck it up—for now.

        Andrew slapped the dildo against your already abused clit, pulling a whine from you. He rubbed the dildo up and down your entrance, lubing it up with your arousal before he pressed it into your pussy.

        You let out a moan, closing your eyes. The dildo helped settle an ache that burned in your stomach—but it didn’t extinguish that fire in you.

        No matter how many times you came from the vibrator sucking on your clit, or the dildo Andrew manually pounded into your cunt himself, it wasn’t enough to satisfy your need for him.

        You were in no position to beg. Even if you were tired from coming and just wanted to be done with, it was like you couldn’t be satisfied until you at least had Andrew inside of you. 

        It was like you were conditioned to associate Andrew with pleasure and safety, mediocre vibrator and flimsy silicone dildos just didn’t do the trick. It didn’t take care of you and scratch that itch only Andrew could reach. 

        “P-please.” You pleaded, ready to beg and do whatever it takes to have Andrew take care of you himself. “I n-need your cock. Your real, t-throbbing cock attached to you. I need y-you to come inside me.” You begged, your voice dry from all your loud moans earlier.

        Pride, ego, dignity, self-respect be damned; you’d probably go insane within the next ten minutes if you didn’t have Andrew’s cum dripping down your thighs.

        “What a dirty mouth, pretty.” Andrew chuckled, smirking as his hand controlled the dildo going in and out of you. “It’s been awhile now… 40 minutes about…?” he hummed, looking at the clock. “Come one more time and maybe I’ll think about it.”

        A frustrated whine escaped you, before Andrew’s free hand quickly tweaked at your nipple, gently pinching it. 

        “Ah. Watch your attitude. It’s what got you here in the first place.” He scolded.

        You felt like you could cry, fed up and desperate while being full just at the same time. It was a frustrating edge teetering between “too much” and “too little.”

        But Andrew just loved pushing you off that edge.

        The dildo hit your sweet spot with scary accuracy; a spot Andrew had dedicated to memory. He felt like he’d be an incompetent loser if he couldn’t even please his woman—and by damn was Andrew anything other than incompetent. 

        A few more thrusts and you were seeing stars you didn’t want to see. Your pussy gripped tightly on a fake dick you didn’t want instead you. Your clit screamed and throbbed from a vibrator you really wanted off now as it shot painful, overstimulated shockwaves to your little bundle of nerves.

        Andrew turned off the suctioning vibrator, placing it on the nightstand. He pulled out the dildo your pussy unconsciously kept clenching around, lifting it up to your mouth for a taste.

        You knew what would please him, peeking your tongue out just slightly and sucking on the tip of Andrew’s fake cock, tasting the overly sweet arousal of yourself mixed with the dildo’s silicone taste.

        It was always surprising how sweet you tasted, like sugary lemonade on a hot day, ready to quench your thirst and leave your tongue salivating for more and more. 

        Speaking of tongue salivating, Andrew was feeling pretty thirsty himself after seeing you squeeze the life out of the dildo, a loud moan escaping you as you came.

        You could even formulate words, or even try to put up a fight as Andrew removed the dildo, tossing it somewhere on the bed as he grabbed your waist. He laid down on the bed, dragging your hips to his face and forcing you to face the wall.

        His tongue licked a long stripe on your slit, a loud cry escaping you. If you weren’t tied up with ribbon, you would be gripping onto the headboard for dear life—but you weren’t, so you settled for resting your forehead on the cold wall and crying out for your neighbors to hear just on the other side of the wall.

        You couldn’t beg Andrew to stop or keep going, to give you a break so you could regain your composure. You would’ve at least appreciated being gagged so you wouldn’t have an awkward conversation with the neighbors later at the mailbox about your private life (even if it wasn’t really private anymore). 

        Andrew’s tongue couldn’t help but explore your wet warmth, refusing to part as he licked and poked at every ridge, squish, and layer there was. He couldn’t help but flex his jaw and open wider, his hands grabbing onto your thighs tightly and pulling you down into his mouth.

        A loud sob escaped your lips, your head softly hitting the wall. It felt like you were going mad. His tongue was driving you mad. You wanted to squirm and scream but you couldn’t control your vocals, and Andrew’s strong grip onto your thighs refused to even let them flex.

        Curse him and his sleeper build. It wasn’t fair to be tall, broodingly hot, and strong; it might as well be a wet dream for girls like you. 

        Wet indeed, just like how Andrew’s hot muscle ventured your hot cave without any insecurity or concern, unwavering confidence as he explored your ocean like he hasn’t wadded in it before.

        “Fucking hell… such a pretty pussy…” Andrew groaned, his mouth leaving your pussy, one of his hands coming to your clit to rub the swollen nub.

        You let out an unintelligible sob, your hips forcing themselves to rock and chase that pleasure despite knowing it’ll hurt again from the overstimulation—but the promise of your sweet orgasm outweighed that concern as your clit rubbing his fingers.

        “Taste so fucking good. I don’t need anything else in my life…” He groaned, his eyes drooped, dazed as he watched your overflowing arousal from your hands coat his fingers.        

        He slapped your clit, causing a yelp to leave you as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, savoring your taste, before working his lips back onto your lower ones. 

        He stuck his tongue back in your pussy, drool escaping his mouth as he unhinged his jaw to reach as deep as his tongue can go. He was a man with a mission as his hands grabbed your hips and forced you to grind on his face. 

        Your mouth fell open, your eyes practically rolling to your skull as you saw white? Or was it black? Whatever damn color of the rainbow it was, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t bother to worry about the color when there was a flood of juices escaping your pussy with the force of a tsunami, squirting all over Andrew’s face and dripping down his neck.

        You wanted to apologize, even though you knew it’d be fine with Andrew. You would’ve at least gave a warning if you could speak.

        Andrew didn’t care about the mess, he just cared about cleaning it up at he lapped at your pussy and thighs like a dehydrated man. 

        “Fuck! Yeah! That’s more like it!” Andrew laughed, breathless and a new found rigor as he slapped your clit again, making sure there was no more juices you were trying to hold back from him as he grinned. 

        He sat you right up off his face without any struggle, having you straddle his lap while he untied the ribbon around your arms; a reward for squirting.

        Once he got the ribbon off, he pushed you down on the bed, landing you on your back as he grabbed your legs. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding them up to his hips since you had no strength to wrap them around his waist. You couldn’t do anything but moan and grip the bedsheets.

        He thrusted his cock into you, causing you to see stars and wonder what you did to reach Heaven’s gates.

        “Such a good girl coming that hard around my tongue. ‘Could feel the circulation practically stop.” Andrew chuckled darkly. “You can give me another one, right? Squirt on my cock, baby.” 

        A loud cry you didn’t know you could even make escaped, your ears ringing as your head rattled with the wet, sticky sounds of plap! plap! plap!'s bouncing around your eardrums. 

        Andrew’s arms wrapped around your knees and raised your legs to your shoulders, folding you into a mating press. 

        You couldn’t even last five minutes, especially not with how Andrew’s fingers started circling your clit, desperate to have you coming on his cock faster.

        Andrew’s cock hit a spot that made you drool, something you shouldn’t even be surprised of by now as your back arched, creating a perfect angle for Andrew to reach said spot easier. 

        “Oh, fuck. Merry Christmas to me…” Andrew groaned, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he bit his bottom lip, holding his composure.         

        Andrew’s rested his sweaty forehead against yours, panting and smiling as you struggled to make eye contact with him without the possibly of your eyes rolling back.

        He kissed you just as you came around his cock, his hot lips and the taste of you and him invading your mouth as he sucked on your tongue for being a good girl and squirting around his cock.

        But even when you reached his orgasm, he hasn’t reached his yet, so he just kept plowing and plowing until he was satisfied with your mess—but that wouldn’t be until awhile…

Bonus! New Years Eve

        “Andrew, where’s your girlfriend?” one of the elder neighbors asked.

        It was New Years Eve. The whole apartment complex decided to get together to celebrate, all partying with chips and hotdogs and some poorly woman’s green bean casserole that was too soggy. 

        But the neighbor was right, you were nowhere to be seen. That is, if they don’t look until the table.

        The table had a red protective cover that reached the floor, absolutely perfect for you to hide under.

        Some would go under the table to eat twelve red grapes, but you had two red balls in your mouth instead to match the red sopping panties you had underneath your skirt. 

        “Bathroom.” Andrew spoke with great haste, his hand on resting on your head as your mouth slid up and down his length.

        A small line of drool escaped his lips, one quickly disguised as he picked up his glass of juice (you insisted it’d be sparkling juice, but he couldn’t give a damn about alcohol while your mouth was insistent on milking his cock for a beverage instead). 

        His fingers were tangled snuggly in your hair, guiding your bobbing head up and down, up and down.

        Sometimes you would lick a teasing circle around his cock’s slit and he’d have to cough so he could explain why his mouth kept suddenly opening and closing.

        The clock was two minutes left, as a countdown on the TV in the living room played right next to the dining room.

        Andrew could feel your hands taking ahold of his cock, taking the bottom of his shaft as your focused your mouth on his red, mushroom tip. 

        He could feel his eyes roll back, a pleased sigh escaping his mouth as he rested his head back on the chair.

        “Are you okay, Andrew? Your face is pretty red.” One of the partygoers commented.

        “H-hot as hell in here with all the food.” Andrew grumbled, a dazed expression on his face as he resisted the urge to moan as you sucked on his tip.

        “You seem out of breath.” Someone commented.

        “Asthma.” Andrew quickly shrugged, his hand in your hair going to the back of your head so he can shove you more down his length, a smirk on his face as he felt you silently gag around his cock before continuing, almost rolling his eyes back as the vibration almost caused him to come.

        There was a minute left on the countdown before the New York ball drop in Times Square would drop, all while you started to lick and kiss his own balls, adoring and worshiping his cock with the same passion a faithful follower would to their god.

        In your eyes, Andrew was your everything. Nothing mattered so long as you had your boyfriend with you, who you hoped would be your husband one day. 

        And Andrew wished that day was sooner, hearing wedding bells already as you fondled and massaged his balls like it was dough. 

        One of your hands went to your red panties, moving aside the cotton so you could rub at your clit the same way Andrew would, quick and teasing all with the accuracy and pressure to get you off quick so you’d be wet enough for him to slide into.

        “Seriously, where is she? She’s gonna be the fireworks?” your elderly neighbor grumbled.

        “Touching up her makeup.” Andrew groaned while you touched up his balls.

        He probably sounded annoyed to his neighbors, but really he was just trying not to come from your mouth around his cock, bobbing your head again.

        All the neighbors gathered around the TV, leaving you and Andrew alone in the dining room. The ball on the TV dropped as everyone cheered, giving him the perfect chance to speak.

        “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby.” Andrew groaned, his eyes rolling back, a smile on his face.

        Your throat swallowed around his cock. Your tongue lapping at his tip. You hummed around his length, enjoying the pleasure of tasting his cock. One of your hands toying with your clit while the other gently squeezed his balls. All of it at once was enough for him to have his hips ramming and stuttering up into your throat, no doubt leaving a bruise in the back of your throat as his cum painted your red walls white.

        You kept sucking his member clean, refusing to stop until you felt him stop throbbing in your mouth. You finally pulled off him, tucking his cock back into his pants and giving him the chance to regain his composure as you got up from out the dining table.

        You sat down onto his lap, giggling as you saw the dazed expression on his face. His eyes were all bright and droopy, a dumb smile on his face as some drool dripped down his chin. 

        You licked up the drool, before reaching his lips and kissing him. Andrew’s hand reached up to hold your cheek, kissing you as he tasted his taste in your mouth.

        “I’ll return the favor later, baby…” he muttered, playfully tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

        You smiled, listening to the fireworks go off in the sky above you as your neighbors started filing back into the dining room.

        “Oh. You’re back! You missed the fireworks.” The elder neighbor spoke, but you had your own white fireworks going off in your mouth so you weren't upset. “I thought you were fixing your makeup?”

        Andrew looked at you, not even noticing your red face, your messy hair, your smudged red lipstick and weeping mascara. To him, you always looked beautiful, even with crying makeup.

        “Sorry. I got carried away with kissing.” Andrew shrugged, indifferent as he lied.

        “Happy New Years, hon.” You smiled, pecking Andrew’s cheek.

        “Happy New Years.” Andrew hummed, before whispering into your year for only you to hear. “Hey… You had my dick in your mouth since last year…”

I have some major respect for smut writers. It can be hard trying to find all these different descriptions and poetic words to piece together just plain sex. Hopefully you guys enjoyed my amateurish writing. There will be more smut in the future as I work on my stories!

Happy very late holidays everyone!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

[vettelsvee]

COME WHAT MAY | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ PROLOGUE: A PHONE CALL AND A NEW BEGINNING [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

come what may masterlist | formula 1 masterlist

Red Bull Sebastian Vettel x Red Bull intern & Webber girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: Sebastian breaks up with Hanna and Y/N, his best friend, offers him to go to her hometown to try disconnect from everything. However, things take a turn for the worst when Mark Webber, Seb's teammate and Y/N's boyfriend, calls her and starts thinking she's cheating on him with Vettel.

WORD COUNT: 7337

WARNINGS: Angst, curse words and bad language, such a toxic Mark Webber, mentions of death, cancer and suicide

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @residentdemonhunter @astronomyandfrogs @herdetectivetheorist @prttylight @i-love-sirius-black7 @dreamauri @03071987 [feel free to join the taglist!]

VEE'S NOTES: I absolutely adored writing this, so I hope you like it reading too! If so, feel free to comment me your thoughts, as well as rebloging it since I'd appreciate that a lot! Thank you so much for reading in advance <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Linz, Austria January 15th, 2010

"Sometimes I wonder if, besides whether I deserve everything I've achieved, I'm actually doing good enough to keep it. I mean... do I deserve my position at Red Bull, or are they just keeping me because Seb was the one who got me in, and now I'm also Mark's girlfriend? And about that last part... am I really what my boyfriend deserves, or, like dad says, is it just a passing fling of a few months where I only want to sleep with him as some sort of stress relief? Seb says that, as long as Mark makes me happy, that's what matters, but... does Mark really make me happy? Or is it..."

"I'll open the door, Dad!"

Louisa's voice snapped you back to reality.

Carefully, you put away the journal he had given you for your twenty-first birthday, which had served as your therapy ever since, in the nightstand drawer. Then, you jumped out of bed with an energy you hadn’t felt in a long time and cheerfully walked over to your desk. You carefully moved aside the scattered notes you still hadn’t put away despite the semester ending two weeks ago and made sure everything looked as presentable as possible. Your straightened hair fell over your shoulders, though your bangs needed a little fixing, nothing you couldn’t adjust with your fingers. You also applied some lip balm, more to add a bit of shine than to keep your lips hydrated. Lastly, you adjusted your clothes as best as you could, trying to relax as much as possible and, most importantly, remind yourself that he would be more than happy to see you, no matter how you looked.  

You knew that Sebastian Vettel was just your best friend, but in some way, you always tried to appear as perfect as possible before him to show you were worthy of his friendship.  

You knew that, no matter how much Sebastian had cherished you since you both met in 2008, when you joined Toro Rosso as an intern while he was already a driver, he was better than you in every way.  

The door suddenly opened, pulling you out of your thoughts and revealing your two younger sisters peeking through the gap.  

“Why are you taking so long?” Amelie, 15, inquired. “It’s not like your boyfriend just arrived…”

“Yeah, yeah! Why are you getting all pretty?” The youngest, Louisa, 8, chimed in. “Seb is already downstairs waiting for you. He’s talking to dad and uncle Hans about football, and I’m so bored…”

“Shut up you idiot,” Amelie responded, giving her a light shoulder tap. “Don’t listen to her,” she turned to you. “What they’re actually doing is grilling Sebastian about why he’s here today and, more importantly, why he’s staying with us for a few days.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. As far as you could remember, Seb hadn’t mentioned anything about staying over.  

“What do you mean, staying with us? Seb said that?”

“Uncle Hans thinks he’s just a friend, but dad believes you’re sleeping with him while also sleeping with Mark,” Amelie retorted.  

“How the hell would I be sleeping with Seb?!” you shouted, making your sisters step inside the room and slamming the door shut. “That’s… ridiculous, that’s what it is,” you added, trying your best not to curse.  

“But if dad says it, it must be true, Didi,” Louisa replied, a bit annoyed. “You know dad never lies to us.”

“Listen to me, both of you,” you cut them off. “I need you to behave and promise me something.”

Amelie and Louisa exchanged curious glances before looking back at you.  

“I don’t want you to mention Mark in front of Seb. No jokes, no side comments about how much you dislike him… nothing. Got it?”  

“Why can’t I tell Seb I don’t like Mark if it’s the truth? Do I have to lie to him?” Louisa asked with her characteristic innocence. “I like Seb a lot, and I don’t want to lie to him…”

“Because…”

“If you’re hesitating that much it must be because you really are sleeping with Seb.”

“Amelie, shut it! Lou’s here!” you scolded, glancing at Louisa.  

“What does sleeping with mean? Does it mean you’re dating?” Louisa asked, looking at you one again with a mix of curiosity and doubt.

“Seb doesn’t have a girlfriend anymore, okay?”

Your statement left your younger sisters stunned. Louisa had liked Hanna quite a bit, and she had always been nice to her whenever they met. Amelie, on the other hand, even though she had liked the German woman, started wondering why that same German, who had seemed so in love with his girlfriend, had suddenly broken up with her.  

“Seb isn’t with Hanna anymore?”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself and give them a convincing answer, even though you didn’t have one herself.  

“Yeah, Seb isn’t with Hanna anymore,” you replied as calmly as possible. “Don’t ask why because he didn’t give me many details other than, well… that he needed a break.”

“Does Mark know about this not-so-surprise visit?” Amelie asked, crossing her arms.  

Your heart skipped a beat. If there was one thing you hated about your middle sister, it was how nosy she was for a 15-year-old. If she was like this now, you didn’t even want to imagine what she’d be like in a few years.  

“Not everything revolves around Mark, Ame,” you brushed off the question because you didn’t know how to answer that no, your boyfriend had no idea about this visit, which you were more than thrilled about. “Seb is my best friend, and he’s going through a lot. And do you know what good friends do in bad times? They’re there for each other.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say…” Amelie replied, unconvinced.  

Louisa, who was about to say how happy she was that Vettel was there with them and how much she preferred him over Webber as your boyfriend, was interrupted by their father’s deep voice calling from downstairs:  

“Y/N Y/L/N, get down here! Your guest is tired of waiting!”

You quickly checked your reflection one last time, grabbed your phone, and, before opening the door, turned to your sisters with a stern look:  

“You two,” you pointed at them, “no jokes today. Not a word about Mark or anything related to him.”

The youngest nodded enthusiastically, bouncing slightly as she headed for the stairs. Amelie, however, simply shrugged and smirked mischievously.  

“I’ll think about it,” she said before following Lou down the stairs.  

“Amelie!” you hissed under your breath.  

“Fine, fine. I promise…”

Rolling your eyes, you made one final check to ensure you looked perfect before stepping out. Your heart pounded uncontrollably as you descended the stairs. You tried to push aside any thoughts that could make your reunion with Sebastian awkward, or let your nerves get the best of you.

However, everything seemed to go to hell the moment your eyes landed on the German.  

Sebastian was there, chatting animatedly with your aunt, Johanna, who was chopping vegetables. You were taken aback to see him with his sweater sleeves rolled up, still wearing his Red Bull beanie, as he carefully cut something.  

Afraid your friend might catch your staring, you quickly glanced at the dining table, where your father and uncle were still engrossed in the football discussion Lou had mentioned. Your sisters were at the other end of the living room, turning on the Wii console, likely to start a game of Mario Kart and try to get Seb to join them.  

You looked back at the driver the moment you heard him laugh, probably at something your aunt had said. He looked so natural, so comfortable, as if he truly belonged in your family. He hadn’t changed much since the last time you saw him, nearly three months ago, but you suddenly felt a strange sensation in your stomach, similar to the anxiety you got during exams, but for an entirely different reason.  

The more you observed him, the more you noticed how tired he looked. How… sad he seemed. And somehow, in a way you couldn’t quite explain, that made you feel absolutely awful.

Or perhaps you were beginning to admit what you had never acknowledged to yourself in order not to ruin the friendship you had always needed but never truly had.

“Ah, Y/N! Look who I put to work. He’s better than me at cutting onions. You should tell Seb to come visit us more often, so he can help me when your sisters don’t want to.”

Seb turned at the mention of his name. The smile he had missed so much appeared on his face the moment he saw you. Before you could say anything, he closed the small distance between you at an incredible speed and, without a word, embraced you.  

You remained still for a few seconds, surprised and unsure of what to do. The contact completely unsettled you, but as soon as he started stroking your hair, you relaxed and returned the hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and pulling him closer.  

“You don’t even have an idea of how much I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your head.  

“I missed you too.” 

And you have no idea how much, you thought, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.  

Why did your entire being seem to change, becoming something so complicated and inexplicable, whenever he was near?  

If only he knew what that farewell at the last Grand Prix of the season had meant to you…  

When you pulled apart, the driver studied your face carefully. There was something about you that felt a bit unfamiliar… different. He couldn’t tell if it was your hair, a little shorter since the last time he saw you; the dark circles under your eyes, more pronounced than they should have been after three weeks of vacation before starting your final university semester; or the evident weight loss.  

“I really wanted to see you again,” he forced himself to say instead of asking what had happened to you to make you look so… different.  

You forced a small smile and lowered your gaze, embarrassed by not knowing what else to say. You had thought of telling him that he looked great, because, in your eyes, he always did, but decided against it, considering the reason he had come to visit.  

“So they put you to work, huh?” you finally said, gesturing toward your aunt, who was watching them while continuing to prepare dinner.  

“Not really. I volunteered,” Seb replied with a smile. Johanna was about to say something, but the young man interrupted her. “It’s the least I could do after you let me stay here for a few days.” 

You swallowed hard. You were more than happy to have your friend stay with your family for a few days, but… why couldn’t you remember anything about that conversation?  

“And let me tell you, he’s an excellent volunteer. If only Mark were more like…” 

“You don’t have to treat him like royalty, Johanna,” you cut off your aunt before she could say more. Seb blushed and started nervously playing with his hands. “He’s just…”

“Yes, I know, your friend,” the woman replied, apologizing to you with a glance. “But, as your friend, he is also our guest, and he deserves the best. Besides, he doesn’t complain about my excellent taste in music, unlike someone I know…” She added, glancing sideways at her husband.  

Seb chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter without breaking eye contact with you.  

“At least it’s better than those weird songs Ricciardo used to play when we were at Toro Rosso. Do you remember when he got obsessed with playing Nessun Dorma before every race?”  

“Oh God, don’t remind me. I love classical music, but I still have nightmares about that.”

You both laughed at the memory of the year you met, when you had become each other’s biggest support. Everything had changed, perhaps too much, in those short two years, but what mattered most was that you still had each other, no matter what.  

At least, for now.

You tried to step a little closer to Sebastian, but the sound of your father dragging his chair and moving toward you made you step back shyly.  

“Well then… what’s the plan, Vettel? Are you staying here for a few days?”

Seb nodded nervously at Bernhard’s question. Even though he knew your father well and had met him countless times, he always felt nervous whenever they shared the same space, especially when they had a conversation.  

“Well… yes. If that’s okay with you, of course,” he quickly added, stepping closer to the older man. “I needed to get away from Switzerland for a bit, and even more from Heppenheim… to clear my head. And, to be honest, there’s no one else I’d rather spend this time with.”

His gaze shifted to you, who were trying to process his words. You kept glancing nervously between Bernhard and Sebastian, afraid one of them might say something inappropriate.  

“Of course, kid,” your father finally answered, giving Seb a pat on the back. “You know you’re more than welcome here. Hell, I should pay you extra for taking such good care of my little girl when you’re away!”

“Dad…”  

“I do it gladly, Bernhard. I’ve already told her, but in case she’s forgotten, let me say it again: I love spending time with Y/N.”

You lowered her gaze, embarrassed by all the attention you were receiving, and especially by the scene unfolding before you. You didn’t need to look up to know that Seb had his eyes on her, just like your father. You also knew that your aunt was probably muttering some comparison between your best friend and your boyfriend, and that your uncle would soon join in.  

Sebastian took a chance and, while continuing to talk with Bernhard who, due to his worsening health, had quickly taken a seat on one of the dining island stools, wrapped an arm around your shoulder.  

To their surprise, no one objected.  

“Uh… Dad?” you spoke up, your voice small and hesitant as you carefully removed Seb’s arm and leaned over the kitchen island.  

“Something wrong?”

“Would you mind if… if Seb and I went for a walk?” You asked timidly. “And would it be okay if we had dinner out?” You added, this time addressing your aunt.  

Johanna set down what she was doing and turned to you. She narrowed her eyes slightly, inspecting the pair of friends. Then, she placed the knife on the cutting board and turned to you with a smile.  

“Why are you asking me? You’re twenty-one, almost twenty-two, sweetheart,” she answered, now turning to Bernhard, who agreed with his sister-in-law. “You don’t need our permission to go out, Y/N.”

You opened her mouth to respond but immediately closed it again. Your cheeks turned a deep shade of red, standing out even more against your now pale skin. You stared straight ahead, absentmindedly playing with the hem of your sweater to avoid saying anything inappropriate again.  

To hide the fact that your insecurity and discomfort had, in some way, worsened since certain events with a certain person.  

“I think Y/N just wanted to check in case you were making extra food for dinner, Johanna,” Seb intervened. You met his gaze, silently thanking him for stepping in. “But if you’re worried about anything,” or Y/N, he thought to himself, “I promise to bring her back at a reasonable hour, safe and happy.”

Johanna raised an eyebrow. Meanwhile, Hans and Bernhard exchanged knowing looks, probably misinterpreting the German’s words, as they suddenly started chuckling.  

“Don’t even think about setting a curfew for my girl, Vettel. You’re a Formula 1 driver, and my daughter is six months away from graduating university. You’re both adults, for God’s sake!” Bernhard laughed, trying to keep a straight face.  

“We just don’t want you getting into trouble,” your uncle added. “I’m a lawyer, but I wouldn’t want you two as clients, especially not for free.”

Sebastian widened his eyes, unsure how to take the comment. You, on the other hand, just tried not to die of embarrassment, silently praying that the German was taking everything in stride.  

“Not to doubt you two, but, you know… trust is a dangerous thing.”

You can say that again, you thought, remembering the man twelve years older than you who, during your entire winter break, had barely reached out more than twice with phone calls that didn’t even last five minutes.

"Well, I think it's best if we start heading out," Seb commented as he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. "Come on, Y/N," he said, taking your hand while waving goodbye to your family with the other. "We won't be late, I swear!"

Your sisters said their reluctant goodbyes, thinking the German was going to play with them. Meanwhile, Hans and Bernhard started making bets about what would really happen between the two of you that night.

Johanna was the only one who walked you to the door, carefully adjusting your coats, scarves, and hats as if she was your mother.

"Have fun, you two, you deserve it. And you, Seb, don't think you’re getting out of helping me tomorrow. You still have to teach me that lemon cake recipe you always say your mother makes."

"Don’t worry, Johanna," Seb replied while holding the door open for you. "I’m saving my morning for you and your cooking sessions."

The woman smiled, delighted to have the German around, and said goodbye to you once more.

As soon as you stepped outside, the cool night air hit your faces. You took a moment to inhale and exhale, relaxing and feeling, for the first time in a long while, free. More than anything, you felt like yourself. Seb walked beside you, unable to stop smiling, grateful to be in his best friend’s hometown, with you by his side, helping him get through the rough patch caused by his breakup with Hanna.

"Do you always blush that much around your family, or is it just when you have company?" Seb asked after a while, nudging you playfully with his shoulder while keeping his hands in his pockets.

"Don't start with that, Seb! You know I can be a little shy sometimes..."

"It's okay, I already knew that," he interrupted. "I think it's really cute when you blush."

"Sometimes you're unbearable, you know that?" you shot back, playfully.

"I know, but you love me anyway."

It wasn't a question, but a statement. One you couldn’t argue with because she completely agreed.

And that, more than comforting you, made you worry more and more about your relationship.

Despite the recent snowfall, the streets of Linz were busier than you had expected. The ice-skating rinks were packed, and to your surprise, the winter market stalls, forming a kind of fair that attracted people of all ages almost daily and which you loved visiting, were overflowing with people.

Although taking Seb there had been your original plan for his first day, you had decided to do something more intimate with him instead, something you hadn’t done in a long time, not even with Mark. However, you knew your relationship with the German was special enough to share something so personal with him without regretting it afterward.

"Since this is the first time you’ve come to visit me, I’ve put together a little tour so you can really get to know my city," you explained, looking at him. "That way, when you leave, you’ll know Linz as well as I do. And maybe, if one day you bring someone here..."

"You’re going to show me what tourists don’t usually get to see, aren’t you?" he interrupted. "I mean… promise me you’ll show me every last little corner, even the ones way out on the city outskirts. That could really come in handy someday."

"No problem. I’ll show you everything you want," you replied, flashing him a proud smile.

He laughed at your comment. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he awkwardly brushed his right hand against your left one. You blushed and tried to move it away, but Seb didn’t let you, he ended up taking your hand, not caring that you were just friends and that you had a boyfriend.

Because you were just that, friends. No matter how much he wanted it, he could never, in his life, date someone like you. Because while Mark was already a man with a clear path and a well-established career, he was just a twenty-something still learning from every mistake he made.

With your hands still intertwined, Sebastian’s gaze roamed the streets, the people, and the buildings surrounding them.

"This place is beautiful, and peaceful in its own way despite the bustle. I can see why you love it so much..."

You nodded, feeling your heartbeat speed up. Linz wasn’t the best city in the world, nor did it hold many good memories for you since your mother’s suicide and your sudden move to Spain. But, at the end of the day, it was your home, and hearing him appreciate it meant more to you than you could ever admit.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, stopping every so often so you could point out your old school, your university, and even your favorite café, the one you used to go to when studying at your aunt and uncle’s house became too chaotic.

However, just as you were nearing the place you wanted to take Seb, he broke the silence with a question that, while not entirely unexpected, was the last thing she thought he would ask.

"How are things with Mark?"

The casual question made you slow your pace slightly before quickly recovering and catching up with Sebastian.

"They’re… fine," you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, the usual. He’s in London, I’m here, we call each other..."

Don’t lie to him, Y/N.

"And does that make you happy?"

"Yes, of course."

You wanted to tell Seb the truth, but you couldn’t.

This time, he was the one who needed support, not to listen to complaints and tears about a relationship with a questionable age gap and an even more questionable dynamic.

"And how are you doing after everything with Hanna?" you asked, changing the subject and hoping you hadn’t overstepped. "Ever since you called to tell me what happened, I’ve been worried, but I didn’t want to push..."

Seb’s expression darkened slightly. He let out a sigh that you were sure he had been holding in longer than he would’ve liked, staring straight ahead as you walked.

"We’re okay. I’m okay," he corrected himself. "Nothing weird happened or anything, it’s just that…" he trailed off, possibly choosing his words carefully before continuing. "We ended things amicably, you know? No hard feelings, no fights, nothing like that."

"Well, I’m glad to hear that," you replied, choosing your words carefully as well. "It caught me completely off guard because… I don’t know, it seemed like everything was fine. You two were together for three years…"

"Yeah, three pretty good years, but I think we realized we were only staying together because we were comfortable, because it was our routine, not because we actually loved each other." He paused, looking at you. "She never said it, and neither did I, but I get the feeling we wanted completely different things in life, and that was hurting us, even if we didn’t mean to."

"And that makes it even harder..."

"Exactly," he admitted, giving you a bittersweet smile. "But I feel like it was the right decision for both of us. It’s just that… making such a risky choice after thinking about it for so long, and wanting to do the right thing, is tough. Honestly, right now, being alone again is really difficult, but I guess it’s just a matter of time before I get used to it."

You didn’t know what to say, and you had no clue what deeper meaning lay behind Sebastian’s words.

"You won’t be alone, Seb," you managed to say, trying not to get nervous. "You have me."

He looked at you, his body relaxing slightly as your steps fell back into rhythm.

"I know. And, even if you don’t believe it, that means much more to me than you can imagine."

For a moment, nothing and no one else existed, just you. You stared at each other, lost in each other’s eyes, as thoughts raced through your minds. Thoughts that, if spoken aloud, would haunt them for the rest of your lives, shattering everything you knew and had between you.

It wasn’t until you cleared your throat and quickened your pace that the moment broke.

"Come on, we’re almost there. I have a reservation at seven, and I don’t want us to be late."

"Wherever you say, my dear tour guide," Seb replied.

After walking for a few more minutes, you stopped in front of a restaurant tucked away in a small alley. Sonnengarten, garden of the sun in German, was written at the top of the façade, painted in a warm yellow color. Along with the soft lights illuminating it directly and the hanging flower baskets, it invited people to step inside. The instrumental music playing, what seemed to be rock from the '60s and '70s, was the cherry on top.  

“Well, here we are,” you said, visibly excited as she entered the restaurant.  

Seb watched you, noticing the special sparkle in your eyes.  

“Thanks for bringing me here. It’s obvious this place means a lot to you.”  

“It does,” you nodded, a small smile on your lips. “My mother used to bring us here every weekend. We always switched up our orders because, well, we loved, and still love, trying new things, but my dad always ordered a schnitzel,” you explained with excitement. That only made Seb feel even more grateful that you had brought him to such a special place. “My sisters and I would always try to convince him to try something different and share some of our food, but he always refused and made up some silly excuse.”  

“So, this is like… a sacred place for you, right?”  

“Yes, very much so. But since my mom passed away, we haven’t come back. Actually, this is the first time in years that I’ve come here to eat…”  

Your statement made Seb’s chest tighten. He knew how Rosalie, your mother, had died nearly eight years ago. He was fully aware of the impact it had on your life, which was precisely why he was more than grateful that you were sharing this detail, this part of your life, this seemingly important family tradition, with him.  

His friend. His best friend.  

“Really, Y/N, thank you for bringing me here,” the driver said sincerely.  

Before you could respond, a middle-aged man appeared in front of you. He quickly approached you and hugged you, a gesture you gladly accepted.  

“My dear Miss Y/L/N! It’s been so long, little one! You finally decided to come eat here again… it was about time!”  

“I’m really happy to be back as a customer, Matthias,” you replied kindly.  

The man’s eyes shifted to Sebastian, whom he openly scanned from head to toe. Once he recognized him, his eyes widened. After all, it was widely known in the city that Y/N Y/L/N was not only an intern for one of the most successful Formula 1 teams of the past year but also lucky enough to be working with one of the sport’s rising stars.  

“Well, well, Sebastian Vettel!” the man exclaimed excitedly, offering his hand to the German, who shook it with a smile. “Are you two dating?” he asked curiously.  

“No, no! He’s just a good friend of mine,” you said quickly, avoiding Seb’s gaze. “My… boyfriend,” you managed to say, barely containing youR embarrassment, “is the other Red Bull driver, Mark Webber.”  

“Oh, well, no problem!” Matthias laughed heartily, giving Seb a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Any friend of our Y/N is a friend of ours. Now, come on, I’ll take you to the Y/L/N family table. I’ve been reserving it since Y/N told me she was coming.”  

Sebastian observed you as the waiter led you to a table in a corner by a large window. You simply shrugged and smiled, feeling proud to see how happy and, most importantly, how at ease the boy seemed.  

You couldn’t help but feel a little nervous and special at the same time when, before you could sit down, Seb pulled out the chair for you and pushed it in gently once you were seated.  

“Well, Miss Y/L/N, I’ll be back in a bit with the dishes I know are your favorites. Enjoy your evening.”  

The waiter winked at you and, once he was far enough away, you buried your face in your hands, utterly embarrassed by the scene you had just lived through.  

“Oh god… I can’t believe he thought we were together,” you murmured. “Everyone here knows I’m with Mark…”  

“Well, maybe they think we’d make a good couple.”  

Seb laughed at his own comment, and you shot him a death glare, though it didn’t last long as the corner of your lips curved into a smile.  

“Don’t start with that too.”  

“I’m just joking, Y/N,” Vettel said with a satisfied grin. “Besides, if people think we’re together and we get, I don’t know, good tables like this one,” he pointed at their spot, “and free pastries like the ones the bakery lady gave me near your house today, I wouldn’t mind pretending we’re a couple.”  

You rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the flicker of warmth that bloomed inside you as you imagined a hypothetical situation where you and Seb were together, where you shared more than just friendship.  

“Well, I think it’s time we have a slightly more serious conversation, so no boyfriends, exes, or fake relationships,” you said as you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “What’s the plan for this year? Do you think you can win the championship?”  

“That’s the goal, my dear," he chuckled, pouring himself a glass of water and taking a sip. “For now, I think the car is good, and we have a strong team, but you know how things can go…”  

“The important thing is that you have what it takes, Seb: talent and ambition.”  

He smiled, a little shy at your compliment, and adjusted himself in his seat.  

“So, you better be ready to put up with me every time you win,” you continued playfully.  

“Only if you ditch Mark so we can celebrate properly.”  

Sebastian immediately realized he might have messed up with that comment.  

You, instead of responding, did your best to force a smile and act like you hadn’t heard what the German had just said.  

“By the way…” the driver spoke carefully, knowing he might be treading on dangerous ground. “When are we going to plan something? I came here, but you know… plans like we used to make when we were at Toro Rosso and before you started dating Mark…”  

You didn’t know what to say. You hesitated before answering, thinking about how things had changed since you were single and he was in a relationship with Hanna, who had always been wonderful to you and never minded Sebastian and you hanging out together. She had even tagged along on some of their outings, something that made you feel terribly guilty but, at the same time, too bad to refuse given how kind both of them were to you.  

“I don’t know, Seb. Things are�� complicated, different… It’s nothing you don’t already know.”  

It’s obvious there are things Seb doesn’t know. Don’t fool yourself.  

“Well, we’ll come up with something,” he replied, trying to believe his own words. “We could go out after a race, grab something to eat… Or, I don’t know, during the summer break I could take you to the karting track where I used to go as a kid and see Michael…”  

You couldn’t keep listening because it hurt. The idea of doing such personal and meaningful things with Sebastian was difficult to process, especially considering you were dating Mark, and no matter how much you tried to talk to him about it, he wouldn’t take it well. You didn’t deserve that kind of attention, even though it was the only way someone had ever shown her… affection, love, or any of its variations. Mark had barely paid you any attention since you started dating, something you had noticed in other couples but had never experienced yourself.  

Seb kept talking, but the sound of your phone ringing, a childish melody set by his sister Louisa, snapped you back to reality.  

Your heart clenched when you saw Mark’s name on the screen.  

Your stomach twisted, anxiety creeping in, the weight of everything you hadn’t told anyone, not even Seb, suddenly pressing down on you again, returning in full force as if it had never left, not even when Webber seemed to have forgotten about you.  

“Are you going to answer?” Seb asked, tilting his head slightly as he noticed how doubtful you were.

You didn't move. You couldn't. You weren't ready to face a call from your boyfriend after weeks of not hearing from him, especially not in the situation you were in.

And even less so considering who you were spending time with at that moment, and how stubborn Mark had been about your relationship with Sebastian ever since you started dating, even knowing that you were, in reality, just very good friends.

“It’s just… It’s Mark,” was all you could whisper.

“And are you just going to let it ring? Come on, Y/N, he’s your boyfriend. It’s not like he’s going to kill you if you answer.”

“I’ll call him when we get home,” you swallowed hard, feeling your hands starting to sweat.

“Y/N,” Seb said, sounding more authoritative than he would have liked. “It’s just a call. What’s the worst that could happen?”

If only you knew...

“Come on, Y/N, pick it up. If he's calling, it must be important.”

Your fingers trembled slightly until you finally decided to press the answer button.

You forced a smile, even though the only thing you wanted to do at that moment was cry and tell Sebastian the whole truth. Instead, you put the phone to your ear and answered, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

“Hello, Mark…”

“Damn, it’s about time you answered. Do you mind telling me where you are? I’ve been trying to reach you for days and days, and you’ve just ignored me.”

It’s a lie, Y/N. He hasn’t called. He’s manipulating you because, once again, he’s forgotten about you...

“I’m out,” you replied, controlling everything you said while looking at Seb, who had started talking with Matthias. “I’m having dinner.”

“And who exactly are you with?” Mark asked disparagingly, totally suspicious of you.

You gripped the phone tightly and opened your mouth to respond with the first excuse that came to your mind. But before you could, Matthias started talking too loudly with your companion:

“You’re such a gentleman with our Y/N, Sebastian! Are you sure you’re just friends?”

“Just friends, Matthias, really,” Seb replied cheerfully, although alert to you, who seemed terrified.

“Sebastian? What exact Sebastian, Y/N?”

Your blood ran cold when you heard the aggressive tone Mark was using on the other end of the phone.

“Mark, it’s not what you think…”

“Who the fuck are you with, Y/N?” Mark exploded. Even Sebastian and Matthias, who were still talking, seemed to hear the yelling coming from the phone. “Are you with Sebastian Vettel? Is it the Sebastian Vettel I’m imagining?”

“Mark, please, let me explain…”

“Explain what?” the Australian's voice started getting louder and angrier. “That you went out to dinner with him as if that was the most normal thing in the world?”

Seb, noticing the sudden change in you, both in your mood and body language, became alert. He turned his attention back to the waiter, this time giving an excuse after he placed all the plates on their table so that he could leave and give you some privacy.

Your tense posture and the fact that you became so silent, just listening to what his teammate was saying on the other side of the line, didn’t go unnoticed by him, and he knew there was more between them than what his friend wanted him to know.

“Take good care of her, Sebastian. Y/N deserves the best.”

Seb smiled kindly at Matthias’s words, and his eyes followed him until he was far enough away. His eyes then returned to you.

Something wasn’t right, and it was creating a feeling of internal rage in Seb that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Mark, I’ll call you when I get home, okay? I don’t want…”

“So you’re with him, right?” the Australian spat, not letting her finish. “Sebastian Vettel... Out of all the damn people you could be with, you’re with him…”

“Mark, please… Let me explain…” You started, your words already bordering on pleading.

“Think about the kind of girlfriend you are, Y/N,” his voice, though calm now, you knew he was about to start throwing poisoned darts that would torment you in the weeks to come. “While I’m busting my ass working, training, doing everything I can to move the damn team forward, you’re out there with the guy you claim is your best friend, going on dates. How would you feel if it were the other way around, Y/N?”

“It’s not what you think,” you whispered, unable to control the tremor in your voice.

“Oh really? Then what is it? Because to me, it looks like you're acting with another man the way you should be acting with your boyfriend. How do you think that makes me feel, huh?”

Don’t believe his words, Y/N... He’s trying to convince himself that it’s your fault just because he’s ignored you for almost a month...

“Mark, he’s my best friend, and you’ve known that since before we started dating. I haven’t hidden it from you, just like I’m not hiding anything from you now.”

Sebastian, paying close attention to every word from you, felt his heart drop at what you had said, especially the tone you used.

You mattered to Sebastian, just as he mattered to you.

“I wouldn’t take a girl to the city I grew up in if she was just my best friend, leaving my girlfriend feeling like second best, but hey, to each their own…”

You sighed, unable to stop looking at Seb, hurt by the words Mark had just said, even though you convinced yourself, despite knowing you were lying to yourself, that the Australian cared about you enough to consider you a girlfriend.

Oh my God, Y/N, you haven’t even met his parents yet…

“You’re being unfair,” was all you could say.

“No, if anyone’s being unfair here, it’s you, Y/N,” replied Mark. “You’re selfish, and you think of no one but yourself.”

“I don’t want to keep talking about this, Mark…”

“Of course you don’t. Because you don’t want Seb to know what you’re really like,” Webber said harshly. “Maybe I should tell him myself. Do you think he’d believe me? Would he still want a bitch like you if he knew the real you?”

Your stomach dropped at what Mark had just said. You didn’t know what to say; you didn’t know how to contradict him because you knew it was impossible to make him think otherwise.

The worst part? Sebastian’s face went completely pale, which made you worry even more about what your friend might now think of you.

Without saying anything else, and while you still faintly heard the Australian’s reproaches, you ended the call, throwing the phone harshly on the table and unable to control your hands, which were shaking more and more.

“Y/N…” Seb spoke, unsure of how to approach the conversation he wanted to have with you about what had just happened.

“It’s... It doesn’t matter,” you corrected yourself. The last thing you wanted was for that heated conversation you had had with Mark to ruin your time with Seb, especially your stay with the German. “Let’s eat and let everything else rest, okay? I’ve been planning this for weeks, and I don’t want to ruin it because of a conversation that never should have happened.”

Seb didn’t seem entirely convinced by your words, and even less by your attitude. He knew you were broken inside at that moment, and nothing hurt him more than knowing he didn’t know how to help you.

“Y/N, if something’s wrong... you can tell me. You know that, right?”

You tried to force a smile again, but it was impossible. Instead, tears began to fall from your eyes, and no matter how hard you tried to control them, you couldn’t.

“It’s okay, Seb, it’s nothing. I swear.”

Lie to yourself if you want, but don’t lie to him.

“Really, Y/N... No matter what you need or when you need it, I’ll be here... You’re not alone, Y/N, okay? Come what may.”

You looked at your hands, now in Seb’s. His thumb was calmly rubbing over them, something Seb knew perfectly well relaxed you when you had anxiety, like now, when you felt on the edge of a panic attack; or at least, that’s what the constant feeling of suffocation you couldn’t shake off told you, no matter how hard you tried to control your breathing and especially promise yourself that everything would be fine.

Don’t be so dramatic, Y/N, Mark’s voice echoed in your head in such a scene, making you pull your hands from the table and hide them beneath it, embarrassed.

Sebastian sighed, knowing he wouldn’t stop trying to help you, no matter how reluctant you were. If you wanted to end the contact, so be it, but that didn’t mean he’d stop trying to make sure you were okay.

“I mean it, Y/N,” the guy insisted. “Whatever it is you’re going through, you don’t have to do it alone. You’re my best friend, and best friends are there to support each other. Just like you’re doing now, with me, with Hanna,” he added.

You looked up at him again, and your chest tightened. How could he be so noble with you? How was he able to say the words you needed to hear at every moment? With Mark, you felt small, as if you didn’t matter at all, but Seb... he made you feel like a princess straight out of a fairy tale, whose ending was still to be written.

“Thank you, Seb,” you murmured, unable to take your eyes off those blue eyes that so relaxed you. “For… everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. That’s what friends are for.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that, unlike your boyfriend, if you even were, or ever had been, someone could care about you. You didn’t want to give your best friend false hopes, but the way he treated you, how it seemed like he cared...

Why did Seb make you feel like the most special person in the world when the person who was supposed to care about you the most didn’t even bother to try?

Sebastian Vettel knew you like the back of his hand, and that was exactly what scared you the most.

[somerandomcockroach]

*stretches, breathes fresh cold air in, waters eyes, sits down* Here we go again ~

MMMMMMMMM Prowl's birth and existence starting and being described as nothing AHAH, EVEN MORE, the way to kill him if something goes crazy. MAN, MY BOY, YOU WERE BORN COLD AND COVERED IN COLD ALREADY Wait is it like. Half Prowl's pov. I know it can be described this way but I just, loved how the "Warm hands on his head sounds", more like explaining how it feels for him than a simple fact *sudden cackle* Didn't know translation of hitherto and it sounded like a funny mispelling.

*INHALES* I listen to "Steel for Humans" and it beat SO WELL I've got shivers "He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded." NOT A NOTHING, but still not a something, void created out of will just to serve and not have a will "He became his purpose" I SO MUCH WANT TO SEE IT INSIDE HIS HEAD

G[PDFGOPFOWWJ

OH THIS IS SO TASTY. OTHER VIEW ON TAC NET, SO DAMN TASTY AHEFHJADGH. I WOULDN'T HAVE PAID ATTENTION BUT. "HE CALLED HIM PROWL" NOW THAT DOESN'T QUITE MAKE SENSE PFFFHT OF COURSE HE TOLD HIM TO DISAGREE WITH HIM. OF COURSE HE TOLD A CREATION THAT WAS BORN TO SERVE AND AGREE TO BE AND DISAGREE.

AJHEGHRESJGERS OF COURSE WHY NOT. BREAK HIM.

GOOD JOB, MY BOY, GIVE THEM HEADACHES AHAHA

I need them in one room more often, his own scientific amusement and observation Ah so his very first purpose was to help him bring a peace. YES IT IS A NANNY AHAHA

FRIENDSHIP WILL NOT GET YOU TO COUNCIL FASTER OH THERE ARE OTHER GOLEMS. I kind of was wondering if Orion is the only one who will just... make it different Naaaahhh Prowl is already a big bunch of emotions even if not the happiest ones, no wonder he isn't like them "Not allowed artifacts" *Looks at Shockwave* HGASHDGAEHGEAHG I assist Orion and help him, agree.... actually, do not agree anymore, Ratchet now looks like a good friend to help me keep Orion in place. So golems are widely spread occasion. Keeping places clean and other easy stuff. Double-bottom trap. DAMN I LIKE BODY LANGUAGE DETAILS JAHGGEA not sure if Prowl just now made a joke or stated a fact about processor.

NOW, THIS IS A DYNAMIC WITH THEM I LOVE TO SEE

EWHGFHEWFGEWH OH EHWGREHG MMM OH I LOVE HOW PROWL IS JUST. NO WAY TO GET THAT HE IS A GOLEM. NO MORE.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZEEEEE W- WAIT. F*** YOU. YEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS HIS STUDENTS ARE SAVAGES SAVED AND GOTTEN TO SHOCKWAVE YEEEEEESSSSSSS “Can read, write, speak, even makes music.” Who's that pokemon? ........Okay here comes the bits of their future destruction... and the fact that they will just. Accept it. Of course! Why not! *lies down* ....PROWL. PROWL NO. PROWL WRONG. NOT THIS WAY. NOT LIKE THIS NO.

PROWL STOP THIS IS A WRONG CHARACTER GROWTH

"When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like." lET Me just. There is no shit like "Primus' will. Primus hangs out with atheist and smiles when someone says that Primus isn't capable of everything. It is the council. AH. Council is capable of extracting the spark. CAN THEY ALSO F**KING TURN OTHERS INTO DEMONS?!? ORION THIS IS COUNCIL I DON'T BELIEVE THAT IT IS PRIMUS, ORION YOU ARE DOING RIGHT THINGS.

This bit. Prowl has done things. He has done and might be chased for it. But he doesn't have a spark. I wonder to whom he resembles with the "I hope he doesn't"...

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

___________________

Magical Golem Prowl anyone? ‘,:) This story exists in the same universe as Spellbound au. and Monster hunter au and ties them together so I highly recommend you read all of them.

The fic under the cut⤵️

He seemed to be nothing.

The emptiness that infinitely defined his nonexistent self bounced off the metal plates and glinted in the droplets of still-warm energon. He was nothing, but there was so much around him that the space was like an infinite buzz of cluttered noise. The voices above him sounded excited. The metal slab beneath him was cold and hard.

“Good. Now you need to put a piece of your armor on this. Somewhere it will be in plain sight and easily reachable.”

“Oh...wouldn't it make more sense to hide it under the armor? I mean, it's an obvious weak point.”

He idly thought, his hands felt numb.

“No no, that's the whole point. You're using an artifact you haven't fully studied and you don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. If it goes crazy and becomes dangerous, you should have an easy way to destroy it. Where's the artifact by the way?”

The tinkling of metal.

The sound of a crystal clattering against armor.

Warm hands on his head.

“Here.”

“Excellent. Now. This will be the base on which the entire spell will be held, so you want to hide this artifact very well and secure it carefully so it doesn't break by mistake.”

Did he have hands too? He was nothing, why did he have hands? It didn't make sense.

Orion took a couple steps away from the table and stood pensively.

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave, hitherto distracted by an almost invisible spot on his shoulderplate, glanced leisurely over Orion's shoulder

“Golems don't need much to function. You made a good shell. The magical structure is strong as well, I see.”

Orion hesitantly pointed to the golem's forehead, decorated with a neat sharp chevron.

“I added some things that weren't in your instructions and I think I made a mistake somewhere.”

“Golem making is a complex skill, don't give up if it doesn't work right awa...you know what, actually no, you did everything right.”

Orion shrugged in frustration.

“Then why won't it move?”

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“ Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion walked back over to the table with a quiet “oh” and nervously clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

The emptiness that forever defined his nonexistent self stammered. He wasn't nothing. He had a purpose and that purpose shaped him, put strength into his numb limbs and molded his lack of thought into naked intent.

He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded.

He stopped being just nothing. He became his purpose. And it felt so right that it was unclear how he could ever have been anything else before.

He opened his optics.

Orion, who apparently hadn't expected that the thing he'd made specifically for it to move would move, jerked back with a funny sound.

On the opposite side, Shockwave nodded proudly, returning to the spot on his armor that even in the bright lights of the workshop only he could see.

“I believed in you.”

_________

“Oh my god! How do you sneak up on me so quietly every time?”

He wasn't nothing anymore. He was a whole long list of instructions and rules. His creator sat him down at a table and meticulously listed everything he could and could not do. Handed him many books and ordered him to attend a huge number of lectures. He now knew who to bow to if he passed them in the hallway and who to avoid. He had learned hundreds of names and thousands of titles. Learned how to pretend to be a real Mech, even though he wasn't.

The world around him was complex and confusing, but he found that this complexity had its own patterns, linked together in a bizarre web of systems and sequences. It was worth pulling on the right end, and the meaningless facts organized themselves into something much more manageable.

Everything made sense. The planet revolved around a star. Mechs rejoiced when they got something that improved their quality of life. Energon burned, producing energy. Big things tended to be heavier than small things.

The world was divided into Mechs and monsters...and him.

He was inclined to be...quiet.

His creator - he'd asked to be called Orion - twitched when he found his creation standing right behind him.

He was very talented at finding Orion wherever he was. And very light compared to most things his size. Like everything else it made sense. He wasn't a Mech, he was just an empty shell. An armor summoned to life by magic. His footsteps were as quiet as a mini bot's. Whatever Orion called it, he wasn't 'sneaking' on purpose.

A few cycles later, Orion accidentally bent one of its finals when he turned around too quickly, startled by the quiet footsteps behind him.

He named him Prowl. It was...not exactly logical, but there was a certain sense to it. Prowl nodded and agreed. He always agreed with everything Orion said, even if it didn't make sense at all. Orion's opinion took a higher priority than anything else.

Until it didn't.

Until Orion gave him a focused look and told him that he should argue if he thought it was necessary.

Until Orion put the servo on his shoulder and said something along the lines of....

“You can disagree with me if you think my opinion is wrong. I'm not asking you to go against me. I'm not perfect and I can't be the one absolute point of reference for everything. You can and I'm sure will be smarter than me about many things. I want you to tell me if I'm wrong and what I should do about it.”

Like…well….like an absolute fool.

This concept was new. Prowl wasn't built to argue. He was made to obey orders and to serve a function.

Orion smiled slyly. At least it was probably a smile behind his mask that made the corners of his optics lift.

“It wouldn't be considered a disobedience of my order if I ordered you to disobey it. Don't you think?”

Prowl opened his mouth to agree out of habit, but then changed his mind mid-motion and closed it back. It...it didn't make sense. It made sense that was breaking under its own weight. It was mercilessly mixing up all of his pre-learned patterns for talking to Orion. If he agreed with that logic now, it would mean accepting its use. If he protested, it would also mean accepting it, but in a bit more embarrassing way. Just when he was thinking of simply retreating silently to the nearest shadow and banging his head against the wall, he heard a quiet chuckle and realized that Orion had been amusing himself for some time now, watching him struggle.

Prowl decided that verbal responses might be overrated and frowned his face in the most believable expression of displeasure he could portray.

Orion broke out into laughter.

________

“What exactly is my goal?”

Orion looks. Curious. He stops talking to Shockwave and leans back on the bench.

“Right now, to study these journals. I already told you.”

Prowl nods to indicate he heard him and continues

“Studying serves a future purpose. Studying for the sake of studying would be meaningless to me. What is my final goal?”

“To assist me” Orion says slightly confused. ”Within the best of your ability of course.“”

“Аh. Assist in the fulfillment of your goal.”

“Well. I'd say so, yes.”

Prowl nods

“And what is your goal?”

Shockwave, who has been sitting next to them the whole time looks like they're a couple of previously unknown to science species he's just personally discovered.

Prowl ignores him.

“I...you remember the separation between Mechs and monsters, right?” asks Orion cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Mechs...are unfair to monsters. Monsters are cruel to Mechs. It's a needlessly violent situation that I want to...try to. Fix.”

Prowl frowns to indicate that the information isn't completely clear.

“You're a member of the order of hunters. And...” he shakes his head toward the nearest window ”...you have a considerable number of hunters under your command. Your job involves destroying monsters.”

Shockwave makes some sort of quiet amused sound and props his chin up with his hand.

Prowl ignores him harder.

“My job is to bring peace.” says Orion “You don't have to kill monsters to do that. You can negotiate with them. Find a compromise. Coexist. I...I guess basically, I'm trying to make the world a little better?”

Prowl doesn't look impressed. He's actually making a special effort to not let Orion think in any way that he might be intrigued by the whole endeavor.

“You do realize that's a disproportionately large goal for just one Mech, right?”

Orion shrugs awkwardly

“That's why I made you.”

__________

Ratchet puts aside his tools and critically examines his work.

“Don't touch that and it will heal normally.”

Orion smiles gratefully

“Thank you.”

Ratchet is important to Orion. They are close and very valuable friends to each other. The two of them look peaceful now, despite the fact that Ratchet threatened Orion when he first showed up in Sick Bay, so Prowl decides it would be a socially acceptable moment to start talking

“Orion, you're wanted at the Council.”

The second half of his line is drowned helplessly in two startled exclamations at once. Orion, to his honor, calms down almost immediately, but Ratchet continues cursing for a while.

Prowl doesn't wait for him to finish. The Council meeting is earlier than usual today and Orion has already had a few occasions of misbehavior. It's in his best interest to at least show up on time this time.

“Shockwave asked me to tell you to hurry. I will add that showing up at the last minute will not be good for your reputation if you are still hoping to convince the council to let you take more units.”

Ratchet .....stares.

“Primus' rusty hinges, Orion, who's that? Did they assign a nanny to you?”

Orion twitches his finals playfully and immediately crinkles in pain, remembering that one of them should have been left to heal.

“Remember when I wanted to find an assistant? Well...”

Ratchet casts an increasingly more suspicious look at Prowl. Prowl decides that friendliness is overrated and limits his expression to a barely perceptible tilt of his head in response.

“...Shockwave recently helped me figure out how to create golems and I figured if I couldn't find anyone I could trust, I might as well...make one. So. Ratchet meet Prowl.” finishes Orion awkwardly.

Ratchet glares at Prowl for a while longer. Then he turns away and starts tidying up Sick Bay.

“I'm not buying it. I don't know where you found this guy, but you're not playing me. Nice poker face by the way.”

One of Prowl's wings twitches

“He wasn't lying.”

Ratchet snorts grumpily.

“Those...” he waves toward the next room ”...are golems.

There, behind the wall, several golems scurry around. They have medical staff symbols painted on their shoulders, and there is not a trace of thought in their eyes. Two are scrubbing the floors, another wiping the shelves and window sills clean of dust. They occasionally mumble softly under their noses or utter an inane “excuse me” every time they accidentally bump into each other. Prowl knows that if you ask any of them a question with more than one variable, they start babbling guiltily and shrugging their shoulders. They're stupid, but they themselves don't seem to care about that at all. They are their purpose. And their purpose is to keep things clean. They are pride because they are good at their job.

Prowl frowns. He's a headache. Because his "purpose" has been distracted by his conversation with Ratchet and will probably add another tardy to his list in the near future.

Orion begins (thank goodness) to move toward the door

“I've made improvements. There might have been...some not exactly allowed artifacts.”

Ratchet rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. Prowl can see that his face is already starting to wrinkle in that spot. Patient antics probably age Ratchet far more effectively than the passage of time itself.

“I...you know what...go before the Council sends a search party to look for you.”

Orion sighs and without further distraction finally walks out the door.

Prowl decides that Ratchet might be a good ally when it comes to managing Orion.

He nods politely goodbye before leaving.

______________

“I am different from them. Why?”

Orion puts down the document he's been working on and looks first at Prowl and then, over his head, at the other golems scurrying down the hallway with brooms and rags. He doesn't need to interject exactly who he thinks Prowl is different from.

“Do you want a philosophical answer or a technical one?”

Prowl reaches out and pokes somewhere in Orion's document

“ You missed a comma. Both.”

Orion obediently puts the comma in and folds up the document. His finals are twitching faintly. It could be a sign of concentration as well as distraction. Prowl has already figured out that Orion's body language is a double-bottom trap. For a Mech with this level of expressiveness, Orion is surprisingly difficult to read.

“Sometime quite a while ago during one of my expeditions, I found a unique artifact. A fascinating item, granting wisdom to anyone brave enough to use it.”

“I have a feeling a ‘but’ is coming.”

“You're right. The artifact's unique gift was also its curse. It fed so much information through the Mech's heads that it literally caused the processors of its owners to melt.”

“Oh. Good thing I don't have a processor then.”

Orion laughs quietly

“Indeed. You won't have that problem. And about the other part....Think of all the Mechs you know who are savvy enough about politics and available to work together at the moment.”

Orion gives him a moment before continuing.

“ What is the likelihood that the most trustworthy of them would betray me, for their own gain or out of fear?”

“ Twenty-eight percent,” Prowl informs.

And then hesitates a moment.

Orion is obviously a smart Mech. Not smart enough to single-handedly dominate the political arena, definitely not with his ideals and ideas of what's right. But smart enough to realize it. He knows what he wants and he also knows he can't achieve it alone.

Prowl looks at Orion, who just stands there, eyeing him, without in any way trying to continue the conversation.

Orion is idealistic, and therefore often mistaken for stupid. He isn't. Orion doesn't just know that he can't succeed alone, he knows that everyone else knows it too. He thinks this knowledge will be used against him when the opportunity arises. He's right. By Prowl's count, at least three suspiciously clever Mechs were going to sweet-talk their way into becoming Orion's assistant one way or another before... he appeared.

One of the janitor golems runs past them down the corridor. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down or cast a curious glance. His only goal, his only interest is cleaning. The rest of the world might as well not exist at all.

Prowl thinks he's not that different.

Orion apparently reads the understanding from his face, because he nods contentedly and starts walking further down the hall.

“You didn't take yourself into account when you made the statistics, did you?”

Prowl follows him silently on his heels. Not close enough to be familiar, but not so far away that the conversation stops being private.

“The sampling condition was all mechs. I am not one.”

“That's true” Orion shrugs “You have no loved ones that the Council could use to influence you. You have no desires to be bought by their fulfillment. And while I cannot say with absolute certainty that you will never be capable of going against me...” Prowl starts to open his mouth to object but Orion gestures him to stop, “...no no no no, let me finish. And while I can't be sure you'll never betray me, I at least know for sure that before you met me you had no reason to do so. Do you understand?”

Prowl understands. It makes sense. He still feels the need to argue back, because it is part of his function to do that.

“I would never betray you. I'm not capable of it.”

Orion twitches his finals. Without seeing his face Prowl assumes it is a sign of doubt.

“You are a creature of intellect, Prowl. I am a Mech of ideals. Those two things don't always combine well.”

______

“Foolish and presumptuous.”

Prowl ponders that his function could be much easier if he didn't have to constantly try to balance what is right and what is right in Orion's eyes.

“If you were spotted, the Council would have good reason to assume this isn't the first time you've done something like this.”

“No one noticed,” Orion tries, but Prowl doesn't let him finish that thought

“No one has seen you, because you're lucky. You can't count on it being a permanent occurrence! You undermine your own position by giving the Council grounds for suspicion, you...”

Prowl stops, still pointing his finger accusingly somewhere on Orion's chin. Shockwave, who has witnessed the scene, makes an impressed face and steps closer.

“I swear, you're probably the most capable golem maker I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, Orion. If I hadn't seen that guy on your assembly table, I would never know.”

Prowl takes the statement as a compliment, but doesn't feel the need to show it outwardly. Shockwave, as one of the few who knows about him not being a real Mech, doesn't take offense to it in any way.

“Did I interrupt something dramatic?”

Prowl snorts, because the gesture maintains just the right amount of judgment for his situation.

“Orion is once again harboring a monster instead of killing it or letting it escape.”

This news immediately enlivens Shockwave's posture. Prowl knows he's an even bigger fan of collecting suspicious side projects than Orion. Their friendship, frankly, will one day bury either one or both of them. Prowl just hopes his presence will be enough to sway the percentages when that happens.

Orion doesn't try to deny anything.

“One of my squads encountered a ghost near the northern border. I couldn't... listen Shockwave, he's a good guy. He just needs to be given a chance to show it.”

“Can he talk?” there's almost visible stars in Shockwave's eyes..

Prowl slumps his shoulders helplessly, already knowing what's coming next. These two have done this dance a hundred times before. One of Shockwave's favorite side projects was a school for, as they called them, magically gifted and extraordinary Mechs. In fact, it was the largest den of various monsters that Prowl had ever seen. Every time Orion's hunting squads found a monster that could even remotely resemble a normal Mech, Orion would rush with happy optics to hand it over to Shockwave for care. There, the monsters were taught everything they needed to fit into the society of normal Mechs, but more importantly, they were given documents. Precious pieces of paper that granted their holders rights, freedoms, and protections as Shockwave's apprentices.

Prowl could appreciate the noble endeavor. He could also see clearly that with each addition, this school would become more and more of an inconvenient thorn in the Council's side. Just like Orion, Shockwave was happy to paint a brighter and brighter target on his own back for many cycles.

Orion, insensitive to danger that is not immediate, cheerfully begins to recite

“Can read, write, speak, even makes music.”

Shockwave nods happily

“Introduce us?”

Prowl wonders how far Shockwave can stretch the definition of “magically gifted Mech”. One day Orion will pick up a Kraken on the street and then they'll both probably have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make it's documents. Ugh.

When Orion had asked him to calculate the probability of betrayal, the most reliable mech he was evaluating at the time was Shockwave.

Twenty-eight percent...

Prowl wonders how many students must be on the opposite side of the scale from Orion for Shockwave to choose in their favor. Speculation is actually useless. If the Council decides to nail Shockwave, they will of course use his entire school at once.

In fact, they probably won't even have to force Shockwave to choose between the school and Orion, because Orion himself will choose a bunch of monsters over himself.

This ridiculously dangerous social construct they call friendship rests entirely on their reputation as honest and honorable mechs. Prowl stares at Shockwave's back and wonders how one mech could have so much charisma, that he gets away with keeping a huge number of Council enemies right under the noses of that same Council.

_________________

Orion gently lifts the now graying shell of what was once a monster from the ground

He doesn't even turn toward Prowl.

"Did you kill him?"

Killing...it's a stretch. Does the act of helping a murderer qualify as murder? Or the lack of action that could have saved the now murdered person? In most cultures and languages, “murder” refers to the act of ending someone else's life, but the context implies a physical act. Did you put a knife in his back? Did you push him off a cliff? Did you cut him with a sword?

By those criteria. Well. Prowl never killed anyone. Nor is he likely to, for he has neither the skill nor the strength to do so.

Did he cause death? Absolutely.

Orion's always had this heroic streak that wouldn't let him just pass by the distressed and disadvantaged. Orion has always had a great spark of kindness and principles as strong as titanium alloy as to what is right and what is wrong.

In Orion's world view, murder is wrong. And murder in conditions where it was possible to solve everything by peace is immoral and unacceptable.

Prowl's worldview tells him that Orion could do much better if he stopped wasting his potential on helping those who will only drag him down in the long run. Orion's life depends entirely on the Council's opinion of him. A Council that has been watching him closely lately. Even if Orion doesn't like it, it's Prowl's job to make sure they like what they see.

Orion turns to him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Prowl. That mech tried to escape. Past you. And now he's dead. Were you the one who killed him?"

"No," says Prowl, "he ran into one of the patrols."

That statement is missing a good half of the details. Like mentioning that the patrol wouldn't have been there in the first place if Prowl hadn't sent them an anonymous lead.

Orion doesn't need to know that. Orion lives under the idea that every life is precious and, even more inconveniently, equal.

Prowl sometimes feels like yelling at him for it. Because that shiny perfect picture is simply unsustainable outside of Orion's head. The monster, whose graying body now lies on the ground, would be of little use to society. Likely left free, he would have simply continued to attack and kill travelers.

Whereas Orion spends his life making the world a better place. This is an objective fact confirmed by numerous observations.

They are not equals. And they probably never will be. Orion's life is much. Much heavier on the imaginary scales of statistics.

Orion squints at him suspiciously. He's clearly hesitant.

"You could have just let him go instead of killing him."

The trap is honestly too obvious.

"I didn't kill him" Prowl repeats "he ran into a patrol. You can't blame the hunters for doing their job."

Orion places a hand on the dead creature's forehead in a respectful gesture of regret while simultaneously averting his gaze. It's a habit by now.

Look the other way, don't let the council know what you're doing. Sympathize but not in plain sight, help but in secret.

"They had no right to attack him.This is neutral territory. He has the right to run wherever he wants."

Prowl's mouth is twisting with the urge to argue. To say that according to existing information, this monster would have just continued the attacks if he'd stayed free.

He says nothing. Orion is clearly in no mood to argue right now, and he's already questioning Prowl's claim. It's not worth pushing any further.

Prowl only nods, showing that he's heard Orion's point of view.

__________________

He is surprisingly good at lying.

Of course the skill doesn't just come naturally, but he's been known for his straightforwardness. Mechs automatically expect him to either remain silent or tell the unpleasant truth.

All he has to do is give only certain bits and pieces instead of coherent information without changing his usual behavior in any way and the mechs won't be inclined to verify it, filling in the gaps themselves. As a golem, he can't lie, but he can get others to lie to themselves.

He exploits this a lot. Probably more often than Orion would approve, but Prowl doesn't ask him to confirm. Conversations with Orion tend to narrow down his list of options. Because Orion is a real living mech. With a spark. With feelings. And his complex moral code revolves entirely around what he feels to be right.

Prowl has no spark. Prowl has an empty armor that he considers his body and a wisdom artifact that he considers his worth. Both his and Orion's understandings of what is right...overlap...sometimes.

Not always.

______________

"I saw a demon in person for the first time today."

Prowl politely shifts his posture to show he's listening

"A …demon?"

"Demon" Orion repeats "When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like."

Prowl remains silent, waiting for a continuation that never comes. Orion seems gone in his thoughts....

"And what does it look like?" prompts Prowl.

"Creepy. It looks creepy and unnatural and terrifying. Primus' wrath has a very ugly shape..."

"Ah...I see...what did that mech do to be met with such punishment?"

Orion frowns

"I'm not sure. But what we're doing can't go against Primus' will, right? I mean, all beings are his creations! He can't condemn us for trying to make peace between mechs and monsters..."

Prowl is familiar with the concept of punishment for wrongdoing. But something about the very idea...the idea that punishment will find you no matter how well you hide because you can’t run away from your own spark...he has to admit it's disturbing.

"I hope he doesn't."

——————————

Thoughts?👁

Ahsjfjfj

This is the first half of the fic btw because I don’t have enough time to translate the whole thing in one day. I’ll try to post the second half tomorrow🤞

[belle--ofthebrawl]

SUNNY DAZE

Summary: Mist's heat just won't break and Sunny's just the girl for the job!

Contains Mist's control issues she definitely didn't pass down to Dew, Alpha and Omega existing and maybe even being useful, Transfem Sunny.

Part Two of whatever to Femslash February!

Sunshine's walking down the hallway, whistling a little tune with her hands in her pockets when she catches the scent. Like the crest of a wave over hot sand, sea spray in the air. A deeper, richer scent under that, musky and inviting. She looks around, face warming with delight when she realizes what it is. Someone's in heat, she thinks giddily. First come, first served and there was no one else around.

So where was the scent coming from? She stands on her tiptoes, sniffs the air and strangely, it's fainter. So she crouches low, where it's stronger, puts her hands on the ground and looks around until she spots the grate of an air vent, blowing more of that irresistible call into the air.

Someone's in heat and being very creative about advertising it. A water ghoul, obviously, Sunny thinks as she straightens up and keeps walking at a quicker pace. Weren't many in the Ministry at the moment and Rain smelled more of petrichor when he went into heat. The other two just had theirs, which left...

She skips a little, pumping her fist in the air when she realizes it's gotta be Mist. Sunny's been waiting for a chance with the cute little bassist for ages, ever since Dewdrop introduced them. Mist had actually kissed the back of Sunny's hand when Sunshine stuck hers out with hope of shaking it. She'd felt those cool lips on her skin for days and Cumulus had teased her about it for even longer.

("Total size queen, worse than Dew." She'd confided, configuring her hands in such a way that it would be anatomically impossible to fit something of that size and length without rearranging a few organs. Sunshine told her as much in fewer words.

"Oh yeah? Why do you think Alpha and Omega always bend to her every whim?" Cumulus leaned closed and nudged Sunshine with an elbow and a wink. "Kidding. No one's as bad as Dew.")

She's not going to let this slip between her fingers. Whatever she was about to do can wait; somewhere in the Ghoul's wing is a needy little water devil and Sunny is nothing but chivalrous. She thinks she knows where Mist’s room is, but after enough time walking around aimlessly and keeping an eye out for anyone else who might have picked up the trail, the scent starts to permeate the air, thicker and thicker. Following her nose leads her to the last door at the end of a hallway reserved for the older ghouls.

It's quiet on the other side when Sunny knocks, a light flurry of her knuckles against the wood. She can smell the heat in full through the cracks in the frame, a tease of what she would find if allowed to come inside.

"Coming," Calls a faint voice, from further within and Sunny bites her lip to stop herself from making an incredibly crude reply. This might not be her first impression but it’s going to be the biggest one that counts. She grabs her tail to stop it from wagging ridiculously as the door opens.

"Oh, good." Mist says, her hungry blue eyes roaming up and down Sunny's body. She resists the urge to cross her arms, show off those biceps she'd been getting from hauling equipment from set-up to tear down all the time. Mist obviously already likes what she sees.

"Get in.”

Sunshine barely resists the urge to squeal when a small hand breaches the space between them and yanks her in by the collar. The door's left open by an inch but she doesn't care. She got here first; the rest can form a line.

"Useless," Mist mutters as Sunshine steps into the dark room, warm and smelling heavily of sex and for a moment, Sunny's hurt, thinking it's directed towards her but, no. It's directed at the pair of worn looking ghouls cuddled up on the enormous mattress, stripped bare save for a waterproof protector and pillows. "Always letting your mouth write checks your body can't cash."

"Then sit on my face," Alpha says earnestly, though he sounds exhausted. Omega shushes him, goes back to grooming the larger Ghoul's hair with slow, careful passes of his hands and a hazy expression. She doesn't look at them for long though; her attention is fully on the sway of Mist's hips and tail ahead of her, so soft-looking and grab-able that it makes Sunny ache all over.

"See what I mean?" Mist says, stretching herself out next to them but far enough away that they can't reach out and touch her. She lounges against the pillows, splaying her thighs wide and oh...

She's so wet and creamy it's running down her thighs in little rivulets, her cunt a deep angry red that looks painful and used but the way Mist spreads herself for Sunny's eyes, shameless and wanton makes it clear her heat isn't even close to being over.

Sunny does a little hopskip to get out of her pants in record time, even if her hands tremble a bit when Mist starts rubbing her fat little clit, squirting out cum with every clench of her hole. Pants discarded, Sunny clambers up on the bed over the little water ghoul, bracing her forearms on either side of Mist's delicate shoulders, admiring the very focused frown and the red cheeks as Mist keeps touching herself, so wet she can hear it.

She can't help herself; she has to go in for a kiss, a quick smooch that Mist gasps into as Sunny grinds the wet head of her cock over the hot, slippery folds, feeling the skin slide around her.

"Oh, she's sweet," Omega says with a note of approval.

"Nice cock." Alpha mutters with what could possibly be jealousy and yelps when Omega nips his ear.

"Shut it." Mist says tartly, still in control even as Sunny ruts against her, getting her dick wet with the slick dripping out, torn between watching the expression on Mist’s face and the way she's touching herself, getting her nipples nice and perky for Sunny, before she's skittering them down her abdomen and parting her folds in a clear signal for Sunny to get the fuck on with it.

“Okay,” she says to herself, gripping the base of her cock. “Just let me-”

Mist is too impatient. As soon as she feels the tip rubbing against her hole, she's grabbing Sunny and yanking her, forcing her to sink deep on the first slide. Sunny yelps as her cock throbs hard, swallowed up by Mist’s body. Sharp nails dig into the skin of her hips as Mist pushes her out, then guides her back in again.

“Like this,” Mist says, jerking Sunny in. Her legs lock tight, to keep Sunny from moving any way Mist doesn't want her to. “This is the pace I want. Got it?”

“Uh-huh-” Sunny whimpers, dropping her head as she helplessly obeys. She can do this, she can so do this. Slow and steady as she draws her cock out, making Mist feel every inch on the slide, bucking right back in as soon as she feels the rim squeeze her head. Mist makes a sharp, pleasant sound when Sunny strokes over something good and she does it again. Tries to focus on eking out as many pretty little noises out of the demanding water ghoulette as she can. She’s here for Mist, she can’t blow thirty seconds in, it’s not like she’s Dew or anything. She’s got stamina.

But is it enough? Sunny’s no stranger to being watched while she’s fucking someone, but Alpha and Omega are nearly asleep when she throws a quick glance their way and feels a faint tingle of dread deep in the back of her mind. Only to have Mist’s hand grab her chin and force her to look back, see the frustrated expression on her face.

“Make me cum.” She says through her grit teeth, dangerous light flashing in her eyes and Sunny swallows thickly, hips stammering in their smooth rhythm. Mist makes her nod in understanding before her legs lock tight, pulling Sunny in just so Mist can use her free hand to shove her back out. Sunny strains against her grip, bowing her head and panting heavily. Focuses on moving right, hitting where Mist wants her to and ignoring the way her balls are hitching up tighter and higher after only a few minutes in her pussy. Even warmed and used by others it's nearly too good and Sunny breathes a silent sigh of relief that she wasn't Mist’s first because that would just be way too much to handle.

She dares a peek at Mist and it breaks her heart to see how frustrated the ghoulette looks. She knows that tension all too well, needing pleasure but never getting enough. Nothing felt right, though it all felt good. If she looks close she thinks she sees the glimmer of a tear and it's a moment of vulnerability that sends Sunny reeling. She stops, keeping her cock head pressed firm to a spot that has Mist’s legs shaking and her head rolling side to side as she rubs at her clit in vain.

"Move!” Mist snarls but Sunny pushes her down with a forearm across her chest and shifts her knees to hit that much deeper.

“It's distracting you.” She says with a shaky voice. She clears her throat and doesn't look at the way the older ghouls are watching her with interest. “Everything is distracting you, isn't it?”

“Bad time to talk.” Mist grits out, cracking her eye open to glare at Sunny with barely repressed hatred. But she's spent enough time with Swiss to know when something has to be needles. To be poked and prodded until the emotions burst and the real care could begin. Mist’s pathological need to control everything during her heat has her wound up like a guitar strung too tight.

“So don't talk.” Sunny snaps and claps her palm over Mist’s mouth. “Just lay there and take it like you're supposed to.”

Mist's scream of fury is muffled by Sunny’s hand and it takes all her strength to stay on as Mist tries to fight her off. There it is, there's that energy she wasn't letting go of. All of it needed to come out before Sunny could do her job as stud correctly. The hand not holding her face wraps around her throat and dances over her gills, getting the nerves there all worked up as her cock sits fat and ready in the hole it's about to break and fill with her load.

“This is for your own good.” Sunny tells her. “You might have your boys dog walked but you just need a woman's touch, don't you sweetie?”

“Can we help?” Comes Alpha’s voice and Sunny gives him her brightest grin.

“Of course you can.” She says. “I need her legs over my shoulders and someone to pin her arms down.”

They listen like the good boys they are. Not entirely useless. Mist tries to bite when Sunny takes her hand off but it's easy enough to change her tune when Sunny has her in a proper mating press. Heat was all about being receptive; no wonder the poor thing was having such a hard time breaking it when she refused to calm down and let herself be taken care of. She might be as big as the older ghouls but it's hard to deny how small Mist is when she's near folded in half in the center of their bodies. She needed this. Needed the overwhelm.

“Would you mind-” Sunny starts and grins manically as quintessence starts to prickle in her nerves.

“Fight it.” She says to Mist as the threat of blowing too early recedes like the tide. She could do this for hours now. “I want you to fight it and I want you to know you're going to lose anyway.”

Mist blinks and the way she clenches hard around Sunny's cock, a lewd mix of old cum and fresh slick leaking hot on her balls tells her she made the right choice after all.

[lifeofpriya]

Birthdays in Denver - Jack Drury

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

a/n: @smileysvech reached out to me a few days ago about potentially writing a birthday fic for the All-American prince, Jack Drury, and the rest was history!

summary: you and Jack celebrate his 25th birthday--his first one in Denver after he was uprooted from his life in Raleigh....

You wake up to the crisp, cool air of a Denver morning. The sun is still climbing the sky, peeking through the blinds of the apartment you share with Jack. It's his 25th birthday today, and you're eager to start the surprise you've been planning for weeks. You've noticed he's been a bit down, missing the camaraderie of his old teammates from the Hurricanes, and you want to show him that he's not alone in this new chapter of his life. You slip out of bed, careful not to disturb the gentle snores coming from Jack's side, and tiptoe into the kitchen.

You start by brewing a pot of his favorite coffee, something you picked up from a local roastery that reminds him of the small café near his old apartment in Raleigh. The smell of freshly ground beans fills the room as you prepare a simple yet hearty breakfast; you know he's been craving comfort food lately, a taste of home amidst the unfamiliar.

As you move through the apartment, you gather a few small gifts you've picked out, each one carefully chosen to reflect a shared memory or an inside joke from the time you've spent together. You wrap them in paper with a subtle mountain pattern, a nod to the Rockies that now serve as the backdrop to your lives. The gifts are simple, but you hope they convey the depth of your feelings.

You hear Jack stirring in the bedroom, and your heart skips a beat. It's showtime.

You hurry back to the bedside table and place the steaming mug of coffee next to him, along with the wrapped presents. As he opens his eyes, you lean in and whisper, "Happy Birthday," planting a soft kiss on his cheek. His eyes widen in surprise, and a sleepy smile stretches across his face as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"What's all this?" he asks groggily, reaching for the mug.

You give him a mischievous smile. "It's your birthday, remember?"

Jack's eyes light up as he takes in the sight of the gifts and the smell of the coffee. He sits up, taking the mug from you, and wraps his arms around your waist. "You didn't have to do all this," he murmurs into your hair.

You lean into the warmth of his embrace. "But I wanted to. You deserve it, especially on your first birthday here in Denver."

Jack takes a sip of the coffee, savoring the familiar taste. "It's perfect. Thank you," he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You pull away slightly, taking his hand in yours. "But that's just the start. I've got a whole day planned for us."

Jack's smile grows as he sets the mug down and starts unwrapping the presents. Each one reveals a treasure trove of thoughtfulness: a book by his favorite author with a handwritten note from you on the inside cover, a framed photo of the two of you at the beach during your first vacation together, and a pair of socks with tiny hockey pucks on them, which makes him laugh out loud.

"These are amazing," he says, holding up the socks. "I can't believe you found these."

You laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I know how much you love a good gag gift. Now, let's get ready. We've got a full day ahead of us. Breakfast is going to get cold if we don't eat soon."

Jack nods, his eyes still sparkling with joy as he puts on the socks immediately. You both sit down at the small dining table, the sun now casting a warm glow over the room. The gifts are scattered between the plates of scrambled eggs and toast, and Jack takes his time savoring each bite, the comfort of your presence making everything taste even better.

After breakfast, you lead him to the living room where you've laid out a map of Denver, marked with little red hearts at various locations. "I know you've been missing your friends, but today is about us exploring this new city together," you explain.

Jack's eyes scan the map, curiosity piqued as he sees spots he's been meaning to visit since the trade. "Where to first?"

You smile, taking his hand. "We're starting with a hike at Red Rocks. It's a beautiful morning, and I thought some fresh air would do us good."

Jack nods, excitement growing. He throws on some sweats and a hoodie, and you both set off into the crisp morning. The drive is filled with laughter as you play a mixtape of his favorite songs from over the years, the car's speakers echoing with the soundtrack of your relationship.

At Red Rocks, the towering sandstone formations greet you, bathed in the soft early light. You choose an easy trail, one that winds through the rocks and offers panoramic views of the city in the distance. As you walk, Jack points out the landmarks he's learned in his short time here, and you share stories about the places you've discovered since moving in together. The conversation flows naturally, a blend of nostalgia and excitement for the future.

The air is cool and dry, with a hint of pine that fills your lungs as you climb. You both break into a light jog for a moment, the kind of spontaneous playfulness that's always been a hallmark of your relationship. You reach the top, breathless, and Jack pulls you into a hug. "This is perfect," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "I needed this."

You share a quiet moment, watching the city come to life below. The early risers are already making their way to work, their cars like ants in a line along the highway. You can see the Ball Arena in the distance, a silent monument to the passion that brought Jack here. You both sit on a rocky outcrop, the morning dew seeping through your pants as you take in the view.

The next stop on your surprise itinerary is the Denver Art Museum. You've been hearing about Jack's love for modern art, something that blossomed during his time in Raleigh. As you wander through the galleries, you're surprised by how much he knows about the pieces. He points out the brushstrokes and the emotions captured in the abstract shapes, explaining the stories behind the paintings with a passion that's contagious. You feel a sense of pride in seeing him in his element, sharing something he loves.

You meander through the exhibits, taking your time to appreciate the art, occasionally stopping to admire a piece that resonates with both of you. The air inside the museum is hushed, the only sounds the distant echoes of other visitors' footsteps and the occasional murmur of appreciation. It's a stark contrast to the noisy arenas where Jack usually spends his time, and you can see the peace it brings him.

As you move from one gallery to the next, you notice a painting that captures a moment of stillness amidst chaos, reminiscent of a quiet moment in the locker room before a big game. You gesture to it. "Jack, look at this one."

Jack's eyes light up as he approaches. "It's like the calm before the storm," he murmurs, lost in thought.

You nod, understanding the parallel all too well. "It's like us," you say softly. "Finding our quiet moments in the middle of everything."

Jack looks at you, his expression reflective. "Yeah," he agrees. "It really is."

Leaving the museum, you head to the next spot on your list: a cozy bookstore tucked away in the Highlands neighborhood. You know Jack has been searching for a rare book about the history of the NHL, and you've called ahead to ensure they have a copy waiting. The smell of aged pages and fresh ink fills your nostrils as you enter, a scent that always brings comfort.

Jack's eyes widen as he spots the book displayed on the counter. "You didn't have to," he says, but the excitement in his voice betrays his protest.

You smile, handing it to him. "I know how much you've been looking for this. Happy birthday, babe."

Jack flips through the pages, a child-like glee on his face. "This is incredible," he whispers, leaning in to kiss you. "Thank you."

You spend the next hour exploring the bookstore, your fingers tracing over the spines of books, sharing titles recommendations, and discussing the merits of various authors. The clinking of coffee cups from the adjoining café blends with the occasional crackle of the bookstore's old-fashioned sound system playing classic rock. It's a simple pleasure, but one that feels rich and meaningful in the context of the day you've crafted together.

As the sun starts to dip in the sky, casting long shadows across the city, you suggest heading home to prepare dinner. You've been practicing a new recipe, a twist on Jack's mom's famous lasagna, a dish that's been a staple at his birthday celebrations since you two started dating. You've made it a point to learn all his favorites, a way of bringing his past into your shared present.

Jack seems content as he flips through the book you've given him in the passenger seat. "You really know me," he says, looking up with a smile.

You return the smile as you navigate the car back to the apartment. "It's what you do when you love someone," you reply, glancing over briefly before returning your eyes to the road.

Once home, you both slip into your cooking rhythm, Jack sipping on a beer he grabbed from the fridge while you prep the ingredients. You've turned on some music, a mix of your favorite jazz tunes that always seem to keep the kitchen vibe light. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce fills the air, mingling with the aroma of the freshly baked bread you picked up the day before. The kitchen is a mess of chopped vegetables, cheese, and ground beef, but you don't mind. It's a mess that means love.

As you layer the lasagna, Jack sets the table with candles and a simple bouquet of flowers. You glance at him, his concentration on the task surprisingly weighty, and you can't help but feel a twinge of affection. He's never been one for fancy dinners out, always preferring the comfort of a home-cooked meal. It's these small gestures that make you realize how much he values your efforts to make him feel at home.

The oven timer dings, signaling that the lasagna is ready. You both pull it out, the cheesy top bubbling and browned to perfection. The apartment fills with the tantalizing aroma of melted cheese and spicy tomato sauce. You plate the food, adding a side salad and garlic bread. The flickering candles cast a warm glow over the dining table, making the space feel intimate and welcoming.

As you sit down to eat, Jack raises his glass of water. "To you," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "For making this birthday feel like home."

You clink your glass against his, feeling your cheeks warm with a blush. "To us," you reply, taking a sip. The lasagna is a hit, the flavors melding together just as well as the two of you have in the past few months. You watch as Jack's eyes close in satisfaction with each bite, his smile growing wider with every mouthful. It's moments like this that remind you why you put so much effort into the day.

After dinner, you clean up the kitchen together, the rhythm of your movements in sync, like a well-oiled machine. The conversation drifts to the rest of the season and his excitement to play in a new conference. You listen intently, asking questions about his teammates and the city's expectations. It's clear he's starting to feel more at home here, and that brings you a sense of peace.

You suggest a quiet night in, and Jack readily agrees. You both sink into the plush couch, the TV flickering with the glow of a movie you've watched a hundred times. It's one of those nights where the familiar comfort of each other's company is all you need. You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arm wraps around you, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm, as the laughter from the screen fills the room.

As the movie plays, you find yourself lost in thought, watching the flicker of the screen reflect in Jack's eyes. He's been through so much in his career, the trade and the pressure to perform, and you know it's taken a toll on him. But here, in the quiet of your shared apartment, he seems to let his guard down, even if just for a little while. You cherish these moments, the real him, stripped of the hockey mask he so often wears in public.

The film ends, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. You glance at the clock; it's later than you thought. "Cake time?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

Jack's eyes light up. "You got me a cake?"

You nod, standing up to grab the box you've stashed away in the fridge. It's from a local bakery, a small chocolate cake with a single candle on top. The flame dances in the dim light as you place it on the coffee table. "Make a wish," you whisper.

Jack grins, his eyes shining with excitement as he leans forward to blow out the candle. He takes a deep breath, and you hold your breath in anticipation. What could he possibly wish for? The room seems to hold still as the flame flickers out. "Wish made," he says, winking at you.

You cut the cake, the scent of rich chocolate wafting through the air as you serve a slice to him. He takes a bite, his eyes closing in pleasure. "Best birthday cake I've had in a long time," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You both sit cross-legged on the floor, eating cake straight from the plates, the cushions and blankets around you creating a cozy fort. The quietness of the apartment is a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of a birthday bash, but it's exactly what Jack needed. You watch as he savors each bite, the stress of the season and the weight of his new team slowly lifting from his shoulders.

After the last crumb of cake is gone, Jack pulls out a small gift of his own, hidden behind the couch. "I wasn't sure if I should give it to you now or wait," he says, his cheeks flushing slightly.

You take the present with a curious smile. "You didn't have to get me anything," you protest, but the excitement in his eyes makes you eager to see what he's chosen.

Jack laughs. "I wanted to. Open it."

You open the small box and let out a gasp. Inside was a ring, simple yet elegant. Your heart skips a beat as you look up at Jack, who is now on one knee, holding the ring in his trembling hand.

"You've been my rock through all the changes," he says, his eyes searching yours for an answer. "I want to spend every birthday with you, in every city, for the rest of my life."

You stare at the ring, your heart racing. "Jack," you manage to breathe, your voice barely a whisper.

Jack's eyes are filled with hope and vulnerability, and you see the fear of rejection flicker in them for a moment. But then you smile, the biggest smile you've ever given him, and his face relaxes. "Yes," you say.

"Wait, let me ask properly," Jack says, his cheeks reddening. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "Will you marry me?"

The world seems to stop around you as you look into his eyes, the earnestness of his question echoing in the quiet apartment. The ring in the box seems to grow brighter as you consider the gravity of his words. This is the man you've supported through the highs and lows, the one who's made you laugh when you thought you had no more laughter left, the one who's held you close through the darkest nights. You feel a lump in your throat as you nod, tears welling in your eyes.

"Yes," you say, the word feeling like a declaration of love that's been waiting to be spoken.

Jack's smile widens, his eyes sparkling with relief and joy. He takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with a gentle touch. It fits perfectly, as if it had been made just for this moment.

You both stare at the ring for a moment, the reality of what just happened sinking in. You lean in to kiss him, the warmth of his lips a reassurance that this is real. The kiss deepens, filled with the promise of a future you hadn't quite allowed yourselves to dream of yet.

When you pull away, Jack's eyes are shimmering with happiness. "I've been carrying this around for weeks," he admits, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "I wanted to do it right, but I didn't know if waiting was the right move."

You laugh, wiping a tear from your cheek. "It's perfect," you assure him, the ring feeling surprisingly right on your finger. "I couldn't have asked for a better proposal."

Jack's grin is contagious as he stands, pulling you into a tight embrace. His heart beats against your chest, and you realize that this is it: you're engaged to the love of your life, in the quiet solitude of your apartment on his birthday. The simplicity of the moment is what makes it so beautiful, a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of the world you both usually inhabit.

As you sit back down on the couch, Jack's hand doesn't leave yours. The ring feels surprisingly right, a symbol of the unspoken promises you've made to each other over the years. You snuggle closer, the warmth of the couch and each other's bodies a comfort after the adrenaline rush of the proposal.

The TV is still playing, but the background noise fades away as you both look into each other's eyes, the weight of your new commitment hanging in the air like a soft snowflake that's just landed.

Jack squeezes your hand. "So, what do you say to making some more memories in this city?" he asks, his voice low and filled with excitement.

You nod, your heart still racing. "I'd love that."

Jack grins, leaning in to kiss you again. This kiss is softer, filled with the promise of a lifetime of moments like this. "Good," he says, his voice a low rumble against your lips. "Because I've got a few more surprises up my sleeve."

[academyofbrokenhearts]

I have finally finished reading Blossom. Happy ending in the novel too, although a lot of things were vastly different; the main couple, of course, remained superior until the end.

Things we got in the novel that I am glad didn't make it into the series:

Dou Zhao, an adult woman, scheming and navigating complex familial relationships while in a two year old, then a five year old body. I get how it might be interesting for some, but it was incredibly boring for me, and since she managed to neutralise her stepmother quite early on, I saw no need to spend so much time watching her building up and managing relationships with everyone in the Dou family. Moreover, I am glad that the size of the family was trimmed down (I still can't make sense of all the relationships presented in the novel) and some characters were changed compared to how they were in the novel; it was amazing to see Grandma, who had been only a concubine in the book (and therefore couldn't even be called Grandma by Dou Zhao according to customs, let alone have any kind of power), turning into a formidable matriarch, and it was also cool to see Zhao Zhangru as the constant sidekick;

no Song Mo until 114 chapters in. I must confess that my main fascination in both the series and the novel was the relationship between the mains, and the fact that he is only mentioned once or twice before his first dramatic appearance was definitely not enough for me;

way too much time spent on side characters; like I said in a previous post, did I really need to know in detail how Suxin and Sulan ended up serving Dou Zhao? And it felt even more useless since in the novel they end up getting married and leaving the Song Manor, and only getting mentioned in passing from that moment on;

Things I wish would have made it into the series, but did not (and some of them could have never made it, unless the entire censorship board would have been in a coma):

all the sexual encounters between Song Mo and Dou Zhao. Like in the series, the start of their physical intimacy is quite slow, they don't consummate during their wedding night (but unlike in the series, it's not because she prepares a period PowerPoint presentation, it's simply because he knows the next days as newlyweds will be tiring, and just wants to allow them to rest). Unlike in the series, no one is cockblocking Song Mo (in fact, their subordinates are even alarmed at the lack of consummation), and when he decides to make a move on Dou Zhao, he does it, and no one dares to interrupt. They make love quite regularly from that moment on, and I like how Dou Zhao's reluctance is gradually melting away, and how the novel is clearly stating that she enjoys the encounters just as much as he does, and even becomes bold enough to initiate later on;

them being parents. I know we get that one cute scene with their daughter at the end of the series, but Song Mo is such a good dad and husband in the novel, constantly prioritising Dou Zhao's comfort and being just as involved in the child's rearing as she is (to the point that their son learns to say Papa before Mama). I surely wish we would have seen more of that in the series.

Song Yichun does not die in the novel. He is, in a delightful twist of fate, forced to expel Song Han from the family, a treatment he had hoped to apply to Song Mo, and is left disabled after Song Han attacks him. Moreover, the daughter he had switched at birth with Song Han is discovered alive, Song Mo takes her under his protection, and she gets married and lives happily. I surely wish karma would have hit the old man in the face like this in the series as well.

Other things that got changed which I am fairly neutral about:

Song Mo and Dou Zhao's backgrounds in life 1. I have to say I loved how the series made it crystal clear that life 1 was an utterly doomed timeline, with both of them being betrayed and ultimately killed, while the entire country was burning. Life 1 in the novel was bleak in a different, more subtle, way. Dou Zhao dies after a long illness, almost completely devoid of any human warmth - the novel tells us that both her sons with Wei Tingyu are distant, as a result of her being too busy with household matters to be able to form a bond with them, and the only warmth she gets is from her daughter, a child she had after forcing herself to have sex with her husband once more (she had trauma from miscarriage), hoping she could get pregnant again and alleviate her loneliness somewhat. And Song Mo, unlike in the series, is a very powerful figure after the coup, but is perceived as merciless (having slaughtered both his father and brother), cynical (he never finds out the truth about his uncle's death, and never bothers to) and, in the end, utterly, utterly alone;

the dynamic between them after the rebirth. Unlike in the series, where they forged a bond in life 1 which was the basis for their relationship as adults in life 2, in the novel they meet as teenagers (when he is 13 and she is 14), and he is more or less smitten from the beginning, whereas she fears and despises him at first, gradually starting to understand him the more their paths cross. While in the series, they are already both in love by the time she accepts his proposal (having gone through a lot of adventures together that strengthened their bond), in the novel, he is the one with the huge crush, while she accepts his proposal for more pragmatic reasons, trusting that he is capable and will support her in the way Wei Tingyu was unable to. But the attraction between them is mutual, and I really liked watching her slowly but surely falling in love with him due to his constant care and attention towards her;

Song Mo is way more calculated in the novel than in the series, where he's simply feral and would wreak havoc at any given moment were it not for Dou Zhao and her more sensible approaches. It makes for an interesting dynamic in the series, where they pretty much compliment each other, but I must confess I loved his scheming and 5D chess playing in the novel;

Dou Ming's entire character. Unlike in the series, which presented a nature versus nurture situation, with Dou Ming being shrewd in life 1 after being raised by her mother, and a sweet, innocent girl in life 2, as a result of not being raised by her mother, in the novel, Dou Ming exhibits jealousy from an early age, and constantly feels inferior, which ultimately results in her taking Dou Zhao's place as Wei Tingyu's wife. Their marriage is unhappy, as, just like in the series, he is not very smart and doesn't like facing difficulties. Unlike in the series, she doesn't die (she's too petty to die), but it's clear by the time she makes her last appearance in the novel that her life is miserable, and there is no chance of improvement;

Wang Yingxue is not even half as cunning and manipulative as her series counterpart; she fails to charm Dou Shiying in any meaningful way (he is never in love with her and only wants to take her as a concubine because they had a sexual encounter while he was drunk, and he wants to save face) and ultimately she pushes him away, becomes a pariah in the family and is sent to a country estate to die forgotten by everyone, including her daughter;

Miao Ansu has a completely different familial background and no connection to Dou Zhao prior to her marriage with Song Han. She's also far from being the timid forest creature the series portrays her as;

Song Han manages to be somehow even more awful than his series counterpart. Not only is he not in love with Miao Ansu, he also lacks any kind of respect for her, which ultimately pushes her to align with Dou Zhao and Song Mo, and initiate his downfall. His death is not described in the novel, but it is heavily implied.

Overall, while there were a lot of things I liked about the book, I think I prefer the pacing of the series way more. Also, the series got a "will they get their happily ever after, won't they?" feeling with the poison subplot that the novel lacked until very close to the end (when Dou Zhao is almost taken hostage during the palace coup). The royals are awful as hell in both iterations, the injustice never really gets solved (in my opinion, the Emperor was also very much to blame for Jiang Meisun's death, not only the scheming Empress), but at least the lovely main couple lives happily ever after.

Would I rather recommend the book or the series? Honestly, probably the series, but the Song Mo/Dou Zhao dynamic is lovely in the novel as well, and, if nothing else, those passages about their relationship are definitely worth reading.

[invinciblerodent]

I just got slapped in the face with a note on this old, old post, so I'm bringing it back, because I'm close to climbing up the curtains about it.

He went back. Left his lover and all his personal desires behind. Followed protocol. Acted with principle. Alright. What did it accomplish?

He freed all the slaves he personally could immediately, and beyond helping those select few, on the grand scheme of things, it just generated some mild controversy, branded him an eccentric.

The Lucerni, the fledgling group for which he left all he wanted behind (in hindsight, perhaps with a bit too much optimism) was formed, and then it failed- so spectacularly that it directly-indirectly cost Mae her position in the Magisterium, and forced the group to transition their operations into a secret, underground organization. By now, their slogan, "Bring the Light", is pretty much the only thing that remains of its roots.

He spoke on the Magisterium floor clearly, openly, with passion, on record, multiple times, and each time, he seems to have hit brick wall after brick wall- they shut their eyes and plugged their ears, because the scissors with which the disapproving passages of the very law that instated slavery were cut out were large and gilded, and he couldn't even endorse the Shadow Dragons' work openly, because (even though they covertly had the support of the Divine, as well as many of the people) his name served their goals better while it remained free of the associations with them.

And those eight years of his life, the ones given to campaigning, and petitioning, politicking, and screaming his voice raw, were paid for in late nights, grey hairs, blood, and baby steps forward.

For all the performative grousing about wrangling the Imperium into submission and yanking it into the present he did in Trespasser, for all the trying, the urging, the demanding he must have done in the long years in-between, I'm sure it was a process that was slow-moving and beyond frustrating- especially keeping in mind what he had to leave behind, of which I'm sure he was always keenly aware.

Of how they both knew that leaving was a sacrifice, but staying would have been as good as treason.

Every time I think about what might happen in (and to) Tevinter now, I can't help but recall what Dorian says in his proposal to Rook about becoming Archon (something he never actually wanted for its own sake), how passionate he is to finally stop talking and start acting, and how the elation quickly fades into anxiety if Rook agrees with him, and (finally, finally, finally) puts the power to act into his hands.

For the naked disdain he once showed in talking about how the good and great families of Tevinter noblesse "breed" their children in hopes that one of them will go on to become Archon, and how adamant he was in Inquisition's early parts about never desiring the lies, the scheming, the political machinations, that kind of dirty power for himself... this ending, it feels appropriate.

Fucking Vivat, Archon Pavus, I know you'll do great things.

..... Try not to dwell on whether it was all worth it.

It honestly breaks my heart to think about how happy Dorian must’ve been to return South, and just how violently that joy was ripped from him, by just one letter.

How it must’ve felt like coming home, how excited he must’ve been to see the man he loves again (after all, “letters are a poor substitute for your company”), and then, just like that… the promise of a moment of peace and quiet, of rest, is torn right from his hands. The responsibility he didn’t even know he still had is thrust upon him, without warning.

Suddenly the man he once respected more than anyone else is dead, suddenly he’s no longer just Dorian but Magister Pavus, and he knows he has to go.

He has a platform now, to make his voice heard. People are finally going to have no choice but to listen. All he has to do is to leave all that his heart wants, behind.

Even though there is nothing he would want more than to stay, he has to go. He has to abandon the silly, juvenile fantasies of disgustingly romantic domesticity, about the house on the hill and the smiling townsfolk and the soft clink of wedding bands when they take each other’s hands, and trade them all in for artifice, and treachery, and screaming into ears that might as well be deaf until his throat is raw.

And I’m so proud of him.

It must’ve taken so much resolve, so much courage, and so much fucking integrity to still go, even though giving in to the Temptation, ducking his head under the blanket, and hiding in blessed complacency would have been so much easier. Sacrificing just a little kernel of his self-respect could have bought him a lifetime of peace and quiet and unconditional love, but he still leaves, and he still goes on to change the world for the better.

Because someone has to, and it has to be him.

Someone else might get it wrong.

[levispersonalslave]

Hi. How are you? I love your Levi's story and your cute blog.

I would like to leave a request.

Ex boyfriend Levi x ex girlfriend reader

In which Levi ended a four-year relationship with the reader. And after two years they meet again.

During these two years, the reader went abroad to study and when she returns to her hometown, she opens a bakery that serves sweets, coffee and tea. A very cute bakery.

Her friend invites her to a company party where her husband works. But destiny plays tricks, and Levi works at the same company. When she sees him, he is 'accompanied' by a woman.

Both, Levi and the reader, still love each other and have very strong feelings for each other.

Ps: Levi wears glasses.

I leave the resolution and development of the story up to you.

Thanks and have a good Sunday and an excellent start to the week.

Don't be in a hurry to write. Take your time.

HI DEARRR this is absolutely ADORABLE and im in LOVE with that header omg,, I HOPE THIS IS TO YOUR LIKING MY LOVE ‹𝟹

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐞~!

𝐸𝑥-𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐿𝑒𝑣𝑖 𝐴𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛 × 𝐸𝑥-𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑀𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝐴𝑢, 𝐸𝑥’𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠, 1.3𝑘 𝑤𝑐

The scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingers in the air, curling around you like a warm embrace. It settles into every corner of the bakery, clinging to the wooden counters, the glass display, the freshly wiped tables. Even as the evening rush fades, leaving behind only a handful of customers, the air remains thick with the sweetness of sugar and nostalgia.

With a slow breath, you wipe your hands over your apron and step back, surveying your work. Trays of golden pastries rest behind the glass, their delicate edges catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. This bakery—your bakery—is everything you once dreamed of. A fresh start; a sanctuary built with your own hands.

And yet, no matter how much sugar and warmth you pour into it, some ghosts refuse to stay buried.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Hitch’s voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You turn to see her leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a thin brow arched in mock exasperation.

“Ah, sorry,” you say with a sheepish smile.

She rolls her eyes. “I was inviting you to a party. My friend’s company is hosting it tonight. Fancy food, good music, and a whole room full of pretty corporate guys debating things we’ll pretend to understand.”

You hesitate, already shaking your head. “I don’t know, hun. . . I have an early morning tomorrow.”

Hitch groans, throwing her head back. “You always have an early morning. You work too much. Come on, you need a night out.”

You do work too much. You know that. But the thought of stepping into a crowded room filled with unfamiliar faces—and the possibility of familiar ones—is enough to make you hesitate. Two years abroad gave you distance, but not immunity. There are still some things your heart refuses to forget.

Still, when you meet Hitch’s expectant gaze, something in it makes you waver.

And fate, with its cruel sense of humor, will happily remind you why you spent so long running.

“. . .Fine then,” you relent, untying your apron. “But only for a little while.”

Hitch grins, triumphant. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The venue is the kind of place that whispers elegance in hushed tones—polished floors gleaming under soft golden light, chandeliers dripping with crystal, laughter weaving through the air like silk. The clink of champagne glasses hums in the background, mingling with the gentle murmur of conversation.

You adjust the strap of your dress, exhaling as you follow Hitch inside.

And then you see him.

The world tilts, just for a moment.

He stands near the bar, half-listening to a conversation, his posture effortlessly composed. He hasn’t changed much. The sharp cut of his suit, the quiet intensity in his gaze, the way his fingers curl loosely around the rim of his glass—it’s all painfully familiar.

For a fleeting second, you almost convince yourself he’s just a memory, a ghost conjured by your own mind.

But then your eyes shift, and you notice the woman beside him.

She’s beautiful, the kind of beautiful that turns heads without trying—wrapped in a sleek red gown, dark hair tumbling in soft waves. One hand rests lightly on his arm as she leans in to say something.

He responds with a quiet smile, and your heart clenches.

You tear your gaze away, fixing your eyes on anything else—the flickering candlelight, the tray of champagne flutes gliding past—but it’s far too late.

He’s already seen you.

Your breath catches as his gaze finds yours across the room.

For a heartbeat, the party disappears. The chatter, the music, the laughter—it all fades into something distant, unimportant. There’s shock in his expression at first, then something softer—something dangerously close to longing. Hitch is speaking beside you, but her voice barely reaches your ears. You take a step back, pulse thrumming against your ribs.

He hesitates, fingers twitching at his side before he murmurs something to the woman beside him. She nods, stepping away without protest.

And then he’s moving toward you. Your breath wavers.

You turn, reaching blindly for the nearest tray, grasping a glass of champagne with fingers that tremble just slightly. A sip does nothing to steady you.

You turn sharply, needing distance, needing air—anything to steady the erratic rhythm of your pulse. Your gaze flickers toward the nearest tray of champagne flutes, and you reach for one, fingers trembling just slightly. But in your haste, you miscalculate the movement.

The glass tilts, slipping from your grasp.

You lurch forward instinctively, hands reaching out—

And collide with someone.

Strong hands catch your arms, steadying you before you can stumble. A warm, familiar touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” The words die in your throat the second your eyes rise to meet his.

Up close, he’s even more overwhelming. The sharp cut of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the way his fingers tighten just slightly before he lets go. His scent—clean, crisp, edged with something undeniably familiar—wraps around you like a ghost of the past.

His touch vanishes, but the sensation lingers, branding itself onto your skin.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The party hums on around you, distant and insignificant. The space between you is thick with everything unspoken.

“Hello,” he says at last, his voice warm, careful.

You swallow. “Hi.”

A pause.

“I didn’t know you were back.”

“Been a few months,” you answer softly. “I opened a bakery.”

His lips part slightly, and you can see the memory flicker behind his eyes. You can almost hear his voice from years ago, teasing yet certain: You’ll be amazing at it. He used to say he could already picture it—a place that smelled like sugar and cinnamon, with soft jazz playing in the background.

He had believed in your dreams before you had.

Another waiter passes by, this time with a tray of desserts. Without thinking, you reach for a small lemon tart.

The moment you realize what you’ve done, you almost move to put it back—but when you look up, his gaze is already on the pastry in your hand.

Your eyes meet again, and your fingers tighten around the delicate crust. “This was always your favorite,” you murmur.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy with nostalgia. Something unspoken lingers in the air, something fragile and dangerous all at once.

And then, before you can stop yourself, the question slips from your lips.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

He blinks, surprised. His eyes flicker toward the woman in red, then back to you.

“No,” he says simply. “Just a coworker.”

Relief rushes through you, quick and sharp. You barely have time to smother it before it betrays you. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. You don’t belong to him anymore, but your heart hasn’t gotten the memo.

“I should—”

“Can we talk?”

Your pulse stumbles. “Levi. . .”

“I know this isn’t the place,” he says quietly. “But—” He exhales, tugging at his cuffs. “Two years, and I still—”

“Please don’t.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Don’t say it.”

Because if he does, you might break.

And yet, standing here, with the taste of lemon on your tongue and the past so close you could touch it, a truth settles deep in your chest.

You still love him. Maybe you always will.

He takes a slow step closer. “Then let me show you instead.”

The party buzzes on, indifferent to the moment unfolding between you. Two people standing on the edge of something unfinished.

You could walk away.

Or you could let fate take the wheel.

And maybe—just maybe—find your way back to him. Because the best recipes are a little messy, and some things are worth making from scratch.

⊱ 𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⊰ @the-traveling-poet, @pinkberryfox, 𝑑𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

ᵎ!ᵎ 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 @kodaswrld ᵎ!ᵎ

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Only for You

jace x f!twin!reader

anon request 

Summary: You and Jacaerys have been secretly meeting in the middle of the night and soon you become pregnant. You’ve been kept in your chambers to avoid prying eyes and it’s caused tension and resentment to rise between the two of you. Jacaerys comes up with a plan that will help all parties. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, cheating, breeding kink, fingering, oral(f), p in v, brief preg!reader, angst for a sec but were good!

Authors Note: i’m actually always scared to write and post for jace! -which may or may not be the reason this took me some time to get to you- also no specific timeline but they’re on dragonstone — a g a i n  im so sorry this took me so long thank you for your patience i appreciate you 🥹👉🏻👈🏻

Word Count: 3.1k

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

‘This is the last time.’ 

A phrase you’ve heard almost daily over the past year. You and Jace have always been close but about a year ago something really clicked and settled between the both of you. You both had felt the pull far longer than that but finally decided to act upon it.

Even if he denies it. 

Even if half of the nights he insinuates it. 

Tonight he has kept you waiting longer than normal so you decide to make your way to his chambers.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” Jace watches as you take small steps with your candle, drawing out the act. “My betrothed is just down the hall.” he sits up a little taller as you approach, allowing himself to have an unobstructed view of you.

“Must you always bring her up before you split me open?” you sigh. “I’m the one here in your chambers.” you set the candle on his night stand. “I’m the one who you fill nightly. The one who will carry your heir.” his will is bending as it always does when you start to climb into his bed with your translucent slip. 

“I only bring her up in hopes I’ll learn restraint.” his hands wrap around your waist as he pulls you on top of him. “But how could I when you throw yourself at me?” he hums. 

“Throw myself at you?” you chuckle, leaning down allowing your hair to curtain around the both of you. “I wonder if that’s what you call it when you come into my chambers at night? Hm?” your lips ghost over his. 

“I don’t come into your chambers at night.” you lift your head up and laugh at his words. 

“Then who, pray tell, comes into my chambers at night and ruts into me saying he wants me to carry his-

“No more.” he bucks his hips and flips the both of you. “This is the last time.” the look in his eyes says everything but. 

“I’m starting to think that is just an excuse to fuck me as hard as you possibly can.” your eyes are filled with amusement. 

“You’ve never had an issue with it.” he feigns like he’s going to kiss you but goes to your neck to mark you. “Gets you soaked every time.” he smiles when he finds you lacking small clothes. “Coming in here and just serving your cunny to me.” he circles your bud and you arch into him. 

“Only for you,” you pant. “My King.” he smashes his lips to yours. 

You whimper into his mouth when you feel his cock slide through your wetness. He starts to kiss down your neck as he rocks his hips faster. “Tonight,” he whispers in your ear. “I’m going to fill you so thoroughly it’ll still be leaking out of you in a week.” you wrap your arms around his back. 

“But you take me every night.” a breathy chuckle falls from your lips. “You leave me-“ you’re cut off by a gasp as he sheathes himself in you. 

“I leave you what, sweet sister?” he snaps his hips into you harshly before stopping. “How do I leave you in your chambers every night? Hm?” he smiles watching your breasts bounce when he starts a rough pace. 

“Filled and lea-Ah, Jace, yes,” your head falls back to his pillow and he brings his mouth down to your neck as he ruts into you. 

“I leave you filled and what else? I didn’t quite catch that.” he taunts you

“Leaking.” you pant. “Jac-“ you let out a small cry when his fingers rub your bud. 

“Your little cunny is squeezing my cock so tightly. Begging just as badly for my seed as you do.” he chuckles hearing your broken whines.

“Please, please,” you hold to him tighter. 

“What do you want?” he pants, snapping his hips into you. “Tell your King what you want.” 

“Fill me, please Jacaerys, please,” you whine as your pleasure topples over the edge. “I- 

“Shh,” he slams into you when he feels you fluttering around him. “I’ll fill you up nice and good.” he groans, feeling his stomach tighten. “Fucking love your cunny.” his voice shakes. “Your cunny’s gonna carry my heir.” his thrusts are stealing what little breath you have left. 

He listens to you babble incoherently beneath him as he continues to push into you. With one last thrust he fills you as you cling against him. He continues to slowly rock his hips into you as you let out soft whimpers. 

“You’ll be swollen with my child soon.” he rests his weight on top of you and you wrap your arms tightly around him, letting your eyes close. “Even then I’ll still fill you every night. I’ll keep you hidden on this island and no one will be the wiser. I’ll keep filling you until we fill all the chambers in this Keep with heirs.” he feels himself getting worked up again and he lifts his head to look down at you. He chuckles when he sees you sound asleep. 

“Rest,” he slowly pulls out and watches as your face softly scrunches before relaxing again. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

6 months later 

You’re heavy with child and there are only a handful of people on Dragonstone who know. The maester, the midwife, your personal handmaiden, and your guard. Jace has insisted you stay within your chambers and he’ll have everything brought to you but you’ve been getting stir crazy. You can’t take another minute within these stone walls. You open your doors and your guard blocks your entrance. 

“Princess..” he sighs. 

“Then go get him. Please, I can’t do this anymore.” your voice cracks and he nods before shutting the door for you. 

You go lay back on your chaise and lovingly rub your bump. You blink up at the ceiling hoping your tears will dry by the time he comes. After the first ten minutes your tears start anew and by the time an hour passes you’re storming over to the door and ripping it open. 

“He said-

“I don’t care.” you snap, pushing past him. He goes to reach for you and your eyes go wide. “Do not put your hands on me.” you back up and the guard raises his hands alarmed. “I’m just going to walk down the hall.” you shake your head slowly backing up. 

“No. You will walk back into your chambers.” Jace's voice comes from behind you. 

“No, I won’t.” you shake your head and turn to him. “No one on this rock cares if I’m carrying a child. Let me go outside. Let me see my dragon. I just want to go to the beach and put my toes in the sand. Jace,” you look up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, my King please,” you struggle to get down on your knees and he keeps trying to lift you back up. 

“Stand up. The farthest you can travel at this exact moment is to my chambers. Let’s go.” he looks down at you with a set jaw. 

“What have I done?” you hiccup and start to cry. 

“Besides interrupting my meeting, nothing.” he sighs, leading you into his chambers quickly. 

“Why must you hide me away? You never did before.” you sniffle as he helps you sit back in a chair. “Not even at night. I can’t do it. This is the last child I’ll bear if I must be hidden away for months.” you shake your head as you hot tears stream down your face. 

“You know what mother endured and-

“Everyone sees Baela is not with child. Where do you think everyone will think this babe came from? No one has seen me in ages. It’s obvious I’m either sick and within the strangers grasp or more logically, carrying a child. Is the goal to brand me as a whore and throw me to the streets?” you can’t help the hot tears that start to pour down your cheeks once more. 

“No.” he sighs and pulls you into his arms. “Come sit with me.” he pulls you over to the couch. 

“I’m sick of sitting. I’m sick of this stone.” you pace around his chambers. “Jacaerys I can’t.” you shake your head. “I’d soon rather fling myself fro-

“Enough.” he stands and grabs your arms. “My Gods I have good news. I’ve been campaigning the past six months for this.” he shakes his head looking up at the ceiling. “The councilors are well aware of your absence as is the entirety of the people on this rock.” you shift on your feet. “Can you please sit.” he rests his hand on your bump. 

“I won’t.” you shake your head. 

“It would serve you well to listen to your husband.” you glare at him and pull yourself from his arms. 

“If you think I’ll be your second wife you’re out of your fucking mind. I’m worth more. I’ll take your heir and flee.” you shake your head feeling more anger rise than sadness and you welcome the reprieve. “No.” you shake your head and walk to the door. 

You clench your fists as you approach the door and ignore his heavy footsteps. He grabs your arm and you try to yank yourself away but he tightens his grip. He turns you towards him and you try to push him back but he wraps both around you. 

“Stop being stubborn and listen to me.” he grunts as you continue to try and wiggle out of his arms. “Baela is going back to Driftmark.” he breathes out a sigh of relief when you stop squirming. 

“Why?” you pull back and search his eyes. 

“She’s been betrothed to Alyn to secure an alliance and ensure Driftmarks continued loyalty. She learned a great deal growing up there with Rhaenys.” you scrunch your brows. “They’re well aware of the situation you and I are in. Everyone is..” his words soft. 

“Then why have I been kept locked in my chambers?” you step back. “Gods.. Baela probably hates me now. I am your whore and everyone knows that.” he watches your face crumble and he pulls you against him. “Two bastards having a bastard. How fitting.” you sob into his chest. 

“Enough of this.” he tilts your head back so he can look upon your tear stained face. “We’ll marry right now if it pleases you.” he nods. 

“Really?” you sniffle. “And I can walk about the halls?” you start to smile as he nods. “Just me, you, and the maester?” he nods again. “Okay.” he cups your cheeks. 

“Okay.” he presses his lips to yours and leads you out of his chambers. 

He interlaces your fingers and starts to lead you to the door. You have a small smile spread across your features as you lean into him as he opens the door for you. You step into the hall and he’s back at your side and leading you down the stairs. Everything looks the same and different all at once but the sounds of life and others keep driving you forward. 

When you both round the corner everyone stops and smiles at you as Jace continues to escort you past them. You spot Baela and your heart drops as she starts to walk up to you. You freeze when she engulfs you in a hug. You start to cry when she whispers that she loves you and that she’s quite happy to marry Alyn. She also expressed how happy she is that Jace has finally released you from your chambers. 

Baela walks with you both to the maester to be the witness for your small ceremony and you couldn’t be more content. The words you both exchange are hushed and full of adoration. Jace places his lips softly on yours and kneels down to press his lips to your bump. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

2 months after birth

Jacaerys walks into your shared chambers and is greeted by the crackle of wood burning in the hearth. He finds you asleep and the crib empty. Your son must be with your handmaidens so you can find some sleep. He slowly starts to strip off his clothes from the day and begins to crawl into bed with you. You slowly turn over and blink your eyes open. 

“I wanted to be awake when you got back.” you yawn and bury your head into his neck. 

“You are.” he chuckles, smoothing your hair. 

“No like awake awake.” you shake your head. “I wanted to surprise you.” you press your lips against his neck. 

“Surprise me with what?” he tries to pull you on top of him but you’re having none of it. 

“Go to the bathing chambers and I’ll call you out when I’m ready.” you start to rise from the bed and he lets his eyes trail over your body. “Jacaerys.” he smiles before stalking off behind the doors. 

You run over to your wardrobe and pull out the new silk slip you had made and pull it on. You smooth it over your body and make your way to your vanity to tame your unruly hair. Once you’re satisfied you walk over to the bed and move the blankets before settling yourself in the center of the bed and nibbling your lip as you call out for Jace. 

“My Gods.” he groans and he looks at you placed in the center of the bed. “I like this surprise.” he stands at the end of the bed and lets his eyes linger anywhere and everywhere. 

“I’d like to have another.” you watch his eyes snap up to yours. 

“What do you mean?” he rasps. 

“A child.” you slowly start to spread your thighs. “Please.” you whisper. “Please.” you reach out for him. 

“You didn’t think I would be content with just one, did you?” he smirks. “I’ll keep you swollen with my seed until we have a whole floor filled with children.” he chuckles at your flush. “I was just waiting for you to tell me you were ready.” he tugs your leg, pulling you to the end of the bed and your slip up in the process. 

You squeak as your hips reach the end of the bed and he kneels before you. You look down at the same time he licks up your slit. He smiles watching your head fall back to the bed as he begins to feast upon you. His lips encase your bud and your hand flies to his curls. 

“Jace, please,” you whimper, pulling him closer. “Oh Gods,” you gasp, bucking against his face. 

He groans into you and your soft noises and licks at you feverishly. Your legs begin to shake and close around his head and when he slips two fingers into you you let out a small scream. His fingers pump into you quickly and he smiles as your pleasure starts to leak out of you. With a couple more swirls of his tongue you're falling apart on his face. 

“You’re so perfect, my wife.” he slowly stands up from the ground and watches your chest heave. 

He lifts you up the bed and settles between your legs while he smashes his lips to yours. He starts to rock his hips into yours groaning as his cock slips through your wetness before he pulls your slip the rest of the way off. He leans back to line himself up and he watches your face as she slowly pushes in. His forehead rests against yours and he stills his hips. 

“Please move.” you gasp, squeezing around him. 

“I just wanna be close to you right now.” he presses his lips to your neck as he slowly rolls his hips. “I love you so much.” he mumbles before sucking softly at your neck. 

“I love you.” you wrap your arms around him, letting out soft gasps and whines as he starts to move his hips a little faster. 

“Are you sure you’re ready to carry another child?” he lifts up and searches your eyes. “If you want more time-

“Yes, please yes,” you nod your head. “Please Jacaerys. Let me give you more children.” you start to jerk your hips up to his. Your words cause him to start pushing into you with more of a purpose. You wrap your legs around his waist as he continues to suckle at your neck. “Jace,” you gasp when he snaps his hips into you. 

“What do you want?” he smirks against your neck, feeling you squeeze around him. 

“I want- Mm,” he leans up and starts pounding into you. “I.. Jace, please.” you cling against him as he repeatedly snaps his hips.

“You have to tell me what you want.” he brings one of his hands between the both of you to circle your bud. You pulse around him and he presses his forehead to yours. “Your cunny knows what it wants.” he chuckles. “It’s begging to be filled. Squeezing my cock so tightly.” he rasps. 

“Please,” you whine as your pleasure is never ending. “Fill me, Gods Jacaer-“ a shutter rolls through your body. “Please, please,” he groans, watching your eyes roll back. 

“Shh, shh,” he presses you into the mattress. “Gods you feel so fucking good.” he slams into you repeatedly. 

He watches you slide against the mattress as starts to hammer into you. He feels his pleasure quickly approaching as you babble beneath him. His lips mold to yours and he swallows down all of your moans and he starts to fill you. He keeps slowly rocking his hips listening to your soft pleas as you hold him closer. 

“Stay inside.” you breathe out. “Just- yes.” you hold him as he collapses on top of you. “Like this.” your hands travel up to his hair as he cuddles into you. “Thank you.” you let your eyes flutter shut. 

“I’ll fill you again when we wake up.” he mumbles, pressing his lips against your neck. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

i thought abt jace w a breeding kink everyday since i got this anon tbh

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers @eternalwinters @rere10 @sxlsvv @sarahrosw36q @tricksterreaper @somethingsaladsomething

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

Hi, Do you by any chance have any movie!shadow angst head canons while he was an experiment at GUN.

Ah headcanons, haven't done these in a good while.

And we got an angst one this time, huh? *cracks knuckles* Okay, here we go.

Pre-Sonic 3

When the scientists started to realize what Shadow was, they began various and multiple experimentations to test his abilities. Unfortunately, due to Shadow being unfamiliar with anything they were doing and being basically in a "newborn ultimate lifeform" state of mind, he wasn't very fond of that.

Each time someone tried to go near him in the temporary box where they kept him, they'd either end up unconscious, a broken limb, or both.

It got to the point where they had to sedate him heavily with tranquilizers just to get close enough for basic readings on him and his growing high patents of energy.

The tranqs would make him feel terribly ill afterward to where he wasn't able to eat, see anything clearly, stand properly or even sleep soundly for a few days, by the time he was starting to go back to normal, they'd do it all over again.

Seeing an unforseen advantage, the head scientist, Gerald Robotnik, took the opportunity to see if he could try and communicate with the creature.

He didn't get much out of him other than sharp glares and some low growling, but he managed to make some connection when he would stay near the cage long enough to where Shadow was curious and studied him and copied his movements.

After earning his trust, running tests him became a lot easier as long as Gerald was in the same vicinity as Shadow to help keep him grounded. But whenever he wasn’t, it was bad news for them to where they had to sedate him even more.

Best to say, Shadow hated being around the scientists. Each time he was, he was always poked and prodded at. They stuck things all over his body that felt uncomfortable on his fur that made him want to just tear it off him. He was viewed as a "scary extraterrestrial" as he would hear them whisper things around him.

The rocket shoes he had on were placed on him by the scientists as well as a way for him to move around quickly (if they decided to put him on the frontline). Initially, they caused great discomfort since he didn't have anything on his feet prior to that and tried to get them off to no avail since they knocked him out while they placed them on.

He got accustomed to them but wasn't fond of the heavy weight they brought whenever he would move

Gerald had told him that he needed to not lash out at the scientists when they would perform tests on him so they wouldn't have to hurt him again.

"You have to behave for them even when I'm not around. They like behaved children, so that's what you must do."

And that worked for the most part. They moved him from the cage to the glass tube that was located in Gerald's quarters, to which he would spend a short period of time. The last time he was in it before being allowed to walk around freely was when Maria came to the base, who voiced her open in letting him be able to be released from it.

Shadow had some trouble adjusting to being outside of his area, which wasn't for testing his abilities. He would stand in one spot, watching everyone and everything moving around him, not knowing what to do.

I also think that sometime after he met Maria and was able to roam free, he was starting to develop having bad anxiety, which eventually became more harsh as he began to have anxiety attacks, the cause of which also is due to how the scientists had treated him prior.

It got to the point where Maria helped ground him by doing a technique that helped her whenever she felt overwhelmed. She would get down to his level, gently take him in her arms, sway their bodies back and forth, and hum a little melody in his ear while petting him until he calmed down enough.

During the night of the raid amd before Gerald came to get them, they were sitting under their pillow tent and one of the last things he asked Maria was, "How is it that you're never scared of anything? You're always smiling and happy, even when I'm sad and you try to cheer me up?"

"It's not that I'm not scared. It's okay to be scared. But I like to be brave so that other people feel brave too."

"I always feel brave when I'm around you, I guess it works for me too."

"See? It's working, and you didn't even realize it. Grandpa says that people with brave hearts run in our family. Now you have it, too."

"I suppose so..."

Only the last thing he felt wasn't bravery as they shoved him in the tank and started filling it up with a liquid with the same stench he despised each time they would put him under. It was sadness, it was pain, it was guilt. But most of all, there was hatred.

[untimelyambition]

so obsessed with the end of cinderella’s castle when they finally let bryce charles riff her fucking lungs out hatchet town style