#he needed to know there was someone who would make the call when he’s too far gone

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader (this is it for now)

note: first time writing after five years, please be kind. (im also new in using Tumblr idk how to use this lawrd)

It takes a strong woman to love Sylus.

Someone who can carry themselves, someone that doesn't need to be always under surveillance. Someone that can fight. Someone that is worthy to be by his side.

And somehow, you were that someone.

You didn't even know what you did that attracted him to you. Despite not being ugly, you're not a head turner also. You remember asking Sylus about what he saw in you that made him fall in love and he just smirked at you before turning around to toy with his guns and cleaning them.

“You're calm, serene, quiet. Just someone I need. Don't worry your pretty little head about it, little fox. I love you because I love you. You don't need to find explanations in everything."

At that moment, it made your heart stop in a good way. You always believed that someone like Sylus would see you, look at you, and pay attention to you but here he is. Just at an arm's reach.

No matter how everyone warns you that a bad man cannot love, yet you find yourself falling deeper and deeper and you know for certain that Sylus will be there to catch you when you fall.

Loving Sylus comes with its pros and cons. For one, you know that you're safe and in danger at the same time. Living in Onychinus as Sylus's girlfriend made you realize that you are protected yet always under the watchful eyes of your boyfriend's enemies.

Luke, Kieran and even Mephisto guards every move you make just to make sure that you're not harmed.

It's not like you can't fight for yourself, but with them beside you, you don't even have to. That's another perk of being Sylus's “little fox" as he so dearly calls you.

To be honest, you feel like it's more of a benefit than a hassle to be so close to him. Because aside from the many things in your advantage that he can provide, you found a family.

The twins may always cause ruckus, or Mephisto always giving you a heart attack every time he sneaks on you, they're your family.

Being with Sylus gave you something that no amount of money or influence can give. With him, with them, you felt like you belonged.

But then, beautiful dreams can still turn into nightmares.

You didn't really intend to overhear their conversation … or rather, Sylus's command to Mephisto.

“Follow her, report every detail. I don't want one step not taken into account,” he said.

You wouldn't mind it if it were normal circumstances. You're not really the jealous type — or rather, he didn't give you enough reasons to be jealous.

But as you look at him, you can see the somber look in his eyes. For a split second, you can even tell that he might actually cry before masking it.

You watched him as he let his walls break for a moment. No he didn't cry but you can see how his jaws are clenched and his hands are trembling. He is in deep turmoil and him not aware of your presence watching him is enough proof of that.

You felt an impending doom approaching, but you quickly shut them out. You will wait until Sylus tells you what's going on.

Maybe next morning?

Next week?

In a month?

Who knows.

So you waited and waited. But too much time has passed and he never brought it up.

Not until the answer willingly came knocking on Onychinus’s doorstep.

Miss Hunter.

Miss Hunter is a formidable fighter, that much you can say. She's not gonna beat Sylus in hand to hand combat, but she sure can put up a fight and you can see how that pleased Sylus. To be fair, it's hard for him to find an opponent in a place where is the strongest.

So you watched.

You watched from the sidelines as he frustratedly kept trying to resonate with her. You watched his pained face when he was told that she might be subconsciously disgusted by him and that prevents them from maximizing their battle potential.

It hurts, yes, you're a human after all. But you have enough trust in him and you come to the conclusion that Miss Hunter is someone that is a vital part of Sylus's much greater plan.

Whether you say that to yourself because you truly believe it or you're trying to convince yourself that there's nothing deeper going on.

No one knows.

Not even you.

“Sylus?" you called.

"Hmm?” you heard him hum from across the room of his study. He's on his swivel chair, eyes closed but surely not asleep.

It's the middle of the night and you're sure that he is awake. So you came here quickly after setting your alarm just to see him.

It's been a while since you two get to be alone and spend some time as a couple. He is always busy. Always on the phone, always on edge. It's like any time now he is going to explode. So as a good girlfriend, you came to him tonight to offer some kind of peace.

You kissed his temple before standing behind his chair and giving him a soft massage. You felt his muscles release tension and he relaxed in your arms.

“You've been working so hard lately, even the strongest men need to rest too, you know?" you said.

"I can't, sweetie.” he replied, sounding tired. "There's much that I need to do."

“Is it too much that you can't even spare your poor girlfriend a few hours for just one night?” you teased.

“You know that's not what I meant, Little Fox,"

“Then come to bed. Just for tonight. You won't function well if you're not getting the right amount of sleep. Even Mephisto needs rest so he won't overheat.” you insisted now facing him.

“That's not how he works," he grumbled but didn't say anything after. He just hugged your waist and leaned his head on you. You melted because of it.

Most people see him as terrifying and heartless but when you see him like this, you know that he's just like everyone else. He gets tired, he gets upset.

Combing your fingers through his hair and cupping his cheeks to make him look at you, “Come and rest with me. Nothing bad will happen. Stop devising strategies in your head, boss man. I believe in you.”

That seemed to do it. He sighed and got up holding your hand and dragging you to your shared bedroom.

And no matter how he tries to act that he is not tired, he immediately falls asleep as soon as you kiss him goodnight.

You looked at his sleeping form and despite how weak you are compared to him, you wanted to protect him and this little vulnerability that he shows you.

Part 2

[liminalmemories21]

911 - Ficlet

"You know what I'm really tired of," he says when Tommy answers the door, pushing past him into the house he's only ever been to a handful of times, but whose address he still has saved in his GPS as Tommy (home).

"Please, come in.  Make yourself at home," Tommy says sourly.  "Evan, what are you doing here?"

He makes a beeline for Tommy's fridge, and god he always has such pretentious fucking taste in beer.  Good, but pretentious.  And he's such a prissy bitch when you call him out on it.  He'd loved that about him.  Loves that.

He grabs one at random, hunting for the bottle opener in the drawer next to the sink.  "Maddie thinks I need to learn how to be alone again."  Takes a swallow.  Tommy just stands there in the doorway, staring at him, not moving.  "She's wrong.  Couldn't manage to graduate from college, but I've got a fucking PhD in how to be alone."  Takes another swig, and then pauses to look at the label, but this is actually really good.  "What I need to learn is how to get someone to want to stay.

He looks at Tommy, who's still frozen in the doorway.

"She agrees with you, by the way.  Also thinks I'm in love with Eddie."  Takes another drink and then goes to root through Tommy's pantry for the doritos he knows are there somewhere, because Tommy won't admit it, but he loves them.

Makes a low triumphant noise when he finds them.  Takes a handful and holds the bag out ot Tommy, "You want some?"  Tommy shakes his head mutely.

He shrugs, "Your loss."  Crunches his way though a few.  "You're both wrong, you know.  Even if it would be really fucking convenient for the narrative."  Tommy starts to say something, and he cuts him off.  "Am I sad that my best friend is gone?  Yes.  Am I not dealing well living in his house?  Also yes.  Fucking sue me."  Crunches a few more chips and chases it with a swallow of beer.  "Eddie's house was one of the first places I found where I was always welcome.  He trusted me to take care of the most important thing in the world to him.  I think I get to be upset that he moved back to Texas.  I get why he went.  I don't even disagree with it.  I wish my parents had loved me half that much.  I still get to be upset about it."  Points the beer bottle at Tommy.  "Okay?"

Tommy holds up his hands.  "Okay."

He nods.  Takes the last swallow of beer in the bottle.  "What was I saying?"

Tommy shakes his head.  "I have no idea.  Evan, why are you here?"

He frowns.  "Oh, I came to apologize."

Tommy's eyebrows go up.  "This was an apology?"

He waves a hand.  Contemplates whether he wants another beer.  "No.  I wanted to apologize for what I said, about not having feelings for everyone I slept with.  That wasn't about you, but I realized that probably wasn't obvious."

"No," Tommy says, and finally crosses the kitchen to get a beer of his own.  "It wasn't."

He takes the second beer when Tommy holds it out to him.  He can uber home if he has to.  "I was mad," he offers.

"Got that, thanks."

He snorts without really meaning too.  "I missed this."  Tommy's eyebrows go up.  "The way you're bitchy and mean."  Sits down at the table opposite Tommy.  "I missed you.  I don't know if I'm still in love with you, but I know I'm not over you, no matter how many things I bake."

"Bake?"  Tommy echoes.

"I baked every time I wanted to call you, or thought about you.  I could have opened a bakery with what I made."  Rubs his hand down his jeans.  "With what I'm still making."  Risks a look at Tommy from under his lashes.

"Okay," Tommy says slowly.  "So, if the comment about not having feelings for everyone you sleep with wasn't aimed at me, who was it aimed at?"

He grimaces.  "Everyone?  No, really.  Everyone keeps telling me to get back on the horse, or there are other fish in the sea - and seriously, what's with all the animal metaphors.  It's creepy."  Takes a breath.  "So I did.  I tried that.  Downloaded grindr and hinge, went to a bar.  Hooked up with a girl.  Hooked up with a guy.  Didn't like it."  Rubs his hand on his pants again.  Takes a nervous swallow of beer.  "The thing is, I want it to be true.  I want to have feelings for the people - person - I'm sleeping with.  But the only person I want that with is you.  And you keep leaving."

"Evan."

He closes his eyes at the sound of Tommy saying his name.  "That's not fair?"

"No," Tommy admits.  "It's fair.  I run before I can get my heart broken.  That's my MO.  Doesn't," he lets out a shaky laugh.  "Doesn't seem to be working well when it comes to you."

He puts his hand on the table, palm up.  "Were you serious about Saturday?"

Tommy stares at his hand.  "Yes?"

"Pick me up at 7?  Not," he adds hastily, "Micelli's.  That place has bad karma."

Tommy lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.  He can relate.  "Not Micelli's," he promises.  Then, "I'm not over you either."

He nods.  "Good.  Maybe we can both learn how to not be alone."

"I was always good at math," Tommy says, and finally finally takes his hand.

[ms-demeanor]

It is now March 17th; the client has approved the drive and I have ordered the drive with 1 day shipping. I reach out to my manager and say "Does this need to be a ticket or a project? It's going to take the server down" and my manager answers "Mini project." I don't know what the hell that means so I go to the project manager (who is a good project manager, but who is non-technical).

"Manager Danny says that needs to be a mini project. I don't know what that means, but this will take down the server for us to install; we need to get it done as soon as possible."

"Okay," Project Manager Elizabeth says.

It is now March 19th. The drive is on site at the office where techs Bob and Charlie work.

"Is there a ticket or a project created for this drive installation?" I ask. I still have the procurement ticket open. I am waiting for an update. I get no answer.

It is now March 20th. The drive is onsite at the office where the techs work. "Elizabeth, has this been assigned to anyone?" No answer.

It is now March 21st. This specific ticket, this nightmare fucking ticket, has provoked institutional changes in ticket handling. We are now going to be responsible for ticket ownership. Your ticket, your problem. "Great!" I say in the meeting. "How do we escalate if we've got a ticket that's beyond what our skills are?"

"You'll forward it up the chain to team leads Frank, Giselle, and Henry; we'll also have a daily scrum call to figure out how we're going to handle stuff."

"Neat!" I say. I reach out to team lead Frank and let him know that there is a drive in the office that needs to be installed for a user who has a failing drive on their server and that we need to move on this.

There is no response.

It is March 24th. I am in the daily scrum call. "I need someone to go onsite and install this drive," I say. "The client has a failing drive in their server. We need to replace it, we need to schedule a time to replace it. We need to communicate with them because the server will be down while it's rebuilding. We need to do this fast the drive has been failing since December."

"That needs change monitoring, since it's going to take the server down," Project Manager Elizabeth says. "I'll send you the form."

It is March 25th. I have filled in as much of the change form as I can. I am in the daily scrum call. "I need someone to go onsite and install this drive. We need to schedule it. The server has a failing drive. I need help completing the change form because I don't know how to estimate how long it will take to rebuild."

"That's my wheelhouse," team lead Frank says. "Let's go into a separate call after the meeting and I'll work with you."

Frank and I get on a call; the call before me runs late so we have fifteen minutes. I spend three getting him up to speed and he spends the rest trying to read the new change form. I complete some of the sections as he gives me dictation, then he has to run to another meeting. Frank is too busy to install the drive himself, Bob isn't capable of it, so Charlie is the only one in that region who can do so. I don't know that we can trust Charlie.

It is 4:30PM. I message Project Manager Elizabeth. "Where does the form go when I'm done with it?"

"Into the client folder; we'll get that processed into a project this week."

"I need you to get on the phone with me."

"Sure."

"This is an emergency. If I knew how to do it I would drive to northern california and install this drive myself tonight. This is just like the other emergency that happened that took down a major customer. We need to do something about this now."

"OH. Oh. So this needs to be a priority."

"Yes."

"Okay, can we have Frank install it?"

"Charlie is the only one who can install it at this point."

Elizabeth makes a face. "I would really, really prefer it if Frank did the install. I'm not sure we're supposed to let Charlie do the install."

"Me too. But Frank is swamped, and Bob can't do it."

"Okay; I can work with you on it in the morning, but we're not going to be able to get anyone out there tonight anyway."

It is 4:45 PM. I message my manager Danny. "I need help escalating this. I'm having trouble communicating the urgency we need here. We need to get someone scheduled to install this drive. Nobody is scheduled for it. This is still my ticket so it's still my problem."

Danny says "Oh. That's not really procurement's problem anymore. We'll get a ticket or project created and we'll get it handled."

"When?"

"I'll talk to Elizabeth about it in the morning and see where it is in her schedule once you complete the change form."

It is 4:55 PM. I message Team Lead Giselle, who was on my old team. She lives in southern california. "We have a client with a failing drive in a RAID 5 server. The drive has been failing since December. There is a drive onsite to replace the failing drive. Is this something you would be willing to drive to Northern California to fix?"

Giselle says possibly, then starts looking into my ticket. "It's been failing since december?!?!" Yes. "The drive has been onsite for most of a week?!?!" Yes. "What does their storage look like?" 96% utilized. "Oh jesus that's going to take forever to rebuild. What did Frank say?"

That he wanted Charlie to do it. But I don't think we're supposed to let Charlie do it and Bob can't and Frank is swamped.

"What did Danny say?" That I could close my ticket and we'd get another ticket created for install.

"There isn't even a ticket for this?!?!?!?!"

"No. Should I create a ticket and assign it to you? If you want this, I'm going to create a ticket and assign it to you and list all the backstory and it's going to be your ticket, your problem."

"I can't agree to go up to NorCal without prior approval. This probably needs to be a project."

---------

Should I just call the CEO at this point? Should I just say "look this is a fucking emergency, this is ON FUCKING FIRE, this is something that needs to be done RIGHT NOW and I don't know what you mean by "take ownership" if I can't get anyone else on the team to escalate or understand how a failing drive in a RAID array is a RIGHT FUCKING NOW issue when we HAVE the hardware on hand"?

I feel crazy. Nobody is reacting to this correctly. I have no idea what to do.

And, once again, how much of this really is my fucking job?

One of the problems that came up this week is actually a problem that came up in December.

On December 15th we got a warning about disk health in a server; there is a drive that is at risk of failure.

A ticket was created for me to create a quote to replace the drive.

There was no part number associated with the ticket, and because of the type of server, there was no easy way to access configuration information online and our hardware documentation is a disaster (I have thought it was a disaster since the acquisition; I set up hardware documentation at the old job specifically to avoid issues like this and now all that documentation is gone because we didn't keep any licenses of the old job's CRM). This was not a situation where I could find a part number.

I contacted Tech Alice and asked her to check the part number on the server. Alice reported back that because the drive was part of a RAID array, she couldn't get the part number. She recommended asking Bob, and put her time entry on the ticket.

I contacted Tech Bob and asked him if he could find the part number for the drive on the server; Bob also reported back that he could not find a way to get the part number from the server, he recommended that Charlie collect the part number when he went onsite. Bob added his time to the ticket (still my ticket) and added the status "onsite needed."

Now it is December 23rd. I have messaged Charlie and asked him to check the part number when he is onsite and have added him to the ticket. I'm out of the office today, Charlie is out of the office next week. Charlie does not remember to look at the part number when he is onsite. It is the end of the year.

Now it is January 15th. We lost the first week of the year to assessments, and the second week of the year to the state and our clients being on fire - people were unable to go onsite because of all of that. Charlie is going onsite. I remind him to get the part number when he is at the client site. When he is at the client site he alerts me that actually he is at their other location, not the location with the server.

Now it is January 27th. Charlie is going back onsite, he is on my ticket, the ticket is set to onsite needed. I remind Charlie that we need the part number. Charlie does not remember.

Now it is February 6th. We have created a whole new ticket for Charlie with the *EXPRESS STATED PURPOSE* of going onsite to collect a part number for the failing drive in the server. Charlie marks the ticket as "waiting materials" and makes a note that he can't replace the drive until we order the part.

Now it is February 7th. We have explained, in writing, in Charlie's ticket that we can't order the part until he goes onsite and collects the part number, because we cannot get it because the server won't report the part number if it's in a raid array for reasons that I'll be honest I do not understand.

Now it is February 14th. Charlie closes his ticket and he and Bob pull me into a meeting. The server at the client site is so old they're not sure it's a good idea to replace the drive. Charlie has recommended that the project team quote a migration to sharepoint, which the client has expressed interest in in the past. Bob makes a note of this in my ticket. But I do not close my ticket. I do not close my ticket because I know there must be some fuckery coming. So I put my ticket to "on hold" and set it to reactivate on March 10th so that I can follow up with the project team and see if the migration project is making any progress or if we still need to replace this drive because the server drive is still failing.

It is March 13th. I have a bad week. A very bad week. My manager looks at my open tickets and asks why on earth I still have a server drive failure ticket open from December. I explain that I only have it open to follow up on the migration because the technician suggested server replacement but if there wasn't progress we should still quote a drive, but I still didn't have the part number.

My manager puts me in a chat with me, Charlie, the Project team lead, my manager, and the service team lead and asks what the fuck is going on. I paste Charlie's last update on my ticket and say that I'll be happy to quote a hard drive but I still don't have the part number.

Charlie says "Oh, I put the part number in the ticket" and pastes a photo of a drive (low light, low contrast, and blurry but with a visible part number) in the chat.

"Great!" I say, and immediately assemble a quote and find stock. Then i look back at my ticket. "But I'm actually not seeing the part number on this [my] ticket. Where was that again?"

Charlie has put the part number on his ticket, which I was never on, which he closed.

"Ah, okay. I see."

And here's where the different standards that all of us are used to using work against us.

My old job built RAID servers all the fucking time. It was totally standard, totally easy, totally sensible, and I always knew to double the number of drives we needed for the storage we got because we'd be mirroring. Because we'd be using RAID 10. Because it's robust and can take a lot of failure. A drive failing in a server configured with RAID 10 is not ideal, but it's also not a drop-everything and panic emergency. I *still* wouldn't want to leave it two months in an ideal world but I can't drive up to San Francisco and get a part number, and sometimes the world literally catches on fire.

However, these new folks use RAID 5.

A drive failing in a server configured with RAID 5 *IS* a drop everything emergency, because if one drive goes down the whole system goes down until you can replace the drive and rebuild the array, and because RAID 5 is slower than 10, this can take a very, very long time depending on how much data there is. And if *two* drives fail the data is *gone*

So.

Whose job is it to get the part number, and whose job is it to know that the server is at imminent risk of failure?

Well, now I have properly reconfigured my internal alarms about any failing server drive, but I don't understand why none of the three technicians who worked on this ticket with me didn't at any point say "hey this is an emergency" (Alice is from my old team and used to RAID 10 also, I'm willing to give her a pass) and I'm *really* confused why Bob and Charlie would recommend *not* replacing a drive in a server that is that close to failure.

(And again, I just didn't know. Believe me, I am never, ever going to shut up about drive warning tickets in the future)

And, the thing that scares the shit out of me and my manager and part of the reason why this has been a bad week and I'm having stressful conversations: What if I had just closed that ticket instead of letting it reactivate to follow up on? What if I had just marked it as done when Charlie gave me the update? It wouldn't have been an old-ass ticket in my queue that my manager flagged, it would have been a note in an after-action report when the client's server crashed.

(The client has the quote now with the statement "this failing drive puts your server at risk of failure and we strongly recommend replacing" but they haven't approved it yet because they're really cheap so I'm going to have to send it again and say "this is a mission critical part that you need to replace; your server is at risk as long as the drive is not replaced.")

So. The boss is asking "why is procurement taking so long" and really, now that I'm thinking about it - because he brought it up - how much of this really IS supposed to be my job?

[verstappenverse]

Call Me When You Breakup

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max is in the wrong relationship, and you both know it. But knowing isn’t choosing, and you’re done waiting.

1.8k words / Inspo / Masterlist

You don't want to be here.

Not in this overpriced, dimly lit restaurant. Not sitting across from your best friend who, for all intents and purposes, should be yours but isn't. Not watching him share a plate of something too delicate, too refined, with someone who doesn’t know him the way you do.

You shouldn't be here, but you are. Because Max asked, and you’ve never been able to say no to him.

His girlfriend, the word itself sticks in your throat like it doesn’t belong there, sits beside him her hand curled possessively around his arm like it’s an accessory.

She's beautiful in that effortless way that makes it impossible to hate her, but easy to envy and you do, not because she's done anything wrong, but because she has him and you don’t. She’s the kind of girl who wears white to brunch and never spills anything. Who smiles with her teeth but never with her eyes. She laughs at all the right moments, smiles like she’s being watched, and you suppose she probably always is.

She tells people he’s different with her, like it’s some accomplishment, like she’s smoothed out all the parts of him that used to be real. And maybe that’s what she wants, a version of Max that’s easier to manage. More polished. Less... passionate.

And maybe he needs that. Maybe it’s easier to be loved when no one sees the cracks.

But you do.

And you love him anyway.

"You're quiet tonight."

Max's voice breaks through the fog of your thoughts, dragging you back into the present. His blue eyes flick to yours, brow furrowed. You know that look. Concern. Like he always gets when you're not yourself. Like he doesn't realise he’s the reason why.

"I'm fine," you lie, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Just tired."

His girlfriend, her name, why does her name escape you? Leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering something you can’t hear. Max laughs, low and affectionate, and it splinters something inside you.

You force your attention back to your plate, pushing the delicate food around with your fork, though you have no appetite for it. Each bite seems tasteless, it’s not the kind of meal you’re used to. You’d much rather be somewhere familiar, somewhere real, where the food is greasy and the air is thick with laughter, the kind of places where Max talks with his hands and lets himself forget who he has to be.

But tonight, he’s wearing someone else’s life. And you’re just the spectator.

Max's laughter, though, it’s still real. It’s just harder to swallow now, harder to accept, because it’s not for you. Not tonight.

Then he leans in closer than necessary, voice dropping again, warm and soothing, bringing you back to the present. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Your heart stutters for a beat. The question, the tone it’s always the same. Always concerned. Always directed at you. But never for you. You’ve learned to ignore the quiet ache that blossoms each time, because it’s pointless.

"I'm fine," you repeat, this time with more conviction. The smile feels less forced but still unnatural. "I promise."

His eyes linger on you like it’s a habit he can’t break, and you can tell he’s not buying it. His gaze flicks briefly to his girlfriend, who is now chatting animatedly with the waiter about some wine pairing, before he leans in, close enough that only you can hear.

"Are you sure? You know you can talk to me right?"

That damn sweetness in his voice. That quiet tenderness he saves just for you, like a secret between the two of you, a secret you’re not sure you can keep much longer. His girlfriend is only a few inches away, but the distance between you and Max has never felt more cavernous.

You swallow, unable to look at him, because if you do, you might say something you can’t take back. Something that would shatter the delicate balance you’ve managed to maintain.

You want to tell him that you're not fine. That you haven’t been for a long time. But you can’t. You just can't.

Instead, you nod, your throat tightening, unable to force the words past your lips. He doesn’t need to know. Not now. Not when it could ruin everything.

Later that night when you’re alone in your apartment, you do what you swore you wouldn’t.

You scroll through old photos, ones where it was just you and Max, before… before everything became complicated. Late-night drives through Monaco, your legs propped up on his dashboard. His arm around you after a race, champagne still clinging to his skin. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world.

And maybe you were.

Maybe, for a time, he was yours too.

You miss him. Not the version of him you get now, careful and distant, but the Max who used to call you at 3 a.m. just to talk. The Max who used to sit on your bathroom counter while you took off your makeup, who would trace patterns into your wrist absentmindedly as you talked about the future.

That version of Max doesn’t exist anymore.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just buried under the weight of a relationship that isn’t meant for him.

She’s the safe choice. The quiet, easy path. She’ll never demand the real version of him, but she’s there and for now that’s enough for him.

Your fingers hover over his name in your phone, heart hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t call.

But you want to.

Call me when you break up.

The words sit on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down.

Instead, you type a message you’ll never send.

We’re so meant for each other, when will you wake up?

You read the words, and the weight of them sinks deep in your chest. But you delete them immediately. They’re too raw. Too desperate. Too honest.

With a shaky breath, you shut off your phone, the screen fading to black.

The thing about being in love with Max Verstappen is that you never really stop waiting.

You wait for him to see you. Wait for him to realise what you've always known. Wait for the moment when he’ll turn to you and say, it was always you.

But waiting is exhausting.

And you're tired of feeling like an afterthought.

So you do what any rational, heartbroken person would. You try to forget.

You let strangers buy you drinks, let them whisper sweet nothings into your ear, let them kiss you in the dark corners of bars where no one knows your name. You chase distractions, hoping that one of them will make you feel something, anything, other than the ache of missing him.

But they never do.

Because none of them are Max.

And maybe that’s why when your phone rings one night, his name flashing across the screen, you still answer without hesitation. Because this isn’t the first time. It’s become a pattern. A quiet, painful ritual. A fight with her. A call to you.

"Hey."

He sounds off. Tired. Worn down in a way you’ve never heard before.

"Can I come over?"

Your pulse spikes. "Max—"

"I just… I don’t want to be alone right now."

The unspoken words hang between you.

I don’t want to be with her right now.

You exhale shakily. "Yeah. Of course."

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings, cutting through the silence that had settled over your apartment like a heavy fog. You stand frozen for a moment, uncertainty crawling up your spine, before you force your legs to move.

He looks wrecked. Like he hasn't slept in days. He doesn't say anything at first, just steps inside, closing the distance between you in a way that makes your breath catch.

"Did something happen?" you ask softly.

Max shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "I just needed to see you."

The space between you closes with a speed that makes your pulse skip. It’s like he’s always known the exact way to find you, to make everything else fade away, to pull you back in like you’re a magnet and he’s the force that won’t let you escape.

His eyes search yours, and it’s in that moment you realise he knows.

He knows he's with the wrong person.

He knows that no matter how much he tries to pretend, it’s always been you.

But knowing something and choosing it are two entirely different things.

And you’re tired. Tired of waiting for him to make the right choice. Tired of standing here, always second. Always the backup when things aren’t perfect in his world.

So you step back, putting space between you that feels like a chasm.

"You can’t do this," you whisper. "You can't just run to me when things go wrong with her. It’s not fair."

His jaw tightens at your words, the muscle in his cheek twitching, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down, taking a long breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of something unspoken. You can see the frustration, the guilt in the way his shoulders tense, but it doesn’t change anything.

"I—"

"You love me Max." Your throat tightens, interrupting him before he can pull you in, and you hate the way your voice cracks on the last word, but you don’t care. "I know you do."

Silence.

Painful, suffocating silence.

But then—

"I do." His voice is raw, like the words are being torn from him. "I do love you."

Your breath stutters. "Then why are you still with her?"

Max opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips. His eyes dart away from yours, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say but can’t. He clenches his fists at his sides, and the tension in his body is palpable. "I... I don’t know," he mutters, voice thick. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"You’re supposed to choose Max!" Your voice cracks, the frustration bubbling over.

He opens his mouth again, but the words won't come. You watch him struggle, like he’s stuck in a loop of his own making. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to hurt you," he says, regret creeping in.

"But you have," you say, your voice steady but filled with everything you’ve been holding in. "You have hurt me Max. And you don’t get to keep doing that and expect me to just be here when you feel like it."

Max takes a step toward you, but you shake your head, stepping back. "No," you whisper, shaking your head. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to have me when it’s convenient for you. You either choose me, or you don’t."

Max opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Because there’s no excuse. No reason good enough.

Just fear.

Of change. Of consequences. Of finally choosing what’s real over what’s easy.

And you? You’re done waiting for him to be brave.

So you smile, even though it hurts. Even though your heart is shattering.

"Call me when you break up."

Then you shut the door.

[reignpage]

suddenly thought of a question— what are your pet peeves in smut writing? like stuff ppl write on fanfics that doesn’t actually happen during sex, stuff you find corny of stuff you know fucking hurts and makes u think the author might be a virgin

terrific question. my answers are half joking and half serious because smut writing is supposed to mix in reality with fiction right? so things are exaggerated for sexy purposes so it's really not a big deal for me, but I will be reading something and think, oh...ouch

He shoved into me without prep - WHO? NOT TOJI AND HIS 12 INCH MONSTER COCK FOR SURE, like wdym no prep????

Any talks about entering the womb - I've read far too many that says his cock went inside her cervix and blew his load directly into her womb like what in the hentai is this bs I'm reading did a reddit mod write this?

Improper size use - by this I mean, the guy can't be 'towering over you' and then somehow, whether in doggy or missionary or whatever, be thrusting in and is kissing you? because by your own description, his head would be out of reach. he'd have to break someone's back, like literally, to do that, trust me, I'm short and I've been with much taller guys, most I'm seeing if they come close is their chest

Any immediate orgasms - do notttttt play with me. you did not cum from him putting it in immediately. or one spank does it for you. orgasms need build up. this might be hard to do which yeah fair nuff but you seriously cannot believe a woman cums from making eye contact. it has to be on top of everything else

Tongues being long - his tongue did NAWT tease your cervix please what in the Venom is this 😭 have you ever been eaten out before???? hell spread those legs I'll do it for you so you can write it

Guy doesn't go soft ever - he can't have cum buckets inside you and be hard as hell talking about the next round, like some guys have shorter refractory periods sure but just doesn't work like that

Couldn't wrap both hands around it - MISS GIRL try it out yourself, put those fingers tip to tip and you tell me if that can go inside you

He spat on the coochie to get it wet - like saliva is drying, which is why when you lick your lips a lot, they get drier, but I get it in using it as a starter to get things going but let's be clear on this

Eating real food and then eating pussy - call your motherfucking doctor right now if you're doing this fr like cut the cameras

highkey tho, I am guilty of some of these. I think some times delusion is better than reality like f realism and logistics lets just be horny

[wholoveseggs]

Reverence

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Request(s)~ #1 - "Could i request for elijah pls? maybe something like the fic you did a while back about klaus making her insecure. as a bigger girl its nice to see the comfort from my man LOL! so yeah just something about someone/something making reader upset about her body and she kinda shuts elijah out? he finds a way to reassure her/comfort her! (can definitely be smutty) thank you angel! have a great day 💜" #2 - "Could you possibly write something with Elijah about body worship? Maybe the readers a bit insecure and he reminds her of all the physical things he loves about her as well as the mental and like personality traits… like just soft fluffy smut?"

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} Elijah protects you from a stranger’s insult, then shows you why it was never true...

♡♡ Thank you for the requests beautiful anons!!! I adore this idea, struggling with body issues is a subject close to my heart and I hope I did it justice, and that this feels like a comfort to anyone who needs it.~ ♡♡

4.3k words - Warnings: smutt, heavy body image insecurity, reader is plus-size and self-conscious, fatphobia (insult from a side character), crying, hurt/comfort, very soft Elijah, white knight Elijah, fingering, slow sex, body worship, praise kink && tiny bit of violence...

You didn’t want to leave the house. You barely had the energy to exist, let alone face the world. But your job at the bar didn’t care about bad days. It didn’t care that you wanted to curl up in bed and pretend the world didn’t exist. It didn’t care that your body felt too heavy. It just demanded you show up, slap on a customer-service smile, and tolerate people you had no patience for today.

Your uniform didn’t help. The black t-shirt was too tight, the logo stretched across your chest, and the skirt was even worse. No matter how much you tugged it down, it still felt like it was working against you. It was hard to feel comfortable in it, especially when you felt like every set of eyes lingered too long. Like every glance held something unspoken. You could sense their judgment, could feel it pressing down on you, and you felt shame bloom hot and heavy in your chest. It was as if the world was reminding you that you took up too much space. That you shouldn’t exist.

You sighed, laced up your sneakers, and threw on your leather jacket, tugging it tight around you like armor. Maybe it would offer at least some comfort.

The night was a mess. You were short-staffed, the customers were assholes, and the clock seemed determined to move at a glacial pace. Every minute felt stretched thin, dragging endlessly. When you finally got a breather, you slipped out back, leaning against the wall and dragging in lungfuls of cold air. The night bit at your skin, sharp and bracing, but at least it was real. At least it was something other than the weight in your chest.

Just one more hour. One more hour, and you could go home, take a long shower, and maybe scrub away the feeling of existing in your own skin tonight.

"Is there anyone working here?" A voice bellowed from inside, slurred and impatient. "I've been waiting for a refill for, like, fifteen minutes!"

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly through your nose. Fucking prick.

"I'll be there in a moment!" you called, shoving yourself off the wall and forcing your legs to move.

The man at the bar looked wasted, his hands flat on the counter as he scowled at you.

"Finally!" he spat.

You didn’t bother responding, just grabbed his empty cup and refilled it. "There you go." You slid the drink toward him.

He downed it in one go, then slammed the glass back down. "Put it on my tab," he slurred, "and get me another."

"No problem. What's your name?"

His bleary eyes narrowed. "What? Why should I tell you?"

You sighed, already regretting this conversation. "I can’t put anything on your tab if I don’t know who it belongs to."

He reached for the drink, but you pulled it just out of reach.

"Name?"

"Fuck you."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Right. Then you’re paying cash."

His lip curled. "Oh, fuck off, stupid fat bitch," he spat, his words sharp as broken glass. "You can't do shit."

The breath left your lungs.

For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The bar noise faded, drowned under the roaring in your ears. Heat crawled up your neck, but your body felt frozen. Locked in place, your hands gripping the counter as if letting go would send you crumbling to the floor.

He was still talking, still slurring insults, but you weren’t really hearing him. Not over the voice in your head that whispered, See? Everyone could see just how awful you looked. Even this drunk asshole. You should be ashamed of yourself, embarrassed.

Glass shattered.

It took you a second to realize what had happened. That he had smacked his empty cup off the counter, sending shards flying. He was standing now, a sneer twisting his face as he leaned toward you.

"Fucking cunt," he snarled. "Give me my damn dri-"

He never finished the sentence.

One moment, he was lurching forward, and the next… A blur of movement. A hand, firm and unyielding, slammed down on his shoulder.

The man gasped as he was shoved back into his seat, his body caving under the pressure. His face paled, and he let out a choked, strangled sound.

The hand didn’t move. It didn’t need to and a familiar voice, calm and cold as steel, cut through the air.

"That," Elijah said, "is quite enough."

Elijah stood behind the man, his fingers digging just enough to make the drunk squirm, but his expression was unreadable. controlled, collected. But you knew better. You knew the quiet, simmering rage that lurked beneath his civility.

The bar had gone silent.

The man tried to move, but Elijah’s grip didn’t falter. He only leaned in slightly, voice as smooth as ever.

"Apologize."

The drunk swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Elijah’s presence. "I…" His voice wobbled. "I didn’t mean…"

"Apologize."

The word was softer this time. Deadlier.

The man turned his panicked gaze to you. "I-I’m sorry," he stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

Elijah didn’t release him right away. He let the silence stretch, let the man feel his power pressing into him. Then, finally, with an almost dismissive flick of his fingers, he let go.

The drunk bolted from the stool, muttering some half-hearted excuse as he stumbled away.

The moment he was gone, the tension in the bar broke, conversations resuming in hushed tones. But you were still frozen. Still stuck in the moment before Elijah had intervened, in the moment where the words had hit you like a slap.

You turned away, suddenly desperate to escape. To hide, to try to breathe, to not let Elijah see the cracks forming in your expression.

You ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. The tears came then, spilling down your cheeks as you pressed your forehead to the cool wood of the door.

It was stupid. You were fine. You were a big girl. You were used to this, and it didn’t hurt. It wasn't like you hadn't called yourself worse. It wasn't like you hadn't spent nights wishing your body was different. You weren’t the kind of person to get upset over a few words.

So why did it feel like you couldn’t breathe?

A soft knock on the door.

"Y/N." Elijah's voice was gentle.

You didn’t answer.

"Y/N," he repeated, softer this time, "may I come in?"

You drew in a shaky breath, rubbing furiously at the tears on your face. You couldn’t hide from him, not forever, so you pushed yourself off the door, unlocked it, and stepped back.

Elijah eased the door open, slipping inside and closing it behind him. His expression was calm, but his eyes were bright with concern.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded quickly, turning away from him and trying to wipe the remaining tears away. "It's fine. Sorry. I'm fine."

You were mortified. Elijah had seen everything. The scene. The confrontation. And now, your tears. The two of you had just recently begun dating, and the last thing you wanted was to start the relationship off with your baggage.

You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn't look up from the floor. You were a mess, and he was immortally chiseled and beautiful. How could he possibly find you attractive, especially after he saw how weak and pathetic you were acting.

Elijah took a slow step toward you.

"It is okay if you are not fine," he murmured, his words warm and soft. "It is okay if he upset you."

He brushed his knuckles along your arm, then he took your hand, lifting it to press a gentle kiss against your skin.

His sweet gesture broke the last remaining shreds of your composure, and the tears fell harder. You turned to face him and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You buried your face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of his cologne as his hands stroked along your back.

He pulled off his heavy woolen coat and draped it over your shoulders. The weight was comforting, and the lingering heat of his body surrounded you, easing the trembling of your limbs.

He didn't say anything. He just took your hand and led you out the door, and then outside, the cool night air a relief on your flushed face. You followed him, letting him guide you to his car.

"Stay here," he said, opening the passenger door for you. "I'll return shortly."

You nodded, climbing in and shutting the door. Being inside his car muffled the noise from the bar, and you leaned back, closing your eyes and exhaling.

When the driver's side door opened, you looked over, watching as Elijah climbed in and started the car. For a moment you wondered what he had gone to do, but the question didn’t linger. The answer came when you saw the small specks of blood on the cuffs of his sleeves.

He handed you your leather jacket and purse, which he must have collected from the break room. You smiled to yourself, and the knot in your stomach loosened a bit.

"Thank you," you murmured.

"Of course."

He pulled out of the parking lot and into the night. The ride was quiet, the radio playing some low, soft classical music. After a while, he glanced over, and you felt his eyes on you. You still couldn't look at him, and you kept your eyes down, staring at your lap.

Your soft belly was sticking out slightly, the skin between your shirt and skirt exposed. You could see the way the flesh dimpled, and a rush of shame heated your face.

Elijah placed a strong, warm hand on your thigh, squeezing gently.

"May I ask," he began softly, "why did his words hurt you so deeply?"

You looked up at him, his expression calm and open.

You sighed. "I don't know."

It was a lie. A poor, pathetic attempt at a shield. Because you did know. You knew why the words bothered you.

He nodded, but didn't push. He just returned his hand to the steering wheel, his attention on the road ahead.

It wasn't a long drive, and when the car pulled up to your apartment, it was well past midnight and most of the lights were off. The large building felt so cold, empty, imposing, and you didn't want to go inside. Not alone.

Elijah got out, coming around and opening your door. He took your hand, helping you out, and you didn’t let go. Not as he led you to the elevator, not as he opened the door to your apartment, not as he guided you inside.

The apartment was dark, and Elijah moved to the lamp by the couch, switching it on and filling the room with a warm, gentle light.

You shrugged off his coat, handing it to him. He folded it carefully, setting it aside, and for a moment, you just stood there, arms curling around yourself, like you could shield your body from his eyes.

You swallowed hard, shifting uneasily, staring at your feet. You crossed your arms tighter, wrapping them over your stomach. Just a feeble attempt to shield yourself from Elijah’s gaze. You didn’t want him to see you like this: hurt, weak and ashamed.

Elijah watched you carefully, his expression unreadable, but you felt the weight of him, the way he saw everything even when you wished he wouldn’t. He didn’t move closer, didn’t press you to speak. He let the silence settle, warm and patient.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For what?" His voice was gentle, but firm.

You hesitated, then exhaled. “For… tonight. For making a scene. For ruining the evening.” Your head shook, your throat tightening. "For being-"

"Stop," Elijah said softly.

"Why do you stay with me?" You said a little harsher than intended. The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and raw and ugly. Your voice wavered, and the shame burned hot and painful in your chest.

"Am I a pity case? Are you bored by beautiful women, so you chose to date me?" The words came faster now, tripping over themselves, tumbling from your lips before you could cage them.

"Stop," Elijah said again, stronger this time.

The quiet authority in his tone cut through the air like a blade, sharp and deliberate. It made you pause, made you glance up despite yourself.

He was watching you with something almost… pained in his eyes. As if the idea that you could blame yourself for any of this physically hurt him.

"I know how you feel about yourself, and I know that there is nothing I can say or do to change that." His voice was warm, heartbreakingly gentle, yet unyielding in its certainty.

"But allow me to ask you one thing. If someone said those words to another you care for, would you blame them? Would you think less of them for being hurt? Would you think them weak, or that they deserved it?"

"No." You muttered, the word slipped out before you could think. It was immediate, instinctive. Reflexive.

"Then why," Elijah asked softly, "do you think that of yourself?"

You let out a choked breath, your fingers curling into your sides like you could claw your way out of your own skin. "You don’t get it."

Elijah stepped closer, filling the space you tried to shrink away from. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to ground you, to remind you that he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. 

“Elijah, look at me.” The bitterness in your voice startled even you. You stepped back, pushing him away, your arms unfolding as you gestured to yourself. "Really look at me."

"I am."

"No, you’re not."

Your breath stuttered. The words were rising now, acid in your throat, too much to hold back.

"I'm fat." The word felt heavy, like a curse, like something filthy. "Not just soft, not just curvy in some romanticized way. I have rolls, Elijah. I have stretch marks, my thighs rub together when I walk. My stomach isn't flat, my arms jiggle, and if I sit the wrong way, I feel like I’m spilling out of my clothes."

Your voice was rising, cracking under the weight of your self-loathing. Your hands pointed to all of your unsavory parts, you grabbed at your stomach and arms, the tears falling in earnest now. 

"You could have anyone. Someone effortless. Someone who fits into the world the way they are supposed to-"

"Enough."

His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh.

But it stopped you like a wall of stone.

And before you could blink, his hands were on you. Not rough. Not unkind. But firm. Unyielding.

His fingers closed around your wrists, stopping your frantic gestures, silencing your spiraling words. His grip was steady, grounding. Holding you together before you could shatter.

Before you could protest, before you could even breathe, he moved.

Effortless. Controlled.

One moment, you were standing. The next, your back hit the wall, and his body was against yours, pressing you into it like he could mold you into him.

A sharp gasp broke from your lips, and instinct took over. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands clutching at his shirt, the heat of him overwhelming.

"I am looking," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble, "at exactly who I want and what I want,”

His hands stroked down your legs, hooking under your thighs, his fingers pressing into soft flesh like he wanted to commit the feel of you to memory.

His mouth traced slow, reverent kisses up your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"I have seen women starve themselves to fit into corsets, their ribs near breaking. I have seen them darken their skin, pale their skin, carve their features to fit a mold that would be reshaped within a decade. I have watched beauty be declared, discarded, rewritten over and over again."

His lips brushed over your jaw before ghosting over your own lips. "But none of it has ever been real. Not like this. Not like you,”

You let out a shaking breath. Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like an anchor.

"Elijah-"

He silenced you with a kiss.

Tender and insistent, cutting off every self-destructive thought before it could take root. His grip tightened, his body shifting, and suddenly, the wall was gone.

Your arms locked around his neck, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you with effortless strength, the motion smooth and deliberate. The bed met your back in the next breath, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled you there.

His lips never left yours, his hands never stopped touching. Trailing reverent paths down your arms, your waist, the softness of your belly.

He pulled away for a moment, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, his movements unhurried. You watched as he shed his clothing, his body beautiful and chiseled and perfect.

And for a moment, it was a reminder of how imperfect you were. How soft you were where he was hard. How different.

But then he was kissing you again, his lips insistent, claiming, and his touch chased away all your negative thoughts, at least for a moment.

He gently pulled off your top, revealing more soft curves, more places to touch, to hold. Your breasts spilled out awkwardly, your bra unable to contain them, but Elijah only smiled, undoing the front clasp, and kissed the swell of skin there.

He helped you peel away your bra, and you covered your chest instinctively. He brushed his hands over yours, guiding them away, and pressed his lips to the valley of your breasts, the tender flesh beneath, the sensitive spot where the swell of your stomach curved.

Your skirt was next. Elijah slipped it off, letting his palms drag along your legs.

His hands left fire in their wake, the heat of his touch sinking deep, setting every nerve alight. Every time you tensed, every time your body tried to curl in on itself, he was there, lingering longer, chasing every instinct to hide. His fingers traced each curve with purpose, as if learning you, mapping you, claiming you.

"’lijah," you whispered, voice unsteady, caught between need and uncertainty.

His only response was to press his lips to yours. The kiss was slow and deep and overwhelming, pulling you under, drowning you in him. And for a moment, everything faded. Everything gone but his hands and his mouth, the heat of his body against yours, the steady, deliberate way he took you apart.

His fingers skimmed between your thighs, teasing, testing, spreading the wetness he found there. His touch dragged along your slit, and you gasped against his lips, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

His tongue brushed over yours, stealing the sounds from your mouth, his thumb tracing teasing circles over your clit.

"So beautiful," he breathed. "And all mine."

The words made a rush of warmth pool low in your belly. You couldn't form a reply, not with the way his fingers were working you over, the way he was looking at you. You squirmed, arching your back, trying to grind yourself against his hand, but he only smirked, pulling away slightly.

"Not yet," he murmured.

His fingers moved down, slipping inside, and you let out a shaking gasp. Your hips rolled instinctively, needing him deeper.

Elijah watched with a satisfied expression, his lips brushing against your cheek, looking down to where you were connected.

"You grip me so tight, so warm, wet and lovely," He curled his fingers, watching as your eyelids fluttered shut. "I like the way your body moves, the way you give into pleasure."

He kept the perfect pace, the heel of his hand bumping your clit in slow, easy rhythm. Wet, filthy sounds filled the air, the slickness coating his fingers and your inner thighs.

He watched as his touch coaxed a wave of heat over your skin, as it left you panting, and a small, helpless sound caught in the back of your throat. Your body was tightening, every muscle winding into a knot, and when he sucked your nipple between his teeth, the tension snapped.

Pleasure burst through you, sharp and overwhelming, and his fingers didn't stop, dragging the climax out until your entire body was trembling.

He let out a low groan as your pussy clenched around his fingers, his lips found yours. You felt him undo his pants, the head of his cock dragging over your slit. You gasped and lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist.

Elijah's eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide, and his hands slid beneath you, grabbing your ass and lifting your hips, easing himself inside.

"Y/N," he hissed, a low, feral sound, his lips pressing to yours as his cock sank deep.

"’lijah," you moaned, clinging to him, letting him take control.

His mouth sealed over yours, muffling the soft, desperate sounds spilling from your lips. Your hips rocked into his, the pressure building in slow, aching waves, each movement pulling you deeper into him.

Elijah pressed deeper, his thrusts turning sharper, his pace quickening, more desperate now. The room filled with the wet, sinful sounds of your bodies moving together, of your breathless moans and the quiet, strangled curses slipping from Elijah’s lips, the only sign that he was losing himself in you.

He adjusted, angling you just slightly and the shift sent pleasure sparking up your spine. A gasp broke from your throat, and he drank it in, his chest pressing flush against yours, pinning you to the bed.

He didn't care that the soft skin of your breasts spilled out, didn't care that the squish of your belly crushed his sculpted abs. No. He leaned into it, drank in the feel of you, how soft and lovely you were. His tongue slid up the curve of your neck, tasting the salt on your skin, drinking in the way you moaned his name.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging and pulling, your legs locked around his hips, every little detail in you wringing pleasure from him. Your sweat slicked skin, flushed and trembling, the greedy, needy way your body took him.

You felt his control begin to slip, a growl, low and visceral building in his throat. He leaned back, his dark eyes glittering as he looked down at your body.

He watched the way your body bounced with each deep thrust, the way your breasts and belly moved with him. One hand skimmed down, and his touch teased over your clit, the other tightening on your hip, holding you in place.

You wanted to cover yourself, feeling so utterly exposed underneath his intense stare. But his fingers were relentless, circling and stroking, your entire body tightening and trembling.

"That's it, darling girl," he growled. "Let go."

You broke.

You shattered with a helpless cry, pleasure rushing through every nerve, leaving you trembling beneath him. The moment your body clenched around him, his perfect rhythm faltered, grinding deep as he followed you over the edge. He had held on, resisting until he had unraveled you completely, until he could finally let go, spilling inside you, filling you with warmth.

It was hot, messy, primal…but neither of you cared.

You clung to him, holding onto every last wave of pleasure, every last tremor that wracked through your bodies.

Slowly, your breathing evened, the heat of the moment giving way to a softer, quieter intimacy.

Elijah shifted, carefully rolling to the side, but he didn’t let go. He pulled you with him, keeping you pressed against his chest, like letting you go was out of the question.

His fingers traced absent patterns along your stomach, a slow, idle reverence. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, you realized. He simply couldn’t stop touching you.

You hesitated, watching as his hands traced over the softest parts of you. Without hesitation, without doubt. Normally, you would swat him away, retreat into yourself, discomfort creeping in before his touch could linger. But you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you could see it so clearly in his eyes. How much he loved you, every curve, every so-called flaw. He didn’t just accept them. He worshiped them. And who were you to deny this adoring man the very thing he cherished?

“Do you really mean it?” you whispered, your voice barely above the hush of the night.

Elijah’s eyes lifted to yours, dark and unwavering. “Mean what, darling?”

You swallowed. "That you…” The words caught in your throat. "That you think I’m beautiful."

His hand flattened against your stomach.

"Look at me."

Your eyes slowly met his as heat crawled up your neck to your cheeks. 

Elijah leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm, steady, unshaken.

"I do not think you are beautiful," he murmured, voice as certain as stone. "I know you are,”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness. And Elijah kissed it away before it could fall.

"You will believe me one day," he promised, his voice threaded with something fierce, unshakable. "Until then, I’ll keep showing you."

He gathered you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin. For a moment, you stayed stiff, uncertain. But then, slowly, you let yourself melt into him, your body relaxing against his, your breathing syncing with his steady, unshaken rhythm.

Your hand drifted over his, where it still rested against your stomach. You hesitated, then laced your fingers together, holding him there. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe him.

Just for a little while.

And that was enough.

[jack-of-heartstrings]

Oohhhhhhhh my God, you are absolutely right on every account but now I am... also picturing how that would actually go...

Can you IMAGINE Adrien being sat down to that news, with not only Ladybug, but Nathalie, Kagami, Felix... I'm still not sure if Placide ever actually knew about it but imagine if he did or if they told him first to ask for extra support in the group thing here.

Imagine if this happens AFTER their own reveal. Imagine if it's coming from MARINETTE, who he by then knows is also Ladybug, or if she admits her identity ALONG with this, for some reason...

I think the BEST CASE SCENARIO would be to tell Adrien AND ALYA and maybe a few other trusted folks at the same time. I think if Alya was ALSO there, and hearing it for the as-far-as-she-remembers-first time alongside him, seeing at least one other person shocked and horrified alongside him would make a world of difference. I think Alya's utter outrage on his behalf would be comforting in a way he wouldn't realize he needed otherwise, but that she would be just reasonable and far enough from the problem enough to help keep him grounded, too. To call everyone out on how messed up this was but to begrudgingly understand why they all struggled and respect that they are making the effort now, and help emphasize that to Adrien as someone who was not in on it herself. As someone he can safely believe would have told him immediately.

Because WITHOUT THAT, can you imagine being sat down by nearly every important person in your life to tell you something this big, and that you were— at least as far as it feels in the moment— the only one who didn't know. That ALL of them let you believe such a huge lie, like you're some fragile little doll they're afraid of breaking, after how the man whose honor they lied to protect treated you all your life.

You thought you were finally free to live for yourself and make your own choices, and it hurt like hell that it took something like this to reach this point, but you thought understood. You thought he really had been doing it to protect you, that he was being coerced by some outside force. You thought there was reason to believe he hated how much he was forced to put you through. One of the last things you ever heard him say, when he didn't know he was talking to you, was that he believed you were very happy. Under the lie, you'd wanted to believe that, that he was doing the best he could under the circumstances.

But no. Everyone is STILL making choices for you. Also you basically WERE made to be a perfect little doll, and a lot of those choices you took as you just being really averse to disobeying, or even you "just" being irrationally terrified, were never choices at all. You were his puppet, and Nathalie's, who was his sidekick by the way. And now you have to question your whole life before, too. Even your beloved angelic saint of a mother, she wore that ring; were you ever her puppet, too?

You might be inclined to think they're all the same, that none of them ever really saw you as a person once they knew what you were, but Felix and Kagami are right here and they didn't respect you any more than the others. Even they both got to know and thought you shouldn't.

Like...

Guys I am TERRIFIED that Adrien can now destroy memories. I am TERRIFIED that they chose to reference Chat Blanc in new ways in THIS episode of all things. I am terrified of the episode opening with them emphasizing everyone being able to use their powers over and over, and following that with Adrien wishing he could have a normal life where nobody knows him. And I hope to God we can have Alya and maybe like Luka and Su-Han or something finding out alongside him but I'm not sure even that would necessarily help.

Our biggest saving grace is that Adrien gets sad so much easier than he gets mad, but when he DOES get mad, or even panicked, well..... His feelings do tend to get destructive... 🫠

it's wild that Alya would actually hate Marinette if she learned the secrets she'd been keeping from her. I--I actually don't know what to say, I'm so shocked by the fact that she stayed mad the whole time she remembered the secret.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

Just wanted to say that I love love love your writings before I make my request! But anywayssss, I can’t stop thinking about like sweet!Maybank!Pogue(obviously) reader, who’s had a crush on Rafe like forever despite her big brother telling her to stay away from him. Rafe being the manipulative jerk he lowkey is takes advantage of that crush and makes her keep an eye on the Pogues and tell him everything she knows and hears about the cross (so during season 2 I guess). He definitely fucks her or buys her pretty things if she gives him good info. Thank you so so much beautiful! <3

mine now - rafe cameron

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ content: 18+ MDNI

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ word count: 1.5k

Being JJ Maybank’s little sister came with a rulebook thicker than the Bible—unspoken laws etched into every glare he shot your way, every growled warning about the Kooks who’d sink their claws into you if you gave them half a chance. Rafe Cameron was at the top of that do-not-touch list, circled in red, underlined twice. “He’s a fucking snake, sis,” JJ would snarl, blue eyes blazing with that wild protectiveness that made him equal parts brother and guard dog. “He’ll use you up and toss you out like trash. Stay away.” You’d nod, mumble something about understanding, and try to ignore the way your stomach flipped every time Rafe’s name came up. Because the truth—the shameful, burning truth—was that you’d been in love with Rafe Cameron since you were a kid, a dumb crush that stuck like gum under a shoe no matter how hard you tried to scrape it off.

It started years ago, back when you were all elbows and freckles, watching him from across a bonfire with that messy hair and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. He’d caught you staring once, tossed you a lazy smirk that made your chest ache, and that was it—you were done for. Over time, it festered. A glance at the beach as he strode by in board shorts, all tanned muscle and arrogance. A low, teasing “Hey, Maybank” when JJ wasn’t close enough to hear. You’d replay those moments in your head at night, fingers twisting in your sheets, imagining what his voice might sound like up close, what his hands might feel like if they ever touched you. JJ’s warnings only made it worse—Rafe’s danger was a siren call, pulling you in even as you knew you should swim the other way.

Then came the night that changed everything. The Wreck was buzzing, humid air clinging to your skin as you sat picking at fries, half-listening to JJ and the Pogues plot their next move on the Cross of Santo Domingo. You felt him before you saw him—Rafe’s presence like a shadow sliding over you. He dropped into the seat across from you, knees brushing yours under the table, deliberate and slow. “Hey, princess,” he drawled, voice dripping with that Kook-rich confidence that made your pulse stutter. “You look like you’re dying over here. Those Pogues boring you yet?” JJ’s head snapped up from across the room, but Rafe didn’t flinch, just leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he murmured, “Bet I could keep you entertained.”

You should’ve walked away. Should’ve remembered every word JJ ever said. But your tongue felt heavy, your body traitorously still, and when Rafe’s lips quirked into that knowing smirk, you were lost. That was the night he saw it—the crack in your armor, the way your eyes lingered too long—and decided to pry it wide open.

A few days later, he found you alone by the bait shop, the sun dipping low and painting the world gold. He stepped too close, all sharp edges and expensive cologne, his voice a low rumble. “You’re not as dumb as JJ thinks, are you? You hear shit, see shit. I need someone like you—someone smart, someone mine—to keep tabs on those little friends of his. That cross they’re chasing? I want to know everything.” His fingers grazed your wrist, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine. “Help me out, and I’ll take care of you. You like nice things, don’t you? Pretty little treasures for a pretty little Pogue?” His eyes locked on yours, dark with promise, and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. You nodded, barely, and that was all he needed.

It started small. You’d catch snippets—John B muttering about a map, Pope piecing together coordinates—and you’d text Rafe late at night, heart pounding as you betrayed the only family you’d ever known. He’d meet you in secret, always somewhere quiet—the docks, an empty stretch of beach—slipping a bracelet onto your wrist or a delicate chain around your neck. “Good girl,” he’d say, voice rough and low, his thumb brushing your jaw as he tilted your face up to his. The praise sank into you, warm and addictive, and you’d flush, torn between guilt and the thrill of his attention.

But Rafe wasn’t patient. The Pogues got closer to the cross, and he got greedier, his texts sharper, his demands heavier. One night, you spilled it all—every detail JJ had let slip about their next move—terrified of the edge in Rafe’s voice when he’d called you earlier. He showed up an hour later, truck parked in the shadows of the pier, eyes glinting with something feral. “You did good, princess,” he said, stepping close, his body crowding yours against a weathered post. His hand slid up your arm, lingering at your shoulder, then higher, fingers curling around the back of your neck. “Real fuckin’ good.”

You didn’t have time to respond before his mouth was on yours, hard and claiming, all the pent-up tension of your crush exploding in a rush of heat. His lips were rough, tasting faintly of whiskey and salt, and you melted into him, hands fisting in his shirt as he pressed himself closer. He kissed you like he owned you, tongue sliding against yours, slow and deliberate, drawing a whimper from your throat that made him groan. His hands roamed—down your sides, gripping your hips, then lower, palming your ass through your shorts as he ground himself against you, the hard length of him unmistakable even through his jeans. “Fuck, you’ve been holding out on me,” he muttered against your mouth, voice ragged, his breath hot on your skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, thumb brushing your swollen lips. “Get in the truck,” he said, more command than request, and you obeyed, legs shaky as you climbed into the passenger seat. He didn’t waste time—followed you in, door slamming shut, and then he was on you again, yanking you across the console until you straddled his lap. His hands shoved under your shirt, rough palms sliding up your bare skin, cupping your breasts through your bra as he kissed you deeper, hungrier. “You’re mine now, yeah?” he rasped, tugging the fabric aside, fingers pinching your nipples until you gasped, arching into him. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathed, too far gone to care, and he smirked, triumphant. He unbuttoned your shorts with one hand, the other tangled in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. His lips dragged down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse, and then his fingers were slipping inside your shorts, past your panties, finding you already soaked. “Jesus, you’re wet for me,” he groaned, circling your clit with slow, teasing strokes that made your thighs tremble. “Been thinking about this, haven’t you? All those years staring at me like a lovesick puppy.”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, just rocked against his hand as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them deep, his thumb still working your clit in maddening rhythm. The cab of the truck was too small, too hot, filled with the sounds of your gasps and the slick slide of his fingers. He watched you fall apart, eyes locked on yours, that smirk never fading as he coaxed you closer to the edge. “Come for me,” he murmured, voice a low growl, and you did—shattering around him, clinging to his shoulders as your body shook.

He wasn’t done. Before you could catch your breath, he was shoving his jeans down just enough, freeing himself—thick and hard and ready—and pulling you down onto him. The stretch burned, delicious and overwhelming, and you cried out, nails digging into his chest. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed, hands bruising your hips as he guided you, slow at first, letting you adjust, then faster, harder, until the truck rocked with every thrust. His mouth found your tits, sucking and biting through the thin fabric of your shirt, and you lost yourself in it—the heat, the fullness, the way he filled you up and took you apart all at once.

When he came, it was with a guttural sound, spilling inside you, holding you down so you couldn’t move, couldn’t escape the weight of him. He kissed you again, lazy and possessive, then slipped a roll of cash into your pocket like it was nothing. “For being so perfect,” he muttered, smirking as he fixed his clothes, leaving you dazed and disheveled in his passenger seat.

That was the pattern now. You’d feed him info—guilt clawing at you every time JJ grinned at you, clueless—and Rafe would pull you into his world, fucking you senseless in the back of his truck or gifting you silk dresses and diamond studs that felt like shackles. He’d whisper “You’re mine” as he pinned you down, and you’d let him, because the crush you’d harbored for years had twisted into something darker, something you couldn’t untangle yourself from—no matter how much it cost your soul.

taglist: @littlelamy @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt

[littelovelunette]

concept: What Are Tits? (2)

part 1

concept idea: @onlyvika

yet another sleepy fic lunette is writing at 5 am in the morning bc im such a little simp (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠)

contains suggestive themes, nipple play, dry humping, mentions of gagging, sexual fantasies

You genuinely had no clue what had went down when you were drunk yesterday. You and Sevika were indeed still friends, but you had a feeling if she ever heard you call her your friend, she'd unsheath the machete in her mechanical arm. When you arrived at Last Drop today, you pushed your way through the crowd and walked to the bar as per usual, ordering your drink and taking a seat.

Right then, you started feeling stares on you, people glancing at you and murmuring something to either themselves or the person next to them. Your brows furrowed slightly but you didn't really question it, you probably did something stupid while you were drunk.

The bartender passed your drink, before lowering his voice to add, "Are you and Sevika dating? I've never seen her so casual with someone who pisses her off during her game." The bartender asked in a hushed whisper.

"What?" You asked almost innocently. "Pisses her off? Shit. What'd I do?" Your fingers fidgeted nervously as you waited for his reply only he didn't give you a proper one.

"You asked her what... Breasts were." He said, looking away as he flushed saying that. Your cheeks turned a deep shade of red, too. You hung your head low. If Sevika hadn't killed you for asking her that, you could've died out of embarrassment right then and there. All your dignity went flying out of the window.

You saw one of the men she gambled with walk upto you, "Sevika wants to see you." He said with a stoic face making you contemplate whether it would be a wise decision to actually go see her. But you needed to woman up to your actions so you got up, paid for your drink, finishing the shot in one go and approached Sevika's table.

"Hey..." You mumbled in a timid voice, suddenly all your bravado was gone and you felt like a very out-of-place kitten on a cold rainy night. Sevika didn't quite look up at you, throwing her cards on the table, revealing she effortlessly won yet another round of poker causing others to groan.

She got up, gesturing you to follow her. Smoke wafted from her cigarillo that was tucked between those pretty dark lips that you wished you'd get to kiss someday. But now you were worried if you'd see any day at all after today.

Sevika took you to an eerily familiar room and before you could respond, she pinned you to the wall with a slight slam of your body. You yelped slightly, big innocent eyes gawking up at her. "Fuck, and you look like you'd never ask me such ridiculous questions, drunkenly even." Sevika said, flesh fingers stroking your jaw before grabbing it to make you maintain eye contact with her. "Do you even have any memory of what unfolded yesterday?"

You opened your mouth to say no but then everything started flashing through your mind. Sevika's tits.

...They looked warm, soft and squishy... They were perfect in their natural place without even needing a bra, not that she was wearing one... Her areolas were dark, and slightly bigger than the average and nipples now hardening under the cold air of the room.

"Oh my goodness. I am so sorry." You said, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Sevika's flesh hand shifted from your jaw to your neck.

"You should be careful what you wish for, doll, or I might as well had just give in." Sevika said, her voice low and deep, she let go of your throat to put her cigarillo out hastily before turning back to you. "You'd... You'd actually hook up with me?" You asked sheepishly.

"Are you saying I have bad taste?" Sevika raised a brow and you shook your head. "No, no, of course not."

The air in the room was tense and you don't know what came over you but something did. It was just so much of an intimate setting and you couldn't help leaning into her touch. Your body was almost out of control, Sevika's flesh arm grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against her firm frame. Your cheeks almost glowing red, you look up at her and she kissed you. Sevika fucking kissed you.

Her kiss was exactly how you thought it'd be, slow and rough. "You owe me, doll." Sevika whispered against your lips. You knew exactly what she meant by that. You didn't even hesitate, pulling the zipper of your dress, slipping the strap right off to expose your plush mounds to the cold air of the room.

Your nipples instantly hardened. "Fuck." Sevika cursed under her breath, her big hands wrapping around your tits and giving them a good squeeze before her thumbs rolled over the nipples. You moaned subtly, leaning back against the wall for support.

Her flesh hand was warm and mechanical hand was cold on your tits, the warmth providing comfort and coldness providing sensuality. Your lips parted when you felt her tracing your areola with her cold metal finger before her flesh fingers pinched your other nipple.

"You're so dirty." You whined, rubbing your pantie-covered crotch against her clothed thigh. Sevika watched you grind your covered pussy against the rough material of her pants, a slow smirk forming on her lips.

"Oh yeah? Yet you're the one actin' like a fuckin' bitch in heat." Sevika pushed her thigh between your legs, slotting it there perfectly while her hands continued taking care of your tits. You desperately grinded against her thigh, shy moans leaving your lips. "Please, touch me more."

Sevika chuckled at your pleas, flesh hand moving to grab your ass and pull you into her body. She bent down to capture your nipple in her mouth, giving it a firm tug using her teeth. Oh, the tooth gap, your nipple caught in between perfectly. You had to cover your mouth so you didn't moan too loudly. "Sevika, someone might catch us like this." You whispered.

"Oh, yeah? You wanna take this to the bed?" Sevika asked before giving you a particularly harsh nip, leaving a hickey on your neck. You whimpered before nodding your head. Sevika gave your cunt a last rub using her leg before pulling away. Without a word, she slipped off your wet panties and pocketed then without hesitation. "Okay, then."

"Hey, give them back..." You whined helplessly but Sevika didn't let you whine too long, silencing you with a kiss. "You're a real talker during sex, aren't you? I'll use 'em to gag your pretty mouth when I actually get to fuck you, yeah?" Sevika smirked knowing you were getting wetter with the second, and your short dress wasn't helping considering she took away your panties.

"I hate you."

Sevika cashed out, and led you out of the bar. All the while you were left struggling, trying to pull at the hem of your short dress to cover more. You could feel the slick wetness against your inner thighs.

All you wished now was to be spread on Sevika's bed and eaten out like there's no tomorrow. Fingered till you squirt all over her and the sheets. Dicked down till you can't breathe, incoherent mess of sentences leaving your drooling lips. Oh, the fantasies.

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 040 !

the afterparty was loud - too loud for sae's liking. music pulsed through the grand hall of the ballon d'or, glasses clinked and voices blurred together in an endless hum of celebration. people were congratulating him left and right, offering drinks, trying to pull him into conversations he had no interest in. normally, he'd tolerate it, but only if you would stand beside him. smile politely, nod, maybe throw in a few words before excusing you both. but tonight, he wasn't in the mood.

maybe it was because you weren't here.

sae exhaled slowly, swirling the water in his glass as he leaned back in his seat. he knew you weren't coming. you had already told him that you had an overseas shoot in LA that overlapped with the ceremony. he had pretended not to care, telling you to enjoy your trip.

but now, as he sat in a room full of people, the kopa trophy on the table in front of him, he couldn't help but think about how empty the victory felt without you.

he told you multiple times about how you two would attend this event and he would win the trophy for her - but why isn't he feeling better after he did win the trophy?

you would've loved this party. he could already hear your voice in his head. you would've teased him about winning, made some sarcastic remark about how "of course itoshi sae would get the kopa trophy." and then you would have-

sae sighed, shaking his head as if that would shake the thoughts of you away. it was fucking ridiculous. he wasn't the type to dwell on things like this. he really was a whipped man.

you were wicked. so so wicked for making him head over heels for you.

but then, his gaze landed on someone familiar across the room.

rensuke kunigami.

he was standing near the bar, his posture relaxed as he talked to someone. but it wasn't just anyone.

it was lanlan.

sae's brows furrowed slightly. he hadn't seen her in a while - not that he wanted - but her texts on instagram were really confusing. he didn't take them serious nor did he tell you about it. why should he? it's just an annoying bug that pretended to be important in your lives.

yet, he knew what kind of person she was. she didn't talk to people unless she wanted something.

what was her plan?

sae looked away. not interested in whatever game she was playing, but when he glanced back, lanlan was looking right at him.

she smiled, slow and knowing, before making her way toward him. her walk was smooth, the kind of confidence that came from someone who thought they still had a hold over him.

she didn't.

"sae," she greeted smoothly, slipping into the seat beside him without invitation. "where's your little girlfriend? enjoying your win all alone?"

he didn't bother looking at her. "what do you want?"

she clicked her tongue. "so cold. can't i just come congratulate you?"

he finally turned his head to meet her gaze, eyes sharp. "cut to the point."

lanlan sighed dramatically, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. "alright, alright. i just wanted to talk. you know, catch up with my favorite ex. it's been a while."

"not long enough."

her lips curled into something between a smirk and a pout. "still as difficult as before, i see. maybe even more difficult after y/n. what did she do to you?"

sae didn't respond. he didn't need to. he already knew how this conversation would to. she would try to flirt, try to remind him of what they used to be, and he would shut her down, just like before.

it was a waste of his time. he'd rather be in his hotel room, calling you.

but before he could tell her to leave, she suddenly grabbed his wrist, standing up and tugging him along.

he immediately resisted, irritation flashing through him. "the hell are you doing?"

"just talk to me for a second," she said, her grip tight. "somewhere more private."

"i don't have anything to say to you."

but she didn't let go. instead, she pulled him toward a quieter corner, away from the main crowd. and before he could even process what she was doing-

she kissed him.

ew.

sae reacted instantly, shoving her back with enough force to put distance between them. his jaw clenched, eyes burning with irritation.

"the fuck was that?" he bit out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

lanlan tilted her head, feigning innocence, but there was something smug in her expression. "come on, saesae. wasn't that bad, was it?"

he scoffed, his voice ice-cold. "you're pathetic."

her smirk faltered for just a second before she rolled her eyes. "you used to like me, you know. but that bitch destroyed everything."

chapter 039 > here > chapter 041

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

note: hi what if i pull out a cliffhanger and post in 3 months (jk)

taglist: @darling-dearesttt @ffleurist @yuukiririix @beepbopzlorp @luvrrin @narcjsistx @catukin @megumismyhusband @morgyyyyyyy @levihanmyotp @kaz-0e @nensi @vaelils @loverryxx @kunascutie @swagkittybear @alexiaray @kaidostwin @pookiei-bookie @syarc0re @vayahatesu @yangx2isawhore @pinkfqiry @treeguzzler @shumeow-h @modxbea @90s-belladonna @rory-cakes @sapph1r3x @yuiearyi @pctterheadd @thecallofmedusa @whisperofae @belovedfedya @anqelkoz @yukari1k @dontmindtheevie @pookalicious-hq @pan-kojiwa @spookysoowpprince @mivqko @chuuyalvover @viviinpt @h1sllvr @luvvmae @renchai @yourlocaleffy @x3nafix @saeglazer

[snail-day]

Inked: Daddy's Girl

Tattoo Artist! Sukuna x Reader

Previous // part 3 // masterlist

WC: 3k

TW: Yandere Behaviors (possessive & manipulation), Very Toxic Established Relationship, Mean/Jealous Sukuna, Dubcon/Noncon themes, Big Age Gap (Reader is twenties, Sukuna is pushing forty) , Oral m!receiving, Rough sex, use of piercings. Use of Daddy.

A/n: Was going to do Toji instead but...I don't think Toji would like to be called daddy gives him like ptsd

Tattoo Artist Boyfriend!Sukuna who’s rough around the edges - hell, he's nothing but rough edges. Sharp tongue, inked hands, always smells like cigarette smoke and motor oil. He’s the kind of man people glance at twice: once in curiosity, and once in warning. Definitely not the kind they expect to see with someone like you.

You, with your young pretty voice and starry eyes. Barely in your twenties, still figuring yourself out - meanwhile, Sukuna’s pushing forty and already decided you’re his, even if your parents kicked your sweet ass out the house.

He doesn't know how he managed to get you wrapped around his finger. Some nights, he looks at you curled against his chest and thinks you should know better. Thinks you’ll wise up one day.

But not today. Not when you're clinging to his arm like he's gravity. Not when you sit pretty beside him at late-night yakuza dinners, decked out in silk, lip-gloss, and shy little smiles. The Zenin boys tease him for it.

“Robbing the cradle, huh, Ryo?” Teasing him in-betwen sips of beer, if they weren't clients he'd be knocking their eyes out for gawking at your chest. They just love watching what's his. What keeps his bed warm at night. Watching the way you lean into him like you don’t hear a word. He just grins in response - sharp and cocky -tightening his burley-inked arm around your waist.

“Jealous?” he fires back, and lets his hand rest just a little too low. Palm hitching up the hem of your mini dress, enjoying the way you hide your warm cheeks, muttering to stop. It's cute really. Like a little bunny.

Sometimes - rarely - he thinks about how he’s your first for almost everything. Your first boyfriend. First kiss. The first man to touch you like that. That he probably shouldn’t have taken so much from someone so soft, so new.

But then he always remembers the way your body folds for him, soft pliant skin for his roughened hands, how your voice breaks when you moan his name, how you cry when you come - clinging to him like he’s the only thing that makes you feel real. Any hint of guilt burns away. You were too young to know what you needed.

Lucky for you, he did.

Yeah, you’re young. Sweet. Barely know what the hell you’re doing.

But you’re his.

Can’t just be letting go of a perfect little cunt that milks his cock every night. It does something to him, makes him think, just for a second, that maybe he actually loves you.

So it’s not exactly something he plans on fixing anytime soon.

He likes being your first for most things.

Except your first tattoo.

You weren’t stepping foot into his shop. Sukuna’s old school - heavy lines, bold color, blackwork sleeves and dragon back pieces that take twenty hours. Not some dainty little butterfly above the hip. That’s not his style, and he told you flat-out: “I ain’t doing none of that delicate princess shit.”

Besides, he knows you. Knows how you squirm and pout, whine and wriggle at the slightest sting. The brat in you would turn a two-hour session into four, just for attention. (Not that he doesn’t enjoy putting you in your place, but not with gloves on and a machine buzzing in his hand.)

So he didn’t care where you went. Really. As long as the work was clean and they didn’t leave a mess on your skin, he wasn’t gonna throw a fit.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

But then you came home. Face glowing, bandage peeking out from under your cute little top, practically bouncing as you beamed, “Look! It’s done!”

Of course he was gonna have a look. Had to make sure they didn’t botch it. Had to check the lines, the shading, the healing wrap. Make sure you weren’t upcharged just for being sweet-faced and clueless.

But when you peeled back the wrap, soft skin shining, ink still fresh - his red eyes narrowed. It was pretty. Clean. Finer than he expected. What kind of prissy-ass artist did you go to for this kind of work?

Then he looked closer. And his lip curled. Hidden in the curve of a line. Subtle. Too subtle for you to notice. But he noticed. Of course he did. Only an experienced artist would catch it.

Someone marked their fucking claim.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed over it like he was double-checking. Like maybe he imagined it.

He didn’t.

G.S. Right there swirled into the shading.

His stare went flat.

Geto.

The Gojo clan’s favored pretty boy. Well besides the yakuza clan head. Though Geto, the soft-spoken, smirky bastard with his fancy upscale studio and staged Instagram shots. The one blowing up online with dotwork and minimalist florals like tattooing was some kind of aesthetic lifestyle brand instead of a craft.

Who the fuck puts plants in a tattoo studio and cares about natural lighting?

Geto’s only been featured twice. Meanwhile, Sukuna has been praised, published, and respected for years. He told you that. Told you which artists were safe. Gave you a list. Vetted portfolios. Studios run by pastel-haired girls with gentle hands and sterile tools.

He expected you to go to one of them.

Not to Geto fucking Suguru.

And now that signature’s engraved into your skin.

Of course, Sukuna wasn’t going to throw a fit - not to you, no, no. You’re just his sweet little babe who wanted to look all cool for her older boyfriend that clearly all your friends hate. Catching onto how you're babbling on and on about how Utahime has been friends with Geto. He gets it. Wanted to surprise him, maybe impress him a little. That pretty head of yours wasn’t thinking about hidden signatures or rival artists marking their claim. You were just excited.

And besides, he didn’t have the time to deal with it. He had a full backpiece to draw up for some cocky kid in the Zenin clan, and frankly? He had better things to focus on.

Like the way you look when you’re under his desk, mouth stretched and drooling around his cock while he sketches between grunts and praise. You always find the perfect way to “help” him work.

So, no, he didn’t bring it up. Didn’t mention the initials, or how Suguru must’ve known exactly who you belonged to when he etched those tiny letters into your skin.

But when Sukuna came home from his three-day trip? He wasn’t exactly expecting you to be bashful.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You’re not lounging on the leather couch of his apartment, not curled up in his bed, not running into his arms like you usually do the second he comes back from a trip. You’re in the hallway - half-hidden behind the doorframe like a guilty little bunny, wrapped up in the sheer silk robe he bought you for Valentine’s. The one that barely covers anything. The one he told you was “just for Daddy’s eyes.”

Thin as mist, the sheer fabric clinging to your body, doing nothing to hide the swell of your breasts or the slight stiffness of your nipples pressing through the fabric.

His red eyes narrow into slits.

“You gonna come greet Daddy properly or what?” he drawls, voice low and rough from travel, tinged with irritation, but there's that dangerous gleam in his red eyes. The kind that always means he knows something’s up.

You step out slowly. Bare feet soft against the floor. Fingers nervously tangled in the belt of your robe.

“I… I have a surprise for you, Kuna.”

Sukuna raises a pink brow, drops his duffel on the couch with a heavy thud.

“Yeah?” he says, stepping toward you. “Better be worth the fuckin’ wait.”

You nod, eyes wide and shimmering with anticipation. Then, with trembling fingers, you untie the robe.

It slips from your shoulders and slides down your arms, pooling at your feet.

His gaze drags over your body like smoke, slow and burning with lust.

And then he sees them.

Two silver barbells pierced neatly through your nipples, still pink from the needle, skin taut and freshly marked. They're healing. They're new.

They're not from him.

Sukuna goes completely still.

He steps forward. Then again. Close enough for you to smell the leather and cigarette smoke on his jacket, that manly scent that always makes your head spin. You try to speak - try to explain, defend yourself, maybe soften whatever expression has just settled across his face - but he silences you with nothing more than a sharp grin.

“Well, well…” he mutters, voice dropping low as his hand lifts. “Look at you. Princess is getting a little bold now.”

He cups one breast, rough palm warm over your soft skin. His thumb brushes lightly over the metal, and you flinch, just enough to make his grin widen.

“Still sore?” he asks, all faux sweetness.

You nod quickly, lip trembling. His palm tightens. His other hand lifts too, thumb and forefinger teasing the other barbell, rolling it with ease. Just enough pressure to sting. Just enough to make you gasp, one of his favorite little sounds.

“And who did it?” he asks, even though he already knows. He remembers that offhand little story you told him before he left, how Geto had mentioned piercings. How you’d laughed about it, brushing it off like nothing.

The question isn’t for confirmation.

It’s for you.

For a sweet little thing who should know better.

“Geto,” you whisper, like maybe saying it quietly will make it sting less.

Sukuna laughs. A quiet, mean sound that transforms to an amused hum, stepping closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Geto’s real fuckin’ bold, huh? Touching my girl’s tits. Thought he could leave his little signature and poke you full of steel?”

His tongue clicks. “Tch. Should’ve come to me, princess. You know I would’ve done it for you.”

You shiver, lashes fluttering, bottom lip caught in your teeth. He leans in, his mouth dragging over your jaw, hot breath curling against your skin.

“You let him touch you here?” His thumb presses down - hard - on the piercing, and a whimper escapes. “Let him roll these sweet little tits around in his hands? Let him make you flinch? Cry a little?”

You try to shake your head, but your voice is stuck somewhere between shame and arousal.

“Don’t worry,” he croons, fingers now rolling both piercings between calloused fingertips. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t know any better.”

His voice drops to a whisper, soft and vile.

“Didn’t know Daddy would’ve loved to watch your eyes go glassy from the sting. Bet Geto was real gentle, huh? Took his time. Spoke to you nice. What a good little professional.”

You make a small, wounded sound clearly embarrassed, overwhelmed and it only makes him grin grow wider. His hand slides behind your neck, firmly, guiding you to look up at him.

“But now I gotta clean up his mess.” Pressing his forehead to yours, eyes locked on yours, the air thick and hot and possessive. “Now I gotta remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

His hand slips to the back of your hair, rough fingers curling tight, guiding you through the hallway, you’re something he owns and he expects you to understand that. You follow without resistance, robe forgotten on the floor, the cool air brushing your bare skin, making your new piercings ache.

He leads you to the full-length mirror in the bedroom - the one he usually watches you through when he’s got you bent over the edge of the bed, when he wants you to see what you do to him.

But this time? He positions you in front of it. Chest bare. Legs trembling. Face flushed.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, settling behind you, one hand on your hip, the other sliding slowly up your stomach. “Real proud of yourself, huh?”

You try to shake your head, stammer something soft and along the lines of that it was a gift of sorts, but he shushes you with a low hum, nose brushing the side of your neck.

His hand moves higher.

Fingers ghost over one of the barbells, tugging just enough to make you gasp, watching your reflection as your eyes flutter and your lips part.

“Pretty little things,” he murmurs, rolling the piercing between thumb and forefinger. “Too delicate for my style, but you do wear them well.”

He pinches, just a bit harder, and your breath catches. His voice is right against your ear now.

“You let him touch you here? Mark you up while you squirmed on his table?” A small chuckle. “Bet you made those same little sounds too. Didn’t you, sweetheart?”

Your throat tightens.

“Say it,” he presses, watching you in the mirror. “Tell me what he did.”

You blink up at your reflection, lips trembling. “He… he touched me.”

“Where?”

“M-my chest.”

“Like this?” Sukuna’s palm covers your breast completely now, fingers digging in, his thumb brushing over the piercing again, gentler this time - a rare softness. “Was it like this, baby?”

“N-no,” you breathe, eyes glassy. “Not like that. It wasn’t like this.”

That pleases him. You feel it in the way his mouth presses against your neck, the low grunt that rumbles from his chest.

“No,” he agrees, “’Cause he’s not the one you fuck at night.” His other hand comes up, cupping your other breast now, both pierced nipples under his control, sore and swollen and so, so sensitive. He massages slowly, never breaking eye contact with your reflection.

“You know who they belong to now, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

“They’re yours,” you whisper, barely audible. Tears clinging to your lashes as you force yourself to look at his red eyes that seem to be holding you in place.

A low growl escapes his throat, satisfied. “Damn right they are.” And then he’s guiding you down to your knees - still in front of the mirror - because he wants you to see exactly what happens to bad little girls who let another man mark their body.

He doesn’t even have to say it - you sink to your knees for him like it’s instinct. Like your body already knows what to do when he gets like this. Your knees press into the hardwood floor, cold against bare skin, as Sukuna stands behind you, gaze fixed on your reflection. His fingers thread through your hair, slow and firm, guiding your face toward his belt.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror,” he mutters, voice rough, thumb dragging across your cheek. “You’re gonna watch yourself while I fuck your mouth - see what it looks like when someone who owns you uses what’s his.”

Your fingers tremble as you reach up to undo his belt, and he lets you, watching the way your hands shake with anticipation. When you pull him out, thick and hard, already leaking for you, he even got a special tattoo just for you. A black thick line at the base of his cock. So that way your pretty little mind knows where to stop everytime.

“Open,” he commands, and you do, lips parted, tongue flat, eyes wide, flickering to the mirror and up at that toothy grin of his.

He slides in slow at first, letting you feel the heavy weight of him on your tongue, but the second your eyes flick up in the mirror - watery, pleading, already so full of him down the column of your throat, his control cracks.

His grip tightens in your hair.

“You’re gonna choke a little,” he chuckles, voice a rasp as his grip tightens around your hair, roughly shoving the full length down, ignoring your choking gags as you tap his thigh for air, nails digging into the skin. “But you’ll take it. You let another man touch what’s mine, so now you’re gonna earn me back.”

He starts moving - hips rolling slow but deep, the kind of pace meant to leave a bruise in your throat. You gag, whimper, spit starting to drip down your chin, but your eyes stay locked on the mirror like a good girl, watching yourself get undone.

“Look at that,” he snarls, fucking deeper. “Suguru ever see you like this? With tears in your eyes and cock in your throat?”

You make a wet, broken sound around him, and he grins.

“That’s right. He didn’t. And he won’t.”

He pulls out with a wet pop, letting you gasp for air, tears streaking your cheeks, spit clinging to your chin. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s hauling you to your feet and bending you over the vanity - hands pressed to yet another mirror, cheek against the glass.

“See those piercings?” he murmurs, grinding his cock against your ass. “They’re cute. Real cute. But you know what they’re missing?”

You sob out a weak “W-what?”

“My fucking bite marks.”

And when he pushes in, rough, hard, and possessive, it knocks the air right out of your lungs. Your pierced nipples brush the cold mirror, sending sharp little zings through your chest, while his hands anchor hard around your waist, pulling you back to meet every punishing thrust.

“Keep your eyes up,” he growls when your head starts to drop, hands reaching for some form of stability, silent looks into his gaze to slow down because the words refuse to escape your throat. “Wanna see your face while you cry for me.”

But he doesn’t let up. Why would he? Not even when you’re shaking. Not even when you’re babbling his name, your voice cracking between broken gasps. He fucks you until your legs give out, until the mirror is fogged with your breath, until your thighs are sticky, your skin bruised, and your pretty new piercings ache under the press of his chest.

You’re a mess, hair all tangled, makeup smeared, barely able to hold yourself up as he stays buried inside you, one large hand stroking over your hip like he’s trying to soothe you. As his cum threatens to spill out of your pulsing walls. His forehead rests against the back of your neck, breath hot, voice low and full of gravel when he finally whispers:

“Next time you want something pierced… you come to me. Got it?”

A weak nod in response, a soft, fucked-out “yes” falling from your lips. Before he's picking you up in his arms.

Neither of you hear the soft chime of your phone from where it sits charging on the nightstand, screen lighting up with a new message.

💜 Geto 💜: How are the new piercings? Did your boyfriend like them? 😊 I remember you mentioned needing a job while you’re in school - turns out I have an opening. Just desk work lol :) Message me if you’re interested.

Taglist: @the-proper-possum

[earlgreylatte]

Play to Lose

Marshall is a huge dick who probably hasn’t ever gotten laid. For some reason, you want this pathetic man.

Marshall Ward is so fucking weird.

The first time you ever interacted with him (if you could even call it an ‘interaction’) was watching him argue with a bunch of dumbass high schoolers.

Sat on his doorstep with a bowl of cereal in hand and a lit cigarette resting next to him, you watched a trio of teens happily heckle him as they practically skipped past his house on the way to their school.

“Hey, you’re not going to find a girlfriend at the bottom of that bowl, Marshall!”

“He’s nothing but a cuck, anyway!”

“Bitchless!”

High schoolers are particularly mouthy these days.

You watch him swing his spoon around wildly as he retorted, “I’ve gotten more than you virgins could ever dream of! Have fun getting killed by global warming before you ever know the touch of a woman besides your mom, who I also FUCKED, by the way!”

“Go fuck yourself!” The kids shout, flipping the man off as they turn the corner.

He sticks up his middle finger in response, spoon clutched in his palm, scowling before he catches sight of you across the street, your neighbour’s dog sniffing the ground, your grip on his leash slack from the scene you just witnessed.

He stares at you for a moment before realizing he’s been inadvertently flipping you off. He opens his hand into an awkward wave, spoon cluttering to the ground.

“Hey—oh fuck,” He bends down to retrieve his spoon, but only ends up dropping his bowl in the rush.

You shoot him one more judgmental glance before leading Stewart the Black Labrador back home.

It becomes a part of your routine, after that.

Every other day you would take Stewart on a walk, stop to watch Marshall get bullied by some kids, and then indulge his attempts at conversation.

(“Yeah, no, I’m like the cool older brother to them, we’re just joking——I didn’t actually fuck any of their moms, haha…”)

Soon, jilted conversations across the street turned into movie discussions at his doorstep (after the high schoolers were long gone, you didn’t want to become a target.), where you learned his eyes were a bright, almost electric blue. They were…nice.

He was definitely an asshole, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He always had something to say, someone to disparage or scoff at (usually high schoolers), was unusually invested in the new hero Radiant Black, but despite all that, he was considerate. With how he always put out his cigarette when you approached even when it looked freshly lit and the way he listened intently to your words when you decided to deem him with anything more than a dry stare.

(“All people do is talk shit without knowing the details, I——Radiant Black shouldn’t have to deal with their crap. Honestly, fuck everyone else and their moms…too far?”)

Eventually, conversations outside his door transferred to ones into his house when you realized he had a very adorable dog by the name of Orson, with charming, floppy ears and an appreciation for cuddles.

Yes, Orson is the reason you warmed up to Marshall.

(“I see how it is, you’re just using me to get to Orson! Well, Stewart and I don’t need you, anyway! Wait, come back—“)

Okay, so maybe you’ve become a bit fond of him and his stupid looking face. But that’s solely because of Orson. Definitely not because you caught a slip of his defined stomach when he was stretching.

So, when you find yourself next to him on his couch, watching some 80’s movie, as Orson naps by your feet, you make a decision.

“So, do you usually just pass out on your couch, or do you actually have a bed?” You speak up, turning your head to look at him, his face only illuminated by the TV.

“Uh, random, but yeah,” He responds, attention shifting to you as he raises an eyebrow, “Why?”

You rise from the worn couch, “Show me.”

“You’re so weird,” he says, but he acquiesces, leading you to his room.

A twin sized mattress rests next to the wall (no bed frame?), clothes and comics scattered across the floor. It was cluttered but not necessarily a pigsty, as from just a sniff you could pick up a whiff of laundry detergent and shampoo. Luckily, he mostly smoked outside.

He almost looks sheepish as he observes your reaction, “Trying to figure out if there’s anything valuable for when you decide to ransack the place?”

“No, nothing like that,” you respond before turning to face him, “You like me, right?”

He seems to blank out for a moment, “What?”

“You’re into me,” you nod, “And, I’m into you.”

“Huh?”

“Are you going to stand there slack jawed or are you going to do anything about having a girl that likes you right in your bedroom?” You ask.

He seems to snap back to reality, letting out a near hysterical laugh, “You confess like you’re talking about the weather, and what? No, actually, why am I even supposed to do with that!? This is a lot all at once! Are you expecting me to ravage you or something—“

“Yes.”

“I was joking? No, I was definitely joking—“

You tilt your head, “You don’t want to?”

“Well, I didn’t say that…”

You grip the hem of your hoodie before shrugging it off, letting it drop to the floor. He stares at your chest, still covered by your bra. You’re tempted to ask if this is his first pair.

“Is this your first pair?” You ask, gesturing to your breasts.

“No! I was just wondering if girls just——don’t wear shirts under their hoodies?”

“Shut up,” you order before stepping out of your pants.

“Shutting up…” He replies, fingers twitching at his side watching you intently as you slowly approach full nudity.

“Okay, you can talk,” you toss your bra next to his comics, an arm covering your chest as you move to his bed, propping yourself against the wall, seated on the mattress he called a bed. “Take off your clothes already, weirdo.”

Within an instant, his shirt and pants lay discarded on the floor and he joins you on the bed, crowding against you, a hand resting on the mattress near your hips, while the other places itself where your neck and shoulder meet as his mouth presses against yours, lips slightly chapped but incessant, as he hungrily devours you. A far cry from his earlier hesitancy.

You taste the smoke on him as he groans into your mouth, tongue pressing against your lips before you open for him, letting him suck and lick, swallowing your noise of surprise when a hand starts groping your chest, thumb rolling over your nipple.

He parts from you, letting you catch your breath before he dives down to envelop a breast into his mouth, teeth nipping as you jolt while he pinches you with the other.

“Ah, Marshall—!” You try to chide him, but you’re cut off when he does it again, “Ugh, seriously, you’re going to make them sore!”

You feel his laughter against your skin before he pulls away, meeting your gaze with a grin, “Really?”

“Yes, you—ow! Seriously, Marshall!” He pinches your nipples with another laugh, is this actually his first pair of tits? He’s acting like they’re a new toy to fiddle with. He continues to squeeze and flex his hands as you wiggle your hips impatiently, the heat in your stomach growing at his impromptu massage.

“Okay, okay, sorry!” He grins, hands trailing down your stomach to your thighs, fingers rubbing comforting circles, appreciating the softness.

You huff, hand reaching back to position the pillow against the mattress, nudging him to shuffle back with your foot as you lay down, shifting before looking up at him expectantly.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he smiles, keeping your thighs bent and apart, fingers brushing over your underwear, before his palm rubs against your clit, making you gasp. If you were more clearheaded, you’d have expressed surprise at him finding it so quickly.

“You know, you were complaining earlier, but you’re pretty wet now,” he comments smugly, watching you squirm at the continuous pressure against your sex, “Maybe if I…”

“Nnn-no,” you moan, back arching when he snakes a hand to pinch your hardened bud again. You’re going to kill him.

“Okay, last time, I swear,” he promises, now focused on helping your discard your last piece of clothing, pausing as the two of you silently stare at the clear liquid stringing from the fabric to your mound, “…you really don’t like it when I play with your tits?”

You glare at him and he pulls off your underwear, staring at them mournfully for a moment before tossing them on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

His finger runs up and down your slit, before pushing against your hole, sliding into you, and a second finger enters, as he begins a rotation of scissoring and thrusting as he stretches you out. Your stomach flexes, squirming when he speeds up.

“Keep still, you’ll be the one crying if I don’t prepare you enough,” he scolds you lightly, more focused than you’ve ever seen him.

“Confident?” You say, breathing hitching as you clench around his fingers. “Doubt you’re that big…”

He stops, face unreadable before he pulls away, and you glance at his prominent bulge. Okay, he’s not small.

He shoves his boxers off, and, okay, definitely not small.

He plants his hands on either side of you, settling in between your legs as he leans down to your face, kissing you again, as your hands move to trail up and down his back. You’ve never heard him talking about working out despite his built frame.

He pulls away, member rubbing against your hole, “You still want to do this?”

You dig your nails into his flesh, “Obviously.”

And without any more fanfare, he pushes into you, slowly feeding you each inch, as you shakily exhale, trying to swallow your noises and failing when your mouth drops opens and you swear you can feel him in your gut.

He starts to move, thrusts slow and long, gradually increasing his pace, as your chest starts to heave, your breath coming out in short pants and moans. You shut your eyes as you writhe under him when he moves to grip your hip with one hand as the other grinds against your clit, causing you to let out a choked whimper.

“You look innocent but you’re as desperate as me, aren’t you?” He speaks up, pace increasing enough to rock your body back and forth with each thrust. “You’ve wanted this as l-long as me, bet you touched yourself too…couldn’t get yourself to cum though based off how swollen your clit was from a little groping, heh. You needed me to help you cum, right? You particularly threw yourself at me—”

“Dick,” you choke out.

“Didn’t deny it…you acted all high and mighty earlier, but now you can barely string a sentence together—“

“Shut up,” you scrunch up your eyebrows, as you clenched around him, his pace faltering as he shuddered, wisps of hair sticking to his forehead.

“D-don’t do that….”

You do it again.

He pinches your nipple.

“Ah, f-fuck you—“

“Already doing that,” he grunts, finger still moving against you, his other hand leaving your breast to lock fingers with your hand, which was lying limply next to you, “You’re close, so just let go and—“

“Marshall—“

“Come on, there you go—“ he coaxes you, enraptured by the increasingly fucked out expression on your face.

With an embarrassingly loud moan, you orgasm as he fucks you through it, before he finishes, shooting his load into you with a low moan and shudder.

You both pant, eyes locked as he pulls out, cum oozing out of you onto his sheets, before his head falls to slump between your breasts.

You stare at the ceiling as he nuzzles against your moist skin.

“We didn’t use a condom.”

“Oh, fuck—“

(Shoving your head and arms into a borrowed graphic shirt, you flinch when the coarse fabric rubs against your nipples. You whip around to glare at Marshall, “I told you that you were going to make them sore!”

“Just go shirtless, and boom, problem solved,” he replies, pulling up his boxers.

“Kill yourself.”

“Love you too, babe.”

“We’re seriously doing things out of order, aren’t we…”)

I already know no one is going to read this and the small number of radiant black fans on this site are going to block me, but IDCCC! I’m the first one to make radiant black x reader content!! ME! (Why do I do this to myself…)

Reader and Marshall about each other: they’re so weird, thank god I’m normal…

read radiant black…

Masterlist

[archivingkal]

last updated: 24/03/2025

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

THE WAY BACK BY @suhnshinehaos (SMAU)

fans reminisce on your relationship with seungcheol

THE LYRICS BY @seuonji (SMAU)

in which fans find out yn’s lyrics are about someone they know. not even her fellow members knew this but anyways, now their concern is, who’s the lyrics about?

YOON JEONGHAN

FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT BY @bitterie-sweetie

Your Valentine’s date with Jeonghan is coming up and yet the only thing on your mind is how to break up with him. Of course breaking up with someone is difficult, but you’d argue that what’s more difficult is breaking up with someone you never even dated.

DAISIES BY @viastro

the best type of revenge is to hurt the person that means the most to them. aka, in which jeonghan is in charge of making you fall in love with him, just to break your heart. 

JOSHUA HONG

STAY UP BY @/bitterie-sweetie

He calls you his favourite person, yet you have no idea he's hosting a party until you get the invite in the mail. Joshua Hong confuses the hell out of you and perhaps now is the time to finally figure him out.

WEN JUNHUI

1 PLUS 1 BY @/bitterie-sweetie

While looking for an outfit for the party, you can't help but notice all the couples' BOGO sales going on. What better way to get free stuff than to pretend you're dating your best friend?

WORTH IT BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

junhui works on healing a heart he did not break. inspired by jun's 值得 (Worth It) cover.

KWON SOONYOUNG

LOVE HARD BY @/wondernus (SMAU)

kwon soonyoung loves too hard and falls in love too quickly, accidentally building a (very false!!!) fuckboy image that he can’t seem to get rid of. when his friends talk him out of proposing to a girl he went on 2 dates with, he finally realizes he has a big problem with love. signing up to appear on his university’s most popular youtube talk show to unload his baggage and fix his image? what could possibly go wrong?

TOO MUCH COMMUNICATION BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

(svt x reverse tropes, soonyoung's miscommunication expansion)

JEON WONWOO

POSER BY @macapunoz (SMAU)

it's hard pretending to be good at video games when it's so obvious you have no skills. too bad the guy you're trying to impress is the only one who tells you you're trash at the game.

GAM3 BO1 BY @/horangboosadan (SMAU)

wonwoo tries his best to talk his noisy neighbor into being a little quieter. it just doesn't go exactly how he expected it.

LEE JIHOON

NOW PLAYING : ABOUT NOW BY @flickerchans (SMAU)

a global pandemic paired with months of lockdown; you're pretty sure you're going stir-crazy. when you come across a viral chat-app, you don't even hesitate to join it. thus begin the chaos of meeting 14 random strangers and how they become a bigger part of your life than you thought they would.

SMARTER, AND YOURS BY @vitaminkyeom

Jihoon, school's no. 1 (or no. 2), was nothing but a pain in the ass for you. Sure he was better than you in some subjects but so were you. The two of you were equally good enough for the first place so to increase the competition, he decided to suggest the most scandalous thing you had heard: the two of you tutor each other.

Or, in which, you were the rich kid with your family's dignity on the line and he was the poor kid with his family's sacrifices on the line.

LEE SEOKMIN

SET IT UP BY @/bitterie-sweetie

You have absolutely no idea how to get closer to your crush, but perhaps asking his best friend for some advice is the way to go.

CHAN, YOUR BROTHER'S HOT BY @mingkist (SMAU)

(it's honestly just a fun little smau but so sweet and cute - it's one of my favourite quick reads when I need a pick me up - who doesn't like best friend chan's older brother seokmin and falling in love through teasing chan)

TRIPLE-DOG DARE BY @eoieopda (18+ MDNI)

when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win.

READY, GET SET, GO GET IT, GO BY @chheolie

(i am so deeply in love with seokmin in this - read:always - and it's such a pleasant read about seokmin being a total fanboy and getting to live his true fanboy dreams)

HINT. HINT. HINT!!! BY @nerdycheol

(seokmin is supremely oblivious but cute all at the same time because of course he is - I adore him)

KIM MINGYU

BOYFRIEND PRIVILEGES BY @idyllic-ghost

The ten times Mingyu has shown off his "boyfriend privileges"

HARD CARRY BY @/studioeisa

your math major soulmate is the only reason you’re surviving college, but how long can you rely on him for help?

NOT FOR SALE BY @xinganhao (SMAU)

a four-part series featuring celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader

XU MINGHAO

HOW TO LOSE THE GIRL BY @nevernonline

minghao was feeling tired of shallow relationships. his friends, noticing his frustration, challenge him to pursue a girl and then push her away within ten days. intrigued by the idea, he reluctantly accepts the bet as a fun challenge.

BE MY MUSE BY @yyawnjun (SMAU)

how does it feel to be unexpectedly for one day the muse of your biggest crush since middle school? and what if it became harder than you thought ignoring those feelings?

BOO SEUNGKWAN

YOU SAY THE STUPIDEST (SWEETEST) THINGS BY @savventeen

you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession

MISSION POSSIBLE BY @thepixelelf

One of Mr Boo's students sees his brand new engagement ring.

HANSOL VERNON CHWE

FLEEING FEELINGS BY @diamonddaze01

so you might have told vernon you loved him while drunk – now all you have to do is avoid him. forever. 

EXPOSED BY @gamerwoo (SMAU)

“Have you discovered anything?” “Yup.” “Great! What is it?” “I love Vernon, sir lmao” (journalist reader, subject vernon - what chaos could possibly ensue?)

ON THE CLOCK BY @sailorsoons (FAKE DATING AU)

Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the book store as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating. 

CATCH YOU WHEN I CAN BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

a five-part series charting vernon's relationship with you, an international rockstar. (this is where my love affair with kae started and I've not looked back since - great decision on my part)

LEE CHAN

ROCK WITH YOU BY @horangboosadan (SMAU)

after the release of your most recent drama, the world decides that you and your co-star/best friend would be the perfect couple. the influx of positive reactions are great for your career, his career, and the drama. however, it tears at you to lie to your fans and appear dishonest towards your boyfriend. being a k-pop idol, revealing your relationship can come with unforeseen consequences. how do you tackle the onslaught of people who want the inside scoop of you and your co-star, and your boyfriend in denial about his jealousy without compromising either relationship?

THE FIANCE BY @wondernus (SMAU)

a mysterious pink fishing vest. a fiancé who wakes up in the middle of nowhere. and an upcoming wedding on the line. there's only so much you can take before you let your perfect future crumble before your eyes.

PANG! BY @kkumawrites (SMAU)

You'd consider yourself a simple college student, a freshman who just wants to survive their first year - but things get complicated when you're suddenly falling for someone you definitely shouldn't be, especially since he has a girlfriend already.

THE WAY OF THE WORK HUSBAND BY @studioeisa

going back to work after the holidays sucks, but at least you've got your 'work husband' lee chan to get you through it.

OPERATION DISPATCH BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

chan has been trying his hardest to get the two of you into dating rumors. it's not really working the way he wants it to.

OT13

SEVENTEEN MED BY @welcometomyoasis

When the previous director of Seventeen Medical Center retired, his grandson, Lee Jihoon, was promoted as his successor. Jihoon made many changes to the hospital, but the most important change of all? He hired 11 new medical staff members and 1 medical student, all of whom he knew from his days as a medical student. As these new changes occur, you bet chaos (and 13 different romance stories) ensue. 

YOU'RE THE MAN BY @princessleechan

After your university cut your soccer team to prioritize the men’s team, it’s natural you have a falling out with your then soccer-star-player boyfriend and impersonate your twin brother at the rival university to play on their men’s team. Wait, it’s not? Oh well

XINGANHAO MASTERLIST + STUDIOEISA MASTERLIST BY KAE

(literally everything on both of kae's masterlists are worth reading so i implore you to go do that - i've already mentioned a couple faves in the list above)

more to come...

[luvvictoria]

15:05 ( tf141 x f!reader)

Imagine Task Force 141 getting a new recruit—fresh-faced but with this fire in her eyes. She doesn’t just say she wants to be great; she knows she will be. Maybe it happens during a routine check-in, or maybe Price casually asks, “Where do you see yourself in five years, rookie?” And she doesn’t hesitate. “What I have is not a dream because I’ll make it reality.”

The squad is intrigued. Ambition is common, but the certainty in her voice? That’s something else. Soap probably nudges Ghost like, “She’s got some fire, eh?” while Gaz raises a brow, impressed. Price, who’s seen too many soldiers burn out before they reach their potential, watches her closely.

And she doesn’t disappoint. She trains harder than anyone, listens, learns fast. She’s got this unwavering belief in herself, but it’s not arrogance — it’s conviction. She gets promoted faster than expected, earning respect along the way. Off duty, she’s sweet, kind, the one who checks in on her teammates, but the second she’s in the field? Cold precision. Professionalism. She switches gears so fast it catches even Ghost off guard sometimes.

The squad watches her rise through the ranks, and while they knew she had potential, even they’re surprised at how quickly she’s moving up. Price, proud but cautious, might warn her not to burn out. Ghost, who understands the weight of climbing the hierarchy, might offer quiet advice. Soap and Gaz? Oh, they’re definitely hyping her up, calling her “The Prodigy” or something equally teasing.

But the best part? She’s not done. Because a dream would imply she’s still hoping—but she’s already on the way.

General Headcanons

When she first joins, she’s the type to immediately start working toward her next goal—first mastering the basics, then excelling in every field she can.

She’s serious on duty, hyper-focused, never slacks off. But once the mission is over? She’s the one making sure everyone’s taking care of themselves. “Soap, you’ve had two energy drinks and no water. Fix that.”

She trains longer than she’s expected to, studies more than required, and actively asks for advice from experienced operators—even Ghost, who isn’t exactly chatty.

She’s the “Don’t tell me the odds” type. If someone says a promotion or a difficult mission is out of reach, she just works harder. The squad finds it both admirable and slightly terrifying.

With Price (The Mentor)

Price sees himself in her—a young soldier who refuses to settle for “good enough.”

He secretly keeps an eye on her progress, offering subtle advice when needed. “Ambition is good, but don’t let it blind you, lass.”

He’s the one who promotes her faster than usual, but not out of favoritism—she earned it. And he tells her so. “You’re going places, soldier. Just don’t forget to breathe along the way.”

With Ghost (The Silent Observer)

Ghost is watching. He sees her drive and respects it, but he also knows how ambition can be dangerous—how it can push someone too far.

He doesn’t say much at first, just observes how she moves in the field. When she proves herself, he acknowledges it in small ways. “Good work today.”

As she moves up the ranks, he starts giving her quiet advice—things she won’t find in a handbook. “Leadership isn’t just about skill. It’s about knowing when to push and when to pull back.”

If she ever overworks herself, he’s the one who doesn’t say anything—just hands her a protein bar or water and gives her a look that says Take a break.

With Soap (The Big Brother Energy)

Soap loves her determination. He hypes her up constantly. “That’s my prodigy! Making us all look bad, eh?”

He makes jokes about how she’s going to outrank all of them in a year. “Aye, if you become Captain before me, I expect a pay raise.”

But when she’s being too hard on herself, he’s also the first to drag her away from training. “C’mon, lass, even superheroes need sleep.”

He teaches her fun but totally unnecessary tricks, like how to spin a knife dramatically.

With Gaz (The Balance)

Gaz is her grounding force. He respects her ambition but reminds her that sometimes taking a step back makes you a better soldier.

He checks in on her mental state without making it obvious. “You good, rookie? Haven’t seen you crack a smile today.”

He’s the one who helps her strategize for promotions and leadership roles, pointing out the non-combat skills she’ll need.

If she ever doubts herself (which is rare, but everyone has bad days), he hits her with the “You’ve come this far, haven’t you? Keep going.” pep talk.

Other Fun Headcanons

She absolutely refuses to let Soap and Gaz’s antics distract her on duty, but off duty? She definitely joins in.

She has a habit of writing down her goals and checking them off—Soap finds one of her lists once and is shocked by how specific it is. “Lass, you planning world domination or somethin’?”

Price once heard her give a speech to new recruits about pushing past limits. Ghost just gave an approving nod.

If someone ever doubts her in the field, she proves them wrong immediately. No words, just action.

She definitely has a rival in another unit—friendly competition, but it fuels her.

She’s basically the golden child of the team, the rising star, and the one who reminds everyone why they started in the first place. She’s not chasing a dream—she’s making it reality.

[callsign-rogueone]

two reunions

Dain Aetos x reader (love!) words: 1.7k 🏷: no warnings here! finally getting these two to the start of fourth wing! everyone's favorite boy makes an appearance, as does everyone's least favorite, love is yet again Put In A Situation, Nadine running her mouth, one thing about my girls is that they are always going to look out for Sawyer, tysm to the person who beta read this for me! you know who you are and ily. that's all I got for tags, byeee

It turns out that another glorious perk of being in leadership is having to work on conscription day. At least it isn’t on the same day as one of your runs — but it is miserable out, pouring rain with strong winds. It’s relatively sheltered where you’re stationed, but it’s still too damn cold, especially for July. General Sorrengail must have taken the day off. That, or she’s mad about something. 

There was really no need for you to be out here this early — you and Dain have been sitting in silence for nearly half an hour, collars upturned and hands stuffed into your pockets to keep them warm.

You both perk up when you see the first cadet hop down from the bridge. You don’t need to ask what their name is — you already know them well. 

“Sawyer Henrick,” he offers anyway, his cheeks warm with a hint of embarrassment.

“I’m glad you made it,” you say softly. “And I have a good feeling about this year. So does Laurent.”

He gives you a weak smile before he continues down the line, the next cadet stepping into place behind him. You and Dain alternate checking off the names, falling into a comfortable rhythm as the rain starts to taper.  

“Hi, princess.”

“Liam!” You drop the clipboard and nearly knock him over with the force of your hug, a happy breeze swirling around the pair of you. 

He laughs, wrapping you up in the smell of sawdust and linen. “That’s new.”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you. Did you grow? I don’t remember you being this tall.”

He gives you a slick grin. “I think you might have shrunk.”

You pout up at him. “It’s these damn boots. I swear, my feet are going to be stuck perfectly flat at this rate.”

Dain clears his throat, and you break apart hastily. “Right, sorry. Dain, this is Liam Mairi — my little brother.”

Dain’s eyebrows raise at your use of little to describe Liam, searching for some family resemblance that he won’t find before he offers him an uneasy smile, checking his name off the list.

You turn back to Liam, giving him a conspiratorial grin. “Your girl already called dibs, otherwise you’d be with me.”

“She’s not my girl,” he protests, blushing.

“You’re certainly her boy,” you counter. “She made it abundantly clear to our dear brother that you were to be placed with her. But don’t tell her I told you that, she’ll skin me. Where’s your shadow?” 

“We got separated in the line. She should be here in a few minutes.”

“Okay, be good. I’ll see you later.” You give him one last squeeze before he heads off, and then it’s back to the same monotony, name after name after name.

And then there’s a shout from the parapet that has you looking up from your clipboard. Someone is running across it, another candidate hot on their heels. It’s a girl, half the size of her pursuer, but it’s her hair that catches your eye: brown and silver. 

Violet.

She takes a leap off the end, immediately whirling around to point a knife at the guy — right where it would hurt most.

You’re a little impressed, actually.

There’s a very brief moment of silent negotiation between them before she backs off, letting him step down. 

She looks like she might collapse, but to her credit, she doesn’t freak out when you steady her with a curling wisp of wind around her back, guiding her further onto the solid ground of the courtyard behind you, and keeping her upright.

“Name?” you ask the brute, silently calculating the best way to put him down if he takes another step closer to her.

“Jack Barlowe.”

You don’t bother finding him on the list — you don’t take your eye off him, even as you offer a word of warning that he doesn’t deserve. “Be glad she didn’t kill you, or cut your nuts off. Others won’t be as merciful.”

He just scoffs at you in response, heading into the courtyard. 

As soon as he’s out of eyeshot and earshot, Dain says what you’re both thinking. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Tell that to my mother.”

General Sorrengail really is heartless, then. First what she did to Xaden, and all of your parents, and now making her disabled daughter fight for her life to become a rider? She might as well have just shoved her off the side of the parapet. That would be quicker, and more humane. But she actually seems to believe that she can do this. That alone will kill her. Unless one of your friends, or that guy behind her on the parapet gets it done first.

You need to say something. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. It’s not too late to bail, and it would probably be for the best if you did. We can—”

“This conversation doesn’t concern you,” she interrupts, hackles raised.

“As a friend of a friend, and someone who knows exactly what it’s like to be forced to be here, I think you’ll find that it does concern me,” you say coolly. “I don’t need to tell you that this place is a death trap, and a physically demanding one, at that. If you don’t want to be here, you shouldn’t be. Enough people have died on this hill already.”

She crosses her arms over her chest in a show of intimidation that doesn’t work at all — she’s tiny. Like a little lap dog that thinks its barking will protect the house from intruders. “I’m not leaving.”

She’s clearly equally as stubborn as her brother. 

She already looks suspicious of you, and pushing further wouldn’t be a good idea right now. You’ve done all you can do, for the time being. “He can’t say I didn’t try,” you mutter, turning away, back to the group of cadets who are waiting for you to check off their names. 

Bodhi appears beside you, speaking in a whisper — even though none of these kids speak the language, except one. “Is that who I think it is? The little one, with the hair?”

“Yes.”

“We need to get her out of here.”

“I tried already, but she wasn’t having it, and it would look incredibly suspicious if any of us kept pushing. She already despises me — I can’t exactly take her hand and drag her to the library, like she’s a toddler.”

“It looks like he might do that for you,” Bodhi offers.

You turn your head to see Dain still talking with her. He doesn’t look like you’d looked when you saw Liam again — not even close. He almost looks mad at her.

The ball is in his court now, you suppose. 

“That’s it,” your friend announces, hopping down. She looks completely dry, despite having been stationed in the pouring rain on the other side of the bridge.

You shudder at the thought of having to cross it again, even with your ability to control the wind, and the progress you’ve made with your fear of heights. “Why didn’t you just go around?”

“And miss whatever needlessly-dramatic speech Xaden has planned? No way.”

You snort. “Fair enough.”

Might as well check out the crop of new recruits while you wait. Most of them don’t look too bad -- decently physically prepared, and not shaking in their boots. Some of them, however, are much too confident.

“I’m just glad we don’t have any Tyrrish,” one of the girls says, eyeing the neighboring group with disgust.

You look her up and down before you speak. “A copper’s worth of free advice, hair dye; don’t go making enemies of the people who are supposed to protect you.”

She doubles down. “They made me and the rest of this kingdom their enemies when they decided to commit treason.”

“I don’t think this is a path either of you want to go down,” Sawyer warns, looking between you.

You hold a hand up to stop him. “It’s okay, Sy. Let her keep digging. She’ll hit the bottom eventually.”

The girl stills, freezing in place like a spooked deer as she considers your words — and realizes both of your arms are covered by the sleeves of your flight jacket.

You can’t help but smile. “Oh, this is never going to get old. Well, purple? Can you fight under the command of a pair of filthy traitors?”

Her eyes snap to the section leader, scanning him for a relic that she won’t find.

“Not him. The wingleader. And your section exec, too, actually — so three.”

She’s still quiet, blinking at you in stunned silence.

“Callwell!” Dain barks. “Get over here.”

“Off to serve my kingdom,” you offer with a sly smile and a two-fingered salute. “And I’m just fucking with you. I really don’t care what you think about me. Sticks and stones, right?” You leave before she can respond, jogging over to Dain. “What do you need?” 

“Your approval for us to move squads.” he doesn’t explain why, but it’s damned obvious; to protect Violet. If she’s under his command, he can help keep her safe.

You try not to show any sign of relief — he shouldn’t know that you have any interest in helping her at all. “On one condition,” you offer. “Henrick comes with us.”

“Deal.”

Your eyebrows lift, the flash of hurt you feel catching you off guard. He didn’t even pause to consider it, or try to argue with you at all. That’s not like him. 

He must be very attached to Violet. Maybe she’ll do you a favor and take him for herself, so you’ll have a real reason to give up on the idea of you and Dain, to forget about all of those quiet, tender moments that you keep replaying in your head when you can’t sleep.

Not that the two of you would ever work anyway. Not if either of your families have anything to say about it.

“The Mender wouldn’t mind.”

True enough. Brennan had known Dain, recalled fond memories of the boy who had grown up idolizing him and followed him around with Violet like a pair of little lost ducklings. 

But that was before the war, and before they’d grown into adults who could hold complex political opinions. Your cousin-in-law probably absolutely despises you. She doesn’t know that you’re family, and even if she did, she wouldn’t care if you lived or died. But that doesn’t change the promise you’d made to Brennan, to keep her out of here — which has now been updated to just keep her alive.

[glitchy1938]

can you write some headcanons about self-aware au crk? (Mainly pure vanilla if possible but anyone is fine!)🌝

A New Cookie... Or...

You don't know How or Why in the world did this happen, but you are in "Cookie Run Kingdom's world !! You were just in your room, playing the game and then, out of nowhere, a portal open and took you

When you wake up, you were on the ground, but what's terrified you was that... YOU BECAME A COOKIE !!! How on the world did this happend ?!?

But before you could have anything to say, you heard someone coming until you saw Pure Vanilla cookie and Sweet Bleu Chocola Cookie coming, they were probably just taking a little walk until they saw you on the ground completely confions..

"Oh my ! I didn't know someone was there, are you lost ?" Ask the vanilla cookie. You were scared and a little shaking from the portal. "I-I... Where am I ?..." You asked to the two cookies besides you. "You're in my Kingdom ! It's nice to meet new friends ! I'm Sweet Bleu Chocola Cookie, but you can call me Zakia, and this is a good friends of mine : Pure Vanilla cookie" Zakia said, presenting herself with her friend, who just softly smile at you.

You give them a little smile, knowing that they wouldn't hurt you, they ask you where were you from, but you tell them that you what no Kingdom of home... For now..

"Oh poor dear, but you need a home ! Oh I know, you can come with me to my Kingdom ! So that you'll be safe !" Pure vanilla suggest.... Maybe, it wouldn't be a bad Idea.. as long as you can help. You agreed to come with him and get up from the ground with them. "I should aware the others of you so that they won't ask too much questions... Buuuut, I'm sure Dark Cacao will.. ^^"' Well that was something....

Sometime have passed and you live in the Pure Vanilla cookie's Kingdom, he really enjoyed your company...

As if he have waited for so long for those moments....

You two are almost inseparable, you would talk, gardening, read spel magics and much more, you also meet the other members of the ancients, and just like Zakia said, Dark Cacao didn't stop asking questions of who you were or what was your intention, but he felt like he could trust you so. There is one in particular who seem to know you... White Lily was wondering how are you here... But she didn't went to make you uncomfortable, but she was happy to be your friends..

Pure vanilla cookie grow a big affection to you, whenever you need help he was always here to, just like you did for him... You'll admit that... Out of all the cookie you meet and be friends with Pure Vanilla was your favourite... One night, you were in the balcony reading a book one of the cookies give you, but you were starting to fall asleep, and without knowing, you sleeped outside. Pure vanilla was looking for you, he wanted to tell you if you want to come to the Hollyberry's party, until he saw you in the garden, sleeping peacefully, he smile softly at your sleeping state.

He than gently and carefully pick you up in bright style and then go to your room. He could help but to think you look adorable when you sleep. When he opened the door of your room and carefully place you on your bed, he wrapped the blanket on you and give you a little head pats with a little kids

He then let you sleep, but when he was out.... He was a blushing mess...!!! He may have to ask Hollyberry of how to confess his love to you...