#he never contacted her. he’s alive. he’s well. HE NEVER CONTACTED HER.

[thekhloediary]

If You Were Here

Nicholas Chavez x Reader

When he’s away, that doesn’t mean you can’t still play

Happy Saturday! More Nic smut because can we ever really get enough lol I appreciate all your comments, likes, and reblogs. Enjoy! -Khloe 💋

I was wearing his t-shirt. My favorite one of my boyfriend’s that always made me feel closer to him when he wasn't here. Nicholas was away filming a movie, and I was missing him like crazy. The soft fabric of the shirt against my skin was a familiar comfort. It had been a month since I last saw him. Well, in person, that is. FaceTime had been our way of seeing each other and staying close, even though we were miles apart. It didn’t compare to having him here with me, but it was the next best thing. It was the closest we could get to each other without being in the same space.

I sat in front of my MacBook, awaiting his voice and handsome face to fill my screen. Lip gloss and his shirt, that’s all I was wearing. Keeping things fun and interesting kept the spark alive—that never ending feeling of excitement, attraction, and connection. Luckily, for Nicholas and I, our spark hadn’t faded. Sure, it got hard missing each other, but FaceTime made the distance easier.

I missed him so much, and there was nothing more I wanted than to feel him on me and in me, but since I couldn’t have him physically, I had to make do with our calls and my thoughts. I let my hand drift down my body, imagining it was his.

“Already started without me?” I heard Nicholas say as we connected to FaceTime.

“Hey, baby, I missed you.”

“Me too. What are you up to?” he asked with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, nothing,” I teased. “Just thinking about how fucking hot my boyfriend is.”

“Oh, yea?”

“Yea, he’s so fucking hot.”

He smiled. “You’re fucking hot, babe. Look at you. I like your shirt.”

“This?” I asked playfully as I ran my hand over the fabric of his t-shirt and gave him a teasing smile. “How about what’s under?” I crossed my arms, grabbing the bottom of the shirt at each side, and slowly pulled it up over my head.

“Fuck, yea,”

I moved closer to the screen to give him a better view. My hand drifted down and over my breasts, making my nipples tighten. I bit my lip as I rubbed and gently pinched them.

“I miss you so bad.” he told me, making my heart warm and my pussy ache.

“You have no idea.”

“Tell me how much. Tell me what I would be doing if I was there right now.”

“If you were here…” I started in a low, breathy voice, keeping eye contact. “You would grab my tits like this,” I gave them a gentle squeeze. “And then your tongue would taste my nipple before you took it into your mouth. You would suck it gently just the way I like it, and your tongue would feel amazing.”

“I bet you’re so wet right now.”

“I’m always so wet for you,” Just then, an idea crossed my mind. “Hold on, baby. I have something fun for you.” I reached over to my nightstand drawer, and when I was back on the screen, I held a vibrator in my hand. My pretty in pink, tried and true, thrusting rabbit. We’d had a lot of fun together, whenever Nicholas was away.

Now, he was invited to the party.

Nicholas grinned at me. He knew the night was about to get even better from here. With our eyes locked, I spread my legs and placed the tip of the vibrator against my clit.

“Look at my pretty pussy. Fuck. I miss her.” he groaned audibly at the sight. I was already so wet. Just like I had told him. Just like he knew.

But I wanted him to see.

“Let me tell you what you would do to her,” I turned on the vibrator, the sensation hitting me instantly like a bolt of electricity. “You would put your thumb on my clit and you would rub it. Around and around. Slowly at first. Then you would pick up the pace. You would put a finger inside me. Then two. Mmm. I’m dripping all over your fingers.” I moaned and closed my eyes as the toy went to work.

Nicholas watched as I pleasured myself, his body quickly reacting in response. He had watched me touch myself before, but never with a toy, and as he looked, he thought it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. From the way the vibrator was pressed against me to the way my hips bucked at the pleasurable sensations, he was turned on and getting harder by the second. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his dick, his eyes locked on the screen and ears perked as moan after moan escaped me.

With each rise and fall of his hand as he started long, slow strokes, my excitement grew more. I could feel the heat coming through the screen as we made eye contact and watched each other please ourselves.

“Mmm. That’s so hot, baby,” I moaned. “You’re so hard. I wish I could feel it.”

I moved the vibrator down to my wet hole. “If you were here…you would slide it in until I felt all of you. Then you would slide it out and ease it back in slowly. It would feel so good. Then you would fuck me. Long, deep strokes just how I like it.” I gasped as I pushed the toy inside me.

I moved the vibrator in and out, imagining it was him. One press of a button, and the setting changed, the toy now thrusting inside me. “Oh my god, fuck…”

As Nicholas watched me almost come undone, his dick was even harder now. Throbbing. Begging for the release his hand was working towards. “If you were here…” His hand moving faster. “I would fuck you so hard and you would take it like the good little girl you are. You’re a good girl, right?”

“Mm hmm,” I was breathing harder now.

“Tell me how good you are,”

“So good, baby. I would tell you to make me cum.”

“I would, but only if you asked nicely.” His grip tightened as he felt the pressure building.

“Can you make me cum, Nic?”

“Good girls say please,”

“Please, make me cum,”

He was stroking at full speed now. I felt my muscles begin to contract around the vibrator and my breath hitched as the sensation became overwhelming. I let out a string of breathy moans.

I was close.

He was too.

In and out went my vibrator.

Up and down went his hand.

Faster.

Harder.

Almost there.

Don’t stop.

“Oh my god, baby,” I whimpered. The vibrator was thrusting relentlessly inside me, pushing me fast towards the edge. My breathing became irregular and my mind went blank as I fucked myself senselessly.

I was at the peak.

Then, I looked at my screen and locked eyes again with Nicholas, who I wished was this pink rabbit inside me, and he gave me a look that said only one thing—cum for him.

And so I did. Right in time with him as he let out a long, aggressive groan and his dick spilled. I watched as spurt after spurt of his milky, white release shot from the tip like a volcanic eruption. It was fucking hot and just about sent me over the edge again.

“Fuck,” Nicholas breathed a sigh of contentment. He looked up at the screen to find me watching him with a satisfied smile.

“That was hot, baby.” I said, still a bit breathless.

“Damn…I really needed that. Thanks, babe.” he returned my smile.

“Anytime,”

“Tomorrow?”

I laughed. “Okay. I’m gonna go take a shower now and think of you while I’m in there.”

“Wish I could join you,” he made a puppy face.

“Me too. Soon enough,” I blew him a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, baby,”

As our call ended, I smiled to myself. We were miles apart, yet closer than ever.

[creamapi]

𝖞𝖆𝖐𝖚𝖟𝖆

Pairing: Yakuza Ace x Reader

Y/n shouldn't have insisted on bringing her drunken regular back home, or maybe she should've.

Trigger warning: consent wasn't mentioned, dumb fuckin

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Hey, are you sure you're alright?” you asked, leaning down as you brushed the man's black hair away from his face. His skin was cool to the touch, clammy from what seemed like hours of sitting in the booth, lost in whatever thoughts had been keeping him anchored there. Ace only grumbled something under his breath, too low for you to make out, before slowly pushing himself up from the booth, his body swaying slightly.

“Are ya’ closin’ up for the night, d’rling?” Ace slurred, his words thick with alcohol and exhaustion. His usual sharp features were softened under the dim diner lights, his bloodshot eyes barely staying open as he tried to focus on you. The man had been one of your regulars for the past week, always sitting in the same booth, always coming in just before closing. While it was strange for someone like him — with his tailored suits and the faint smell of expensive cologne clinging to him — to hang out in a place like this, you didn’t mind. The diner was old, its paint peeling and the neon sign outside flickering like it was about to give up any day now. Most of the clientele were rough around the edges, men who stumbled in drunk and greasy, coming back for the cheap food made out of who knows what.

But Ace was different.

Despite his disheveled appearance tonight, he was always polite. A gentleman, even. He never stared too long, never tried to get too familiar like the other patrons who sometimes forgot where the line was. Even in the diner’s crummy waitress uniform — a faded blue dress with a stained apron — you never felt uncomfortable around him. The others would have made some crude comment by now, especially on a slow night like this. But not Ace.

“You sure you can get home okay?” You asked again, glancing at the clock. The diner was about to close, the last of the other patrons already gone, leaving only you and Ace. The silence felt heavier now, only the low hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of the sign outside filling the space. You weren’t sure if you should offer to call him a cab or just let him stumble off on his own. Something in his expression told you he wasn’t used to being in this state.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved his hand dismissively, though his movements were sluggish. “I’ll be fine.”

But you weren’t so sure.

You watched Ace as he tried to wave off your concern, but his hand was trembling, his face pale under the flickering lights. He was in no shape to be on his own tonight, and something about letting him stumble off into the dark streets felt wrong.

“You’re not fine, Ace,” you insisted, your voice soft but firm as you stood up straight, wiping your hands on your apron. “Come on, let me bring you home.”

Ace blinked at you, his bloodshot eyes struggling to focus. He chuckled, the sound rough and humorless. “Nah, can’t do that, d’rling,” he muttered, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t be… safe.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. Safe? What did that even mean? Before you could ask, Ace pushed himself up too quickly, stumbling. He barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the table, his legs wobbling. You reached out instinctively to steady him, but before you could make contact, he lurched forward, and with no time to react, he vomited.

It hit both of you, splattering onto his expensive clothes and ruining your uniform. You froze for a moment, grimacing as the sour smell filled the air. Ace, on the other hand, groaned lowly before his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed against you, his dead weight almost knocking you over.

“Well shit,” you muttered, struggling to hold him upright. His body went limp, his head resting against your shoulder, completely passed out. His heavy breathing was the only sign he was still conscious enough to be alive.

“Great,” you sighed, looking down at the mess. But you couldn’t leave him here, not in this state.

With a grunt, you shifted his weight, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulder. You cursed under your breath. He was heavier than he looked, solid muscle hidden beneath his expensive suit, which now reeked of vomit.

“Looks like I’m bringing you home after all,” you muttered, half to yourself as you began the slow process of dragging him out of the booth. The diner was only a few blocks from your apartment, and at this hour, the streets were mostly empty. You doubted anyone would notice you lugging a passed-out man down the street, and if they did, they wouldn’t ask questions.

It took longer than you would have liked, but eventually, you managed to get Ace out of the diner and into the cool night air. The neon sign buzzed above you as you glanced up and down the empty street, making sure no one was around. With a deep breath, you started the walk toward your apartment.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

By the time you reached your building, your back was aching, and your clothes smelled even worse. Ace was still out cold, slumped against you with no sign of waking up. You fumbled with your keys, managing to unlock the door, and half-dragged him inside.

Your apartment was small but tidy, a far cry from the mess both of you had become. You led him to the couch, gently easing him down so he wouldn’t fall. For a moment, you stood there, catching your breath and wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

Ace’s suit was ruined, his shirt stained and wrinkled. You stared for a moment longer before sighing. This was not how you imagined your night ending.

With a resigned shrug, you grabbed a towel and some water, then set to work cleaning up the both of you, starting with him. As you wiped his face and tried to salvage what you could of his clothes, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into.

“I can't let you sleep in this. And you'll stain my couch,” you murmured as you gently unbuttoned his shirt. The fabric was damp from sweat and spilled alcohol, and you were careful not to disturb him too much. But as you pulled the shirt open, your breath caught in your throat, and your fingers froze mid-motion. Your frown deepened, heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on the elaborate tattoos etched into his skin.

You had seen these kinds of markings before—the intricate, swirling designs that stretched across his chest and down his arms, framing his lean, muscled body. A Yakuza member. No, not just any Yakuza member. These were the markings of someone high up, someone dangerous. Your gaze followed the ink, a mixture of mythological beasts, waves, and flames, each curve and line telling a story of power, violence, and loyalty to a world you were never meant to be a part of. The sight of it brought a chill that crawled up your spine and settled deep into your bones.

The tattoos peeked out from beneath his open shirt, winding down his torso and wrapping around his biceps like chains. The thought of what it meant—what he had done to earn those markings—sent your mind racing. You quickly grabbed a towel, your hands trembling as you dabbed at the vomit on his skin, your eyes refusing to linger on the ink any longer than necessary. Each second felt like an eternity as you fought back the growing unease swirling in your gut.

Your decision to button his shirt back up was quick, your fingers fumbling slightly as you tried to erase what you’d seen—pretend it was never there. But before you could finish, a strong hand clamped around your wrist, startling you. You looked up sharply, only to meet Ace's half-lidded gaze, his grip firm but not painful.

"You shouldn't have to, really," he slurred, his voice heavy with sleep and intoxication, yet there was a flicker of awareness in his dark eyes. He lifted your hand to his lips, brushing them softly against your knuckles. "But sweet ol' Y/n... can't just leave her grown-ass regular out in the cold, huh?"

Your breath hitched. His words, though laced with drunken humor, felt heavier now. Did he know you had seen them? The tattoos, the truth beneath his charming, reckless exterior? A part of you wanted to pull away, to retreat, but something in his eyes stopped you. They weren’t the eyes of a dangerous Yakuza right now. They were tired. Guarded.

But still, the weight of what you had uncovered tonight lingered between you like a shadow you couldn’t shake, suffocating the air around you. Your heart pounded, each beat reverberating in your chest as you struggled to process what you had seen and what it meant. Ace’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, but it was his gaze—sharp despite his drunkenness—that held you captive, making it impossible to look away.

"I—I won't tell anyone, Ace. I promise," you stammered, your voice shaky. The words felt fragile as they left your lips, like glass on the verge of shattering. Your breath hitched, caught somewhere in your throat, and you could feel the weight of the room pressing down on you, thick with tension.

Ace's smile was slow, deliberate, and chillingly calm. “Really?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes glinted with something darker, something you hadn’t noticed before—control. "The consequences of knowing the face of a higher-up Yakuza are very, very heavy." The words dripped from his mouth like honey, sweet but laced with venom. He leaned in closer, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, making your pulse quicken. "What can you give to make sure that promise would be a promise? A concrete, tangible symbol?"

Your mind raced, but the moment felt too heavy for you to think clearly. The space between you and Ace seemed to collapse as his presence filled every inch of the room. His dark eyes bored into yours, seeking something more than just your words. A concrete, tangible symbol. What did he mean? Your stomach twisted in knots, but the answer slipped from your lips before you could even think.

"Anything." The word hung in the air, sharp and immediate, like the crack of a whip. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the raw, desperate need to make sure this secret stayed buried. His smile widened, not with kindness, but with the satisfaction of someone who knew they had the upper hand.

"Anything," he echoed softly, almost as if tasting the weight of your agreement. His fingers brushed against your jaw, his touch unnervingly tender for the threat that lingered beneath it. "You should be careful with that word, Y/n. In my world, 'anything' can mean a lot of things. Things you might not be ready to give."

Your heart pounded harder, blood rushing in your ears as you held his gaze, unsure of what you had just agreed to.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

“Ace.” You whined as you felt his tongue graze on your clit. The bathroom was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the steam that rose from the shower. The cool tiles beneath your feet were slick with water, and the air was thick with the scent of soap and your arousal. Ace's head was nestled between your thighs, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. The sound of water cascading down from the showerhead mixed with the wet slurping noises he made as he continued to tease your clit.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, as he increased the intensity of his licks. His fingers, strong and calloused, dug into your flesh, urging your legs further apart. The sensation of his teeth lightly grazing your sensitive nub made you jerk and a whimper escaped your lips, mingling with the sound of the shower.

Ace's hands, still wet from the shower, moved up your inner thighs, the water trails leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs finding your erect nipples, and he rolled them between his fingers.

The sensation of his teeth lightly grazing your sensitive nub made you jerk and a whimper escaped your lips, mingling with the sound of the shower.

Ace's hands, still wet from the shower, moved up your inner thighs, the water trails leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs finding your erect nipples, and he rolled them between his fingers. The contrast between the cold water and the warmth of Ace's hands sent shivers down your spine.

Your back arched involuntarily as he continued to tease your clit with his tongue, the pressure building inside you. Ace's breath against your skin was hot and moist, the contrast with the cool tiles beneath you only serving to heighten your arousal. As his fingers continued to play with your nipples, you could feel the wetness between your legs growing. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and you could feel your body tensing. Ace's tongue, skilled and relentless, continued to dance around your clit, each flick and lick bringing you closer to the edge.

You could feel the muscles in your stomach tighten, and your breaths came in short, sharp gasps. The cold water continued to fall, oblivious to the intensity of the scene playing out beneath its cascade. Ace's grip on your thighs tightened, and he moved his head closer, burying his face between your legs.

The combination of his tongue, teeth, and fingers working in perfect harmony left you breathless, your body trembling with the force of the impending climax. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you cried out, your voice echoing faintly in the steam-filled room.

"Did my d’rling cum?" he whispered, his voice a low, sultry rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You felt your cheeks flush with heat, trying to look away, but he wouldn't have it. He gripped your face firmly, pulling it towards him for a searing, possessive kiss.

"It's not fair," he teased, the playful note in his voice. He lifted you effortlessly from your feet, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You clung to him, still feeling the lingering aftershocks of your climax.

Ace turned off the shower, the sudden absence of the water's roar leaving the bathroom quiet. He carried you out of the bathroom, your skin slick and cold against his, and made his way to your bedroom. The journey felt like an eternity, the anticipation of what was to come building with each step.

Once in your bedroom, he laid you gently on the bed, your skin leaving wet trails on the sheets. The hunger in his gaze was evident, as he hovered over you. His lips found yours once more, the kiss fervent and hungry, as if he needed your taste to survive. His hands roamed over your body, teasing your nipples, and tracing the outline of your hips. The sensation of his calloused fingers on your wet skin sent shivers down your spine.

You arched into him, your body begging for more. Ace, in response, placed your legs around his hips, pressing you into a mating press. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his erection nudging at your slick folds.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of sex and desire filling the room. Your heart raced, the anticipation of being filled by him making your breath hitch. Ace's eyes locked with yours, the intensity of the gaze making your core clench in need.

With slow, deliberate movements, he pushed inside you, inch by torturous inch. The sensation of being filled was overwhelming, the pressure building with each thrust. A low, guttural moan escaped your lips, and your back arched, encouraging him to take you deeper.

“Fuck,” he murmured, the word a breathy exhale as he continued to push in. The lust in his eyes was undeniable, the desire to claim you overwhelming. Ace wanted to take you roughly, to chase his own high, but the need to hear your whimpers and moans was stronger.

He paused, his hips nestled against yours, his eyes never leaving yours. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing, the heavy thudding of your hearts, and the wet, intimate slap of skin against skin.

Ace began to move, slowly at first, drawing out your pleasure. Each thrust was deliberate, a dance of control and desire. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he set a rhythm that left you breathless.

His hips moved in a steady, unyielding rhythm, and the pace gradually increased. You moaned his name, the sound guttural and filled with need. Your hands found their way to his head, hugging him, gripping him tightly as if to anchor yourself to the world.

The way he pressed into you, the relentless, unyielding pace, was intoxicating. It left you breathless, your mind fogging as your body responded to his every thrust. The words "slow down" formed on your lips, but they emerged as a garbled mess. Speaking seemed a distant, unattainable luxury as your body focused solely on the sensations coursing through you.

Ace's eyes locked with yours, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away. The sight of him, the feeling of him, was overwhelming. Your body arched, a silent plea for more, for him to not stop, to take you to the edge.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the rhythmic creak of the bed .

As the intensity of the moment grew, so did the pleasure building within you. Your body tightened, the muscles in your stomach clenching in anticipation. Your breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Ace continued to thrust into you, his pace unrelenting, his eyes locked onto yours. The room was filled with the raw, primal sounds of sex. The bed creaked beneath the force of your fucking, the rhythmic sound to the intensity of the moment.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving faint red marks. The sensation of his body against yours, the way he filled you completely, was all-consuming. Your mind was a haze of lust and desire, the world outside your bedroom fading into insignificance.

The pleasure coiled tighter, the edge of release within your grasp. Your body trembled, and you could feel the telltale signs of your impending climax. Your breath hitched, and you cried out, your voice a high-pitched, desperate plea.

Ace's thrusts grew more intense, his body tensing as he felt your body preparing for its release. The sight of you, so vulnerable and needy, was almost his undoing. His pace faltered for a moment, and then he began to thrust with a newfound urgency, as if to push you both over the edge.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans, the wet, intimate slap of skin against skin, and the creaking of the bed. The scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the air, and the atmosphere was electric with the raw, unbridled passion between the two of you.

Your body convulsed, the release you'd been waiting for washing over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy. You cried out, your voice high and breathless, as the pleasure coursed through you. Your inner muscles clenched around Ace, milking him as you rode out the climax.

Ace's eyes rolled back in his head, his body rigid with the force of your orgasm. The sight of you, your body writhing beneath him, was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he thrust deep inside you one last time, filling you with his cum.

Your body quivered as he continued to pulse within you, the aftershocks of your climax merging with the rhythmic contractions of his release. The two of you lay entwined, your breaths heavy and labored, as the last remnants of your passion ebbed away.

Ace collapsed onto your chest, his forehead resting against your chest, his body still trembling from the intensity of the moment. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your heartbeats, the slowing of your breaths, and the occasional twitch from your spent bodies. In a haze of post-coital exhaustion, Ace pulled both of you up, too tired to even know what he was about to do. You clung to him, your body still buzzing with the afterglow of your shared pleasure. He positioned both of you so that you lay on top of him, his now softening cock nestled deep inside you. The sensation sent a soft whine escaping your lips, your bodies were still attuned to one another.

“Let's just talk about this tomorrow d’rling,” Ace murmured, his voice heavy with contentment and exhaustion. He patted your still damp hair, the gesture tender and affectionate. “For now, just sleep.”

You snuggled closer to him, the warmth of his body and the feeling of being cradled in his arms lulling you into a peaceful slumber. The room around you faded into the background, replaced by the comforting rhythm of your heartbeats as you both drifted off to sleep

[chryzure-archive]

GOD, but the slow dawning horror azure must’ve had as he realized he couldn’t escape his family, his legacy. he ran off with chrysi to study the problem and own three cats and be, ultimately, two normal ppl (or as normal as you can get when your girlfriend can still see and communicate with ghosts long past the age when her abilities should’ve faded, but… hey, he still got to meet the family and meet her four adoptive brothers and try to impress them! normal ppl things!!).

then thoughts that weren’t his own began to press into his head. he’d be watching chrysi make him tea and then he’d feel the urge to take her hand and press it into the hot stove until it gave her permanent scarring. and, god, he was so scared—of himself, and for chrysi—until he realized that they weren’t his thoughts, and then got even more scared.

nothing he did helped, after that. mordecai’s smart—he’d give azure ring scares like that, then lull him into a sense of security by allowing azure total calm for weeks. sometimes months at a time. but he’d always come back with a horrible thought or impulse or dream, to keep azure on edge. keep him sleepless. weaken his defenses so he could take control over him.

it was the end of azure lafaye as azure lafaye the night that he woke up with his hands around chrysi’s neck. they were hovering, really, but azure woke up and knew that if he’d been just a moment too late, he would’ve killed the only person that mattered to him. in fact, he knew that mordecai had woken him up on purpose. it was a warning—return to the fold, else he’ll kill chrysi by azure’s own hands.

so azure returns. he could never run away. he was trapped from the start. there was no escape. his father allowed all his rebellions, and he decided when they would stop. and now his father would take his place for him.

[skibasyndrome]

.

[cipher-fresh]

Did Eleven ever tell Amy and Rory’s parents that they’re alive in the past? Or did they just go missing a few weeks after a third of the human population had heart attacks?

[3liza]

https://nationalpost.com/news/canada/theyre-not-human-how-19th-century-inuit-coped-with-a-real-life-invasion-of-the-walking-dead

Indigenous groups across the Americas had all encountered Europeans differently. But where other coastal groups such as the Haida or the Mi’kmaq had met white men who were well-fed and well-dressed, the Inuit frequently encountered their future colonizers as small parties on the edge of death.

“I’m sure it terrified people,” said Eber, 91, speaking to the National Post by phone from her Toronto home.

And it’s why, as many as six generations after the events of the Franklin Expedition, Eber was meeting Inuit still raised on stories of the two giant ships that came to the Arctic and discharged columns of death onto the ice.

Inuit nomads had come across streams of men that “didn’t seem to be right.” Maddened by scurvy, botulism or desperation, they were raving in a language the Inuit couldn’t understand. In one case, hunters came across two Franklin Expedition survivors who had been sleeping for days in the hollowed-out corpses of seals.

“They were unrecognizable they were so dirty,” Lena Kingmiatook, a resident of Taloyoak, told Eber.

Mark Tootiak, a stepson of Nicholas Qayutinuaq, related a story to Eber of a group of Inuit who had an early encounter with a small and “hairy” group of Franklin Expedition men evacuating south.

“Later … these Inuit heard that people had seen more white people, a lot more white people, dying,” he said. “They were seen carrying human meat.”

Even Eber’s translator, the late Tommy Anguttitauruq, recounted a goose hunting trip in which he had stumbled upon a Franklin Expedition skeleton still carrying a clay pipe.

By 1850, coves and beaches around King William Island were littered with the disturbing remnants of their advance: Scraps of clothing and camps still littered with their dead occupants. Decades later, researchers would confirm the Inuit accounts of cannibalism when they found bleached human bones with their flesh hacked clean.

“I’ve never in all my life seen any kind of spirit — I’ve heard the sounds they make, but I’ve never seen them with my own eyes,” said the old man who had gone out to investigate the Franklin survivors who had straggled into his camp that day on King William Island.

The figures’ skin was cold but it was not “cold as a fish,” concluded the man. Therefore, he reasoned, they were probably alive.

“They were beings but not Inuit,” he said, according to the account by shaman Nicholas Qayutinuaq.

The figures were too weak to be dangerous, so Inuit women tried to comfort the strangers by inviting them into their igloo.

But close contact only increased their alienness: The men were timid, untalkative and — despite their obvious starvation — they refused to eat.

The men spit out pieces of cooked seal offered to them. They rejected offers of soup. They grabbed jealous hold of their belongings when the Inuit offered to trade.

When the Inuit men returned to the camp from their hunt, they constructed an igloo for the strangers, built them a fire and even outfitted the shelter with three whole seals.

Then, after the white men had gone to sleep, the Inuit quickly packed up their belongings and fled by moonlight.

Whether the pale-skinned visitors were qallunaat or “Indians” — the group determined that staying too long around these “strange people” with iron knives could get them all killed.

“That night they got all their belongings together and took off towards the southwest,” Qayutinuaq told Dorothy Eber.

But the true horror of the encounter wouldn’t be revealed until several months later.

The Inuit had left in such a hurry that they had abandoned several belongings. When a small party went back to the camp to retrieve them, they found an igloo filled with corpses.

The seals were untouched. Instead, the men had eaten each other.

[missdynamighttt]

random idea: the paparazzi take photos of Bakugou while he is naked in the courtyard of his mansion. The photos are viral all around the world, trends everywhere (imagine PopCrave tweeting about that, lol). The it tophic with the most viral tweet exceeds 600,000 likes since obviously what caught the most attention was the immense, almost inhuman Bakugou's cock size: almost 8 inches without even being hard. The only question everyone is asking is how the hell it will be while being hard.

But Bakugou is surprisingly chill about this, proud even. He logs into his Twitter account for the first time ever, which was created and managed by his public relations team (I don't know how it's called) and simply tweets:

"My wife owns that." The bastard even has it pinned on his profile. It doesn't take long for it to be his most liked tweet and with the time reach one million likes. Other weeks of trends about him...But also about his girl. She's lucky asf.

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ SHAMELESS KATSUKI ENJOYERRR!! happy chinese new year to anyone who celebrates it btw 💜💜

you storm into the living room, phone clutched in your hand, cheeks burning as you glare at your husband lounging on the couch, scrolling through his own phone like he didn’t just set the internet on fire over his soft, 8 inch dick.

“you—” you point at him accusingly, eyes wild. “you absolute fucking bastard.”

katsuki glances up from his phone, his expression is the definition of being so fucking smug. “what is it, sweetheart?”

“oh, i don't know, katsuki. maybe its the fact that the entire world just saw your dick, and instead of just, oh, i don’t know, taking legal action or being embarrassed, you tweeted—” you glance at your phone to quote him exactly, voice going pitches higher with each word. “‘my wife owns that.’ and pinned it.”

his lips twitch, but he keeps it cool. “and?"

you gape at him. “and?! katsuki, the world has seen you naked! and instead of being mad or contacting your pr team about this, you’re out here, tweeting this shit, like you’re proud of it!”

his smirk only widens. “tch, ‘cause i am proud.” he leans back, stretching, muscles flexing like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “not my fault the whole world can’t handle what you get every night.”

your brain short-circuits. “oh my god.”

you knew he was shameless, but this? this is a whole new level. and what makes it worse are the comments. thousands of people speculating, thirsting, straight-up praying to be in your place.

you whimper dramatically. “the comments, katsuki. the comments.”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “what about ‘em?”

“people keep saying i must be the luckiest woman alive,” you mutter, glancing at other tweets with an ungodly number of likes, like ”his wife must be the happiest woman on earth” or "the girl must’ve saved a nation in her past life", followed by an entire thread of inappropriate lewd theories (some were true).

katsuki snickers. “well, they ain’t wrong.”

you slap his arm, face on fire. “stop! have you really no shame?"

“none,” he grins before finally putting his phone down, sitting up, his arms resting on his knees. “why? you mad, sugar?”

“no! i mean—well, i should be! do you have any idea what people are saying about me?"

“yeah, they’re saying you’re lucky as fuck. and they’re right.”

you groan, rubbing your temples in frustration. “they’re also saying things like ‘she must be getting split in half every night’ or ‘"his wife must be in heaven every night'."

he throws his head back in a full laugh. “good. let ‘em know.”

you smack his arm. “katsuki!”

he chuckles and reaches for you, catching your wrist and tugging you down onto his lap with such ridiculous ease. “why’re you gettin’ so worked up, huh? it’s the truth.” his voice drops lower as he leans in. “and they don’t even know half of it.”

you groan, burying your face again in his chest. “i hate you.”

“nah,” he murmurs, nipping at your neck. “you know you love me, sugar.”

and damn it, you do. but you’ll never admit it right now—not when he's kissing you down your neck, pressing what the internet has been buzzing about against your damp panties. especially not when he’s being the most shameless, loving husband on the planet.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[ivysangel]

surprise post bc my blogs fixed woo hoo!! i initially sent this as an ask to @hanasnx as my contribution to his baby daddy!jason au, but i also wanted to share it here for u guys as a little treat :p

Baby Daddy!Jason, who you co-parent with, in a very civilized way. No joke, the picture of camaraderie between exes. He takes your daughter on the days he's supposed to (which isn't that often, given his occupation) and brings her back on time, always with a little gift for you as well. Flowers, chocolates, a little knick-knack reminiscent of when you were together. It's not because he's in love with you or anything; it's just the principle of the matter. "Happy wife, happy life," not that you were married or even dating, but he figures the mother of his child should get love sometimes.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who, the next time he sees you, it's to drop off something your daughter forgot with him, and as he's handing you the bag, he casually asks why you haven't been asking him to take her more often. You had been for a while when you were going on dates weekly, but for some reason, the relationships never went anywhere, so you just gave up. "Oh, you know, it just wasn't working out." you say off-handedly, "Kept getting ghosted." you sound only marginally disappointed, moreso annoyed. "What a shame, they're really missing out," he says, getting real close to you and taking up your entire field of vision.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who's got your entire calendar memorized and knows that his daughter's not home tonight and that you've got no plans other than watching movies in solitude. He knows you're too stubborn to call him over for company even though you've been giving him fuck me eyes in passing for the past few months, so he figures he just has to take matters into his own hands and corner you until you give in like he knows you want to.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who fucks you on damn near every surface in the house, telling you he's just christening the place like he would've already done if you lived together. Whispers apologies in your ears about scaring off all of your dates while he's splitting you open, bullying his cock into you while your eyes roll to the back of your head because you haven't been fucked this good in years, not since the last time you'd been with him. You're face is deep in some pillows when you realize the memories you had of his dick pale in comparison to the real thing, and you aren't sure you could go back to using your imagination to get off after tonight.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who keeps you up all night until your pussy's red and puffy from how many times it'd come in contact with his hips while he was fucking you. Fat tip kissing your cervix until you were clawing at his biceps, begging him to give you some reprieve, tears in your eyes while you babbled incoherently, too lost in the feeling of him to make any sense. He admits in the midst of sex that he tried to get over you; he really did, but he just couldn't; he just couldn't picture you with another man in any capacity. The thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, loving you, made his stomach turn, filling him with rage and an overwhelming need to claim you as his.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who's a level-headed, non-fragile ego'd man until it comes to his family, which, contrary to what some would say, did not only consist of his daughter but you too, and any guy who tried to get with you was a threat. he didn't know the intentions of other men, but he knew his own, which was to keep his little family happy as long as he was alive. If that meant putting a gun to the head of anyone who made a move on you and consoling you by stretching you out the way he knew you liked until you just said "fuck it" and let him put another baby in you, then so be it.

[copperbadge]

So, I got tagged in a post, and I wrote a bit of a novel in a reblog in drafts, and then I realized that probably it wasn't for the best to post up All That Nonsense when the OP was just making a funny post about Wikipedia's fundraising. And it is a funny post! So I'll link here to the post and where I was tagged but I decided to put my thoughts here. Please take this as a hint to be respectful of OP and the person who tagged me both :)

I will say my initial reaction to seeing Wikipedia selling merch AND asking to be in your will was "Well, they're trying something." It's just such a weird topic to bring up, it's hard to be graceful about it, so I think what they were doing was probably the best you can do.

And the response did make a lot of the points I'd make about making a will and such. In fact, FreeWill is what I made my will with and we recommend them to our donors.

There was a study that came out a decade ago or more, so my numbers probably aren't accurate, but the statistic that knocked me back was that most donors who leave surprise large bequests (gifts to charity in their will) give an average of $17 a year during their lives. So there's likely a reason that Wikipedia is targeting users and not huge donors.

It's an ongoing issue that most people also don't document their bequests. By all means, leave money to charity in your will, they will be happy to have it, but they will be even happier to know ahead of time.

Perfect example, THIS WEEK we got a check for six figures from a woman's estate. It was an eyebrow-raising amount of money for us. My boss, who handles both "eyebrow raising money" and "gifts from dead people", immediately went to look her up in our database.

Which she is not in. We had no idea this woman existed. Never gave to us before.

Had we known she was leaving us this money, my boss would have made sure she understood how grateful we were and like, bought her lunch a couple of times a year, and when she did pass we would have known who to reach out to in order to offer our support.

Instead, he came to me and said, "I have a name and an address," and I set to work to find out why she gave and who we could thank. I found her obit, but she didn't die of anything related to our work. Using information from the obit, I confirmed none of her family were in our database either. I looked up her second husband, mentioned in the obit, and his obit said he died of lung disease, which told me that this gift is because she lost her husband.

This helps because I knew from her obit that they had a blended family; they didn't have any kids together but they each had kids when they married, all of whom are now like, my age. So we want to thank her kids but we want to make sure her stepkids, who lost their dad, get a specific kind of outreach as well. I told my boss their names and he said one of the husband's kids was listed as the executor of the will, but there was nothing (surname-wise) to indicate they were related. I found contact information for that person, and my boss was able to reach out to her. She didn't realize we didn't know about the bequest, and now she and her siblings are talking to us about their dad and their own health while her stepsiblings, whose mother left us this very generous gift, are getting condolences and thanks and getting to say how she will be thanked in our documentation.

And I mean, that's why my job exists, to fill in those blanks. We just...would really like to have told her thank-you while she was alive.

SO! The moral of the story is: please consider leaving money to charity in your will if you can, use FreeWill to make your will (they will also help you document your gift) and let the charity know you're leaving them an estate gift. Not only will you maybe get cool swag but especially if it's a concern close to your heart, you'll get to build your relationship with the charity.

[theonottsbxtch]

HONEST | LN4

an: this is dedicated to the anon who noticed my bio and saw i loved honest by the nbhd, it inspired me to write something based off of it <3

wc: 3.5k

summary: lando and his girlfriend keep going back to each other despite her numerous attempts to get him to open up, what happens when she finally has enough.

The night was alive with the hum of possibility, the city draped in neon light and the buzz of distant traffic. She sat cross-legged on the floor of her cramped university apartment, a half-finished canvas propped up against the wall, colors bleeding together in a way that made her frown. Her fingers were smudged with paint, her hair twisted into a loose knot that threatened to unravel with every frustrated exhale.

Her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a notification: “Lando Norris finishes P2 at Hungary Grand Prix.”

She hesitated before swiping it away. The world might have celebrated second place, but she knew him better. For Lando, second was nothing more than a public failure.

The knock at her door came minutes later, sharp and deliberate, like him. She didn’t need to check who it was.

When she opened it, there he stood, still in the McLaren jacket with the logo stitched across his chest. His dark hair clung to his forehead, and his jaw was set in that stubborn line she knew too well. He smelled like engine oil and exhaustion, and she couldn’t decide if the ache in her chest was for him or the weight he always carried.

“You’re here,” she said, the words soft, more observation than greeting.

“I needed to see you.” His voice was low, barely audible over the sound of her radiator ticking in the background.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating? Champagne showers and all that?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in.

“I didn’t win.”

She closed the door behind him, watching as he moved to her window, his silhouette framed by the city lights outside. He didn’t sit, didn’t even take off his jacket. He just stood there, the tension radiating from him like heat from a burning track.

“You came in second,” she said carefully, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door. “That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not first,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he meant. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I just—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she interrupted, her tone softer now. She was getting used to this.

But he shook his head, turning to face her. “I do. You don’t get it. The team made me and I know I shouldn’t have kicked up a fuss but I’ve been working my ass off. Oscar doesn’t deserve this bullshit but I’m so close—”

“Lando,” she said, cutting him off again. “You’ve done this before. You’ll do it again. But it’s never about the race, is it?”

He stared at her, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to find the words.

“It’s not enough,” he finally said. “No matter what I do, I’m never enough.”

Her throat tightened at the familiar refrain. She’d heard it before—in the way he avoided eye contact when he talked about his expectations, in the way he deflected her compliments like they were a nuisance. She stepped closer, her arms unfolding as she reached for his hand.

“It’s enough for me,” she said softly.

For a moment, she thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. His hand was cold, trembling slightly against hers. He looked at her like he wanted to believe her, like he wanted her words to be true.

“You don’t get it,” he said again, quieter this time. “I don’t know how to be okay with less. I don’t know how to stop chasing.”

“Then stop chasing,” she said, her voice firm. “Just… stay. For once, just stay.”

He closed his eyes, the weight of the words hanging between them. When he opened them again, she saw the cracks in his armour, the vulnerability he fought so hard to hide.

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

The words stung, but she didn’t let go of his hand. “Then figure it out. I can’t do it for you, Lando. I can’t keep filling in the spaces you leave blank.”

The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain, until he finally nodded, a small, reluctant gesture.

She didn’t know if it meant he would stay, or if it was just another moment in the long cycle of him crashing into her life and pulling away again. But for now, it was enough.

“Come on,” she said, leading him to the couch. “Sit down. I’ll make tea.”

And as she moved to the kitchen, he sank into the cushions, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He watched her from across the room, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to breathe.

The tea kettle whistled, a sharp note cutting through the quiet tension. She poured the hot water into two mismatched mugs, her movements slow, deliberate. Every sound—the clink of the spoon, the soft rush of liquid—felt amplified in the silence that stretched between them.

Lando sat hunched forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. His head was bowed like he was waiting for something to break, or maybe trying to hold it all together.

When she placed a mug in front of him, he looked up, offering her the smallest nod of thanks. She sat beside him, tucking her legs beneath her. The couch was old, the cushions sagging, forcing them closer than either might have chosen in that moment.

“I used to think art was about perfection,” she said, staring into her tea. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge of vulnerability, like she wasn’t sure where the words would take her.

He turned his head toward her, waiting.

“When I started studying, I wanted to control every detail, every brushstroke,” she continued. “I thought if I just worked hard enough, it would all come together the way I imagined. But no matter how much I tried, it always felt… wrong. Like something was missing.”

He didn’t reply, but his gaze stayed on her, heavy with unspoken questions.

“I realised it wasn’t about getting it perfect. It was about letting the imperfections in, letting the chaos fill the spaces. That’s what makes it real. That’s what makes it art.”

Lando exhaled, a slow, almost shaky breath. “You think I should just let chaos into my life?”

“I think it’s already there,” she said gently. “You’re just pretending it isn’t.”

He laughed, a short, bitter sound. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not. But what you’re doing isn’t easy either, is it? Beating yourself up every time you don’t hit perfection? Trying to control everything, even things you can’t?”

Lando stared into his tea, the steam curling upward like a ghost of his thoughts. “When you’re on the track,” he began, his voice low, “everything depends on precision. One mistake, one miscalculation, and it’s over. You don’t just lose the race—you crash. You burn.”

She didn’t interrupt, letting him work through the words that seemed to take more effort than any lap he’d ever driven.

“That’s what my life is. Corners and braking zones and split-second decisions. If I let chaos in…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You’re not on the track right now,” she said softly.

His head turned sharply toward her, his expression unreadable.

“I know you don’t think you can stop,” she continued, her eyes meeting his. “But you’re not just a driver, Lando. You’re a person. And people aren’t built to live like that all the time.”

He looked at her for a long moment, the walls in his eyes flickering, wavering. Then he leaned back against the couch, his shoulders slumping as if he’d finally allowed himself to feel the weight of it all.

“You make it sound like I have a choice,” he murmured.

“You do,” she said. “But you have to be brave enough to take it.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Bravery. That’s funny, coming from you.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the one who made us go on break last time,” he said, the words sharper than he intended. “You couldn’t stick around when things got hard.”

She flinched, the accusation landing like a slap. But she didn’t look away. “I didn’t leave because it was hard. I left because you wouldn’t let me in. You let me see pieces of you, but never the whole thing. And I can’t keep guessing at who you are.”

The air between them felt thick, charged with everything they’d never said.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly.

She reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his knuckles. “Then try. That’s all I’ve ever asked.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hand turned, his fingers intertwining with hers.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it.

Her lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “You never lost me, Lando. But I can’t be the one holding us together anymore.”

He nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible motion. It wasn’t a promise, not yet. But it was something.

The next race that went to shit for him was Baku.

The door to her London apartment creaked open, and Lando stepped inside, his bag slung over one shoulder. His face was a map of exhaustion—dark circles under his eyes, his jawline shadowed with stubble. The scent of jet fuel and rubber seemed to cling to him, a remnant of the race he’d just returned from.

She was sitting at her desk, the glow of her laptop illuminating her face as she worked on an assignment. The sound of the door closing made her glance over her shoulder. Her expression softened for a moment, then grew guarded, like she was bracing for impact.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice neutral.

“I’m back,” he echoed. He dropped his bag in the corner and rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers lingering at his temples. “How’s your week been?”

“Fine,” she said, turning back to her screen. “Yours?”

He let out a dry laugh as he collapsed onto the couch. “Do you want the press-conference version or the real one?”

She swiveled her chair to face him fully, her arms crossed. “The real one, obviously.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as if the words were caught in his throat. Finally, he shrugged. “It was fine. Finished P4. Made a stupid mistake in qualifying, couldn’t recover. Typical.”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

She stood, crossing the room to sit on the armchair across from him. “I don’t know, Lando. Maybe something real? Maybe talk to me like I’m more than just an audience for your race recap?”

He looked at her, startled by the sharpness in her tone. “I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “You’re telling me what you think I want to hear. You’ve been doing that since the moment we got back together.”

He sat up straighter, his brows furrowing. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair?” she repeated, incredulous. “Lando, we’ve been stuck in the same pattern for months. You come back, you barely say anything real, and then you leave again. We took a break because you said you’d try, and nothing has changed.”

“That’s not true,” he argued, his voice rising defensively.

“Then tell me what’s true,” she countered. “Tell me what’s actually going on in your head, because I don’t know anymore.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

“See?” she said, throwing her hands up. “This is what I mean. I’m sitting here, begging you to let me in, and you’re just… shutting down. Again.”

“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes, it is,” she said, her frustration boiling over. “It’s as simple as you deciding whether or not you actually want me in your life. Because I can’t keep sacrificing myself for you if you’re not willing to meet me halfway.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, daring him to respond. But he didn’t. He just stared at the floor, his hands clasped tightly together.

Her voice softened, trembling slightly. “We need to break up. For real this time.”

His head snapped up, panic flashing across his face. “No. Please, don’t do this. I can do better, I promise. Just—”

“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I’ve heard that before. I can’t keep waiting for you to figure this out while I’m breaking myself apart trying to hold us together.”

“Please,” he said again, his voice desperate.

But then something shifted. His shoulders sagged, the fight leaving him all at once. He let out a long, shaky breath and finally met her eyes.

“Okay,” he said, the word soft but resolute.

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. She had expected resistance, pleading, anger—but not this.

“Okay?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re right. I don’t know how to give you what you need. And I don’t think I ever will.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words cutting deeper than any argument ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he added, standing and grabbing his bag. He hesitated at the door, his hand on the knob. “I hope… I hope you find someone who can.”

And just like that, he was gone.

She sat there for a long time, staring at the closed door, the echo of his and her words ringing in her ears. She had gotten what she’d asked for, but it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like the quiet hollow left after something breaks.

The weeks after he walked out passed in a blur of quiet moments and restless nights. Her apartment felt bigger, somehow emptier, though his presence had always been fleeting. At first, she moved through the days mechanically: attending lectures, working on assignments, and scrolling mindlessly through her phone when she couldn’t concentrate.

That was how she saw the first video.

It popped up on her social media feed one evening—a clip of Lando during a post-race interview. He stood with the same calm precision he always carried, his dark eyes serious as he talked about tire degradation and strategy.

But she noticed the way his jaw tightened when the reporter mentioned the championship battle. The way he rubbed the back of his neck when he thought no one was watching. The things only she would have picked up on.

She swiped away from the video quickly, her heart hammering in her chest.

For days after, more videos surfaced. Clips of him on the podium, the national anthem playing in the background. Snippets of races where he pushed through the pack with surgical precision. Even candid moments, fans catching him as he signed autographs with a tight, practiced smile.

She didn’t go looking for them, but they seemed to find her anyway.

Part of her wanted to stop watching. Every video felt like a small knife twisting in her chest. But another part of her—the part that still woke up some mornings thinking about the weight of his hand in hers—couldn’t look away.

And then there was the guilt. The nagging voice in her head that whispered she could have done more, been more, stayed longer. That maybe if she’d held on just a little tighter, he wouldn’t have slipped away.

But the rational part of her knew better. She couldn’t keep sacrificing herself for someone who wouldn’t let her in. She couldn’t keep living in the spaces he refused to fill.

Throwing herself into her work became her salvation. She spent hours in her studio, her fingers smudged with paint and charcoal, her mind racing with ideas.

Her project started as a simple concept: inner thoughts, the things we hide from the world. But the more she worked, the more it grew, expanding into something bigger than anything she’d ever created.

The centerpiece was a massive installation—an abstract figure built from fragmented mirrors, wires, and twisted metal. Each shard reflected something different: colors that didn’t match, faces distorted in impossible ways. Surrounding the figure were interactive panels where viewers could write their own hidden thoughts, projected onto the walls in real-time.

It wasn’t just art; it was a conversation. A reflection of the unspoken truths that lived in everyone.

Her professor was floored when she presented it during a critique. “This is… remarkable,” he said, circling the model she’d built as he spoke. “It’s raw, vulnerable. It demands engagement.”

She flushed under the praise but nodded, unsure what to say.

“You need to exhibit this,” the professor continued. “There’s an upcoming gallery in Monte Carlo—prestigious, international attendance. I’ll submit your work.”

Monte Carlo.

Her stomach tightened at the name. She thought of glitzy hotels, sharp corners, and the sound of engines echoing through narrow streets. Of Lando, and the apartment she’d only been to a few times.

But she nodded again. “Okay,” she said.

And that was how she found herself in Monaco.

The gallery hummed with conversation, the din blending with the soft background music that played over hidden speakers. She was standing near the wine table, engaged in a lively discussion with an older couple who were gushing about her work.

“It’s so… visceral,” the woman said, gesturing animatedly with her glass of champagne. “It feels like you’ve captured something universal but deeply personal at the same time. Like it’s speaking directly to me.”

Her lips curved into a polite smile. “That’s exactly what I hoped for,” she said.

As she explained the inspiration behind the installation, the doors to the gallery opened again, and Lando walked in.

He wore a crisp suit, his usual casual edge replaced by something sharper, more formal. The team required his attendance. His hair was nicely curled, and his presence was magnetic, commanding subtle glances from attendees who didn’t recognise him but knew he must be someone important.

Lando’s gaze swept the room, searching, but her back was to him. She was too engrossed in her conversation to notice the way his shoulders stiffened when he saw the installation—or the way his expression softened when he realised it was hers.

He approached the centerpiece quietly, his hands in his pockets as he took it all in. The mirrored figure seemed to hold his gaze, fragments of his reflection staring back at him. His attention moved to the interactive panels, where dozens of anonymous confessions lit up the walls.

“I’m afraid of being alone forever.”“I miss the person I was before them.”“I don’t know how to move on.”

Lando stood there for a long moment, his chest tightening as he read the words. Finally, he stepped closer to one of the blank panels and picked up the stylus.

He hesitated, the pen hovering just above the screen, before he began to write:

"I wish I could have been honest.”

He paused, then added something small, something only she would understand:

4♡

It was the way he’d signed every note he’d left for her. Scrawled on Post-its stuck to the bathroom mirror. On napkins tucked into her lunch bag. On the inside cover of a sketchbook he’d bought her. It had always been their little secret, a shorthand for everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Lando stepped back, his throat tight. He cast one last glance around the room, his eyes lingering on her as she laughed softly at something the older man said. Then he turned and walked out, unnoticed.

The crowd thinned as the night wore on, and the gallery grew quieter. She stood alone now, gazing at her installation with a mixture of pride and exhaustion. The panels were almost completely filled with confessions, their glowing words painting the walls in a kaleidoscope of emotion.

She walked up to the nearest panel, scrolling through the entries. Some were poignant, others painfully raw. But one stopped her in her tracks.

"I wish I could have been honest.”

Her breath hitched as her eyes darted to the small signature below it.

4♡

Her hand flew to her mouth, a tremor running through her as she stared at the words. For a moment, she thought she might have imagined it. But no—there it was, unmistakable.

A wave of emotions crashed over her: shock, sadness, and a deep, aching tenderness that she had tried so hard to bury.

She sank onto a nearby bench, tears slipping down her cheeks.

She thought of him standing here, reading her work, writing those words. The quiet acknowledgment of everything left unsaid between them. And the small, stubborn piece of him that still lingered in her world, no matter how far apart they were.

She wiped her tears, but they kept coming, her chest heaving as the weight of it all settled over her.

For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to feel the full depth of her loss. But alongside the grief was something else—a fragile, flickering sense of closure.

He had been here. He had seen her, her work, her heart laid bare. And he had left her a piece of himself, as he always had.

It wasn’t enough to fix what had broken. But maybe, just maybe, it was enough to let her begin to heal.

the end.

[demon-country]

These two pictures absolutely kill me. Stolas is only 17, 18, or 19 in these photos. He is so, so fucking young to be having a baby. There are many parents who have kids at that age that deeply regret it, because raising a child is hard and severely limits your ability to go out and experience life the same way that your peers are. There are also many people who are forced into arranged marriages and pressured into having children as soon as possible that just cannot connect well with said children (Stella seems to fall into this category).

But not Stolas. He loves that little baby with his entire heart and soul. Even though he seems exhausted in that first picture (which, duh, she's a newborn, they're exhausting to take care of, especially for first time parents), he is holding her so tenderly and looks like he loves her so much he could cry. And in that second picture she is maybe 1 year old, and he looks like the happiest person alive. She is his everything. She is the tiny, adorable pocket of joy in his dark, painful, lonely world. She is the only thing that's even worth living for.

He loves her so, so fucking much, and it's completely baffling to me that anyone who isn't an emotionally compromised teenager could look at all of the photos he has with her and say that just because he has made a few mistakes lately and has split his attention to make room for someone else, that he's a bad, neglectful father. There is no one, not even Blitz, who could match the sheer depth of love he has for her. Blitz is his light, but Octavia means everything to him (to a previously kind of unhealthy, codependent degree actually, but that's a little beside the point and at least he's never tried to parentify her or make her play therapist for him despite that).

Just look at those pictures! Just look at them, and tell me honestly that he doesn't love her and thinks of her as solely an obligation. Octavia's feelings of abandonment and belief that he doesn't love her make sense, because she lacks a lot of the context that we have and her life got several major upheavals within the last two years, in addition to having preexisting abandonment issues that color her perception of the situation and a mother who was actively sabotaging his attempts to contact her for a month. But we, the audience, should see those pictures for what they are: a very young man who loves his child deeply, despite having never been demonstrably loved before; who is tender and playful with her, despite having never been shown that same tenderness or playfulness with anyone but debatably Blitz as a child. And the fact that she looks so happy as well is a very good indicator that he is the kind of loving, attentive, and secure parent she needed.

[henry7931]

Chase:

Today is a really weird day and I didn’t know how I would feel about coming over to my best friend Bryce’s house especially after the incident.

Bryce and I have been friends for over 12 years now and him and I have always been a couple of scrawny gay nerds. We both love Minecraft legend of Zelda, just about every video game you can think of and one way we really bonded was figuring out that we are both gay.

Now for years, I’ve always known that Bryce had a crush on me. For me it was never that I didn’t like Bryce or I was never interested, but I never wanted to ruin the friendship. But then you have Walker is older brother. Walker is a few years older than us. He’s super handsome, athletic, charming, he could basically date anyone he laid his eyes on.

The truth is Walker was my sexual awakening for years. I’ve stayed at their house and spent the night and it wouldn’t be uncommon to see Walker come out and nothing but basketball shorts hell I don’t even think he would wear underwear sometimes.

I can remember the way seeing him made me blush, and I tried my hardest not to stare at him. I don’t know if Walker could tell that I was checking him out. Or maybe Walker was just used to people checking him out shouldn’t be any surprise that his little brother‘s gay friend had his eyes glued to him.

And somehow he continues to keep getting hotter and hotter and hotter…

So several weeks ago, Bryce and Walker’s family went on vacation to some tropical island. And something very strange happened while touring an old temple. How Bryce explained it to me was that they had a sign up that specifically said, “ please do not touch artifact.”

Bryce can be such a stickler for rules and I can almost see it in my head. It all went down. Bryce told Walker not to touch it. Walker likes to get on Bryce‘s nerves Walker reaches for it and then shit got real quick. Because Walker and Bryce have now switched bodies.

When Bryce was explaining all this to me, I really thought it was bullshit. I mean, who would believe that that sounds like something from a movie and yet even hearing Walker‘s voice, I can tell just by the tone that it’s Bryce.

So today is the first day that I have seen Bryce since he swapped bodies with Walker. And that’s why I feel all kinds of weird.

Now Bryce and I have stayed with each other like 1 million times and it’s really not unusual for us to be basically naked around each other. OK maybe not completely naked but like at least in her underwear.

And I have tried really, really hard to make him feel comfortable and I think I’m doing a really good job but having him standing in front of me in just his brother’s boxers is driving me a bit insane.

I’m sitting on Bryce‘s bed and walks back into his room just to ask me if I wanted anything from downstairs like something to drink or maybe a snack. I can barely get out the words because I can’t stop staring at the chiseled God in front of me.

“ chase you’re staying the night right?,” he asked me.

“ oh yeah, of course I’m staying the night as long as that’s OK.”

“ yeah man of course it’s okay! You know it’s okay man. No one cares you stay the night. You’re like basically family sides. My brother isn’t going to be home tonight. He’s wanted a lot of space since the whole. I’ve got his body thing. And both my parents are out of town so it’s just gonna be us,” he says with a side smirk.

“ well if it’s just us what do you wanna get into tonight?,” I say trying to make conversation.

I’m holding my eye contact directly at his face and I try my hardest not to look anywhere else, but he takes his hand and start scratching his balls and I can almost feel my whole cock twitch.

“ I mean since everybody’s not here tonight, we can always break into my parents liquor cabinet, whoop whoop!”

You know I am probably the most innocent 18 year-old alive, I don’t wanna attend parties nor do I really sneak around my parents but I feel like alcohol sounds like a great idea right now. I mean it I might be able to calm down a bit.

“Hell yeah! That’s sounds fun!,” I say with some enthusiasm.

“Bet! Be right back!”

I hear as heavy feet running down the stairs and all I can do is try to think of something that would totally turn me off like anything taxes, my grandparents, just something…

And yet all I can think about is how hot it would be if I could suck on his toes. I’ve had a thing for feet a while now and it’s taking me a little bit to accept it and a part of that I blame Walker for him because he has some sexy ass feet.

I can remember clearly the smell of his feet after he would finish football practice and he would pull off his shoes. Shit! Fuck! I’m so hard right now. I feel like I’m gonna have to sneak away and beat one out in the bathroom just to clear my head.

And then here comes Bryce with two glasses in his hand and a bottle of wine for the both of us just super eager.

I reposition myself to where I’m laying flat on my stomach so he doesn’t notice.

Bryce hops on to the bed with me and try’s his hardest to navigate a wine opener.

“Geez, I have no clue what I’m doing here…”

I eventually take it and started twisting in. I try to pull it out but struggle.

“Here since you now have all of the muscles.”

He rolls his eyes at me and tugs it out.

“Success!”

“Good team work there he-man,” I say playfully.

Bryce’s pours both of us a glass and at first I thought it tasted awful. But the second glass… now I see why people like it. I feel so warm inside and relaxed.

We both lay back in his bed.

“Is it super weird for you?,” I ask him.

“What?”

“You know… being in your Walkers body.”

“Um… yes. Yes and no I guess. I feel like everything has just moved so quick since the trip. I feel very different in public, like I’m so much more noticed. girls hit on me… so do guys. It’s a lot to take in especially since you and my family are the only ones who know about it.”

“What about Walker’s girlfriend?”

“Oh he broke up with her, thought it would be less weird. Although he had to do it over text because I refused to call or see her in person.”

“Damn! That’s crazy.”

“Yeah but she was like his girlfriend for the month, nothing serious.”

Of course…

“So is this pretty permanent?”

“Yeah I think so, unless you know of any other magic objects than can reverse it haha.”

“No, not off of the top of my head,”I say jokingly.

“Well… that answers your question. This is my body now. This is the new me I guess,” he says looking his muscles over.

I look them over as well and then my eyes draw this briefs… he’s got a hard on…

Bryce catches my eyes and says, “you wanna touch it?”

“What?!?”

“Come on Chase… don’t play games with me. I know you and I know you’ve had the hots for this body. I’ve known for years now.”

I take a deep breath… I feel my nervous all over again.

“It’s okay, I know you like this body. It’s my body now. And I want you to touch my massive dick.”

“But Bryce!”

“Shhh! Chase I’ve had a crush on you for years and I know you would never fool around with me. And now I have the body you’ve been lusting for years now. TOUCH MY MASSIVE DICK PLEASE!”

“Fuck, okay.”

I start touching it from the outside and it does feel huge!

“You know I love you Bryce, you’re the most important person to me. I just never wanted us to loose our friendship. It’s why I never tried anything with you.”

“I know. And listen I know you weren’t trying to go after my brother. I know what he looks like. Everyone does. But now I have the body and the personality so, I’m giving you no choice but to date me. Got it?”

“Ugh fine,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Now can you do me a favor?”

“Sure!”

“Can I see your feet?” he says to me.

Wow! Wasn’t expecting that!

“Wait why?”

“I hope you don’t think this is weird but I have a thing for them.”

“Shut up! So do I!”

“You do?!?”

“Yeah especially…,” I eye down to his feet and wiggles his toes.

“Oh my god! This is about to be a wild night!”

“Wait, can I kiss you?”

“Please!”

Part 2 Coming…

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ anesthesia !

↳ logan howlett x fem!reader

the fluorescent lights of the medbay hummed softly, casting a stark glow over the otherwise sterile room. logan paced back and forth outside the door, his boots scuffing against the polished floor. he hated this part - the waiting. the not knowing. his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, tension coiled in his shoulders like a spring wound too tight.

“she’s gonna be fine, logan,” jean’s voice came from behind him, calm and reassuring. “you know she’s tough.”

he grunted in response, not trusting himself to say anything else. tough or not, you’d gotten hurt. surgery had been necessary after a mission gone sideways, and now you were in there, under anesthesia, while he was stuck out here feeling useless.

when hank finally poked his head out of the medbay, logan stopped mid-stride. “she okay?”

“she’s fine. the procedure went well, but she’s still coming off the anesthesia,” hank said, smiling a little. “you can see her if you want. just don’t expect much sense out of her for a bit.”

logan nodded and pushed past him, his boots heavier than usual as he walked inside. his eyes landed on you immediately. you were sitting up slightly, looking drowsy but very much alive. relief washed over him like a tidal wave, but he masked it with a gruff expression as he crossed his arms.

“what the hell were you thinking out there?” he started, voice low and gravelly. “you can’t just throw yourself into danger like that - ”

“pspspsps,” you interrupted, your eyes zeroing in on him as if he were the most fascinating thing in the world. “kitty. come here, kitty.”

logan froze mid-lecture, his brows furrowing. “what?”

you reached out a wobbly hand toward his head, fingers making the unmistakable beckoning motion people used for cats. “kitty! your hair’s so… fluffy. come here, let me pet you.”

for a moment, he just stared at you, utterly baffled. you were high as a kite, and he had no idea how to handle it. “you’re out of your damn mind,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away when your hand made contact with his hair.

“so soft,” you mumbled, running your fingers through it with clumsy determination. “why didn’t you tell me you’re secretly a big ol’ kitty?”

he huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “i ain’t a cat, darlin’.”

“mhm,” you said, clearly not believing him. your fingers trailed to his sideburns, and you giggled. “the whiskers. so majestic.”

logan’s patience was wearing thin, but not in the usual way. he was more amused than he wanted to admit, but he didn’t want to encourage you. “alright, that’s enough,” he said, gently taking your hand and lowering it back to your lap. “you’re supposed to be resting.”

“you’re supposed to be snuggly,” you countered, blinking up at him with wide, unfocused eyes. “c’mon, kitty. gimme a hug.”

he sighed deeply, muttering something about anesthesia making people loopy, but he leaned in slightly to placate you. you threw your arms around his neck, squeezing as much as your post-surgery state allowed.

“you smell nice,” you murmured into his shoulder. “like… woodsy. and safe. you’re so grumpy all the time, but you’re really sweet. my big, grumpy kitty.”

the words hit him harder than he expected, and he felt his throat tighten. he wasn’t used to being called sweet. most people saw the claws, the temper, the rough exterior. but here you were, high as hell and still managing to say the one thing that could disarm him completely.

he cleared his throat, patting your back awkwardly. “yeah, well, don’t go spreadin’ that around. gotta keep up my reputation.”

you pulled back slightly, your gaze dreamy but sincere. “i won’t tell. promise.” then you tapped your lips with a finger, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “but only if you purr for me, kitty.”

logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “darlin’, you’re gonna regret all this when you’re sober.”

“nope,” you said, popping the “p.” “i’ll never regret you, logan.”

his chest tightened again, and he looked away, trying to hide the way your words affected him. “you’re impossible,” he muttered, though there was no heat behind it.

“and you’re my favorite kitty,” you replied, your voice softening as your eyelids began to droop. “such a pretty kitty…”

logan stayed by your side as you drifted off, your breathing evening out. he shook his head, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

“damn troublemaker,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face.

and if he stayed a little longer than necessary, making sure you were comfortable and safe, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[dear-satan]

Can you do more Resident Evil x reader plsss

I hope you like this <3 ( I'm so, so sorry I'm replying so late!! )

Tinder

ID!Leon Kennedy x Reader

★ word count: 11k

★ CW: smut, age gap (early 20s reader, Leon late 30s), oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, cum on the reader's thigh, cock warming or not, love marks

★ author's note: hello everyone, i'm alive! sorry for not posting anything for a very long time.. well, i was suffering from a terrible artblock? i think that's what it's called.. i'm very, very sorry for that! i'll try to post for you as often as possible, especially since i've been thinking about a few new characters.. but you'll see that in time! enjoy reading <3

Tinder - an ordinary dating app, designed to help people in interpersonal contacts. In fact it was. It has been known for a long time that people through the screen of a phone or laptop were much, much bolder than when talking face to face. Because what guy starts the conversation by sending a picture of his dick, shamelessly asks for a picture of tits or offers a blowjob at the back of his car? It was really, really disgusting.

But for some reason, tinder ended up on your home screen.

Creating an account was very simple. Just like choosing the right photos and creating a good description. However, the stairs began when you had to choose the age group of a potential partner.

You bit your lip. The 30+ option seemed really tempting but for some reason strangely immoral. You were a student and your previous relationships were with boys your age or a year or two older. To be honest, you were bored with it. You were bored being their second mother. You needed someone to take care of you. You and your needs. Who will provide care and call you his good, little girl.

Create an account.

The first few days really surprised you, really. You've never seen so many dicks in your life and learned new, rather strange terms for your pussy. But after a week, a profile appeared in your inbox that caught your attention.

His name was Leon and his profile was almost empty - a short description and two photos, of which only one showed his face and figure. He was handsome, really handsome - medium length, brown hair with a parting on the right. The bangs fell on one side of his face, covering his wild but deep look. Jaw, nicely outlined with a slight beard. His muscular stature made you shiver and his mind began to imagine what he looked like without clothes.

Be my pretty girl.

You wrote almost every day, nothing perverted. He asked how was your day at the university, how you were feeling, if you had dinner. He was nice, just like that. Sometimes he sent photos of him sitting in his apartment, with a glass of whiskey or in some expensive restaurant that you could never afford. You also sent photos - when you were sitting at lectures or drinking coffee during your lunch break. At some point, you moved from the application to SMS, it was much more convenient. A month passed until he finally offered a face-to-face meeting.

You wrote almost every day, nothing perverted. He asked how was your day at the university, how you were feeling, if you had dinner. He was nice, just like that. Sometimes he sent photos of him sitting in his apartment, with a glass of whiskey or in some expensive restaurant that you could never afford. You also sent photos - when you were sitting at lectures or drinking coffee during your lunch break. At some point, you moved from the application to SMS, it was much more convenient. A month passed until he finally offered a face-to-face meeting.

The cafe was quite a trite place but it didn't bother you. You dressed in the prettiest clothes you had in the closet, you did delicate makeup. You looked really pretty - a young girl going to her big man. It was so perverted.. But how exciting.

The cafe he chose was expensive from just looking at it. You pushed the door uncertainly and started looking around the premises in search of Leon. And you found him.

He sat at a small table at the other end of the room. The navy blue shirt perfectly covered his muscles at the sight of which saliva gathered in your mouth.

"Fuck, behave normal." you scolded in your mind, taking the first steps towards him. He was handsome, really handsome. "Hey" you greeted shyly, stopping next to the table "Um, Leon.. Right?”

His blue irises met yours and oh god.. They were the most beautiful eyes you've ever looked into.

"Hey" his smile was even more beautiful. "You look beautiful" pointed to the place opposite him that you obediently took.

"Thank you, you too.. I mean, you look beautiful too.. I mean, you look really hot." what? Your cheeks were burning with live fire. Since when do you talk such nonsense? "I... I'm sorry, d-don't want-"

"Hey hey, calm down." he laughed "It's okay, thank you." the tone of his voice acted strangely on you, as if soothing. "I ordered coffee, caramel cappuccino, right?"

“Yeah” you nodded. You didn't think he would remember.

At first, the conversation didn't really stick, mainly because of your shyness, but it passed. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours. You didn't even notice how it was slowly getting dark outside. Only when the waitress came to inform you about the approaching closing time did you realize how long you had been talking.

Leon offered to escort you. It was cold outside, so he threw his leather jacket on your shoulders. It smelled so good, fresh perfume combined with the scent of deodorant and a slight smell of tobacco. This mixture created a deadly smell that caused your brain to turn off at his words.

Naughty.

"It's here." you stopped in front of the old tenement house where you rented an apartment.

Leon looked first at the building and then at you and smiled sadly. "Then," he came up to you and gently put his face in his big hand, "Thank you for the nice time." he was close, very close and your heart jumped to your throat. "I hope we will do it again soon."

You looked at his lips and tingling appeared in the lower part of the abdomen. "Or maybe.. Will you go upstairs?” You suggested again looking into his eyes "I have good wine.." you bit your lip "Then I'll order a taxi so you don't come back alone."

For the hundredth time today, he gave you this stunning smile "Good wine?"

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

His lips were everywhere. They left blood trails on your heated skin. Your hands wandered over his bare back, scratching it lightly as he sucked and bit your already hardened nipples. God, his mouth was even more perfect than you imagined. And the fun was just beginning.

Leon was in no hurry to go anywhere, kissing slowly your skin under your breasts, around your belly button. He only stopped when he reached the beginning of your panties, lifting his head and pawing at you with a questioning look. You only nodded quickly as a sign of agreement and let out a quiet moan when you felt his hot kiss on your still clothed clit.

“I haven't done anything yet, and you're already so wet…” he gasped, grabbing your lacy lingerie with the intention of getting rid of it quickly “So wet just for me.”

Your panties landed somewhere on the bedroom floor and Leon settled himself comfortably between your legs. He started kissing the inside of your thigh and his stubble scratched you pleasantly, however, when he moved his tongue along your pussy. A moan escaped your lips and your back arched as he began to slowly eat you out. He alternated between licking, sucking and even lightly biting your swollen bud, sending electric inpulses through your entire body. Your moans went from these quiet ones to loud, even pornographic ones. Damn, if Leon could do such things with his mouth, what could he do with his cock.

“You taste so good princess,” he moaned into your entrance, and immediately after that he inserted his tongue into you.

“F-fuck.” You gasped, tangling your fingers in his brown strands of hair. Your tongue was replaced by his fingers, pumping at a slow pace. He began sucking on your poor clitoris again and your ring finger and index finger slid out, bending in different directions from time to time. This dangerous mixture of sensations began to accumulate a knot in the pit of your body. Your thighs began to tremble slowly and your toes began to flex. “L-Leon. I'm coming.” You gasped tilting your head back.

He only smiled at your pussy, speeding up his movements a bit with his hand. Your lewd sounds made his cock ache and his boxers one hundred percent had a sizable precum stain.

“L-Leon!” the pleasure was getting closer and closer, and when it was about to come…. You felt the emptiness. The unpleasant cold teasing your wet pussy forced you to open your eyes and raise your head. “W-what. W-why.” your voice stumbled with every word you uttered. Leon smiled mischievously, straightening up. His pupils were huge, almost obscuring that beautiful blue color of his irises. He stared at you wordlessly, like an animal at its prey. “My little girl wanted to come?” curtly, his tone made you dizzy.

“Y-yes…”

“Yes what?” he grabbed the elastic band from his gray boxers.

“Please Leon… I-I want… I want you…” your head once again fell back onto the pillow beneath you. Watching him slowly undress was torture, something your eyes both craved and refused to desire. “I-I want you inside me".

“Good girl.” His boxers landed next to your panties and he towered over you. Even more heat was beating from him than from you. “Ready?”

You didn't even have time to answer. You sucked air into your lungs as the head of his cock began to caress your entrance, only to immediately slide into you up to his balls in one swift motion. The feeling was unearthly, and you swear, if he hadn't blocked your mouth with his own, the whole tenement would surely have heard you. “S-so tight.” groaned Leon leaning his forehead against yours “Are you sure.. Y-you fucked before me?” a quiet, silly laugh echoed in your ears.

“Stop talking and fuck me.” you didn't have to repeat yourself. His movements were slow at first. He loved the way your moans drifted out of your open mouth directly into his. How you raised your eyelids every now and then just to look at him for a second. Fuck, he fell for it.

As time passed, the slow pace began to get in the way. His body movements sped up wildly and your pornographic moans and gasps filled the room. So did the sound of your sweaty bodies slapping against each other. “S-so good, fuck.” He hid his head in the hollow of your neck. He felt his own knot of pleasure slowly begin to break.

“I'm coming.” You whispered in his ear, clenching your thighs making him thrust into you even harder and faster. Your mind whirled and your eyes rolled upward under your closed eyelids. You stopped hearing everything that was going on around you, making you completely miss Leon's question about contraception. You were literally a brainless mush that slowly lost itself in the approaching orgasm. “I- I'm coming!” not a second passed. Pleasure took control of your body and the loud cries of Leon's name filled the room. Your trembling thighs slaughtered him even harder and you curled up, sinking your teeth into his shoulder, sobbing quietly.

Leon himself didn't last long. That divine, warm feeling filled his mind and at the last second he slid out of you so that lines of hot cum flew onto your wet thigh. He himself sagged completely, crushing you with his weight. “T-that's my girl.” he purred as your trembling fingers began to massage his scalp. “M-my girl.”

With your other hand, you brushed away the hair stuck to your forehead, finally opening your eyes before which darkness appeared. Your head pulsed with pleasure and a quiet screech echoed in your ears. You felt so good, so damn good. “You know what?” you began, trying to normalize your breathing.

“Hm?”

“It seems, we forgot about the wine.”

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Part 2: The Dead Ones

Tag list: @pix-stuff, @sweetconnoissurgarden, @craftymoonchaos, @jsprien213, @hebaoffside, @bunbunboysworld, @melonylla, @numbu5, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @formulas-bitch, @fantasyhopperhea, @otterluver05, @caged-birdies-blog, @minkyungseokie, @una1002289, @vanessa-boo, @welpthisisboring, @sirenetheblogger, @salfishers, @meeeeeeee-stuff, @eylsiankub, @lilithskywalker, @midnightprocrastinator, @lilyalone, @cloudserenity, @wizzerreblogs, @reallynotsoconfident, @deliajo, @bitternsweet, @astterrial, @jjggdfvvy

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---__---___---___---___---

You and Bruce were in his office, you let out a puff of smoke as you stood by the window. Taking in the view.

"You know, in Arkham, there wasn't any bars on the windows. More like, plastic glass, so blurry I couldn't even see the moon clearly." The cigarette shortened even more as you took a long drag from the cigarette.

Bruce watched you from his desk, an unreadable expression on his face. You look so. . . it's hard for him to see you as who you are right now. Deep down Bruce knew you'd change some way after Arkham. Which was his sorry excuse for not visiting you. Only reading three of your letters, and stopped, he felt shame when it came to you. For which one of you, he doesn't know.

There are times, he did feel shame of being your father. Horrible, he knows. He's the worst father alive. And that's when he feels shameful of himself.

You let out a small sigh before turning to Bruce, you see the complex expression he had.

". . . You know Daddy, I don't think I ever seen you smile."

You walked closer to his desk and took a seat on one of the chairs. Bruce just silently stared at you. You still call him Daddy. He wanted to feel happy at the fact one thing stayed the same with you. But the way you said it. You said it in such a mocking way. Like it was a joke. Him being your father was a joke to you. It hurt. He rather you call him Bruce in the most hateful way you could.

"Y/n, I'm sorry-" Bruce tries to apologize, but you cut him off with the wave of your hand.

"I'm not here to fish out any apology from you."

Silence fills the room. You sighed again, putting out the cigarette by dropping it into a glass of water. You stood up and approached the vinyl player, you start it up as Bruce raised his brow in confusion. You turn around to face him

"Come on daddy, let's dance." You approached the older man, grabbing his arm and tugged him to stand. Even with how random your request was, Bruce complied, and you two began to slow dance together, the feeling was foreign to both.

The slow music continued as you two danced. You let your head rest on your father's shoulder, staring blankly at nothing. Bruce squeezed your hand. You began to realize. You have never been this close to Bruce. Always 4 feet away.

"When I was a little girl, there was this daddy daughter dance at school. . . I always wanted to dance with you like this. But you were busy. I understood, but it still hurt" Your statement caused Bruce to hold you a little tighter. Before he could attempt to apologize. You spoke up to shut him down.

"Don't you dare apologize."

The two of you continue to slow dance. You closed your eyes as Bruce rests his chin on your head. Closing his eyes. The two of you swaying to the music.

This moment should be a peaceful, loving moment between a father and daughter. But it felt more like an ending to a story that was going nowhere.

"Daddy, I have a question for you."

Bruce hummed in acknowledgement, still holding you tight.

Your eyes slowly open. "Have you seen Mommy recently?" Your question caught your father off guard. Visibly frozen. You lift your head up and see his expression turn a little sour.

"Why?" He spoke, slightly offended. Your spending time with him, why not focus on him?

"She's been missing. For a month. Not even her own family knows where she is. . ."

"Well, I don't where she is. I haven't had contact with her for years."

You sighed and pulled away, turning your back to him. A sign to show you were upset with his answer. Bruce frowns a little at you pulling away, his arms stayed up, almost to reach back for you.

"She visited me, every week, for several years. So please, understand I need to find her." You really were hoping to see if Bruce knew anything. But of course, he disappoints you with nothing. Again.

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You got a text from Rex; your grandfather needed you back at the manor. You didn't have enough time to get your things from your old room, so you left Bruce in his office, walking to the front doors, where Alfred waited for you with your coat, along with Dick, Tim and.. . someone else you didn't recognize. But you focused on Alfred, and gently smile to the older man.

"Thank you for the food, Alfred, probably the one thing I missed the most while locked up." You spoke in a joking manner as you turned to let Alfred put your coat on for you. Alfred smiled a little.

"Thank you, miss."

You look up and give the three men a small nod "Dick, Tim . . . And?" You gave the third man a small look of confusion.

"I'm sorry I don't believe I got your name." You adjusted your coat as you stared up at the man and gave him your hand to shake. But the man just stared at you, Dick had to nudge him to snap him out of it.

The man snapped out of it and quickly took your hand and held it as gently as possible. You took notice of the scars on his calloused hand. He spoke in a nervous tone

"Jason, Jason Todd"

You instantly come to a pause.

"I- Uh, Jason Todd?" You know the name. Very well. But the name doesn't fit the face you remember.

But the look on everyone's face says it all, you know this family would not lie about this. You stepped closer to Jason, your hands hovering over his face, Jason could see your eyes glossed over with incoming tears that never fell.

" How. . .I thought you were dead. . ." You spoke in almost a whisper.

Jason lets out a weak chuckle.

"I thought you were dead too."

No words could express how much he missed you. When he came back from the dead, back into the family. No one dared to mention you. Even when he asked about you. They acted as if you were dead. But you were only a few miles away. Locked up. The thought alone angers him, he could have saved you sooner.

"Heh, I seem to get that a lot." You coil back and felt your phone buzz. Your ride was here.

"Do you have to leave Miss? It's late, why not stay for the night." Alfred tries to have you stay for at least a night.

"You just got here" - Dick

"The crime has gotten worse lately"- Tim

"Please. . .?"- Jason

You sighed as you opened the door,

"Sorry boys, no can do. Maybe another time." You gave them a small smile and turned to the car that was here to pick you up, but when you took a few steps down the staircase, you turn around where the entrance door was still open with Alfred and the boys stood.

"Oh, and Jason" Hearing you speak his name, Jason immediately perked up

"It was good seeing you. . . alive and all." You gave him a small toothy grin, before finally getting into the car.

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Do you understand, how angry Jason was right now? After all this time thinking you were dead, his sweet little sister gone, you were alive, in a cage full of crazy's. He doesn't care if you took a few lives. You didn't mean too, it was an accident.

He was furious with Bruce for letting you get locked up for so long. Because you're staying with the Falcone's, a bunch of criminals that resort to anything if kept on the top.

"She was alive this whole time, and you knew."

Not only was it Bruce, but Dick knew to. Of all people to keep this away from him, Jason wouldn't think Dick of all people would lie.

"No one said she was dead Jay." Dick tried to calm Jason in some way.

"No one said she was alive!" Jason was quick to snap at Dick who just frowned at Jason's tone.

Your reappearance was indeed a shock to everyone and a lot of them are still trying to process it. As for the ones who never knew of your existence, they were trying to find out more about you. Your name has never been uttered, no pictures of you. Nothing. It was like you never really existed.

Thank Tim for that. Who had to remove you completely, so the Wayne name had less pressure on them. But now Tim is trying to gather what kind of rehabilitation you were in. He felt suspicious of your return. The way your eyes would bare into everyone in a sort of creepy way. As if analyzing them, Tim knew if he brought it up to either Bruce or Dick they would not listen to him. Especially by the way they reacted to your return.

So he was lucky Cassandra and Duke came to him first.

"The way she stared at me, I don't know man it gave me the creeps." Duke wasn't saying this out of meanness. You were genuinely making him uneasy every time you glanced at him, even more nervous when you gave him a smile.

Cassandra felt threatened by you. No one but her noticed how you stared at her the most.

"Something isn't right with her." Was all Cassandra said. Something was indeed wrong with you.

". . . Well, she just got out of Arkham, maybe she's a little. . . ?" Duke trailed off. Not wanting to say the word crazy just yet.

Tim silently listened to Duke and Cassandra's concern about you.

"Haven't you known her longer Tim?" Duke questioned.

Tim sat back in his chair as he let out a small sigh. You might have not noticed much, but he was always watching you. From the moment Bruce took him under his wing. You were small. Quiet, and simple. Not like that was a bad thing. At that time Tim wanted excitement, thrill. And you were none of those things, due to the fact you were practically a toddler.

But now, your different. Of course. It's a no-brainer Arkham would change you, he saw it coming. But your change was, unsettling. He hoped you would stay for him to find out more. But it seems your occupied with the Falcone's at the moment. Whatever it is, he's going to find out.

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"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎?"

[herdivineama]

Hi, I would love for you to write jinx alternative universe x fem reader, that jinx is secretly in love with reader

I LOVE THIS REQUEST !!

. . ☕︎ ˚ ˒ ៸៸ Bold Shyness

for the sake of the story and alternative universe, “jinx” will return to “powder”

also i am not following the episode, im doing my own thing with my memories of who’s alive and who’s not and blah blah blah

masterlist ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა navigation

not proofread

“you’re staring again.” powder jumped, completely out of her face as she turns her head to see her brother, mylo and claggor. she scoffed, “am not.” mylo chuckled under his breath, “instead of staring, you should go talk to her.” claggor takes a sip of his drink while eyeing powder, silently agreeing with mylo. “you guys are ridiculous.” she laughed nervously, feeling their eyes still on her.

“what are you guys talking about?” ekko joins the table, placing his research books down, “oh nothing of impor—” “powder little girlfriend.” powder whipped her head around so fast, you have thought she broke it, “she’s not my girlfriend mylo!” mylo then bursted into laughter; clutching his stomach and all. the blue haired girl scoffed and bangs her head against the hard wood table with a blushing pout face.

“girlfriend?” ekko raised his eyebrow, trying to connect the dots, “ohh! you mean y/n?” he said a little louder than intended. powder freezes up, her eyes make side contact with you, as you looks over from your conversation to their table, her face feeling more and more warmer, “shut up ekko.” she says through her teeth. claggor ooo’d, “we caught her attention..” he spoke teasingly. none of this was helping powder’s case. powder could heard the softness of your shoes against the wood flooring.

“hey ekko!” your voice rings in her ear, over the faint music playing in the bar. “hey y/n! how are you?” you smiled, “i’m okay. oh i need a small issue that needs fixing, if you don’t mind.” the way you bounce from one foot to another doesn’t go unnoticed by powder’s not-so-subtle stare down. “ah, sorry y/n, i can’t help you…” his voice trails off, as he looks in front of him at the staring blue haired girl staring you down like a prey. “but! powder can help you!” he sends powder a nervous and proud smile.

“huh?!” powder’s eyes snapped off of you and looked at ekko, the boy puts his hands in surrender, “well…will you help me, powder?” you look down innocently, waiting for her answer. she nervously taps the table, her eyes nervously looked around but her eyes never truly left yours. “yea—yea of course, what time?” you smiled, “great! around 5pm is good?” powder nods, you embrace her with a quick hug before running off.

as soon as you left, powder bangs her head against the table, her face bright red and burning. mylo nudged her in the shoulder, “ok big girl moves! go get yourself a girlfriend.” claggor and ekko chuckled, “i hate all of you.” powder grumbled.

4:56

her hands are sweating, the equipment is glistening so much, the amount of she grabbed her sweat drag, she lost count. it’s just a girl it’s just a girl it’s just a girl— it’s just a really pretty girl— FUCK! has been her thoughts repeatedly for an hour now. she didn’t hear your shoes clicking as descend from the stairs. “hey pow-pow.” you announced.

the girl’s body tenses, she turns her head behind her, making eye contact with you; she gets up and moves to the side as you walk up the her work bench while wiping her sweaty hands on her clothes, “h-hey y/n!” she guides you over to the work table, “you can just place the stuff there.” you smiled as you take out the damaged parts and parts, powder nods and begins to start working.

6:13

you sat on the desk, her feet swinging and your head back turning up at the ceiling. you watched as powder worked, so focused and concentrated, her features soft and delicate. “hey pow?” she hummed back; her eyes still focused, “you’re really pretty.” you bluntly said.

that caused the bluette to short circuit, how do you say that with such confidence and no blushing or embarrassment? she glances up at you, her face a soft pink and her heart is pounding loudly; can you hear it? “t-thank you..” she finally responded back. you got down from the desk and moves to sit in powder’s lap, powder immediately holds onto your waist and hip, her face flustered and red. “you’re so cute when you’re blushing.” you giggled at your own joke. “w-what are you doing here…a-anyways?” you raised your eyebrow, “you’re so smart but you can’t figure this out?” your finger traced around her neck and jaw. “w-what are you talking about?”

you’re not stupid. the way she always somehow spot you in every room, her eyes scan your features, everything about you she knows; might sound stalker-ish but it isn’t, she’s just a great observer. it took about almost two years for the people she’s close with to figure it out.

you stare at her but she stares at your lips, like she wants to do this but is too shy to. “don’t be shy powder…” you spoke low and softly, and all her shyness went away, powder cups your face and pulls you in close, each other’s lips connect, closing the gap between them sharing a affectionate kiss of warmth and dedication.

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