#i have pains if i walk too much and it never happened before

[bookishdreamer28]

₊˚‧︵‿꒰୨ 𝑨𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ୧꒱‿︵‧˚₊

You couldn't see a thing. Your eyes were covered with a blindfold and all you could sense was the dark and cold energy that was radiating in the room they kept you in. It all happened too fast to remember anything right now.

"You can't keep me here forever! If you want to loo for something or someone, I'm not the person who can help you!" You loudly said so they could hear me from the other side of the closed door. Heavy footsteps approached the room you were in and you held your breath, as you waited for what was going to happen next. Once the door opened, the steps kept walking and stepped right in front of you.

The person in front of me kneeled down. He hooks my chin with the knuckle of his pointer finger and thumb.

"Why do you keep lying sweetheart?" The heavy voice of this man gave goosebumps to your whole body. It was so familiar...

"I'm not lying! You caught the wrong person and it's so frustrating that you don't even have the courtesy to explain why-"

"Ssh" His gloved fingers touched your lips and a burned sensation appeared in your stomach.

Then you felt him standing up and walked away.

He opened the door and talked to one of his guards you assume, but you was too deep in thought to bother hearong what they were saying. All you heard was that he was going to keep you company for the night.

When he closed the door, you heard his footsteps halting in front of you.

Then his hands were unwrapping the blindfold and it took you a second to get used to the bright light in the room, before your eyes fell on the figure staring down at you.

Your eyes widened as watched your best friend crouching down to your level, a worrying expression painted on his face.

"Are you ok? Are- are you hurt?"

You were speechless for a moment before your shocked expression turned into an angry one.

"Are yoy kidding me Caleb? I- I thought you were...and now you-.. what the fuck is going on?" Your eyes were stinging as tears made their way down to your cheek. The sight broke Caleb's heart into tiny pieces and all he wanted to do was to hold you in his arms. But he knew better than crossing boundaries right now.

"Love...I know you probably hate me so much right now and it pains me so much. But I had to do what I did. They were after you and-"

"I can't believe that our...friendship was based on lies." Calbed turned pale. He was scared that now he was going to lose you for good. He knew that he had hurt you with his actions but he felt like it would've been better than seing your hurt in the hands of the people who were after him. He promised to himself that he will never let anyone or anything hurt you, and he was going to keep it that way.

"Love what we had, and what I hope we still have, was never based on lies. My feelings for you are true. You mean the world to me. I had to act cold and distant now because the rest of my team was watching. I had to somehow keep you safw by showing them you're not important to me."

"Well, apparently I'm not."

"Listen to me please!" Caleb softly grabbed your forearms.

"You are my world, you are my best friend and damn it I- I wish I was more... I want to be more because I-"

His words never left his mouth, because all he could was just staring at you. Your eyes, your hair, your nose and your...lips. Those lips that he had never got the chance to kiss them and dreamed for so long.

"Caleb?" You whispered, defeated with this fight already. You knew him. Deep down you wanted to believe that what he did was actually for your own good.

"Please..." He exhaled as his face came closer to yours.

"What?" Your eyes fell on his lips.

"Kiss me. Please kiss me love." His voice trembled with emotion and you gulped down your own sobs.

This whole situation made you realize just how much you truly meant to each other. And since it has been so long aince the last time you talked, now it was time that no more words should be exchanged. But for actions to finally speak.

Your hands cupped his cheeks and you kissed him like he was going to disappear any time soon. Like you were watching a dream and you were scared that your time was limited. You needed this as much as he did.

He moaned as he wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you close to his warm and strong body. But Caleb interrupted your kiss by pulling away for a moment and amde you whined.

"Caleb as much as I want to talk about how stupid your decision was to keep secrets from me, now's not the time."

"I'm sorry love I just need to know if you truly want this-" you answered by kissing him more.

As you were going at it, Caleb picked you up and placed on the small office on the other side of the room. He just couldn't hold back.

When you finally pulled back, Caleb was unable to open his eyes for a few moments. It was so quiet and all you could hear was the sound of you trying catch your own breath. Caleb cupped your cheek in his palm, his thumb brushing lightly over your soft skin.

"It was you, who kept me going. You were leaving in my thoughts the whole time I was trapped in nothing but darkness. I'm not deserving of your forgiveness and I'm willing to grovel for you my love. But nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever stop this heart" he softly grabbed your hand and placed on top of where his heart beats "beating for you."

Your glassy eyes knly stared at him for a moment and then a soft smile appeared on your face, making Caleb smiled widely at the sight.

"Always you." You said as you omce again kissed him, pouring all the love you had in you into it. Even thought you spent so much time away from each other, one thing for sure is that your souls were connected. And there will never be nothing to break this connection.

Ok that was a bit rushed I think but I was too excited when his trailer dropped, that I had to write something ASAP!!!! I'll post more of him so stay tuned Caleb loveeers!!!!

[kikyoupdates]

Made to Destroy ⭑˚💎⭑ 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒

bnha x op!reader

op!reader, my hero academia x fem!reader, reverse harem, over powered reader, f!reader

You are the product of a series of twisted experiments, an anomaly that shouldn’t have ever existed in the first place. Thankfully, you are taken into the arms of a hero and given a new purpose in life. But as you soon discover, it isn’t easy to deny your true nature, especially when you were made to destroy.

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“This is... food?”  

You blink, examining the strange item sitting on the plate in front of you. It’s made of several components, and when you hesitantly take it into your hands, it starts falling apart.  

Aizawa frowns as he helps you hold it together. “It’s a burger. Have you never eaten one before? Sorry. I wasn’t exactly sure what you liked.”  

You don’t even know what you like, so it goes without saying that he couldn’t possibly know either. But your stomach keeps grumbling loudly, demanding to be heard, so you figure there’s no harm in giving it a try.  

Aizawa watches, somewhat mesmerized, as you clumsily cram the burger into your mouth. Granted, you’re just a kid, and kids are notoriously messy eaters, but there’s something about the strange way in which you’re doing it that just doesn’t sit right with him.  

It almost looks like this is the very first meal you’ve ever had.  

“Burger,” you mumble breathlessly. Crumbs and sauce are glued to your face, and you turn towards Aizawa in disbelief. “This is so... so good.”  

“I’m glad you like it,” he chuckles. “Go ahead. Eat as much as you want.”  

You certainly don’t need to be told twice, and you haven’t yet learned what it means to pace yourself, so you chow down without a moment’s hesitation. Each bite somehow tastes better than the last, and you’re relieved to find that the painful, unpleasant feeling in your stomach is slowly fading away.  

Aizawa rests his chin on the back of his hand and keeps watching you eat, but truth be told, he’s more so scanning you over from top to bottom.  

You’re a little girl. He can’t place your exact age, but perhaps you’re about six years old? Regardless, you are far too young to have been roaming the streets unattended until a creep snatched you up. It’s possible you were separated from your parents, but so far, you’ve made no mention of it.  

And then, there’s your appearance. More specifically, the clothes you’re wearing. If you can even call them clothes.  

You’re dressed in nothing more than what appears to be a thin sheet, similar to a hospital gown. Your feet are completely bare, too. No shoes, or sandals, or anything else. Do most kids run around outside without shoes on nowadays? Aizawa can’t say for sure, but it seems strange.  

Everything about this situation gives him a bad feeling, and the way that you’re desperately stuffing your face—as if you haven’t seen food in a long time—doesn’t help either.  

You make quick work of polishing off the burger, and once you’re done, you look back at him expectantly.  

“I think I’m still hungry,” you say. “Can I have another one?”  

“In a bit,” Aizawa promises. “But first, I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions for me. To start off, why were you all alone? What were you doing before that man kidnapped you? Do you remember?”  

“I was just walking,” you reply.  

“Alone?”  

“Yes. Can I have another burger now?”  

“Sorry. Just be a little bit more patient. A few more questions, and then I promise I’ll get you another one.” He laces his hands together and leans across the table slightly. “Who were you with up until you went outside? I just want you to try retracing your steps so that you can give me a better idea of what happened.”  

Up until you went outside...? Well, you suppose he must be referring to the brief time you spent with Dr. Garaki.  

“I woke up,” you say simply. “And there was this man. He didn’t tell me his name. But he hurt me, so I left. I didn’t want to stay there anymore.”  

Aizawa’s expression darkens. His worst fears have just been confirmed. You must have suffered some kind of abuse and ended up running away from home.  

“The man,” he presses. “What did he look like? It sounds like he did something awful to you, and since my job is to take care of bad guys like him, it would really help if I knew a bit more about him.”  

“He had a mustache,” you say. “And, um... these things covering his face.” You form shapes with your fingers and place them on top of your eyes. It takes Aizawa a few moments to decipher what you mean. 

“Glasses?” he frowns.  

“Oh! Yes,” you nod. “That’s what they were. Glasses.”  

Talking is quite a troublesome endeavor, you’ve come to realize. Some terms you’re familiar with, while others, you still have yet to learn. But your brain forms the connections quickly enough, and it actually feels rather nice, discovering all sorts of new things about the world.  

“A mustache and glasses,” Aizawa sighs, lowering his head in defeat. “That’s not awfully specific. Is there anything else about him that stood out to you? Something more unique that we could identify right away?”  

You shake your head. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember much. I wasn’t there for very long.”  

“And I just want to confirm, but this man isn’t your father, is he? Otherwise, you would have been able to tell me other things about him, like his name. Right?”  

His question makes you scrunch up your brow. The term father... it feels like you should know it, and yet, the meaning of the word evades you.  

“What is a father?”  

Aizawa wasn’t expecting you to answer his question with one of your own, and it’s safe to say that his concern has just skyrocketed.  

“Your family,” he frowns. “The people you’ve grown up around, who’ve raised you. Is that who this man is?”  

“I don’t think so. Maybe. All I know is that I woke up today. There wasn’t anything else before that.”  

Memory loss. The situation must be even graver than he thought. It’s entirely possible that you’ve unconsciously blocked out traumatic events, leaving you with gaps in your recollection. This much amnesia seems rather extreme, though. Perhaps you’re still hesitant to tell him the full truth. Perhaps the truth is simply too painful.  

Aizawa smiles empathetically. “Alright. Thank you for answering my questions. I promised you another burger, so when the server comes back, I’ll order it for you.”  

You’re getting another burger. You’re getting more food. More delicious food, for that matter.  

The thought of such a thing makes your heartbeat quicken, and before you know it, your lips are lifting at the corners and stretching across your face.  

“Thank you,” you say. This man isn’t like Dr. Garaki. The fact that he isn’t hurting you, and instead getting you yummy food, is proof of it. He’s a nice person, and something tells you that nice people deserve to be thanked.  

Aizawa smiles back. He’s relieved to see that you’re not too upset, despite the circumstances.  

But he's getting another weird feeling, exactly like when he watched you struggle to eat that burger earlier. 

It’s as if you’ve only just now learned how to smile.  

“The man’s been taken into custody. Thank you as always for your assistance, Eraserhead. And I’m guessing this is the girl you mentioned?”  

Aizawa nods. “Yeah. She was hungry, so I wanted to grab her some food while you were dealing with the perpetrator.”  

“I hope she’s feeling a bit better now,” the policeman says. He frowns as he looks you over, which seems to be a recurring trend. “Are you cold, young lady? Your feet must hurt, walking around like that.”  

“I’m fine,” you say. “I ate two burgers, and they were really good.”  

“Haha. I’m glad to hear that.” He looks back at Aizawa hopefully. “Well, I think she should probably come down to the station. We’ve got a lot of questions for her.”  

“Why? Aizawa already asked me some questions, and I answered them,” you frown.  

“Yes, but they’re the police,” Aizawa explains. “I’m a hero, so I fight villains, but the police excels at gathering information and getting to the bottom of things. They'll figure out everything they need to know and get you back home, safe and sound.”  

“I don’t have a home.”  

Even though it’s only been a few hours since you’ve taken your first breath, that much, you know for a fact.  

You don’t have a home. You don’t have a place in this world.  

If you want to live, like everyone else, you’ll have to forge your own path.  

“I think she’s forgotten some things,” Aizawa explains. “I think it might be a response to trauma. But she’s adamant about one man’s involvement, and it sounds like that’s who we need to track down. Maybe we should start with something simpler, like locating her family. Could you find them on the registry?”  

“We could try,” the policeman nods. He turns towards you again. “[Name], what’s your family name? Your last name. Even just knowing that would be a big help.”  

“I don’t have a last name.” You pause, frowning slightly. “Or maybe I do? But I’m not sure. I just know that I’m [Name]. That’s all.”  

Neither of them seems particularly thrilled with your answer, which feels unfair, because you’ve been nothing but truthful.  

Aizawa scratches his head. “Well, this is kind of what it’s like. There are clearly a lot of factors in play, and quite frankly, I’m not sure where to start. But it’s obvious that she’s been through a lot and needs our help.”  

“Of course,” the policeman nods. “We’ll do everything in our power to fix this. In the meantime, while we track down her family, we should find someplace for her to stay and get some rest. The police station probably isn’t ideal. Maybe child services is better equipped to deal with this sort of thing?”  

“I want to stay with Aizawa,” you say. Of course, you don’t really understand what they’re talking about, but so far, Aizawa has yet to let you down. You’d like for him to be with you from now on.  

The policeman smiles. “Eraserhead is a good guy, but being a hero keeps him pretty busy. Don’t worry. We’ll find other nice people to take care of you, and I’m sure you’ll love them.”  

After what you’ve already been through, you don’t really feel like taking any more chances. Aizawa is good. You like Aizawa.  

There’s no point in fixing what isn’t broken.  

“I’m staying with him,” you insist, grabbing Aizawa’s hand firmly. His eyes widen at the sudden gesture, but you feel his fingers instinctively squeeze yours.  

“I understand how you feel,” the policeman mumbles nervously. “But, um, there are certain things that we just can’t—”  

“No. It’s fine.” Aizawa looks down at you, and as he does, his dark eyes soften a touch. “I don’t mind. If it’s a temporary arrangement, I don’t mind looking after her. Whatever helps her feel the most comfortable until you guys get to the bottom of this.”  

“Won’t it interfere with your hero duties?”  

“I’m not the only hero out there. Besides, if something urgent comes up, I’ll make other arrangements so that someone watches over her, but odds are that you’ll have at least found a lead by then, right?”  

“True,” he nods. “A missing child warrants a lot of concern. We’ll probably start getting phone calls within the day.”  

“So, it’s fine. At least until then, [Name] will have somewhere to stay. I can have her rest for a while at my apartment. And if there’s anything you need, you know where to reach me.”  

The policeman nods once more, and after they discuss a few more details that you can’t quite make sense of, you are finally free to go. 

It doesn’t take very long to reach Aizawa’s apartment.  

“Sorry for the mess,” he mumbles sheepishly. He then stops to reassess his words. “Actually, I guess kids don’t really care about that kind of stuff.”  

He’s right. You don’t.  

“This is your home?” you ask, looking around. It isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen before, but you suppose that’s to be expected, given your lack of general knowledge.  

Aizawa nods. “Yeah, pretty much. I’ve got a TV, if you feel like watching cartoons or something. Hopefully you can find a show that you’ll like.”  

He picks up a device and uses it to turn on another device, and you jolt in surprise as moving images appear upon a screen which was pitch-black just a second ago.  

You shuffle closer to what you can only assume is the TV. “There are people in there,” you point. “But they’re so small. How?”  

“Have you never watched anything on TV before?” he blinks.  

You shake your head.  

“...huh.”  

Once again, he is completely lost for words. You tend to have that effect on people, and you’re not quite sure if it’s a good thing or not.  

“Maybe this has to do with her missing memories,” he mumbles quietly. But he composes himself quickly enough and sits down next to you, cross-legged. “Those people aren’t really inside the TV,” he explains. “Everything you see here was filmed beforehand, and the image was captured so that we could watch it later on. Here, let me find the kids’ channel. It’s bound to be more fun than the weather report.”  

He flicks through channels until he finally finds what he’s looking for, then turns towards you, waiting to see how you’ll react.  

These are... cartoons? All of a sudden, the TV screen is awash with bright, vibrant colors, which are perhaps a bit too harsh on your eyes. For some reason, though, you can’t find it in yourself to look away. Even though you are an artificial human, your mental maturity is still that of a child, and you feel as if you’re in a trance.  

Aizawa chuckles softly. You’ve clearly got a lot going on, but you’re just a kid, at the end of the day. An innocent little kid who likes to watch cartoons.  

For a while, it’s silent, save for the sound coming from the TV. You are completely transfixed, so you don’t bother saying anything to him, and he has no intention of interrupting you.  

Someone else decides to interrupt, though. 

“Yoohoo! Eraser, are you home? I see the light under the door, so you must be!”  

Aizawa rolls his eyes. God, what awful timing. The sound of that insufferable man’s voice must have caught your attention too, because for the first time since the cartoons came on, you frown and look his way.  

“Don’t worry,” he reassures. “It’s just someone I know. You can keep watching. I’ll only be a minute.”  

You nod absentmindedly and focus back on the TV, and soon enough, you’re completely zoned-out again.  

Meanwhile, Aizawa opens the door and finds himself face to face with a carefree, overbearing idiot. 

“My schedule was looking pretty free, so I came to hang out!” Present Mic grins. 

“Of course you did,” Aizawa scowls. “But no, now’s not a good time.”  

“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re getting ready for bed already. I know you like your sleep and all, but—”  

He stops midsentence, because he can hear the TV playing in the background, and being the nosy bastard that he is, he sidesteps Aizawa and sneaks a peek inside.  

Then, he lets out a loud, exaggerated gasp.  

“Eraser! There’s a kid in your apartment!”  

“Thanks,” Aizawa mutters sarcastically. “I hadn’t realized that until now.”  

Present Mic takes a moment to assess the situation. He’s normally obnoxiously loud, to the point that Aizawa has to tell him to shut up, so the fact that he’s been rendered speechless says a lot about the situation.  

Unfortunately, he can never keep his mouth shut for long enough.  

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Present Mic shakes his head disappointedly. “I never took you for the type to have a secret love child. But what matters is that you’ve decided to take responsibility and look after her. And don’t worry! I’ll be with you every step of the way.”  

Present Mic flashes him a thumbs-up, and Aizawa has the sudden urge to punch him in the face.  

“I think my show is over,” you say suddenly. “And I’m hungry again, so I kind of want another burger. Also, who’s that guy?” 

Present Mic steps forward, puffs out his chest, and with great pride, promptly declares:  

“I’m your uncle!”  

Aizawa really should have punched him in the face while he still had the chance. 

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[read-write-thrive]

Charles Rowland Week Day Two - Chorb/Comfort

After over three decades as ghosts, you would think that Charles and Edwin would have a good grasp on what ghosts can and can’t do, or even what ghosts could or couldn’t feel, so, etc. Like, ghosts can eat, but it tastes awful. Ghosts can’t sleep at all. That sort of thing. Edwin called them “ghost rules”. Charles also called them ghost rules, but he did his best not to talk about them at all unless directly asked. He’d opened up about missing being alive and all that baggage, yeah, but no need to poke at it, alright?

But lately they’d discovered a new ghost “rule” (ability? Function? Who knows) completely on accident. You see, after the entire fiasco with Esther (and the following quest to get Niko back) the boys had been, frankly, exhausted. They’d done a lot in their thirty years but never so much in so little time. It was weird, to say the least.

“Are you guys sure you’re okay? We can stick around—“ Crystal had tried as they all but herded the girls out of the office. It was past midnight and they should’ve left hours ago, but the boys must look especially bad if their looks were anything to go by.

However, this exhaustion was wearing on the boy’s patience (well, Edwin’s, but Charles had to mediate so it was getting to him too) and frankly, they needed a break. Charles was happy to say as much.

“Nope, all good here! In fact, I think we’ve all earned some time off, so maybe take the next few days to rest, yeah? You sure you don’t want us to walk with you to the tube?” Even his face hurt from smiling, which hasn’t happened since long before he died. There was an alarm bell in the back of his head, but he felt too exhausted to have a proper look at it. He just needed a break is all.

The girls shared a look again. Is this how people felt when he and Edwin did that? Charles didn’t realise it was so annoying.

“We’ll be fine. You have my number right? If anything happens?” Crystal pulled on her coat and helped Niko with her accidentally inside-out sleeve, “And you’re sure that ancient landline even works?”

“As I’ve said, the phone was enchanted to work even without electricity. Barring extremely dire circumstances, it works.” Edwin snapped, lighter than his proper angry tone but still on the edge.

“Do you want us to call you before coming back?” Niko asked towards Edwin, but with a significant, pointed glance at Charles. Charles knew there was something in that look, too, but thinking felt a little difficult at the minute. His head kinda felt like the jar of bees. Maybe he should fish it out of the backpack to compare.

Edwin replied to Niko kinder than he’d been with Crystal but not by much. Crystal snapped at him, probably about his tone with Niko, and then those two were arguing again. Charles really should break it up so the girls could get back to their flat.

God, was this a migraine? Could ghosts get migraines? It’d be just his luck, too. Was there ghost paracetamol he could take? He’d have to dry swallow it since the drink would taste like sand—

There was a hand waving in front of his face. Someone grabbed his arm and shook him. Suddenly Edwin grabbed him by the shoulders, staring him down intently. He was saying something, too. Charles moved to smile and nod, even as he had no idea what was going on, but that seemed to make the pain spike again. He flinched against it. He crossed his arms across himself, though he couldn’t say why. Comfort? Warmth? Guess it didn’t matter much, really.

Several sets of hands were pushing him somewhere—oh, the sofa, right. That seemed like a good idea. Weren’t the girls going somewhere? Or supposed to be, at least. He assumed they were some of the other hands pushing and pulling him along.

He landed on the sofa with little grace, the bouncing making something pulse in his brain is a not nice way. Edwin was there again, hands on Charles’s cheeks and forehead as if checking for fever. It was silly—surely ghosts couldn’t get fevers, if they didn’t have bodies. Edwin knows that.

They were talking to him again. It sounded like he was underwater, sound carrying but only barely. Oh, right. Ghosts weren’t supposed to have whatever was happening now, either. That would explain Edwin’s furious note taking and fussing. Niko was up and about helping him, which meant Crystal had to be the one next to him. Turning his head felt like a bad idea, so he was glad they only had so many people in the vicinity. Process of elimination and all that.

Pain struck at his abdomen next, dull ache turning stabbing in the matter of minutes. He curled in on himself, bringing his feet up onto the sofa and his knees to his face. Clutching at his stomach, Charles squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead into his knees. Maybe if he just curled up tight enough—

It was like his ears popped and every joint cracked at the same time. Charles was pretty sure it was an audible pop! too. But suddenly everything was peaceful, like he was stretched out and condensed into the best full-body hug at the same time. The world was a warm yellow, bright but comfortable. Sure he couldn’t see his friends anymore, but it was blessed relief from whatever the bloody hell that pain was and Charles was absolutely going to bask in it.

After a minute or two of adjusting, Charles realised he could almost hear what was happening in the office. Crystal and Edwin were fighting again, though now Niko seemed to be— cooing over something? Muttering reassurances? He couldn’t catch all the words, but he was pretty sure that was her “finding a literal creature and/or inanimate object adorable” voice. Who/what was she talking to? Shouldn’t she be splitting up the other two? Actually, weren’t the girls supposed to be heading home?

He wanted to ask all of that, but this blissful state didn’t grant him the power of speech, apparently. Charles’s questions came out as a humming noise instead. Surely this should be worrying him—no sight, no speech, hell he’s pretty sure no body—but it was hard to feel worried, or frustrated, or sad here. He felt so good, why would he ruin it with all that? Besides, taking a step back and being relieved of his headache gave him the chance to carefully consider what had just happened.

And he would do that. Definitely. At some point. Look, this was probably the closest he’d gotten to sleep in over thirty years, you can’t blame him for wanting to bask in it for a while, alright? Just a little bit, so Edwin doesn’t kill Crystal (or Crystal somehow double kills Edwin). A bit of rest then he’d figure out how to go back.

~

When Charles “popped” again, returning to the mortal plane or whatever, it was to a pile of blankets and pillows in the middle of the office, wood burning stove lit and his three best friends circled around him. Thankfully they left him enough room to not pop on top of someone.

The girls were asleep, but Edwin was instantly focused on Charles. He went so far as to scurry forward, kneeling between Charles’s flailed legs to, again nonsensically, press at his face for a fever that wasn’t there.

“Charles, you’re back! Are you alright? Do you know what happened? Lord, I— we were worried.” Edwin admitted, dropping his hands and rocking back on his heals to create a smidge more distance.

Charles, genuinely smiling this time, decided he wasn’t a fan of this embarrassment or shame or whatever it was Edwin was dealing with. So, naturally, he leaned forward and threw his arms around his best mate.

“Oh, mate, it was brills…”

—

Day two of @charles-rowland-week !! I am vvvvv sleepy rn so if there’s mistakes no there isn’t 😌 hope y’all enjoyed!

[clangenrising]

Month 20 - Leaffall

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“I want to come,” Floodstrike said firmly, walking sharply in step with Goldenstar as she went about the final preparations for her meeting with the city cats. She stopped, gave a pained sigh, and looked her apprentice over. His jaw was tightly set, his forepaws sheathing and unsheathing their claws in the grass with excess energy. At least, she noticed, his eyes weren’t raw and red anymore. 

“Floodstrike,” she began carefully. 

“I know,” he interrupted, “this is important and you don’t want me to mess it up but, I promise, I won’t do anything stupid. I just want to be there in case things go wrong.” 

Goldenstar couldn’t help but let out a sympathetic breath through her nose. “I understand,” she said, “I really do, but this meeting took weeks to arrange. I’m only bringing warriors who I can trust to stay cool headed.” 

“You can trust me, Goldenstar,” he begged, leaning in. “Please. I need to be there.” 

Goldenstar took a slow, deep breath, closed her eyes, and then let it out with a huff. “Fine. I’m trusting you.” Opening her eyes, she searched his face for his reaction.

“Thank you!” he deflated slightly with relief. “I promise you won’t regret it.” 

“Go eat a meal and tell Oddstripe to make you a portion of traveling herbs,” she said with a twitch of her ear. Floodstrike nodded dutifully and bounded off towards the healer’s den. Goldenstar sighed again. 

After a beat to collect herself, Goldenstar resumed her preparations. She stopped Russetfrond and made sure that there wasn’t anything they hadn’t already discussed that needed her attention before she left. This time he didn’t seem resistant to staying home which was a relief. She honestly couldn’t blame him. If something happened to Bluekit and Yellowkit while he was away, she knew he would never forgive himself. 

Next, she went to check on Aldertail and found her with Oddstripe making the bundles of herbs for the journey. She went over the emergency protocol with Aldertail again, making sure that she knew exactly who to go to if another attack was launched while they were away. Aldertail nodded, seeming reassured by the repetition of the plan, which had been Goldenstar’s intention.

Before she left, Oddstripe asked, “Is it true you agreed to let Floodstrike go along?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, belly clenching nervously. 

“Okay,” Oddstripe nodded and looked down. “Just make sure he comes home safe, alright?” 

“Of course,” said Goldenstar with genuine fervor. “I won’t take a single risk I don’t have to.” 

“Oh, thank you,” the healer sniffled and smiled up at her and she felt her chest tighten. She hoped she would be able to keep her promise. 

When she stepped outside, Scorchplume fell into step beside her and said, “SkyClan is here. Orangestar should be waiting for us at the thunderpath.” 

“Good,” she nodded. “Let's get everyone together and get ready to go.”

“Alright,” Scorch said without looking at her, the picture of a regal advisor. “I’ll fetch Songdust. Why don’t you grab Coyotechaser?” 

“And Floodstrike,” Goldenstar said, bracing herself. 

“What?” Scorch’s regality dissipated like someone smacking a dandelion puff. Keeping her voice low but her tone sharp, she whispered, “No. No way! Goldenstar, we talked about this, we can’t afford any rash behavior!”

“I know, I know, but he swore he would be on his best behavior,” tried Goldenstar.

“So did Fogpaw,” huffed Scorch, “that doesn’t mean she gets to tag along!” 

“We could use the extra muscle,” she argued. 

“At what cost?” Scorchplume lashed her tail, took a deep breath and said, “Look. I love you, Goldie,” (and Goldenstar puffed up with affection, much to Scorch’s annoyance) “but your judgment is impaired here! You’re too soft on him. It isn’t fun but he’s just going to have to suck it up and stay home and you’re going to have to suck it up and tell him so.” It took a good deal of effort for Goldenstar not to squirm under Scorch’s piercing scowl.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” she said firmly, “but the choice has already been made. It’s gonna look bad if I undo my decision because you told me to.” Scorchplume looked askance, ears swiveling backward. Quickly, Goldenstar added, “Besides, I’m trusting Floodstrike and I’m asking you to trust me. I don’t want to make you feel like I cornered you into going along with this or anything.” She gently laid her tail over Scorch’s, hoping that she hadn’t just accidentally threatened her kind-of-sort-of-partner.

Scorch was still for a moment, likely processing something behind her mask. Then she said, “It’s fine, you couldn’t corner me if you tried.” Goldenstar chuckled a little and wrapped her tail more tightly around Scorch’s. 

“That’s good. I promise that if he does anything out of line I’ll send him home.”

“You’d better,” Scorch said, looking up at her. “We probably won’t get a second chance at this.” 

“I know,” Goldenstar said with the appropriate solemnity. “I won’t let this opportunity slip through our claws.” 

Scorch sighed, nodded, and bumped her head against Goldenstar’s forehead. “Alright.” 

“Goldenstar!” Coyotechaser called over from where she was standing with Greyvoice and Couragecry who were scheduled to join a border patrol. “Are we ready to go?” 

“Just about!” she called back, “We’ll grab our traveling herbs and head out.” 

~~~

After meeting up with Orangestar, the group - Goldenstar, Scorchplume, Songdust, Floodstrike, and Coyotechaser - crossed the thunderpath and headed for the city. The afternoon stretched into evening and as they approached, Goldenstar watched in wonder as the city lights came to life one by one. 

“Remember,” Scorchplume told them as they walked, “When we get to the meeting, I’ll do the speaking for all of us. If you have something you want said, let me know and I’ll phrase it in a way that the city cats will respond favorably to.” 

“Right,” Coyotechaser said cautiously. 

“Also,” Goldenstar said, “As far as the city cats know, I’m the leader of all the Clans. At this point, we think it's best to leave it that way. The less they actually know about us, the better. While we’re in the city, you and Orangestar are my advisors, just like Scorchplume.” 

“I can see the reason in that,” admitted the SkyClan deputy. 

“In that case,” said Orangestar, “it might be good to avoid calling me Orangestar, just in case.” 

“That’s smart,” said Goldenstar, smiling fondly at her friend. “Guess you’ll be Orangeleaf again for a while.”

“Guess so,” laughed Orangestar bashfully. 

They padded along for a while longer before they reached the large gravel path that led into the city. Goldenstar led them along the edge of it, trying to steady her nerves. This was where things got dangerous. The plan relied on them drawing as little attention to themselves as possible and the closer they got, the more likely it was that they would be seen and possibly attacked. 

Her fears were realized when they spotted a small cluster of cats loitering across the gravel from them, just little ginger and white and grey smudges in the fading light. Coyotechaser growled a low warning to the others, tail bristling, and Goldenstar held her tail out behind her to try and settle the group.

“Easy,” she said. 

The group of cat shapes up ahead stood and started loping back to the city and Floodstrike lunged after them before Goldenstar had a chance to say anything. Quickly, Songdust hooked a paw out in front of him, tumbling him forward. He caught himself before hitting the gravel and turned back to glare at her. 

“Floodstrike!” Goldenstar hissed so that the city cats wouldn’t be able to hear. “What are you doing?” 

“They’re going to get reinforcements!” he cried indignantly. 

“Or,” Scorchplume cut in sharply, “they’re with Rudy and attacking them would have ruined the entire meeting!” Orangestar glanced from Scorch to Goldenstar with worry and Coyotechaser squinted inscrutably at Floodstrike. Songdust just looked pitying. Under all these gazes, Floodstrike’s big ears wilted behind him and he pressed his mouth into a thin line. 

“I’m sorry, Goldenstar,” he said, “I- I thought I was helping.” 

“I know,” she sighed, avoiding the pointed look that Scorch was giving her. “Let’s keep going. We don’t have time to waste out in the open.” She ducked her head and started going, knowing that a number of unpleasant conversations were going to be had eventually.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to Luna’s garden. The little lilac kittypet was waiting for them on top of the fence and smiled in greeting, ushering them over the fence with her tail. 

“Welcome! Welcome!” she purred, blushing when she made eye contact with Floodstrike. “Schmidt should be here soon, you can wait under the bench by the hydrangeas.” 

“Thank you,” Goldenstar thanked her and hopped the fence with a quick bound. 

When her paws hit the ground, Scorchplume was right behind her, saying softly, “I told you not to bring him.” 

“I know,” Goldenstar whispered back. “I’ll handle it.” 

“Good,” huffed Scorch. She led the way to the bench, which was good since Goldenstar had no idea what a bench was in the first place, and the other cats followed, clustering underneath the odd wooden structure with their backs against the wilting hydrangea blossoms. 

“You trust this Schmidt cat?” Coyotechaser asked.

“I do,” Goldenstar nodded. 

“He kept me safe while I was in the city,” said Songdust. “He’s a good cat, if a bit idealistic.” 

“That’s good,” mewed Orangestar. 

Goldenstar glanced past her to where Floodstrike was sitting, tail curled around his paws and she swallowed in shame when he met her gaze a second later. He could tell he was in trouble and they were both miserable about it. She quickly averted her gaze and tried to go over the meeting points in her mind. 

A short time later, two cats crested the fence and followed Luna over to the bench. The first cat was Schmidt, a kind smile on his face as he approached, and the second was a cat who looked exactly like him but with a slightly brighter tint to his ginger fur, much like Orangestar. The second cat followed closely behind Schmidt. His eyes wandered the yard for any sign of danger but his face bore a politely empty expression rather than a threatening or anxious one. Goldenstar stepped out from under the bench to meet them and the others followed suit.

“Evenin’, Goldenstar,” said Schimdt with a well mannered dip of the head. “This is my brother, Westen. He insisted on comin’ to watch my back.” At his introduction, Westen dipped his head in kind and briefly flashed a smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Westen,” Goldenstar said.

“Please, ma’am, call me Wes,” said Wes with a twang and a humble smile. Goldenstar couldn’t help but smile herself. 

“Of course,” she said. Then, back to Schimdt, “Is everything ready for the meeting?” 

“As ready as it’ll ever be,” Schimdt said with a nervous huff. “We’ll be meetin’ on a friend’s balcony at sundown. We prolly ought to head over there now though. Don’t wanna get caught like a squirrel in a bottle.” Goldenstar nodded instead of asking what a bottle or a balcony was. 

“Right, let’s get going then,” she said. 

Scorchplume cleared her throat, looking strained. 

Goldenstar frowned. “Right. Floodstrike, I’m going to need you to stay here.” 

“Goldenstar, please!” Floodstrike protested. “It was one mistake, I promise it won’t happen again.”

“You already promised me and you broke your promise,” Goldenstar said. “I’m sorry. Stay here with Luna. If something goes wrong we’ll have someone send you for help.” 

Floodstrike opened his mouth to protest then closed it with a soft clack. Looking down, he sighed, “Alright.” Goldenstar smiled, bittersweet. She was proud, at least, that he hadn’t tried to keep arguing.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said, and Schmidt nodded and turned to lead the way. 

On the edge of her hearing, Goldenstar caught Wes whispering to Luna, “Miss Luna, will you be alright on your own with this fella?” 

“Oh, don’t worry, Wes,” Luna purred, “We get on peachy.” Then she laughed like she’d told a joke. 

This seemed enough to put Wes at ease and he said simply, “Alright then. Don’t forget to fetch your Folk if you need anythin',” before slinking back into place behind Schmidt’s right shoulder. Goldenstar chuckled a bit and hung back to speak with Floodstrike. 

“Hey,” she said softly and he looked up with big, guilty eyes. “Don’t beat yourself up so bad you forget to enjoy yourself, ‘kay?” 

“W-” Floodstrike frowned then glanced past her to Luna before blushing with understanding. “Oh. That’s- I’m not-”

“It’s alright,” Goldenstar laughed a little. “Whatever happens, it’ll be alright as long as you feel comfortable. Don’t forget to stand up for yourself.” 

“Alright,” he swallowed dryly. 

With that, Goldenstar bounded to catch up before anyone could call for her and the group hopped the fence and darted across the thunderpath towards the meeting place.

[alittlegiraffe]

A Shield and a Heart

Warnings: None except a slightly creepy guy

The day had been long—too long. The crisp air of Brooklyn was an unexpected reprieve from the heat that clung to the city streets all day. You were walking home from the corner café, your mind still lost in the whirlwind of your usual thoughts. Your fingers wrapped around your jacket to pull it tighter, fighting off the chill, but it wasn’t the cold that made your heart race; it was him.

Bucky Barnes.

You had met him by accident a few months ago. He was just another face in a crowd of strangers at a local art exhibit, but there was something about him—an intensity that made your pulse quicken every time your eyes landed on him. Maybe it was the softness of his smile, the way he looked at you like you were something precious.

And maybe it was the way he looked at everyone else.

Bucky wasn’t just any guy. He was a soldier, one who had seen more pain, more destruction, than anyone should ever have to endure. His haunted past was something he rarely spoke of, but you could feel the weight of it when he looked at you with those soulful blue eyes, as if he was afraid you’d run away the moment you realized who he truly was.

But you didn’t run. You wanted to stay. You wanted to understand him.

You turned the corner to the familiar street where your apartment was, and that’s when you felt it—a shift in the air. Something was wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You’d never been paranoid, but something about the quietness of the street, the absence of the usual noise, felt off.

A shadow darted past the alleyway just ahead of you.

Your heart skipped, and instinctively, you quickened your pace. Maybe you were imagining things, but the gnawing sensation that you were being watched only grew stronger with every step.

Before you could turn the corner to your building, a figure appeared in front of you, blocking your path. A man, tall and lean, with an uncomfortably predatory gaze. He stepped closer, and you instinctively took a step back, your mind racing for an escape plan.

But just as the man took another step toward you, you heard a low voice call from behind you.

“Leave her alone.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could even turn around, the figure was gone—disappeared into the shadows as quickly as he had come. You whipped around, your pulse racing, and there stood Bucky Barnes, his eyes narrowed, a protective intensity radiating from him like a shield.

Bucky had always been protective, but this? This was different.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, but there was a raw urgency in it. His eyes scanned your face, looking for signs of fear, of harm. He was already moving closer to you, his large, warm hand resting on your shoulder as if making sure you were real, tangible.

“I… I think so.” You breathed, still in shock from the encounter, but more so from the overwhelming surge of emotion that suddenly flooded your chest. You hadn’t realized how much you needed him to be there until he was.

“You’re shaking.” He gently took your hands in his, and you couldn’t help but notice how cold they were against his warm skin. “That bastard won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure of it.”

You looked up at him, trying to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t let you. His eyes were scanning the area, still on high alert.

“Bucky, thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft, barely above a breath.

He didn’t respond at first, his jaw tight as his gaze flickered from the shadows to you. It wasn’t until he felt you pull at his arm, gently tugging him back into the present, that he turned his eyes to yours. And when he did, you saw something different in them—a softness, a depth that you hadn’t seen before.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said quietly, almost to himself, but it was meant for you.

The world around you faded away as his words sunk in. You didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere between all the quiet moments and stolen glances, you had fallen for him. You had fallen for the man who would stand in front of a bullet for you, who would face down his demons just to make sure you were safe.

And right then, you knew—he had already fallen for you, too.

“Bucky…” you started, your voice trembling a little as you reached for his hand, pulling it to your chest, your heart hammering beneath his palm.

His breath hitched. “Yeah?”

You paused, feeling the weight of what you were about to say, knowing it was more than just words. It was the truth, the one that had been building up in your chest every time you saw him, every time you felt his quiet presence. “I… I care about you. A lot.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, that this might scare him. But instead, he stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek with such tenderness it felt like a promise.

“I care about you, too,” he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

It was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him, and in that moment, all the walls he’d built up came crashing down. There was nothing between you but the truth, raw and unspoken.

You closed the gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was gentle, hesitant, and full of everything unsaid. Bucky’s lips were warm, his hands wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. He kissed you with all the intensity and care of a man who had longed for this moment, and you kissed him back with all the love and devotion you had to give.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you rested your forehead against his, your hand still tangled in his. His eyes were still closed, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he murmured, “I don’t think I can live without you.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered back, the words a promise, a vow that neither of you would have to face this world alone anymore.

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together. Because in his arms, you had found the kind of love that could withstand any storm—and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Tags: @tumblin-theworldaway LOOK A BUCKY FIC NOW TOO, WHO AM I

[mysteriousxgirls]

Hana watched him stand, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips as he ruffled her hair. His words, light and teasing, made her heart swell with affection for him, though she could feel the weight of everything unsaid lingering between them. She didn’t respond to his playful remark, not because she didn’t want to, but because her heart was too full of the quiet, unspoken truth she couldn’t bring herself to say. She remained seated, her fingers resting on the spot where his warmth had lingered moments before. Even in the silence, there was something so incredibly comforting about his presence. It was as if no matter how much their worlds shifted or changed, they would always find their way back to one another. As the door clicked shut behind him, Hana allowed herself a deep breath, still feeling the echo of his vulnerability, still wrapped in the afterglow of the connection they’d shared. Her eyes drifted to the window, her gaze distant, unfocused. She couldn’t help but think about the things she could never say, the thoughts that still haunted her in the quiet of moments like this.

Maybe if the accident never happened… She thought, her mind wandering to that time before everything changed. Maybe if I was still the same person I was then… if I still had my voice… maybe I could have been the person he deserves.

Her chest tightened as the memory of her former life, her former self, tugged at her heart. Before the accident, before her voice was taken from her (even if it was a choice), she was someone else entirely. Someone strong, someone whole. But now, she was broken. And no matter how much Everest cared for her, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t worthy of his love. He deserved so much more than this—more than someone who couldn’t even speak without struggle, more than someone who could no longer offer the world she once thought she could. She had never quite realized how much her music had defined her until it was gone. There were times when she would find herself watching old videos of her performances, of her old band, just to hear her own voice again. The sound of it was so foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else. Someone stronger, someone unbroken. Each note, each word, was a painful reminder of what she had lost.

And yet, here she was, sitting in silence, holding onto a connection with Everest that she couldn’t quite understand. He was so much to her, yet she felt like she was giving him nothing in return. She wanted to tell him—tell him how much she appreciated him, how much she longed for things to be different. But there was a part of her that feared if she did, it would all fall apart. That he would see her for what she really was now—broken, incomplete—and walk away. And that fear, that silent terror, kept her tongue tied, her heart heavy with unspoken words.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, willing herself to push those thoughts aside for now. Maybe one day, everything would fall into place. She hoped, she really did. But for now, it was just a dream. And dreams were dangerous. They were fragile things, often slipping away when you least expected them to. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, the truth remained: She didn’t deserve him. Not in the way he deserved someone whole. Someone who could be his equal in all things.

he wasn’t the best at showing emotions other than his anger when someone innocent would suffer. all of the rest has been bottled deep within and at this moment, it erupted like a volcano. the hot lava was his tears burning as they continued trickling down his face. the sweet and caring gestures from hana were like the green light for him to just let it all out. his body shaking while he cried, even when he felt the lingering kiss on the top of his head, then the slight weight of her head resting against his. while his heart ached, he could have sworn it also felt a certain warmth at the same time. unknowingly to her, she was mending him. her actions spoke louder than any word could, everest knew that. aside from their bickering, which he absolutely loved, she always took such good care of him to the point he had sat alone at home, thinking. thinking if he could ever repay her for everything she had done until now. he hated reading into what they had as more than just a friendship, way too scared that if he revealed his feelings, he would ruin everything between them. one day, he would muster up the courage and talk about it. just one day, he would let her know.

with his raging thoughts calming down, his shaking body did too and the tears slowly ceased. taking deep breaths, everest realized his sleeve was soaked with tears after crying a bucket. somehow, the silence wasn’t so deafening now and his chest didn’t feel so tight. her presence, her touch, her warmth was the silent promise she would be there and he knew that, putting him at ease. the familiar ding of his phone indicating that the food he had forgotten he ordered was nearby, made him finally move his arm away. albeit not wanting to move, ruin this intimate moment, he slowly pushed himself to sit up. his expression conveyed just how much this meant to him– her being there and holding him through this eruption of emotions. he would do the same for her in a heartbeat. “ they’ll be here soon. ” he looked at his phone, seeing how their food seemed to be approximately five minutes away. everest got up, giving her hair a gentle but playful ruffle before shooting her a charming smile on his way. “ i'll be right back, don't miss me too much. ” he said while opening the door, making sure to wipe his face using his sleeves as napkins before heading downstairs.

[pajulintu]

woke at 5am because of period pain

i am not supposed to have period pain, not after the doctor told me to use hormones without any breaks

[syncrovoid-presents]

YOU CAN HIT A TAG LIMIT??? My ramblings in the tags have been conquered and squashed by the 30 tag limit. How silly!

[maipareshaan]

Getting chlorine burns like pls can't i do one thing in peace

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

���Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[jamminvroomvroom]

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first. 1

LN x fem!leclerc reader

part 1 of 2 -> find part two linked HERE!

in which you just can’t help yourself and neither can lando…

I’M BACK BITCHES!!!! hi sorry it’s been a while but we are back with what i hope is a bang lol. i’ve missed writing so much and as stressful as this was, i’m so so glad to be uploading something! i worked hard on this one and, of course, now i hate it whoops, but my girlie @lavenderlando made this possible and worth it. that’s my hype woman fr fr. N E WAY enjoy! lemme know what you think, and use some imagination for the timeline…

songs to set the vibe: i love you, i’m sorry by gracie abrams, 2hands by tate mcrae, love in the dark by adele, illicit affairs by taylor swift, think twice by suki waterhouse

warnings: 18+!! minors GO AWAY! smut, angst, fluff, kinda enemies to lovers? kinda? r is charles sister oop, miscommunication, both of them are down bad for eachother but they are also extremely dumb! breeding kink, size kink, pain kink (if u squint), unprotected p in v (don’t be silly!),

part 1: 10.3k words

1. oncoming traffic 

“hey, osc, who’s that girl hanging around leclerc? thought he was still with alex.” lando tries his best to sound nonchalant, but oscar can see through him like a freshly buffed window, the way lando clears his throat and nervously ruffles his unruly hair. 

“mate, i know you’re not the sharpest but i didn’t think you were that slow.” oscar laughs, side-eyeing the brit. he was baffled that lando was even asking. lando just shoots him a glare. “wait, you really don’t know?” lando’s glare hardens further, his eyes demanding an answer and oscar just laughs. “that’s his sister, you idiot. how have you never seen her?” 

lando didn’t know how he’d never seen her. this year had been nonstop, what with the pseudo-championship battle and the never ending media shitstorm that rained on him whenever he reared his head. he’d also learned in his years of racing never to look too closely at the women in another drivers entourage. that’s how you ended up in the wall during a race. but charles’ sister? how had he never noticed? 

“maybe i should go and introduce myself.” lando trailed off thoughtfully, his voice remaining playful. oscar snorted beside him, adjusting his racesuit. 

“ooh, yeah, send twitter into a frenzy. it’s been boring lately.” the aussie driver drawls sarcastically, successfully dodging lando’s rapidly approaching elbow to his ribs. 

“glad to know that you take pleasure in my never ending public humiliation!” lando grins maniacally, sauntering out of the garage, no longer any intention of seeking out the pretty girl in the short, black skirt. it was for the best. 

he’s passing through the pit box, immersed in a groupchat thread with max and p about a trip to portugal that he didn’t really want to go on, and bam! like the idiot oscar had just accused him of being, he slams blindly into oncoming traffic. 

oncoming traffic: the pretty girl in the short, black skirt.

“are you incapable of looking where you’re going?” your accent comes out thick, low with rage. it tickles his brain, like he’s heard it before. lando opens his mouth, like a fish out of water, closes it again pathetically. “seriously, for a pilot you have abysmal spacial awareness!” 

“sorry… what the fuck.” lando mutters. why is this woman shouting at him like she knows him? like he regularly barrels into her? 

“lando, yes?” you’ve calmed down a bit now, but you still speak through gritted teeth. 

“…yes?” he replies like he’s not so sure. 

“learn to look where you’re going.” you wrinkle your nose, composing yourself before stepping around him and strutting down the pitlane as if nothing had happened. 

lando stands there, fixed in place, watching her walk away in utter confusion. 

“smooth!” oscar calls from inside the garage, flanked by several laughing mechanics. 

“go fuck yourself!” lando’s flushed red, now, and beeline’s for the pit wall. 

he’s out of earshot when oscar says it. 

“think he just met his wife, boys.” 

-

lando is staring at the data on the screen when it hits him, will’s voice somewhere far away all of the sudden. 

the mysterious leclerc had every right to reprimand him, because she was right. he did need to learn how to look where he’s going. 

she’d told him that already, during their actual first meeting. 

-

2. the first collision 

the music was too loud, suffocating him along with the overbearing smell of cheap perfume, but the alcohol in his system and the outpouring of validation kept lando going. 

three time race winner, lando norris. 

five years of clawing back points and grabbing at podiums with two impatient hands had built up to this, to the incomparable glory of gracing that prestigious top step, and lando wasn’t about to let go of this moment just because of a pressing headache. max and pietra were waiting for him in a booth, surrounded by the rest of lando’s touring entourage. he was wracking up quite the tab, but it was all worth it. every slap on the back, seductive grin sent his way, made it worth it. 

he’s stumbling over his feet, wasted, or close to it, grinning lazily, peering through hooded eyes. the vodka cranberry in his hand is sloshing dangerously around in the glass, his careless movements propelling him towards disaster. 

lando hears the splatter of liquid, first, the scoff of disgust immediately after. long hair whips against his face as she turns, eyes wide with fury, set into a face that was never meant to look angry. he can smell vanilla, flowers. she’s an angel, turned devilish under the strobe lights, her delicate face morphing when he takes in the sight of him. 

“are you fucking serious? mon dieu!” her accent twists his tummy, as does the increasingly see-through material of her tight white dress, layers of chiffon turning transparent with the stark red liquid. it’s all over her back, running slowly down the length of her exposed thighs, sticky. lando stands there, utterly transfixed and useless. she looks like she might slap him; he kind of wants her to. “of course, just stand there. fucking pilots.” 

she mutters the last part and lando gulps. what does she know about other drivers? the implication makes his skin crawl for no reason, the idea of this nameless, mystery woman being familiar with his co-workers. he’s flushed with embarrassment for a multitude of reasons, opening his mouth just to close it again. 

“‘m sorry!” he finally calls out to her, over the music. can the dj turn that shit down? “can i buy you a drink?” she just glares at him, gesturing at her ruined dress. “or… a new dress?” lando tries again, flashing what he hopes are puppy dog eyes. 

he wants to take her back to his hotel room, lick the sweet liquid off of her frame, lap at her til she’s clean and crying. he wants to peel the stained white material off, tear it a little - it’s already ruined anyway! he can’t, though, because she’s wrinkling her nose at him, eyebrow raised, judging, and he’s awash with embarrassment all over again. the club spins and he feels nauseous. he finds max’s eyes on him, his friend stifling laughter at the tragic scene. 

she’s gone when he looks back, seems to have disappeared into a cloud of distinctly expensive perfume, and her friends are curling their lips up at him, dismissive. they don’t care who he is. he wonders if they’re redbull fans, ferrari fans, perhaps. 

he’s met with hoots of laughter as he slumps into the booth. he grabs a shot without a thought, doesn’t even register what liquor it is as it slides down his thick throat. 

“can’t believe you just did that. only you would spill a drink all over leclerc’s sister.” max teases, elbowing him playfully. 

“wha- he has a sister?” lando slurs, spluttering. 

he doesn’t remember much after that. 

youruser just posted on instagram:

tagged: francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc

liked by francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and others.

youruser: shoutout to the guy that spilled his drink all over me!

francisca.cgomes: so beautiful so slay i miss u already

alexandrasaintmleux: love you!!!

charles_leclerc: delete this 🤦‍♂️

and other comments.

-

3. the watchful eyes of the big, black horse 

your arm is linked with kika’s, giggling with her as you walk through the paddock. 

“what about him?” kika whispers, pointing her chin towards one of the passing alpine mechanics. he’s blonde, pale, eyes dark.  “pierre said he heard that he’s good with the ladies.” she wiggles her eyebrows and your cheeks heat up, swatting her playfully. 

“i am not about to get a reputation for sleeping my way through the paddock.” you scoff. “plus, he’s not my type.” you shrug. 

“you need to start putting yourself out there more, you keep saying you want someone.” the portuguese girl reasons. you nod sheepishly. 

“i don’t wanna look for something, i want it to find me. is that pathetic? i just see how you are with pierre, how alex is with charles, and that’s what i want. something… real.” you sigh. kika sees the way your eyes gloss over with sadness. 

“it’s never as easy and as perfect as it looks, babe, trust me. and anyway, maybe just focus on… the thing you were telling me about.” kika lowers her voice, giving you the look.

“shut up!” you squeal. “god, i am not discussing that here!” 

“discussing what?” you hear pierre before you see him, hot with embarrassment. you’ve know him since before you could even walk, which is why you have no problem voicing your deepest, darkest shame. 

“how i’m not getting laid, apparently!” you drawl sarcastically, slapping your hand over your forehead. 

a poorly concealed laugh that you don’t recognise has you whipping around, eyes wide with bewilderment. it’s hearty, smooth, surprisingly warming. you practically growl when your eyes land on the source of the noise, standing next to pierre who looks embarrassed for you, his lips pressed thinly together to prevent himself from cackling. 

“why is he here?” you grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes so tightly shut that you feel a pang in your temples. 

“as polite as ever.” lando smirks. you open

your eyes just in time to catch him eyeing up the skin of your thighs that your skirt doesn’t quite cover. is he checking you out? 

“says the drink spiller.” you bite back, rolling your eyes. 

“hey, i tried to pay for the damage.” lando looks utterly amused, pink lips still twisted into a punch-worthy smirk. 

“so, you’ve met lando, then.” pierre grins, staring between you both. you don’t register the way he’s trading looks with kika, watching whatever this scene is unfold. 

“unfortunately!” you smile tightly at the racing drivers. 

“pretty sure you walked into me that second time. distracting me in the workplace, or something.” lando chimes in, enjoying this all a bit too much. 

“if you did a better job at looking where you’re going-“ 

“okay, so this has been delightful!” pierre buts in, knowing that you have the shortest temper of all the leclerc offspring. “you,” he points at you. “get laid. you,” he points at lando. “don’t piss her off, you won’t like the result.”

kika can only send you a sympathetic smile, and remind you of the coffee date you have scheduled for tomorrow morning, as she’s dragged away from your place of social suicide. pierre winks, tilts his head far too pointedly for your liking towards lando. you fantasise, in that moment, of clawing his eyes out. 

“i am sorry, for the record.” lando smiles at you, genuine and gleaming. something inside of you twists. 

“for which time?” you’re just teasing now, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“you have quite the attitude on you. that why you’re not getting any?”

you’re about to rip his head off and give max an even easier ride towards the championship, but lando steps forward. you can smell old spice, tangy and alluring and masculine. 

“how fucking dare you-“ 

“because most men don’t know what to do with a woman like you. don’t know how to treat them right.” he’s so confident when he says it, leaning towards you in a way you can only describe as enticingly. 

“oh, and you do?” you scoff, arms crossed. you must remain combative, or else you’ll give in. is this rock bottom?

“i’m free tonight if you wanna find out.” 

“i’ll be far too busy doing literally anything else.” you can only pray he hasn’t caught the tremble in your voice, the ever so slight quiver of you bottom lip. you chew it into your mouth to stop yourself. 

“but not anyone else.” lando doesn’t pose it as a question. it seems that he’s got you all figured out. 

“whatever helps you and your hand sleep well tonight.” you spit. there’s heat between you, sparking into a flame that could burn down your whole life. you feel eyes burning into the back of your head - green ones that match yours. you falter. “i’m done here, lando. have a fantastic evening.” 

he takes another liberty, leaning in even closer. spearmint and the idea of a million bad choices flood your every pore. you can feel the big, black horse watching over you, now, set into bright yellow, adorned with ferrari red. looming, warning, turning you in. 

“you know, something tells me i will.” 

lando disappears first, not even giving you a chance you spin on your heel and storm off. you want to kill him, hurt him, sink your teeth into that bronzed, thick throat, claw into his back, down, down, down… until you’re on your knees and- 

“why were you talking to lando?” charles’ voice cuts through your filthy thoughts and you sign yourself over to god immediately, purifying yourself as you banish the visions of delicious sin. after all, you’re standing in the presence of il predestinato, the prince of monaco, a saint to many. but to you, he’s just your brother. your big brother, always in the way, always meddling, always, always watching. you sigh. 

“friendly conversation.” you quip, short. you love him dearly, would take bullets for him, but, god, he keeps you on a leash. leo’s has more give than the conceptual tether charles has to you, keeping you close, boyfriendless, out of “trouble”. you know why, and deep down, you’re beyond grateful, all things considered. you can’t admit that, though. 

“that’s not how pierre described it to me.” charles raises an eyebrow, voice bitter despite the clear attempt he’s made to try and hide it. 

“fucking pierre.” you grunt. “it’s nothing, he came over with pierre. i was with kika. first time i’ve ever even had a conversation with lando.” that didn’t result from a drink being spilt over you to the point of transparency. you leave that bit out - charles really doesn’t need to know that. 

charles mulls over your words, eyeing you suspiciously. you want to stomp your heeled foot like a child, a brat, scream and shout and kick and wail that he has to back the fuck off eventually, but you just smile innocently and pray he believes you. 

“okay,” he mutters, making his peace. “i don’t want you getting too… familiar with him. bad reputation. he used to be quite sweet until his last breakup and now he will fuck anything with a pulse.” you wrinkle your nose at your brothers crude words, feeling the need to jump in and object. but why? you don’t know lando, you don’t care about lando. you press your lips into a thin, painful line. “you should go back to the hotel with alex. looks like i’ll be here late.” he rolls his eyes, you know how it is. 

“sure, good luck.” you offer, smothering the rage that pools in your belly. let me fucking live, you think. just because he’d had to swoop in and save you from yourself once before, didn’t mean that you could live like this forever. 

he has lit a spark under you, one that spreads like a wildfire towards the flame that lando ignited minutes before. if only your brother knew how to keep his big mouth shut, you wouldn’t be spurred on to bad behaviour. 

if only lando hadn’t spilled that drink over you, maybe you wouldn’t be opening his instagram profile and sending a message request. 

a place. your room number. a time. 

you only wish you’d gotten to see the devilish grin on his face when he received it. 

lando can’t want you for the reasons that other guys do. your status as charles leclerc’s little sister, and the gateway to your brother that you provided, meant nothing to the brit. that’s why you’d let him have you; he wouldn’t try to take more than you wanted to give. 

-

4. generous 

the knocks are soft against the door, yet they manage to have every hair on your body standing to attention. you’re quick to let him in, itching to get him inside and away from prying eyes. this is clandestine, secret, could even feel somewhat sacred once it’s over, and the last possible thing you could ever need is for another soul to know what you intend to do with lando, what you intend to let him do to you. 

“hey.” 

“hi.” 

you stare at each other. 

he steps forward. you don’t move away. he takes it as an invitation to close the space entirely, so close that, there it is again: oldspice, except this time it’s mixed with something fresh, shower gel you guess, sea salt. his curls are crisper than they were a few hours ago, still damp from the shower he must have just taken. 

“what changed your mind?” he asks. 

“i was feeling generous.” you deadpan. he bites back a laugh. 

“generous, huh?”

“very.” 

“considering your alleged dry spell, i’d say i’m the generous one, no?” his voiced is edged with something dark, dropped a few octaves. you could absolutely squirm under his gaze, but you hold strong. 

“you know where the door is if that’s how you’re gonna be.” you coo, mocking his seductive undercurrent. all he does is flash his teeth, grinning cheekily, his way of accepting your challenge, your attitude. 

“i think you want me to stay, honey.” 

honey. you fear it works on you. the gap closes even further, you fear it’s your doing. 

“you’re only getting this opportunity because i invited you here.” your resolve is slipping. you’ve admitted that you want him in your pathetic bid to hold the power, when the truth is, you want him to pounce on you, strip away every layer and barrier and make you see stars, feel euphoric. 

“okay, honey, whatever you say.” he chuckles, cruel and taunting. “so, how dry of a spell has it been? wanna know what i’m working with.” 

lando touches you then, lightning shooting down your arm as he traces from your elbow down to your fingers, featherlight, barely there, a ghost of a touch that haunts you so deliciously. your fingers intertwine. you initiate it, but really, it’s his fault. this is all his fault.

you try and laugh, but it sounds broken, quivering it’s way out from your dry throat. 

“dry.”

he just stares at you, expectant. he needs to hear more, needs to know. he craves details about you, has ever since you body slammed him outside his garage - leading to some very covert instagram stalking on his behalf and his oh so convenient way of worming his way into a conversation with pierre when lando could see that the other driver was on his way over towards you. it’s pathetic, maybe, but he craves you the way one craves nicotine forever after just one puff of a cigarette. he has you, just for tonight, maybe longer if he gets this right, so he will know everything he needs to know so that he can touch you just how you need. 

“i’ve only… it’s been a while.” 

he sees right through you. 

“you’ve only what?” he presses. he needs to know.

“i’ve only done this once.” you whisper. it’s the meekest he’s seen you. he loathes it. 

“and was it good?” lando murmurs so attentively that you want to cry. 

your fourth interaction with this man, and he has you melting. 

“not really.” 

“do you trust me?” his nose is bumping yours. you’re locked in, twitching. he has both hands on you, now, one still laced with yours, the other trailing up your arm, tempted to brush his fingertips against the taut skin of your neck. 

how the fuck can i trust you? i don’t know you! what the fuck are we doing? what the fuck am i doing?

that’s not what you say, though, because for some reason, you are so sickeningly comfortable and okay that you worry that something is wrong with you. 

“yes.”

“then this time will be so, so much better. i’ll make it all better.” 

when his lips meet yours, you’re surprised at how good it immediately feels. you don’t know what you were expecting, but his lips are plush, enveloping yours softly, but firm enough that you sink into him, allowing him to cement that grip on the side of your neck that he’d been taunting you with. 

he kisses you like he’s sure of everything, like this is second nature and you’ve done it a thousand times. you want to kiss him a thousand times. why it’s so good, you’re not sure, but it gives you the confidence to lean into him, grab the bottom of his hoodie in your hands and tug. 

“be patient, ‘n i’ll make you feel so good, honey, i promise.” he mouths down your cheek, nipping at your jaw, down your neck until he finds that special spot below your ear. he nibbles there, lapping his tongue over your sensitive skin like he already knows your body. you want to see just how familiar with you he can get. “but,” he punctuates the word with a sharp bite. you both dread and revel in the mark it will leave. “you have to behave for me, okay?” 

his words are whispered against the shell of your ear and you shiver, eyes rolled back already. you wonder if he’ll get them to do a full three-sixty rotation in your skull. 

“‘kay.” you breathe, mindless, floating away. it’s already better than last time.

“‘kay’?” he mocks. “no, honey, you gotta promise me. can you promise me?” 

“promise.” you lock eyes, conveying your obedience. his eyes blow wide, pupils dilating to shove away the mysterious bluey green. his teeth grit. he knows he’s hit the jackpot. 

“good girl.” 

you’re stripped naked, mustering all of your energy to shove his clothes off, his hoodie flying away, his sweats kicked into a faraway dark corner. you’re left naked, him in some increasingly tight boxers, and you tumble into the freshly made bed. he slinks over you, crawling on his hands and knees, predator stalking prey. 

he stains your inner thighs purple, tugging your legs over his shoulder, huge hands warm and rough as they manoeuvre your malleable body to his liking. lando presses kisses to every inch of skin, dragging his tongue over your bare flesh before he spreads you open, sucking and tasting and savouring. he moans into you, open and wet, and it ricochets off of every nerve ending, sending your body taut and arched, catlike. you’re trying to get away, whilst simultaneously grinding yourself closed to him, feeling that broad, sharp nose of his bump messily and firmly against your clit, an ache spreading through your pelvis that makes you shake and shake and whine his name out to the gods. 

“taste like heaven.” lando’s words are simple, straightforward, make you bite your lip so hard you taste something metallic seeping over your tongue. “so tight, even around my tongue,” he slurs, drunk, lost. “gotta stretch you out for me. that okay, honey?” you can just about make it all out, and you nod furiously, pleading. 

his teeth graze your clit. 

“say please.” 

“putain! please!” you kick your feet out when all he does is laugh into your wet flesh. 

one finger grazes through your folds, parting them and collecting a mess of your slick. he looks transfixed as it drips down his finger. 

honey.

you watch him watch how he opens you up, revelling in the utter fascination painting his features, pussy drunk and curious, transfixed. 

“can’t believe you’ve never been fucked right.” he coos, breathless, genuinely shocked. you quake under his skilful hands and his awful, sinful, dirty mouth. 

“more.” you plead, not ashamed by your crude begging. you’re a mess for him already, might as well get the full experience. 

“think you can take another?” 

a second finger slides in, rocking against your walls, testing the waters. you writhe, meeting his movements with shallow thrusts of your hips. 

“faster, i need- mon dieu! anything, lando, please just-“ he really goes to town then, scissoring your dripping cunt open, curling and twisting and grinding the two digits so deep that you see white, hazy chocolate coloured curls and deep, glazed over eyes. 

“that’s it, honey, there you go. so fucking pretty for me.” lando whispers the last bit, awestruck, and you’d take the time to wonder why if you weren’t on the verge of tears, overstimulated, ears ringing. your orgasm crashes over you like a surge of electricity, tearing through your body like it’s trying to escape and take cover. it’s so strong that you’re damp everywhere, sweating and crying and so fucking shocked that it can feel like this. 

“lando.” you pant, mouth dry, voice hoarse.  

“you did so good. was it okay?” he rubs small circles into your hips, eyes flitting between your own and where you’re still leaking for him. he manages to tear his eyes away, like a trance has broken, snaking up your body until he’s laying next to you, propped up on his elbow. he hovers over you, raking his eyes over the rising and falling lines of your body. 

“pretty good, i guess. didn’t know you had it in you.” you tease, smirking lazily up at him. 

you want to keep staring at him but your vision is blurring as your eyes begin to droop. what a long day it’s been. 

“high praise coming from you.” lando reasons, laughing lightly. he strokes over your hipbone and you jolt, curling around onto your side. his skin is warm against yours, soft and smooth, and you dare you press your even closer, shy, as if he wasn’t just buried mercilessly between your legs. you hum in response, spent and languid. “you wanna get some sleep?” he asks. 

“we didn’t… i mean, you didn’t…” you trail off, awkward, gesturing towards his middle. 

lando just smiles. 

“guess i’ll just have to come find you in monaco.” 

you flush, cheeks burning as you consider the fact that you’re gonna be in the same country, a very small, very private city. who knows what could happen? 

you fall asleep quickly, easily, far too comfortable next to the british driver. if you were to ask, he’d say he left immediately. he watches the way you breathe far too intently, ever so slowly pulling his clothes back on. he doesn’t know how long passes, but what he does know is that he can’t wait to have you like this again. 

-

5.  some guy 

you sink into the oversized armchair, sitting back and letting kika and alex talk, nattering backwards and forwards about nothing in particular. or, maybe you’re just zoned the fuck out. 

you can’t stop thinking about the way he touched you, your body littered with evidence, dark purple bruises turning a stale green between you thighs. when you woke up, you initially wondered if it was all a dream, but the dull, sweet ache thrumming through your bones told you just how real it really was. you went through the motions, embarrassed momentarily before deciding to just embrace it, try to bask in the way he’d made you feel: sexy and desirable and electric. 

it was just a shame that it had to be him. that’s what you kept telling yourself, at least. 

kika’s nodding along to a story alex is telling about leo, about to respond with a similar anecdote about simba but she gasps instead, almost spilling her americano all over herself. this gets your attention and you open your mouth to ask her is she’s okay, but she beats you to it. 

“my god, what is that?” she chokes, staring at you. or, well, your neck. 

you flush, heated, blood pooling in your cheeks. 

you’d tried to cover it up, seriously, applying layer after layer of concealer and strategically placing your hair in such a way that you prayed it wouldn’t be noticeable, but nonetheless, there it is, clear as day. red raw skin tinged purple around the seams, branded into your neck like some kind of public humiliation ritual. 

fuck you, lando fucking norris!

you avert eye contact, leaning away from alex who is now making a point of leaning in, going as far as to push your hair back so she can get a closer look. 

“oh my gosh!” she squeals, giggling with kika. 

you take a long, slow gulp of coffee, not caring that it burns your tongue. 

“who was it? holy shit, was it lando?” kika whisper shouts and you officially drop dead on the spot, watching her connect the dots so easily. 

“oh jesus, no! no!” you lie, feigning offence, your leg bouncing shamefully under the table. the two girls eye you suspiciously, but you assume you’ve played it off well. 

“who, then?” alex asks. you wonder if kika has told her about yesterdays interaction. 

“just- i don’t even know, some guy.” you huff, playing with a loose thread hanging from your jumper. 

“some guy? after what you were saying yesterday? okay, babe.” kika teases sarcastically. “no, cmon, who?” she pouts, leaning in as well. 

“just… someone.” you squeak, unable to look up at them. 

“okay, well, we will find out eventually.” alex wiggles her eyebrows and you stick your tongue out, mock-glaring at your sister in law. 

“no, the fuck you won’t.” you try and fake some confidence, scrapping for a mere shred of control. 

yes, the fuck they will, because when you leave for the bathroom, you leave your phone unlocked like the utter fool you are. god has it out for you, you figure, because that’s when he chooses to strike. 

the message lando sends you is short and sweet, and alex chokes on a piece of cake when kika starts gesturing wildly at the notification that pops up on your screen. 

for when you’re lonely at home and can’t find anyone to fuck you right.

attached is his address. 

they don’t breathe a word when you come back, but they share a knowing smirk when they catch you smiling at your phone, and again when you ask if either of them have anything with a higher neckline that you can wear for the race. 

youruser has just posted on instagram:

tagged: francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux

liked by: francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris and others

youruser: race day, big slay

user1: LEO!!!

alexandrasaintmleux: prettiest girl in the world

user45: lando what are you doing here 🤔

6.    manners

“are you even listening to me right now?” charles scoffs, finishing off his drink out of annoyance. your eyes snap back to him, the thumping music vibrating through your body. 

“sorry, just tipsy.” you purse your lips, attempting to lock back in on whatever he’s saying, but it’s hard. it’s hard, because sprawled out in a booth across from where you stand at the bar, lando is watching your every move. 

you’ve managed to avoid him thus far, no contact since you’d liked the DM he’d sent you a few weeks back. you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t think of him and what you’d done at literally every waking moment, so the way he’s watching you, hooded eyes sparkling under the strobe lights, has you squirming. it was easier to tell yourself that, surely, it wasn’t that good when he wasn’t right in front of you in a half unbuttoned shirt. the navy blue fabric is wrapped around his body deliciously, taut where his muscles are, the colour popping against his tanned skin - which you can practically feel writhing against yours. 

you wish charles would go away so you could crawl into that booth and commit public indecency. 

speak of the devil, your brother seems to have clocked that you have zero interest in what he has to say so he huffs, ordering another round for the table and telling you he’s going to find alex. he shuffles away and you subtly search for the british drivers mindful eyes, but he’s disappeared, left his entourage in the booth. you swallow disappointment that makes you feel pathetic, head in your hands against the bar top, but the lightest brush of fingers against your waist drags you out of your spiral. you know immediately. 

“did you dress like that for me, or are you just a slut?” he’s grinning, light and teasing, surprisingly sober, tipsy at most, just like you. 

“i could ask you the same.” you smirk, blatantly eyeing his exposed chest. he shrugs, leaning in. 

”might have left an extra button undone just for you.” lando winks and you hope the lights hide the way you flush. 

“sure you did, just for me and every other girl in here.” you challenge. his eyebrows furrow. 

“nope. just for you.” his eyes darken, just a tad but enough that you notice. your mouth runs dry. “you never replied to me.” 

“not true, i liked the message.” you smile coyly, sipping your drink. your lipstick smears against the rim of the glass and you watch him stare at the print, tongue wetting his lips. 

“you are something else.” he shakes his head, pushing his curls back. it could be frustration, but he still seems at ease, like he’s enjoying your combative nature. you smile into the glass, hoping he doesn’t notice. he does. “how much have you had to drink?” 

“this is my second.” 

“you sober enough for me to take you home?” lando’s face is mere inches away from yours now, and you can feel the pull, desperate to crawl into the space that still remains and lose yourself there. 

“depends.” 

“on?” you truly exasperate him, but he thinks he loves it. 

“if you’re actually gonna fuck me this time.” you casually take another sip, playing it off as if your crude words had no impact on you. 

lando’s eyes widen at your bluntness, and so does his grin. 

“meet me by the valet.” 

lando leaves, and you quickly follow, downing the remnants of your glass and touching up your lipgloss. 

-

alex watches from her booth, and pulls out her phone. 

to: kika gomes 

oh, she’s deeeeefinitely sleeping with lando!!!  

-

pietra leans towards her boyfriend, close enough that he can hear her over the noise. 

“isn’t that charles’ sister?” she shouts, pointing to the bar, where lando is stood. 

max analyses the way he’s stood, leant  against the bar, nice and close to the ferrari drivers little sister. he knows that look on lando’s face, and he knows it far too well. max pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“oh for fuck sake.” 

-

it’s weird, sitting with him in silence. he’s only had half a drink, able to drive back through the winding hills to his apartment. you stare out the window, mostly, when you aren’t staring blatantly and curiously at lando. you can see the sea, glistening under the moonlight and you wish you could focus on that instead, but he’s there, and you have to admit - begrudgingly, albeit - that he’s stunning. his hands wrap around the wheel tauntingly, as if he’s trying to convey how he’ll touch you, all consumingly. your thighs press together, your fingers clasping together as if you’re subconsciously stopping yourself from reaching out for him prematurely. 

as if he can hear your thoughts, his palm smoothes over the skin of your bare thigh, right where your dress has ridden up, without a second thought, nothing tentative about the way his digits curve around your skin. 

“so, you’ve been thinking about that night, then?” he breaks the silence, glancing over at you. 

“what makes you say that?” you whisper, not even meaning to but the silence had been so heavy. 

“well, you only left with me on the condition i’d bend you over.” he laughs loud, whole and warm. you fight it, just for a second, but then you join in, giving in to him. you can’t help it, he makes it easy. 

“you got me.” you concede, rolling your eyes. without realising it, you’ve relaxed completely into his touch. 

he pulls off of the road and into a private garage. you breath hitches.

-

“do you want a drink or…?” lando gestures blindly towards his kitchen, walking further into the apartment. 

he’d spent the elevator ride up to his place leant against the opposite wall, taunting, making you wait. he’d let himself look at you, totally unabashedly, raking his eyes over your frame, meekly tucked into the corner, shy under his intense gaze but frustrated by his lack of urgency. 

“i’m good. didn’t come here for a tea party.” you hope your words push his buttons. they must, because he turns on his heel, facing you again, suddenly towering over you. 

his eyes are steel, face serious, and you don’t know what to do. you’ve never seen him look at you like this. 

“i think we need to work on your manners.” he speaks condescendingly, down at you, and if you weren’t so needy, hadn’t been waiting weeks, you’d turn around and leave just to really prove his point. but you stay planted, looking up at him through mascara coated lashes, softening you gaze until you’re sure you’re conveying faux innocence. 

“maybe we can work on them in your bedroom.” you truly don’t know where you get this confidence from, he’s the second man to have ever touched you so intimately, but he’s magnetic, drawing you out of your own head and straight towards him. 

he tugs you towards him, kissing you messily, right there in the dim light of his kitchen, pawing at your waist hungrily. his tongue brushes your and you moan, humming into his mouth at the faint taste of mint and vodka, long gone but you can taste everything. his thick fingers find your ass, hoisting you up until you have no option but to wrap your legs around him, your dress scratching at your thighs the higher it rides up, but all it does it turn you on more, rough sensations on sensitive skin. 

lando walks you blindly to his bedroom, never breaking the kiss, and you wonder how many times he’s done this to get it down to muscle memory. the thought makes you nauseous, drags you mercilessly right back into your head, and you pull away, your lips barely brushing his. 

“why me?” you breathe, panting into the shallow space where your mouths have parted.

“what?” he whispers, confused. 

“why do you want to do this with me?” you have to check, past insecurities rising to the surface like bile in the back of your throat. he looks genuinely baffled and you feel foolish for ruining the moment. 

“why wouldn’t i? you’re gorgeous and-“ he cuts himself off, his eyes glazing over. the demeanour slips and you’re stuck, his arms still tight around you, holding you close in the empty space at the foot of his bed. 

“what?” you whisper. 

“you’re part of the same life.” the way he looks at you says words that he can’t. 

words that will sound too shallow and too selfish and too meaningless, even though you will understand them because you’re here for similar reasons, and therefore, they will mean too much. 

you can’t take things from him. you can’t fake it. you can’t break him into a million pieces when he finally discovers that you want him because of what he can give you.

you nod once, firm.  

“i get it.” you smile sadly. lando wants to know more. he can find out some other time. a moment of clarity passes between you. “kiss me, again?” you ask. he delivers immediately. 

kisses you all the way onto the bed. kisses you while he helps you take off your heels, while he drags the zipper of your dress down. you both feel safe now, understood, and that really moves things along. 

“so pretty.” he mutters into your skin, shedding you of your tight dress. 

your shaky fingers work over the buttons of his shirt, peeling it off of his broad shoulders, taking in the sight of him all over again. you’re left in your panties, braless already, and he gawks down at you, like he’s seeing everything for the first time. it makes you feel powerful. 

“can you hurry up?” you writhe, arching into his touch. he smiles, covering his body with yours and pressing a kiss to your lips. his fingers slide over the curves of your body, finding the band of your underwear and toying with it. 

“want me to take them off?” he purrs, trailing his lips down your jaw to just below your ear. 

“now.” you beg, eyes fluttering closed as his warm breath pricks at your skin, teeth nibbling. “no marks.” you whine, flashing back to the weeks over knowing looks and attempts at covering the last one up. 

“what were we saying about manners, hm? gonna need to start hearing some ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’, okay, honey?” he bites down again, harder this time, and you squirm underneath him, your soft belly moulding to each dip of his abs.

his fingers dip into your panties, finding your clit amongst your wetness. you just about bite back a moan, but you can’t help but roll your hips into his hand, his fingertips gliding easily through your folds. 

“va te faire foutre.” you mutter, teeth gritting at the pleasure and his words. go fuck yourself.

“i’ve lived in monaco long enough to know what that means.” lando whispers, pinching your clit once before plunging a finger inside of you. 

you hiss, head thrown back, the feeling of him smiling against the hickey bittersweet. and to think, it was almost healed. you can’t help but keen into his touch. 

“more,” you pant. “please.”

“you learn fast.” lando approves, and quickly fulfils your request, adding another finger. 

they flex inside of you, grinding deeper and deeper until you’re whimpering his name and leaking down his wrist. your arms wrap around him, nails digging in to his smooth back, his ropey muscles tensing under your firm touch. his thumb bumps your clit, over and over, pushing you to the precipice, so close you can taste the impending orgasm on your tongue. 

“it’s so good, merci, god.” you sound wrecked already, and lando can’t wait to see how far he can push, how far apart he can take you.  

“that other fucking loser didn’t know what he had, jesus, you’re so fucking hot.” he rasps, admiring the rise and fall of your chest, how your breasts bounce with every thrust of his fingers, the way his hand is glistening in the low light of his bedroom. his words are your undoing, the awe in his voice sending sparks shooting through every nerve ending. 

“lando, ‘m gonna… putain!” the way you switch languages is sexy to him, tells him how scrambled your brain is, and he twitches in his boxers. when you cum, it’s as gorgeous and as enticing as the first time, and he jolts against your hip, desperate to get inside of you finally. 

“you’re so beautiful.” he groans, pulling his fingers from your entrance. he stares blindly at the mess you’ve made on them, salivating, remembering the way you taste. it’s a no brainer for him, and he licks both digits clean, giving you just a moment to recover. 

“i need you.” you whisper, your legs still spread, quivering slightly. 

you pull him in once more, his covered crotch grinding against your slick and you cry out, the friction sending you into overdrive. his teeth dig into your shoulder, the sensation entrapping him, leaving him weak, ready to give you whatever you ask. he pushes his underwear away, and your eyes go wide. 

“you can have me,” he grunts, running his hand over himself. “think you can take it?” he wets his lips and you think you could cum again at the sight of him. sweat slicked, tight curls falling over his eyes, lips licked pink and kiss swollen, hard and heavy in his own hand, body curved over yours possessively. you’re a simple woman, really. 

“i think i can try.” you want to sound confident, but it comes out as a squeak. 

he sits back on his knees and brings his free hand to cup your jaw. 

“i’ll go slow with you, honey, okay? you can tell me to stop.” lando promises. “you sure you want this?” 

you nod, pouting up at him. 

“i want you, i can take it.” you manage through a deep breath. 

the stretch is brutal, splitting you in half. all you can do is breathe, watching the way he watches you, and that’s what you hone in on, his pretty eyes watching where he’s filling you up. when he bottoms out, he stops for a second, scanning your face for discomfort. 

“are you okay?” 

“c’mere.” you coo, and he falls back over you, paws at your waist. “move, lando.” you plead. 

it’s slow, deep, makes your toes tingle. you can feel each and every drag of him against your walls and it makes you dizzy, a knot twisting and tickling in your belly. your fingers are twisted around him, around his biceps, crumbling a little bit every time he flexes in your grip. 

“oh, mon dieu.” you’re whimpering, legs wrapping around him like vines, tighter and tighter with every buck of his hips. 

“‘s it feel good, honey? yeah? you’re so fucking tight for me.” lando chokes, licking over the sweat on your collarbone. “‘m i making it feel good?” he sounds so cocky, sexy, but there’s a soft edge around his words. it matters to him, how he’s treating you, this, a certain delicateness hanging around your intertwined bodies like a cloud. 

“so good, lando, so fucking good.” the words scratch your throat raw, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. 

“no, no, lemme hear you, pretty girl. can feel how close you are for me.” you can hear the edge to his voice, can tell the end is near for both of you, the way his words wobble despite his best attempts at hiding it. “need you to look at me, and i need to hear you.” 

you don’t even realise until then that your eyes are shut, screwed up tight as the pleasure rolls through your body, flooding each and every one of your senses. you free your lip, and everything pours out, whines, raw slurs of his name. 

“i’m so close.” he grunts, watching the way your face moves, hanging on to every micro expression, the way you battle to keep all of your attention on him. 

“fill me up.” you urge, squeezing his hips between your thighs. his eyes widen, the request slowly registering, and he blinks away the voice in his head telling him to do it. 

“you know i can’t.” he’s firm, sensible even if you aren’t. 

“want it so bad, lan, please, wanna feel it.” you reason, cupping his face and pushing his curls back. 

“not tonight.”

“yes, tonight. give it to me.”

“i said no, don’t be a fucking brat.” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“know you want it.” you whisper, seductive and devious. you can see his resolve slipping, tightening around him. 

before you can say anything else, your hands are scooped up, pinned above your head. he’s right over you now, your hips perfectly aligned, and he’s driving so deep that you swear you can feel him in your tummy. his thrusts resort to a harsh grind, digging into each other with every snap of his pelvis. 

“you want it so bad? huh? fine.” he growls, forehead resting against yours. “want me to cum in you, fuck it all back in? yeah, honey? you gonna keep it all in for me?”

“whatever you want.” you promise, eyes rolling back in your head. “just- please, please do it.” you pant, mouth dry. 

“that’s it, pretty girl, take it all for me.” he buries his face in your neck, nipping at your collarbone. “doing so good.” the words fan against your throat, hushed, leaving you warm from the inside out, brainless. 

when you spill around him, it’s at the same time as he lets go, and he fucks you through your orgasms. you go limp beneath him, taking it, letting it all wash over you, letting him wash all over you. you feel like you can’t breathe, suffocating under the weight of him and the reality of what you’ve just done. again. for some reason, you don’t care, and decide that you’ll do this again and again, anytime he’ll have you. not that you’ll ever tell him that… 

“fuck.” he exhales, rolling off of you carefully, but the overstimulation - and then lack thereof - makes you wince, and he strokes your hip gently in apology. 

“that was better than i thought it would be.” you grin, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“you know, these are starting to sound kinda backhanded.” he beams, laughing breathlessly, but just as he begins to relax into his bedspread, he remembers. “oh fuck, shit, we need a pharmacy!” lando bolts up so that he’s sitting, scanning the room blindly for his clothes. you giggle and he snaps his head towards you, panicked. 

“no, lando, we don’t.” 

“all of that ‘uh, fill me up, please lando you’re so sexy’ talk means that, yes we absolutely do! fuck, how much is plan b these days?” he’s spiralling now, tugging at his curls. 

“first of all, i’m on birth control. second of all, i don’t sound like that, and most importantly, i did not call you sexy.” you smirk, stretching out your tight muscles. 

“that’s the most important part? woman, you nearly killed me.” lando gasps, slumping back down into bed. 

“‘m sorry, couldn’t resist playing with you a little. good to know we share a kink, though.” your smirk turns into a coy smile, and you swing your shaky legs out of the bed, your feet sinking into the plush rug. 

“oh, yeah? what other kinks are you hiding from me?” lando sits back against the headboard, tucking his hands behind his bed. you have to look away, or else you’ll accidentally fall back into his bed. 

“guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” it makes him quirk an eyebrow, a look of understanding settling over his face. 

“so this is gonna be a regular thing, yeah?” 

you’re putting your underwear back on when he says it, searching for your dress, but his words make you freeze. he sounds hopeful, and it makes your chest pang… wait, is that your heart?

“i don’t… i mean, as you unfortunately know, i haven’t done this before. i don’t know how this works.” you say it so earnestly, so innocently, that his whole face softens, awestruck and boyish. 

“i want it to be a regular thing.” he says it gently, like he’s offering it to you, to the universe. 

“okay. me too.” you whisper back, shy under his gaze. 

“are you… like, do you think you’ll be sleeping with other people?” lando squeaks, doing a terrible job of playing it cool. 

“for so many reasons, no.” you grimace. “but if we’re doing this then i wouldn’t want to anyway.” you say softly. your dress is back on now, but he has you flustered, and you can’t quite get the zipper. 

“lemme help.” he offers, and he’s out of bed and before you in a matter of seconds. his calloused fingers graze your skin as he pulls the zipper together and up, adjusting your dress back into place. it feels so terrifyingly intimate, exciting, and you can’t bring yourself to move away. “i wouldn’t want to either.” he breathes the words quietly into the small space between you. 

“okay.” you don’t even try to hide the way you beam, staring up at him. 

“i’ll take you home, yeah?” 

“yeah.”

-

7.  worth it

and so, begins a clandestine affair, touches in the shadows, subtle glances, watchful eyes. 

one of you calls, the other comes, sneaking through doors that neither of you should enter, leaving bars a few minutes apart, making up excuses to get out of plans. 

there’s the time lando has you bent over the end of your bed, tears leaking into the mattress, slick everywhere. he’s so deep this way, hammering away at the special spot nestled within you that he’s become very familiar with. one of his hands is dragging your hips back to meet his thrusts, the other splayed out across your back, holding you down. 

your phone rings. it’s alex. you were supposed to be a brunch twenty minutes ago. you groan out, frustrated in every sense of the word. 

“answer it, honey.” lando grunts, pulling you towards him even harder. you whimper, shaking your head, words dying on your tongue. “go on, i know you can do it. wouldn’t want alex to worry, would you? let her know you’re okay.” he coos, condescending. 

he’s so arrogant, full of it, and you like the challenge. you can’t let him win, can’t let him revel in how fucked out he has you, so against your better judgement, you grab the phone, fingers shaking as you answer. 

“hi, love. i know, i’m late! ‘m sorry, i’ll be there soon!” you wince at the way your voice shakes. you hope she can’t hear the way you’re panting, or the sound of his hips hitting yours. 

lando slows his hips, hitting deep at such a torturously slow pace that feels a million times better than it already did. your free hand flies back, swatting at him. 

“where the hell are you? i was worried!” alex sounds relieved, but there’s something else in her tone that you can’t quite decipher. 

“i’m on my way, i promise! i was with arthur.” you lie, throwing your younger brother into the line of fire. you know, for credibility. alex is silent for a moment. 

“oh, okay. well, get here soon, please! love you!” and with that, she hangs up the phone. you release a breath you were holding, crying out when lando immediately speeds up again. 

“i hate you.” you choke, grinding your hips into him. lando just scoffs, sliding a hand under your belly, flush against the mattress. he finds your clit, playing with it, urging you quickly towards your release. 

“no, you don’t.” he laughs. “you better cum for me, pretty girl, i think you have somewhere to be.” 

-

“i’m on my way, i promise! i was with arthur.”

alex has to bite back a laugh. she stares across the table, where arthur is having an avid debate with charles and joris. arthur, who had been with her and charles for hours. 

“oh, okay. well, get here soon, please! love you!” alex hangs up the phone, giggling to herself. leo stirs in her lap. 

“what’s so funny?” charles asks her. she shakes her head. 

“oh, nothing, she just overslept.” 

-

there’s the time where he has you hiked up on your kitchen counter, messy curls tickling the insides of your thighs. he’s licking at you ravenously, dragging his tongue up and down, twisting around your clit in circles. 

you’re tugging on his hair, holding him close to where you’re aching, dripping, slicking up the lower half of his face. he’s groaning into you, starved and desperate. it’s been a week since you’ve seen him, had him like this, the longest you’ve done without him since the first time you’d had sex. its untamed and needy and you fear what it means, the way you’re so addicted to one another. 

you also haven’t seen your brother for a week, something you realise when you hear a key turn in the lock, down the corridor. you have seconds to react, the noise washing over you like a bucket of ice cold water. you squirm, pushing a very confused lando away, managing to kick him lightly in the head as you leap from the counter. 

“mon dieu! fuck, i’m sorry!” you gasp. 

“what the fuck is going on-“ you cut him off, slapping your palm over his mouth. 

you glance around frantically, looking for a way out of this. there is but one option available. 

“the balcony! just- fuck, get out there!” you shoo him over to the small window, begging him with your eyes. “please! i’ll get rid of him!” 

you can hear footsteps approaching. you’re sweating now, smoothing down your skirt and your hair anxiously.

charles calls your name, rounding the corner  and walking into your kitchen, just as you pull the window closed again. 

“shit, you scared me!” you fake, clutching your chest. you can feel your heart hammering. 

“i did knock, sorry!” charles looks you over, scanning the kitchen. “are you okay?” 

“yeah, fine, sorry, i must have been out of it. i’m in the middle of an assignment.” you lie. 

“oh okay, well i can always go…” he’s looking at you weirdly, and you fear he knows something, that he can tell. 

“can we get dinner tonight? i’ll book.” you offer, scratching your neck. 

“yeah, that’s great. are you sure you’re okay?” your brother asks, turning to leave. 

“promise, yeah, i’m just so busy with work, deadlines and all that.” you wrinkle you nose, feigning distaste. 

“well you can tell me all about it later, okay? love you.” charles says sincerely, smiling. 

“love you too.” you call, listening for the sound of the door closing behind him. 

you immediately rush for the window, throwing it open, peeking your head out. lando stands with his back against the wall, shivering in nothing but a t-shirt. you look at him sheepishly. 

“get back in here.” you tell him, standing back to give him space to crawl back through. “‘m sorry.” you giggle. 

“you’re lucky you’re worth it.” lando teases, stalking towards you and wrapping you in his arms. his skin is cold against yours, and you huff, try and push him off. “hey, i’m cold!” he pouts. 

“you know, you’re lucky you’re worth it, i could have just let him murder you.” you reason, looking up at him. your hands slide around him, returning his embrace, warm hands skating up under his shirt. 

“you wouldn’t.” he says simply. “i’m way too good in bed.” 

“you keep telling yourself that, norris.” 

“i don’t need to, you tell me more than enough.” 

lando leans down to kiss you, then, nothing all that unusual but it always feels like a step too far, intimate in a way that you two usually aren’t. you kiss him back regardless, because really, you love it. he always tastes minty, divine when you let him lick into your

mouth. 

“i believe we were in the middle of something.” he whispers. 

“remind me.” you breathe. 

-

and there’s also the time where he’s fucking you in his drivers room, the massage table thudding dully against the wall with every hard thrust. 

his race suit is pulled down just enough, your dress bunched around your hips, and he’s slamming into you mercilessly.

the whole thing was a blur, really; you’d always vowed that you would never have sex at a race track, but that promise was old news, now, broken the very second you caught the way he was staring at you. his eyes were hard, unreadable, jaw clenched as he glared at the man talking to you. you were just being friendly, catching up with franco, but lando wouldn’t have it, not after such a shitty race. one harsh snap of his neck towards the mclaren motorhome had you quickly excusing yourself. you knew what it meant. 

“you don’t talk to me at the track but you let him?” lando growls, rutting into you wildly. you cling onto the damp material of his racesuit, head thrown back. 

“was just saying hello.” you gasp out, opening your eyes to look up at him. he’s staring down at you, angry. it’s hot.

“i don’t wanna see you talking to him. you see how he was looking at you? fucker should know who you belong to.” he hisses, sliding his hand between your legs. “you’re gonna cum for me when i say, okay? and you’re gonna be nice and loud, honey. no holding back.” 

“lando i’m-“

“when. i. say.” he cuts you off, punctuating each order with a snap of his hips. 

all you can do is take it, dripping all over him. you can hear it, the wet squelch of him filling you up. 

“should mark up this pretty neck, yeah? let everyone know that you already belong to someone.” 

you barely register what he’s saying, but the words leave you hot, pushing you even closer to the edge and you clamp down around him. 

“squeezing me so tight, bet you’ve wanted me all day, huh, honey? saw you looking at me earlier, pretending like you weren’t when i caught you. couldn’t just asked and i would’ve fucked you right then.” lando grunts. you wail out, thrashing against the makeshift bed and he nods, letting you know it’s okay. 

“that’s right, pretty girl, that’s it. been so good letting me have you. cum for me, baby.” 

baby.

it’s the first time he’s ever called you that. it’s the final push you need. 

he collapses into you as he finishes, sweaty curls plush against your bare shoulder. you’re both panting, spent, basking in the moment of silence.

“thank you.” he whispers, sealing it with a kiss against your neck. it tingles, a foreign feeling settling in your belly, shooting through your veins. 

“you drove really well.” you reply, quiet. his breathing halts, a self deprecating laugh filling the room. 

“don’t do that.” 

“what?” 

“act like you were watching my race. charles have a great drive, that must have been a lot more interesting.” 

“maybe, but i was watching you.” 

your words hit him hard. he can’t help but kiss you. you swallow a moan, and a whole heap of feelings that you’re too scared to tackle. 

“you better go. will i see you in brazil?” 

“yeah, lando. you will.” 

youruser just posted on instagram:

tagged: francisca.cgomes

liked by: alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, charles_leclerc and others

youruser: hola chica 🤭

francisa.cgomes: my love my loveeeee

user21: once again i am asking. why are you here lando? 👀

user56: stop inventing!

alexandrasaintmleux: my beautiful girlies

user66: icon mother slay incredible

-

PART TWO IS HERE!

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239

[stars-and-clouds]

Astarion Romance Headcanons 🥀

SFW:

Side glances when you're besides him

Full on staring when you're not

Immediately looking away when you catch him

"You know the way he looks at you, don't you, soldier?"

His pinky itching towards yours when you're walking, wanting to hold your hand but unsure because, is it too much? Will you reject him?

His hands scrunching up your shirt tightly whenever you hug. He's always the last to let go.

You hold on longer and longer each time because he doesn't want to let go.

His kisses are tender and needy.

He likes the warmth of your hands.

Thinking of what tones will suit your perfume the best. He'll gift it to you after all this is over.

He'll sew the holes or tears in your clothes over the night and pretend he doesn't know what happened next morning.

When you move to kiss his cheek he will grimace in annoyance but lean in as you do it.

"Be careful around Astarion, (Tav). He's not serious about you.", the others will warn you. And Astarion will worry you'll heed their words more than his so he'll do so much to prove his love to you, not knowing that you already trust him (even if that is an objectively stupid thing to do lmao).

He started sleeping next to you from the moment you had sex but ever since you've entered the shadowlands, he ends up cuddling in the middle of the night. He misses the sun.

He likes kissing the palm of your hand or its back.

Likes to pack your bag before you leave camp.

"No one's ever going to love me like that again."

Ever since you told him that there's more to him than just beauty and sex, that he's hilarious, for instance, he finds ways to make you laugh. He loves it. He's started being a lot more sarcastic and makes more jokes just to hear your laughter. He'll never admit it, of course. Other than maybe when it's only you two.

Doesn't believe he will be able to love again if you let go of him.

"Don't be so nice to me." he says with round, needy and pleading eyes.

Thinking of ways he can show others you're together so others know you're not available.

Hiding his jealousy, terribly.

He will rip the throat out of anyone with malicious intent towards you.

"I will wait the whole of my life for you, Astarion." He doesn't believe it at first, but the longer you go on without sex the safer he feels and the more he wants you.

NSFW:

He sometimes cries silently at night, wishing he could make love to you without it feeling so tainted. He wants it so badly, but his past experience prohibits it. The pain of wanting something and being unable to have it only because of himself is too much. He blames himself too sometimes. Wishing he could give you more.

"I don't mind waiting.", you'd say.

"I do. I can't have you, no matter how much I want you.", he'd say.

When you cuddle him sensing he's upset, he will bury his face in your neck to hide his tears. The smell of you is comforting.

Needing you everytime you're tender with him.

Getting aroused when you hug during a kiss.

Wanting to kiss your skin all over, to make you cry from pleasure as you bury your face in his neck.

Wanting you to hold on to him for dear life as you climax.

When he's finally comfortable enough and takes charge of his own sexuality, he'll be so needy.

Realising that the two nights he had sex with you were nothing compared to how good making love to you feels.

When you give up all control to him, letting him do to you as he wants, the pleasure is almost too much bear. The power he feels is palpable and knowing it is you who trusts him so much will drive him near mad.

He will lose control many times so you have a safe word.

You both think of the stupidest word possible as a safe word. Something that makes you both laugh when it's used.

He likes over stimulating you, making you beg and he'll kiss you to calm you.

"It's okay, you can do it, darling.", he'll say stroking you even further and kissing your tears.

"Does that feel good, my love?"

The more you beg the more he loves it.

He likes playing with your hands, holding them in his, touching your fingers, comparing them to his while you rest on his chest, still warm from him being inside of you.

Resting his head against your chest to hear your heartbeat.

Staring at your face and body intently. Taking in every little reaction you make and replaying them over in his head throughout the day.

Staring at you longingly when you're both with the squad, failing terribly at focusing in battle or conversation.

Getting aroused when you're covered in blood.

Seeing you fighting, in general, turns him on. The smell of your sweat, your rapid heart beat, the way your body moves, all of it now only reminds him of making love to you.

Telling you to say his name whenever he's feeling good and you'll chant it as you cum. He loves how it sounds from your lips.

Resting his forehead against yours as he's close to cumming.

"Look at me.", he'll command you.

He likes when your hands rake his hair, pull his hair, tug it whatever. That slight bit of pain arouses him. Better yet, if you bury your nails into his skin.

He likes to look at you falling asleep. It's such a gentle thing. How can someone so strong otherwise be so soft around him? Why him? Why did someone like you choose someone like him? He can't believe he has you.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50833876/chapters/128419966 I am updating these hcs on my ao3, if anyone is interested!

[catdia]

Lost in a Wild Rune

“Jayce— p-please slow down.” You whined. Throat straining against his hand.

He had you pressed against the wall of his abandoned workshop. Entering you with one thrust of his hips.

You came to his workshop to mourn his memory. Walk around the now ice cold fire pit and touch all those unfinished projects he had laying around.

Instead you found a broken Jayce, longer hair and full beard. Beautiful amber eyes uneasy and intense like never before. Talis hammer distorted with a Gem stone no longer blue.

A short emotion filled reunion. Hands grasping his dirty ruined coat. Nails digging into his clothing to see if this all was real. That he was flesh and bone.

You had so many questions about what and why. Before you could even get them out your mouth he claimed you with a kiss. Stripping you of your bottoms and shoved into a cold wall.

“I missed you so much, baby. I’ve become crazy without you.” He moan into your ear. Teeth sinking into your neck. Marking your skin red.

What happened to the man that used to make love to you so tenderly? The one that would give and give, and never take.

You refuse to believe that the man that was fucking you so hard was your lover.

He was pounding away at your entrance. Leg brace scrapping the outsides of your thighs. Your ass bouncing against his pelvis each time he thrusted into your weeping cunt. Other hand holding your arms behind your back making your wrists hurt.

He was so hairless before. Claiming he liked to be groomed for you. But seeing him shirtless with hair on his chest and a happy trail pointing to his cock made your cunt drool.

Jayce smelled of musk. The hand on your neck calloused by the lack of gloves. He wasn’t the council member you last saw.

He was just a man with the primal urge to fuck. And that made you unbelievably willing.

“Jayce, please, i-it’s too much!” tears were escaping your eyes. Your moans and cries echoed through the workshop walls. As if those walls were mocking you.

“My beautiful girl.”

He growled like an animal, having your velvety walls contract on his shaft was pure heaven. After months of pain and mental strain your skin was a much needed pill.

Balls slapping against your little abused clit deliciously. They were so backed up and heavy. Full of creamy seed. Head of his cock hitting your sweet spot just right. Squirming to get out of his hold, fearing of cumming too quickly. You wanted to savor his lust.

You almost forgot how big he was. Without any prep the shock of having him inside you was great, the burn was mouthwatering.

“How I’ve missed this pussy. Fuck, can’t wait to breed you.” He moaned between hollow breaths.“Should have done it sooner. I need to make you mine, baby.”

You were his the moment you met. Forever and always.

“Make me yours, Jayce. Fuck me full with your fat cock!”

He let go of your arms and neck. You braced yourself on the cold concrete. Palms violently grabbing the flesh of your hips, dragging them to meet the start of his shaft and all the way to the tip.

“Give yourself to me, muñeca—”

He came screaming your name, coating your cervix in white.

“Ohhh, fuck.” Jayce pulled you flat on his chest.

His hands pressing on your lower tummy. The pressure made you see stars, throwing your head back on his shoulder. Arching your back. Jayce captured your lips in a kiss, beard scratchy against your chin.

He made quick work of your clit with his fingers. Slapping her a few times making your body shiver and whine out.

“Jayceeeeee— I’m gonna cum!”

“Cream all over my cock, baby.” You came on his shaft. Body convulsing by the lack of release you haven’t had in months.

“That’s it, that’s it…” Jayce slowly pulled out with a hiss. Spreading your cheeks apart to see his cum dripping out of your swollen lips.

Your legs were like jelly, if it wasn’t for him turning his back against the wall and sliding you down to the floor your knees you have been bleeding.

Jayce wrapped his arms around you. They were more muscular than you remembered. You were all fucked out. Hair in every direction, sweat coating your brow. But this Jayce didn’t care.

He was smelling your body, nuzzling his nose into every crevice of your skin. Licking and tasting you as if you were going to disappear.

A giggle filled Jayce’s ears.

“Your beard is tickling me, baby.”

He smiled like a lunatic. Kissing the back of your hand. “It is? Do you like it?”

“Mmm I love it, Jayce. And the hair too.” You said tracing his jaw with your knuckles.

You missed each other’s joy so much.

You saw the pain in his eyes, one of a massive headache that cannot even be controlled by morphine. The way the lines of his nose scrunched up in discomfort. What happened to your lover?

The hormones of sex and bliss slowly diminishing.

“What happend to you? Why did you leave me alone?” You broke down in his chest. Ugly crying like he has never seen before.

“Sshhh, baby, please don’t cry. I’m right here with you.” Jayce cradled your head in his large palms. Bringing his lips up to your eyes and drinking your tears.

“I don’t even know where to begin…”

“Start with why the Hexcore has tuned into an angry human tissue sample.”

You pushed a strand of hair behind his ears. Massaging the sides of his temple with little pressure. Making him sigh in relief.

His gaze was focused, like the young inventor you saw for the first time in his blown-up apartment.

“Ok. Well, it all happened so fast after the attack—”

[nereidprinc3ss]

ghost in the machine

in which spencer reid coaxes reader out of an episode of extreme dissociation after a triggering therapy session

angst, fluff warnings/tags: established relationship, accidental mild injury, blood, unspecified trauma, but at the very least implied past emotional abuse, anxiety, reader has ptsd and is in #denial about it a/n: I'm hellaaaa chill sometimes I just lose hours of my day if I think about my childhood too hard

It’s normal for you to get home and immediately wash your hands—a habit you picked up from Spencer. So you walk through the door, and you close it, and you take off your shoes and you hang up your coat and he calls hey from the couch. 

You don’t respond. Or do you? You’re not sure. But you’re washing your hands, and then as you go to dry them, you notice your coffee mug from this morning, still sitting on the counter. 

I should wash that, you think, and so you pick it up and you take it back to the sink. 

Sink. Sink equals washing hands. 

You’re washing your hands again. 

What did you mean to do?

Dishes? Right. The mug is… gone, seemingly, but there’s a knife in the sink, too—you pick it up, and you’re about to rinse it off, and then it’s clattering from your hands. Somebody is pulling you back from the sink. 

Someone is saying your name a whole bunch of times. 

You turn, blinking, and there’s Spencer, glowing softly in the yellow light of the kitchen. 

He looks so concerned. He strokes your cheek but you feel it less than you seem to observe it from a distance. Says your name one more time, eyes softening a little. 

“What?” You murmur, as if in a trance. 

He blinks. 

“You dropped a mug. You’re bleeding.”

Well, that’s news to you. It seems like a preposterous claim, but you look down, and sure enough—that coffee mug which had disappeared from the sink is in pieces on the floor and the tile is smeared in red. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Are you okay?”

“I’m bleeding.”

His brows furrow. 

“Yes, I see that. Do you remember breaking the mug?”

The mug. Oh, yeah. Now that you think about it—yeah, you do remember dropping it. Watching it break into a hundred pieces. That noise, of dishes breaking and clattering—suddenly you inhale deeply. 

“I broke it,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I broke it—”

The memory of the sound is cacophonous, deafening and completely inescapable. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. Nobody’s upset at you. It’s just a mug.”

But that doesn’t make it any easier to lower your shoulders from where they’ve tensed to your ears, because once a dish breaks, there’s always a second of terrible, tremulous silence, before it explodes and somebody is screaming, painting every wall in the house with their rage. You squeeze your eyes shut. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, you whisper, wordlessly, just as you did so many years ago. 

“It’s just a mug,” he says again like that will help. “I’m gonna clean it up, okay? It’s gonna be like it never even happened.”

And that does provide some comfort—the fanciful idea of undoing. Of closing your eyes against the something terrible and wishing it away like you’ve always done and having it actually be gone when you open them. Spencer must be magic. 

“I’m gonna clean it up, but I want to make sure your foot is okay first. Is that okay?”

You take a deep, shuddering sniffle and nod, but that warm fog is pouring down the corridors in your brain like smoke in a maze. It obscures everything. Your feelings. The pain. The fear, thank god. There must be shards in your foot. Spencer apologizes from below as he peels off your bloodied sock, where he’s pulling the first aid kid from under the sink and working on you, but you don’t feel the pain. You don’t feel anything except the pressure of the bandage around your foot as he stands. 

He says your name again. 

“Hm?”

You’re scaring him. That much is evident from the look on his face. You wish you could stop, but it’s like you’re in a dream again. The brief clarity that moment of panic had provided is gone. 

“Can we just—can we go sit down?” He asks, already putting a hand on your waist. Sure. Why not. He supports your weight as you hobble around the broken mess on the ground and all the way to the couch. Oh. It’s too soft. Too forgiving. You sink into it too deeply, like you’re being swallowed, or breathed into a pair of monstrous lungs. 

Spencer is crouching in front of you, pushing hair from your face. 

“What’s going on, baby?”

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’m fine. I just… dropped… a mug.”

“You didn’t remember or notice that you dropped the mug until I pointed it out. You washed your hands twice. You were about to try and wash a knife without a sponge.”

“No, I’m just… I’m tired. It’s…”

You trail off again, any further attempt at a meager excuse walled off a thick swirling fog. It’s like you’re trying to walk but you can’t see more than a few feet ahead of you. You can hardly think, let alone speak. 

Spencer frowns deeper. 

“It’s what?”

You pause for a long time. 

“Um… Don’t remember.”

“You’re scaring me,” he whispers, and again you wonder why, only you can’t really wonder at the moment. “Did you hit your head? Where did you come from?”

“When?” You ask. 

“Just now. When you came home, where were you coming from?”

“Diane. I was, um—I was at therapy.”

“No stops on your way home?”

“No,” you say. You’re pretty sure. You actually have no memory of what happened between leaving Diane’s office and walking through the front door. 

“Did you feel okay before you started therapy?”

“… Yeah.”

“So this started after?”

“What?”

“Your inability to put a sentence together, honey. You’re really out of it.”

“Oh.” Your eyes sting. It feels like an insult. “‘M fine.”

He reaches up to cup your cheeks. 

“What did you and Diane talk about?” He asks gently, a little less anxiously, like he’s figured out what’s wrong with you. 

At this, your mouth goes dry. What was before swirling fog has become a hulking black wall of solid obsidian. There’s nothing. 

“Um…”

“Can you remember?”

Something hot traces the length of your cheek from your eye. 

“No,” you whisper, sounding utterly distraught. “No, I can’t remember. I can't remember anything.”

More tears are coming now. How could you forget? You’re trying so hard to remember. How did you even get home?

“Okay. That’s okay, angel. You don’t have to remember.”

“I’m sorry. Something’s… wrong…”

“Don’t be sorry. I think you just got really overwhelmed at therapy and now your brain is trying to protect you. Can you tell me what you’re feeling in your body?”

Your… your body?

Nothing. It feels like nothing. 

“Why don’t you try and take a deep breath? I’ll do it with you.” He brings your hand to his chest, and your finger twitches against the hard abalone button. His chest expands, and you try to do the same, letting the cool rush of air down your throat. The room spins. 

“Woah,” you mutter, suddenly hyper aware of your breathing. 

“Slow down. We’re okay. You’re safe.”

He leads you through a few more deep breaths and you manage to get to a place where they don’t feel so precarious and unsteady. Your head sparkles with fresh oxygen and everything is too much. After a moment you’re settling your elbows on your knees and burying your face in your hands. Spencer rubs soothing lines up and down the side of your legs. 

“How do you feel now?”

“Not good,” you whisper. “My foot hurts.”

He hums. 

“Technically I shouldn’t let you take Ibuprofen because it’s a blood thinner and you have an open wound, but I think it’ll be okay just this once. You okay if I go get some?”

You nod, rubbing at your eyes with your palms until you see stars. The brain fog hasn’t lifted, but it’s thinned considerably. 

He comes back a few moments later with two round pills and a glass of cold water. The shock of it in your hand zaps your brain and you almost drop it but Spencer seems to have anticipated this so he hadn’t let go of the glass yet. He administers the pills once your hand is steady and you take them, feeling the river of ice down your throat and into the pool of your stomach. It seems to travel outward, extending into every reach of your body, bringing the sensorial world back to the forefront of your consciousness. Spencer must notice the goosebumps because he’s unfolding a blanket and wrapping it around you tightly, before pulling you into his arms where he sits and tucking your head beneath his chin. You let your eyes flutter shut, embracing the warmth, the pressure, the soft fabric against your skin. 

“I don’t know what happened,” you murmur. “I don’t… feel right.”

“That’s okay. I know it feels scary, but nothing’s wrong. I think you maybe talked about something that’s really hard to talk about when you weren’t quite ready. Sometimes when that happens, your brain tries to protect you from perceived threats by dissociating. It makes thinking straight really difficult.”

You frown. 

“How did I… How’d I get home?”

He strokes your hair. 

“The parts of your brain responsible for procedural memory aren’t as impacted during episodes of dissociation. But it’s actually not uncommon for people who don’t have PTSD to forget their commutes. It’s called highway hypnosis.”

“I don’t… I don’t have PTSD,” you insist. When Spencer doesn’t answer for a long moment, only continues stroking your hair, you swallow. 

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, angel.”

“Okay,” you whisper, like a child too weary to argue. He kisses your head. 

“It might be good for you to take a nap,” Spencer says, like he can read your mind. “I bet you’re tired.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I know everything,” he says simply—a line borrowed from you. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, okay? I’m gonna order from Tandoori, and you’ll fall asleep, and I’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat, and we can watch your show.”

You smile despite yourself. 

“So assertive.”

“I’m thinking I can get away with it right now.”

He’s only teasing. You cuddle closer. He holds you tighter. 

“I’m the boss. And I want Thai food.”

“There she is,” he murmurs, rubbing your back over the blanket. The warm saccharine sweetness of his tone dizzies you, muddles your mind more pleasantly this time. Your heart rate slows. Your breathing goes back on autopilot. The rise and fall of his chest rocks you like the sea. Just at the cusp of sleep, he whispers one more promise. Of safety. Of love. 

When you wake up, you’ve forgotten all about it. 

But there's pad Thai on the table, and the kitchen is devoid of blood or broken glass. 

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

[hoonatic]

emergency contact | park sunghoon x reader

prompt: weeks after your breakup, sunghoon finds out that he’s still your emergency contact. pairing: non-idol sunghoon x implied female reader genre: angst with hopeful/happy? ending; second chance romance??; exes to lovers??? word count: 2800 note: i’ve had a cute fic idea that i wanted to write forever…but this is not it. the sad demons have visited me once again. hope y’all enjoy nevertheless and any feedback is much appreciated <3

sunghoon was miserable. 

it had been three weeks, five days, two hours, and thirty-two minutes since the two of you had gone no contact.

he wished he could say he was happy to be single, that he was no longer “locked down” and “whipped” as his friends had always called him. but the so-called “freedom” felt like hell since it meant losing you.

at first, he kept telling himself that time would heal the pain. “it’s natural,” he had repeated like a mantra, “she was your best friend and lover for years.” but no, this heartbreak was inhumane. his desire to see you, apologize endlessly, and spend days holding you until you could feel every ounce of his love was gnawing at his soul. if anything, it got worse by the minute.

he had tried so hard to balance work and the rest of his life, using the excuse several times that he was securing this future for your shared life with him. that one day, you’d be able to reap the rewards of his efforts and live comfortably together without stress.

but what was the use of all of that now? the future he had worked so hard to create was ripped out from his hands by no one other than himself. 

you had accused him of being too busy for you. dates canceled at the last minute, a birthday forgotten, and all the texts left on read had built up to the argument that ended it all. he was always good at fighting, a little too good. he had retorted that you weren’t being supportive, and he was never one to sugarcoat his words. his tongue was sharp, and he did nothing to dull its blade.

but there wasn’t too much yelling on your part, and he thought that that hurt more. he wanted you to fight back, to stand your ground because he knew deep down that he was being the asshole. his toxic thought was that by you fighting back, this meant that you were still fighting for your relationship. but instead, you just stared with silent tears and a blank expression. seeing the indifference in eyes that had previously held so much love was a sight that would stay with him forever. so, in fear of you leaving, he ran instead.

he was a coward, leaving your shared home to run back to the apartment he had still technically owned but hadn’t lived in for more than a year. he locked himself away for a few days, but the realization that you hadn’t attempted to contact him burned more than he could put into words. you were done with him. he had hurt you, had the audacity to be the one to run, and now he had lost you.

he had even run from his job. he couldn’t stand to walk into the same building he stayed in when he forgot dates with you. his coworkers wouldn’t stop asking what happened to him, why he looked so rough. he even found an empty container that had once held lunch you made for him. but his final straw was getting promoted. his first instinct was to call you, but he remembered the sad truth before he could dial. any ounce of pride was washed away with shame in that moment. that same day, he quit without notice.

so there he was: miserable, alone, and unemployed with nothing left to run from but memories. he had spent the last week going through his phone and saving your pictures together in a locked album. he wouldn’t dare delete them, but he couldn’t stomach looking at you either.

he wished he could get drunk and sleep away the pain. he had tried, he definitely did - but that night, he dreamt of you. you were smiling at first, eyes ever full of love. you were speaking, yet he couldn’t hear you. but he could see how your words started to gradually look sadder, and slowly, tears started to fall as your grin dropped. he woke up that next morning crying with the conclusion that he would have to face this heartbreak sober.

but another day of scrolling through albums had stopped abruptly when he saw the notification that changed everything.

SOS i called emergency services from this approximate location after my watch detected a hard fall. you are receiving this message because i have you listed as my emergency contact.

sunghoon had to remind himself to breathe.

he had purchased that watch for you as a “just because” present months ago. you had complained of bad sleep and he wanted you to use it as a way to track your slumber. he hated seeing you tired. he knew that the watch had a fall detection function, but it had never been used before.

his heart was in his stomach as he went to his favorite contacts page and selected your name for the first time in weeks.

“please,” he begged, all notion of running away from you leaving his brain, “pick up please.”

but you just weren’t answering. so he tried again and again and again.

for a moment while the line attempted to connect, he wondered if this was how he had made you feel for months - desperate for a sliver of attention from him. but instead, he was desperate for a sign of life.

finally, after about two minutes of trying to reach you, his body moved of its own accord. before he knew it, his car keys were in his hands and he was out the door.

the car ride there might have been the worst part. the speed at which he drove at almost defied the laws of physics. other drivers were cursing at him but he wasn’t registering anything except the thought of your safety. he just needed to get to you.

why did he run? why didn’t he try to talk it out? if he was so afraid of losing you, why did he do the one thing that would guarantee that? he should have been there like he promised to be from the beginning. you would have been safe with him.

when he pulled up to the house you had shared for so long, he suddenly felt the world slow down. why were emergency services there? you should’ve canceled them by now.

he had to double park as the ambulance was blocking the driveway. why were they here?

the emts and police had arrived at the same time as him, which both increased his anxiety and soothed him. for one, that meant he had been quick enough. but why did you need them?

“sir, do you know–” an officer had approached him as he stumbled to the front door. all he could understand was your name. why were they asking if he knew you? of course he knew you. you, the love of his life. you, his soulmate by every meaning of the word. you were you. and you were safe.

as if sensing his distress, he felt an emt worker pull him to the side as the same officer prepared to break down the door. seeing this, sunghoon finally returned to his senses.

“w-wait! sorry, i have a key.” sunghoon’s hands were shaking. the only way that door had unlocked was by pure muscle memory because he didn’t understand what he was doing at all.

as soon as the door opened, sunghoon tried to step in. finally, he was close to you. 

the officer, however, pulled him back.

“sir, you should wait here. we need to make an initial search before you can go in.”

“what, why? if she’s in there, i want to see–”

“sir, it’s just in case we find something we wouldn’t want you to see.”

all of sunghoon’s hesitation and fear went out the window at those words. his body flew automatically as he ran inside.

he screamed your name as he rushed in, ignoring the yells of the police officers who followed him in. as it had been for almost four weeks, his only thought was you. he just needed you.

he checked the ground floor first, eyes scanning the open space in less than a second as his body avoided an officer trying to grab him. sunghoon then moved to the staircase, long legs prepared to skip steps to reach you. then suddenly, he heard the voice his ears had been longing for,

“sunghoon?!”

his head shot up. there you were, finally. he saw the sadness, confusion, and fear all flash your face as you registered the emergency workers behind him. you looked exhausted and unruly, but he had never felt more in love.

he didn’t even remember climbing the steps, but suddenly he was at the top of the staircase and you were in his arms. 

you could feel him trembling as he held you. you took his face into your hands to look at him, “sunghoon? what’s wrong? why are you here? is it my parents? is someone hurt?” you watched as his mouth opened but no words came out. after a few seconds, one of the officers spoke from the bottom of the steps,

“ma’am, we received an alert from your device that a hard fall had occurred.”

suddenly, you understood everything. taking sunghoon’s hand gently, you led him down the stairs, afraid he’d fall from shock. he followed you silently, but his grip tightened seemingly with every step.

that’s when you noticed your shattered watch on the third step.

you let sunghoon go and you could hear his deep breath when you did. you picked up the watch and offered it up to the officer as an explanation, “i’m sorry officer, it looks like there’s been a misunderstanding…”

the officer nodded in understanding, and dismissed the emts, “got it, ma’am. we will still need a formal report for our records since this was registered as an emergency call.” he motioned to your couch as he took out a pen and paper.

you reached for sunghoon’s hand once more and led him to sit with you. in the moment, you knew he needed you more than you would ever understand. so, as you explained to the officer, you held his trembling hand, rubbing soothing circles with your thumb.

“i was doing laundry here downstairs and had taken off my watch to prevent it from getting wet,” you recounted, “i put it on top of the basket of clothes that i took upstairs. i remember tripping a little going up the stairs - i didn’t fall, but that must’ve been when the watch fell."

"what about your phone, where is it? i'm sure your boyfriend must've tried to call you."

sunghoon slowly nodded at that, turning to look at you. you smiled sheepishly, "i left it upstairs and it was on silent while i folded the clothes. i’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

after finishing up your statement, the remaining officer prepared to leave. as he walked out the door, he gave a soft smile to the both of you,

“glad to see it was a false alarm, ma’am. you had this gentleman quite worried - ran so fast i couldn’t even grab him!” the officer laughed, “you two have a nice day now! sorry about your watch, though!”

after he shut your door, the silence enveloped your home. you closed your eyes and breathed deeply to prepare to speak to your ex-boyfriend. but as soon as you opened them, sunghoon started to cry softly.

he hugged you tighter than he ever had, and soon enough, his face was buried in your neck. his cries were silent, but you could feel his body shaking as his tears soaked your shirt.

“sunghoon…” you started, stroking his back, “i’m sorry i worried you, honey.”

you knew you shouldn’t be calling your ex pet names, especially an ex that had run from you without properly ending the relationship. but your heart still held so much love for him that it flowed out naturally. and you knew he was crying from more than just worry, so you doubt he minded at all in the moment.

his crying slowed down as his arms took to loosely wrapping around your waist instead. he pulled away from your neck to rest his forehead on yours. from this angle, you could see his swollen eyes and red nose - a sight so rare in all the years you had dated. he was never a crier after all.

but memories of several late-night conversations rushed your mind. he always said his number one fear was your death, and now you could see he had never lied about that.

he could see your mind go elsewhere so he called your name softly, “don’t say you’re sorry. i’m so happy, these are relieved tears. and i just really, really missed you.” he croaked out. you knew he had more to say, so you just nodded, letting him go on.

“and i’m sorry, baby. for everything. i shouldn’t have run, i shouldn’t have tried to egg you on to fight me back. i shouldn’t have even fought anything you said that night. you were right. i didn’t prioritize you. in my attempt to secure you for life, i let you go instead. i’m so sorry, i never wanted to break up.” he was rambling in earnest now, afraid that no words would make you take him back.

you listened quietly as he went on for a few minutes after that, hand continuing to rub his back, “i know honey, i know.”

“baby, you need to understand that i almost died thinking you almost died today,” you could’ve laughed at how dramatically he spoke, “i couldn’t breathe right thinking that our last conversation could’ve been an argument. that you wouldn't have ever known just how deeply i love you and need you. i have so much regret for how i treated you, but if you’d give me the chance, i have all the time in the world to make it up to you…let’s go on that vacation i promised you. we can leave tomorrow if you’d like.” he smiled hopefully at you.

“hoon,” his heart soared at the use of his beloved nickname, “what do you mean? don’t you have work? can you really leave with such short notice?”

“i quit my job.”

“excuse me?”

“no job that made me work that much is worth it. i’ll find one with better work-life balance…after our vacation. if that’s what you still want of course…” he spoke more quietly, as if afraid of rejection.

you sighed. you really should be realistic with this - you two had been broken up for a few weeks at that point. you knew the love was still there, but was this a good decision?

while there was still some hesitation on your part, you couldn't help but notice how gingerly he held you. his arms were still around your waist loosely, yet there was something desperate about their hold. you knew he was holding back from hurting you - you could tell how tightly he wanted to hug you.

he was so shaken up at the idea of you being hurt that he rushed over there despite the two of you not being on speaking terms. for someone who had trouble communicating how he felt sometimes, you knew his actions spoke louder than words. he always acted brave, but there was so much he feared. and you knew losing you was always at the top of this list.

you could also feel how he was simply soaking in the sight of your face. his eyes were shy, yet determined. he wasn't going to risk missing another second of staring at you. a part of you grew conscious, but you knew he was just taking in what he had missed for weeks.

“what about…” you started and almost giggled at how he perked up, “we take it slow - another two weeks or so to talk everything out and relax? to get us to a good place again before you hold me hostage in some foreign country?”

sunghoon smiled softly, kissing your forehead. you leaned in naturally to his warmth, to his touch that you missed so much. “that sounds like a great idea, love.” he spoke, “we’ll get you a new watch too. and i’ll do all the itinerary planning and packing whenever you’re ready, okay? i love you.”

“okay. and i love you too. can’t wait to enjoy your unemployment with you for now!”

one smile and nod from you had him taking you into his arms once more, relishing in your being. he was back where he belonged. he had experienced the scariest reminder ever that he needed you, and sunghoon was never letting you go now.