#but i need to get it at the beginning. and i am at. the beginning

[neferaskingdom]

Not So Bad After All | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Valentine’s Day sucks, the bathroom line is too long, and Charles just wants to go home. Until a ridiculous scheme, a fake proposal, and the best tiramisu of his life change everything.

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Charles Leclerc did not want to be here.

Valentine’s Day was already insufferable, but being dragged to a bar by his well-meaning (and currently very drunk) friends was making it so much worse. His brothers were off on their respective romantic dates, and instead of sulking in peace at home, he was here—stuck in a crowded bar, dodging heart-shaped balloons and being subjected to overly loud love songs blaring from the speakers.

And now, to top it all off, he was standing in an absurdly long line for the bathroom.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the line refused to move.

“Tell me about it,” a voice said beside him.

Charles turned his head to find a woman standing next to him, arms crossed, scowling at the line ahead. She looked equally unimpressed with the night’s events.

He raised an eyebrow. “Bad night?”

She huffed, tilting her head towards the couple making out aggressively in the corner. “I’ve seen horror movies less disturbing than that.”

Charles snorted, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Agreed.”

They lapsed into silence, both staring ahead at the unmoving line. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. “You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

He exhaled, rubbing his face. “That’s because I’m not.”

She smirked. “Then why are you here?”

Charles sighed, hands in his pockets. “My friends thought I needed ‘cheering up’ because my brothers are both in relationships, and I am not.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Same. Except my best friend didn’t even try to lie about it. She just said, ‘You’re too single, and it’s embarrassing.’” She gestured toward the girl still making out in the corner. “That would be her.”

Charles winced. “Brutal.”

“Right? I told her I’d rather stay home and watch a move or something.”

Charles let out a laugh, genuinely amused. “I think I’d prefer that too.”

As the line inched forward at a snail’s pace, their conversation flowed effortlessly.

"Okay, explain this to me," she said, turning to face him fully. "Why do people think giving someone overpriced flowers that will die in three days is romantic?"

Charles chuckled. "Right? And the price! it's like they double it just because it’s February 14th."

She scoffed. "Exactly! And don't even get me started on the chocolates. You know they just put the same candy in a heart-shaped box and charge extra."

"The worst part is the expectation," Charles added, shaking his head. "Like, if you don’t do something extravagant, suddenly you don’t love your partner enough?"

She snapped her fingers. "Yes! If you need a specific day to prove your love, maybe your relationship isn’t as strong as you think."

Charles smirked. "So, not a fan of grand gestures, then?"

"Oh, I love grand gestures," she admitted, tilting her head. "Just not ones dictated by capitalism."

“So let me get this straight,” she said after a particularly heated rant about heart-shaped balloons. “You got dragged here against your will, your friends abandoned you, and now you’re standing in line for the bathroom ranting at a stranger?”

Charles groaned. “I am beginning to think I have been tricked.”

She shook her head in mock pity. “Tragic.”

He opened his mouth to respond when, to his horror, his stomach let out a loud growl.

She turned to him, grinning. “Oh my god.”

“…I’m hungry,” he admitted, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

She laughed. “You know what? Let’s get out of here. I know a place.”

The place she led him to was a semi-formal restaurant with dim lighting, cozy booths, and the most incredible menu Charles had ever seen. By the time their food arrived, they were already deep into conversation, swapping stories about their worst dates, cringiest romantic gestures, and Valentine’s Day traumas.

Charles took a bite of the cheesecake and immediately let out a sound that could only be described as obscene. “Mon dieu. This is the best thing I have ever eaten.”

His companion grinned. “Oh, you think that’s good? There’s something even better.”

He looked up, intrigued. “Impossible.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “They used to sell the most heavenly tiramisu. It was legendary. But they discontinued it.”

Charles frowned. “Then how do you know it’s better?”

She smirked. "Because I’ve had it before and fun fact it’s on the secret menu now. But it’s a whole ordeal." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was letting him in on a great secret. "The thing is, their tiramisu is legendary—like, hours of prep, delicate layers, the kind of dessert that requires actual effort. It got discontinued because the chef didn’t want to deal with the hassle anymore. But, through my very reliable sources—" she wiggled her eyebrows "—I found out they still serve it. But… only for very, very special occasions."

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

She pulled a simple ring off her finger and slid it across the table. "They only serve it on very special occasions Charles. The chef is a real romantic."

Charles stared at her, unblinking. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head, trying to look serious despite the mischief in her eyes. “Not at all. I’ve tried everything to get a taste again, but my friends refuse to participate in my schemes.”

Charles hesitated, glancing between her and the ring. “You’re telling me I have to propose to you… for tiramisu?”

She nodded solemnly. “For the greatest tiramisu known to man.”

He exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I cannot believe I am considering this.”

She gasped. “Charles. Think of the dessert.”

He groaned dramatically before picking up the ring. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Before she could react, he got down on one knee.

The restaurant quieted.

Charles took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he looked up at her with nothing but warmth in his eyes. "Mon amour," he murmured, voice steady, heartfelt. "We've known each other since we were kids. You were always there—my partner in crime, my best friend. I can't imagine my life without you."

A few people around them sighed dreamily.

She felt a laugh bubble up, but Charles was fully committed, his gaze unwavering. "We've had our ups and downs, but through it all, it's always been you. And it always will be." He lifted the ring, giving her a small, knowing smile. "So what do you say, mon coeur? Marry me, and let’s spend the rest of our lives together."

The restaurant erupted in applause as she let out a shaky laugh, nodding. "Yes," she breathed, eyes locked onto his. "Yes, Charles, of course."

His grin was immediate, radiant, as he slipped the ring onto her finger. She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You know... I think I always knew it was you. Ever since the day you carried me home after I sprained my ankle as a kid."

Charles chuckled, squeezing her hand. "You remember that?"

"Always," she said, voice warm. "And now, I guess I get to spend forever remembering this too."

The applause grew louder, a few cheers echoing through the restaurant as the chef himself emerged, grinning from ear to ear, ready to present them with their well-earned tiramisu.

As soon as they sat back down, she burst into laughter. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

He smirked. “Well, I had to commit.”

The tiramisu arrived, and the moment Charles took his first bite, he slumped back in his seat. “Merde.”

She watched, delighted. “I told you.”

Charles stretched his arms above his head as they stepped out into the cool night air, letting out a dramatic sigh. "I hate you."

She snorted, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. "Wow. Romance is alive and thriving, I see."

"No, seriously," Charles continued, shaking his head. "That tiramisu was too good. Now every other tiramisu I eat will be a disappointment. You’ve ruined me."

She smirked. "That’s the price you pay."

Charles groaned. "I despise you."

She hummed, clearly enjoying his suffering. "Well, if it helps, they have different staff on Mondays."

He glanced at her. "And?"

She grinned. "So, if you want another piece, we could just… go again."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "How do you even know this?"

She took a deep breath, like she was trying very hard to act normal before saying something completely unhinged. "Because I have tried everything to get that tiramisu again. I have studied their staff schedules, noted which days the chef isn’t working, and even considered staging a fake engagement like 15 times, but my friends—" she threw her hands up in frustration "—are all cowards who refuse to propose to me for the sake of dessert."

Charles was already laughing before she even finished. "I cannot believe you have gone to these lengths for tiramisu."

"It’s not just tiramisu, Charles. It’s a masterpiece. A once-in-a-lifetime experience. A divine creation that mere mortals like us barely deserve. And yet, my so-called friends refuse to put their morals aside for the cause." She sighed. "Until tonight. You, sir, are a true ally."

He smirked. "Clearly. And what do allies get?"

She shrugged. "Eternal gratitude? The satisfaction of knowing you’ve done something noble?"

Charles held out his phone. "Your number."

She blinked. "What?"

He wiggled the phone slightly. "So we can go on Monday, obviously."

Her lips parted, eyes scanning his face like she was trying to find the joke. "You actually want to go again?"

Charles shrugged. "I mean… yeah. That tiramisu was worth it. And, you know… you’re fun."

She studied him for a second before snorting. "Unbelievable."

"Believe it, mon amour." He winked.

Still smiling, she took his phone and added her number before handing it back. "Fine. Monday it is."

Charles grinned. "Perfect."

As they walked side by side, their conversation spiraled into absurdity.

"Okay," she said, "how many ways do you think we could disguise ourselves to get another piece?"

"Fake mustaches?" Charles suggested. "Though that might be too suspicious."

"Agreed. What about wigs? I could totally pull off blonde."

"Mmm… questionable. We’d need a full transformation."

She snapped her fingers. "Fake accents! If we pretend to be tourists, they might not recognize us."

Charles gasped. "Genius. We’ll go in, act completely clueless—where should we be from?"

"Not Australia. You could never pull off an Aussie accent."

"Fine. Italian tourists. Very authentic."

She laughed. "You realize this is insane, right?"

Charles smirked, nudging her playfully. "And yet, you’re still planning it with me."

She groaned. "I hate that you have a point."

As their ridiculous tiramisu heist plans continued, Charles found himself thinking that maybe—just maybe—Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all.

[wandixx]

Danny the Young Justice member

“Hey, like, hypothetically, do you think Justice League could pay me if I became hero full time?”

It shaped out to be pretty long and boring stake-out, with rest of Team scattered around but connected with Mindlink, so it seemed like best moment to ask. It wasn’t something Danny wanted to do, but it shaped out to be his only chance to get any future. He cried over it enough times already, so there was even a chance he won’t breakdown trying to discuss it out in the semi-public. He wanted to keep it as calm and rational as he could and hey, if something started to get too emotional, he could say he saw some suspicious movement and fly off to fight someone. Really, it was perfect situation.

“How hypothetical is this question?” Robin asked after a beat of silence. It was quiet and careful, like he was afraid to set him off if he said something wrong or he did it wrong way. It made skin on his back crawl. Danny knew he was a bit more volatile lately, but he really hoped special treatment would stop soon.

“Hypothetical”

“Okay, let’s say we don’t know it’s a lie”

“Unnecessary” Artemis coughed.

“C’mon it kinda was–”

“Can someone just answer my fucking question?”

“I don’t think so. Batman is the one doing most of the funding, and he is really stubborn about school and future. He wants us all to have chance at normal life outside of this hero villain business with regular job and stuff”

That didn’t bode well, but Danny hadn’t got this far by losing hope whenever first obstacle occurred.

“But I could be ready whenever disaster strikes or some villain attacks or really whenever it’s necessary and I wouldn’t need to escape any civilian stuff,” he may have gotten a bit desperate along this little rant, but he just pushed through “It always takes precious minutes and–”

“It doesn’t really seem to be hypothetical anymore,” Wally interrupted and he was lucky to be on different roof, because Danny, he sworn to ancients, would strangle him if redhead was any closer.

He was very adamant about not thinking about how his last ideas of surviving to adulthood started crumbling. He promised himself to not have breakdown in the open.

He wasn’t going to.

It was fine.

He would figure something out. He always did.

“Danny?”

“It’s fine Meg, don’t worry”

“Can we ask what brought this hypothetical on your mind? You’ve always were the most assured that you’ll stop being hero at some point and move on”

Bless Kaldur to always know when to ask best-worst question. Danny wasn’t going to cry, so he wasn’t going to answer.

“We can’t help you if we don’t what’s wrong,” M’gann said softly, like she was just trying to remind him.

Something small hit his lap. A tear. When did it get here?

“It’s fine. It’s just a stupid thought”

“Okay. Tell us when you’re ready”

“Something suspicious is going on, I think it’s what we’re looking for,” Everyone needed Conner on their squad to get conversation back on not emotional track.

As it turned out it was indeed what they were looking for, and soon Danny got to express all of his pent up aggression in only a bit misplaced way.

“That was harsh”

“Shut up, this one doesn’t have pain receptors”

“Phantom has a bad day, huh?”

“You’re about to have worse,” he growled and punched guy until he stopped grinning.

It was quick work after that.

“Danny?”

Only bad side of Mindlink was that he couldn’t act like he was losing connection. It would be useful right now.

“Danny?”

“Not now”

“In the Bioship then. Not a minute later, am I clear?”

“Crystal”

He started calculating a way to get out before. He used to do it all the time, at the beginning. It was easier when Team didn’t know about his human side and they were holding each other at the arms length, but still. He could–

Conner landed right behind him and put hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t restrain, it wasn’t assuring. It was just there.

Here came his plans of escape.

“So–” Artemis started as soon as the door of Ship had closed “– what the fuck is wrong with you lately?”

“We all know it’s not nothing”

“I’m being overdramatic”

“About what?”

Danny just slumped forward and his face in hands.

“Danny”

“I have to retake year. I’m not even half way through highschool and I’m already failing and I- I just can’t do better. It’s not like I don’t have time to study, and I do try sometimes, but just as often I’m just being dumb and messing around, and I knew I failed some other tests, but last one? Last one I was sure I’ve got it, I was trying, I was trying so hard and I still fucked it up and if I can’t make it even when- even when I’m trying my best, then what is the point?”

He took a moment to breathe, to rub tearing eyes. He still wasn’t going to cry.

“I’m already kinda good at this hero thing, so I could just keep it up. I don’t think I’ll make it to the end of high school, so no good job for me, but maybe I could. I could have something, you know. Something useful. Something good. Maybe I can have some life after all”

Someone rubbed his back but he didn’t raise his head to see who.

“I didn’t want to let accident destroy any more of my life than it did, but I don’t think I can”

“Well, impossible sounds right about the task for us. We’ve got you”

Well fuck. That’s about that in not crying department.

[meanbossart]

Based on the latest art/the famous graveyard scene, or at least my version of it. CW: The usual durge-isms. Astarion's sense of humor.

The graveyard is appropriately silent - there isn’t a proverbial soul to be seen as you stroll through the headstones with lazy strides. You’re so often in a rush to get from one place to the next, how novel it is to meander.

You wonder if either of your souls could tick up the counter; Astarion, a corpse-walking, and yourself something else entirely.

His head, battered and bruised as the rest of your bodies scans through the names etched on their respective places of rest, uncharacteristically quiet ever since you left the Inn. You’re worried. It’s been a dreadful day, and now he’s brought you here - you speak. “Are we defacing any graves tonight?”

Astarion humors you with a stiff grin - no, he says, then he changes it to a maybe, and then he asks you to be patient. His eyes land on a simple stone, half-sunken into the dry ground and overtaken by weeds and vines - a small thing forgotten amidst drunkards and urchins in a dark corner of the dead’s park. He sighs, pushes up his sleeves and snaps the foliage away with his own hands, dusts off the shallow writing and rubs the grime off on his knees - standing back a few feet to look over at his handwork. You squint to read his full name off the rock.

“Ancunin?”

 “Astarion Ancunin.” He scoffs. “I haven’t seen this in… Well, in centuries. I was beginning to wonder if I had an em somewhere in there.”

His amusement dies down.

“I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt.

“He must’ve had someone come and smooth out the ground- Cazador, I mean. He was waiting for me here, when I finally surfaced.”

The vampire's eyes have risen from his name. He looks past the rows of gravestones and into the brick walls that surround them, sight glazed over, face drained from feeling. His words, so victorious in choice, just bear a numb uncertainty. He is so tired. “From that day on I was his. Until now.”

You shake your head. “You were never his. Everything he had, he took by force.”

“Maybe. But he did take it. And I can’t get it back.” Astarion shoots you an assertive scowl. “There’s nothing left of the person I was anymore. Just a name on a rock. I need to figure out who I am now - and what I want.”

You struggle to reach out to him. For the thing which he mourns. His words, when they echo within your own, perforated skull, sound to you like a statement of freedom, a relief; you’ve also left behind the person you were, and there is nothing there worth lamenting.

Astarion is different. As vague as his recollection of the past may be, or as favorably as you believe things have turned out for the both of you, eventually - you can’t help but feel like he would still trade it for a do-over. You don’t have it in you to ask if he would be willing to do it even if it meant your absence.

You know the answer.

You try to make your peace with it.

This person that your lover longs for, you didn’t know them, and you didn’t love them. But you do now; and so, you find yourself wanting for nothing.

“What is it that you want right now?”

“You.”

He’s caught in his own lack of hesitation, sullen face brought back to life by a small look of bemusement, of surprise. “I want you. Not just now, I… You were by my side through all of it - the bloodlust as well as the misery. You’ve shown yourself to be patient. And caring.” His words are staggered by chortles. “You are so sweet to me. A shock, frankly, given the most recent discoveries. I often wonder if this was always part of your nature, or just a happy consequence of your… ah”

Astarion’s finger prods uncertain around his own curly head of hair, prompting laughter to rumble up your throat. “Incident.” 

“Perhaps.” You’ve never wondered such things and you never will. “You’re beginning to sound awfully sweet yourself, mister concussion.”

He groans in response, reaching the short distance over to the throbbing bruise on the top of his forehead, next to his temple. It was a close call today, perhaps the closest yet - or you only felt the ever more desperate given what was on the line this time. “Anyway, I should probably fix this.”

You watch as Astarion crouches down in the dirt. With a small dagger he had tucked away in his waistband, he gets to work scratching irregular lines into his neglected headstone.

Astarion Ancunin

His father’s pride, his mother’s starlight, his friend’s joy.

229 NR - 268 NR.

He makes an addition below the numbers.

468 NR.

“Is that the year?”

“Yes.”

He pauses, then proceeds a little less confidently.  “... At least… I think so?”

You both exchange clueless looks before breaking into an ugly cacophony of snorts, Astarion leans with his hand on his memorial and hangs his head down in feigned exasperation, shoulders jerking. You kneel, joining him on top of his undisturbed plot. The vampire shakes his head “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been dead to the world long enough - whatever year it is now, I plan on living it. And I’m not letting anything stand in the way of that.”

He puffs his chest and breathes a lone sight - no subsequent following and no former to speak of. His body sits back onto his shins, hands fall limp on top of his thighs “Not him, not the sun, not some giant brain, and certainly not…

“Come here.”

There was less than a foot between your bodies that the elf now closed. He cups your jaw between his thumb and his pointer-finger, you feel a gentle pressure on your neck as Astarion uses you to leverage himself over - your mouths lock, you feel a scabbed-over cut on his otherwise soft bottom lip, a hard lump that splits and leaks into your gums. You turn,, grab onto him tight - hot palms on the cold nape underneath the collar of his shirt and chest against chest, a sore nose-bridge buried into his gaunt cheek. Your faces break apart and he presses his brow to yours, a passionate kiss turns into a tight embrace. 

You take a long whiff of the crook of his neck “You’ve got me in a kind of way I can’t begin to make sense of.”

Astarion’s hand becomes entangled with the hair at the back of your skull. “I love you too.”

You feel it. The desperation and the future echo of his cracking ribs, the hot, vivid flashes of your digits prying apart bone and reaching into the cavity of his heart - you can’t be close enough to him. You can never step into his skin and he can never leap down your throat. An anxious feeling sinks into your gut as you realise that there is one thing that you still want; even in your waking hours of clarity, even in crystalline sanity, even in moments like these, ones that you hold sacred and wish to shield from depravity.

He murmurs into the side of your face. “Lets have sex. Right here.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to beg?”

The playfulness in his tone is brief. He feels it in your tense shoulders and stiff back - you aren’t teasing him.

You only pull away enough so you can look at him, hands remain latched to his waist. “I’m still afraid of what I might do.”

“I understand.” He doesn’t seem disappointed, only sobered. “Well that puts a slight damper on my plans. No matter.”

“You can help yourself once you’ve tied me up for the night.”

“If I wanted to make love to a rabid mastiff I’d go find a new maniac to lord over me.”

“We could still just… Stay here a while. Together.”

You come off a little pleading. Astarion’s eyes squint when he smiles - “Yes, I… I think I’d like that.”

It’s a little clumsy, the way you sway apart and try to find your footing on the gravel, how your hands slide down each other’s elbows and then lock tightly at the fingers, refusing to let go, new amateur joints; as if men like yourselves who’ve more battles than many do in entire lifetimes couldn’t dream of standing up without the leverage - it’s ridiculous. You’re like little children bumbling to your feet, giggling, trying to catch each other staring as you dangle your locked hands over gravestones and step over rogue bouquets blown by wind.

Everything is fine, everything is well. Your future is certain as is your happily ever after - whatever it may imply. You peruse the cemetery, mocking the dead for the names their parents have given them, their uninspired eulogies and whether or not their dirt happened to smell of piss - you make up stories about the lives they lived and both the horrific or the banal circumstances in which they died. Astarion skips up the stairs to the coffin-maker’s abode, overlooking the scenery - he calls for you to come admire your kingdom, death prince. You laugh, and he laughs, and it all seems so awfully benign.

“That will be king for you soon.”

“Oh, gods - get away from me.”

He knows you aren’t serious. This world has brought you too much joy for you to end it. There hasn’t ever been a moment where you were tempted to do your fathers bidding.

But there’s been moments where you questioned what other choices you had.

Not tonight, however.

Astarion rolls his eyes and takes the hand you reach out to him with. You are yanked towards the paved terrace up the stairs, and you pull him into yourself in a lazy sway by the balustrades. “We will figure something out” You say.

“As always,” Astarion confirms with an emphatic nod of the head, but his gaze is low - he stares at your moving feet. Hand-in-hand and hand-on-hip he’s picked up on what you��re doing; “It’s - left forward, right back, close left, close right, right?”

“That is only if you’re leading.”

“Well then, I guess I’m leading.”

“Be my guest.” 

He places a hand on your waist, you put yours on his deltoid, your boots bump into each other on occasion as you both waltz over uneven stone tiles, first with careful attention until you’ve caught yourselves in a sound-less rhythm. When you raise your eyes you find your partner-in-dance staring on with a rivalling smirk.

“So, you remember how to ballroom dance, yet haven’t got a clue about your own name?”

You ask if that disappoints him, Astarion assures you to the contrary. You both rehearse a dance for an event you will never be going to, and you enjoy every second of it.

[abrthephantomq]

I am a person, you are not.

How many times did Helly play that line over and over in her head? How many times did Helena think those words to herself as she watched Helly run up and kiss Mark S? This line is going to haunt them fucking BOTH and I am here for it.

Now, I don't think Helena thought, fully, that she could replace Helly. She asked for those tapes because she needed to watch Helly's mannerism. She needed to know how to act. What to say. Probably while thinking about how it should be easy, her Innie isn't a person.

The one thing I love about getting to see Helena more in S2 is purely so you can see just how strong of an actress HELENA is. She has to be. She's an Eagan, certain behaviors are expected of her. Certain beliefs are expected of her.

But all of it is slowly, but surely, crumbling before her eyes. Mark S had sex with her because he loved Helly. Irving knew she wasn't Helly from the beginning; her bring cruel confirmed it.

She, Helena, was raised and forged in a cruel environment. With the expectation to not only conform, but to also continue building and protecting that environment. To be part of the cruelty. For it to be the thing that SOLIDIFIED it for Irving is just -

As a System, that fear of wondering if anyone will notice you're not who they think you are. They keep calling you this name and you have to remember to answer to it; it's "your" name, after all. And then that one person - that one, far too observant person notices and -

Well, Helena found herself in a life or death situation, didn't she?

Is she really the person? Maybe she's not... Not if gentle Irving was willing to kill her to get the so called not-a-person back...

Oh god. Oh no. I just realized. Helena thought Mark liked HER. She thought that because Mark liked Helly that meant Mark liked HER cause Helly is her. Helly is part of her. That’s why she called for Mark when Irving was pulling her toward the water. She thought Mark would save her. And now she has to rectify with the fact that Mark didn’t love or even like her. Their whole thing was only because Mark thought she was Helly. Mark doesn’t care about Helena at all. And she’s gotta deal with that in her head now. That’s another person in her life who doesn’t love her. And this time it’s even worse. Because he likes someone who IS HER! It’s her body! It’s her brain! But he still doesn’t love her. She’s still not loved. But another version is loved so much by three whole people they’re willing to sacrifice themselves!!!!! Helena is loved by no one. She even had to almost beg Milchick to save her. No one was coming to save her. Because they don’t love her they don’t even like her. They love Helly.

[dyingswanpavlova]

Happier than ever

Part 1

Pairing: Nam-gyu × Reader × The Salesman

Warnings: Drug Usage, Overdose, Death, Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Suicide, Mentions of Sexual Activities, Mentions of Rape, Domestic Violence, Domestic Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Anger Issues, Depression, Long Backstory, Minors do not interact!

Nam-gyu and you were a couple for the last eight years. But after you decide you had enough of his anger issues, you leave him and try to be happy on your own. Oh, how naïve you are.

Author's note: Okay, everyone.😩 I know you're waiting for the next part of "Your girl" and trust me, I am, too! I'm sorry that I haven't come up with it yet, but I needed to get my mind off of it for a moment, because I don't want to just write anything and publish it like that - the story means too much to me. I can't publish it unless I'm happy with it, but I promise you, I'm working on it. Until then, I started to furiously hit the key board and this happened. Whatever this is, it is Part 1 of it and I'm doing a Part 2, I just don't know when yet. I love you! 🤍 Lana

Loving Nam-gyu wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world.

In fact, it was almost impossible on most days.

But there was a part of you, a thing, a quiet voice – something that needed to be reassured, that felt like maybe you were the problem.

There had been good days, hadn’t there? Your birthday and the way he woke you up with pancakes every year. Of course they turned out horrible and were barely edible. They were raw on the inside and somehow, he still managed to burn them. But he made them for you. The memory still made you smile, despite everything.

Then there was the day you had your big ballet performance. You had spent so many months rehearsing, trying to be perfect. You went all Natalie Portman on that performance. Since the moment you’d been told you got to play Odette, you were fire and flame, spending every waking moment trying to be everything you pictured in your head. It was hard, very hard even. But you had the great hope that, if maybe you did well enough, they would come.

Your family would come and watch. They’d finally show you that they did indeed love you, that you weren’t just a burden or an accident. They would come and they would be proud of you. Your father would set his work phone down, your mother her pills. They would be there. For you.

But of course, they didn’t. You should have known better. It was your own fault, hoping and praying for something that was never going to happen. You should have known.

And still, the moment the curtain lifted and you glanced along the rows and rows of people, you felt disappointed. But you didn’t feel disappointed like normal people would, no. It was you after all. You felt devastated. You felt all of your creativity leave your mind. Your body slowly forgot the choreography. Your eyes glistened with tears. And your life was over.

You had your own issues. He had his anger. You had your world endings.

That was until the door flew open after everyone was already seated, waiting for the show to begin. A few heads turned and your gaze quickly flashed towards the now open door, revealing the face of the mysterious newcomer. He was out of breath and his hair was a mess, his cheeks glowing red and the look in his eyes pleading.

It was Nam-gyu.

You had just had the greatest argument of your life so far, throwing around dishes and screaming your lungs out at each other. Not even twelve hours had passed since then, so you were more than sure that he wouldn’t come. After all, he was the least reliable person you knew, alongside your family. And that fight had been particularly bad. You actually didn’t expect to ever see him again.

But there he was, his appearance disheveled and his eyes pleading with you. Pleading with you to forgive him, pleading with you to dance.

Dance.

You remembered the way you felt. The way your disappointment suddenly turned into something different, something hopeful and warm.

Something good.

He was good.

He was yours.

And you were his.

In that moment, there was nothing else. Everything around you faded into a dark cloud and all you could focus on was him and the way he stood in the middle of the audience, staring up at you. The world was quiet and everything smelled like flowers. The perfection you were striving for was suddenly there and it had nothing to do with your performance.

It was a slow dance, slow and sensual, between your souls.

Until suddenly the music started and your body remembered the movements again.

And you were indeed perfect.

Unfortunately though it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, he was simply complicated. When he wasn’t drugged out of his mind, he was angry. Not at all the time – but easily. All you had to do was say the wrong thing and he’d explode. And you’d explode right back, right into his face.

“I fucking hate you!”

“Shut the fuck up, you dumb slut!”

“Who are you calling a slut?! You son a bitch!”

“Say that again!”

It always ended the same way. You sobbing on the floor, him slamming the door shut and disappearing. That were the good fights.

The bad ones were different. You couldn’t count the times you had been forced to take shelter in the bathroom, quickly locking the door, too afraid to let him even close to you. Of course you knew how to fight back. You didn’t let him get away with slapping you, oh no, you kneed him right in the balls so he’d know better not to fuck with you. He’d normally collapse and the fight would be over. But sometimes, on especially bad days, he got that look on him.

It wasn’t careful or hesitant. No, it was murderous and terrifying. You always knew there was something dangerous about him. That was probably what drew you in at first. But this…It was different. When he got that look, when the drugs clouded his mind like that, you were truly afraid of what he might do. And so you locked yourself in and listened to the way he pounded against the door, ready to break it down. So far, he hadn’t. A part of him was still in there, even when got like that.

But you didn’t want to push your luck.

After eight years of up and down, back and forth and through the gates of Hell, you finally left him for good. At first he probably didn’t believe it. After all, you had pulled the leaving card a million times before. But somehow you always ended up back in his bed, with him fucking your brains out and calling it making up.

But this time, you meant it. It had been a pretty normal Tuesday. You were at work, waiting tables and cleaning up after your mindless customers. It wasn’t the best job in the world, but it paid the bills – albeit, barely.

After your father left and married a woman hardly any older than you and you found your mother on the bathroom floor, cold and stiff, her eyes wide and her chin and hair covered in foam and puke, you decided couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t be that anymore.

You moved in with Nam-gyu. It started off well at first. He was as cute as ever, when he was sober. Sure, you had fights already, but they were mostly trivial. Yelling was involved, throwing furniture around as well, but he never got violent with you so far.

He found a job, as did you and you paid your apartment together. It was tiny of course, but it was enough. You bought groceries and washed laundry. You even had some spare money to buy furniture and decorations. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. You did everything the way you always pictured it.

You had been with Nam-gyu since you turned seventeen. You met back in school and immediately fell in love with him. He had been so sweet. Acting overly confident and arrogant, of course, but it was just a front which you immediately realized. Under all that he was actually rather silly. He made you laugh without even trying. Even he seemed surprised by how good you two matched. So far he’d been going through life, acting like everyone was beneath him. But in reality, he wasn’t popular. He was a bully. He was mean, with a cruel streak. But never to you. No, when someone dared to speak up their mind against you, he was there, ready to break their jaw. You formed a friendship of sort. He was protective and extremely possessive, while you were caring. His family was a bunch of assholes, just like yours was and neither of you had any real friends.

Most of your friends were other dancers and neither of those were really sentimental. Sure, it was enough to go out for a salad sometimes, but you really weren’t one for bulimia and cigarettes. Most of them were, unfortunately.

You loved food. You loved to eat and you appreciated every bite. You’d grown up rather lonely on your own, praying every night for a sibling or a real friend. Someone you could talk to, about real problems. Your ballet friends though? Whenever they asked you how you felt, they didn’t actually want to know. They were just being polite.

Nam-gyu was just as lonely, though he wouldn’t have ever admitted it. He had friends, who were to no one’s surprise, also a bunch of assholes. Some of them were just bullies, others were straight-up rapists.

“What do you mean, you changed your mind? Are you dumb? Shut the fuck up and take it. You agreed to this!”

Nam-gyu wasn’t. It was another thing he wouldn’t have admitted to out loud, but the thought of fucking someone while they were out of it was something he wasn’t after. A thing that really turned him on was to see the pleasure on the other person’s face. The moans, the sighs. He wouldn’t get that if he just made them take it. And so he didn’t. But he tried to keep a straight face, when his friends shared their immoral stories of last weekend. He tried to laugh, when they spoke about the way the girls curled up in self-hatred after they left them there, their cum leaking out of them.

That was until one of the girls ended up killing herself.

She had been super sad and melancholic for as long anyone could remember. She was rather quiet and no-one really spoke to her. She wasn’t weird or anything, just really shy. That was enough to get bullied. She was an obvious virgin and rather closed-off. A good challenge. A great bet.

So, one of his friends placed a bet with the others. Fuck the girl.

“No way that weirdo is letting you anywhere close to her.”

And she didn’t, at first. She didn’t trust anyone around, because people normally made fun of her. But that guy, who went by Nic, was a real good actor. He didn’t walk up to her and just made advances. No, he played shy around her. Sweet. Funny. He managed to tickle a smile out of her. A laugh. And he didn’t just do it once. He did it for days. Weeks. Two months. He played her boyfriend. Her sweet, shy boyfriend. Until her front slowly crumbled and she fell in love with him. Deeply. So much that she actually decided to give Nic her first.

According to Nic it had been nothing out of the ordinary, but Nam-gyu knew it was more than that. He could read the people around him fairly well, and he could also see the way Nic’s pupils dilated, the way his heart skipped a beat, whenever his sweet, little girlfriend was around.

But his friends, his friends, they were constantly at his back.

“Did you finally fuck her?”

“Did you stretch that weird little cunt, huh?”

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for that Wednesday Addams bitch.”

Nic had a reputation to uphold. And so he did what he deemed necessary. He had sex with her and then he dumped her. But not like any normal person would. No, he made fun of her in the worst ways and ended up sending her nudes to anyone who was interested.

The same nudes he had begged her to send him, to trust him, for only his eyes.

And the next day, the gruesome news were heard over speaker.

She was dead. Jumped off her apartment building, right into her death.

Nic had a mental breakdown. No-one else from his group really cared. No-one except for Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu spent the rest of the day in his car, staring down at the steering wheel and trying not to throw up.

You had heard the news of course and you were devastated. You hadn’t known the girl, but you had never been mean to her. You actually remembered a few interactions you had. You knew there had been something going on between her and Nam-gyu’s friend. But naïve, little you had had the hope that it wasn’t a trick. How stupid you had been.

You spent the rest of the day looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Right when you already thought maybe he wasn’t at school at all, you saw his car. He was inside and God, he looked horrible. With red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands, all day. You tried your best to comfort him, but it was futile. He felt guilty. Someone was dead. And maybe, just maybe, if he had intervened in time…

You tried to make him understand that it wasn’t his fault, not entirely. He never spoke to his friends again.

You’d later find out, that was the day he took his first injection. So far all he had been doing were mushrooms and weed, but Hell, who hadn’t?

You spent more and more time together, because he firmly ignored everyone who was so damn fucked in the head. He was trying to be good, he was trying so hard. Life hadn’t been easy on him, not at all, but he still tried.

A month later, you had your first kiss. Another three days later you had sex. It was your first time and he was being surprisingly gentle and considerate. You loved thinking back to it, because you didn’t regret it at all. No matter what else happened between you afterwards, you could never regret giving your virginity to him, because it meant so much to you. And it seemed to mean even more to him.

Two years later, it was safe to say you were made for each other. Even long after being out of school, you were still a couple. He still got these angry outbursts sometimes, but you tried to understand him. He had grown up, feeling unseen and unloved by anyone. As did you. You weren’t angry per say. But you got angry, when he did. You had these desperate mood swing. And whenever something didn’t go your way, you felt like the world was ending. You felt everything intensely.

Love was great. It was all-consuming. You loved him in the same way he did. You adored him. Anger was different. It felt suffocating. Sadness wasn’t sadness, but depression. And despair was enough to nearly kill you.

You tried going to university, but that didn’t work out, because your father left and so you had no chance to pay the tuition. Nam-gyu never even bothered to try, because he knew he would fail anyway, but he tried whatever he could to make your dream work. You wanted to work with animals, heal them, help them, do whatever you could to make someone’s life better. But despite all your – and his – efforts, it didn’t work out. It was simply too much. He was heartbroken when you were forced to leave school, because of your selfish prick of a father. But it was alright.

You’d find another job. You could still make it in life, even without university. Everything was good.

That was, until you couldn’t afford your dance practice any longer.

That was heartbreaking.

One day, you came home after a long day of playing cashier, only to find your mother had stolen all the money you had saved so far. She took it to buy pills or whatever else. You couldn’t even be mad at her, because she lay passed out in the doorway to her room.

You had no money. And all your dreams were dead.

By the time that happened you were far into twenty-one, so you knew that life was cruel and you turned more and more bitter.

Nam-gyu was simply angry, but there was not much he could do. His parents threw him out at nineteen, so he had been paying his own rent since then. He tried speculating with cryptocurrency, but that didn’t work out. He played it down, but you knew he lost quite the amount of his own savings.

A year later your mother died and you finally moved in together. So far you hadn’t been able to leave her on her own, but now that she was gone, you couldn’t stand to live in the same place where she had died. The cemetery of what could have been. Countless dour memories, not a single one good.

You had never had a particularly good relationship, but she was your mother nonetheless. The sight of her dead body and horrified face, it haunted you in your sleep. You spent more than one night, waking up screaming, sweating and clutching the linens. Luckily, Nam-gyu was there to catch you, before you ever managed to fall into the deep pit that was your mind.

He managed to calm you down somehow, every time. He was perfect. The perfect boyfriend.

Until he wasn’t.

You hated when he did drugs, especially so after what had happened to your mother. And so he said he wouldn’t, but it was obviously just to pacify you. You always noticed when he did it nonetheless, you knew the dazed look in his eyes, the paleness of his skin. Whenever he refused a meal, it was obvious to you. Normally, he’d choke down everything you cooked like a starved animal, but there were days when he picked at his food and that was always the first indication.

His short responses, his temper, suddenly so easily flared. It didn’t take long for your first real argument to break out. It was fine, up until the point when you saw his hand twitch. Obviously, you shot him a murderous look, daring him. If he dared to hit you, you’d break his fucking jaw.

And he refrained. For then.

Things went mostly normal, until the next fight. That time he wasn’t so gentle. Things got out of hand and he pushed you against the wall, smashing your head against it in the process. For a moment, you were simply stunned – and even he seemed to be. He stopped before he could cause any greater damage.

Things went between good and bad, it was a constant battle for dominance. One day was good, the next day horrible. You couldn’t even look at him without earning a harsh comment. You’d ignore him firmly for the rest of the day and eventually he’d come crawling back, begging you to let him back inside the bedroom. He didn’t mind the couch, he just missed you. And somehow you always forgave him, far too easily. Sometimes he did change for a while. Surprised you with flowers or his sad attempts at cooking. Every time he messed up a scrambled egg, you couldn’t help but get weak. He was so silly, it was endearing. Yet at the same time, you knew there was something dark within him. Most likely the drugs, but you could never tell for sure.

Maybe this was just who he was.

Things got better and worse again, until one night, he snapped. You had a fight about one of your co-workers, who he considered a threat. You never understood it, because to you it was so obvious that you never wanted anyone else. Despite your problems, you stayed fiercely loyal to him. You loved Nam-gyu. And a part of you still believed that in the end, things would turn out good. Maybe they would, right?

But that night was bad. He got so furious and when he yelled at you, the walls seemed to shake. You were normally so eager to fight back, so strong, but that day something was different. You were on your period and just a few hours earlier, you had met a dance friend of yours. She told you, she was sure that, if you had stayed, you’d be famous by now. But she wasn’t kind about it. She was subtly looking down at you, shaming you for the way your life had turned out. It made a tight knot form in your stomach and you felt your resolve slowly crumble. All you wanted was to cry, but even that didn’t work, because you came home to a furious Nam-gyu.

Your shoulders slumped and you refused to look at him, which only ever made him angrier.

You didn’t see the slap coming, but once it happened, you couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t forget the anger and the disappointment that welled up in you. When you looked up at him, you expected the tiniest bit of regret or guilt, but there was nothing. He was too deep in his bubble of anger and substance, to see clearly. He got more and more furious and you knew; if you didn’t hide then, he’d do something worse. It was the first night you hid yourself away in the bathroom, one of many to follow. You always told yourself it were the drugs. He was so sweet when he was sober, so gentle and loving. You kept telling yourself, things would be good one day. They would turn out well. With time and patience.

Until you snapped.

You were at work, staring off into the distance. You had been out of it all day, because you spent the previous night locked in the bathroom, until he finally passed out around four in the morning. You snuck out and made your way to your workplace, where you opened more than three hours early. You had nowhere else to go. No family, no friends, no one. Only you and your pain. All day you spent trying to cover the dark marks on your wrists, but no one seemed to care anyway. People went about their own lives and problems and you were just their co-worker, their waitress.

You stood silently, watching an elderly couple whose order you had just taken. They were so sweet, like they came right out of a movie. He held the door open for her and pulled her chair back. He caressed her cheek and she never flinched when he reached out his hand for her. They smiled at each other with such a tenderness, it brought tears to your eyes. That was the exact moment. That was the moment you realized you didn’t want to continue on living like this.

You wanted more. You deserved more.

You made your way back and gathered most of your things while he was still at work. Of course it wasn’t the most intelligent approach, but it was all you could do. You knew, the moment you sat down and tried to explain to him that you were going to leave him, he’d find a way to convince you to stay. It had been eight years, after all. Eight years on and off, eight years up and down. Drugs, violence, lies – at least he never cheated on you.

You’d keep that in tender memory of him. As well as the countless times he had comforted and fought for you. All the times he made you laugh, all the times he made you feel loved. The greatest sex you would ever have, no doubt.

But you still packed your things and left like a ghost. After eight years.

He tried to contact you of course, the moment he came home. But you took your paycheck and went to a motel. Whenever he tried to find you at work, you hid in the kitchen. Your co-workers tried to calm him down, to tell him that you didn’t work there any longer, but he saw through the lie. He got loud and furious, which you could kind of understand. You stayed in the kitchen, crying to yourself and feeling incredibly guilty, but you didn’t ever come out.

He kept coming, but it got less and less frequent. From what your co-workers told you, he seemed less and less like himself. The thought broke your heart and nearly made you go back.

You were constantly in your head, making more and more mistakes at work, until your boss’s patience finally snapped. When you messed up the third customers giant bill, he fired you. You instantly panicked, because you were sure, now you had to go back.

You even drove around in your car, trying to get a glimpse of him in the apartment. But to your horror, you didn’t see Nam-gyu in the window. It were other people, some couple actually. And when you tried to call him, the number wasn’t available. Suddenly, he was a ghost and you were knee deep in horse shit.

It didn’t take long for your money to go and so you ended up panicking. You had to leave the motel soon and if you didn’t get a job – you’d end up homeless. Which was as good as dead.

A few days later, after you realized that you seemed to have no special talents and that no one really cared to hire you, you sat at the metro station. You had only one option left or so you thought. Le girls girls girls. You were a dancer. You were graceful. You were too good for this.

But it was all you could do. After all, the girls didn’t have to indulge in any immoral transactions. They were just dancing, right? Fine, in light clothing, but still dancing. You could do that.

You were deep in thought, your eyes closed and your head leaned against the wall behind you, when you heard someone’s voice.

“Care for a game of Ddakji?”

This was when your life took a dark turn.

You eyed the handsome stranger with suspicion. It was super odd. A man going down the path of middle age, slicked-back hair, wearing a suit and a briefcase on him.

And he was asking you to play a game with him?

You frowned and glanced around.

“I don’t know what you want, but you won’t get it from me.”

He smirked and tilted his head to the side innocently.

“I don’t want anything. Just a little game. That’s all. You got something to win here. I got money.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m not a fucking hooker.”

He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And I told you, all I want is to play a game. Are you scared?”

That made you bristle. You knew the game and you fucking hated it. You were fairly good at playing at, but you didn’t care for this idiot’s audacity. You were about to snap at him again, when you caught sight of the money. Your eyes widened and you sank back against the wall.

“I don’t have any money.” You murmured back.

“Don’t worry. You can pay with your body.”

Your head shot up and you were ready to lunge at him, but he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I have no intention of fucking you.” He said calmly. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you scared?”

You crossed your arms and got up, giving him a dirty look.

“Get to it, son of a bitch.”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly. You had trouble adjusting your sight to the unnatural, neon light. The smell was odd, somewhat disinfectant. Something was really wrong.

You slowly stretched and turned your head, only to see you weren’t alone. That was enough to nearly make you shriek. You sat up quickly enough to get dizzy. Next to your own bunk was a woman who stared at you through her cat-eyes. She smirked devilishly as she lay on her side.

“Your fate is sealed. There’s no way you can dance your way out of this.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart raced in your chest. This had to be some freakish co-incidence. You took your gaze off her, only to realize you weren’t alone. Countless people surrounded you, some of them awake, others still asleep. They all wore the same green tracksuit, just as you did.

You took a shaky breath and carefully swung your legs over the bed, heading for the ladder.

What, in God’s name, was this? And why did you agree to it?

You only remembered how ashamed you felt and how good the prospect sounded of not having to dance half-naked for strange men.

But was this really better?

You glanced around in the hope of…Of what? The situation was far too fucked up.

The fact that they got you here unconsciously, getting you dressed…

You wanted to throw up. You stumbled through the great hall, hoping to get some answers to your questions, but that hope quickly got crushed.

These were the real strange men. Dressed in pink suits, wearing masks which covered all of their faces and even their voices weren’t their own. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a fun game, you suddenly realized.

That Ddakji playing motherfucker had deceived you.

You lost the first round, which resulted in him slapping you. And that slap, which hadn’t really been a gentle one, awakened some kind of beast in you. You didn’t know what it was, maybe the memory of getting slapped and hunted down your own apartment on a regular basis. Whatever it was, you didn’t lose another round. He gave you money and money and money. But you didn’t want his fucking money. You wanted revenge.

You kept winning, because nothing else was possible. And by the end of the game, he smiled at you while he handed you the damned card.

But right before he turned crawled back into the pit of Hell where he had come from, you called out to him.

“Hey, motherfucker.”

He cocked a brow and regarded you with amusement. “Are you still mad about that tiny, little hit? Come on, you took it like a champ.”

“Then you should, too.”  You slapped him with an intensity, you didn’t think you’d ever possess.

He looked at you like a statue, obviously ready to lunge at and murder you. But he hid his murderous intent behind a well-rehearsed smile.

“That one was free.” He said calmly. “And if I ever do see you again, I want a return match.”

He left and you were left with the card.

And there you were now. This wasn’t some childish game of Ddakji.

No one showed their face. You knew what that meant. Something was wrong – and you were in trouble.

You were about to leave the hall and take part in the first game, following after the others. You wouldn’t even have noticed, had you not bumped into him full-force.

When you pulled back your head, ready to apologize, you froze.

There he was. Your Nam-gyu. Staring back at you with wide eyes, behind them a mixture of something akin to surprise and fury.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

He rushed forward and grabbed your by the shoulders, backing you up against the wall. Your eyes widened and you tried to push him back, but he was driven by something far stronger than both of you.

“Nam-gyu?” You breathed out.

He frowned deeply and stared at you incredulously.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I didn’t-“

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you.” He growled. “Where were you? What’s going on with you? Are you fucking-“

“Is there a problem here?” At first, you didn’t see the guy behind him with his ridiculous hairstyle and pouty lips. Immediately, you hated the sight of him.

“Fuck, she’s my-“

The purple-haired guy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Whatever, man. We should get going, huh? We’ll be late for the game.”

He eyed you in an odd way, but you pushed it down and used the moment to free yourself from Nam-gyu’s grip and run out, rushing after the others and hiding in the crowd. He attempted to follow you and even called out to you, but you were already gone.

Fuck, you thought.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader valveplug, minors don't interact!

based on this delicious ask about orion overloading from inhaling your pheromones and some tags provided by @tom-foolery-incorporated <3

word count: 800

Holding Orion’s helm on both sides, you pull him toward you, feeling no resistance from the startled mech. His faceplate lands against your chest, and you immediately envelop him in warmth, letting him sink into the softness of your human body. The familiar shape of your torso and the rhythmic symphony of your heartbeat give him a sense of comfort and belonging, as if, after a long, exhausting day, he has finally found his way home. Orion lifts his optics to you and smiles in gratitude, though you cannot see the expression.

“I missed you,” you murmur tenderly, pressing a kiss to the top of his helm.

“I am glad that our feelings…” he begins, but his words are abruptly cut off by the sudden, unfamiliar scent flooding his olfactory sensors.

It is sweet, unmistakably yours, yet tainted with something unknown — something he cannot name. Has no time to analyze it before the scent overwhelms him, urging to flee, to pull away before it does irreversible damage to his processor. Escaping should not be a challenge; after all, you are not restraining him, granting him full freedom to move. But the problem is that he hesitates to run.

One breath. Then another. And another. Each inhale draws the scent deeper, seeping into his very core, coating his spark, his tank, until it finally reaches the most sensitive parts of his frame, teasing them mercilessly. It creeps behind his interface panel, wrapping around his spike and valve, luring them into a dance with the desire that consumes him in an instant. Just moments ago, all he had wanted was to hold you close, whispering sweet words in your ear, but now — now, the image of sliding his spike into your tight, burning-hot folds is the only thought left in his processor. The only thing he wants to think about. The only thing he can.

Orion takes another involuntary breath, stress-induced from the sudden onslaught of overwhelming need, and it seals his fate.

“[Name]!” he cries out, voice breaking. His concealed spike spasms, and from its tip, thick strands of pink transfluid spill out, splattering against his panel before slowly dripping downward, seeping into the seams, finding their way out. Some rivulets trail down his thighs, while others pool onto the floor beneath him.

“Orion, did you just come?” you ask bluntly. Watching the way his back arches, his optics roll upward, and listening to the symphony of his stifled moans, you are certain of the answer. You should be surprised — after all, you had barely given him any real stimulation to get him to overload — but you know your partner well enough to have learned just how little he needs to unravel. Still, the meaner part of you, the one that always surfaces when Orion is deliciously pathetic, wants to see undeniable evidence of his overload.

“Move your head. I want to see.”

“Ah!” Orion whimpers. “N-No, do not look,” he pleads, suddenly ashamed of the intensity of his own desperation.

His embarrassment does not last long, though, because Orion does not want to pull away. He does not want to lose this intoxicating sense of helplessness, this loss of control that breathing in your scent grants him. He wants to stay right here, drunk on your sweetness.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now you’re getting shy? Please, I’ve seen you worse.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, barely processing your words. He inhales again, this time intentionally, and just like before, your scent floods his body. His still-hard, aching spike throbs, pleading for another overload, and his valve clenches around nothing, echoing the demand. He has no choice but to take in more of your scent, to drown himself in it. He presses himself against you harder, as if trying to meld into your body, rubbing his faceplate against your chest in a desperate chase for another untouched, hands-free climax.

Forgetting his own immense strength, he unwittingly forces you several steps backward, making you struggle to keep your balance.

“Hey!” you yelp, giving him a light, scolding pat on the helm. “I almost fell!”

That, finally, seems to snap him out of it — at least for a moment. Orion lifts his optics to meet yours, guilt flickering in his gaze. “A-apologies,” he murmurs, but his focus does not last long. He immediately buries his faceplate back against you, sensitive olfactory sensors dragging over your torso, trying to provoke another overload.

“Ah! [Name], please, help me!” he whines, his voice raw with need. He has to be inside you. Needs to ground himself, to find something solid to cling to, or else he fears he will completely lose his mind.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “As you wish, love.” and Orion hurriedly retracts his transfluid-slick interface panel.

[coffeeprincessstuff]

Man, am I the Greatest?

Gojo stood, leaning against the table, arms folded as the conversation raged around him. His eyes were distant, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. He didn’t even try to pretend anymore.

“We’ll use his body after his death,” someone said, matter-of-factly, as if they weren’t talking about a person who had given everything for them. “His abilities, his power—can help us defeat Sukuna.”

Gojo’s gaze flickered to you for a moment. You were standing in the corner, eyes wide with disbelief.

“No!!” you said, stepping forward. The room went still and silent. “I will not let this happen.”

Gojo didn’t say anything, but his lips twitched, like he was preparing for the inevitable. “It’s fine,” he said, voice too calm, too tired. “I agreed to it.”

“You agreed to it?” you asked, stepping closer, your voice trembling with anger. “You agreed to be used like this? Like you’re some tool they can just… use to their convenience?”

“They’re doing what’s necessary,” Gojo said, shrugging, the indifference masking the hurt. “It’s not like I’m going to need my body once I’m gone. It’s all just—power. They can utilise my powers.”

“No,” you snapped, taking a step forward, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You’re not just your power. You’re you. You are more than this. You fucking matter to me. You deserve more than this.”

For a moment, Gojo looked at you, his mask cracking just slightly. His usual bravado slipped for a second, and you saw the vulnerability beneath it. But he quickly masked it again, his voice quieter this time. “Well I don’t really care what happens to my body after death.”

“No,” you said firmly, voice shaking with emotion. “You don’t get to let them decide that for you.”

Gojo sighed, shaking his head, stepping away from you. “Well to be honest, my whole life was decided from the beginning. Who am I to question that?”

You grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward you. “I care for you,” you whispered, eyes burning with tears. “I love you. And I’m not going to let them turn you into a tool after you’re gone. I just won’t let them.”

Gojo stood still, his chest tight. For once, he didn’t try to smile, didn’t brush you off.

“…I know,” he whispered, voice raw.

“Toru, I love you and I married you because you’re Satoru Gojo. Not because you’re the strongest. If anything bad ever happens to you, I will make sure that you get the peace that this world didn’t let you have.” you said, your voice firm.

For the first time in a long while, Gojo smiled. A genuine soft smile. He wiped away the tears pouring down your cheeks with his thumb and said, “I love you too. Nothing bad will happen to me. I will win, my sweets. Now will you stop overthinking?”

[ahermitinverted]

I am tired of liberals finding this post and yelling at me for getting Trump elected. I will attempt to put my thoughts together concisely.

First point: there is some mythmaking that Kamala did everything she could to win and the American public failed her and the Democrats. This is an inaccurate recasting of history. From the very beginning, Harris's internal polling showed that she was losing this election. You can come up with whatever excuses you want for why that is, but the point stands that she had a losing strategy that she knowingly committed to.

This USA Today article references the Pod Save America Podcast where Kamala's staff talks about this:

Second point: there is mythmaking that she simply had no winning strategy that she could find other than courting Republicans, because she was already too far left to get elected. This is inaccurate and we can see what voters wanted to vote for. I'm not going to go over every example, but I will point to a representative one. I don't think it's controversial to say that a major reason that Kamala lost Michigan is because of her hardline stance on supporting Israel's genocide of the Palestinians. Her strategy was to send Bill Clinton to yell at them to fall in line. Yet those voters didn't abandon Democrats for the Right because we still saw them vote for Rashida Talib. If Democrats wanted more people to vote for them, they could have met the voting base on the matters that they were asking for.

Here's an interesting article from some indie progressive new outlet that goes over some more progressive wins that got the votes that Kamala failed to find:

Third and most irritatingly, people are still mythologizing that third party voters voting for Jill Stein or whoever should have fallen in line and just voted for Democrats to stop Trump. I will acknowledge that it is absurd to demand that random people behave more Machiavellian than the literal politicians to mitigate harm, but that's a conversation for another time. We need to remember that Kamala didn't lose narrowly; she lost everything. She lost every relevant battleground state, and these losses were not due to third party voters.

Michigan: Lost by 80,103 votes. Jill Stein only got 44,607. Even if you give her Cornel West's votes, that's only another 6,664.

Wisconsin: Lost by 29.397 votes. Jill Stein and Cornel West only "stole" 15,028.

Nevada: Lost by 46,008 votes. No one voted Stein or West, but "None of the above" only got 19,625.

Arizona: Lost by 187,382 votes. Stein got 18,319.

Georgia: Lost by 115,100 votes. Stein found 18,229.

Pennsylvania: Lost by 120,266 votes. Stein got 24,538.

These are all states that Biden was able to win in 2020. I need people to understand that Kamala lost this election and it wasn't even close. The Green Party didn't steal it from her. Non-Voting Progressives didn't fail her. She lost so badly that they can't even convincingly run the normal "progressives abandoned us" playbook. They abandoned their own base and traded it for a handful of Liz Cheneys.

My issue with Liberal Electoralism is a desperate belief in the power of the individual voter. I get the impulse to think 'what could WE have done differently,' but ultimately it's not on 'us.' Democrats did not want to win this election, so it is silly to blame the people who pointed out the reasons they were going to lose as it happens.

So yeah I stand by my position. Go donate burritos to unhoused folks. It will do more good than yelling at people for not voting for Kamala. Mostly because the people that you're yelling at probably did still vote 'strategically' for Kamala and still saw her eat shit. Democrats aren't going to save you.

In conclusion vote if you want to. I don't care. But remember that the situation we are in was chosen by the power structures and not by the people who are criticizing them.

[etherealrin]

Hey! Love your works, it's really nice to read them and I just love your style💖, may I request an isagi x reader but the reader is kaiser's little sibling? It sounds fun ☺️

⋆｡˚꩜ a comprehensive tutorial on how to piss off michael kaiser in his penthouse; by yoichi isagi.

yoichi isagi just wants to hang out with you...but your brother is making it quite uncomfortable

warnings: slight violent descriptions (as a joke), michael kaiser gives you no privacy, one mention of google translated german // wc: 957

note: i was giggling the entire time writing this LMAOO imo such a funny dynamic, the rivalry goes crazy.

your bubbly laughs that echo through the penthouse allow isagi to relax, just a little bit. the environment is new to him, and he’s afraid that the smallest slip-up will result in his head being chopped off by one of the rather large, menacing butcher knives lined against the marble kitchen walls.

but what’s even more threatening is the way kaiser is glaring at him, blue gaze more piercing than any dagger.

“micha, you’re making yoi uncomfortable,” you begin, shooting the blonde haired man your own look of annoyance. you turn your attention away from the mixing bowl in front of you to interlace your fingers with yoichi’s, trying to offer him some comfort. isagi wonders if theres nervous sweat on them.

“he’s in my penthouse, with my sibling? am i meant to leave him unattended, to let this donkey roam around with free will?” kaiser huffs, arms crossing.

yikes, was he in a mood today.

“you’re calling my boyfriend a donkey?” yeah, you were ready to throw hands right there.

isagi had practically jumped for joy when you’d invited him over to bake cookies. he somehow managed to forget that you were rival’s little sibling, and that your house was technically also michael’s—of course he would own a penthouse with a city view. michael was an oddly protective elder brother, or maybe his rivalry with yoichi just ran that deeply; was it not enough for isagi to steal the soccer ball on court? did he have to steal michael’s bloodline too?

“go, um, read a psychology book or something,” you say, wanting to get your brother off the scene. “hang out with ness! i’m sure he’d love to!”

yoichi nods his head hurriedly in agreement.

“you think you two are getting rid of me that easily? that’s-“ your brother is cut off mid-scoff, his phone ringing loudly and persistently. you snicker, knowing that you were about to win.

“was zum teufel,” michael spits, picking up the line.

“no, ness, i’m busy…what? you seriously can’t drive yourself? can’t i…uh….i guess you’re right,” he seems to be arguing with ness, going back and forth.

“you two lucky idiots are getting your wish,” michael snaps as he hangs up, hurrying out the door. before it closes, a warning: “isagi, if you try anything, i’ll screw you over before you can blink twice.”

“yeah yeah, shitty rose.” yoichi’s ego gets the best of him. great, now he’d been rude to your brother in front of you!

but you don’t seem to mind, maybe you didn’t care, humming softly as you add chocolate chips to the mix.

"you need to move out," yoichi doesn't think he can visit you if this is how your brother was going to be.

“hmmm, could be worse. what if we made s’mores cookies?” you reply excitedly.

“the ones with marshmallows?”

“yep! i think i have them somewhere,” you pull him into your startling large pantry. the size is almost that of a grocery aisle, and it’s stocked with an insane amount of protein powder—likely your brother’s doing—but you find the small package of the fluffy white sweets tucked away in a corner.

except, you can’t quite get to it, the nook being far above your head.

“let me,” yoichi says, reaching up. he has to be on the tips of his toes, curse michael kaiser for being so damn tall!

as yoichi fumbles above you for a bit, he doesn’t notice the odd position he’s forced you into, your back flush against the shelves. you’re not that much shorter than him, but he’s gripping onto your shoulder for support, and the proximity makes you flustered. he smells good, crisp and clean, a hint of citrus in the mix.

with a small flop, the bag finally comes crashing down, along with yoichi’s balance. he lets out a startled yelp, hurriedly latching onto your other shoulder.

oh.

you blink, fazed by his deep aquamarine eyes, and the way that your noses are practically touching. his breath is ticklish, irregular from the earlier struggle, and a cherry red blush painted across his entire face.

you’re both too scared to move, stuck in the haze, should you move? closer? maybe further?

it’s like that for an agonizingly long second—still—until yoichi chooses for the both of you, his fingertips make contact with your jaw and they’re warm, hot like the kiss he suddenly pulls you into.

you’re far too eager to reciprocate, hands finding their way into his soft dark locks. the cookie batter stays neglected on the sleek white countertop, both of you distracted and lost in another world.

when your lungs threaten to implode from lack of air, that’s when you pull away, gasping softly.

your boyfriend’s face is ten times redder now.

“sorry, i- i should’ve asked first,” yoichi stammers, flustered and unable to meet your eyes.

“it’s fine, i like you when you’re confident, yoi,” you smile, twisting a strand of his hair.

you fail to notice how the front door had opened, and you’re greeted with michael kaiser standing in the hallway, gawking at the two of you.

“why’s he in my pantry?” michael’s pissed now. “of all damn places, could you two not make out in the middle of my protein powder? seriously, that is gross. i won’t be able to drink that shit now!”

“oops,” you giggle. “you’re just upset that you don’t have someone.” your brother lets out an indignant huff, ready to start hell as he marches closer. you’re still snickering.

unfortunately, yoichi cannot find any of this nearly as funny as you do—no, he’s already thinking about the hell your brother’s going to give him during the game tomorrow, convinced that both of the kaisers would be the death of him.

a/n: michael says "what the hell" in german, i just wanted to make it diverse idk. like genuinely isagi is lucky if he makes it through the week dating a kaiser sibling...kaiser is not giving his blessing for the wedding LMFAO

masterlist!

[maretinelli]

HAMILTON INTERVIEW

DadLewis Hamilton X Mom!fem!reader

Summary: When Marie has a school activity where she needs to interview one of the parents about his profession, Pietra gets very excited and wants to do the same.

Words: 2.3K+

Warnings: Mentions of Lewis's career, Pietra jokes, cute daughters, funny couple teasing.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any mistakes that may be in the story. This story is part of a miniseries, Universe of A NON-SEPARATION, but can easily be read as a standalone. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

The Hamiltons' house was in a peaceful late afternoon. The sun was already beginning to set, bathing the living room in a soft golden light. From upstairs, the sound of doors opening and closing indicated that Marie and Pietra were in their rooms, changing clothes and organizing their backpacks after the day of school.

On the couch, Y/n sighed as she settled down next to her husband. Lewis smiled sideways and, without hesitation, pulled her into a hug, nestling her against his chest.

"How was your day?" He asked, running his fingers lightly down her arm.

"Tiring. I had to make several appointments at the office and a team from a hospital contacted me, wanting to hire me to help with a major surgery next month." Y/n admitted, closing her eyes for a second, enjoying the contact. "I'll explain better later... Picking up the girls from school was the easiest part. And yours?"

Lewis laughed. "I spent all day relaxing with Roscoe on the couch."

Y/n opened her eyes and stared at him, feigning indignation.

"How envious!"

The pilot laughed again, but soon slid his hand to his wife's face, caressing her cheek before pulling her in for a kiss. Their lips met in a soft, familiar touch, which gradually deepened. It was a calm kiss, the kind that didn't need to be rushed, just the moment. Lewis slid his fingers down the back of Y/n's neck, feeling the heat of her skin against his.

The moment, however, was interrupted by a familiar sound. Near the stairs, Marie cleared her throat, drawing her parents' attention.

The two walked away slowly and exchanged a knowing look before turning to Marie, who was watching them with a notebook and pencil case in her hands.

"Am I interrupting something?" She asked amusedly, arching an eyebrow and holding back a smile.

Lewis smiled, settling back into the couch.

"It depends... do you want to talk about something really serious or can we continue?"

"LEWIS!" Y/n lightly slapped his arm, laughing, before looking at her daughter. "What's wrong, honey?"

Marie smiled and ignored her father's joke, getting straight to the point.

"I have to do a paper on professions. I have to interview one of you."

Immediately, Lewis and Y/n exchanged a glance, as if they were competing for a valuable prize.

"Well, I think we all know which profession is more interesting here..." Lewis said, crossing his arms with a smug smile.

"That's right..." Y/n agreed. "The medical one!!"

Marie laughed. "Actually... I chose Dad's profession."

"AHA!" Lewis cheered, looking at Y/n like he had just won a race. "Victory for me!"

Y/n rolled her eyes, laughing. "How unfair. I lost to Formula 1."

"Accept defeat with grace, doctor." He teased, smiling.

Y/n returned the smile before gently pushing him onto the couch.

Marie shook her head in amusement before sitting down on the floor and spreading her supplies out on the coffee table in the living room. Lewis soon followed suit, crossing his legs and settling himself in front of his daughter.

At that moment, Pietra came down the stairs, stopping when she saw the two of them sitting across from each other.

"Why are you like this? Are you going to arm wrestle?"

There was general laughter.

Pietra then crossed the room and threw herself next to her mother on the sofa, still looking suspiciously at the scene.

"Your sister has a school project to do with Daddy." Y/n explained, running her fingers through her daughter's curls.

"I want to do that too!"

Lewis turned to her with a warm smile.

"So grab some paper and pencil, little journalist. I'll answer any questions you want."

The youngest smiled excitedly and jumped off the couch, running up the stairs.

"BE CAREFUL, PIETRA!" Y/n warned, already anticipating her daughter's haste.

Meanwhile, Marie looked at her father. "The teacher gave us some questions we can use, but I made up some extra ones.

"I like the initiative." Lewis said, nodding. "Send the first one."

Marie looked at her notes and read aloud: "Why did you choose to be a Formula 1 driver?"

Lewis smiled, remembering the beginning of his career.

"Oh, that's an easy one. I've always loved running. Ever since I was little, I knew I wanted to do it for the rest of my life. So I dedicated myself, trained hard, and through a lot of hard work, I got to where I am today."

Marie took notes in her notebook as Pietra returned from upstairs, carrying a piece of paper and several colored pencils. She sat next to her sister and watched curiously as Marie formulated the next question.

Y/n, sitting on the couch, rested her elbows on her thighs and smiled. She knew her Hamiltons like the back of her hand. Marie would ask detailed questions and take notes seriously, while Pietra, in a few seconds, would say something funny and unexpected.

It was just a matter of time.

"What was the most difficult moment in your career?"

Lewis raised his eyebrows, surprised by the complexity of the question. He was silent for a few seconds, thinking.

"Hm... I think one of the hardest moments was when I narrowly lost a championship. We work all year for this, and when it doesn't happen, it's frustrating. But I learned that it's part of the sport, and we always have to move forward."

Marie nodded, writing everything down carefully.

Beside her, Pietra shifted excitedly on the cushion where she was sitting and looked at her father.

"Now it's my turn!"

Lewis smiled, already expecting something unexpected from the youngest.

Pietra took her paper and began to draw with colored pencils. As she traced something on the paper, she asked: "If there was a race against a dinosaur, who would win?"

There was general laughter. Marie rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile as she finished writing down her father's previous answer.

"Good question!" Lewis said, pretending to actually consider the question. "I guess it depends on the dinosaur. If it's a velociraptor, maybe it would be a handful, but if it's a T-Rex, I'll win hands down!"

Pietra nodded in agreement, as if she were an expert on the subject, as she continued her drawing.

On the couch, Y/n rested her face in her hands and laughed softly at the scene. Lewis looked away from her and smiled, his eyes shining with love. He loved seeing his wife having fun with the little things in the family. It was in these moments, in the midst of his daughters' fun chaos, that he realized how much he loved that life with them.

Marie finished writing and then turned to her father. "Daddy, how do you spell 'frustrating'?"

"Come here and I'll show you, honey," Lewis said, leaning over to read his daughter's notebook.

Marie brought the notebook closer and he pointed out the letters slowly, spelling them out for her.

“Ah, I see.” She smiled. “Thank you.” Once she had finished writing, Marie looked back at her list of questions. “Okay, next… How did you feel in your first Formula 1 race?”

Lewis gave a nostalgic smile.

"Oh, I was so nervous. It was one of the most exciting days of my life, and I just wanted to do my best. That's when I realized I was exactly where I always wanted to be."

Marie wrote everything down while Pietra continued drawing. The silence in the room lasted a few seconds until Marie realized something.

She lightly nudged her sister's arm and muttered softly, "P, your turn..."

Pietra raised her head, blinking a few times.

"Oh! It's true!"

She placed a finger on her chin and made a thoughtful expression before saying, "Daddy... have you ever slept inside the racing car?"

Lewis blinked, surprised by the question.

Y/n brought her hand to her mouth to hold back a laugh, while Marie shook her head, already used to her sister's unusual questions.

"Well..." Lewis crossed his arms, pretending to be thinking. "Not yet, but considering how much I travel, maybe one day I'll try!"

Pietra giggled and went back to drawing, satisfied with the answer. Marie just sighed, returning to her notes.

"Dad... what's it like for you to run and have a family at the same time?"

The question took Lewis by surprise for a moment. He looked away to Y/n, who was on the couch, watching everything with a calm smile. They exchanged a look full of affection before Lewis answered.

"At first, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to balance it all," he admitted, looking back at Marie. "But having you guys makes it all worth it. Every race I win, every podium, every hard lap... at the end of the day, I know I'll always come home to you guys, and that's the best feeling in the world."

Y/n smiled, feeling her heart warm with those words. Marie smiled too, writing everything carefully, while Pietra, who was focused on her paper and colored pencils, blurted out out of nowhere:

"If mom was a pilot, would you beat her?"

The silence lasted only a second before Y/n let out a surprised laugh.

"I loved that!" She said, looking at Lewis with a mischievous look. "So, Hamilton? Would I give you a hard time?"

Lewis tilted his head, pretending to think.

"Hm... I think you'd be a tough opponent, but in the end..." He paused dramatically. "I would win!!"

Y/n widened her eyes, pretending to be offended.

"WHAT?"

Marie laughed, while Pietra looked at her father with wide eyes.

"Daddy! But what if Mommy was like... really fast?"

"I drive well!!!" Y/n retorted, crossing her arms. "Do you think I would never win a race from you?"

Lewis laughed, defending himself. "You have talent, love, but... experience counts!"

"Oh, now you're trying to teach me about motor racing?"

Marie laughed more and more, while Pietra just looked from one to the other, amused.

"I think mommy would win, yes!" Pietra declared, going back to drawing on the paper.

"That's right, P!" Y/n joked, winking at her daughter.

Lewis shook his head, laughing.

Meanwhile, Marie remained serious and organized, writing the answers correctly, while Pietra had already given up on the interview and was decorating her paper with stickers and hearts around her father's name.

Lewis looked at her drawing and chuckled.

"P is more concerned with making art than writing down the answers."

"Hey, I'm writing it down my way!" Pietra said, holding up the drawing to show. She had drawn Lewis in a race car and a dinosaur running alongside him.

Lewis laughed out loud.

Marie shook her head and asked another question. "What was the most special day of your career?"

Lewis smiled and replied, telling about his first victory in Formula 1. But, in the middle of the answer, Y/n made a sound with her mouth and crossed her arms.

"Hm... I think he's forgetting something important..."

Lewis looked at her, confused. "What?"

"That the most special day of your career was when your daughters were born," she said with a smile.

Marie rolled her eyes, laughing. "Mom, that doesn't count as a day in his career..."

"Of course it counts!" Y/n insisted. "I remember you were almost born in the Mercedes garage. And when your father held you for the first time, he said you were the greatest trophy of his life."

Lewis smiled, nodding. "Okay, okay, you're right. The most important victory of my life was you three."

Pietra gave a satisfied smile, while Marie wrote it down in her notebook in a more serious manner.

The mood became more relaxed, and then Marie frowned thoughtfully.

"Did you know that when I was very little, I was scared of the noise of the cars when I went to my first GP?"

Lewis raised his eyebrows. "Really? You remember that? I was so little!"

Marie nodded. "I was about a year old, I think...but I remember it was really loud. I think I cried."

Y/n confirmed, laughing. "Yes, you cried and clung to daddy at the time. You only stopped when he started talking softly in your ear and calmed you down."

Lewis smiled at the memory. "And now here you are, writing down everything about racing. Who would have thought, huh?"

Marie smirked.

"Yes...the noise doesn't scare me anymore."

Pietra looked at her sister and made a funny face. "You were scared!"

"You cried the first time too!" Y/n says smiling

"I think it's a lie..." Pietra says amusedly, coloring the drawing.

Everyone laughed together.

After several questions, laughter, and memories, Marie closed the notebook with a satisfied sigh.

"I think I have everything I need." She said, looking at her father with a smile. "Thank you, Daddy."

Lewis motioned for her to come into his embrace and smiled. Marie stood up and walked over to him, hugging her father as he ran his hands through her hair.

"Anything for you, sweetie"

Marie smiled proudly as Pietra held up her drawing and showed it to her father.

"I'm done too! Look, Daddy! You're running next to a dinosaur!"

Lewis took the paper and looked at the drawing carefully. He held back a laugh when he saw the dinosaur next to his car, but smiled fondly.

"I think this race was the most exciting I've ever had!"

Pietra smiled with satisfaction and threw herself into her father's arms too, Marie looked at the drawing and laughed.

"Well, now I just need to make a clean copy and write the final text..." Marie looked at the notebook on the other side of the table, still next to her father, hugging his neck.

"Do you want help, daughter?" Y/n asked.

"No need, Mom, I can handle it."

"My organized girl!" Y/n approached the three in the hug and kissed Marie's head and soon after Pietra, Lewis smiled seeing his three girls.

"I think my drawing is also worth it as a school project! I'm going to paste it in my notebook!

"And I'm sure your teacher will love it," Lewis said, kissing the top of his daughter's head.

Y/n smiled, watching the two girls snuggle into their father's side. It was in these little things that she saw how lucky she was to have that family.

[svnriseblvdd]

AND FOR ONCE, YOU LET GO OF YOUR FEARS AND YOUR GHOSTS — dick grayson

hurt/comfort, slight angst (he's okay in the end), love confession, big steps in a relationship. when dick grayson stumbles through his girlfriend's window in the early hours of the morning, she's there to patch him up and listen to all that troubles him.

It’s some time after four in the morning when Dick Grayson finally steps through the window into your apartment. He shouldn’t be here. It’s not fair on you. He knows it’s not, but he can’t help himself. 

He’s silent as he moves across your living room floor, still silent as he opens your bedroom door. He hates that he has to be here. He hates even more the fact that you left your living room window open a crack so he could come in. He’s closed it now, locked it and made sure all the security measures he’d installed for you were in place how they should be. 

He doesn’t want to wake you, doesn’t want to disturb you as you look so peaceful in the comfort of sleep. He doesn’t even need to touch you. Well, he does. But he won’t. Not if it’ll wake you up. 

He just needs to see you. Needs to know you’re safe, alive, breathing, content. He needs to sit in the comfort of the sound of your breathing, the smell of everything that’s so unequivocally you. The detergent on fresh sheets, your shampoo, shower gel, the remnants of your perfume lingering. Even the underlying scent of your worn shoes that just barely creeps through everything else. 

He knows where not to step. Where floor creaks and where there’s little things hellbent on stabbing him in the foot. Not that they’d do a good job through the suit, but he won’t risk it. 

But through all his manoeuvring, he bends just slightly too far the wrong way, and he’s hissing in pain. 

You stir, and hum. He thinks for a moment that maybe it’s okay. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he hasn’t woken you up and ruined your sleep because he’s an idiot. 

But he’s wrong. “Dick?” You mumble. “You there?” 

He winces. Not at the annoying pain in his side, but because now you’re awake. It’s nearly 5:00 AM and you’re awake because he didn’t think. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, honey, go back to sleep.” 

“What time is it?” 

He looks at the clock on your nightstand. The numbers on it glow faintly, almost accusatory. Oh, he knows. 

“4:47,” he replies. “I’m sorry for waking you, baby.” 

You push yourself up, eyes opening properly and taking in the sight of him. Your eyes are soft as you evaluate him, the redness of his cheek as a bruise begins to form, the cut above his eyebrow, the faint glow of the lenses of his mask, which he has yet to take off. “Dick-” 

“Don’t worry about me, baby. I’m okay.” 

You shake your head. “Come here.” 

“’m dirty. You just washed your sheets.” 

“I don’t care.” You stand from the bed, patting it. “Sit. Wait while I get the first aid kit.” 

He gives in, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting for your return. It’s not a long wait, but every second without you feels like agony. It’s worse than anything that happened tonight. 

When you return, you sink onto the bed next to him, setting the kit down next to you. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” you whisper, lifting the mask from him. His beautiful blue eyes meet yours, and it hurts to see the sadness in them. 

You dab at the cut above his eyebrow with an alcohol-dipped cotton pad. You know that nights like these, he needs time before he can open up about it. So you treat the cut on his brow, the bruise on his cheek. Then you begin pushing his suit down his shoulders and torso. 

“If you wanted me out of my clothes that badly, all you had to do was ask,” he jokes, but it lacks the same tone he usually has. Dick flirts with you all the time. Even now that you’ve been together for almost a year. And he still holds the same charm that he did when you first met, when he first realised his feelings and decided he was going to ‘make a move’. But tonight, he doesn’t hold the same charm or humour in his voice. 

“Dick…” you murmur. He’d spent far too long being valued by Gotham’s social elite and their tabloids only for his looks. He was gorgeous, there was no denying that, he was the most wonderful person you’d ever laid eyes upon. But he was far too used to being a performer, even through his worst times, laying on the charm thick as possible when he had to attend a gala that fell during some of the bad days. 

You get the suit down to his waist, where you let it rest as you evaluate the bruises, cuts and scrapes on his chest and abdomen. 

You begin cleaning a cut on his chest, wondering whether or not it’ll need stitches. “What happened?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing.” At your expression, he sighs. “I just- my head wasn’t in it.” 

“Then where was your head?” You ask, threading the needle. “Hm? Tell me what’s going on, Dick.” 

“I just… don’t know if I’m enough,” he whispers. 

Your expression turns softer still. “What? Dick, of course you are. You’re more than enough. If you ask me, you’re more than most of this city deserves.” He sniffs, still trying to hold in the tears. “Do you want me to numb it before I start the stitches?” 

He shakes his head. “No. No, I can take it. It’s okay.” 

You begin to sew the cut shut, back and forth, back and forth. It’s muscle memory by now, the number of times you’d stitched him up after a rough night. Never like this, though. Usually, even when he’d taken worse beatings, he could still crack jokes easily and he’d still lay on that Dick Grayson charm. Not tonight. 

When you’re done, you lean down, placing soft kisses along the edge. You cover over a graze on his side, the one he’d irritated earlier that had led to you waking up. 

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he says, voice heavy with regret and despair. 

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay. It’s not. You have work.” 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t. I’m taking the day off. Want to spend time with you.” 

“You don’t have to do that. You shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.” 

“You’re more than worth it, honey. Besides, I’ve had it booked since last week, so I can’t just take it back.” You reach up with one hand to cup his face, tilting his head to look at you. His eyes are filled with tears. “Oh, Dick, sweetheart.” 

He breaks then. The tears spill over, and he collapses into your hold, your arms wrapping around him. He smells of blood, sweat, dirt, and smoke, but you don’t care one bit. You’ll hold him forever if that’s what he needs. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He lets out a sob. “I’m sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, my love,” you assure him. “I promise you, that you’re more than enough. Do you trust me?” He nods. “Then trust that I’m telling you the truth.” 

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m falling and I won’t ever stop.” 

“I know, honey. But I’m here to catch you. I’ll always be here. You do so much for this city, for your team, your family, me. You work so hard, honey, and I know that it’s difficult. And I know you don’t feel like it’s enough sometimes but it is. You’re so good, Dick. You bring hope, safety, happiness. I know it’s a lot of responsibility, but you shoulder it so well. I just wish you didn’t feel like you had to take on everything. Sometimes you need a break, and that’s okay.” 

“But who else protects Bludhaven?” 

“That’s the problem, Dick. You take care of this all by yourself.” 

“Bruce protected Gotham by himself.” 

“Bruce hadn’t been Batman for nearly as long before you came along. Besides, he’s had help for years now. You handle Bludhaven, you still help in Gotham, you run the Titans. Hell, you help the Justice League from time to time. Even Bruce has bad times too. Even Batman struggles with his responsibilities. Both of you have yourselves convinced that you have to take on all this responsibility and pressure because if you don’t, you’re not worthy of love. But even with all that, neither of you think you’re enough. And I love you for your heroism and your courage and your goodness. I really do, but you need days off. You need time to just be Dick Grayson. Not Nightwing, not the Wayne heir, not the socialite the tabloids love. Just Dick. The same one who I fell for.” 

He stops sniffling for a few seconds, just breathing irregularly. “You love me?” He whispers then, breaking the silence. He pulls back, your arms falling loosely to his sides. You hadn’t realised you’d said it. 

“Yes,” you whisper back. “Yeah, I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he says, hands cupping your face. “So much.” 

You smile, and it’s the first time tonight that he’s smiled and it’s felt genuine. He kisses you, softly, lovingly, every inch of his soul poured into you. It’s such a simple kiss. Neither of you dare deepen it - you both know it’s not the time. It’s just ordinary, small, wet with his tears, but it’s the most wonderful, caring action. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, pulling away from him. 

“No.” 

“How about a bath? Or a shower?” 

“No, I just want to hold you.” 

You smile softly, nodding. “Let me find something for you to wear. It’s colder tonight.” You stand, moving around your room to find any of his clothes that he’s left behind. You think you might’ve run out of clean things of his in his allocated drawer. “It’s getting really difficult, working with only one drawer of your clothes.” 

“Especially when you use my shirts to sleep in,” he comments. 

“True.” You hum as you find a pair of his sweatpants, folding them over your arm. 

“Maybe it would be easier if we just lived together,” he says. 

You turn to him, now holding one of your baby tees, mistaken for a shirt of his. The words “I’m too sexy for this shirt” stare at him, standing out against the white cotton. “Do you mean it?” You ask. 

“I do. I want us to live together. I love seeing our shoes next to each other when we stay together. I love seeing your things at my place. I love cooking together. I want to stay up late talking to you. I want to dance in the kitchen in the middle of the night. I want to come home to you.” 

You smile, practically attacking him with the way you hug him. “I want all of that too.” You kiss his cheeks, then his forehead, then peck him on the lips before you roll off the bed to look for a t-shirt. You throw the items at him when you’ve found them. 

When he’s changed, the two of you lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. And you look up at him while the first hints of the sunrise filter through the crack in the curtains. 

You look up at him, and he meets your eyes, a loving smile on his face. “I love you, Dick Grayson. And I can’t stand to see you destroy yourself.” 

“I love you too. I’ll stay together for you.” 

[sergioguymanproust]

A cabin in the woods.To live everything behind and find the much needed peace and quiet that is often associated with this new lifestyle,at first sound idyllic and beautiful but if you don’t have a plan on what to do after the initial move you might begin to experience what is often called cabin fever.If you were the ones that built the cabin is great that means you did your homework, but if didn’t you got much to probably change and fix.Well,keeping a dairy of your daily routine will make you feel more productive as you go through the changes with each season.If you are a country bumpkin you know exactly what I mean.But if you are a city slicker,I suggest you take a new habit to keep your sanity during the rainy season ,I took bird carving as I had plenty of wood to work from and as I got better and later could profit from this pastime, also as it is common to happen to first time cabin that after a few months of living and getting used to the wild animals and creatures of the night,your mind might switch to rogue comando,haaaa and stay up some nights walk around the perimeter of your cabin at 3:00 AM , just to check a weird sound. But no worries ,it will pass too. My advice would be to learn to meditate and practice meditation,or book reading. Well, more about it later. Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

[sweetverine]

could you do something with logan comforting a crying reader?

logan comforting a crying reader.

warnings : pure fluff, nothing else, established relationship, pet names (logan calls reader sweetheart baby and sugar), written with logan in wolverine 2013 in mind.

a/n : i hope it's something like what you were hoping for anon, i really like soft logan i guess. i hope to write more stuff like this in the future, i need logan to take care of me!!!, nothing more, please enjoy (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

the cold night hits in the apartment after a long and tiring day, you enter the small apartment slamming the door, logan from the couch observed this strange attitude of yours, he smelled in the air that something was not too right. as you headed straight to your shared room, he raised an eyebrow, this was quite new, not even a hi? how are you? where was your sweet smile? you always greeted him and chatted about each other's day, this was rare.

you entered the room, reluctantly removing your uncomfortable shoes, it didn't take long for you to sink your head into the comfortable pillow, letting the contained tears begin to escape from your eyes, moistening the pillow a little.

logan was quick to appear in the room, approaching the bed with a worried expression. He sits down beside you, the bed sinking under his weight, his large hand moving to your back, caressing it as he whispers, "what happened, sweetheart?” on your ear, trying to get to see your face. “come on, baby.. let me see ya..” He mutters as you get up, Sitting next to him.

your tears seemed to never stop, as you cried logan brushed away the rebellious strands of your hair that stuck to your wet face. "shh… take a deep breath okay? tell me what happened.." he says looking at you with love and understanding. you blinked a few times, trying to calm yourself down, he pulled you on his lap, letting you hide in his neck.

“i'm tired.. it was a long day and things didn't go well today..” you babble between tears, logan sighs as he keeps caressing your hair. “was it that bad baby?” you nod against his neck, his body began to rock you a little, trying to calm you down. it is warm, he is really warm. it is well known that logan james howlett is not a man of too many words, and in situations like this he really didn't know what to say.

you sob a few times before calming down completely, your head was pounding like crazy, like it was being hammered. you were crying inconsolably, it was obvious that it would pass at some point or another. you sighed as you let yourself be carried away by logan's slow rocking, your body snuggled more against his as you dried your tears. “thank you.” your somewhat hoarse voice whispers.

“anytime, sugar.” he says, kissing your forehead, he let you stay on his lap as long as you needed, he loved having you in his arms anyway, your cheeks were red and just like your eyes, your eyelashes were soaked and your lips were swollen. "let’s put on your favorite movie. i’ll grab ya something to eat, and then ya can take a warm shower. ya need to get your mind off this, yeah?” logan looks back at you as he lightly squeezes your arm, a silent gesture of ‘i am here’

he gently pulled you off his lap, sitting you on the bed. you were feeling so much better, you had a boyfriend who actually listened to you and cared about you. you were happy that you had found a man as attentive as him. logan came back with a glass of water. "take this, sweetheart.” he says, handling the glass to you. you drink the water slowly, he sighs and caresses your back. “ya know that i love ya, right?” logan says, looking at you lovingly.

“i love you too, lo.” you mutter, leaving the glass on the nightstand. he plants a soft, warm kiss on your lips. he will always be with you, especially when you need him the most.

[wandamaximilf]

Make Me Feel Something

pairing: wanda maximoff + y/n ( mentions of vision )

warnings: 18+, overstimulation, teasing, spit, fingering, lesbian, clit play

summary: when you share disappointing news with wanda about catching vision acting out behind her back, her anger spirals and she takes it out on you, but she has no idea of the wormhole of feelings she's just opened up

3.6k words

“i didn’t need your help!”

wanda’s hand rockets towards you, jarring you square in the shoulder and nearly knocking you backwards. her other hand, dispelled in crimson swirls, sending the door behind herself slamming shut with such a force you swear the entire compound heard the commotion by now.

“-and what was i supposed to do,” you furrow your brows, perplexed, but with enough venom on your tongue to portray you have no intention of backing down, “not to tell you that i didn’t see your robotic boyfriend with some other woman?”

you stare back at wanda cross, but the bubbling hurt and anger only seems to swell behind green, flecks of red dancing like static in them momentarily.

“vision would never, he actually loves me unlike you spilling lies at me, you’re supposed to be my best friend! why would you make up something like this, out of jealousy?” she spits, seething at this point as she steps towards you in intimidation, though you know the reality of her nature is she would never actually lay a hand on you. 

“you’re not thinking clearly,” you shake your head, sympathy laced in your tone, “even if i am lying, why would i do that knowing it would hurt you? do you think that low of me, wanda?” you can tell your words ring logic through her, she knows you would never do something or say something to intentionally hurt her, but right now she is too jaded to even remotely put herself first over another she loves, nothing unusual for her character.

wanda seems to hesitate, as if her initial counter to your question was not a substantial enough response. she can’t fight logic, not right now. her mind

behind it all, you know she’s hurting, reeling behind a fairytale of whom she saw as a lifelong partner now having deceived her. 

yet, a part of you always saw this coming after all, he was just a construction of wires and vibranium. at some point his ‘brain’ would malfunction, and you didn’t merely assume that just based on your original disdain for him coming into wanda’s life.

“y/n, just go,” the words nearly sting, as selfish as that feels right now when really wanda is the only one with the right to feel anguish. 

unknown to her that for years you’d sat, watching and observing her, silently mesmerized and foolishly in love with the idea that maybe one day wanda would come to terms that the idea of being with you would’ve been a more viable option over vision to begin with. it was torture enough watching them oggle over one another around the compound. 

but now he’s the villain in the story, and it’s not exactly the prime moment to confess your feelings long hidden for her. no, it would be too selfish and look as if you were spinning her hurt into an opportunity. you know it would not be the ideal way to confess your deep desire you’ve held for her, imagining her like a high school crush and what it would be like to be loved in that way by her, instead of the friend pledged in loyalty to her.

“wands-“

“get the fuck out!” this time her words are the ones landing venomously, usually the innocence in the nickname grounds her, but not now. not today.

“i can’t just leave you-“

wanda lurches forward, reaching with brisk hostility to grab your upper arm in an attempt to drag you back to the door and out of her bedroom. but you’re quicker, your reflexes are more time–  thanks to romanoff’s training. your fingers spool around her wrist, stopping the motion and catching her off guard, enough to send her tripping over herself.

“fuck- you-“ this time wanda’s voice cracks, a pant between each for her loss of balance and catching herself before she falls against you. you can hear the innocence and muddled hurt even under the harsh words. any sparks of red had dissipated from the green in her eyes, now overtaken by the rising swell of tears giving them a glassy aura.

your eyes flick to her mouth as the slur falls from her lips, it even looked unnatural coming from them and you certainly couldn’t bear to watch those tears fall. you’d seen her say those words before, but this time it was different. it wasn’t in jest, yet it wasn’t necessarily in hatred or true anger. the only place it was coming from was agony and the incomprehension of her own emotions right now. 

she’d lost so much already, given so much of herself for those she cared about, it only made your heart wretch further. all you wanted to do was console her. 

wanda was so inexplicably close to you right now, enough to feel the heat of her breath on your face. it made the hair at the base of your neck stand up, her scent overwhelming you. your thoughts only whirled further, flashes of knowing how in pain she was.

a mix of impulsivity and selfishness to give in to temptation was overwhelming. all you wanted right now was to try and take her pain away in any way possible right now. a distraction. but also a longing release of your own feelings for her. your thoughts swirl a million miles a minute, briefly forgetting about the current situation you’re in.

before you can comprehend your own thoughts, deciding between right and wrong, the heat of wanda’s breath recedes, replaced with a harsh and violent pressure against your lips. it takes you a moment to understand the situation, wanda’s lips now pressed feverishly against yours. there’s a swelling taste of salt and copper washing through your mouth. a mix of her tears, and a stray drop of blood from the newly opened cut on your bottom lip, caused by the velocity of your lip caught between hers and your teeth. her hands had cupped your face at the initial contact, black nails pressing into the back of your jaw as if you might slip away. it stings at first, but you let it be.

you have to break it, this isn’t right, this is wrong. wrong on so many levels. wanda’s heart was broken right now, and this seemed disingenuous.

but you also can’t ignore the immediate warmth that travels through your abdomen, feeling it spin in guilt but also reprieve for finally feeling wanda’s lips against yours that doesn’t stem from a drunken dare.

still, your mind temporarily outweighs your heart and body, and you jerk back, “wanda.. i can’t, th-this isn’t right.” you fumble over the words, almost trying to explain yourself for an action that you didn’t even initiate. meanwhile, sliding your tongue along your bottom lip to quell the sting and erase any last evidence of blood on the small cut.

“you want to make me forget, you want to help, you want this. so just shut up, and make me feel something else- please.” her tone is desperate, pleading, but also firm on where she stands.

your mouth falls agape, wanting to rebuttal, argue this isn’t how you want it to go, that you actually do love her. but now’s not the time, you can connect the dots that she’d already gotten this idea because she’d picked through your thoughts in that moment of silence where she couldn’t find her own words.

now you only had one thing you could do to actually help her in this moment- make her feel something else. her words, right? she was giving you approval.

wanda seeks the opportunity again, impatient and just as harsh with need. aside from the swelling guilt, you can’t help but indulge simultaneously. you can still taste the reminisce of a stray tear or two, but it’s begun to fade. she’s already begun to lose herself in the moment, letting every other thought leave her mind as she sought safety and pleasure in the only person she had left that she truly cared for. 

you.

both of your feet are nearly tripping over the other, trying to walk backwards towards her bed as your hands finally give in, rising around the back of her neck. your fingers instantly tangle into locks of fiery orange, gripping just enough to encourage wanda to continue. and she does.

the room has already begun to envelope in a heavy heat, ragged and desperate breaths laced in a mix of emotions but ultimately indulged in the moment. the worry of guilt is still there, but now just a small pit in your stomach as her breathing hitches with each step and between barely audible moans.

wanda pressures you further until you’re both stood parallel to the bottom edge of the bed. you prepare for her to break the kiss when you feel her mouth fall slightly more agape. you want to ask her for reassurance, that this is okay.

before you can manage the words, wanda quickly presses her tongue between your parted lips, not hesitating to explore along your own, running hers along the roof of your mouth. you almost feel embarrassed at the amount of saliva welling up in your mouth and hers, but she only swallows it back hungrily. 

a twisting thought wonders if wanda had fantasized this in someway, especially by the speed of her actions, seeming to barely think twice. was there a part of her who had wanted this as well?

the guilt seems void right now, replaced by a thrumming heat gathering between your thighs. wanda seems entirely awash in lust, both your tongues taking turns exploring one another’s mouths.

this time you make your move before wanda can. your hands abandon her hair, quickly working off her jacket, allowing her to shrug it to the floor between kisses as you begin to pull at the bottom hem of her shirt. this time she’s pulls away, but only enough for you to allow space to pull her shirt up and over her head. at first, she doesn’t jump back into the kiss, allowing herself to catch her breath as her hands reach behind her back. it takes you only a second to comprehend.

you had tried not to stare, but as wanda reaches for the strap of her bra to unhook it, you take a second to take in the sight. her breasts perfectly fill the cups of the black bra. it’s simple, no lace or embroidery, just black silk cotton, and still she makes it look like an expensive garment.

in a heartbeat, everything in your face runs cold, as she slips her bra from her shoulders and lets it fall to the ground. you can’t help but indulge now. you’d inappropriately fantasized about wanda’s body before, especially her breasts when she wore that one corset, but having her exposed and vulnerable in front of you felt entirely on another plane of existence.  

her nipples are a perfect tone of rosey-pink, already perky and hardened from what you can only assume is arousal considering you were already both panting from the desperation in the previous kisses. 

you can’t stop yourself, you raise a hand, palm cupping the under of her breast and swiping a thumb over the hardened bud. when the action elicits a shy moan from wanda, it nearly makes you groan in approval as the heat between your legs surmounts with need. “wanda..”

“keep going- i promise, it’s okay, y/n-“ she manages as she seems to adjust herself so that her one breast is flush in your palm now, garnering another subtle moan from the sensitivity. 

you realize this moment is truly going to be all about wanda. not you, even despite the ache between your legs, but honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way tonight. you had dreamt of wanda desiring you in this way and now she was explicitly asking you.

“i’ll take care of you,” you hold her eyes with yours as you gently readjust you both so that the back of her knees are against the bed, “just can i ask one thing from you?”

wanda wants to question you, you can tell by the faint look of confusion, but she only nods.

“stay standing until you can’t…” even in the dimming light of the room from the sun beginning to set, you swear you can see the faint flush of red in her cheeks as you slightly lower yourself just enough to get your mouth level with her breasts.

wanda gives you a single nod, her hips shifting leading you to assume she’s become as aroused as you are now. for a moment, as she’s looking down to you, you swear you saw the shadow of a nervous smile. you hold her gaze for a moment as you take one of her nipples into your mouth, using a hand to palm and massage the other abandoned breast. 

wanda nearly crumbles at just that, it’s been too long since she’s been touched like this, but she remains upright. 

her head lolls back, a strained “y/n..” falling from her lips in a sultry moan that only encourages you to continue.

you suck at her nipple, occasionally using your teeth to graze the sensitive tissue. your hand stays busy, switching between massaging her breast in your palm and using your thumb to tease the nipple. 

wanda is rather shy for the time being, you can tell she’s trying to hide any roll in her hips, desperate for friction where she needs it most. her moans are still barely audible, but they’re there as you make sure to alternate each breast fairly. 

your free hand massages up her thigh gingerly, following along her pelvis until you stop to work at the button and zipper of her jeans. you’ve been careful to take your time, but not enough to drive her mad just yet.

when you pull your mouth away from her breast along with the other hand, you could’ve sworn you heard the faintest whimper. it satisfies you for a moment knowing how indulged wanda is, and how tentative you’re being with her body.

“why…” wanda manages, but you don’t give her a response. instead, you fully lower yourself, the hand previously working at her jeans now slides the zipper down fully.

“oh…” she manages, chin dropping to watch you get on your knees as you begin to shimmy her jeans down, not hesitating to bring her panties down along with them.

the denim and a pair of black underwear, falls to a clump around her ankles, her legs breaking into an array of goosebumps at her now exposed lower body. as she begins to step out of the restrictive clothing at her feet, you take the opportunity to look at her face for one last vow of approval.

“yes…” wanda’s lips are barely parted, the cold on her mound making her ache even further, “please, y/n… i promise it’s okay.,” 

as if offering further permission, she carefully adjusts her legs enough to just leave ample room for you to glimpse her pussy. she’s still standing in place, knees against the bed just in case they give out as your attention finally shifts to where she needs you most.

you nearly feel the immediate gush between your thighs as you settle onto your knees, now seeing the true picture of desperation. 

wanda’s folds are quite swollen, the tip of her clit just barely peaking out between them, this time you can’t stifle the groan at the sight before you. her slick is painted perfectly along her slit, a bead of it daring to fall at the back of her pussy.

you hungrily lean in, want and temptation over powering anything else now as your body drives you. wanda attempts to brace herself, feeling the heat of your breath against her core as your tongue immediately darts out to lap up the string of slick at her entrance. you barely have a moment to adjust before she cries out from sudden sensitivity. it’s been quite some time for her since she’d been touched like this. vision had long seemed to distance himself, they’d barely shared any intimacy of the sort around the compound in a month or two.

wanda’s knees immediately buckle as her hips rocket forward involuntarily, painting your mouth with her slick as her clit ruts against your nose, “oh– fuck, y/n!”

hearing wanda cry out your name like that only spurs you on further. you’d anticipated teasing her, making her wait, but now it’s you who can’t after tasting her. 

both of your hands shoot up, fingers splaying against the crux of where her thighs meet her pelvis and thumbs delving between wet folds to fully expose her pussy. 

wanda can only react with a string of weak whines, a hand of hers shooting down and fisting into your hair to guide you to where she wants you most. you only oblige, spurred on by the visual of her swollen clit before it’s pressed flat to your tongue.

“fuck!” wanda rolls her hips, encouragingly as her shy moans turn into a slur of expletives and gasps as she rakes her clit over your tongue with each movement and tug of your hair.

her taste is overwhelming, already beginning to saturate your face as she fucks herself against it. you can’t help but moan into her, which sends vibrations along her slit that only makes her drag her entire length along your mouth now, “fuck, yes- you’re doing so good…” she swallows roughly as her head tips back, “make me feel only you, y/n.”

you’d fantasized this moment for a few years now, and the reality of now coming true has you in a chokehold. one of your hands abandons her thigh, eagerly using your ring and middle finger to press between her folds. within a second, her wetness coats your fingers, pressing them deeper until your just brushing against her entrance.

without warning you delve both fingers into her, and wanda immediately loses her balance. the one hand you have at her thigh catches her, allowing her to regain some composure as you withdraw your fingers, only to thrust back into the cling of her walls. 

wanda cries out, her head falling back feeling weightless in her stomach and knees. a good portion of her weight is seated in your palm, the only thing keeping her upright at this point. she’s tight around you as your curl your fingertips to touch at the soft spot that makes her stomach flutter. she can barely manage anything coherent between gasps and whining moans from the slight sting. 

you can already feel wanda chasing her climax. with each thrust of your fingers, her clit slams against the bottom of your palm. it sends her body in near convulsions as her legs tremble as she grows closer to release.

the sound of how wet she is sends you into a frenzy, your fingers diving deeper and more quickly into her pussy. the entirety of your palm has begun to become wet from her slick, beginning to lose friction of her clit as your fingers dare to slip out each time. 

“wanda– cum for me now,” you manage as you readjust your hand more upright, not hesitating as you lean in to drag your tongue across her swollen clit. the taste of her makes you feverish for more. it’s a perfect balance of her sweetness and slight salt. 

wanda immediately buckles, a slur of expletives as the heat in her stomach rises as your tongue continues to rake viciously against her clit, your fingers driving in and out of her. it takes only a few more seconds before she completely unravels. her walls snap tightly around your fingers as she falls to her knees, being unable to catch her in time, you only help her to the ground. 

her hands fall beside her, bracing on the floor as her hips just upwards and as her head falls backwards onto the edge of the bed. your fingers feel slightly sore from her tightness, her pussy fully exposed in front of you as her knees are spread as she sits in front of you. the carpet beneath her garners a small wet stain as she lets her release paint over your hand and down to the ground.

“y/n– that… i’m so sorry,” wanda pants out with remorse as her body settles, you withdraw your fingers quickly, not disingenuously, wiping them on your leg to be able to cup her face as she lowers her head back to look at you. there’s a bit of regret behind her eyes, and she notices the flash of worry, “no– no, you didn’t do anything. i just don’t want you to think i took advantage of you,” wanda’s body relaxes more, beads of sweat on her skin as she sits naked in front of you, apologizing for something that she has no need to. 

“wanda, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that with you,” you look at her sheepishly, and she somewhat offers a smile back to you.

“we’re not done then…” she manages, now looking at you reassuringly, “let me take care of you.”

you look at her, nearly stunned as her hands reach to pull you back into her. “wanda- what about vis-

“no, nothing about him right now, please,” she shifts, her face growing closer to yours, “let that be tomorrow’s problem. let me enjoy you and i tonight, we will worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

you hesitate, but only flash her a toothy smile out of helplessness. if this is what she wants, even after the exhausting outpour of emotions, it gives you the necessary reassurance that wanda wants you in some capacity as well.

so you let her.

[keeheauxtales]

here’s a quick confession: I likely was the one who requested this drabble, and baby, did Mikha deliver or what?! 🥵😍

however, I felt compelled to return to my stephenyoonkeeholdup roots and build upon this since then, and I finally found it in me to finish it! I feel just a little rusty, but I still ultimately enjoyed writing this!

for anyone who comes across this (MDNI‼️): enjoy! 🤍

S.I.S (Self-Indulgent Series) | VOL. 2

I See U 🔞👀

pairing: switch!keeho stephen (with a bit of a perverted edge?) x [poc-inspired] switch!fem-bodied reader (reader’s pov)

content warnings: reader's a bit of a cougar (but only by a couple years in this scenario, wherein keeho is the same age as reader's sister), use of a metaphor involving an element of catholicism… i'm also (still) experimenting with only using 'stephen' throughout this piece. and since beginning this S.I.S series, i've joined the growing(?) population of "big dick keeho truthers" here. 🤭

themes: oral (m and f receiving), mutual masturbation, needy!kee!, edging, dirty talk, air fucking??

word count: ~2.2k (lowercase intended)

i’ll be goddamned… my sister’s bestie was in my room… jerking himself silly… on my bed! the audacity of this motherfucker, i swear! i always peeped that about stephen, though; how little to nothing will stop him from achieving whatever he wants to achieve. it’s a whole other animal — when it clicks in my mind — that he clearly wants to achieve something with his best friend’s older sister… with me.

“I can’t get this feeling… out of my body tonight

I know I need you

If you like that feeling… inside of your body

Let me know and fuck with me now.”

— 🎵🎶 “With Me” | DVSN

in the same capacity, i’m nosy to no end, and that too can more often than not lead to consequences. such as, inadvertently intruding on someone’s privacy. however, it’s valid when that ‘someone’ intrudes all up in your personal living space, unprovoked.

“what the fuck?” i spit out, feeling my blood pressure rising with every step i take into my bedroom, approaching a [fine, sexy] guy i only know by association. as i close and lock the door, i see poor stephen visibly shake as he attempts to crawl backwards with his dick all out.

“fuck!” he spits out in response, eyes widening while still evidently clouded with lust for the subject matter walking toward him. “shit, i’m so fucking sorry…” he then takes a pillow near him to cover his junk, seemingly letting out a moan at the contact… because don’t think i didn’t clock how hard his cock was even now.

“nah, don’t be sorry now,” i retaliate, quickly moving the pillow, and replacing it with my hand. even i consider how bold this is, but i clearly heard my name leave that pretty mouth of his several minutes prior.

stephen is unable to stop the moans from escaping him while my hand goes from just palming his surprisingly big dick to stroking it at a casual pace.

“was this what you wanted when you called my name earlier?” i inquire, my eyes staring right into his.

he gulps before answering breathlessly, “to an extent..?”

"what exactly did you want then?" i question further, an eyebrow raised.

"i want to fuck you."

alrighty then! it didn't matter that his answer was as clear as day before i ‘barged’ into all this; it was him being so damn blunt. i guess he figured that it was impossible (and unnecessary) to even attempt beating around the bush about it.

"you better be grateful i want you to…" i would've ran him out of my room pants-less otherwise, but i wasn't about to just let him have his way so quickly. i begin to confess as i lower myself to my knees like he's a priest, and i'm asking for forgiveness instead of confirming permission. "you better be glad i'm as curious as i am about those looks you give me every time i come around you, my sister, and your little friend group."

"mmm…" is all that stephen utters, his eyes closing as i continue to grind my hand all around his thick, veiny shaft, inadvertently using a bit of his release as a sort of lubricant.

"be glad i want to know how you feel inside me…" i say before opening my mouth to slowly take him in. i look up to see him squeeze his eyes shut, feeling his cock pulsate in my mouth, which made my pussy do the same beneath me.

"f-fuck?" stephen exhales as he immediately thrusts up into my mouth, making me gag as the tip brushes against the back of my throat. i don't want to look away from such a pretty sight above me, even as I'm struggling to breathe.

he's so big? i think to myself as i bob my head along his cock, moaning around his length, beginning to caress his thighs and stomach. i brush against the hem of his shirt, the drying spot from when it was in his mouth of all places, thus reminding me of just what got us in this predicament in the first place. without me even asking (and quite frankly, i was too willingly preoccupied to), stephen finally discards of the shirt, revealing tan skin that was more gorgeous than i might've even imagined.

“mmm…” it became my turn to moan out as my bottom lip rested on his mushroom tip, “you taste really fucking good, steph.” i drag a hand of mine down underneath him to grab at his balls, and he starts to lose it.

“shitshitshit… (y/n)!” stephen whines, and my own name sounds like music to my ears coming from him, making me moan as drops of precum land on my tongue. i lean back to swallow the sweet taste before engulfing his cock in my mouth again. "oh my god, you’re gonna make me cum, keep suck—"

as much as i didn’t wanna do it, after my head promptly dipped to meet my hand a couple more times, i draw back completely, feeling a bit diabolical. i surpress a smirk as i wipe saliva from my mouth, licking my lips after.

“i waited to walk into my room ‘til i saw you clean your hand of all evidence of your nasty thoughts about me,” i clasped my fingers in between the fingers of that very hand of his before resuming my little spiel. “so you can wait your turn for seconds. i wanna play catch-up with you.”

i had brought stephen’s fingers to the spot that became just as permeated as the bottom of his shirt — the center of my short bottoms. i could barely hear the gasp i saw leave his mouth over the boisterous noises that had left mine immediately upon impact.

“god, i need that in my mouth,” stephen exhales, his free hand latching onto the waistline of my shorts. i let go of his other hand to assist in discarding them completely. however, i don’t move quite yet once i feel fabric hit my knees, my eyes piercing down at the increasingly needy boy sat beneath me. “please!”

“good boy,” i coo at him mischievously, moving my hands to cup his face in between them. he looked so cute as he glanced up at me, a hint of softness showing in his eyes despite the overwhelmingly obvious lust.

his gaze follows my bottoms down my legs, letting out a drawn-out moan at my exposed cunt before dragging two of his fingers along my folds. i reply to stephen’s low moans with a few of my own, feeling (and hearing) just how wet i already was.

by then, my hands had found their place down in between his neck and shoulders, my fingers digging into them as i feel his fingers dig into my dripping cunt way too easily.

“fuck… you must’ve been wanting me just as bad, huh?” stephen asks with twice as much curiosity as he feigns a tone of cockiness.

“don’t — fuck! — get too excited, boy,” i respond with my own portion of botched boldness. i’m the one whose juices are landing on my bedroom floor… now onto my bed… while one of stephen’s hands is on the small of my back guiding me back onto the mattress to join him, his other hand remains pumping into me at a ruthless, nonstop pace. it’s not long before my knees buckle, and my ass lands in between his open legs.

i attempt to crawl over to stephen when my hand instinctively gravitates around his dick again, pulsing as i pump my hand around him, and i just know his hand has to be soaking now. my face is mere centimeters from his gorgeous face, and i almost forget how to breathe.

sticking my tongue out, i (after brief thought of how insane all of this was) lick stephen’s gaping bottom lip, inviting him to kiss me as we continue feeling each other up from below — which he does… very feverishly.

i can’t help but match his energy – and volume – when he proceeds to thrust three of his fingers at this moderate speed, yet each hit is so aggressive that my legs begin to shake. the both of us can’t seem to help the overflow of obscenities that spill over into each other’s mouths in between languid kisses.

after a while of messily making out, our mouths are left gaping open, facial expressions mirroring the other as i notice stephen’s eyes glued to my lower body. almost completely distracted, my hand slows around his throbbing cock. one way or another, he seemed determined for someone to reach their climax.

“wanna cum… wanna make you cum…” stephen begins to mindlessly ramble in between panted moans and groans.

“you still want to taste me?” i ask, just as breathless as he is, yet just barely able to remember what he said earlier.

“god, yes… so bad… please?” stephen pleads, complete with such an irresistible doe-eyed gaze that i find myself crawling up toward the headboard, grabbing onto it as i lower myself onto his face.

at the last possible second, i notice stephen’s thick tongue completely hung out like his cock. but before my body could properly react to that, i feel its heat enter the heat of my wetness, and i can’t seem to stop the whimpers i let out, or my legs from shaking.

“oh fuck!” i yell out breathlessly, gripping the headboard tighter, but not as tight as stephen is gripping my waist — and definitely not as tight as my walls are gripping his tongue.

i raise my body up and down as stephen’s tongue curls itself in alternating directions, and the moans he lets out from underneath me cause my back to arch as I respond with similar (louder) sounds.

“fuck! steph…” i groan, beginning to fuck myself on his tongue — not his face, but his mouth — as i feel (and hear) soft, plump lips sucking intently on my pussy lips. his hands have went from around my waist to gliding all around my lower back, a couple of surprise smacks coercing me into fucking his face with one of my hands lodged in between hair follicles.

with his huge hands gripping all on my ass, i roll my hips to grind against him unabashedly, feeling his tongue dip a bit deeper in between my walls. in response to the tip of it flicking rapidly before continuing to suck every bit of arousal he possibly could out of me, i let out moans laced with so much debauchery that i scare myself.

i barely sense the adjustment and movement stephen makes with the rest of his body in the midst of all this face fucking i’m doing, but his head is beginning to be engulfed by pillows — my pillows — and i feel the bed shift a bit different than my body is moving. i slowly turn around as much as i can to find him thrusting up into the air while still managing to lick and suck me into what could be one of the best orgasms of my life.

i reach back and wrap a hand back around his cock, feeling precum as well as vibrations from between my legs as stephen hums in a higher pitch. at this point, i feel like i’m riding a mechanical bull, especially once my hand lands on his sack again.

with his mouth becoming a bit harsher with its’ actions, stephen begins bucking his hips up, my fist full of his dick as he sporadically fucks up into it. he won’t stop moaning into my dripping cunt, and i can’t help groaning at how good he feels.

“fuck, stephen… you feel so fucking amazing, shit!” i cry out, feeling my legs shake yet again even harder than before. his tongue flicks along my clit rapidly and repeatedly, and i feel my stomach tighten… but once again, not as tight as my walls are around that muscle of his. “fuck, i’m gonna cum!”

i hear stephen let out a long, loud muffled moan as some sort of response, his cock twitching in my hand while his fingers begin clawing into the skin of my lower back. my other hand — that never left the top of his head — grabs the back of his head, pushing his mouth just that much further into my warmth, but only for a moment as my wetness begins to take over.

“oh my god, steph…” i exhale as i feel goosebumps all over my body while i release into his mouth. seconds later, my hand becomes just as coated with his cum as his was in the beginning of all this.

moments later, after we both regain any semblance of composure, i’m laid out next to (but opposite) stephen as he takes my cum-covered hand, and sucks my fingers clean of all evidence of his vulgar thoughts about me. i see him sneak a glance at my alarm clock before speaking.

“looks like we have probably 30 minutes before we’re not alone anymore…” he states between kisses he plants on each of my knuckles. “do you wanna keep going?” a pause as his voice deepens, “because i genuinely wanna fuck you into your mattress right now.”

the moan that escapes my lips before sitting up was downright incontinent. with a hand on his chest, i push stephen back down before making intense eye contact with him.

“if that’s what you want… then fuck me, baby boy.”

it was one of keeho’s guilty pleasures where he liked to touch himself at the thought of you even if you were merely a few rooms away, even if you were one of his best friends’ sibling.

keeho had the rim of his shirt stuffed in his mouth when he was pumping himself dry as his mind thought of the most impure and racy things about you, and that included fucking you dumb and filling you up with his cum.

throwing his head back with a whine, keeho’s whines were loud despite the fabric in his mouth, slowly dampening due to his saliva. his hips buck up into his hand as he grips himself a little too hard, tears brimming his eyes as he shut his eyes hardly.

he whines and pants, “y/n..” keeho moans with a mouthful of his shirt, chest heaving with pants as he helplessly bucked his hips up.

when keeho was spurting his cum all over his hand, he would’ve never known that you had seen him through the door’s gap that he unintentionally left open when he hurriedly went in and touched himself at the thought of you.

[allertonhoe]

partners in lies - rafe cameron (smau)

masterlist ☆ 59 ← 60

summary: in which two public figures need help getting back into the public’s good graces after being bombarded in scandal.

content warnings: model!rafe x actress!reader au, original afab!reader, cameron family still gets along au, suggestive content, mentions/allusions to revenge p*rn (HOWEVER ALL CONTENT ITSELF IS SFW), mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, general fuckboy behaviour.

a/n: and there she is 🥰🥰 hope you guys like how it all wrapped up 🥹 genuinely, thank you all SOO much for all of your love & support on this since the beginning. i absolutely LOVED reading all of your comments & tags & reactions to everything!! i've had so much fun writing this & am so glad you guys have grown to love it as much as i do 💞💞

ALSO!! there isn't an epilogue really put together yet—you can let me know if you want one in this poll!! i will be posting a few extra chapters (and might have some polls for them 👀) over the next few weeks, but for the moment there isn't a planned sequel. i've been trying to actually write more and have a ton of ideas for a few new series, so look out for that! thank you all again!! 💗💗

taglist below!