#but in doing so letting pain (or the anticipation of it) color every day

[whentherewerebicycles]

.

[transform4u]

My boyfriend is super turned on by the idea of me turning straight. I don't get it but it's his fantasy.

Is there any way you can do that while letting me still be close to him? Like making sure I'm not homophobic when I turn and I can be his best friend at least?

As the night settled in and you and your boyfriend lounged on the couch, a cozy vibe had enveloped the apartment. You were deeply immersed in Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen, your laughter mingling. The comfort of the couch and the warmth of the moment made it all feel perfect—until the sudden, inexplicable noise shattered the tranquility.

A loud, jarring snaaaaaaaaapppp reverberated through the apartment, and the TV screen flickered with an unsettling intensity. In an instant, the show was replaced by a chaotic football game. The teams were a blur of color and motion, their logos unrecognizable as they dashed across the screen. You and your bofriend exchanged a look of utter bewilderment. Confusion danced in your eyes as you both instinctively reached for the remote.

But before you could even touch it, a searing heat shot through your hand. A wave of pain rippled through your entire body, spreading out like wildfire. As the pain intensified, your bodies began to change in ways that defied logic. You felt your legs part involuntarily, the couch seemed to shrink beneath you.

Your once lean and lithe form burgeoned, and you felt yourself growing taller, your muscles swelling like they were pumped full of adrenaline and gym-bagged protein powder. Each inch added to your height brought with it a new layer of muscle—biceps that now rivaled grapefruits, a chest like an impenetrable fortress, and abs that could slice through steel. Your shoulders were so broad they could serve as landing strips for small aircraft. Your face, framed by a sunburn that spoke of endless days in the sun, was marked by a square jawline that could cut glass, and your cocky smirk seemed permanently etched into your features. Your eyes squinted with the kind of intensity only found in those who have lived on a diet of pre-workout and relentless gym sessions.

Beside you, your bro-friend underwent a similar metamorphosis. His transformation was nothing short of Michelangelo’s finest sculpting after a bender of keg stands. His triceps flexed on their own, a testament to his relentless dedication. His quads could have doubled as life rafts, and his torso was a living mountain range, displaying a V-taper so extreme it could have been photoshopped. His face, perpetually adorned with a rugged five o'clock shadow, spoke of late nights and unending revelry. His bloodshot eyes glinted with the anticipation of the next party, and when he grinned—a sight to behold—his white teeth gleamed brilliantly against his tanned skin, an impressive display of someone who’s lived for the sun and the fun. Dumb chuckles bubbled up from within as the football game continued to rage on, the absurdity of the situation only fueling your laughter. You flexed your massive biceps involuntarily, your abs rippling as you shifted on the couch, while your bro did the same, his massive shoulders rolling with every motion. You leaned back into the couch, the heat of the moment blending with the heat radiating from your muscular frames. The game played on, but all you and your bro could do was laugh, marveling at the incredible absurdity of it all.

With a roar of glee, you raise your fist high in the air, colliding with your boyfriend's in a resounding smack that echoes through your aparment "That's right, suck it!" you cheer as the Jets score another touchdown. The entire room quakes from the force of your exuberant high five.

All around you, the once spotless apartment descends into utter chaos - empty beer bottles topple off the shelves, porno magazine covers fly everywhere, pizza boxes accordion out in every direction as the floor shifts underfoot. The pristine couch creaks ominously as it's subjected to a relentless pounding from your giant new bodies. Duct tape peels off the walls, clothes tear as muscles bulge obscenely. The pungent aroma of collegeboy sweat mingles with Axe and Doritos and beer.

A sudden buzz reverberates through your enhanced hearing - your phone. Fishing the device out of the gym bag that used to be your backpack, you swipe open the text message from Misty. She sends a photo accompanied by the simple caption: "miss u 2nite ;)" You show the picture to your brother-in-arms, grinning widely as you bring the screen closer to his face. "Does she have like, a sister or something?" He raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, glancing back down at the image. "Bro! That would be sick!"

You let out a snort of laughter as memories of your wildest one-night stand with Misty flash through your mind. That night still haunts you in the best way - the taste of her sweet cherry lipstick smeared across your face, the sounds of her whorish moans filling your ears as you pounded into her tight little holes, the feeling of her nails raking down your back leaving red welts in their wake. She rode your cock like she was possessed, bouncing on it wildly until she threw her head back with a silent scream, tits swinging as you bottomed out inside her over and over again until you both collapsed into a sweaty heap. "Bro…" you say lowly, voice rough with lust, "you gotta see this chick."

Before your bro can respond, a primal hunger rises up inside you as you imagine sinking your teeth into Misty's soft neck while she screams in ecstasy. Your dick immediately begins stirring to life in your tiny gym shorts, straining painfully against the fabric. Adjusting yourself with one massive hand, you give yourself a firm squeeze and groan at the pressure building inside. "God damn…just thinking about fucking that slutty little bitch turns me on," you mutter, rubbing the bulge in your shorts as your brother chuckles beside you.

Memories flood your mind of days as the most notorious frat boys on campus brings back a flood of memories - late nights filled with cheap beer, stale pizza, and even cheaper women willing to spread their legs for a few dollars and a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon. You and your bro-in-arms were the epitome of frat house antics, constantly scheming up new ways to get girls drunk on Natty Light and show them a good time.

Whether it was streaking through the quad at midnight, attempting to "flash" the girls walking by, or having a keg stand contest in the dining hall that ended with your bro launching a full Red Cup straight at the RA's head, there was no stunt too wild or stupid for the two of you. The campus police were always on your tail, but you were always three steps ahead. By day you were up to no good, pranking dorm mates and setting off alarms. By night, you were the kings of the party scene, ruling over the dance floor like alpha males. Girls wanted to be seen with you and your bro, even if they didn't always stick around for breakfast.

[dandelions-143]

Do It For Me

Final Part

Parts 1 - 3 here : Chans Masterlist

All other members : Masterlist

Pairing: possessive bad boy, non idol Chan x Bratty fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Explicit sexual content, Strong language, Themes of possessiveness and control in relationships, Public sex

Word count: 2,396

A/N: This will be the last installment in Chans story. I wasn’t going to write another one but I felt like I needed a pretty happy entering without making it super fluffy because you all know that’s not my style. Currently working on a playlist for this series so stay tuned! Also if you have already read this just ignore!! Adding all saved tags to all of my works. If you wish to no longer be tagged just let me know.

You sank into Chan's plush leather sofa, your hands resting on your thighs and your bare feet crossed at the ankle. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you gazed across the room. Chan sat just a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on you like a predator eyeing its prey.

It had been a couple of days since Chan had whisked you away from the bar to his family home. Initially, you resisted his every move. You ignored or scoffed at his gentle touches and sweet gestures of affection. The only thing you welcomed was the rough sex.

Gradually, however, you began to warm up to his tender side—a side that seemingly only you got to witness. You stopped flinching when he pulled you close for an embrace. You started reciprocating his quick, spontaneous kisses.

You no longer mocked his affectionate gestures when he offered to cook for you, give you a foot rub, or simply lay with you to read or watch a movie. Slowly, you began to anticipate these moments, and before you realized it, you were opening up to him in ways you'd never done with anyone before.

"Come on, it's just a date. We've been hooking up on and off for years. Let me take you out," Chan said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he looked at you. You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, even as the prospect of a proper date with Chan made your pulse quicken. You didn't usually like feeling this way—you'd convinced yourself you weren't built for romance or relationships—but Chan was steadily dismantling the walls you'd built.

After much hesitation, you finally answered, "Fine, I'll go on one date with you, but you have to let me go back to Hyunjin's place to get ready properly. I'm tired of being cooped up in this mansion. I'm not your prisoner, Chan." His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching slightly. You could see the internal struggle playing out across his features. Finally, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing. "Alright," he conceded, "but I'm picking you up at 8, and if you're not ready or you try to slip away... I'll find you, and you won't leave my sight ever again."

Chan's possessiveness was overwhelming at this point, and it pained you to lack your own independence. Yet, you had no intentions of leaving him—you just didn't want him to know that. You nodded simply and stood up. "I should probably get going then. I need time to get ready." Chan licked his full lips and rose as well. "I'll have a car take you over."

Two hours later, you were gazing into Hyunjin's bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Your deep blue dress hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating your figure in all the right places. The neckline plunged just low enough to be alluring without being too revealing. You applied a final swipe of deep red lipstick, the color complementing the dress beautifully. As you stepped back to admire your reflection, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness for your date with Chan.

As soon as those feelings began to rise, you shook your head, pushing them away. "What the fuck... get ahold of yourself, Y/n." Just as you were walking out of Hyunjin's bedroom, his front door opened and in stepped a very tired-looking Hyunjin. "Wow, you actually do come home," you said as his eyes met yours. A soft smile spread over his lips. "I'm only here to grab some things. I'm going back to my other place."

You walked over to him, knowing how sad and lonely your best friend had been feeling since his breakup with his ex. Even though you agreed he had been a very bad boyfriend, you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. He was close to your heart, and you didn't like seeing him suffer. You embraced him in a gentle hug. "Are you okay?" you asked as you squeezed him a little, then pulled back to peer up at him.

Hyunjin gave you a weak smile, his eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. "I'm... managing," he replied softly, his voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the weight of his emotions in those two simple words. Before you could respond, the sound of a car horn outside caught your attention, reminding you of your impending date with Chan.

You nodded, "You know I'm still your best friend and I'm here for you. Even if you just want to complain, I'll listen." Hyunjin was the only one who got to see your softer side. "Yeah, I know, Y/n." Hyunjin glanced out of his big bay windows, seeing Chan emerge from his car and begin walking up the sidewalk. "Are you and Chan finally expressing your love for one another?" he asked, surprised as he finally took in your dressed-up appearance.

You sighed heavily and shrugged, "I'm just indulging him." Hyunjin laughed softly and shook his head at you. "You know... we all see it. You love the guy, and it's clear he's obsessed and in love with you. He has been for years." You started to turn away to grab your small handbag. "Hyunjin..." you began, not wanting to hear this.

"Y/n, take it from me, who took advantage of someone that loved me unconditionally... you don't want to give that up." He looked down, trying to hold back the tears stinging his eyes. "Once you damage that and they give up on you... there's no going back. Nothing's ever the same." There was a soft knock on the door. "Let the guy love you... you deserve that."

You swallowed hard, letting his words sink in as you turned to face the door. Your heart raced, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through you. Hyunjin's words echoed in your mind, challenging your carefully constructed walls. As you reached for the doorknob, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the evening ahead.

When you swung open the door, Chan stood there in all black. His suit fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist. His dark hair was styled neatly, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation as they took in your appearance. A soft smile played on his lips as he extended his hand towards you, his voice low and warm as he said, "You look absolutely stunning, Y/n. Are you ready?" His question seemed to hold more than just the simple meaning.

You took a glance back at Hyunjin, who nodded encouragingly at you. You gave him a soft smile and turned back to Chan. "Yeah, I think I am." You took his hand and walked out of the apartment with him. As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Chan's hand warm in yours, you felt a flutter of nervousness in your chest. The city lights twinkled around you, casting a soft glow on the sidewalk. Chan led you towards his car, a sleek black vehicle that matched his attire perfectly, and you couldn't help but wonder what the night had in store for you both.

The restaurant Chan chose was an elegant Korean establishment with a modern twist. Soft lighting and minimalist decor created an intimate atmosphere, perfect for your first official date. As you and Chan were led to your table, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbled up inside you. The aroma of sizzling bulgogi and freshly steamed rice filled the air, making your mouth water.

You couldn't help but notice the place was completely empty, save for the staff. As you settled into your seat, you glanced at Chan, looking more than handsome in the dim lighting. "What did you do? Rent out the place?" you joked. Chan's lips curved into a mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling. "Maybe I did," he replied, his voice low and playful. A flutter in your chest surprised you at the thought of him going to such lengths for your date. You realized this evening might be more special than you'd initially anticipated.

The waiter arrived with Korean wine and asked if you were ready for your first course. You raised an eyebrow at Chan. "So you've had this all planned out?" Chan simply nodded to the waiter, who disappeared to fetch your meals, leaving your question unanswered.

As you sipped your wine, curiosity and appreciation for Chan's efforts washed over you. The intimate setting and carefully planned menu spoke of a thoughtfulness you weren't quite used to. You found yourself softening, your usual defenses lowering as you gazed at Chan across the table. His dark eyes met yours, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to truly let him in.

Chan leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his dark eyes intense. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice low and earnest. "Y/n, I know you've been guarding your heart for so long. But I want you to know that I'm here, ready to love you completely. I've been waiting for years, hoping you'd let me in. I'm not asking for everything all at once, but I want you to give us a real chance. Let me show you how much you mean to me, how much I care." You leaned forward, parting your lips to speak, but Chan cut you off, "And please don't turn this into me acting like a pussy because I'm weak for loving you."

You couldn't help but chuckle softly at his words, feeling a mix of amusement and warmth spread through your chest. Chan's vulnerability, his willingness to lay his heart bare before you, was both touching and terrifying. You found yourself at a crossroads, torn between the safety of your carefully constructed walls and the allure of the love Chan was offering. As you gazed into his eyes, you realized that maybe, just maybe, it was time to take a leap of faith.

When you didn't say anything right away, Chan continued, his face hardening slightly as the possessive man you knew pushed through. "And regardless of whether you want to be here or be with me... you're still mine. You always have been. You can't escape me. I don't need you to love me, but... I do need you with me."

A mix of emotions washed over you at Chan's words—a blend of frustration at his possessiveness, but also a strange comfort in his unwavering devotion. You took a deep breath, trying to sort through the conflicting feelings. Part of you wanted to push back against his claim, assert your independence, but another part recognized the truth in his words—there was an undeniable connection between you two that had persisted for years.

You leaned back in your chair as the food arrived. Waiting for the waiter to leave, you began eating before answering Chan. You couldn't help but test his patience. While you enjoyed riling him up, you were also growing fond of his sweet, vulnerable side. "Y/n..." he said under his breath, a warning for you to respond.

You took another bite, savoring the flavors as you considered your words. Finally, you met Chan's intense gaze, your voice soft but firm. "Chan, I can't deny our connection. But love... it's complicated. I'm not promising anything, but I'm here, aren't I? Let's see where this goes."

Your nonchalant response caused Chan's steely glare to falter. He seemed taken aback, having endured years of your rejection. Your words made him question if he'd been wasting his time waiting for and chasing you. Chan's expression softened, a mix of surprise and hope flickering across his features. He reached across the table, his fingers gently brushing yours. "That's all I'm asking for, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine emotion. "A chance to show you what we could be."

As the evening progressed, you found yourself relaxing more, genuinely enjoying Chan's company. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by shared laughter and lingering glances. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to imagine a future where you weren't constantly pushing Chan away. As dessert arrived—a decadent chocolate creation that made your eyes light up—you realized that maybe, just maybe, giving Chan a chance wouldn't be so bad after all.

As the night wore on, you noticed a heat in Chan's eyes as he watched you eat your dessert. "What are you thinking about?" you asked when you caught him staring at your lips as they moved around the spoon. A sly smirk painted his plump lips. "I'm imagining how that red lipstick would look smeared around my cock."

You felt a sudden heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and arousal coursing through your body. Chan's boldness never failed to catch you off guard, even after all this time. You leaned forward, your voice dropping to a husky whisper, "Maybe you'll get to find out later."

Chan shook his head. "There's no later... I want to see it now." Your eyes glanced around the room and then over to the now-quiet kitchen. "You mean here? Where people can see?" Chan's eyes darkened with desire, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "That's exactly what I mean," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "The thrill of getting caught only adds to the excitement, don't you think?"

You licked the remaining chocolate from your lips as Chan motioned for you to come closer. "Come here... I want you on your knees." Even though Chan had been confessing his love, the man knew what he wanted and always took it. You were his, and you would do as you were told... for the most part.

A thrill of excitement coursed through you at Chan's commanding tone. Without hesitation, you rose from your seat, the silk of your dress rustling softly as you moved around the table. Your heart raced as you approached Chan, fully aware of the risk of being caught but unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. As you sank to your knees before him, your eyes locked with his, silently acknowledging the power he held over you in that moment.

You could feel wetness nearly pooling in your panties as his warm hand caressed your cheek and slid over your jaw. His thumb swiped gently across your lips, smearing your deep red lipstick slightly. "So fucking beautiful," he breathed. Chan's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed down at you, his fingers trailing along your jawline. You shivered under his touch, anticipation building within you. Without a word, his hands moved to his belt, the soft clink of metal echoing in the quiet restaurant.

You had watched Chan do this many times, but after allowing him to tear down the walls you'd had up for years, it was as if you were seeing him with new eyes. The heat in the pit of your stomach intensified as you watched him slowly unzip his pants. Anticipation built with each passing second, your breath catching in your throat as you waited for him to reveal himself. You marveled at how different this felt—the same act, but with a new depth of emotion behind it.

Chan spread his thighs wider, the visible bulge in his pants drawing your gaze. You moved closer, your hands sliding up his muscular thighs. "Pull it out," he mumbled. You hesitated, hearing slight movement in the kitchen. "Eyes on me. I'm the only one here with you." He lifted your chin with a finger planted beneath your jaw.

Your eyes rose to meet his glare, filled not only with desire but with a softness you could only discern as love.

Your heart raced as you reached forward, your fingers gently brushing against the fabric of his pants before carefully freeing his hardened length. The sight of him, fully aroused and waiting for you, sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You licked your lips unconsciously, your gaze flickering between his intense eyes and his throbbing cock, ready to pleasure him in this thrilling, semi-public setting.

With a soft exhale, you leaned forward, your lips parting as you took him into your mouth. The taste of him, familiar yet somehow new, filled your senses as you began to move. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the feeling of him against your tongue, before opening again to meet his intense gaze.

Chan's fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you worked your mouth along his length. The low groan that escaped his lips sent a shiver down your spine, encouraging you to take him deeper. You could feel his thighs tensing beneath your hands, a clear sign of his growing pleasure.

As you continued your ministrations, you could feel Chan's control slipping. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips beginning to buck slightly against your mouth. The thrill of pleasuring him in such a public place only added to your own arousal, your core aching with need. You redoubled your efforts, determined to bring him to the edge of ecstasy.

Chan's breathing grew ragged, his muscles tensing as he approached his climax. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully. Just as you felt his cock tightening and twitching between your parted lips, he pulled you up. His chest heaved as he glanced down at his cock, covered in your saliva. Your lipstick smeared all around the base of his shaft.

"Not yet," he said gruffly as he stood, bringing you to your feet with him. "I want to feel you wrapped so tight around me."

Chan's hands roamed your body, his touch igniting a fire within you. He spun you around, pressing you against the table as his lips found your neck. You gasped, feeling the hard length of him against your backside, your body trembling with anticipation. The thrill of potentially being caught only heightened your arousal, making you ache for more.

His hands lifted the hem of your dress, exposing your panty-clad ass. He yanked them down, letting them fall to your ankles. Chan gripped your ass in his hands. "You drive me insane," he growled.

You moaned softly as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your behind, your body responding eagerly to his touch. The cool air of the restaurant against your exposed skin sent a shiver down your spine, heightening your arousal. Chan's breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, "I've waited so long for this moment, to have you fully surrender to me."

And you were fully surrendering. In that moment, he could have all of you—your body, your mind, your heart. You realized how much you wanted this, wanted him, wanted his love. Chan spun you around, pulling you over to push you against the wall.

His strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as his lips crashed onto yours in a passionate kiss. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his desire for you evident in every touch. As he pressed you against the wall, his hips grinding against yours, you knew that this moment would change everything between you and Chan forever.

Chan's hands roamed your body, his touch both possessive and tender. You arched into him, your body responding to his every caress. As his lips found yours again, you surrendered completely to the passion between you. "Please... fuck me, Chan," you could barely speak as you tugged at his shirt, pulling it up to slide your hands against his heated skin, feeling the muscles in his back move beneath his smooth skin.

Chan's eyes locked with yours, dark with desire and something deeper—a vulnerability you'd never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your core, the thin fabric of your dress the only barrier between you. "I'm going to make you mine," he growled, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

With a swift motion, Chan aligned himself with your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his length. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he slowly pushed inside, stretching and filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that made you cry out softly. Chan stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, "You feel so perfect, so tight around me."

As he began to move, you clung to him, your bodies moving in perfect synchronization. The risk of being caught only heightened your pleasure, every thrust sending waves of ecstasy through your body. You bit your lip to stifle your moans, your nails digging into Chan's back as he drove deeper, his pace increasing with each passing moment.

The combination of pleasure and the thrill of potentially being caught was intoxicating. Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the heat between you building to an unbearable intensity. You could feel yourself approaching the edge, your muscles tensing as Chan's thrusts became more urgent, driving you both towards an explosive climax.

As the tension built to a fever pitch, you felt yourself teetering on the brink of ecstasy. Chan's movements became more frantic, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with renewed vigor. The world around you faded away, leaving only the sensation of your bodies intertwined and the impending release that threatened to consume you both.

Just as you were about to cum, you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled his head up away from your neck. You wanted to watch him cum inside you, to see just how good you made him feel. Chan's eyes locked with yours, his pupils dilated with desire as he neared his climax. You watched in awe as his face contorted with pleasure, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. The intensity of his gaze, filled with raw passion and vulnerability, pushed you over the edge, and you felt your own orgasm crash over you in waves of ecstasy.

Chan held you close as you both came down from your shared high, your bodies still trembling with aftershocks. As your breathing steadied, he gently lowered you to your feet, his hands caressing your sides tenderly. You looked up at him, seeing a mix of satisfaction and adoration in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

"You don't have to say it back, but I love you." His Australian accent was even thicker as he came down from his high. You felt your heart racing, the words echoing in your mind. The intensity of the moment, the vulnerability in Chan's eyes, and the raw emotion in his voice overwhelmed you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you heard your own voice, barely above a whisper, "I love you too, Chan." The words felt right, natural, as if they had been waiting to be spoken all along.

Just as Chan's mouth fell open slightly at the words you had always refused to say to anyone, a crash of dishes came from behind him. You both looked over to see the waiter standing there with wide eyes and a mess of broken dishes on the floor.

Chan's face flushed a deep red, a mix of embarrassment and lingering desire evident in his expression. You couldn't help but stifle a giggle, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once. With a sheepish grin, Chan quickly adjusted his clothing and turned to address the stunned waiter, his voice a mix of authority and amusement as he said, "I believe we're ready for the check now."

Taglist:

@cashtonsbetch @katsukis1wife @hyunjinhoexxx @ihrtlino @breezy-simp @vixensss @yaorzu-blog @tirena1 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @chuuyaobsessed @doohnut @babigriin @iovecb97 @kpflyn @rylea08 @sheerfreesia007 @tsunderelino @cookiesandcreammy @rockstarkkami @moonchild9350 @syedazarintasnim @myflowercloud @143hyunes @luvyblossom @shecheatedwithme @antisocialties @akaligogrrr @thisaintredwine @rose-w-00-d @jisuperboard @velvetmoonlight @kayleefriedchicken @skzfelixlove

[futurewdclandonorris]

Silver Springs | Lando Norris⁴

Pairings: Lando Norris x ex!fem!reader

Requested: yes

Warnings: angsty with a hopeful ending

A/N: This is my first request ever and I hope I managed to fulfill the expectations. I took a little liberty and played with the style and format and just listening and studying the song made me want to write it this way. I'm sorry if this isn't what anon had in mind when requesting this so with that make sure to leave as much details as possible when requesting things if you want something specific. Feedback on this would be very much appreciated. 🥺🧡

You’ve found yourself thinking about Lando more regularly as of late. It has been ten months since your break up and you don’t remember feeling like this at the time. You guess you were in a state of denial, trying to convince yourself that the relationship was worth saving despite knowing that it wasn’t.

Of course, in the beginning everything was like a fairy tale. At first it was so wonderful that every ounce of you was convinced that it couldn't possibly get any better. And then, slowly, inevitably, the house of cards collapsed. Maybe that should've been your first clue, but every time you would stick your rose colored glasses further up your nose and focus harder on all those positive aspects of the relationship.

Time spent with Lando was the best time of your life. He always gave you the best he could offer. Taking you out on dates, vacations, accompanying him to races across the world... He truly gave you that only-girl-in-the-world experience. He was always there, present. Until he wasn't.

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Lando Norris. But there was no way you could've prepared yourself for how it would all end up.

He was a Formula One driver and his life was always going to be busy. The paparazzi, the rumors, the constant pressure of being in the public eye. It all took a toll on your relationship.

But what you didn't anticipate was how much time he would start spending away from you. It started off with a few missed calls and texts, but soon he was gone for days at a time without a word.

You tried to be understanding, knowing how demanding his job was, but it was hard not to feel neglected and unimportant. You tried to talk to him about it, but he always seemed to have an excuse or an apology that would temporarily ease your worry.

As the months went on, you began to realize that the relationship was becoming more and more one-sided. You were always the one making compromises, always the one putting in the effort to make things work.

One night, as Lando was getting ready to leave for yet another race, you finally confronted him about it. You told him how you felt and how you needed more from him. But instead of trying to work things out, he simply brushed you off and left without a second thought.

For the first time, you began to wonder if maybe it was time to let go. Maybe it was time to walk away from a relationship that was causing you more pain than happiness.

It wasn't an easy call. You were still in love with him and a part of you wanted to believed that he loved you too. But you couldn't keep living like that when you knew you deserved more. So, after a lot of tears and internal conflict, you made the decision to end things with him.

He took it calmly. “Maybe it’s for the best. We’re at different stages in life-”

But you weren’t interested in reasoning. You were done.

Few days later as you sat alone in your room thinking about him, you couldn't help but wonder if it could all be different. Maybe if you had just tried harder, fought for the relationship a little more, things could've ended up differently. Maybe you could've been the one he came home to every night, instead of just another girl in his life. But relationships were a two way street and you couldn’t do it just on your own.

Months went by and slowly but surely, you started to heal. You threw yourself into work and hobbies, spending time with friends and family. You had to reduce your social media and tv time, fearing you’d accidentally see something about him, or maybe even search up his name on your own that would ruin all the progress you just made. Mutual friends had to be cut off too. Everything that even had a slightest relation to him had to be eliminated from your life so you wouldn't crumble back into old habits.

Finally, you were ready to try dating again. It felt strange to be putting yourself out there again, going out on dates here and there. And although nothing ever really clicked, it was working to distract and make you forget. Up until now.

He just crept into your thoughts on a random Tuesday. You scoffed, shaking them away. Then little (in)significant things started to happen. Like seeing number 4 everywhere in various combinations. You would turn on the radio and first thing you’d hear would be the song you two proclaimed to be yours one drunk night in a bar.

“Are you kidding me?!” you spat, turning the radio off. It wasn’t even a love song.

Dreams began next and they were so life-like that it was almost as if you had gone back in time. They would be so vivid, reminding you of his touch and sound of his voice. In one of them, you would be back together and he would be holding you in his arms. You’d feel safe and loved, just like you used to. One of those nights you woke up to the sound of his laughter echoing in your ears, but when you turned over it was just you and the void of the bedside he used to fill. Your eyes shifted to a digital clock on the nightstand. In hauntingly bold red it read 04:44 am.

And you really should’ve known better than to turn the tv on on weekends. Not every weekend, you reminded yourself, but really, what were the odds that you would catch him racing that Sunday?

You tried your best to ignore it all. Tried to push Lando back to the farthest corners of your mind. But every time you tried, he came back stronger, like a boomerang you couldn't escape from. It was like he was haunting you, his memory a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

It was frustrating. It was maddening. You didn't want to think about him anymore. You didn't want to care. You didn't want to love him.

When it all became too much, you decided to go for a walk to clear your head. You grabbed your coat and headed out the door, the cold afternoon air hitting you as you stepped outside. As you walked down the street, you realized that you were headed in the direction of the park where you and Lando used to go on picnics and take walks together. There was no point in avoiding going there now. Every part of the town was marked with the two of you in one way or the other.

As you walked through the park, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over you. You remembered how happy you used to be with Lando by your side, how the two of you laughed and talked for hours on end. You wondered if he ever thought about those moments, if he ever missed you. If he ever thought about you just in general. Your heart felt heavy as you thought about how things could have been different if only he had been willing to put in more effort into your relationship.

A sudden movement caught your eye and you turned to see a man walking towards you, his eyes locked onto yours. Your heart leaped out of your chest and you found yourself frozen in place. But the man who passed you wasn’t him. He might’ve had his hair or his eyes, but it wasn’t him. You closed your eyes and sighed a sigh of relief.

I’m starting to see things now, you thought to yourself, shaking the image away. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that type of encounter just yet anyway.

After a few minutes, you continued on your way and eventually found yourself in front of a cozy cafe. You looked up at the simple yet inviting storefront and decided this was as good a place as any to take a break. You opened the door and stepped inside, the warm atmosphere immediately embracing you like an old friend.

The cafe was quite busy with customers, but despite the crowd it still had an intimate feel to it. The smell of fresh coffee accompanied by the sound of jazz music created a relaxed atmosphere that made you forget all about your worries for a while. You walked up to the counter and ordered a cup of your favorite coffee blend before sitting down at one of the tables in the far corner.

-

He had thought about you a lot that summer. It wasn't just the memory of you that lingered in his mind; it was the way you made him feel. He missed the way your hand fit perfectly in his, and the sound of your laughter that could light up a room. He missed the long conversations you used to have over the phone when he was away, and the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you were passionate about.

He had missed you, more than he was willing to admit to himself. He had tried to ignore his feelings, to push them down and pretend that he was perfectly okay without you. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the memories of your time together.

Sometimes the air would smell like your hair, the wind would caress his cheeks like you used to. He remembered the picnics in the park, the late night conversations, the lazy Sunday mornings spent cuddled up in bed on his weekends off before he would have to pack for another race week. He remembered how happy he used to be with you by his side, and he cursed himself for not realizing how much he needed you until it was too late.

Being without you on tracks was the worst. He didn’t know it would be like that when he had you calling before and after every session, giving him a false sense of security. He was racing for himself, building his career, but  he couldn't focus on anything else. The roar of the engines and the adrenaline rush of it all losing their appeal without you there to share it with him. He had to force himself to keep going, to keep racing, but every achievement felt hollow without you to celebrate with him.

But he never reached out to you. He never tried to make things right, even when he knew he was wrong. He was too prideful, too scared of rejection, too afraid of admitting that he had made a mistake. So he stayed away, hoping that time and distance would heal the wounds.

It was late autumn now and after yet another decent weekend, he decided to fly home for his week off and recharge. Maybe time spent with family and friends would help and stop you from creeping in his thoughts.

As he settled into his seat on the plane, he couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness. His career progressed drastically since your split, but what did it matter? He only had himself to share his success with.

The flight was uneventful, and before he knew it, he was back in his hometown. He stepped off the plane and was greeted by the familiar faces of his family. Their hugs and laughter made him realize he was making yet another mistake. He missed you more than ever, and being home without you will only make it worse.

Lando tried to keep busy by spending time with his loved ones and focusing on his training. But it was like trying to hold back the tide with a broom, he couldn't escape the memories of you. The sound of your voice, the touch of your hand, the warmth of your embrace. It was all too vivid in his mind, haunting him day and night.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he drove out in his car, desperate to find a way to move on. He had no destination in mind, and maybe driving to clear his head wasn’t ideal, but it was the only other thing he loved that he had left. And it was like universe was having a laugh at him, when he turned on the radio it was your song that was playing. He thought of changing the station, but his fingers lingered too long in the air over the button that he ended up listening to the whole thing.

As the last notes of the song faded away, Lando let out a heavy sigh and pulled over to the side of the road. He found himself parked in front of a cozy cafe that he had never noticed before. It looked warm and inviting, the smell of coffee wafting out to greet him. He found himself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

Without much thought, he opened the door and stepped inside. The sound of jazz music greeted him, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of calm wash over him as he took in the warm atmosphere. He walked up to the counter and ordered a cup of coffee before finding a seat at one of the tables.

Looking around, he spotted you purely accidentally, sipping coffee and reading a book. His heart skipped a beat as he watched you sit alone in the far corner. You looked beautiful, just as he remembered, with your hair falling in loose waves around your face. He couldn't believe it was you. The one person he had been thinking about for months was sitting just a few tables away from him.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, his heart racing with emotions he thought he had buried deep within. He tried to catch your eye, but you didn't look up from the book. He felt his heart sink as he realized that you didn't even know he was there.

Lando hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Part of him wanted to approach you and try to start a conversation, while the other part of him couldn't bear the thought of seeing you again after all this time. He had hurt you deeply, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face the consequences of his actions.

But as he sat there, lost in thought, he suddenly realized that he couldn't just sit idly by and watch you from a distance. He had to do something, even if it meant facing his fears head-on. It was now or never.

He got up from his seat and slowly walked over to your table, his heart beating faster with every step. You finally looked up from your book as he approached, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw who was standing in front of you.

-

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Quickly you made a mental check on what day it was. Early Friday evening.

Lando sighed, nerves getting the best of him as he stood before you. “I’m… I came home for my week off.” he said, his voice sounding small and unsure.

“You have a week off,” you weren’t sure if you were asking him, accusing him, laughing at your own stupidity or a secret fourth thing.

He shifted awkwardly on his feet, his eyes unable to meet yours. “You’re saying it like it’s a crime,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I just didn’t expect to see you here on a weekend.” you defended, realizing you were setting yourself for a trap. Not every weekend.

“Were you hoping I was out of the country?” he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. He knew he was being defensive, but he couldn't help it. Being around you made him feel vulnerable, exposed.

Lando's question hung heavily in the air, his eyes still fixed on you. You felt a pang of guilt, knowing full well that you had been hoping to avoid him for a little while longer. But now that he was standing in front of you, you couldn't deny the pull you still felt towards him.

"I don't know what I was hoping for," you admitted, your eyes finally meeting his. "I just know I didn't expect to see you here."

"Neither did I," he said softly, taking a step closer to you. "But now that I am, can we talk?"

You looked at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He looked good, but different somehow. He seemed more vulnerable, more open than you remembered. It made your heart ache for him, but you tried to push the feeling away.

"Okay," you said, nodding your head. "Let's talk."

Lando let out a sigh of relief, his tense shoulders relaxing as he took a seat opposite of you.

“So, how have you been?” he asked, shuffling his feet slightly.

“I’ve been okay,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to keep busy.”

There was a moment of awkward silence between you as you both tried to gather your thoughts. You couldn't help but notice how much he had changed since the last time you saw him. His hair was shorter, and he looked like he had put on some muscle. But it was his eyes that caught your attention the most. They looked tired and distant, like he had been carrying a heavy burden for a long time.

“How are-How are things with you?” you choked out.

Lando let out a small laugh, but it sounded hollow to your ears. "Things have been good, I guess," he said, his eyes flickering towards yours for a moment before darting away. "Work has been keeping me busy."

You nodded, not sure what to say. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of him thriving without you. It didn't seem fair that he could move on so easily while you were still struggling in a way.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "For everything. For how I treated you, for how I acted. I was a fool, and I should have never let you go."

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not.” he cut you off harshly. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve set my priorities straight.”

“But you did.” you smiled to hide the pain as you said that, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“I was wrong. I was so wrong.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lando could see the confusion and hurt written all over your face, and he knew that he had a lot to answer for. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts before he spoke again.

“I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry.” he said. “I should have fought for you, instead of letting my pride get in the way. I missed you more than I could ever say, and being away from you only made me realize how much I need you in my life.”

You looked at him skeptically, unsure if you could believe him after all the pain he had caused you. But as you looked into his eyes, you could see the sincerity and regret that shone through.

“I don't know if you're ready to forgive me, and I don't expect you to right away,” he continued. “But I had to come and tell you how I feel and to try to make things right. If you’ll let me.”

He looked down as he finished his speech. You sat a few moments in silence, letting it all sink in before leaning over and reaching for his hand.

As soon as your fingers interlocked with his, you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body. It had been so long since you had touched him, and it felt like coming home.

“Lando,” you called, wanting him to look at you. You only continued when he did. “I already forgave you. But as for the rest… I will need some time.” you said softly, not wanting to give him false hope. “But I appreciate your apology.”

"I understand," he said, squeezing your hand gently. "I'll give you all the time you need. Just know that I'm here whenever you're ready."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. It wasn't a complete resolution, but it was a start. You sat in silence for a few more minutes, just holding each other's hands, before you finally pulled away.

"I should get going," you said, grabbing your book and standing up.

“Let me drive you home.” Lando said, standing up as well.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were ready to spend more time alone with him. But as you looked into his earnest and apologetic gaze, you couldn't help but nod in agreement.

"Okay," you said, a small smile creeping onto your face. "Let's go."

Lando walked you to his car, opening the door for you and then walking around to the driver's side. As he started the engine, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over you. This was the same car he had driven you around in when you were together, and it felt strange to be sitting in it again.

The ride was mostly silent, with both of you lost in your own thoughts. But as you pulled up in front of your apartment building, Lando turned to you with a serious expression on his face.

"I know I have a lot to make up for," he said, his voice low and intense. “But I promise you, I'll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'm serious about this. I want us to be together again, if you'll have me."

You took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. It was true that you still had feelings for Lando, but you weren't sure if it was enough to give him another chance. You needed time to think, to process everything that had happened between you two.

"I appreciate your sincerity, Lando," you said finally, meeting his gaze. "But I need some time alone to figure things out. Can you give me that?"

"Of course," he said, nodding his head. "I'll respect your wishes. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief and gratitude towards him. Despite everything that had happened between you two, he still cared about your well-being. It was a comforting thought, and it made you realize that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for the two of you.

"Thank you, Lando," you said, giving him a small smile. "I'll talk to you soon."

With that, you got out of the car and walked towards your building, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. Part of you was relieved to have some space to think, while another part of you was still hopeful for a future with Lando.

As you walked up the stairs to your apartment, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held. Would you be able to start anew, or would you remain apart forever? Only time would tell, but for now, all you could do was take things one day at a time.

[lxndonorris]

back in the shirt - Mason Mount

Y/N x Mason Mount Theme Fluff / Angsty watching Mason's first training session since his injury x word count: 2000+ open for requests :)

The sun is starting to break through the morning haze as you stand by the sidelines, your eyes scanning the familiar stretch of the football field. There is a stillness in the air, one that seems to hang with anticipation. It is a day you have been waiting for, but it is also a day you dreaded—a mixture of emotions swirling within you as you think about Mason.

He has been out for weeks, sidelined by an injury that has not only been physically painful but mentally exhausting. You have seen him in those moments of doubt, when the frustration of not being able to play gnawed at him.

But today is different.

Today, he is back on the field, ready to train again. 

It isn't a match day, but it feels just as important, if not more so. This is the first step in his return, and you want to be there, right by his side.

The players emerge from the tunnel, their vibrant training jerseys a contrast to the dewy grass beneath their feet.

You spot him instantly.

Mason is walking just a little behind the others, his usual confident stride tempered by the awareness of his injury. He is dressed in his training kit—navy blue shorts and a similar colored tank top—with the club's emblem stitched proudly over his heart. 

The sight of him brings a rush of emotions—a mix of relief and pride.

He catches your eye as he walks onto the field, and even from the distance, you can see the flicker of a smile. It isn't the wide, easy grin you are used to; it is a softer, more cautious expression, as if he is testing the waters of his own emotions.

You wave, and he nods back, the small gesture enough to let you know he is happy you are there.

It feels good to see him in his element again, surrounded by his teammates, the familiar rhythm of training about to begin.

But you can also tell he is still sore, that the physical pain is only part of what he is dealing with.

The whistle blows, and the players start to warm up, stretching and jogging, loosening their muscles for the session ahead.

Mason joins them, moving with a carefulness that is unlike him. His movements are deliberate, almost as if he is reminding himself of what his body can do.

Your heart aches for him.

You know how much this means to him, how hard he worked to get back here, and how much he feared that the injury might hold him back.

You stand at the sidelines, leaning against the barrier, your fingers wrapped around the cold metal. The coaching staff are speaking in low tones, their eyes on the players, occasionally shouting instructions.

Your gaze never leaves Mason.

Every time he winces or hesitates, you feel a pang of concern. But he keeps going, pushing himself through the drills, his focus unwavering. There is determination in his eyes, a resolve that both inspires you and makes you worry.

A few moments later, the team moves on to more intense drills. 

Mason keeps up, though you can see the strain in his movements. His face is set in concentration, but there is a tightness around his mouth, a sign that he is pushing through pain.

Your stomach twists in concern, but you know you have to trust him. He knows his limits, and you have to believe that he won't push past them.

Still, seeing him like this is hard, knowing that he is battling not just the physical but the mental toll of his injury.

The first break comes after what feels like an eternity.

The players jog to the sidelines to grab water, their breaths heavy and skin glistening with sweat.

Mason's gaze finds yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seems to fade away. He walks toward you, his pace slower than usual, but his eyes are bright, even though they carry the weight of his struggle.

"Hey, you," he says softly as he reaches you, his voice a little hoarse from the exertion.

"Hey, yourself," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips despite the worry gnawing at you.

Mason places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his touch is familiar and reassuring, grounding you in this moment.

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, and you melt into the kiss. His stubble tickles your skin, a sensation that is both familiar and comforting. You feel the tension in his body, the effort it takes for him to keep up appearances, but also feel the love and grattitude in the way he holds you.

When you pull apart, you look up at him, your hand instinctively moving to rest on his chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath your palm, but there is a slight heaviness in his breathing.

"How are you feeling?" you ask, searching his eyes for the truth.

Mason hesitates for a moment, then gives you a small smile. 

"I'm okay," he says, though the words are tinged with effort. "It's good to be back."

You can see that he is trying to be positive, but you know him too well.

There is a shadow behind his eyes, a trace of the doubt and pain he is trying to push away.

"Just don't overdo it, okay?" You say gently, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his chest.

He lets out a soft hum, closing his eyes for a moment as if savoring the comfort of your touch.

"I won't," he promises, his voice low and sincere. "I know you're worried, but I'm going to take it slow. I promise."

You nod, though the concern still lingers.

You believe him, but you also know how driven he is, how much he wants to prove that he is back to his old self.

"I just don't want you to push too hard too soon," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know how much this means to you, but your health comes first."

Mason opens his eyes, and the intensity of his gate takes your breath away. 

"I know," he says softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'll be careful, I swear."

You smile at him, feeling a little more at ease.

"Good. I need you in one piece, you know."

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, and it warms your heart to hear it.

"Can't argue with that," he says, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips, this one softer, more lingering.

But all too soon, the break is over, and the players are being called back onto the field. 

Mason sighs, reluctantly pulling away from you. 

"I've got to get back out there," he says, though you can see the reluctance in his eyes.

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Go on, then. Show them what you've got."

He grins, the familiar spark returning to his eyes.

"I try not to disappoint."

"You could never disappoint me," you say, your voice soft but firm.

He looks at you for a long moment, as if committing this moment to memory, then leans down to kiss you one last time.

"I love you," he murmurs against your lips, and the words send a shiver down your spine.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your heart swelling with emotion.

With a final squeeze of your waist, he turns and jogs back onto the field.

You watch him go, your heart in your throat, as he rejoins the team. There is still a long road ahead, you know that. But seeing him out there, moving with purpose, even if a little slower than usual, fills you with hope.

He is fighting, not just for his career, but for himself, and you are determined to be there every step of the way.

The training session continues, the drills becoming more intense, but Mason keeps up.

He isn't the fastest or the strongest out there today, but he is steady, his determination evident in every movement. You can see the effort it takes, the way he pushes through the discomfort, but you also see the flashes of the player you know he is—the one who has captured the hearts of fans and teammates alike.

As the session draws to a close, the players gather in a huddle, listening to the coach's final words. 

Mason is standing near the back, his hands on his hips, breathing heavily but with a satisfied expression on his face. The coach claps him on the shoulder, and you see Mason nod, his posture straightening just a little.

When the huddle breaks, Mason glances over at you, and you give him a thumbs up, your heart swelling with pride. 

He has done it. He made it through the session, and more importantly, he has done it without pushing himself too far.

As he walks over to you, his pace slower now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can see the tiredness in his eyes. But there is also a lightness, a sense of accomplishment that hasn't been there before.

"You did great!" You say as Mason reaches you, your voice filled with pride.

You cannot help but smile as you see the exhaustion in his eyes start to fade, replaced by a glow of satisfaction.

His lips curl into a genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle.

"Yeah?" he asks, his tone laced with a hint of boyish delight, the way he always does when you compliment him.

"Absolutely," you reply, nodding empathically. "I'm proud of you. You handled everything perfectly out there."

Mason chuckles softly, the sound a mix of relief and happiness. 

He seems to stand a little taller, the weight of the past few weeks finally lifting from his shoulders.

"It felt good to be back," he admits, running a hand through his slightly damp hair. "I was a bit nervous, but once I got into the rhythm, it was like- well, like coming home."

"I could see that," you say, your heart swelling with love as you look at him. "You looked strong, confident. You were right there with everyone else."

He lets out a small, satisfied sigh, his eyes softening as he gazes at you.

"Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot coming from you."

"You deserve it," you say, reaching out to take his hand in yours.

His fingers intertwine with yours, the warmth of his touch spreading through you.

"I know how hard you've worked for this, how much it means to you. You've done so well."

Mason grins, the expression lighting up his entire face.

"I couldn't have done it without you," he says, his voice sincere.

You squeeze his hand, your heart fluttering at his words. 

"I'll always be here for you, Mason," you whisper. "I'm just so glad to see you happy again."

He nods, a deep sense of contentment settling over him.

"I am really happy," Mason smiles, but then his expression shifts slightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I think I earned a proper rest after this," he says, a playful note in his voice.

You laugh, nodding in agreement. 

"You definitely did. How about we go home, and I make you something special for dinner? We can celebrate."

His eyes light up at the suggestion.

"That sounds perfect," he says, his hand still firmly holding yours. "I could use some of your famous pasta."

"Pasta it is," you agree, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips. "Let's get you out of here then."

Mason sighs contently as you turn toward the tunnel, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you walk. 

He looks back at the field one last time, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"It's good to be back," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Draco is caged in an unrelenting spiral of distaste and distrust. The pervasive tendrils of hatred threaten to incinerate every aspect of his existence, edging ever closer to Y/N. A breakup seemed like the wisest choice. But a few bottles of Firewhiskey later, Draco is faced with something more daunting than his mind’s distorted illusions—a glimpse into his future. 

Warnings: Allusions to sex

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff  

Word count: 4K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐤, the weight of guilt would have long since dissipated, evaporating into the vast expanse of time.

But tattoos, Draco had come to learn, lived on a polarizing spectrum—either itched by hope’s gentle caresses or marred by despair’s morbid claws. He liked to call them insignias because he knew that, either way, those brands never faded away. And even if, by Merlin’s stupendous power, their ink were to vanish, the tales behind them would eternally reverberate through the most somber corridors of time.

The choices made and the sacrifices offered in their creation were intricately woven into the curvatures of each tattoo, amplifying the weight of these indelible brands.

“Mate, I have never seen anyone treat Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey so foully.” 

Draco’s silver eyes were unyielding in their pursuit of the black snake that slithered into his pale skin. He refused to look away, not when he heard Theodore Nott’s voice and not when he reached out blindly for the silver goblet, determined to drown the lingering traces of Firewhiskey within it.

As the scorching pace of the liquid coursed through his veins, his heart constricted, and his eyes stung. Yet, he paid no heed to the discomfort, having endured far greater pains in the past.

“Maybe if you weren’t a lightweight then you would have known that the whole Slytherin House and half of the Gryffindors treat it with indignation,” Draco retorted.  

Theodore's arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze narrowing as he observed his best friend. Draco's weariness was evident, more pronounced than even during the days of the Dark Lord. 

Letting out a sigh of resignation, Theodore settled in the chair by Draco's side. Taking the goblet from his hand, Theodore filled it with some more Firewhiskey. “Not that I am unhappy to host you, but isn’t it time to go back home, Draco?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around the goblet. If he thought the Firewhiskey was testing his endurance, then clearly he hadn’t anticipated the words that came out of Theodore’s mouth. 

“I don’t have a home.” 

“But you do.” 

“No. I do not!” His voice ricocheted against the walls, pained echoes pushing against the boundaries that confined them. Draco’s voice shook, the rage in his words dissolving into meek submission. “Not without her.” 

“Mate.” Theodore watched helplessly as Draco swung his head back to gulp down the entire goblet of Firewhiskey. He violently slammed the empty goblet against the marble of the kitchen bar, gaze stuck far ahead. “This is killing you.” 

“Let it.” 

“Draco—”

“I should’ve died long ago in that war, Theo. Maybe this is retribution for everything I did.” 

“What retribution, you imbecile? Dooming everything you’ve both built after the war?” 

“Do not mention her,” Draco seethed. His bloodshot eyes matched the color of his soul, a violent red that overwhelmed every one of his senses. He’s hated the war for so long—he failed to realize how much it seeped through his soul until he became one himself. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Theodore scoffed. He reared back, placing his weight on the back of the chair and studying Draco’s hunched posture. “I‘ve known you since we were brought into the Wizarding World, Draco. I know that you didn’t come here to escape the fray.” 

“What finally tipped you off, oh brilliant Rowena? Was it the way I shut down every mention of her name? Or perhaps my defensive stance and guarded demeanor?” Draco mocked.

With an air of indifference, Theodore replied, “You don’t run away from battles, Draco. You wage them.” 

“That was the old me.” 

"If that were truly the case, then why did you declare war on Y/N? What suddenly woke you up, making you realize that you couldn't bear to be with her for another second?"

A flash of irritation crossed Draco's face as he interjected, "I told you not to mention her name."

Ignoring the warning, Theodore continued with a pointed intensity. "Her name itself is a battle, Draco. One you’ve ignited because of the conflict that rages within you, fueled by your selfish desires."

"Selfish?" Draco roared, his anger escalating. In the heat of the moment, he flung the empty goblet against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control the tempest brewing within him. "What part of letting her go for her well-being is selfish? She deserves better, Nott. So I gave her better!"

"Better, is a subjective notion.” 

"It's the only notion," Draco countered, his composure slipping as he struggled to rein in his emotions. The veneer of false placidity he had tried to maintain for days proved futile in containing his anger. "You have no idea the price I have to pay for the blood that rests on my hand. For the mark that’s refusing to die with time.” 

“I know,” Theodore whispered breathlessly. 

Draco's head shook with a heavy burden of remorse. "No, you don’t. Because being a Death Eater's son and being a Death Eater are two separate realms. I would trade anything, everything, to return to a time when I was feared and hated. Because now, I have to watch the world extend their animosity to the only woman who was brave enough to try and pull me out of the Dark Lord’s dominion.” 

Theodore pushed himself off the chair, his movements purposeful and determined. With each deliberate stride, the distinct click of his shoes echoed against the ground. "By pushing her away. By hurling venomous words at her. By replicating the very path the world forced upon you, dragging her through darkness and uncertainty."

“She deserves better! Better than a semi-stable man who was a servant of darkness. Better than a wizard whose father is serving a sentence in Azkaban and whose mother is a victim of delirium. She deserves better—”

“Than a man who is stripping her of her choices the same way his lineage stripped him of his.” 

“No.” Draco negated. If only he hadn’t drank this much Firewhiskey, maybe his breath would have come out steadier and his words wouldn’t have grappled with conviction. “I left for her.” 

“You left her,” Theodore corrected. It always amazed Draco how Theodore Nott, the epitome of reticence, became a forceful and impassioned defender when it came to matters close to his heart, including Y/N. “You left her because you’re selfish. Because you craved your twisted path of redemption. Retribution, as you have so masterfully termed it, should not come at the expense of hurting Y/N. She fought for you with everything she had. And if you are so keen on being a masochist, Draco, then have the decency to leave her out of your descent into madness!”

With a final venomous glare, Theodore took a step back and began to march away from the room. Draco, caught in a state of disbelief, felt his hands instinctively fall upon the cool marble surface of the kitchen counter. He pressed his palms firmly against the chilled stone, desperately seeking solace from the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

In an abrupt intrusion, Theodore burst back into the room. Draco barely had a chance to meet his gaze before Theodore snatched the bottle of Firewhiskey from the counter and swiftly left. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that he must have also cast a spell to lock the cellar to deny Draco access to any and every liquor stored in the Manor. 

In that moment, Draco's vision was void of any specific color—not a glimpse of red, black, or any hue in between. His rage transcended ordinary perception, defying quantification by any shade or measurement. All that existed in his awareness was a hazy fog enveloping his sight, a world imploding upon itself.

With venomous intent, Draco's fingers slithered through his hair, viciously tugging at the strands. Curses and fury spilled from his lips, weaving a tapestry of disaster, painted with every twisted emotion inhabiting his soul.

The shattered glass before him mirrored his fractured heart, and the disarrayed furniture reflected the homelessness of his wounded spirit. If he excelled in wars and battles, then he might as well transform this space into a battleground.

He persisted for hours, tirelessly wreaking havoc until Theodore's once-familiar abode became unrecognizable. Yet, the knowledge that a mere flick of his wand could undo this chaos only fueled the flames of his fury even more.

How ironic it was that he could demolish a meaningless space in mere hours, only for his magic to effortlessly restore it in seconds. Yet, the home he had reduced to ashes remained irreparable, defying any spells he cast upon it.

With a heavy heart, Draco sank to the ground, embraced by the unforgiving coldness of the stone beneath him. Leaning back against the chilling marble, he stared vacantly at the ceiling of Theodore's dwelling. It was no longer the familiar dark maroon he had once known, but a mosaic of melancholic hues. It was in that moment, as the taste of salty tears brushed against his lips, that he realized his own hollow gaze had been the architect all along.

As his shuddered breaths gradually calmed, and the twitching of his fingers ceased, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart, exhausted from its rapid sprinting and relentless pounding against his ribs.

Standing up, he reached for his wand. "Scourgify," he commanded. Instantly, his magic eagerly clung to every surface in the room, diligently working to restore order and mend the damage he had caused.

While his magic busily repaired what he had broken, Draco made his way to the kitchen, intending to pour himself a much-needed goblet of water. As he approached the marble counter, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a mysterious black box neatly resting there.

“What in Merlin’s name?” It must’ve been hidden somewhere amongst the furniture because even in his stupor Draco would’ve recalled coming across it. 

Gingerly, he pulled the lid up. What he found inside was something akin to a Time Turner, along with a couple of notes. Knowing well that all those magical devices had long been destroyed, Draco’s curiosity peaked. He reached for the notes, eyes trekking along the lines of Theodore’s handwriting. 

“Temporal Surger, experimental prototype number five,” Draco read aloud. He briskly skimmed across the pages, absorbing more and more information. “Contrary to the Time Turner, the Temporal Surger springboards the wizard forward through time. Though the exact destination remains unpredictable, prototype number five provides a ten-minute window for the wizard traveling into the future.” 

Draco discarded the notes in favor of picking up the device. It didn’t look any different from the Time Turner with an hourglass in the middle and golden outer rings surrounding it. Yet, when Draco tried to nudge the hourglass, it didn’t budge. He raised his brows, eyes narrowing down to investigate the object. His fingers lingered on the rings, the pad of his index finger tracing the surface. 

Inadvertently, his fingers slipped, and the outer rings turned on themselves. Draco paid them no heed, though it became increasingly hard not to notice them when their momentum increased as they followed an unfamiliar rhythm. Draco didn’t have enough time to panic before a bright light emanated from the center of the Time Surger, engulfing him whole. 

When the light weathered, Draco immediately sprung out of his seat. Taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, he blinked twice. At first, he thought it was his broken heart playing yet another trick on him till it became evident that the Time Surger had, in fact, transported him to another place.

“Merlin’s beard, Theodore is going to murder me,” Draco said aloud. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when it dawned on him that he didn’t even know where he was or who was in the same vicinity as him.

Draco hardly had a moment to register his distaste for the petrifying yellow curtains and cream-colored kitchen walls before he caught the sound of leisurely footsteps approaching from his right.

He sprinted across the room, his entire body whirling around itself until he spotted, what he hoped was, a door that led him to the pantry. He rushed in but left it slightly ajar, enough for him to peek through. A crease etched itself in the middle of his forehead when his eyes met a tall man with platinum blond hair tied into a bun. 

The man was shirtless, tall, and well-built. His back was littered with scars, some seemingly thinner and more recent than the others. He moved seamlessly around the kitchen, without a wand in sight, opening draws and cabinets to prepare some food. Draco tried peering closer to catch a glimpse of his face when the sound of someone apparating startled him. 

“What is Master Malfoy doing here?” a squeaky voice asked. 

Draco’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, rivaling the size of the round plates that man had been filling with fruits. He bristled, the gears in his mind rushing to concoct an explanation. But how was he supposed to explain that he’s acquired a, possibly illegal, prototype of a Temporal Surger created by none other than his best friend?

“What does one do in a kitchen?” Draco heard himself say in a mirthful tone. He sighed in relief at the plausible answer, but his relief proved to be ephemeral when he realized that it wasn’t him who spoke. 

He widened the door a bit further, revealing a house elf standing in the kitchen, gazing up at the shirtless blond wizard. With the man's face now visible, Draco was taken aback by the striking similarities between them. The man was a slightly older version of himself.

“Blinky serves the House of Malfoy. It’s Blinky’s job to prepare breakfast for her master.” 

The house elf, Blinky, attempted to pry the spatula out of the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. He didn’t relent, keeping a firm grip on it and flipping whatever he was cooking in the sizzling pan. 

“Thank you, Blinky. I do appreciate your efforts,” he said over the elf's loud huffs. “But I wanted to cook my wife a special breakfast myself.” 

A loud gasp reverberated in the narrow space of the pantry. Draco stumbled even closer to the door, almost pushing it entirely open. His eyes widened, intently studying the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. And sure enough, a silver band adorned his ring finger, glistening in the light. 

“Mistress Malfoy has woken up?” Blinky asked in her tiny voice. They must’ve not heard Draco’s shock over the sound of whatever it was that was cooking. 

“Hmm,” the Malfoy Patriarch hummed. He had picked up a goblet from the cupboard, filling it with pumpkin juice. “Blinky, could you please get the Mistress’ favorite flowers? I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture.” 

Squealing in excitement at fulfilling a task for her masters, Blinky apparated out of the kitchen immediately. By the time she came back with some orchids in a small, round vase, the Malfoy Patriarch had already prepared a full assortment of food. From French Croissants to Quidditch Quaffles, he set them all on a tray and merrily exited the kitchen.

Using a disillusionment charm, Draco quietly followed after his older self. He noticed that the house, or rather cottage, was significantly smaller than Malfoy Manor, yet a million times more alluring. It had a cozy and welcoming atmosphere, adorned with bright colors and pictures from his Hogwarts days. Every decorative piece, whether a vase or an ornament, seemed to have been picked with care, making it evidently known that this house was not of his choosing. Whoever his future wife was, he was sure she had to be the one to decorate the house so quaintly and delicately because he could never fill any space with such beauty.

With careful steps, Draco ascended to the upper floor, his attention fixed on each stride. The walls, still adorned in their creamy hue, now bore intricate engravings of an evocative design. The sight of verdant trees and lush bushes lining the hallway welcomed him, instilling a profound sense of tranquility within him.

The Malfoy Patriarch pushed open one of the doors and casually entered. Fortunately, he left it open, making it easier for Draco to hurry inside. He found an equally charming interior, where sunlight streamed into the room, casting a beautiful glow, while the books on the bookshelf created a colorful display like a rainbow.

In the center of the bed, a woman laid peacefully under the covers. Her entire back was exposed, making a pink tint hug Draco’s cheeks. 

The Malfoy Patriarch offered a winsome smile at the painting before his eyes. He placed the tray aside and walked to the bed, letting his thumbs trace the woman’s back.

“Angel,” he called in a soft voice. “Wake up for me.” When the woman didn’t give up her sleep, the Malfoy Patriarch bent down to plant soft kisses on her arm. They were featherlight and soft caresses as if coming out of a dream. 

She sighed heavily, turning on her back. Draco watched his older self laugh, taking this as a chance to kiss his wife’s lips. 

“Draco,” she whined. And Draco had to brace himself against the wardrobe to stop himself from falling to his knees. "Please, five more minutes."

“Y/N Malfoy, you know denying you anything is physically impossible. But I really need you to get out of bed and eat something for me. Now, my love.” 

He heard Y/N say, “Don’t want to.” And Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest because he knew that she was pouting beneath the covers, and most importantly, she was wide awake but trying to get Draco to give her a few more minutes of his attention. 

The Malfoy Patriarch pulled away, surprising Draco. He walked to the tray he had placed aside, grabbing the goblet of pumpkin juice. Y/N opened her eyes when she noticed her husband’s ministrations came to an abrupt end. She hugged the sheets to her naked chest, pouting when she saw her husband against the wall, sipping from the drink.

“This is delicious,” he teased. Y/N made a face. 

“Give it.” She held her hands out, opening and closing her palms in anticipation. Her husband diligently took the whole tray to her side, positioning it on the bed. “I hate you,” she huffed while dipping one Quidditch Quaffle in honey. 

The man in front of her beamed, shaking his head. “You must hate me fiercely, angel. Your ardor set my soul ablaze a million times over yesterday night. And I've got marks on my back to prove it.” 

Both Y/N and Draco choked at the heat that permeated the air. Y/N’s gaze meandered across the room, trying to escape the heat of her husband’s scintillating eyes. 

“Well, you set mine ablaze a million times over every day, Draco! Go put a shirt on instead of teasing me!” Y/N grunted while reaching for the goblet. 

The Malfoy Patriarch’s laugh roared within the four walls of the room, and even Draco had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing at her retort. 

“Is my wife looking forward to dessert already?” 

Y/N let out a sound that was both a whine and a sigh. She pushed the tray aside and reared back, burying her body in the pile of pillows on her bed. Her husband laughed, studying her pout. Her hands rested on her stomach, and if Draco hadn’t been shocked to his core before, he was baffled at the sight of Y/N cradling a very noticeable baby bump. 

“Draco, please.” 

“Please what, angel?” 

“Not that! You know if we do that now we won’t get out of bed for another three hours!” 

“Would it be such—”

“Yes!” Y/N interjected. She looked like an angry little pixie with her narrowed eyes and pointed glare. “It would. Because we have so much to do today.” She went on to explain that she and Narcissa were supposed to meet for tea in the afternoon and that Draco had to finish setting up the nursery. Y/N kept on listing everything they had to do while her husband intently listened without saying a single word. Instead, he watched her, letting one of his hands wander to her stomach and cover hers. “What are you thinking?” Y/N finally asked, coming to grasp with the realization that her husband had zoned out. 

He didn’t answer at first, noticeably lost in his wife’s beauty. “I’m not thinking. I’m feeling.” 

Y/N let out a semi-laugh. “What are you feeling, Draco?” 

“You,” he replied solemnly. He interlaced their fingers together, keeping their intertwined hands on her belly. “Time and time again, I only feel you.” 

“Dray.” Y/N’s expression softened. She tugged on her husband’s hand, and even though she had lamented that they couldn’t stay in bed for long, she let him pull her to his chest while he made himself comfortable on their bed. “I love you.” 

“I love you so much.” It was Draco who said it. With teary eyes and a battered soul, he surrendered to the images of his older self caressing Y/N’s lips and her cheeks. 

“I love both of my girls. And I only hope our little princess can learn to love me despite all my flaws.”

Y/N shot her husband an indignant look, her gaze filled with disapproval. However, a hint of tenderness softened her eyes, conveying a complex mix of emotions. 

“She does.” 

“How do you know?” 

“She's currently expressing her displeasure at your words by stirring up a commotion inside my belly.” 

“Oh, yeah?” the Malfoy patriarch laughed. He tightened his hold on Y/N and pulled her even closer. One hand on her belly and the other in her hair, he peered down at her and locked his silver eyes with hers. “She’s a tornado, like her mother.” 

Y/N chose not to respond, embracing a peaceful silence instead while staring at her husband. He arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I’m feeling,” Y/N spoke out. “Time and time again, I only feel you.” 

While her husband's gaze fixated on her lips, inching closer to his own, Draco's attention was abruptly seized by the Time Surger stirring once more. His eyes dropped downward, observing the rings spinning autonomously. 

Torn between stealing a final glimpse and safeguarding the precious moment, Draco reluctantly withdrew from the room. Hastening his steps, he hurriedly exited, stealing one last glance at his future self tenderly pulling the sheet away from Y/N's body until a blinding light dissolved the scene. 

The curtain fell, and he found himself back in Theodore's living room. 

Draco struggled to catch his breath, hurriedly placing the Temporal Surger back inside its box. His restless eyes darted across the room, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions surging through him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. Gasping for air, his head whipped around, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings.

His eyes landed on the box, the notes still outside. Future, he read in Theodore’s perfect handwriting. 

“Nott, you knobhead. If you were here right now, I would have kissed you with such intensity time would stop. And even your stupidly brilliant Temporal Surger wouldn’t have worked.” 

The numbness of his heart dissipated, and the crippling guilt roaming across his forearm vanished. Draco breathed deeply, embracing the placidity around him. Maybe Theodore’s walls were grim compared to the ones his future self occupied. Yet all Draco could feel was the warmth of Y/N’s voice and the tranquility of the mornings they were yet to share. 

He rushed to Theodore’s fireplace, not bothering to fix himself up. Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Draco finally spoke aloud. “Take me to Y/N Y/L/N.” 

He finally realized that whether time turned or surged, he and Y/N Y/L/N were bound by a string of fate that was unyielding in its war against the Sands of Time.

------------------

Draco Taglist:

@imabee-oralizard@ameliaphoenix@arcana-greenleaf@dittos-blog-dylanobrien

I have been wanting to write this one for a while! Feels good to be writing again for our favorite Slytherin!🪄

Let me know if you would like to be moved/removed from my taglists.🤍

For those who want to be tagged in my Harry Potter/Marvel works, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message!

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine

[kingkatsuki]

Okay one more. But Kaji playing a game with you to guess his sucker flavor with his spit alone 🥴

Everyone knows Kaji isn't without two things, his headphones and a sucker. Although you swear the flavor changes, his tongue dyed a new color every day as he stands post outside of your work guarding the street. He's been doing that since highschool, well past young adulthood and just like you, he has to have breeched his thirties by now.

But he doesn't give up his headphones or his sweet lollipops. You make the mistake of asking him one day what flavor it is and he smirks, letting his tongue loll out and colored saliva dripping from the tip of his tongue after he asks

"Wanna guess?"

Warnings: 18+, spit, hair pulling.

“They’ll rot your teeth, you know.” You grin up at your boyfriend who’s standing outside your workplace with one battered converse propped against the wall and strong hands shoved into his hoodie pockets.

“You’d still love me,” Kaji’s lips curl into a grin when he just about hears you over the bass of his music, pulling his headphones down as they sit around his neck as he removes the lollipop stick he’d been gnawing on since he finished the candy from between his lips as he gives you a soft peck in greeting, “Hey, baby.”

“Hey,” You parrot back. Smiling up at him as you reach out to grasp his jaw, your thumb grazes the rough two-day stubble that scatters across his chin as you prize his lips open. Standing on tiptoes as you try to decipher what flavour his lollipop had been today, “What flavour was it?”

“Guess.” Kaji sticks his tongue out playfully, the flat of it a bright red colour from the artificial sweetener as you ponder your selection for a minute.

“Strawberry?”

“Wrong,” He grins, reaching out to paw at your hips as he pulls you into another lingering kiss, “You suck at this.”

His words only have you more determined as your tongue swipes against his lips in a feeble attempt to taste it, but to no avail. Your head tilts with the motion of his lips, pulling him close as you try to deepen it, to swipe your tongue against his to taste the remnants of the sweet treat against his tongue.

“Cheat.” He murmurs against your lips, quiet and raspy as you feel one of his hands slide up your spine.

“I at least need a clue, Ren.” You pout.

Kaji presses against your back to bring you closer as you slot between his bent knee and his outstretched leg, his fingers pressed firm against the back of your neck as he holds your hair at the root. His half-lidded eyes gaze down at you as he tugs hard, pulling your head back as a slight twinge of pain throbs at the base of your skull. A gasp passes through your lips from the ache as Kaji holds you steady, placing his foot back on the ground to stand at full height as he towers over you.

“Keep it open.” His thumb drags down on your lower lip, showing your teeth before it flops back into place. Your lips stay parted as you almost forget to breathe, acutely aware you’re in public. Anyone could walk by and see you like this— completely at his mercy.

Your stomach swirls with anticipation at the thought, worsened by the dark, depraved look his gives you as he holds you steady. His throat bobs as he sucks spit from the back of his throat, holding it in his mouth as he positions himself above you and then he spits.

The sound alone is enough to have your thighs rubbing together for some sort of relief, your clit panders to his every move as it throbs with neglect when the glob of spit hits the back of your throat. You keep your lips parted so he can see it, the liquid still tinged red as he smooths his other hand against the column of your throat. Holding you so gently as though you’re the most delicate porcelain he’s ever laid hands on. His deep gaze watching intently as you taste him on your tongue before he’s tightening his grip around your neck.

“Swallow.” Your eyes roll back at the command, certain that without his grip at the back of your neck you’d be on the ground. He feels you follow his orders as your throat flutters under his touch as he strokes the bare column of it in satisfaction.

You can see Kaji looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to make your next guess as he cups your cheeks so tenderly. A stark contrast from his commanding actions moments earlier, calloused thumbs stroke against the apples of your cheeks as you’re barely able to whisper your response.

“Cherry.”

Kaji gives a coy smile at your response, bringing his face down as his mouth hovers against yours in the faintest brush of lips—

“Good girl.”

[otomes-world]

Longing

Hello everyone! I had a strange urge to write something, so yes.. AU belongs to @shiny-jr I'm just interpreting. This is also my parody to the five stages of grief. Another sentient twst works are here. Enjoy 0/

Upd: I've finally got permission to post this thing! But.. I forgot about it.. and I'm no longer like it.. and it's so small.. but, yeah, let it exists.

Disbelief.

It was the first emotion that began to creep into consciousness with a light touch from just hearing about the “shutdown.” The player just took a break, was busy, preparing for exams, tests, work, whatever. Causing panic out of nowhere was stupid. This had already happened more than once, but..

The hours merged into days. Days became weeks. Only the most stubborn began to count beyond the month. The mistrust and fear began to be felt stronger than before. More and more often insidious “what ifs” were spinning in head.

You were only gone for a short moment. Maybe a little longer this time, but you would come back. You would, except… Yuu turned into the doll they always were. A puppet whose only value was in you, who controlled it. When there was no point in denying, a storm broke out.

Indignation.

Anticipation caused hearts to experience previously ignored emotions and heads to question. What could be the reason? Could something happen in that inaccessible world? Do you feel the same confusion, unable to connect?

Could you become bored with their existence?

Did you choose them, him, over someone else? What exactly made you hesitate? A beautiful singing voice? Looks that could challenge the Evil Queen? Fame? Wealth? What?

Was the effort really not enough to captivate you, to make you pay attention? Place in your heart the desire to stay. Is it really his fault or is it yours?

Grief.

Bitterness replaced frustration. The one that was ripping chest, made him want to cut his own throat open if it would give any peace of mind. If it would strengthen confidence of your return.

When it seem that the empty vessel was about to break, hope still glimmers at the bottom. When the ear listened to every rumor, rustle, speculation, even if it was false. When the one he least want to see looked at him from the mirror.

When he didn’t want to, and most importantly, couldn’t stop. Gave up. Let every attempt, broken hope plunge him into the abyss of despair much deeper than the last time. Getting back on feet became more and more difficult. Sometimes the thought of acceptance flashed but gaving up the most desired thing was hardly possible. Even if the chances that no one would understand and that everything would burn out were higher every moment.

Longing.

Yearning invariably replaces suffocating pain. Very reluctant, denied by all means.

When there was nothing left in tired beating heart - not a single drop - only memories of the time spent with you through Yuu. Then he still did not understand other people's adoration. He thought that this would bypass him. However, like everyone else, he couldn’t resist the eyes, your eyes and no one else’s, looking at him in a special way. As if in the world of colored pixels he was worth something.

A smile involuntarily plays on his face, although he barely had enough strength to maintain an imitation of life. In moments of overwhelming loss, pride insisted: you were not worth it. You were not worth all the torment, all the tears he shed. You were not worth.. but this was a blatant lie.

When everything around him would merge into one colorless heap, when he himself would cease to exist. The only thought at the last moment would be dedicated to you. Therefore, as soon as the news of the appearance of an impostor who dared to pretend to be you reached the exhausted mind, remained only... rage.

[gangplanksorenji]

End of a Mix: 1. (Full)Filling the Cherry on the Top of the Cake

Pairing: NMIXX Sullyoon x Male Reader

Word Count: 10,000

A/N 1: Hello Orenjideul! This will be like my, official smut debut! I had been really writing this for a while now and I enjoyed it ehehe, and, I hope you'll enjoy this too! And, of course, I'll incorporate fluff content still as I love writing fluff! Enjoy this piece and have great day ahead!

A/N 2: Dedicating this to @praeluxius, the resident and my fellow Sullyoon stan! <3

!! Warning !! : Contains Smut

—-----------------------------------

Saturday nights are something exceptional, you might say—it is mostly the time where you can do whatever you can and want to, and it's mostly by binge-watching movies, playing video games and the most common one, sleeping. But, that may soon change as a notification pops up on your phone as the once dark screen is now emitted by conglomeration of colored pixels. 

seolyoonaa on 17:19 - “Oppaaaa, meet me before the sun sets, okay? It'll be in the café we usually spend time with. I wanna spend some time with you~ Love youuu~ :)”

Well, this text was out of the blue—Sullyoon is really unfathomable. From her unanticipated changes of plans up to her sudden pleas, she's always been a pain for you to deal with, especially with the given situation now. It's going to be anticipating yet anxiety never faded off your mind. An oxymoron at its finest, you can read her like a book on how un-read-able she is. 

What's with the situation? Well, it has been almost three months since you last saw each other and the last time you met her. The both of you went to the cinemas, shopped for some clothes and some groceries and, the cherry on top, she went down on her knees, greedily whimpering in need as she sucked you off like there's no tomorrow. There's nothing new about her antics as magically, you're under her spell every time the both of you reach those peak-intimate sessions. You find yourself fighting the urge of lust but she's simply irresistible and you hate it—she knows this and uses it as her advantage and that's why you hate it.

Call yourself a hypocrite one more time with those in mind as you reply with a simple “Okay, Yoona, I'll be there.” and a heart on the side of your message to top it off. Unhurriedly, you cleaned your desk after a mentally exhausting game as you shut your computer off and prepared yourself to meet the love of your life.

------

“Where is he… Hahhh…”

Sullyoon waddles her legs playfully as she sits onto the tall stool, letting out deep sighs as she waits for you. She mindlessly swipes and fidgets her fingers onto her smartphone as the flashes of different colored pixels are visible, but little did she know that you're visible onto her sight as she can't sense you, yet. You're planning to surprise her, so, unhurriedly, you sneaked behind her silently, avoiding getting caught.

“Boo!”

“AH-ahhhh!! Oppa!”

With a single scare, she becomes startled with your childish prank. She is so startled that she almost throws the phone in her hand as she glares at you, letting you know how she's definitely not impressed with your antics.

“Stop scaring me like that, Oppa, it's not funny…”

“But it's funny for me, so…”

Sullyoon playfully kicks your shin as you pretend to be hurt in order to manipulate her to think that she really hurt you but your small games won’t work against her clever mind.

“Yah! But actually, Oppa, I really missed you, so much…”

The once exuberant and joyous Sullyoon changed into a soft-hearted angel as her sudden change of emotions makes you in awe. Your puppy eyes stared at hers for a long time, enough for her to notice how your eyes showed emotions of missing her. You then hug her slowly, allowing her to adjust to your embrace as you show her your affection towards her, kissing her forehead between your fluffy embrace.

“I missed you too, Yoona, if you just know…”

“Did you miss me or just my pussy and my mouth?”

“Yoona! Not here!”

Sullyoon shyly laughs as she emitted a coy smile towards you which you didn’t approve of.

“I swear to god, Yoona. Stop saying these things in public or—”

“Or what, hm, Oppa?”

“Nevermind, just please, stop, okay Yoona?”

Your tone wasn't anything near being infuriated so that's a sigh of relief from her side. You just let out a giggle as you smiled towards Sullyoon, sending butterflies to her stomach.

“Yah… Stop looking at me like that, Oppa.”

“Why? I can't help it when the sight in front of me is the epitome of beauty.”

Sullyoon blushes from your flirting with an essence of eloquence. It would be hypocritical if she didn't like the way you teased her at all but by the way she  is a sign that she simply adores it, and she's hiding it—you're not oblivious about it and rather, read her as a book.

“Stop with those flowering words, Oppa, it's cringe.”

“But you like it! Look at you blushing and all!”

“Okay, Oppa, I did like it. It is good…”

“See? I knew you'd like this…”

Sullyoon sighed in defeat as seconds after, an amicable tone reverberated around your ear as the servant served you some drinks and food onto the table. Sullyoon thanked them and so did you, as she entertained the server and thanked her further for her service.

“Oh! Wow, Yoona… These are my favorites!”

“I know, I know, Oppa, and of course, no caffeine as you like and more parmesan on your carbonara.”

Woah, she knows what you liked, huh?—And it just ignites the flames of your burning heart, full of affection and endearment from her simple act. Your cheeks tint a rosy pink as you said a small “Thank you so much.” right after.

“Let's enjoy our food, Oppa, and thank you too…”

Your eyes are quizzical with her sudden expression of gratitude as she's nothing to thank for and it's just right that you should be the one to—

“Thank you for being here, Oppa. I missed so, so much.”

Her eyes hint a glint for the sudden rush of adrenaline—tears of joy as they say it—as she flashes a gleeful smile at you. 

“I should be thanking you too, Yoona. You definitely deserve the world and I love you so much.”

You caress her hand with your fingers as you show your utmost affection towards her. She finds this heartwarming and endearing and she couldn't help to battle the urge of tearing up because of too much happiness.

“I love you too, Oppa. *sniffles* Also, let's eat the food right now, shall we.”

“Yeah, you're right, Yoona. We lookin' like we're in a drama scene here.”

The both of you then continued eating the mouth-watering meals in front of the table after that heartwarming moment.

------

“The food really tastes good, right, Oppa?”

“It definitely does Yoona; they don't disappoint as always and also, thank you for that, I appreciate it.”

You then grabbed her shoulders and pulled her slowly towards you, kissing her forehead as a small whimper can be heard as a response from your affectionate actions.

“That's just a small gratitude towards you, Oppa… *giggles*”

You smiled as you tuck her hair behind her ear, allowing you to see a sight of something divine and oh-so-pristine, most likely, a sight of an angel—Sullyoon's ethereal beauty and her pristine features: her full lips, her sharp nose, her beautiful, round eyes and her small face. 

Gosh, she's so beautiful—you muttered upon yourself as your focus was averted towards her. Time felt slower than usual as her beauty shatters the rules of space and time (figuratively) yet it all went back to normal as you can hear her voice calling your name, most specifically, your honorifics.

“Oppa, I'm going to the bathroom, okay?”

“Go ahead, Yoona.”

With her suddenly rushing to the bathroom, you took your time to clean the plates and utensils on the table as you not so long after, a loud vibration coming from your phone distracts you with your current endeavor—you know that’s a notification, and it’s maybe important, so you looked it up immediately.

seolyoonaa on 18:39 - “Oppa, I think there’s something stuck at the back of my uniform, please go hereeee… Help me, Oppa, thanks!”

This ain’t going to end well—and maybe it won’t end the way you wanted it to be and you can already foresee the future. You know that with these small tactics hers can end up in an intimate situation. You know that she’ve done this before and you won’t forget that moment—that moment that she walked out of the restroom, limped and with your semen dripping down her thighs and you just thank god that there aren’t that much people around and if they walked past the both of you, they’re oblivious about the sinful things that’s happening inside the small, compact room. 

You squint your eyes apprehensive and with utmost disbelief as you can’t believe that she’s going to pull up a trap against you, again. You really don’t want to come yet you need to just because of these two things: your soft heart wanting to “help” Sullyoon and the second one, you don’t want her to sulk in front of you later because that would be a total living hell—hell in a sense that it would be awkward throughout the night with her petulant behavior which you despise.

With no other choice, you hurriedly went to the restroom as stealthily as possible, hoping that no one would see you sneaking in. You lightly tap on the wooden door as the “occupied” sign on the door is now replaced with a “vacant” one. You then entered as Sullyoon locked the door as quickly as possible.

“This better be something reasonable, Yoona.”

“What do you mean reasonable, Oppa? I just need some help because there's something stuck on the zipper of my uniform—”

“How is there something stuck? Just pull it down, like this.”

With disappointed expressions painted on your face, Sullyoon can't help but gulp anxiously yet she still tries to persuade you that something interferes on the back of her uniform. Interrupting her attempts onto further persuasion, you pinned her down the black marbled wall, as your face is inches away from hers, alongside with a mischievous glare that can sting.

“Listen here, Yoona, if you’re here to bait me to fulfill your needs again, I’m not into it—it’s just, not here, okay?”

Sullyoon’s eyes rolled down as you broke the code on why she let you in this restroom. Not so long after, you pulled yourself against her as you shook your head in dismay from her not-so-devious advances.

“Okay, you got me Oppa, but please. I just need you right now, please, Oppa—”

“I said not here, Yoona, behave yourself.”

Sullyoon pouts in defeat as she still has the urge to convince you as there might be a chance to shackle down to your defenses. She knows that with her puppy eyes and her cute pout, you’ll always have to give in—you absolutely want to give in but you need to discipline her, and you will succeed. You will succeed…

“Fine, Oppa! I’m sorry… But can you just do something to hold me over?”

“Ugh, Yoona, what is it—”

All you can just see is her plump lips pressed onto yours as the taste of it hits like an addictive drug—you can’t just simply resist the urge into further intimacy and the deepening of the kiss. You simply gave in to the softness as you kissed her with eagerness, closing your eyes as you savor the hint of strawberry from her inviting lips. As you indulge into further madness, you realize that this may end up on an embarrassing note, so you pull out as the both of you exchange breaths and smiles.

“You’re such a good kisser, Oppa…”

“You too, Yoona.”

You started to indulge under her spell again, but this time, with a renewed fervor and thirst as you held both sides of her hourglass waist, initiating a deeper kiss which she didn’t mind. She then eagerly reciprocates from your motives as you bite her luscious lips gently with your teeth, her moaning between your kisses as the sting makes the kiss more intimate, and not to hurt her. She savored the taste of your lips as you did the same to her and after a few more seconds, you pulled out of the heat of her luscious lips, the curvature of her lips forming into a smile that further raises the beating of your heart. 

“We can make love later, Oppa, but for now, I really want to taste you so bad…”

Despite wanting to fulfill her urgent carnal needs, you need to discipline her and make her a patient person, yet, those two words (discipline and patience) aren't in her vocabulary whenever she's needy—maybe even more than needy: thirst.  

“Yoona, we've talked about this, we can't do this right now. We just kissed and isn’t that enough for you?”

“Ughh, come on, Oppa, you know I want more and you know you want more too! Are you just afraid that we'll get caught?”

“Yes, Yoona, and I hope you'll understand.”

Sullyoon faces you with a sulky demeanor—her eyebrows scrunching, her arms crossed and her forceful heavy sighs—yet with a thought in mind, she knows how she'll make you fulfill her needs within a single action.

Sullyoon faces you again as her fingers traces your chest and your abs against the clothing, swirling and she seductively persuades you with a raspy, deep voice that you always adore—it's also a thing that makes you aroused for her even more because you have a thing for girls with deep voices.

“Oppa~ Please? I just need you now and you won't let a girl be unfulfilled, right?”

She's really trying, she really is. Sometimes, you forget her bratty side because of how down on earth she is and her soft, angelic tone which makes you distinguish her for being the opposite of a brat. You always know that when she's like this, she's always going to persuade you and make you fulfill her needs even if you don't like to and you know that she'll always win. She may always win but this time, you'll try to fight the urge of satisfying her needs.

“Like I said, I don't think we need to do this right now, Yoona.”

“Well, Oppa, I want to and besides—” Sullyoon's eyes wander around the area, making sure that there was no other people in the vicinity and it's just the both of you. “—no one will mind even looking after us as they're all busy with their own things.”

You grunt as Sullyoon's fingers trace your chest and your neck, making your cheeks hint a rosy pink as you feel her intimate touch waking up the beast inside you but you refuse and fight that feeling in order to discipline her.

“This is not a good idea Yoona, not a great one.”

“Oh, I guess my mouth will do the work to convince you Oppa, huh?”

“N-No, that's not what I meant.”

“Then what, Oppa, hm?” Sullyoon's tone is mildly high, yet soft, signaling her annoyance with your hypocrisy as she pouted cutely right after, making your eyes widen in awe.

“What I mean is that we're public, Yoona. We can do this when we're both alone but not here coz' someone may come and catch us in the act.”

Sullyoon's face emanates defeat as she looks at you adorably, her round, puppy-like convincing you as there’s still little hope left at her side, knowing that you can’t resist her especially when she’s down on her knees—

“Please, Oppa? Pleaseee??”

And there she goes, pouting adorably alongside her cute tone that always makes you weak on your knees. She definitely knows what things to do and to say just to get what she wants and if she’s needy, you know that she’s not gonna leave you alone.

“Okay, you get to suck me off for 5 minutes and we’re alright, okay?”

“Uhh, can it be longer, Oppa?”

“No, Yoona, we’ve talked about this. Only 5. Minutes.”

Sullyoon sighs, rolling her eyes out but still thankful that you let her get what she wants. You then relax yourself onto the toilet seat and let her do the work for you as she works the magic between your legs. With a limited time given, Sullyoon wasted no time unbuckling your belt off and tugging your pants down to your ankles. 

Sullyoon teases your hardening erection with swipes of her talented fingers, making you squirm as you get sensitive under her touch. In no time, Sullyoon yanks your boxers off down to your ankles as your hard erection is released from its frustrating restraints, almost hitting her in the face.

“Wow, I love how you’re always so big for me, Oppa. Oh fuck…”

“Well, I c-can’t help it when a beautiful girl like you will tame my beast.”

Sullyoon’s cheeks flushed a crimson red from your so-called compliment as her dainty fingers stroked your fully-erect length, from base to your tip, you moaning in pleasure and delight on the process.

“So hard, so perfect, so big, all for my little mouth to suck on. I'll make sure you're fully drained once I'm done sucking you off, Oppa.”

You’re always in shock on how this adorable, soft-spoken girl can be a suddenly seductive vixen within a second—her duality is incredibly contrasting alongside her dirty talk which arouses you further than your limits. With no time, she places her soft, plump lips on the tip of your cock, making you squirm uncontrollably under your breath as the warmness of her lips drives your brain in haywire. She sucks you up like a lollipop as she swirls her tongue over your tip, making you leak the infamous colorless liquid involuntarily. 

“Oooh, am I turning you that much, Oppa? Oh, look how much you’re leaking for me! Gu-ughhh—ahhh! So delicious!”

Sullyoon delightfully licks the slit of your tip as she happily collects the pre-cum leaking out of it, brightly smiling as she consumes it all, not wasting a single drop. You can’t help but let out satisfied moans as it increased in volume, alongside the ragged breath of yours. Sullyoon then senses this and smiles gleefully, knowing how much she’s doing an excellent job pleasuring you.

“H-How are you getting better at this, Yoona? Fuck…”

“I don’t know, Oppa. Maybe it’s just me enjoying this meal in front of me so much.”

With those in mind, you can’t really tell if Sullyoon’s really doing a great job or not—maybe, it’s just the fact that the dopamine you’re receiving is way too much that you can’t think straight but nonetheless, everything she's done is spectacular and a peak at its finest. She then continued her oral assault to your dick as she sucked a third of a length of it, feeling more comfortable and confident than earlier.

“You have t-three m-minutes left Yoona, ahh…”

“You're seriously timing this, Oppa? Gosh, you’re so annoying.”

You know that she isn’t really offended, the both of you just giggled it off. After a couple of seconds, she then stopped sucking you off and stroked your entire length with intimacy as every second she stroked your shaft from base to tip sending shivers down your spine as well as inevitable lewd moans. She then starts lathering each of your balls with her own saliva as she sucked in each one gently with profound fervor.

“Oh fuck—I love this Yoona. Too g-good…”

She then stops sucking them as she returns her focus on your shaft again yet this time, she started it with frantic bobbing of her head as her full, luscious lips compose an orchestra of sonorous sounds as well as slurps that arouses you further.

Sullyoon gobbled down on your dick like it's her last meal—her satisfied moans says a lot as she slurped down around the succulent taste of your shaft. She then moved up on your mushroom-shaped tip, her talented tongue swirling around it as the dexterity of her fingers with her handjob gives you maximum pleasure.

“Oh damn, you're so good at t-that, Yoona.”

“Thank you, Oppa. I just wanna suck your cock all day—mwah, it tastes so delicious, every time.”

Sullyoon continues to bob her head after her small talk, up and down as her gleeful smile is her response. She then takes you half-way as she hungrily slurps down your shaft and gags right on the spot, not caring about it as she continues what she's best at.

You tried to fight the urge of fucking her face right at this moment, but with her messy tears, the drool seeping out of her mouth and the sinful gags that her throat makes, your mind sends you in haywire as you're tempted to do it. You grab a fistful of her dark brown locks, making a makeshift ponytail, an outlet to fight the ultimate pleasure you've been feeling.

“Yoona, I-I…”

“Yes, Oppa?” she releases your shaft out of her mouth with a loud pop, as your tip glistens with her saliva as well as the strings of it connected from her mouth.

“I r-really need to fuck your face, right n-now…”

Sullyoon senses your nervousness as you hitch a breath after each of your numerous stutters, her finding it rather adorable despite this sinful act in front of her.

“Oppa, like I said, I'm fine with this, go on. Use my mouth however you like.”

If she insists, who are you to say no—Oh! You wanted it anyway, right?

Grabbing her dark brown locks and making a makeshift ponytail out of it, you started to push your cock onto her mouth once more as Sullyoon's hand guided you. You started off with slow thrusts, adjusting yourself as Sullyoon grabbed your hips, adjusting herself onto the whole length of shaft invading her wet, warm cavern which is her mouth.

With how good her mouth feels, you can't help but increase the pace of your thrusts as Sullyoon tries to keep up with your whole length slamming down her throat. Not so long after, your shaft met the back of her throat, activating her gag reflex once again and pulling you back, her coughing mildly as concern is evident in your eyes.

“Fuck, I'm s-so sorry, Yoona. Are you okay?”

“I'm g-good, Oppa—*coughs* Fuck my face again, I c-can take it.”

You're a bit hesitant with her request as she strokes your shaft furiously and takes you in again, bobbing her head frantically as the thoughts of concern are fading away. With the sight of this gorgeous girl pleasuring you is definitely what can make any man happy.

Without any time to waste, you then grabbed her hair again and thrust in and out of her mouth, your pace faster than before as you fuck her face with no abandon, not caring if she gags or coughs right at the spot as pleasure is driving you way crazier than before.

“Fuck, Yoona. I love h-how fucking good your throat always feels like—fuck! You take me so fucking w-well too. Ahh, I'm going to fuck the living brat o-out of you! Arghhhh!”

With this new pace you built up, you can't help but let out intimate moans. Sullyoon's ruined mascara is evident from her eyes as her disheveled hair and the smeared lipstick around the base of your shaft arouses you even further. Saliva seeps out of her mouth as you pound her mouth harder and faster, her gagging sensually and gawking all over your length is a sign on how well you're fulfilling her needs—and your needs too.

You didn't mind the time ticking anymore as you can sense a familiar knot on your loins, signaling that your release will come anytime soon and Sullyoon senses it by how much your shaft is throbbing between your thrusts inside her mouth.

“Yoona, f-fuck, your mouth feels so damn good. You're taking me so well down y-your throat. Arghh—shit, I'm going to fucking cum!”

Knowing that Sullyoon likes to always taste and swallow your load every time you have quick sessions with her, a bright idea comes to your mind as you don't fulfill that wants of hers as you hurriedly pull out of her warm cavern, stroking your cock furiously, pointing it out towards her as surprisingly, Sullyoon didn't complain about you not painting her cavern white as she lewdly sticks out her tongue and closes her eyes, bracing herself on what's about to come.

“Paint my face white Oppa. Make an artwork and paint every inch of my small face. Cover my face with your hot, thick cum Oppa. Please, I'm dying to feel it Oppa, please, please, please!”

“Shit! I’m cu—mming Yoona!”

You groan as thick shots of hot, white semen paints Sullyoon's enticingly beautiful face as the empty canvas is painted white. Her eyes, forehead, nose, lips and her chin is covered with your pearly white cum as her index finger traces a sample from her cheeks, tasting it as she elicits a sexy moan, satisfied with your big load covering her face and the taste of it. You then fall limp to the toilet, recovering from your high as Sullyoon strokes your shaft, milking the entirety of your cock, making sure you're fully drained. Not so long, the timer beeps, signaling the end of the 5-minute mark.

“Fuck, that was such a yummy load, Oppa and it feels so warm on my face, oh my gosh.”

What a marvelous piece of art you've done with her—the ruined sight of her is something that you'll forever keep in mind as her beauty is beyond incomparable.

“How did you came so much, Oppa? Did I really turn you on that much, huh?”

“Well, I never busted a load for like a month and you didn't really come to meet me to help me get off.”

“Fair point, Oppa and sorry about that, I’ve been very busy too lately.”

“It’s alright Yoona, and also, bundles and bundles of schoolworks so don't have much time to really get off too.”

Sullyoon just nods as you handed her tissues to help her clean up her face but there's one thing you forgot to do and you wouldn't waste any time doing it now.

“Yoona.”

“Yes, Oppa?”

You swiftly took out your smartphone, opening your camera as you took a picture of her ruined, cum-covered visage quickly, catching her off-guard.

“Yah Oppa!! Give me that!”

“Why? Don’t you look beautiful with my cum painted on your face?”

“It’s not like that, Oppa, it’s just that… I don’t think I look beautiful enough and I look like weirdo—”

“Oh shut up about that Yoona. You're always beautiful, remember that. Also, you're so photogenic, the photos came out well, look!” 

You then showed Sullyoon the pictures you took as her eyes are in awe of how well the photos are quality-wise.

“You are a great photographer, Oppa. You should consider that as a job, right now.”

“Aha, maybe, when I graduate, I will, but—oh shit! Let's clean up quickly.”

Sullyoon then grabs your softening erection as she cleans it fully with her tongue, her saliva still glistening the tip of your shaft as you grab some tissues to help Sullyoon clean up and dress your bottom-half up. 

“I can't wait to feel you tonight, Oppa.”

“Who says I'm going to sleep with you tonight?”

“Me! Who else?”

“But what if I don't want to?”

Sullyoon lets out an almost inaudible series of whimpers as she punches your left shoulder playfully, not satisfied with your not-so-rhetorical question.

“Yah! Oppa~ Come on…”

“Okay, okay, Yoona. Hah, you know I can't resist you too…”

Her small, muffled noises full of delight shows how she seems victorious after her pleas against you. As much as you want to discipline and tame her bratty demeanor, you simply can't because of these two reasons: one, is that she's simply irresistible and lastly, you've been wanting to spend your time with her as it has been a while since the both of you did. Not so long after, the both of you got out of the bathroom as if nothing ever happened.

------

It was just any normal ride to your way home: the blasting of such head-banging bops and songs, the night drive without any traffic and your windows open—just the cold breeze of the wind—it’s just the best feeling a person could ever had, and that  is further proven with Sullyoon. Yet with all of that fun and peak delight, the both of you can’t help but be in a different state of bliss and delight as you hungrily kissed each other as your tongues lap and danced in each other’s mouth. Slurps and moans resonates around the bedroom and mostly, around your ear as the both of you pulled out each other’s embrace, strings of saliva following right after as the both of you gasp for air as the restriction of oxygen makes it a challenge for you to extend the duration of this intimate kiss and further, not continuing it.

“You kiss me so well, Yoona.”

“Thank you, Oppa, you too, you’re a great kisser.”

You then latched your lips onto hers again as the taste of her luscious lips just can’t be resisted alongside her sultry moans that makes you dive into her, more. Another minute of an intimate kiss is all it takes before she makes a move to you, pulling your shirt up, removing the fabric out as her hands roam around your chest, your arms and to your abs. You moan a little from her repetitive actions as it’s most likely your kryptonite, making you squirm in sensitivity as her warm harm never fails to make you feel pleasurable—more like peak delight at this point. 

“Are we just gonna kiss all night or will you do something more interesting, Oppa?”

As much as you wanna feel those soft lips brushing against yours and the irresistible taste of it, you wanna do more with her—you wanna make love to her. As much as you want to do the most unspeakable things on the planet with her, it must go into a slow journey before heading to the climax as it feels like nothing anywhere fun when you just skipped everything that can lead into your wants.

“I would love to do more than this, Yoona, but with that being said—”, you then brushed your fingers into her inviting lips as she lightly sucks on them wantonly, letting you know the urge of neediness that she’s feeling right now, “—you need to follow my orders.”

As expected, she rolls her eyes in frustration as you know how much she doesn’t like to fulfill orders when she’s on the bed with you. She does follow but not all the time, but right now, with all of her brattiness, it’s time to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.

“But why, Oppa—”

“I said, you’ll follow my orders, Yoona. You’ve been acting like a brat all day and do you think this will be tolerated? Not this time—you won’t win this time, Yoona.”

“But Oppa—”

“No buts; just follow me and we will be all fine. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with you unless you don’t want me too, okay?”

You kissed her forehead for further reassurance. Even though your voice is commanding and chilling, on the brighter side, your only aim is to guide Sullyoon and just want the best for her, so your reassuring tone will do its job to balance your intimidating demeanor.

“Yes, Oppa…”

With that being said, you then caress her thighs as you can feel how soft and silky it is. So insatiable, so perfect, if you were to ask. Your fingers then run down the pearly white skin as Sullyoon squirms upon your touch, her sensitivity over the roof on how gentle and teasing you are.

“Op—Oppa~ Hngg, too much—ahhh…”

“Gosh, you're this sensitive right now, Yoona? What a pity that my little bunny is so needy. So needy for my touch.”

You then hiked her skirt up and noticed a familiar, wet spot on her panties that she couldn't help hiding. Still caressing her thighs, you then start to tease her labia as constant ragged breaths and moans escapes Sullyoon's mouth. With her sensitivity, this further puts you into an immediate advantage as you can see yourself fully controlling her.

“Does it feel good, Yoona? Does it? Answer me—”

“Yes, Oppa! Ahhhh~”

You smirked as victory can be sensed within any given time now as you can see her face, in an ahegao-like façade—her tongue sticking out lewdly and her constant wails. With her expression like that, you know that you're pleasuring her well so you raise it up a notch, fingering her faster as you insert another digit inside her to challenge her and most likely, for her to learn a lesson.

“You know, Yoona, I don't know when did you start to act like this, I really don't. You know, it's such a shame if you were to cum on my fingers, huh? Look at you, all red and flushed just by just this. Hmm, it's okay, my little bunny will be taken care of by his Oppa.”

Your constant teasing just sends Sullyoon's brain into haywire as her face flushed red like a tomato, maybe even redder than before. Inserting another finger just sends her into her limits, her husky, soft voice orchestrating a plethora of moans that resonates around your ear. This just further arouses you to the point that you just want to fuck her right at this moment yet you resist yourself onto the lustful temptation because you need to teach her a lesson. More pace exerted means much louder moans and ragged breaths from hers as not so long after, you can already feel her climax coming up by how much her pussy is leaking like a faucet that can’t be stopped. 

“Oppa, I’m gonna cum—ahh!”

Just right when she’s about to climax, you suddenly pull out your fingers and as expected, Sullyoon whines in desperation and defeat from your edging.

“B-But w-why did you stop, Oppa?”

You exhaled deeply as you looked at Sullyoon with a cheeky grin, making her intimidated with your not-so-silly actions.

“Well, I hope that you're going to learn your lesson, now, Yoona.”

“But why, Oppa? This is just unfair! I wanna get off too—”

You then stopped Sullyoon's childish protests with a single thud of your feet, stomping the ground with such force that it almost feels like it's about to break. Sullyoon's eyes convey worry and anxiety as she doesn't know what to feel in this given situation.

“Listen here, Yoona, next time, you gotta wait and be patient so that's why I'm telling you a lesson. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Oppa… I'm sorry too, I just can't help myself.”

You then kissed her forehead once again, as a sign of reassurance and to let her know how much you really care about her.

“You don't need to be sorry, Yoona. I just want to let you know how to be patient, okay?”

Sullyoon frantically nods as a response to what you've said as you further reassure her that you aren't mad earlier, but rather, disappointed.

“Such a good bunny. I like how you're getting more obedient.”

Sullyoon just remains flustered from your compliments as constant delighted squeals can be heard from hers. For one last time, you kissed her again intimately as she reciprocated from the kiss as fast as lightning. Not so long after, you pulled out from her warm mouth as the insatiability is never coming down, so you thought of something that can make what you've been feeling better.

“Mwah, oh, Yoona. Because of your obedience, I would give you something to hold on—a present, shall I say.”

“What is it, Oppa?”

Sullyoon's puppy-like eyes shows her utmost anticipation of what you're about to mutter. You know that she just can't wait and so are you, so you gleefully smiled at her and said the reward that you're about to give her.

“You know how insatiable you are to me, so, with that being said, you can suck me off to start some things before we get to the main course.”

All can Sullyoon do is squeal in victory as she gets to taste your shaft yet again. So without any time to waste, she unbuckles your belt and undresses your bottom half, leaving you fully naked. Placing a couple of digits to your erect shaft, you shiver as the coldness of her hands sends your brain in haywire. As she's doing the handiwork that she's best at, a certain tingle in your brain tells you something that you should definitely try and with this given moment, you didn't dare to miss this opportunity.

“Oh, Yoona.”

“Yes, Oppa?”

“There's a checkered ribbon similar to yours on the top left drawer on my table, would you please get it? I'm going to try something out.”

Without a doubt, Sullyoon immediately fulfilled your favor as she hurriedly got up on the bed and got the ribbon for you.

“Now, what do you want me to do with it, Oppa?”

“Uhm, ahh—just tie it on your hair, at the back of your head and remove this headband of yours.”

As Sullyoon's amused yet quizzical face emanated, she quickly thought about why you suddenly let her grab the checkered ribbon. You probably knew that she cracked the code and all you can do is smile as her clever mind figured it out.

“Oooh, is this a new fetish of yours, Oppa?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m sorry if it’s a dumb on—”

“No!—” Sullyoon then looked at you endearingly, her eyes shining full of glint and  her soft-spoken tone reassuring you. “—It’s totally fine, Oppa. It’s actually good that you wanna try more.”

“Thank you, Sully, you’re definitely the best.” You kissed her forehead as she squealed gleefully and flushed from your simple complimenting words. “Now, go down on your knees and get your reward.”

She didn’t leave a second wasted as she hurriedly dropped down on her knees while you relaxed yourself onto the bed, letting her do all the work as you're just there to guide or command her.

“How do you want me to suck you off, Oppa, hm?”

“Just suck it however you like, Sully, I don't mind it.”

Giving the green light to Sullyoon, she immediately averted her attention towards your hardening member, her eyes glued and in awe and how much it's been erecting.

“Wow… Look how you're getting hard for me, Oppa. Am I turning you on too much?”

“If only you know, Sully.”

If only she knew how much she's turning you on right now, she would've used that advantage to further pleasure you—or maybe even ignite the gasoline on the flames of her mind-tingling teases—sooner yet you wouldn't complain a single bit as her hands are now taking a firm, vise-like grip as she slowly strokes your shaft, you then involuntarily moaning softly as her actions stimulates you. Not so long after, she upped the pace of the stroke and that leads you to leak the infamous colorless liquid which she traced her dainty fingers with, not wasting a single drop.

“Oh gosh, it's so delicious, Oppa…”

As her strokes got sensually faster, she started to spit on your shaft as an aid to pleasure you even better—her saliva acting as a lubricant. With more exertion and pace between her strokes, you can't help but groan in sensitivity and pleasure as it skyrocketed up fast. Between her furious strokes are the lust-filled kisses around your mushroom-shaped tip which further sends you to overdrive. Your hips jerk inevitably as the pleasure you're feeling was way too much to handle and after an opening show of her talented fingers, it was the time for you to feel the warmness of her wet, slick cavern which is her mouth.

“Oh, fuck! Yoona, it's too good!”

Her response was nowhere near a verbal one but instead an immediate act as she rapidly bobbed her head up and down on your shaft, gobbling onto it like it's the last time that she'll ever taste you. Most of the time when Sullyoon is giving blowjobs, you close your eyes as you mentally picture and feel every detail of her actions and how pleasure is delivered by hers yet today, that may change. You suddenly opened your eyes and you were met with the sight of Sullyoon, in her uniform and mostly, with a checkered ribbon tied on the back of her head. Your mind can't fully comprehend how attractive and lustful this act could be, and how your ribbon fetish stimulated you onto the roof. It's also the way Sullyoon sucks you off with a vigor and fervor that no one can match and especially, how she looks so ruinable with that damn uniform.

You curse onto yourself for the pleasure you're feeling as her frantic bobbing of her head ensues—the constant slurps and gags that makes you feel the utmost gratification you’ve ever felt, and maybe, it’s even better than what she did earlier. With this much stimulation, you need an outlet to fight so in a matter of seconds, you grabbed her head and made a makeshift ponytail without ruining the ribbon she tied at the back of her head. You never knew that this ribbon fetish of yours can bring you to your ultimate fantasy coming true as the rhythmic bobbing of Sullyoon’s head almost puts you into hypnosis as you’re starting to moan her name much more frequently than before.

“Fuck, Yoona—argh, so good. So, so good. Ahh, y-you can touch yourself if you want t-to, you’ve earned a bit of p-pleasure for being such a good girl.”

With all of this stimulation, you’re half-surprised on how you can articulate such words to Sullyoon as you felt like she ignored you as all you can hear is her constant slurping, gagging and her hums around your throbbing shaft. She sucks you off like a lollipop, the tight suction of her lips not leaving anything on your length untouched and covered by her own drool as if she’s trying to milk another big load from yours, which, preferably, you would want to as you’re dying to explode inside her slick, warm cavern and to paint every inch of it white. With all of Sullyoon's effort on sucking you off, it just drives you closer and closer to your climax as she can feel it too by how much your length is throbbing inside her talented mouth.

“Fuck, Yoona—shit! I'm s-so fucking close. Arghh! I'm gonna explode inside y-your mouth!”

All it takes is a few rhythmic movements before you finally explode inside her as thick, warm semen flooded her insides. Each spurt should be savored by Sullyoon, as she does just that, keeping her mouth in touch within the base of your cock as she tries to take it all but fails when it's way too much for her to handle. Your euphoric orgasm sends you into bliss, making you savor every second within this moment.

“G-Gosh, you’re t-taking me so fucking well, all the way, baby…”

Within the final spurts, she pulled out herself onto your raging length as she gave herself some time to breathe, also, the final spurts painting her cheeks and her chin pearly white. The once cum-flooded mouth of Sullyoon has now been clean as she swallowed it all, not wasting a single drop. She later showed how neat her mouth is as everything has been swallowed, even the ones painted within her face.

“It’s so delicious, Oppa. Thank you for this gift.”

A gleeful smile emanates from her as you smile back, satisfied with her performance as she puts on a show to remember. 

“How did you release a bigger load than before, Oppa? This is like—too much.”

You just replied with a shrug and numerous ragged breaths as you still recover from the bliss earlier. All you can see is her beautiful, disheveled face flashing a smile towards you as you caress her hair, letting her know how satisfied you are. Now initiating the first move, you slowly pin her against the bed as you can now smell the floral-like perfume she used earlier, which you always like. Now inches away from her touch, you didn’t waste a second to latch your lips onto her neck, peppering it with kisses as she moans in response to your intimate actions. You suckle onto her neck like it's your last, the suction may be enough to leave a small mark as you did the same to her nape, marking it too with your love.

“You're moaning too much, baby, you like this?”

“Too much Oppa, I love it—ahh…”

Her sensitivity goes through the roof as her warm hands start tracing your back and gripping your hair because she was feeling way too much pleasure and bliss. 

“Oppa...”

“Yes, Yoona?”

“I need to feel you i-inside me, now. Please? I'm dying t-to feel you—ahhh.”

“Be patient baby, okay? I'm just—mwah—marking you to let them know that you're mine.”

“B-But you're always mine, Oppa! Ahhh—I'm yours and only yours, Oppa—ahh—only y-yours.”

“You're so sweet, baby—mwah—I love you.”

“I l-love you too, Oppa.”

With her pleas and her needy moans, this just arouses you further as you continue to kiss her a little bit more as the main event will soon be coming. You can't resist her and you can't wait to feel her, so, without wasting any time, you commanded her to strip as she willingly fulfilled it.

“Straddle my lap and strip for me, baby.”

One by one, piece by piece, you can see her pristine figure as she slowly unbuttons her uniform, your cock twitching on how much she's turning you on. She notices this as she smiles, knowing that she's doing a great job at seducing and probably, even teasing you.

“Oh wow…”

You're in awe as she throws away her uniform somewhere near the bed as her perky mounds are in your sight, covered with a white-laced bra, arousing you further. She then unbuckles the lock of her skirt, undressing herself as she throws it away to God know where, teasing you further as she winks and flashes a smirk towards you.

“Oh my fucking god, baby, you're so hot.”

“Thank y-you, Oppa…”

Sullyoon hides her face with her hands as she gets shy from your compliment, making you giggle on how adorable she looks whenever she feels embarrassed.

“No need to be shy, baby, be confident, okay?”

A nod is her reply as your reassuring tone enlightens her up, increasing her confidence. Still straddled on your lap, she asks you about a request you never knew that she would say.

“Oppa?”

“Yes, Yoona?”

“Can I-I…”

She hides her face with her hands, feeling skeptical to say something but you enlighten her through your dulcet tone.

“It's okay, Yoona, open up to me—what do you want to do?”

“Can I—r-ride you?”

Those four words were just enough to make you peak in interest as your eyes widened, liking the idea of Sullyoon’s wants and your keenness, letting you thoroughly guide her onto what she wants.

“Of course, you can, baby, but, are you sure you want to?”

Sullyoon’s expressions changed faster than lightning, emanating a skeptical façade yet you reassure her again that everything's going to be fine with your guidance and your assistance.

“T-Thank you, Oppa, I just want to try this out myself.”

“No worries, Yoona.”

Her hands then reached for your semi-erect cock as she wrapped her dainty fingers around it, letting you feel the warmness of it as she stroked you into full hardness again. It doesn't take you long to be at full mast as her hands guide your raging members towards the heat of her entrance.

A few teasing and brushing of her clit towards your mushroom-shaped tip is all it takes for you to moan like crazy. You can already feel how soaking wet she is as her juices run down to your slit, like a water stream running down as it mixes it with your precum. Enough with the teasing as she now slowly takes you in, the both of you moaning in unison as the once tranquil room was now filled with lustful moans that breaks the silence.

“Take me a-all in baby, slowly—arghh! You're so tight, Yoona—arghh!”

“And you're s-so big, Oppa—ahhh! You feel s-so good! So, so good!”

Gyrating and forming a rhythm with her hips, she starts to bounce hypnotically as you guide her, your hands at the side of her thighs, thrusting a little bit upwards and mirroring her movements in order to help her. Even with her tightness that puts you up on a struggle, the both of you manage to form a rhythm that's way too pleasurable yet not way too fast—you could just stay this way as her walls clenching around your shaft forms an unexplainable bliss that makes you moan in ecstasy. 

“Ahh—ahh—Oppa! Too good—oh fuck! Too good!”

Inevitable curses escape from her mouth as your dick makes her feel the utmost pleasure as she's in a state of bliss. Her dulcet tone resonates around your ear as each decibel of her moans increases, the more she adds pace on riding you. 

“Oh fuck, baby, you're riding me so well—ughh! You're too fucking good, Yoona.”

Complimenting Sullyoon just adds gasoline to the flames and you love it—it makes her confident and you just can't help but smile because of it. Albeit she's tight, you can manage to pick up your pace on thrusting upwards as she does the same, her juices overflowing like a leaking faucet which just arouses you further, over to the roof—it also helps with the lubrication, which is a blessing in disguise.

With her hands pressed down onto your chest firmly, you could tell how much she's exerting the utmost efforts on pleasuring you as not so long after, she announces her climax nearing so helping her reaching her high, you start to thrust faster, reaching the limits of velocity your hips can muster as her moans became a delicate song to your ear with your hammering thrusts.

“Oppa! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum—ahh—ahh—AHH!”

An ear-deafening shrill is all it takes for Sullyoon to feel her euphoric high as her juices gushes out of your girth, signaling her blissful orgasm. You slow down your thrusts in order for her to recover from her high as you get up, pulling her into embrace and capturing her luscious lips at that moment—kissing her for a few seconds then caressing her hair to help her out.

“That's alright, baby, cum on my cock. Good girl—mwah—such a good girl for Oppa.”

“Oh f-fuck, Oppa—hahh… I came so hard.”

With her still laying down on the bed, recovering from her orgasm, you pulled your throbbing length out of her pussy, allowing her to have some time to breathe as she anticipates what you're going to do next—even though she may already know what you had in store, on your mind.

“Oppa?”

“Yes, Yoona?”

“Won't you cum inside of me? I k-know you want to, so please, give it to me, Oppa…”

Still exchanging breaths from the earlier exhaustion, you then lay on top of her slowly, ready to fulfill her needs of feeling you again.

“As you wish, Yoona, but, are you sure you want to do this right now? I don't know if you can take me ag—

“I'm good, Oppa. I can take it, just please, give me your warm load in my pussy, I want to feel you.”

Giving you the green light, you then line yourself onto her heat as she deeply inhales, readying herself on what's about to happen. Stroking your member again into full hardness, you then now started to insert yourself into her as you were eagerly met with the tightness of her velvety walls.

“Oh my f—you're so fucking tight, Yoona—oh so fucking good!”

You then held onto her hourglass waist as you thrust in faster, sultry and deep moans escaping from her agape mouth as a response from your actions. After a few seconds, you then capture her lips as the two of you are deeply enamored with the lustful act that's been happening. Her eagerly reciprocating the kiss further sends you to overdrive as you increase the pace, your hammering thrusts making her moan seductively while locking your lips onto hers. Her small whimpers and adorable little noises are the cherries on top, as her saccharine tone is enough to stimulate you, up to your peak. Even her with a faux demeanor or maybe even up to her being a sulky brat, it’s still enough to make you down bad towards her, wanting her all along as she’s insatiable and you can’t blame yourself to let your defenses down to this girl that you’re diligently fucking—her hourglass shape, her luscious, plump lips and it’s oh-so-kissable, her pretty face, her fair, pristine skin, her being soft and down to earth and more than what you could think about her.

What a perfect girl—you mutter upon yourself as the girl in front of you is now a beautiful, disheveled mess. More and more of her nectar gushes out of her cunt as it streams down to your throbbing length and drips down to your balls, wetting the bed sheets below—you swear, after this, you’ll be struggling to clean the bed on how soaking bed it would be.

“H-Harder, Oppa, please. Faster—ahh! Too fucking good! Oh god, make love t-to me, Oppa!”

Swearing in Sullyoon’s vocabulary is sporadic in nature as when she does, you know something is serious but right now, you could tell how serious she is as you fulfill her wish by exerting more effort, increasing the pace into a faster rhythm as your hammering thrusts ensues, her mouth agape and her moans turning into wild whimpers by how the pleasure is delivered all throughout her body.

“Y-Yoona…”

“Ahh—y-yes, Oppa?”

“I w-want you to fuck from b-behind, can I?”

She unhesitantly nods as if it wasn't even a question at this point—why would you even ask her when you know that she’ll agree, but nonetheless, asking is still important. As much as you don’t want to pull out of her tight, velvety walls, you should as the both of you switched positions, you then aiding Sullyoon some help. Without wasting any second, you plunge your girth back to her juicy, wet cunt as you didn’t give her some time to adjust, starting off with wild and frantic thrusts. She wanted this anyway so you’re here to fulfill her—if she wants it slow, then you’ll do things slow with her as she deserves to be fucked like the princess she is. With the reckless pounding you’re exerting, it is inevitable to feel the tingling sensation on your loins so with that, you then grabbed her hair—not enough to hurt her—as you make a makeshift ponytail, an outlet to fight the pleasure and for it to help you into fucking her as a side-thought came in your mind on how strong the ribbon is on holding onto her hair despite the ruthless acts the both of you’re doing. You didn’t mind it as you can feel your orgasm building up so you gave her the final pounding she deserves as you groan, announcing your release.

“I’m g-gonna cum inside you, baby! You gotta t-take it all in—f-f-fuck!”

“I’m going t-to cum too, Oppa! Let’s cum t-together?”

With a nod and a smile, you gave her the green as you yelled her name in ecstasy, burying the entirety of your length in her pussy as thick and thick shots of semen painting her velvety walls white. She then came after you as her walls pulsate around your length, her reservoir breaking loose as her juices gushed out like a waterfall around your shaft. With her euphoric high, she then moans your name too as your blissful orgasm comes to an end after a few seconds, exchanging smiles and kisses as you latch onto her lips once more, letting her know how much you love her and only her. Pulling your length and your lips onto her, your semi-flaccid shaft is now mixed with indistinguishable liquids as all you can see, and possibly, be proud of, is how well, you creampied Sullyoon—your semen leaking out of her freshly-fucked pussy slowly is a sight to see. With how sensitive and painful you feel right now, you then lay yourself down beside Sullyoon as the both of you looked at each other’s eyes, seeing your worlds within both pupils. Pulling her into an embrace, you grunt in pain as the sensitivity is inevitable, and maybe because of the fact that she drained you and you couldn’t care less because all that matters is how happy you are and how this night will be remembered in your history books.

“You fucked me so well, Oppa… It’s so warm inside—ahhh. I love you so much, Oppa.”

“I love you too, Yoona, you took me so well too and I’m sorry if it’s a bit too rough—”

“Shhh—” her index finger lays on top of your lips, refraining you from saying anything further. “—it’s what I wanted anyways, Oppa. Thank you for that.”

Her face hides onto your chest as she rests onto it, herself being comfortable as she becomes enervated with all of the acts you’ve done earlier. You then rest your head onto the top of her head, caressing her hair slowly as she looks up with you with those sparkling, puppy eyes that you always have loved. Her chin then rests onto your chest as she smiles in joy, her arms still wrapped around your neck. You already knew that her intentions are clear: her showing how grateful she is as her affectionate actions is enough to make you in awe. She then closed her eyes, still emanating that bright smile of hers, as you patted her head and kissed her forehead, then uttering the words: “I love you so much, Yoona. Thank you for everything—mwah.”

Her cheeks flushed rosy pink as she utters the same plethora of words: “I love you too, Oppa. Never let me go, please…”

“I won’t, Yoona. You mean a lot to me and I’ll always protect you, no matter what happens.”

Closing your eyes as the both of you venture down the abyss, your exasperated bodies then give in to the drowsiness, your bodies still in a form of a warm embrace—your arms wrapped around each other and head resting on each other’s embrace. Still with your post-orgasmic exhaustion, you managed to slowly push her away from your embrace as you reposition her onto the bed, making herself comfortable. You then wrap her in a blanket as you take a look of her pristine features and how much it makes you in awe. You shine a smile from the sight of her sleeping soundly as not so long after, you join her after wearing an underwear that you got from your chestnut-colored closet. You wrapped her into an embrace again, and involuntarily, she reciprocated to your embrace, her arms wrapping around your neck as she snuggled her head slowly to your collarbones, allowing you to hear her soothing snores. You then closed your eyes as you totally gave in to your drowsiness as slowly, you fell asleep, in Sullyoon’s arms.

The night is still young for the both of you yet it is already fulfilled in the state of bliss and you couldn’t be any happier with that. This is a night to remember and it absolutely will be as this is the best day ev—

*notification buzzes*

ohmyhaewon on 22:19 - “I’ll meet you tomorrow at noon, Oppa. Be there because we’ll talk about something. See ya’! ;)”

Well, this wasn’t according to what you’ve planned—

[nelle-y]

Thoma x afab!reader

Synopsis: on your fourth month of pregnancy, you suddenly find yourself bleeding…

C/W: husband!Thoma, afab!reader, miscarriage, major angst, descriptions of blood under the cut, not proofread

Note: i swear if i get sent to the hospital again after posting a fic

—

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Hi, sweetie!” Thoma’s voice came from the kitchen. “Take a seat while I clean up real quick.”

You did as he said and sat down on your place, a feast of a dinner beholding your sight. Three of your favorite meals placed around a bowl of rice, your plates on the opposite sides. Thoma returned shortly and sat at the chair in front of you. You both began to eat the meals he prepared. “So, how are you feeling? Did you drink a lot of water today?”

“Yeah, I did. There were a lot of assholes at work today, though; I was this close to throwing a fit.” You pinch your fingers together with such pressure your nails could break.

He sucked a disapproving breath, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He held your hand from across the table, offering a look of sympathy. “I wish I could work instead so you can rest here at home. That way, you wouldn’t be stressed at all.”

Reassuring your husband, you tightened your grip as your heart filled with glee. “Thoma, you work two-times harder than me everyday, and you do such a great job at it. Taking care of the house, preparing meals, doing the laundry, and managing our bills—I could never do that as well as you. Besides, whatever stress I have is gone by the end of the day because I get to come home to you.”

Thoma blushes as your sentiment, smiling softly, “I hope our baby has your way with words.”

“And I hope they have your resilience. Your wisdom, your generosity, your face, hair,” you proceed to list all of Thoma’s characteristics, leaving him a red mess.

“Y/N, Y/N, eat up before the baby starts getting greedy,” he said hastily.

You laugh at his bashfulness. “Okay, okay, let me just go to the bathroom first.”

As you walked to the bathroom, light pains from this afternoon irked to your loins—something you didn’t quite pay attention to. After using the toilet, standing up to flush, you see drops of red in the bowl. Your stomach dropped, the pain you felt earlier turned to cramps, your heart thundered in your ears as the threat of sobs stuffed your nose.

You and Thoma had always dreamed of having a family. From the day you both got married, you talked about the future, the house filled with laughter, and the pitter-patter of tiny feet. When you found out you were pregnant, Thoma was over the moon. He had picked you up and twirled you around the room, his eyes sparkling with joy and tears.

The months leading up to this moment were filled with anticipation and preparation. Thoma took over most of the household chores, insisting you take it easy. He would cook your favorite meals, rub your feet after a long day at work, and read to the baby every night before bed.

“Do you think they can hear me?” he’d ask, resting his head on your growing belly.

“I’m sure they can,” you’d reply, running your fingers through his hair. “They probably already love you as much as I do.”

As the months went by, Thoma made sure every detail was perfect for the baby’s arrival. He painted the nursery in soft pastel colors, assembled the crib, and even sewed little outfits. He was the epitome of a doting husband and expectant father.

But despite the joy, there were moments of fear. The slight pains that started a few weeks ago had you worried. “It’s probably nothing,” you’d tell yourself, but deep down, a gnawing anxiety grew. You’d mentioned it to Thoma, but he’d always reassure you.

“It’s normal to feel some discomfort,” he’d say, holding your hand. “But if it gets worse, promise me you’ll see a doctor.”

Now, seeing the blood, you felt the weight of all those worries crashing down on you. “Thoma,” you called weakly, then loudly like there was some eldritch horror in your bathroom. You run out, a wheep piercing your throat for a good cry. Groans echoed the walls as cramping turned into stabbing in your stomach. Your husband quickly rushed to you, panicked by your meekly body on the floor.

“Y/N!” Thoma held you in his arms, his eyes shot with worry. “What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

His concern, archons, you could almost hate the man for saying those words. Unable to blink away the tears, you let a sob out from your quivering lip. “No, no, it’s,” he let you cling onto him as you muffled your cries. “They’re…” you can’t bring yourself to say it. Thankfully, he catches on quickly—because why else would you be sobbing on the floor about the baby if not for this?

Thoma, at a loss for words, continues to comfort you in any way he can. He hugs your head on his chest as you sob into him. He rubs your shoulders in hopes to calm you down. All while he was staring at nothing, lost in his own despair.

You both had been looking forward for this baby since you announced your pregnancy. It was all you could talk about before going to sleep. Casper would’ve been their name, and their first best friend would’ve been Taroumaru. Would’ve been.

“They’re gone—Casper…” you cried softly, pained voice muffled in his shirt.

Those words brought an unbelievable amount of pain to Thoma, like a cannonball hit him after he was shot with an arrow. He closed his blurring eyes and let a tear fall on his cheek. He wanted to say it was okay, but it really wasn’t. He and you were not okay, this is not okay. You had just lost your child, your bearing fruit that had been carefully nurtured the day your period didn’t come.

All of it, wasted because of a stressful day, he thought. He blames the work atmosphere, he blames your coworkers for not helping out, he blames the clients for being assholes.

But you were blaming yourself. You should’ve been more careful, more mindful of your limits. You shouldn’t have accepted to handle those clients. You should’ve been stronger for your baby. You blame yourself for destroying a child’s home because you weren’t strong enough.

Through hiccups and sobs, you say, “I’m so sorry, Thoma.”

Your husband snaps back to reality, focusing his attention to you, his beloved spouse who was crumbling before him. “It’s not your fault, Y/N, no need to apologize.”

“But I messed everything up; I got stressed and…” flashbacks of your blood haunt your mind. The aching pains in your stomach didn’t seem to help. Thoma gently lifted your face to meet his eyes, his own filled with tears but also with unwavering love and support.

"Y/N, don't you dare blame yourself for this," Thoma whispered, his voice breaking. "This is not your fault. You did everything you could for our baby. Sometimes... sometimes these things just happen, and when it does, there’s no stopping it. We’ll get through this together, okay?"

His words, though true, were hard to accept in the moment. But Thoma's embrace, his warmth, and his unwavering presence started to chip away at the heavy burden of guilt you carried.

The evening turned somber, the dinner forgotten as you and Thoma held each other, sharing in the profound loss of your unborn child. The future you had envisioned with Casper now seemed like a distant dream, replaced by a void of sadness and longing.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

—the end.—

[actuallysaiyan]

||Love Like Blood|| Chapter Two: And The Woman Was Weak

Chapter Two: And The Woman Was Weak

warnings: religious trauma, lots of religious imagery, abusive parent, abuse, physical violence, dark themes, use of Cursed energy, mentions of urination, Nanami isn't present in this chapter pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Sorcerer/Carrie White!Reader summary: when hell comes home, you know you're going to pay the price of receiving the original sin. what you don't realize is that your own powers are here to protect you.

dividers by: @/benkeibear/@adornedwithlight

taglist: @tsukimefuku @kentocalls @erebus-et-eigengrau @sparklynightm4re

@seireiteihellbutterfly @beneathstarryskies

Masterlist

The smell of candles and the sound of her heavy footsteps is what pulls you from your dreams. Inside your room, you know it’s the only comfort you can have for a bit. The pictures of the messiah hang on your walls. They are unlike the ones in the living room and the ones that adorn the walls of your own mother’s bedroom.

In these paintings, he’s herding sheep. In these paintings, he looks like someone you could trust. You remember the words your mother had always said. There would be a Day of Judgement. And the Jesus that was in the paintings in your room would soon morph into the ones that are in the paintings downstairs.

On Judgement Day…there would be an angel with a sword. Jesus would come down, not with mercy, but with a want to root out the evil.

Just the image it evokes in your mind is enough to make you shudder. You pull on your cardigan and you sit at the top of the stairs as you try to listen to your mother talking to someone unknown on the phone. You wonder who it could be. Then she hangs up the phone. You nearly hold your breath in anticipation.

“I know you’re listening,”

The voice of your mother. It frightens you while also comforting you. You don’t know anything else that could do this to you. No kids at the school comfort you. But your mother…oh your mother. She can with the same hand wipe away your tears but also cause lots of pain.

The minute you see her, you know that this can’t go the way you want it to. The mother who you would always wish for, she was not her. You wanted a mother who would hold you close, dry your tears and leave you with words of wisdom.

With her lips pulled tight in a disapproving look, and her eyes wide with anger, you know that you are in the wrong somehow. Even if you felt like you were going to die today and really wished your mother had taught you better, she was going to show you how you were just an ugly sinner.

“So,” she starts. “You’re a woman now.”

You nearly fall to your knees from the soft tone of her voice. It’s a trick. It’s always the same tactic she uses on you every single time. 

“Momma,” you cry. “I was so scared. Why didn’t you explain this to me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your mother looks you dead in the eyes before she slaps you across the face. The slap nearly sends you backwards. Your cheek is already heating up from the pain. Suddenly, you feel like your whole body is surrounded by a colorful aura.

The nonsense that comes from her mouth reminds you of how much of this is repetition and routine. The sin of Eve. The way she was weak and let loose a raven of sin on this world.

“Everything is a sin, momma.” You tried to defend yourself. 

She scowls at you, trying to hit you once more. But something seems to be stopping her. Almost a barrier between the two of you. 

“Sin has walked into my home!” She shrieks, reaching to tug on her hair.

You watch in terror from your pseudo-barrier. She’s scratching at her face and tearing out her hair in large clumps. It’s a way to terrify you, but you don’t know how to feel this time. She should have been there to teach you and to make you feel comfortable with the idea of becoming a woman and the idea of menstruation.

There’s a struggle when she reaches down to grab onto your shirt collar. When she manages to get a good grip on you, she begins dragging you to the door of the cellar.

“You need to pray. Get down there and pray for forgiveness.”

You cry out. “No momma! No, please!”

But your cries fall on deaf ears. She shoves you into the partially opened door. You feel your body being scrapped but when you try to think of that comforting aura from earlier, it seems to appear just for you in your time of need.

The way down the steps was rough. You caught yourself before you fell all the way down. Then you found yourself in almost pitch black darkness. Your eyes adjusted to it slowly, but you knew your way around this place.

It’s damp and dark in here. Things belonging to your father reside in this cellar. Jars of vegetables that seem always past their expiration line one of the walls. You approach the tool bench in the corner and you grab for the small box of matches. With shaking hands, you manage to light one of the candles.

The small flame begins to illuminate the area in front of you. The tool bench had been one of your father’s possessions. Your mother never truly spoke of him, but at times she let things slip.

He was good with his hands. When he wasn’t scaring the whole town with his stoic and austere demeanor, he would come down here and work on some of the furniture that sits upstairs.

You have a hard time imagining the man. You have seen him in photographs. But you had never seen him in real life. Your mother, she has you convinced that he was tempted by the devil and that’s why he wasn’t here anymore.

You kneel in front of the candles on the bench. A few figures of the lamb of god being crucified on the cross are littered about. The eyes, oh how they almost seem to glow.

And on the wall, a large painting that had been hidden down here. It’s the very one that gave you nightmares for years. Here he was, all in his glory, on the crucifix. The maroon blood seemed to almost seep into his eyes from his crown of thorns.

You shudder and look away. But he, the Unseen Guest, was always watching you. To you, he would always be seen. You couldn’t quite look away completely. Something had made you feel like you had to look up at it.

It’s almost as if you couldn’t trust the eyes boring deep into your soul. Even if that Judgement Day came, would you be redeemable? Could you be forgiven from your sins even if you repent now?

The words flow out of your mouth almost seamlessly. You remember all the passages and the verses. The Lord’s Prayer seems to almost always be your go-to, just like anyone else.

Minutes passed by slowly. You sat on your knees for so long, you didn’t even remember how the passage of time worked.

But in the back of your mind, you kept reminding yourself not to break. Not to give in.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 　　.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

But of course you broke. It was only a little bit of time before your mother was going to open the door to you and let you out. Your bladder ached for relief. Your stomach growled for food.

The minute the door to the cellar was opened, you rushed to the bathroom. You remember many times when you were forced into the cellar that you never made it out in time to relieve yourself.

The embarrassment and the shame that comes with it was a constant reminder that you are just a pawn in her game. There were so many times where you wished you could tell her that you wanted to live a normal life.

She barely looks at you when you come back downstairs. There’s a cold plate of dinner waiting for you in the dining room. You sit down, and with a glance to the sky, you say another silent prayer. The food was atrocious, but you were starving.

Then you went up to bed. There would be no goodnight kisses, no lullabies and no sermons to listen to. Nothing of comfort on the first night of you becoming a woman.

And yet when you finished your evening routine, you found yourself being cloaked in that warm aura from before. You could almost see it now. It was a warm pinkish color.

In your mind, you almost felt like you were using a muscle to flex. No, flexing wasn’t the right word, but it would do for now. The aura seemed to dim whenever you couldn’t quite control the flexing motion.

Your eyes glimmered when you noticed that the pink aura seemed to almost reach out to the objects you tried to move with your mind. It was almost like there was a hand there moving things at your will.

The way your heart was beating, you almost felt like you’d faint. You were working so hard on this newly (no, not new but…) discovered power. And at last, you collapse against your pillows.

You try one last attempt in vain. This ends up knocking over a bunch of things on your dresser. This would definitely rouse the suspicion of your already very tense mother.

The minute the sound of the clutter hitting the ground stopped sounding out in the room, you knew you had to hurry up and look inconspicuous. You lay down on the bed, the blankets covering you. With your arms crossed over your chest, you almost resemble the perfect imitation of the sarcophagus from ancient Egypt.

Her heavy footsteps become closer and closer, making you feel nervous. Finally she enters your room, watching you carefully on your bed. Her eyes always seem like they are penetrating you and looking deep into your soul, just as Jesus would from all the paintings and figures scattered about the house.

“What are you up to?” She asks, the disgust in her voice so apparent.

“Saying my prayers. Going to bed.”

You feel like you could pass out from the fear of her glare. But when you feel that pinkish aura around you, suddenly you don’t feel as scared as before. You look up at her with your most innocent face.

“Good night.” She finally says, turning around and closing the door. This leaves you in darkness once more.

While the darkness has shrouded your happiness so many times and left you feeling helpless, you find it to be the only comforting constant in your life tonight. And with this pinkish hue buzzing around you, you’ll sleep well tonight.

[beauttifullife]

A Daughter.

In that instant, I was captivated. The baby blinked up at us, her wide eyes absorbing the world for the first time, and an overwhelming wave of emotion surged through me.

Visenya.

My daughter.

From the moment I first felt her stir within me, I knew she was a girl. The boys had always moved with a roughness, quick and bold, but Visenya danced within me—soft, subtle, like a whisper of hope. I carried her, cherishing each day as my anticipation grew. The thought of raising her, teaching her, molding her into a strong Targaryen woman filled me with joy. I envisioned the pride she would carry, the strength she would showcase to the world.

But before she could even take her first breath, before I could gaze into her eyes and see the colors that lay within, she was taken from me. The cruel hands of fate snatched her away, leaving a chasm where love should have blossomed. I still couldn’t comprehend it—the random cruelty of the world, the unseen force that pulled the strings of life, deciding who should live and who should die.

I grieved in silence, mourning for the daughter I could hold only for a fleeting few hours before placing her upon the pyre. The ache in my heart still echoed, a constant reminder of a wound that would never fully heal. Each day since her loss felt impossibly heavy, weighed down by a sorrow that whispered of all that could have been.

I often found myself lost in thought, imagining the sound of her laughter dancing through our halls, the warmth of her spirit filling the spaces around me. I pictured her as she might have grown—curly hair bouncing as she ran, the light in her eyes as she discovered the world, the joy she would have brought to our family. Every dream I spun around her felt both a comfort and a torment, each bright vision tinged with the sharp sting of her absence.

In quiet moments, I would find myself reaching for the memories, clinging to the idea of her, as if that could somehow fill the void she left behind. I saw her in the faces of the children around me, in the soft giggles of my boys as they played, and in the fleeting moments when I would catch a glimpse of innocence in them. It was both a blessing and a reminder of the life that had been taken from me.

And yet, within the pain, there was also a flicker of hope—a chance to honor her memory through this child, to give her the love and protection I had vowed to provide Visenya. I could not change the past, but perhaps I could shape the future, nurturing this new life with all the love I had once reserved for my daughter.

As I looked down at the sleeping girl in Elizabeth’s arms, the resemblance struck me, igniting a flicker of longing and heartache. This child—this innocent life—was a chance at the future I had dreamed of, yet it was tainted by the shadow of my loss.

I reached out, brushing my fingers gently against the girl’s cheek, feeling the warmth radiate from her. In that moment, I realized that this was not merely an echo of my grief; it was also an opportunity for hope. Perhaps I could honor Visenya through this child, nurturing her with the love and strength I had always wanted to share.

"Do you want to hold her?" Elizabeth asked, her voice breaking through my reverie, laced with both tenderness and understanding.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I knew what I would see in her eyes—the compassion, the quiet understanding of someone who had seen through my mask of strength. If I met her gaze, if I let myself see that look, it would undo me. The floodgates I had kept sealed for so long—the ones that had barely held since Visenya’s loss, since the war, since the weight of everything that had been thrust upon me—would surely shatter. And I wasn’t sure I had the strength to gather the pieces of myself again.

I stood there, frozen, torn between the raw ache of my grief and the tentative hope stirring inside me. This child was so fragile, so innocent, and yet holding her felt like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff. One wrong step, one moment of vulnerability, and I could tumble into the abyss of my own emotions.

“I…” The words lodged in my throat, tangled in the weight of everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. I wanted to say yes, to cradle the child against me, to feel her warmth again. But the fear—the overwhelming fear of unraveling, of collapsing under the grief I had spent so long burying—held me back. I had been strong for so long, but this moment, this simple act of holding her, threatened to undo me.

Yesterday had been different. I held this little girl for hours, carrying her through the village as I saw to the wounded, moving from one life to the next, trying to save what I could. She had been a constant presence, nestled in my arms as we flew on dragonback to Harrenhal, her small body pressed close to mine, shielding her from the biting wind and the cold of the night. She had grounded me, an anchor keeping me steady, keeping the fury and chaos swirling inside me from spilling out into the world.

But now… now was different. My fury still simmered beneath the surface, but it was tempered, controlled. And in this moment, holding her wouldn’t be about finding balance or keeping my rage at bay. It would be about something else—something deeper. I would be holding her as a mother would, cradling her with the tenderness that came from protecting, nurturing, loving.

And that terrified me.

The thought of holding her that way no longer felt like an anchor keeping me grounded. It felt like the very thing that could pull me under, drag me beneath the waves of grief, and drown me in it. The overwhelming loss of Visenya was too fresh, too raw, and holding this child now brought it all back. The helplessness, the longing, the sorrow that had no outlet, no release. Could I bear the weight of that again?

“I don’t know if I can,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the admission.

Elizabeth stood silently beside me, her gaze unwavering. She knew. She always knew. She saw through the cracks in my armor, saw the struggle beneath the surface. But she didn’t push, didn’t press for more than I was ready to give. Instead, she simply waited, offering me the space I needed to confront the war raging within me.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to look at the child in her arms. She was so small, so fragile, and yet… she represented something I had thought I lost forever.

A future.

A chance.

Slowly, with hesitation still clinging to me, I reached out. My hands trembled as Elizabeth gently transferred the baby into my arms. The weight of her, so small and warm, settled against me, and it was as if something inside me broke apart—but instead of shattering, I felt a piece of myself come back together.

Her tiny hand twitched, her fingers reaching for my hair, curling around a lose strand, and in that moment, something shifted inside me. The anchor that had once threatened to drag me down now felt different, lighter.

I wasn’t sinking—I was rising. This child wasn’t pulling me beneath the sea; she was helping me stay afloat.

I cradled her closer, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her small body pressed against mine. The fears and doubts still lingered, but now, they didn’t seem so insurmountable. In that moment, something else became clear: perhaps in protecting her, in giving her the love and care that had been stolen from Visenya, I could finally begin to heal.

Not just for her sake, but for mine.

[whitewoofs]

Delicate Feelings In Hall H

At a comic con, Hollywood Heartthrob Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, the moderator of his panel, share a flirtatious and tense interview that hints at a deeper attraction between them. After the panel, Steve invites Bucky to his hotel room, and they give in to their desire, sharing a passionate night together. The next day, they return to the convention, but the chemistry between them is now laced with a deeper affection. As the day progresses, their anticipation builds, culminating in another intimate night together. Through their shared passion, they find a connection that goes beyond their public personas, seeing each other's vulnerabilities and strengths. AO3 Link

Inspired by @riricitaa Please share and leave a little note or review.

The convention hall buzzed with the energy of a thousand fandoms, an array of colors and cosplay that made Bucky Barnes feel both at home and slightly overwhelmed. As he took his seat on the well-worn velvet chair, the stage lights washed over him in a warm embrace. He couldn’t help but let his gaze drift over the sea of eager faces, all eagerly awaiting his words of wisdom, or at least a decent joke. Then, his eyes met Steve Rogers, the moderator of this comic con panel, and Bucky’s heart skipped a beat.

Steve, with his short dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, sat poised behind the podium, his fingers drumming a rhythm that was both anxious and thrilling. The glasses perched on the bridge of his nose only served to amplify his charm, giving him an intellectual edge that Bucky found utterly irresistible. As Steve cleared his throat, Bucky’s attention snapped back to the present, his cheeks flushing a little as he realized he’d been caught staring. Steve’s smile grew, a knowing glint in his eyes, and Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine.

The interview began with the usual banter, the two men swapping quips and stories with the ease of old friends, despite their differing career paths. Yet, beneath the laughter and light-hearted banter, there was an undeniable tension, a palpable current that thrummed between them. Every question Steve asked, every answer Bucky gave, was laced with a subtle flirtation that had the audience leaning in, unsure if they were imagining the connection or if it was as real as the air they breathed.

As the minutes ticked by, the questions grew more intimate, and Steve’s gaze grew more intense. His eyes lingered on Bucky’s metal prosthetic, a reminder of a past filled with both pain and perseverance. Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a drumroll, building to a crescendo that left him craving something more than the mere touch of Steve’s gaze. And when Steve finally leaned in, his voice low and seductive, the air between them crackled with the promise of something that went far beyond the scripted conversation.

“So, Bucky,” Steve began, his voice a tantalizing whisper that sent waves of heat through Bucky’s body, “what do you do to unwind after a long day at the con?” The question was innocent enough, but the way Steve’s eyes danced with mischief told a different story. Bucky felt his breath hitch, his eyes locked onto Steve’s, and for a moment, the world around them faded away. The crowd’s murmurs were nothing more than a distant hum, the spotlights dimming to a soft glow that bathed them in a private cocoon of desire.

Steve’s question hung in the air, a silent invitation that Bucky found impossible to resist. His own voice was a little shaky as he replied, trying to play it cool despite the fire that had ignited in his veins. “Well, Steve,” he drawled, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, “I usually prefer the company of someone who knows how to handle a weapon of mass seduction.” The crowd erupted in laughter, but the look in Steve’s eyes told Bucky that the message had been received loud and clear.

The interview continued, the conversation weaving through the lines of their attraction like a delicate dance. Each touch of Steve’s hand on Bucky’s arm, each brush of their legs under the table, was a silent promise of what was to come. And as the final question was asked, and the applause of the audience filled the hall, Bucky knew that the real show was just beginning.

The chemistry between them was a living, breathing entity, a force that could not be contained by the confines of the stage. When the lights finally dimmed, and the crowd began to disperse, Steve leaned in close, his breath hot against Bucky’s ear. “Would you like to join me in my room?” he murmured, the words a soft caress that sent shivers down Bucky’s spine. Bucky’s eyes searched Steve’s, finding the same hunger reflected there that he felt in his own heart.

With a nod that spoke volumes, Bucky stood up, his metal limb a silent testament to the thrill that now coursed through him. The crowd parted like a sea, their eyes glued to the magnetic pull between the two men as they exited the stage, their hearts racing in anticipation of the intimate encounter that was about to unfold.

Once the door to Steve’s hotel suite clicked shut behind them, the dam of tension broke. Steve’s hands were on Bucky before the echo of their laughter had even faded, tugging at his shirt with an urgency that was mirrored in Bucky’s own trembling fingers. Their kiss was a declaration of war, a fiery battle of tongues and teeth that left them both gasping for breath. Steve’s scent, a heady mix of cologne and pure masculine desire, filled Bucky’s nostrils, making him dizzy with need.

The blue suit Steve wore was quickly discarded, revealing a body honed by years of discipline and a love for the gym. His chest was a landscape of muscles that Bucky couldn’t help but explore with his fingertips, tracing the lines of his abs and the trail of hair that led down to his waistband. Steve’s skin was hot to the touch, a stark contrast to the cool glasses that now rested on the side table, forgotten. Bucky’s own heart thudded in his chest like a drum, the beat echoing in his ears as Steve’s hands roamed over his body, exploring every inch of his bare skin.

Their clothes fell away like confetti in the wake of their passion, revealing the full extent of their desire. Steve’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of Bucky’s metal arm, the starkness of it against his tanned flesh. He kissed the cold metal, a gesture that sent a shiver down Bucky’s spine, before his mouth traveled lower, leaving a scorching path of kisses and nips that had Bucky’s knees threatening to buckle. The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of sensations that had him panting for more.

As Steve’s hands slid into Bucky’s pants, the actor’s breath hitched. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around Bucky’s hard length was heavenly, sending waves of pleasure rippling through his body. Steve’s confidence was palpable, a stark contrast to the vulnerability that Bucky felt in that moment. Yet, in the embrace of this man he barely knew but already craved, he felt more alive than ever before.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, the rhythm of their kisses syncing with the strokes of Steve’s hand. Bucky’s metal hand found its way to Steve’s neck, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the heat of their entwined forms. Steve’s eyes widened, and a guttural moan tore from his throat as Bucky’s grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent plea for more. And more was what he got, as Steve’s thumb circled the sensitive head of his cock, teasing and taunting until Bucky was sure he’d come apart at the seams.

The room was a whirlwind of passion, the only sounds the harsh pants of their breathing and the rustle of fabric as they stumbled towards the bed. Steve’s mouth never left Bucky’s, their tongues dancing together as they tumbled onto the soft mattress. The weight of Steve’s body on top of him was a delicious pressure, grounding him in the reality of the moment. Bucky’s hand slipped between Steve’s legs, finding him already hard and ready, a silent question that Steve answered with a throaty growl.

Their kisses grew more frantic as Bucky’s hand worked its magic, Steve’s hips bucking against his palm. The heat from their bodies melded together, creating a furnace that threatened to consume them both. Bucky’s eyes never left Steve’s, the connection between them stronger than any steel alloy. It was as if they were speaking a language that only the two of them could understand, a silent conversation of need and want.

As Steve’s breath grew ragged, Bucky knew he was close. He quickened his pace, his own desire building to a crescendo. The heady scent of arousal filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of sweat and cologne. The heat of Steve’s body was a brand against his, setting his skin alight with a hunger that could only be sated by the feel of Steve deep inside him.

With a final, desperate whine, Steve pulled away, his eyes glazed with lust. He reached for the nightstand, his hand shaking as he pulled out a condom and lube. The sound of the foil tearing was like a gunshot in the quiet room, a stark reminder of the reality of their situation. Bucky’s eyes never left Steve’s as he rolled the condom on, his hands steady despite the tremor in his core.

Steve’s gaze was intense, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s as he slicked his fingers and pressed one gently against his entrance. Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath hitching as Steve’s digit breached him, the coolness of the lube giving way to the warmth of his body. The sensation was exquisite, a sweet agony that had him writhing beneath Steve’s touch. Each slow, deliberate push was a promise of the pleasure to come, and Bucky arched his back, silently begging for more.

The burn grew, a delicious ache that grew with each passing second. Steve’s voice was a gentle coax, a sweet melody that guided Bucky through the first tremors of ecstasy. “Look at me, Bucky,” he murmured, his own breathing shallow and erratic. “Look at me when I make you come.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, meeting Steve’s with a fierce need that left no room for doubt. He watched as Steve’s hand moved away, replaced by the blunt head of his cock. The pressure was a sweet torture, a promise that had Bucky’s hips rising to meet him. And then, with a single, powerful thrust, Steve filled him completely, the sensation stealing the breath from his lungs.

Their bodies moved together in a symphony of passion, Steve’s strong hips setting a rhythm that Bucky eagerly matched. Each stroke was a declaration of desire, a claiming that left no part of Bucky untouched. The metal of his prosthetic arm glinted in the dim light, a stark contrast to the softness of the sheets and the warmth of Steve’s skin. Yet, it was a part of him, a testament to his resilience and strength, and Steve’s eyes never left it, as if he too was in awe of the beauty it brought to their union.

Their kisses grew deeper, their tongues tangling in a dance as old as time. Bucky’s nails dug into Steve’s back, leaving half-moons of pleasure-pain that made Steve’s eyes roll back in his head. Bucky’s breath grew shorter, his moans growing louder, each thrust pushing him closer to the edge of release. And as Steve’s hand found his cock again, stroking in time with their rhythm, Bucky knew that he was lost.

The orgasm hit him like a freight train, a rush of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. His body convulsed, his back bowing off the bed as Steve’s name was torn from his lips in a ragged cry. Steve’s own climax followed closely, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into Bucky, their eyes locked in a silent promise of more to come.

For a moment, they lay there, panting and spent, their hearts beating a tattoo against each other’s chests. Then, with a soft laugh, Steve leaned down, capturing Bucky’s mouth in a kiss that was tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the passion that had just claimed them. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Bucky’s eyes searched Steve’s, finding a warmth there that went beyond the physical. He knew that this was more than a fleeting encounter, that the bond they’d forged in that hotel room was something special. With a contented sigh, he wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, holding him close as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through him.

Their bodies remained entwined as they talked into the night, sharing stories and secrets that only lovers knew. The metal of Bucky’s arm was a constant reminder of their shared humanity, of the battles they’d each fought in their own way. It was a symbol of their strength, a silent companion in their passion. Steve traced the cold surface with his fingertips, the contrast to Bucky’s warm flesh a reminder of the fragility of life and the beauty of the moment.

The conversation flowed easily, the intimacy of their shared space making the words come out unfiltered and raw. They talked about their hopes and fears, their dreams and regrets. Bucky spoke of the comrades he’d lost, the weight of his past a burden that Steve could never fully understand but bore with a grace that humbled the journalist. Steve, in turn, spoke of the isolation that came with his celebrity, the loneliness that haunted him in the quiet hours of the night.

Their whispers grew softer as the hours ticked by, the darkness outside the window a silent sentinel to their shared vulnerability. Steve’s hand found Bucky’s, their fingers interlocking in a silent pact of understanding. They talked of love and loss, of the scars that life had etched into their hearts. And in that moment, Bucky knew that he’d found someone who saw beyond the glitz and glamour of their public personas, someone who knew the man behind the metal.

The air grew thick with emotion, their breathing the only sound in the quiet room. Steve leaned in, his lips brushing against Bucky’s, a gentle caress that promised comfort rather than passion. For now, their connection was enough, a balm to soothe the ragged edges of their souls. The urgency of their earlier desire had given way to a tenderness that was just as potent, a bond that grew stronger with each shared whisper.

Bucky’s eyes searched Steve’s, finding a depth there that was as vast as the ocean. He knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful, something that could withstand the storms of life. And as they lay there, basking in the glow of their newfound connection, the promise of future nights filled with both laughter and passion was a sweet ache that neither could ignore.

The next morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow over their tangled limbs. Steve’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Bucky’s sleepy gaze. They shared a quiet smile, the kind that spoke of a thousand unspoken truths. As they dressed, their movements were careful, respectful of the intimacy that had been shared.

They walked together to the convention floor, their hands brushing but never quite touching. The whispers of the crowd grew louder as they approached, but the two men remained in their own little world, a bubble of understanding that was untouchable.

On stage, they resumed their roles with an ease that belied their newfound connection. Yet, there was something different about the way they looked at each other, a knowing spark that had the audience leaning in, wondering what secrets lay behind their eyes. The tension between them was no longer one of unspoken desire but of a deep, abiding affection.

During a particularly intimate moment, Steve’s hand grazed Bucky’s metal limb, and the actor couldn’t help but shiver at the gentle touch. The coolness of the metal was a stark contrast to the heat that had consumed them the night before, but it was a reminder of their shared vulnerability, a silent testament to the trust they’d placed in each other.

Steve’s eyes searched Bucky’s, filled with a warmth that seemed to penetrate the very core of his being. Bucky knew that this man saw him, all of him—the scars, the metal, and the pain that often lurked just beneath the surface. And in that moment, he felt more exposed than he ever had, not just physically but emotionally.

The day passed in a whirlwind of panels and autographs, but Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that had taken root in his chest. Every time their eyes met across the crowded convention floor, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. The air between them crackled with a tension that was both electrifying and terrifying.

As the day waned, the anticipation grew, a thrumming bass line that vibrated through their every interaction. The knowing smiles, the lingering touches, and the whispers that carried just a little too much meaning had everyone around them speculating. But it was the way Steve’s eyes never left Bucky’s that spoke the loudest, a silent promise that echoed through the halls of the hotel.

The evening brought with it a reprieve from the day’s chaos, a quiet dinner in a dimly lit restaurant that felt like a world away from the flashing lights and screaming fans. The air was thick with the scent of sizzling steak and the heady aroma of fine wine, a backdrop to their conversation that grew more heated with every shared glance. Steve’s hand rested on Bucky’s thigh, his thumb drawing lazy circles that had him squirming in his seat.

Their plates were pushed aside, the food forgotten as Steve leaned in, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Bucky’s spine. “I can’t wait to get you back to my room,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. Bucky’s heart raced, his cock stirring to life at the thought of feeling Steve’s touch once more. He swallowed hard, his voice thick with need. “Neither can I,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

The elevator ride to Steve’s suite was an eternity of anticipation, their eyes locked in a silent promise of the pleasure that awaited them. The moment the doors slid open, Steve’s hand was on Bucky’s lower back, guiding him into the dimly lit room. The soft click of the lock echoed in the silence, a declaration of their intent to leave the outside world behind. The tension between them was a living, breathing entity, a force that could not be contained by the walls that surrounded them.

They made their way to the large, ornate mirror that dominated one wall of the hotel room, the reflection casting a sensual glow over their bodies. Steve’s eyes never left Bucky’s as he stepped behind him, his hands sliding around to cup his ass, pulling their bodies close. Bucky could feel Steve’s hardness pressing against him, a delicious reminder of the passion that was about to be unleashed. With a gentle nudge, Steve positioned him in front of the mirror, the reflection revealing every inch of their entwined forms.

Their eyes met in the mirror, a silent challenge that had Bucky’s heart racing. Steve’s grip tightened, his thumbs tracing circles over Bucky’s cheeks before sliding down to tease his hole. The sensation was exquisite, a sweet agony that had him pushing back against Steve’s hand. The journalist’s gaze was intense, his eyes dark with need as he watched Bucky’s reactions, the play of pleasure across his face. “Look at us,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down Bucky’s spine. “Look how beautiful we are together.”

Bucky’s breath hitched as Steve’s fingers slipped inside him, the coolness of the lube a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from their bodies. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious intrusion that had him whimpering and begging for more. The mirror reflected their passion, their bodies moving in a sensual dance that was as mesmerizing as it was erotic. Steve’s cock pressed against Bucky’s ass, the head nudging insistently, seeking entry. And with a slow, deliberate thrust, he claimed Bucky completely, filling him with a sense of belonging that was as profound as it was primal.

Their eyes remained locked in the mirror, a silent conversation of pleasure and need that grew more intense with each passing moment. Steve’s hips moved with a rhythm that was both gentle and demanding, his cock coming close to hitting Bucky’s prostate. Bucky’s eyes grew wide, his mouth forming silent oh’s of pleasure as he felt the pressure build within him. His own hand found his cock, stroking in time with Steve’s thrusts, the sight of their union in the mirror only serving to amplify his arousal.

“Oh, fuck, Steve, right there,” Bucky groaned, his voice a ragged whisper that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. The words were a trigger, a plea that had Steve’s eyes darkening with desire. His thrusts grew harder, more insistent, each one pushing Bucky closer to the edge. And as Bucky’s hand moved faster, the slick sound of skin on skin a testament to their passion, Steve knew that he was about to send him spiraling over the precipice.

With a final, precise stroke, Steve’s cock hit Bucky’s prostate, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. Bucky’s body tensed, his eyes rolling back in his head as he cried out, his orgasm ripping through him like a hurricane. His cum spurted in hot, thick ropes across the mirror, painting a picture of ecstasy that reflected in Steve’s own gaze.

Steve’s rhythm faltered for a moment, watching Bucky come undone before him. But the journalist was not one to be outdone. He pulled out, the slick sound of separation making Bucky gasp, and with a few more pumps of his hand, he painted Bucky’s face with his own release. The hot spurts landed on Bucky’s cheeks, his nose, and his open, panting mouth. The actor’s eyes snapped open, the sight of Steve’s passion a visual symphony that had him swallowing hard, his cock still pulsing with aftershocks of pleasure.

They remained frozen in that pose for a heartbeat, their breaths mingling in the space between them, the scent of sex and desire thick in the air. Then, with a gentle touch, Steve reached up and wiped a stray droplet from Bucky’s cheek, his eyes never leaving the mirror. “You’re so beautiful when you come apart for me,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to the raw, exposed nerves that hummed through Bucky’s body.

With a soft laugh, Steve stepped back, his hand lingering on Bucky’s waist as he guided him to the en suite bathroom. The cool tiles beneath their feet were a stark contrast to the fire that still raged between them, and Bucky could feel the tremble in Steve’s touch as he turned on the faucet, the water cascading into the tub with a comforting sound that promised relief from the intensity of their passion.

As the tub filled, Steve’s gentle touch turned to something more possessive, his fingers tracing the lines of Bucky’s face, the contours of his jaw, and the curve of his neck. The warmth of his cum on Bucky’s skin was a reminder of their connection, a declaration of his claim that Bucky found both thrilling and terrifying. Yet, as Steve’s eyes searched his own in the mirror, Bucky knew that there was no fear here, only the sweet agony of desire.

“Get in,” Steve instructed, his voice still gruff with passion. Bucky obeyed, his legs wobbly as he stepped into the warm embrace of the water. Steve followed, his strong arms wrapping around Bucky’s waist, pulling him back against his chest. The water sloshed around them, the bubbles caressing their skin like a thousand tiny kisses.

For a moment, they simply enjoyed the feel of each other, the warmth of the water a soothing balm to their spent bodies. Then, Steve’s hand moved to Bucky’s chin, tilting his head back to look into his eyes. “What do you want this to mean, Bucky?” he asked, his voice softer now, the edges of desire smoothed by a tenderness that took Bucky’s breath away.

Bucky’s heart stuttered, the question echoing through his mind like a whispered secret. He’d never been one for labels, for defining the ever-shifting landscape of his desires. But in that moment, as Steve’s thumb traced the line of his jaw, he knew that he wanted this to mean something more than just a fleeting encounter. “I want it to mean that we’re not just two guys who fucked at a comic con,” he replied, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I want it to mean that we saw each other, really saw each other, and that this connection isn’t going anywhere.”

Steve’s eyes searched his, the depth of his gaze cutting through the steam that curled around them like invisible tendrils. “Me too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hand slid down Bucky’s chest, his fingers playing with the water droplets that clung to his skin like diamonds. “But we can’t ignore the fact that we come from different worlds, Bucky. This isn’t a movie script where the actor and the journalist ride off into the sunset together.”

Bucky leaned back into Steve’s embrace, the warm water lapping at his chest, the scent of their combined desire lingering in the air. “I know,” he said, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. “But maybe we can write our own ending.”

Their eyes held in the mirror, a silent understanding passing between them. Steve’s hand continued to play in the water, the droplets tracing patterns on Bucky’s chest that seemed to map out the contours of their hearts. “We could try,” he whispered, his voice hopeful. “But we have to be honest with ourselves, and with each other. Can we handle that?”

Bucky’s chest tightened at the question, the weight of their shared vulnerability pressing down on him. Yet, the warmth of Steve’s body against his back, the comfort of his embrace, was reassurance enough. He nodded, his eyes never leaving the reflection of Steve’s earnest gaze. “I want to,” he murmured, the words a vow that seemed to hang in the misty air.

A week later, Bucky found himself staring at the photo on his phone, a reminder of the night that had changed everything. The image was candid, Steve’s laughter caught mid-breath as Bucky leaned into him, his metal arm draped over Steve’s shoulder. The corny caption he’d agonized over for hours was a simple play on words that hinted at their shared love for comics and the depth of their newfound connection. He hit upload, his heart racing at the thought of Steve’s reaction.

The photo uploaded, the app notifying him with a soft chime. The likes began to roll in, the little red hearts a silent symphony of approval. Yet, it was the one comment that mattered most—Steve’s. Bucky watched his phone, his breath held, as the notification popped up. Steve’s response was swift and sweet, a simple heart-eyes emoji followed by the words “My hero 💙.” The public declaration sent a thrill through him, his chest tightening with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Months passed, and the photos grew more frequent. The paparazzi had caught on to their blossoming romance, snapping shots of their stolen kisses in dark alleyways, their intertwined fingers as they exited restaurants, and their laughter as they stumbled out of movie premieres. Yet, unlike past relationships that had been plagued by the intrusive flash of cameras, Bucky found comfort in the attention. Each snap was a testament to their authentic connection, a declaration to the world that he had found someone who truly saw him—metal arm and all.

One sunny afternoon, as they left a quiet coffee shop, Bucky threw his head back and laughed at one of Steve’s terrible puns, the sound of his mirth pealing through the bustling street. The paparazzi swarmed around them like bees to honey, cameras clicking in a cacophony of intrusion. Yet, Steve’s hand remained firm on the small of his back, a silent shield that whispered, “You’re mine, and I’m not letting go.” The warmth of his touch seeped into Bucky’s very soul, leaving him unfazed by the prying eyes.

As they stepped into the relative sanctuary of Steve’s car, Bucky’s laughter subsided into a gentle smile. He turned to Steve, the sun casting a halo around his head, making his glasses gleam. “You know what, Steve?” Bucky’s voice was soft, the words unrehearsed but no less earnest. “I love you.”

Steve’s hand paused on the gear stick, the car idling in the quiet of the alleyway. His eyes searched Bucky’s, looking for the truth in the blue depths that had captivated him from the moment they met on that comic con stage. The words hung in the air, a declaration that seemed to echo through the confined space, resonating with the intensity of their shared glances and whispers of desire.

For a moment, the world outside the car ceased to exist, the flashing cameras and shouting paparazzi fading to a distant memory. The only sound was the erratic beating of their hearts, a symphony of hope and fear that seemed to crescendo with every breath they took. Then, with a soft smile that spoke of a warmth that had been building within him, Steve leaned over, his hand cupping Bucky’s cheek. “I love you too, Bucky,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Their kiss was a gentle explosion of feeling, a declaration that transcended the confines of their private bubble. Steve’s thumb brushed against Bucky’s metal arm, the coolness of the metal a stark contrast to the heat of their kiss. Yet, in that moment, it was not a symbol of their differences, but rather a testament to their shared strength, a reminder of the battles they had both faced and overcome. The kiss grew deeper, their tongues exploring the familiar terrain of each other’s mouths with a newfound sense of urgency, a silent promise that this was just the beginning.

A/N: Pretty much imagine the way Chris and Sebastian have been looking lately at the Comic Cons/ASP meetings if I didn’t give a clear enough visual.

[seradyn]

I Won’t Let Go

Ruben x Reader fluff

Helping Ruben cope with a seizure, giving him lots of cuddles and comfort afterwards.

For my dear @broteinshake69 , based on this post.

Word Count: 3611

^ I am incapable of writing short one-shots :)

TW: None

I am not a neuroscientist, nor have I ever had a seizure, so I hope you can excuse the pseudoscience and inaccurate depiction x)

Les go

———————————————————————

A soft, familiar squelch filled his ears as the scalpel cut cleanly through the brain. Each incision was made with practiced precision, every wave of the small knife deliberate. He’d done this so many times before, it was second nature by now. Dissect, record, kill, dissect, record, he’d done it since he’d freed himself from beneath his parent’s thumbs. Since he got out of the basement. Ironic, now that he’d set up his main lab there.

Today was no different, though Ruben had chosen to focus on one particular part of the brain; the cerebellum. It sat lower on the organ, closer to the brainstem, meaning he often had to kill his subjects to get to it. No matter, the data was more than worth it. And it was there waiting for him, a wellspring of neurotransmitters and chemical reactions. The mind’s response to his live dissections etched into the stone walls of chemistry.

With one final, satisfying cut, the gelatinous glob fell from the rest of the organ, the gentle weight falling into a gloved hand. Ruben placed it onto its own tray, shoving the rest of the brain into a corner. He’d have to discard it before it began to rot, but that could wait. His scarred fingers twitched with the anticipation of new data. His creation, STEM, was nearly ready for its first prototype, he was so close.

Standing, he went to retrieve the rest of the tools he’d need, listing them off as he removed his gloves; syringes, sharper scalpels, a microscope. Things he preferred not cluttering his desk while he worked on getting the parts he needed. Sometimes he could work on the surgical tables marking the center of his ‘exam rooms’, but alas, he still needed to dispose of the body, too. Something that only served to waste his time, which could be spent doing research.

He grunted with the weight of some of the equipment, his hands sending dull shocks of pain up his arms. Ruben had years to cope with the weakness of his body after the fire, but it was moments like these that made him grit his teeth in silent rage. That day had rendered his existence one of constant pain and strife, and he was loath to be reminded of such.

Though that rage quickly simmered down, burning with a low heat in his chest. That was why he was doing this research, after all. His body, his life…his sister. What he lost, he would get back.

One subject, one dissection, one brain at a time.

Ruben let out a tense sigh, his robe catching the stale air as he spun around, awkwardly walking back to his desk with the bulky microscope cradled in his hands. He only wished it wasn’t taking so long. His project was years in the making, and he knew it would take years more for it to come to fruition. Truthfully, he was frustrated by it all. He was tired of living this joke.

The microscope hit his desk with a dull thud, the scars on his hands and fingers aching from the excursion. He shook them out, flexing his fingers to tame the soreness in his joints. The day was still young, and he was determined to make the most of it.

Ruben picked up his scalpel, positioning the cerebellum so his cuts would be clean along its length. To get the proper images, he’d need slices as thin as hairs, which meant there was little room for error. Too thick and he wouldn’t be able to see what he was looking for, too thin and there wouldn’t be enough to work with. He would be injecting them with dye, which in turn would react with the various chemicals throughout the soft tissue, changing the dye’s color. Crude methods, certainly, but they delivered the desired results. The way the brain coped with such high levels of stress, fear, and pain - he would have that as his prize.

Or, at least that was the plan. Plans which came to a grinding halt when Ruben found himself unable to move his arm or hand.

Puzzled, he furrowed his brow, glancing at the offending limb. It was frozen in midair, scalpel raised, as if stuck in time. He tried to force it into motion, but it didn’t budge, the muscles stiffened without his consent. Frustrated, he turned his attention back to the brain on his desk, hoping his muscles would relax after a moment. It wasn’t unusual for his body to just give out on him, much to his annoyance, but with any luck, it would pass after a few moments.

Ruben was caught off guard though, when his vision began to swim. He couldn’t focus on any one thing, all of it smearing into a watery mess of indistinguishable colors. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his muddy eyes, but there was no relief.

He heard a distinct clatter, that of metal striking metal. He’d dropped his scalpel, it took him too long to realize. He hadn’t even felt it, couldn’t perceive as his fingers closed around nothing. He could feel his breaths becoming frantic, his body not listening to his commands. The colors warped, shifted and melded, until everything began to go dark…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knew something wasn’t right when you heard a metallic tink as you were coming down the basement stairs. The place was usually home to similar sounds, that of Ruben exchanging one tool for another while he worked, but this time it sounded different. Louder, more chaotic, like something had been dropped. That wasn’t like him - Ruben was meticulous, and took great care of his equipment. It wasn’t like him to be careless.

You’d been on your way down to deliver some water when you heard it. Ruben had trouble remembering his own physical needs while he was working, meaning more often than not, that duty fell to you. You made sure he stayed hydrated, and had something to eat if he got hungry between meals. He feigned irritation, stubborn as he was about being able to take care of himself, but you knew he appreciated what you did. The glasses were always empty when you came back to retrieve them, and his supply of snacks was always steadily depleting. While he didn’t approve of you being in his lab for long, he allowed you these short visits.

Besides, you always sweetened the deal by giving him a quick kiss before you went back upstairs, and you both knew Ruben couldn’t refuse you when you did that.

All such pretense went down the drain when you heard the strange noise, your heart jumping a little. You hurried the rest of the way down, dropping off the glass on a random table when you reached the bottom. Without hesitation, you barged into the room he was working in, not caring if he got mad at you for the intrusion. He was standing before his desk on the far wall, hand poised above a pink blob on a tray. Part of a brain, you supposed, but you hadn’t the foggiest idea which piece.

More worryingly, Ruben hadn’t acknowledged you when you came in. You tilted your head at him quizzically.

“Ruben?” You said, voice meek as you tentatively stepped forward. He offered no response, which only made your concern grow. Upon getting closer, you noticed a slight tremble to his form.

“Ruben? Ruben, what's wrong?” You said, more frantic now. You’d never seen him act like this, and you hadn’t a clue what could be causing him to do so.

You reached out a hand to steady him. His trembling only seemed to be getting worse.

Before you could graze the fabric of his robe with your fingers, his legs appeared to give out. Eyes widening, you jumped forward to catch him, yelping as he dragged you down to the floor with his weight. You collapsed in a tangled heap, Ruben’s body cushioned by your own. The concrete was cold, unforgiving as it bit into your tailbone.

Recovering from the tumble, you looked down at the man in your lap, opening your mouth to ask more questions. You just as quickly froze, feeling Ruben’s body twitch and convulse in your lap. The blood drained from your face, heart in your throat as you watched his body jerk violently.

Seizure, your brain offered through its panic.

“Fuck,” you muttered, setting Ruben gently down on the floor, mind whirling with what you were supposed to do.

He’d warned you this was a possibility. When you two started a relationship, he’d given you a laundry list of various complications that arose from his injuries. Numbness, trouble with temperature regulation, limited movement, muscle stiffness, and yes, seizures were on that list. He told you they happened more often when he was a boy, his body unable to cope with the loss of so much tissue. They didn’t happen as much anymore, but they would never fully go away. There was always a chance of one happening.

Too great a chance, you thought, ripping off your shirt and putting it under his head. He’d given you some basic instructions on what to do if he ever went into such a state, back when he explained all this. It was a bit hard to concentrate though, heart like a drum as you watched him seize.

Safety, safety first, you reminded yourself, spotting a scalpel close by - the one he dropped, you presumed. You quickly snatched it away from him, setting it on his desk so he wouldn’t cut himself. Next, you remembered him telling you to time his seizures, to make sure they didn’t last too long. You grabbed at your phone with shaky fingers, fumbling with the device until you finally got a timer going. Make sure he’s breathing, don’t hold him down, keep things out of his mouth, your mind recited the list, mentally checking off each one as you did it.

His last instruction, stay calm, was admittedly quite a bit harder to honor.

How were you supposed to stay calm with your love seizing on the floor?!

What was minutes felt like hours. You sat beside him, feeling useless and scared as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. Ruben told you these weren’t a huge deal, and you trusted him, but being in the presence of it was something else entirely. You felt like you should be able to do more, make it less torturous somehow, but the logical part of you knew you couldn’t. Now it was just about waiting.

Slowly, his muscles began to settle, the spasms happening less often, their strength waning. You spared a look at his face, frowning at the grimace still on it. You hoped he wasn’t in pain. You peeked at the timer; 1 minute 40 seconds, it read.

You let out an anxious breath, rocking back on your shins. Not a medical emergency, then, if it was already clearing up. For that at least, you were grateful.

A deep groan filled the room, and your attention snapped back to Ruben. He was finally starting to regain consciousness, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the fluorescent bulbs overhead. Once you were sure it was safe, you scooped him up into your lap, cradling his head and shoulders while you softly whispered his name. You nudged his nose with your own, trying to get him to open his eyes. You needed to know he was okay. His flesh was cold, and you held him firmly, giving him as much of your warmth and comfort as you could.

Eventually, it worked. Ruben groaned again, a deep, pained sound, eyelids parting a crack to look up at you. They looked glassy, like he’d abruptly been awoken from a deep sleep. You gave his shoulders a light squeeze, delicately stroking the scarred side of his face while his good side pressed against your chest.

“Ruben, are you okay?” You asked gently, looking at him with clear worry etched into your face.

He blinked at you a few times, taking a moment to process your words.

“I…What happened?” He croaked, his voice horse. You’d have to remember to make him drink something.

“You had a seizure,” was your simple reply. You tried your best to sound calm, but your voice wavered as you spoke, giving you away. “I did my best to keep you safe and comfortable.”

Ruben studied your face for a moment before he nodded stiffly, his attention leaving you to scan the room.

“And where…are we?” He asked.

Ah, the confusion. You remembered he told you that was the most common symptom. Seizures almost always left their victims confused and disoriented.

“We’re in your lab, at the manor,” you told him. He seemed pleased with that answer, the last of the stiffness leaving him as he relaxed into you. Your heart melted as he nuzzled his face into your sternum, blinking lazily as he let out a contented sigh.

Loath as you were to move him, you knew this wasn’t the best place for him to rest.

“Hey,” you kissed his forehead to get his attention. Those pale irises snapped to you instantly; he couldn’t resist your touch. “I’ll take you to bed, okay?” You waited for a response, and after another nod, you continued. “Do you want me to get your wheelchair, or can you stand?”

His nose wrinkled at the mention of his chair. You knew he hated it, hated how much it reminded him how weak his body was, but with mobility being a common issue, he needed to keep it around. You wished for his sake he used it more often, but you never pushed the matter.

“I can walk,” he said quickly. He didn’t need the help, he could do it himself.

To prove his point, he tried to sit up. Tried, being the operative word. His adam’s apple bobbed with anguished grunts as his muscles screamed in protest. Everything was sore, like he’d just run a marathon in sweltering heat. His teeth ground together as he slumped forward, head hung as he fought down a wave of nausea.

“Hey,” you said again, supporting his back so he wouldn’t fall and hit his head. “Don’t push yourself. I’ll take you as far as I can, but if you need the wheelchair, please just ask for it. Now is not the time to be stubborn.”

Ruben huffed at you, but he knew he was in no position to argue. “Fine,” he hissed, letting you loop his arm behind your neck. With a quick countdown, you were able to hoist him up, both of you stumbling a little as you found your footing. His scars pressed up against you as he used you for support, and you did your best not to cause them any unnecessary irritation. After making sure Ruben was okay, you began your slow, awkward hobble up to the second floor.

It was a long, arduous process. One made almost entirely in silence, both of you struggling to put one foot in front of another. Only two questions from him broke the silence on your journey there: how long was the seizure, and why weren’t you wearing a shirt. You had to stifle a laugh at the second one, but you answered them honestly. It wasn’t long before you reached the bedroom, causing you both to sag in relief. You had to kick the door open, leading him inside as gravity shut it behind you.

He plopped onto the sheets heavily, panting from the pain plaguing his joints. You sat down next to him, taking his hand in yours, rubbing his knuckles with your thumb to sooth him. You couldn’t begin to imagine how hard something as simple as walking must be after that, especially with his burns already making movement difficult. Your own shoulders were sore from holding him up, but it was a small price to pay if it lessened his own suffering, even if only a little.

After a pause, Ruben sighed, lifting his head to stare at the wall opposite you.

“This is pointless,” he grumbled, turning to meet your gaze. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes. I should be back in the lab.”

Your brows drew down at that, eyes narrowing. Even for him, that was an insane notion. You leaned forward, placing a single finger on his charred nose.

“Liar,” you accused sternly. “I know you want to do more, but you’re in no condition to be running experiments. You need to rest.”

Ruben scowled, removing your hand from his face. “I need to get back to work. I’ve lost enough time as it is.”

You scowled back at him, a harsh rebuttal on the tip of your tongue, but you stopped yourself. The expression just as quickly dissolved, replaced by worry and sorrow. You knew how important his work was to him, you knew what he’d done to obtain it. Aside from you, it was everything to him.

“I know,” you said softly. You pushed the hood of his robe down, revealing his scarred, hairless face. You ran your hand along the edge of his jawline, admiring how handsome he looked like that. “I know it means a lot to you…I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He gave you an incredulous look, but you weren’t finished. “I know you’d stay down there every waking moment if you could, and I don’t fault you for that. But I can’t stand the thought of finding you impaled on your own equipment, or one of your subjects getting out because a seizure impaired your judgment. I don’t want to think about what could happen to you if you don’t give yourself a break. So if you can’t do it for yourself, can you at least do it for me?”

Ruben didn’t say anything at first, his eyes rolling over your face while you stroked his own. Part of you expected him to keep arguing; after all, he’d survived this long without you.

Instead, it hardly took a moment before his features began to soften, and he melted into your touch. His eyes closed in sweet bliss as you traced his scars with a loving reverence, basking in the way you worshiped his body.

“Alright,” he breathed. When he looked at you, his eyes were filled with a subtle adoration. “I’ll rest. But only if you promise to stay with me.”

Your face lit up at his condition, smiled brightly at him. You leaned forward, brushing his lips with yours.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you purred, smirking as his pupils widened with desire, a tiny shiver rippling across his skin. God, how easily he became putty in your hands.

Before he got any ideas though, you pulled away, wordlessly tugging at the sleeves of his robe. You both knew it would only catch on his scars while he was under the covers, so it needed to come off. He let you carefully remove it, not a word uttered from either of you as you threw it over your shoulder. You’d deal with it in the morning.

Averting your gaze from his bare chest, heat rushing to your cheeks, you wormed your way back onto the bed, flopping down onto your back. As an afterthought, you unclasped your bra, pulling your arms through it as you tossed it onto the floor. Like hell you were going to sleep in that. Satisfied, you beckoned Ruben to join you, holding out your hand invitingly.

Unfortunately, he was a tad busy, staring wide eyed at your form, to notice. He still wasn’t used to seeing such things, even after living together with you for months.

“No funny business,” you teased, lightly pulling on his arm to make him lay down.

His eyes flicked up and down, meeting yours before admiring you again.

“No promises,” he smirked.

You scoffed, pulling on him enough to finally coax him into action. He hesitantly crawled over you, lowering himself as you wrapped your arms around his waist. He let out another happy sigh as your breasts squished against his flesh, so soft, so warm. You traced along his spine with the pads of your fingers as he buried himself in the crook of your neck, letting your chin rest atop his head. Legs intertwining, he gently clutched at your shoulders while you pulled the blankets over your bodies. You smiled at the feeling of the dual textures of his rough, burnt skin and the smooth, untouched parts of it. The buttons of Ruben’s pants dug into your thigh, but you hardly noticed, instead enjoying this moment of affection between the two of you. You knew you were likely to wake up alone, Ruben having gone back to his lab, so you were going to savor this as long as you could.

As his breathing began to even out, you placed a few final kisses on the crown of his head.

“Rest now, my love,” you whispered, hands continuing their ministrations. “Rest, and I might just let you go back to work tomorrow.”

“As if you could stop me,” Ruben quipped, but his speech was slurred, his heart not in it. Shortly after, his breathing slowed considerably, and you knew he was fast asleep. He must’ve been exhausted; he didn’t usually fall asleep so fast.

Happy he was heeding your words, you closed your eyes, determined to follow suit. You imagined sitting by him in the music room, Ruben expertly plucking a melancholy tune from his piano as you drifted off to sleep.

———————————————————————

It’s been way too fucking long since I posted any fanfics, I almost forgot how I even format my own posts >.<

Anyway, more Ruben x Reader fluff in the future.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Jann Mardeborough x reader pt.3

Pt.1,Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5,Pt.6

Jann tried to concentrate on the race but this time even the music didn't help and all he could think about was Y/N. He blamed himself for leaving and not giving her a kiss as he originally wanted. He sighed loudly as Jack came into the trailers with a big smile on his face. "Come on young man, this is your first race and I'd like to introduce you to someone." Jann just nodded his head and let himself be led through the depot. ,,You know, one of the team members recently had a medical incident, so they paid us extra to hire a medic. "Jann just gave him an annoyed look.,, And as far as I'm concerned, you said the whole team would hate me anyway." Jann replied disinterestedly. Jack just laughed, "I trust she won't hate you." And then he saw her. The same hair color that she always had but it was longer than when he left. It was her, it was his Y/N. "When I heard that we were looking for a medic, I suggested her." Jann stared at him in amazement. "Thank you, thank you very much." he muttered. "You're welcome, but please admit it to her, it's quite painful how you stare at her photo every day." He laughed and pushed Jann towards the girl who was smiling at him.,, Hi." the young competitor greeted, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "Don't hi me." you said with a laugh and hugged him. "You know before I left I wanted to tell you something." Jann began timidly again. I just looked at him with anticipation in my eyes.,, I love you and I don't want to leave you again anymore." he blurted out so fast that I almost didn't understand him.,, Me too, I was so sad without you and when Mr. Moore called me and ask me if I want to have an internship here, I felt like the happiest woman under the sun." I replied, pressing my forehead to his. "That's enough lovebirds, this race won't be won by itself." Jack interrupted us. Jann looked at me with loving eyes and continued to the car. I checked for the last time if everything is okay with Jann medically and he can go racing.,, Please don't hurt yourself." I told him before the mechanics pushed him out. I went outside to give him one last goodbye. I smiled and waved a little. Jann just smiled and repeated the gesture, but in the end he began to focus on Jack, who was training him at the last moment. As I looked around I noticed a shiny gold sports car. Standing next to it was a blond competitor who had been staring for a while now. He started to put on his helmet, but just before the helmet covered his vision, he winked at me.

I was uncomfortable and a fear ran down my spine. Something about this guy made me uncomfortable and scared me.

Sooo what do you think.

I was thinking about making one fanfic about nicholas capa x janns sister

Again i am open to any request

[isaacforalpha14]

Dean Route

   The motel room is charming; a quaint breakfast nook by the bay window, potted succulents in the window frame, a sizable television mounted the the pale yellow wall, plush carpets the color of beach sand, a teal overstuffed loveseat with canary yellow pillows, two king sized beds with ocean blue comforter sets, and a freshly remodeled bathroom with white tiles and a clear shower stall. It seems you’d hit the jackpot finding a cheap motel in the middle of a remodel. Sam’s annoyed, you sense it the minute you agreed with Dean on sharing a room. The manner in which his shoulders tensed and his jawline flexed, there’s a shadow of hope creeping into your brain that this won’t end in another argument with him. It’s strange, there’d been an undeniable amount of communication throughout the relationship but Dean shows up and that comes crumbling down. Now, there are arguments that just seem trivial, secrets being hidden and that strange tension that seems to loom over the Winchesters. It feels like the universe is testing the relationship or telling you that you’d made the wrong choice. Sam mumbles something along the lines of ‘I am going to get us dinner’ before he disappears with the keys to the Impala. Dean’s holding his hand against his ribcage as he sits on his motel bed. Dean always slept in the motel bed closest to the door, it was the instinctual need to be the protector, if someone or something came crashing through the door they’d have to go through him to get to you or Sam. His attention is on you; the way you lean against the loveseat watching Sam leave without even attempting to take you with him, solemn expression.

“He’s just pouting.” Dean attempts to ease your nerves, releasing a hiss through clenched teeth as he shrugs off his military style green jacket. “He’s never liked the tiebreakers. He used to say you always side with me.”

The atmosphere in the motel room is comfortable; the tension that radiated from Sam has dissipated, leaving the aura in the room to feel like the old times when Sam would leave to run errands and you’d stay behind to help piece Dean together. Zipping up the backpack by your boots, you held the first aid kit that your father had gifted you on your first hunt. He instructed you to always carry it with you and you have every day since. The mattress tousles as you sit beside Dean, you hesitate, thrown by the intruding idea that you could help him remove his shirt but refrain from doing so. Fingers plucking at the sleeve of his black cotton t-shirt in a nonverbal gesture for him to remove the article of clothing. “You don’t have to help me.” He murmurs in a quiet tone, swallowing the lump in his throat at the close proximity as the flesh of your arm brushes against his bare skin after he’s removed his shirt. 

“Dean.” The hint of a smile on the corner of your tongue dampened lips as you focus on searching the first aid kit for the alcohol wipes. “When have I ever let you patch yourself up?”

“Touche.” He replies in a hushed tone, falling silent as he watches the movements of your hands in their determination to search for something. His stomach feels hollow as he anticipates the feel of your warm hands on his bare skin. 

“This is gonna sting.” You warn, furrowing your brow in empathy as he sighs at the frigid sting of the alcohol wipes against his wound. The fluid movements of the alcohol pad are gentle and precise, afraid that if there were too much pressure applied or if the action were rushed it’d end up in additional pain. It’s when you retrieve the nylon threading that he braces himself, he’s had homemade sutures a thousand times before, the sharp sting of the needle puncturing the wounded flesh is always the worst at the beginning. “Are you ready?” You question with a sympathetic smile, he nods in acknowledgment, placing his hands on his jean clad knees as he releases a hefty breath. A tilt of his head and closing his eyes, he tries not to involuntarily twitch as the needle punctures his skin. The sudden warmth of your palm against his chest near his anti-possession tattoo makes him shiver, ignoring the pain as you sew the wound closed, his olive eyes are focused instead on the concentration and care in your eyes. You’re so close that he can  smell the scent of your shampoo melded with perfume. The scent is intoxicating and he has to refrain from leaning forward and burying his nose in your hair. Before he can linger in his intrusive thoughts for too much time, you’re snipping the end of the thread and tying a knot. He glances down at your handiwork, admiring the precision of the suture and noting in another life you could’ve been a doctor. 

“At least it didn’t get your tattoo.” You observe, fingertips brushing the delicate flesh below his collarbone as you trace the design in an absentminded action. There’s a sense of guilt that creeps into the pit of your stomach but it’s overshadowed by the lurch of excitement that causes butterflies to go soaring in your abdomen as you notice Dean’s muscles in his toned stomach clench at the touch. Something in the air shifts, electric tension crackling within your nerve endings, the scene feeling more intimate as his olive green eyes meet yours. He’s fighting an unwinnable war in his mind; his heart is screaming at him that you feel what he does, his mind telling him this is wrong, and his gut telling him to just kiss you. He places his forehead on yours, the affectionate gesture startling you at his vulnerability, nose brushing against yours, warm breath fanning over your lips. Heart hammering against your chest, your mind is chanting for you to remove yourself from the situation, you can’t do this, but there’s something in your heart that’s telling you this is where you belong. All it would take is Dean pursing his lips and they’d be on yours. Neither of you are moving away, it’s like a silent game of chicken to see who’d retreat first but both are too stubborn to give in. Dean’s throat bobs as he swallows, retreating from the compromising position as he leans back further to sit upright again. There’s disappointment in your expression, he catches it and it makes him wonder if you’d wanted him to kiss you. It’s a dangerous game to play. If he had kissed you; he’d never stop until you were his, it would hurt Sam. 

The motel room entrance releases a beep, Sam using the key card to come in just in time to witness you walking away from a shirtless Dean. His attention flickers to the sutures on his bare chest and it makes him release a sigh of relief but then he catches the longing in his brother’s eyes as you close the bathroom door and he’s hit with a realization. Sam never wanted to be that guy but he can't seem to help the jealous annoyance; he caught Dean watching you in the rear view mirror on several occasions throughout drives to hunts, the manner in which he smiled like a lovesick teen as you spoke made his stomach knot, the hushed conversation and giggling at the diners during lunches, the way Dean never minded when you ate food off of his plate, the way Dean always let you choose music in the car, the way Dean always just knew what you needed and how to make you feel better. The intimate scenes he’s witnessed over the years like what he walked into after Kevin disappeared, and now this. How could he have never noticed that his brother is in love with you? The real question that haunted him was if you love him too.