#in order from left to right (with explanations):

[nebulousbrainsoup]

[23:17]

SUMMARY: San has been stuck. Maybe it's time to let go. PAIRING: Choi San x gn!reader GENRE: angst angst angst AU/TROPE: nonidol au, exes WORD COUNT: 907 TAGS/WARNINGS: not beta read RATING: G A/N: back at it again, using fanfic to cope. also, thought a little timestamp might be a good way to get me back into writing for ateez. shout out yappers [ @justhere4kpop, @cheolism, @kwanisms, @yoonguurt ] for helping me craft this.

The diner still looked the same. The barstool San settled on still had a tear in the vinyl straight down the center, and it still jolted under his weight, tilting a bit to the right. He still had to squirm until it clicked back into place, and even then he spun away from the counter without his leg as a brace. The same mismatched coffee mugs, donated by local businesses for advertising, were still stacked up on the shelf in front of him, and the waitress still grabbed the third one from the left—this time, something from an insurance agent whose name had long been rubbed away—and filled it in the same movement.

She didn’t reach for the next mug from the left anymore. That had changed.

Everything else remained the same. 

San still ordered a slice of apple pie, warmed up, à la mode, while he doctored his coffee with a little creamer cup and a packet of sugar. He still held his steaming mug in both hands, clutching it close to stave off the winter chill that had followed him. He still made small talk with the waitress before she sauntered back to the kitchen to fill his order, and his eyes still drifted over to the windows, watching as the snow fell lazily. The lights still reflected back at him in the glass, the one in the back corner, just above the kitchen door, flickering every few seconds.  

Silence fell over him, no one peering out from behind him in the reflection to prompt him with a question or lean over and show him a new cat video. That had changed. 

So little had changed, but so much had changed. San closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled shakily. 

The waitress still spoke the same chipper greeting as she set his food in front of him, but her smile these days was just a little melancholy. He still savored his treat, balancing each bite between the pie and the ice cream and making sure not to wash the taste away too quickly with his sips of coffee, but when he finished and looked at the clock, only fifteen minutes had passed, and he hadn’t needed a refill of his mug. He still went up to the same cash register to pay, but now, his bill was half the price it should have been. The long brown coat was the same one as last winter, and he pulled it tight around himself in the same fashion he always did as he stepped into the night, but it felt stuffier with the fleece scarf around his neck, too.

Last winter, it would have been around yours. 

He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, where he’d gone wrong. One morning, he’d woken up beside you, pouring his love into every soft kiss he planted on your lips. You looked at him like he’d hung the stars. The next, his bed had been cold, and when he’d found you staring out the balcony window at the winter’s first snow, you’d slipped away from the wrap of his arms around your waist.

“Jagiya?” 

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

The breath left him like he was still in the room, still staring at you, still stunned and floundering for the words to beg you to stay. San inhaled sharply, the chill air filling his lungs bringing him back to his senses, and kept walking. He wasn’t sure when he had stopped.

He’d spent a few hours angry. At you, at the world… At himself, for whatever it was he’d done to make you leave him. It faded quickly, leaving a simmering hurt behind, sadness mixing with confusion. It had been so sudden, and even in the minutes you’d spent gathering your things, you hadn’t bothered to spare him an explanation.

His search for one had been entirely fruitless. Texts went unanswered, calls rang through, and after the first time that little red exclamation point taunted him, telling him his message could not be delivered, he gave up. The anger came back for a split second, of course, but most of what he’d felt was a sense of defeat and a fresh wave of sadness. He would never have an answer, would never know why. 

He still wondered, of course. On nights like tonight that were a little too quiet, a little too cold, a little too dark, he wondered. Without you, everything was still the same. His coffee tasted just as bitter, his pie just as sweet. Snow still fell and lights still flickered and the world still turned. He was still the same man, still had the same cat you’d loved so much, laughed at the jokes you’d fall over onto him to and worked at the same dead-end job you cheered him on through. He had not changed, nor had the world, but it seemed so much dimmer without you beside him.

Joyous laughter contrasted the sorrowful sigh he released as the bus doors opened. He stood just to the side, let the people filter off—and barely caught you in his arms as you stumbled down the slick steps and nearly fell into the snow. You still looked the same. The snow still fell, the wind still chilled him, and the bus doors began to close.

San smiled as you righted yourself, a joyless thing, and let you go.

© September 2024 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. reposting and translating of author’s work is prohibited.

[liquidstar]

this is not a comprehensive list

[disastercit]

some s4 ross sketches

[valkyriexo]

Silence | Bang Chan

ᑉ³pairing; Boyfriend Chan x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Angst , Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI ,dirty talk, swearing, Fingering, oral f reciving, begging

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner @chrizzztopherbang (sorry it took so long :((( )

The restaurant was bustling, filled with the chatter of people enjoying their Friday night.

But at your table, a tense silence hung in the air.

Your parents sat across from you, glancing at the door every few minutes, waiting for the man they’d heard so much about. But as the minutes ticked by, Chan’s absence became glaring

Your stomach churned with anxiety, but you kept a smile on your face, holding onto the thin hope that maybe he was just running late. He had to be coming—this was the night you were finally introducing him to your parents, the people who mattered most to you.

Your phone sat face-up on the table, dark and motionless. No missed calls. No texts.

Not even a simple message to say he wasn’t coming.

You checked your phone again, the light of the screen glaringly bright in the dim restaurant. Nothing. He hadn’t reached out. No explanation. No apology. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on your face.

Your mom glanced at her watch, then back at you with a sympathetic smile. “Honey, maybe he got caught up in traffic or something. We can wait a bit longer.”

Your dad, on the other hand, wasn’t as forgiving. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his face a mask of thinly veiled frustration. “It’s been nearly an hour. If he can’t even make it to dinner with your parents, what does that say about him?”

You opened your mouth to defend him but stopped. You couldn’t deny that this wasn’t just an isolated event. Over the past few weeks, Chan had been slipping—forgetting dates, canceling plans last minute, or worse, just not showing up. But tonight, of all nights, was different. He knew how important this was to you. To both of you.

And he still wasn’t here.

It felt like a punch to the gut. You’d been nervous about tonight for weeks, planning every detail in your head. Your parents had flown in just for this. And Chan, the man you’d been dating for months, wasn’t even here

“Maybe something came up…” you offered weakly, though the words felt hollow, even to you.

Your dad sighed, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, a man who cares about you doesn’t let ‘something’ come up on a night like this. He makes time.”

The words stung because deep down, you knew he was right. You’d been making excuses for Chan for weeks, convincing yourself that his work, his schedule, was just overwhelming, and that it wasn’t personal. But this? This felt personal.

Your mom reached across the table, squeezing your hand gently. “We don’t have to stay, you know. We can reschedule, or…”

The thought of leaving without even hearing from him made your stomach drop. You wanted to brush it off, pretend like it didn’t matter, but it did. You wanted your parents to see the man you loved, to understand why you were so devoted to him. But right now, even you were struggling to remember that reason.

The waiter approached, a polite smile on his face. “Are we ready to order, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

You hesitated, glancing at the empty seat beside you, before shaking your head. “No, I think we’re ready.”

The rest of dinner was strained, your parents trying to keep up light conversation, but the tension in the air was undeniable. Every few minutes, your eyes drifted to your phone, but it remained painfully silent.

No word from Chan. No explanation.

By the time you made it back home, the weight of the evening settled heavily on your shoulders. Your parents had been kind—understanding, even—but their disappointment lingered. You could feel it in the hug your mom gave you before she left, the look your dad gave you as he told you to "think about what you deserve."

And he was right. You deserved better than this.

When you finally walked into your apartment, the quiet was suffocating. You dropped your bag on the couch, sitting down with a heavy sigh, staring at the blank screen of your phone once more. A million thoughts raced through your head—maybe something had happened, maybe there was a reason he couldn’t make it, maybe—

Your phone lit up, and your heart leapt for a split second. But it wasn’t Chan. It was a notification from some random app, and the disappointment hit you like a wave.

You leaned back against the couch, the realization sinking in. He hadn’t forgotten tonight. He’d just… not shown up. And the worst part was, he hadn’t even bothered to tell you.

There was no last-minute excuse, no frantic apology, no explanation. He had simply left you waiting.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of it all. But eventually, the front door opened, and Chan walked in, looking exhausted but casual, as if it were any other night. He saw you on the couch and smiled, dropping his keys onto the table.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Long day at the studio,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t even look guilty.

You blinked, staring at him in disbelief. “Late? You didn’t even come.”

Chan frowned, confused. “What are you talking about? I’m here now.”

“You didn’t come to dinner,” you said, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and sadness. “I waited for you. My parents waited for you.”

It was as if the weight of what you were saying finally hit him. His eyes widened, realization dawning. “Shit, wait—dinner. That was tonight?”

You stood up, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah, it was tonight. The dinner where you were supposed to meet my parents for the first time. The dinner we planned weeks ago. And you didn’t show up.”

His face paled, guilt creeping in, but it wasn’t enough. Not this time. You had waited, excused, and forgiven too many times before.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to—” Chan started, but you cut him off.

“No, Chan. You didn’t even tell me you weren’t coming. You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You left me sitting there, waiting, with no idea where you were.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being the one who waits.”

Chan’s expression crumbled as he stepped forward, but you took a step back. “Please, I’ll make it right. I swear—”

But you’d heard it all before. And this time, it wasn’t enough.

The silence that followed your words was thick, suffocating. Chan stared at you, his face twisted in guilt, but it wasn’t enough this time. Nothing he could say would make up for the way you felt tonight—alone, forgotten, like an afterthought.

"I said I’m sorry, okay?" His voice was low, almost pleading. But the apology felt like it was more for his own peace of mind than for you.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Sorry? That’s all you have to say? You didn’t even care enough to send me a text, Chan! You didn’t care enough to let me know you weren’t coming to meet my parents!"

“I do care—” he started, but you cut him off, voice trembling with the frustration and hurt you’d been bottling up for weeks.

“Do you? Do you really? Because it feels like I’m the only one putting any effort into this relationship!” The words spilled out before you could stop them, years of unsaid feelings finally surfacing. “I’ve been bending over backwards for you, making excuses for you, and for what? For you to just forget about me over and over again?”

Chan’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with anger, but he kept his voice calm. “It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose. I’m trying to juggle everything—the studio, the group, the deadlines—it’s not easy.”

“Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty for that.” Your voice cracked, and you took a step toward him, fists clenched. “I’ve been patient. I’ve understood every time you’ve had to cancel plans, every time you’ve been late because of work. But this was important, Chan! You were supposed to meet my parents! You were supposed to be there for me for once!”

He flinched, as if your words physically hurt him, but he still tried to defend himself. “I know it was important, but I can’t always be everywhere at once. I’m doing my best, and sometimes things slip through the cracks.”

You stared at him, feeling a bitter mix of anger and heartbreak. “I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m slipping through the cracks in your life.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Chan’s face softened as he realized how deeply he had hurt you. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. You could see the guilt in his eyes, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You turned away from him, your arms wrapping around yourself, trying to hold in the tears that threatened to spill. “I need space, Chan. I need to think.”

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward, his voice desperate now. “Don’t shut me out. Please, we can talk about this.”

You shook your head, your voice cold and distant. “There’s nothing to talk about right now. I just… I need time.”

Without another word, you walked past him, retreating into your bedroom, leaving him standing alone in the living room, guilt and frustration etched across his face.

The next few days were a blur of silence. You avoided Chan’s calls, ignored his texts, and when you saw him, you barely acknowledged his presence. The silent treatment weighed heavily on both of you, but you weren’t ready to face him. Not yet. The sting of being let down, again and again, was too fresh.

At first, Chan tried to give you space, respecting your need for time to process. But as the days went on, he began to grow more desperate. The messages started coming more frequently—apologies, explanations, everything he could think of to get through to you. But you remained silent.

One night, you were sitting in your living room, laying on the couch and scrolling through your phone aimlessly, when you heard a knock at your door. You didn’t respond, hoping he’d go away, but then the door opened slowly, and Chan stepped inside.

He looked exhausted, his usual confidence replaced by an unmistakable vulnerability. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before finally sitting down at the edge of your bed.

“I know you’re mad,” he started, his voice low and hesitant. “And you have every right to be.”

You didn’t say anything, keeping your eyes glued to your phone. But the tension in the room was thick, and you could feel him watching you, waiting for some kind of response.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I messed up. I know I did. And I can’t stand that I hurt you like this. I’ve been trying to fix it, but I don’t even know where to start anymore.”

Still, you said nothing, but your heart ached at the sadness in his voice. You wanted to forgive him, to let it go, but a part of you needed him to understand just how deeply his actions had hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like you don’t matter. Because you do. You’re the most important person in my life, and I hate that I’ve made you feel otherwise.”

You glanced up at him, and the sight of him—his eyes red, his face etched with regret—made something inside you soften. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you said quietly, finally breaking your silence. “I can’t keep waiting for you to show up, wondering if I’m ever going to be enough to make you prioritize me.”

Chan’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. “You are enough. You’re more than enough. I’ve just been so caught up in everything that I lost sight of what’s really important.”

He reached out, taking your hand gently, and for the first time in days, you didn’t pull away.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve been an idiot. I know I’ve let you down more times than I can count, but I’m begging you… please don’t give up on us.”

Tears stung your eyes as you looked at him, the vulnerability in his expression breaking down the last of your defenses. You could see how much he meant every word, how deeply he regretted the pain he’d caused you.

“I don’t want to give up on us either,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But something has to change, Chan. I need to know that I can rely on you, that I matter.”

“You do,” he said quickly, his grip on your hand tightening. “I swear, things will be different. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll be better. For you. For us.”

Before you could respond, Chan sank to his knees in front of you, his eyes locked on yours. The raw vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. “Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I’ve let you down. I know I’ve been a mess. But I’m begging you, please don’t give up on us. I need you. I’ll do anything to make this right. Just give me a chance.”

You stared at him, shocked by his sudden desperation. The image of him on his knees, pleading with you, was almost too much to bear. The hurt was still fresh, and though his words and actions were sincere, you struggled with the weight of what he’d done.

You looked down at Chan, kneeling before you, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and desperation. His plea hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and fear. You could see how much he wanted to make things right, but the pain and disappointment you felt were still raw and unsettling.

“I don’t know, Chan,” you said finally, your voice wavering. “I want to believe that things will be different, but I’m not sure if I can just forgive and forget. You’ve let me down so many times. How can I be sure this time will be any different?”

Chan’s face fell, and he lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping. “I understand if you’re not ready to forgive me. I really do. But please, just give me a chance to prove it to you. I know I’ve been a fool, and I’m sorry. I’ll work every day to show you that I’m worth your trust.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and earnest. You wanted to believe him, wanted to reach out and pull him up from his knees, but the scars of past disappointments were still fresh. You needed to see more than words. You needed to know that the change he promised was real and lasting.

Before you could voice your doubts, Chan moved closer, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze was disarming, and you felt your resolve waver as he closed the distance between you. He reached out gently, cupping your face with his hands, his touch warm and tender.

As he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, you felt a surge of emotion that you couldn’t ignore. You wanted to push him away, to maintain your boundaries, but the vulnerability and sincerity in his eyes made it hard to resist. When his lips brushed against yours, it was soft and hesitant, a plea for forgiveness more profound than words could convey.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts, but then you found yourself responding, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both passionate and desperate. The connection was electric, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it felt like the world outside ceased to exist.

Chan’s kiss deepened, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he seemed to pour all his remorse and longing into that single, heartfelt kiss. It was as if he was trying to erase the distance that had grown between you, to bridge the gap left by all the unfulfilled promises.

You leaned back, pulling him with you, your body arching into his touch as his hands trailed over your skin. The sensation was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the moment, all rational thought fading away. You needed this, needed him.

His hands continued to trail, and one made its way to your clothed heat.

Your breath hitched as you felt him rub you through the fabric, a delicious friction building.

"Channie..." you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper.

"I need you, Y/N," he mumbled, his lips grazing your neck.

The battle raged on around you. Your body ached for him, for his touch, his kisses. As his fingers slipped underneath your panties, the warmth of his skin against yours, you felt your resolve crumble.

You wanted him, needed him, despite all the hurt and disappointment he had caused. In that moment, none of it mattered. All you could focus on was the way he made you feel.

Chan's eyes were dark with lust as his fingers slipped between your wet folds, the pressure of his thumb on your clit making your breath catch in your throat.

"God, Y/N, you're so wet," he murmured, his voice low and husky. " I missed this.."

As he continued his teasing, you could feel yourself giving in, the pleasure clouding your judgment. Your hips rocked against his hand, seeking more, and a moan escaped your lips as he slid a finger inside of you.

"You like that?" he whispered, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"Yes," you breathed out, your voice shaky.

The feeling of his fingers inside you, curling up just the way you liked, was almost too much to bear. His palm pressed against your clit, the heat and pressure driving you wild, his other hand beginning to slip your clothes off.

Your mind raced, conflicting thoughts tugging at you. Part of you wanted to stop this, to keep your walls up and protect yourself. But another part of you needed this, needed him, more than anything.

"I want to taste you.... To apologize with my tounge in places my words couldnt reach," he whispered against your ear

Chan's voice was thick with desire, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked at you. Your mind was spinning, but all you could focus on was how good it felt.

As he sank to his deeper into his knees in front of you, his face inches from your heat, you knew there was no going back. His breath was hot against your skin as he leaned in, and the feeling of his tongue against your folds was enough to make you moan.

Chan was relentless, licking and sucking at your sensitive flesh, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. The feeling of his lips and tongue on your most intimate parts was intoxicating, and you could feel the pleasure building inside of you, a delicious heat spreading through your body.

"Fuck, Y/N," he murmured, his voice muffled against you. "You taste so good."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a moan as he teased your entrance with his tongue.

"Channie..." you breathed out, your voice shaky.

You could feel the pressure building inside of you, your muscles tensing as his tongue lapped at your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself losing control. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and you dug your fingers into his hair, holding him against you.

"Don't stop," you gasped, the words spilling from your lips without a thought.

You were teetering on the edge, your body aching for release but he wasnt gonna let it end there.

He was apologizing right?

You could feel it coming, the sweet relief just out of reach. You needed more, needed him deeper.

"Please," you moaned, the sound desperate and needy.

Chan responded immediately, his fingers pumping faster, his tongue swirling around your clit. He was relentless, his pace increasing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your muscles tightened, and the pressure inside you was almost too much to bear.

Then, suddenly, everything went white. You cried out, your body shuddering as the orgasm crashed through you. Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense, pulsing pleasure coursing through your veins.

As you came down from the high, your breath ragged and your heart racing, you could feel the tension in the room.

But that wasnt the end for Chan

He continued to eat you out, wanting to give you another one.

You were exhausted, physically and emotionally, but Chan's hands held you in place, his tongue tracing patterns across your clit. The sensations were too much, and you could feel yourself quickly building toward another release.

"C-Chan," you whimpered, your voice shaky.

"Let go, baby," he whispered, his words sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. "Come for me again."

As his fingers curled inside you, and as he found that perfect spot, you knew you were done for. Your muscles tensed, and the pressure inside you threatened to burst.

"P-Please" You say without thinking, the pleasure taking over any rational thoughts.

"Oh no, no... this is my apology to you, baby. Im going to make you cum until i'm forgiven"

And then, with one final, torturous swipe of his tongue, you were gone.

Over and Over and Over again, until you could no longer remember why you were even mad at him in the first place.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

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[rafecameronsslut4ever]

CASUAL pt.2— lando norris (angst)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: it took lando too long to realise it wasn't just 'casual'. warnings: a LOT of angst, toxic relationship, sexual implication, not proofread a/n: casual part 2 was not really a part of the plan but the audience had demands 🦧also i think this was too long lmao. AND IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY OMG

part 1 - casual

miami grand prix: the biggest pr nightmare for every driver—especially lando norris.

the media had been all over him that weekend, going to the lengths of literally calling him 'the hottest catch on the single market'. hollywood stars and instagram models were so desperate to marry him and have his kids that they didn't catch on the fact that he was a 23-year-old racing driver who couldn't give a fuck about them.

because he was stuck on you.

for weeks, he'd waited—hoping you’d reach out, or at the very least, watch his instagram stories. he posted shirtless photos, sun-kissed photos—hell, he even threw out a thirst trap just for you. But you didn’t take the bait. you didn't take the fucking bait.

you hadn't texted him or spoken to him since the moment you walked out of that hotel room weeks ago, so he didn't try to reach out either. "would've been a blow to my ego," he'd told sainz.

but now, he didn't give a shit about his ego. he was tired of waiting.

his eyes darted across the packed club, friends and guests scattered all around. he couldn't wait to get out of there.

he hadn't been drinking. didn't really feel like it. truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything at all.

pool parties, clubs, yachts, champagne and girls.

he was tired of the glitz and glam of his life, and you were the only escape from it.

but you were gone.

his mind wandered to that morning, when you had kissed him and the two of you had ordered room service. when he had held you for the last time.

he hated how the only thing on his mind was you. how it was the only thing on his mind all through the celebrations, as hookers danced around him and people tried to pour drinks into his mouth.

for fuck's sake, he had won a grand prix for the first time in his life, and yet he was unhappy.

how did he get here?

he looked up, eyes falling on a group of men in the VIP section, the lights illuminating their faces.

everyone could tell something was off with lando. he didn't want to do any of this.

all he wanted was you. you, you, you.

the girl who had left without an explanation.

why had you left, anyway? no calls, no texts. your friends avoided him, and you avoided his friends. it was like the two of you were nothing.

lando norris was many things, but he was not a fool. he could recognise when something was wrong, or when a situation had escalated beyond his control.

he knew that there was a reason why you left, but the reason never clicked in that thick brain of his. what had he done wrong? where had he gone wrong?

"i'm not feeling too well, mate." he muttered, handing the beer bottle back to the guy standing next to him.

okay, maybe not admitting his feelings for you had fucked things up. but, what could you expect? he didn't have the time to give you what you deserved.

not right now, at least.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really.

"what are you waiting for, then?" the other man asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"what?"

"just call her, bro. i know it's about a girl because there's no way any sane man would say no to expensive beers and a million hot hookers."

did lando even know this man? probably not.

"i can't call her. she doesn't want to talk to me. trust me, i've tried."

"have you?"

he didn't know how to deal with rejection. not like this, not with you. you weren't supposed to leave.

"judging by your sulkiness, i doubt you're going to find a girl like her again. and you'll never have her if you're here."

lando didn't have a heart of stone, as much as his social media persona might suggest. he didn't care for any of this. the women, the money, the fame.

he wanted to hold you again. kiss you, tell you he loves you. he wanted to hold your hand. he wanted to be near you, and only you.

so, when his feet hit the floor and he found himself walking towards the exit, he wasn't surprised.

yeah, it was foolish of him to leave a party full of women who were celebrating him (literally) for a girl who had ghosted him, but the need was stronger than his pride.

out of the yacht, he was dialling the only number he'd ever memorised. the phone rang, and then it rang again.

would she be wearing his clothes, or would she have gotten rid of everything related to him?

maybe she'd found another man, finally realising that lando was a bad investment.

as the phone rang, you were hidden in your apartment with blankets wrapped around you and a youtube video playing in the background.

it had been months since you'd heard the word 'casual' leave his mouth. months since you had fled london and monaco to move to miami.

at first, his words had echoed in your mind constantly, and you'd cried yourself to sleep a few times more than you'd like to admit.

but just like every heartbroken poet in history, the hurt faded and the pain slowly morphed into hatred. and anger.

you wanted to slam your head against a wall. scratch that, you wanted to slam his head against a wall.

it was so stupid, and you hated yourself for believing he'd been genuine.

it was just sex. that's all it ever was. it truly was just casual.

the phone was still ringing. your finger hesitated over the answer button. you weren't going to answer it.

it wasn't worth it. you didn't want to hear his voice. didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hurt you. you didn't want to know if he was sleeping around, if his girlfriends were prettier than you.

so the line went dead.

lando stood by the harbour, watching as yachts and ships sailed past him. the air was humid and his t-shirt clung to his body, the heat almost unbearable. the sound of waves, the distant laughter and music, and the sound of his ragged breaths.

he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. where was his car?

he had to find his way back to his hotel. he was a mess, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. he needed to fix his appearance, buy a bouquet a flowers.

he checked the time on his watch, and cursed as he saw the numbers. it was almost 3 am. he wouldn't find flowers anywhere at 3 am.

"fuck it." he said, running over to his car. the drive was quiet, save for the low hum of music and his occasional swearing when someone drove a little bit slower than he'd like.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really. but he only wanted you. he was a hopeless romantic, and you were his muse.

when he pulled up outside the apartment, his nerves were going haywire. he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

he knocked twice on the door and when it opened, his eyes lit up.

you stared back at him, sleepiness in your eyes and confusion etched on your face.

and god, did you look gorgeous.

he loved you, he realised. he had to cross his hands behind his back to stop them from reaching out and holding you close.

"lando?" you breathed out.

he had grown a slight stubble since you last saw him. his hair were still the same, except a little bit longer. his blue eyes were wide as he looked at you.

"hey," his voice was shaky.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

he wanted to say so many things. ask you why you left, where it went wrong, why you moved to miami. he wanted to declare his love for you, press his lips to yours, hold you by the waist. he wanted to hear you say that you loved him too.

he was so in love with you, and you had no idea.

"lando? why are you here?" you asked again.

he was at a loss of words. what could he say? he couldn't exactly just stand there and say nothing.

"because," his voice cracked, "i miss you."

your throat went dry. he could not just say that.

it had been weeks. weeks of him not contacting you, weeks of you not speaking to him. the phone calls had stopped, the text messages had stopped, the late night chats had stopped. everything was just gone.

and now, he missed you?

tears welled up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. you shook your head, pushing back the tears, "go away."

"what? no, wait. wait. don't do this." he pleaded, his voice fragile and desperate, like a child trying to avoid bedtime.

"lando-"

he interrupted you, voice louder than before. "can we please talk about this?"

"what is there to talk about?" you were raising your voice. you hated him. how could he act like this after all that happened?

"everything. just—please, can i come in?" he sounded so pathetic. he felt so pathetic. his hands were slightly hovering over the door, ready to push it open and walk in.

the request took you by surprise. "i-no."

you missed him. there was no denying that.

you wanted him to tell you it was okay. wanted to go back to that night in his mclaren, the night he told you he liked you. wanted the weekends spent in london with his family. you wanted him, all of him.

his curly hair wrapped around your fingers, blue eyes staring at you, soft lips kissing you. his cold hands grabbing yours, and his voice saying your name. you wanted it to not be casual.

"i just want to talk to you."

he was drunk. there was no other way he would've showed up here, let alone begged to talk to you. the fact that he needed to be drunk to have this conversation made your blood boil.

"do you still have my jacket?"

of course, you still had his stupid jacket. the one that had his smell embedded into the fabric. it was an exclusive print mclaren had given him, and he had swung it around your shoulders after the night you had first made love to each other.

but he didn't care about the jacket, and neither did you. it was just a reminder.

you were silent for a while, taking in the sight of each other. it was his breath mingling with yours.

"i love you." he whispered.

your breath hitched in your throat, the tears finally falling out of your eyes as you sighed.

"i love you," he repeated to himself. "yes, i do. and i've known that since the day i met you."

you choked back sobs as you shook your head, "you're drunk, lando."

"i'm not," he chuckled, "maybe a little, but not enough."

then, he added, "i mean it. i love you." his voice was steady. he truly meant every word. but he didn't know what would happen now.

"what do you want me to say, lando?"

he sighed, "anything."

you laughed bitterly. anything, he said.

anything would've been better than what had happened.

"i don't think i can do this, lando."

"we can take it slow."

"you've never done slow."

he fell silent again because you were right. he'd never done slow. he didn't know how to take things slow. he was a fucking formula 1 driver, after all. slow wasn't something he did. he'd always lived life like it was the last day. and that's how he had lost you.

"i'm sorry," he began, his voice breaking. "i should've been a better person. i'm sorry for everything i did. i should've given you more, i-i should've loved you more, because you deserve so much more. i'm so, so, sorry."

"lando," you whispered, "it's not—"

"don't make excuses for me, please. i love you, i realy do. and if i have to spend the rest of my life proving that, i will." and he meant every word. "i just want you back."

your mind was racing, a million thoughts running through it. it was like a movie. his blue eyes, his voice, the desperation in his tone, the way he stood before you.

"okay," you muttered.

"wait, okay? does that mean—"

"you're gonna have to work for this," you said.

"i know, and i will. i promise."

you sighed, rubbing your temple. this wasn't a good idea. "get in."

lando's face lit up, and before you could change your mind, he had walked into the apartment. he hadn't really been here before, considering you moved here after the two of you had stopped talking. but the apartment was lovely, homely. everything you.

you closed the door behind him, watching him look around the living room.

"how'd you know where i live?"

he chuckled, turning to face you. "i'm a famous driver. i have my sources."

"i'm sure." a tense silence followed, neither of you knowing what to say.

"i'm not letting this happen again," he blurted, "i'm not. i don't know how, but i won't."

"i don't believe you." you scoffed.

"fuck, baby, what do i have to do for you to believe me?" he stepped towards you, closing the distance.

"stop calling me that."

"you are my baby." he tried to joke.

"lando, i'm not joking."

"i'm serious too," his voice was sincere, "i love you, and i'll do whatever it takes for you to believe me."

you had been through a lot together. the highs, the lows. you had seen him at his best, and at his worst. the good and the bad.

he moved closer, reaching a hand out to hold yours. you didn't know why, but the moment his hand touched yours, it was like a switch had flipped inside of you.

you let his hand wander over yours like a ghost, his calloused fingertips tracing over your knuckles. he intertwined your fingers together, eyes casted down.

"i've never cared about anyone the way i care about you." he admitted in a soft voice.

and then he pressed his lips to yours. his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and god, did he taste the same. lando had a way with his lips. it was a talent. he kissed you like he needed your lips to survive. he was desperate for your touch as if he had been starving without it.

you were so lost in the feeling that you hadn't realised how far you had pushed him until the back of his knees hit the couch, and he fell on top of it.

his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his chest and toned abs.

the two of you stared at each other, eyes searching the other's.

"i love you." he murmured for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

maybe it was the way his blue eyes bore into yours, or the way his lips quivered, or maybe it was the fact that he had driven across the city to say this.

but for the first time that night, you believed him. suddenly, the anger was gone. it was all gone.

"i love you, too." you whispered.

it was the only thing the two of you needed. the confirmation, the reassurance. the love.

you leaned down and connected your lips once more, hand reaching up to his curls and tugging lightly. he moaned into the kiss, pulling you on top of him.

your tongue entered his mouth, the taste of him making you lightheaded. his hands roamed over your body, the feeling of his skin against yours.

"baby," he whispered between kisses, "i want you so bad. i've waited so long."

his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

"i want you," he murmured against the crook of your neck, "so fucking bad."

but he pulled away, flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. he took off his shirt, and rested his head on your chest. he cleared his throat, "i should've asked this question earlier, but are you single?"

"yeah." you chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"so, can i be your boyfriend?"

"lando norris," you hummed, "did you finally get the guts to ask me out?"

"yes," he smiled, lifting his head up to look at you, "yes, i did. will you be my girlfriend?"

"you're a dork."

"that's not an answer."

"yes," you laughed, "yes, i'll be your girlfriend."

lando grinned, and you grinned back.

it wasn't casual anymore.

(u guys im so sorry if i've tagged someone who doesnt want to be tagged i just had no idea how to let non-followers know part 2 is out bcs tumblr is not letting me reply to comments😭if anyone wants their tag removed, feel free to dm me!! i hope u liked this) @oscarpiassrri @meglouise00 @f1fantasys @technicallypleasanttree @ggaslyp1 @obxstiles @nataliambc @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @ushygushybaby @emilyroxy @yootvi @fishingarden @pillowprincess4him @herexpertcollector

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Muña (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: At the start of the Dance of the Dragons, you host a familiar face. But it is not your husband who darkens your doorstep. It is his nephew.

Warnings: Daemon haunting the narrative. Smut. Body image issues, self-esteem issues. Tully! Reader (Reddish undertone hair) Implied mommy issues. Vaginal sex. Breeding kink

A/N: I got no explanation for this. Might end up writing a part 2 if this does well. Pt 2

“THERE IS a dragon at our gates.” One of your guards announces. You get up from your seat, a wave of nausea already beginning to make herself known. You would rather not face your husband. Not today. Not ever, if you are being truthful with yourself.

You have gained weight. The slim figure that you flaunted at sixteen is long gone. There is more weight in your hips and chest, a bit of softness around your middle. You know he will mock you for it.

“Open them.” You order, bracing yourself for the uncomfortable encounter. You can’t bar him entrance to what is his home too, despite him not visiting in years. “Tell him to leave the dragon there. I’ll send it some food.”

The guard bows and exits the room. One of your companions, Lady Whent, starts to pace the hall. She fears what your husband coming here might mean for you. The rumors said he had loudly proclaimed he would deal with you himself.

Your choice to keep the Riverlands out of the war effort is controversial, but predictable. Surely, no one in their right mind thought you would aid your husband install his Queen. Not even him. Not after he had left your shared home and started living in sin with her, shaming you in front of the whole realm. Yet again, no one would have called Daemon Targaryen the epitome of saneness.

You go sit on your throne, placing your embroidery aside. Your tenants are happy enough that you don’t hold court as often as the other lords. And when they are not, they still refuse to bring their problems to you unless absolutely necessary. No one wants to burden their poor lady more.

You wish they did. The days would seem less empty that way, rotting away in this castle, your house’s sigil mocking you from every corner. Family, Duty, Honor, they had promised you. None had come.

The guard comes back. You remain sitting on your throne, the one you hardly use. You intend to receive your husband from a position of power, not allow him to cower you. But when you look at the man next to the guard, your breath catches.

This man is not your husband. This man is not even one of Rhaenyra’s men.

“Lady Tully.” He says, taking a deep bow. Very respectful, which would make you doubt his relation to your husband were it not for the fact he shares his silver hair.

“Prince… Aemond.” You say, looking at his face. It’s your best guess as to his identity, considering he has a green banner and an eye patch. He wears all black, the color of House Targaryen. You stand up, and curtsy.

“My lady.”

“My husband is not here.” You say, hurriedly. It’s your first instinct. You do not want that dragon of his torching your tenants.“You are welcome to check the castle and my lands, but there is no love lost between us. I assure you I am not hiding him.”

“I know.” He answers, lips twitching into a smirk. You find nothing humorous about it, but you do not dare voice it. You do not understand what he is doing here, if not chasing after Daemon. “I understand your people… Resent him.”

“It is not our place to judge.” You say, voice firm. This man is at least ten years your junior, you will not allow him to intimidate you. No matter how he towers over you, no matter how menacing and mean his features seem. He is no Daemon Targaryen, this green boy. Your husband is the only man you had truly feared. “Only the Seven are perfect, and thus, entitled to judge others' actions.”

“Very devout.” Aemond steps closer to you, his smile widening. The way his face contorts, sharp and with too many teeth, reminds you of one of the piscivorous fishes you have seen swimming up the stream during summer. The look in their eyes is the same he sports now, right before they decide to feast on an unaware trout. “Just like us. Seems like we have a lot in common.”

You gulp. You wish you were less easy to intimidate.

“We do?”

“We do. I don’t like your husband either. The tales of his prowess have been overly exaggerated. And I do not think you are too keen on bowing to Rhaenyra, considering your marriage will be annulled.” A pair of his fingers pluck a stray curl from your up do, twirling it between his fingers. The slightly copperish undertones of it glint under the candlelight.

The threat looms in the air, uncontested by you. Both Prince Aemond and you know that Queen Rhaenyra would be dissolving your marriage as you speak, were it not for the fact that your husband and her need your lands and men for her war. Annulment in exchange for your life would be a much less cruel punishment than whatever they are cooking.

If you were a quieter woman, a less brave one, you would accept your fate. You would say your marriage had been unconsummated, that you will aid your new sovereign and your ex-husband in their war. But you won’t leave your people to their tender care. With the privileged position your lands have, they are also in the privileged position to be amongst the first to burn.

You are not so craven as to save your life in exchange for the ones of your subjects. Hence, neutrality. Hoping it will spare you. All of you.

“Do you think I want to still be married to him? After all this?” It is not enough, you see it now. With the green banner inside your hall, with the one eyed prince himself sent to rally you behind their cause. Neutrality won’t save you. You need to resist Daemon, not just sit praying he won’t attack you. The Seven know he has no such qualms.

“Perhaps we can make a widow out of you yet.” Aemond says to you, a hint of a smile making his expression turn even more menacing.

Tasting freedom on the tip of your tongue for the first time in years, you smile back.

YOU ARE on your side, Aemond thrusting into you from behind. His hand envelops your hip, greedily grasping your flesh. His other arm is under your head, serving as a pillow. For once, you are not self-conscious.

How could you be, when he had practically begged for entrance to your bed? He wanted you, and the thought of that was as thrilling as it was foreign. You hadn't broken your marriage vows ever since you took them. No man had dared voice interest, considering who your husband was.

Aemond had to convince you to get you here, and you had fumbled like a maiden every step of the way. You didn’t dare defy Daemon either. Despite your loneliness over the years, you had never taken another to your bed. No matter how tempted you had been.

When you had seen Aemond, you weren’t planning to, either. He was your good nephew, Daemon’s family. It was utterly scandalous, yet here you were.

You weren’t too sure how you had ended up into this predicament, though. One second the two of you had been making plans, your Lord Commander eager to be at his service, and the next, Aemond was crowding you against a wall and kissing you with unparalleled hunger. Your doubts had been quieted by his warm hands and eager mouth, as he forced you to writhe on his arms and try to divest him of his clothes. Perhaps he had carried you to your room then. You can’t remember, you just hope no one saw you.

“Did he fuck you like this?” He mouths at your ear, lightly biting. No matter how much you want to banish the thought of Daemon from your mind, Aemond doesn’t let you. It makes you feel guilty, breaking your self-imposed celibacy with your nephew in law, but he seems to get a secret thrill from it.

You don’t have the heart to tell him Daemon and you have only gone to bed together once. The night of your wedding.

You stay silent. His hand slides over your stomach, down to your mound. A single, long finger, slips through your folds and starts to rub circles on your pearl.

“Did my uncle ever make you peak?” Aemond asks you, still rubbing those maddening circles. You can’t think. All that is on your mind is a cloud of pleasure, warm and shameful. You shouldn’t be in bed with Daemon’s nephew. Nor should you be breaking your vows.

Aemond bites at your nape, sharply. Just like his uncle, he doesn’t take kindly to not being the center of attention.

“I asked you a question.”

“No.” You tell him, closing your eyes. Your face burns with your shame. Perhaps it is the embarrassment at your husband hating your bed so much he never visited It any longer, or perhaps it is the fact that you are breaking a vow you had really believed in. But Aemond doesn’t seem to like it, pressing soft kisses into your shoulder in an attempt to relax you.

“I'll give you one.” He promises, rubbing your pearl. His thrusting slows down, allowing the head of his member to hit deep inside you. “In my bed, you won't want for anything.”

The way he says it startles you. Dark, possessive. As if he doesn’t intend to let you go after one night, as if he intends to keep you.

“I don't belong in your bed.” You moan, trying to resist the pleasure that seems so sinful in your eyes. You clench around him despite it, not wanting him to leave your body. His free hand, the one serving as your pillow, grabs at your hair, the auburn mane as a bracelet in his pale arm. The pain of the tug only heightens your pleasure, making your body soar above the wave that threatens to crash and drag you under on the pools of hedonism.

Never before had you felt like this. In your encounter with your husband, as he huffed and puffed over you, you had only felt a quick pain and a vague feeling of shame. He had focused on his pleasure first, kicking you out of bed as soon as he was done.

But Aemond. Aemond stares at you, proud of how you unravel in his arms. He encourages you to do it, taking great delight in watching you fall apart.

“You do. With your gorgeous hair and your delicious cunt, I won't allow you to go elsewhere. You are a gift from the Mother herself.” He whispers, darkly. “I’ll worship you how you deserve, Muña.”

The last word seems to amuse him greatly, for it prompts a chuckle out of him. It’s an odd sound to hear coming from him. He seemed the kind who took himself too seriously. He licks at the shell of your ear, at your face, slobbering all over you.

It should disgust you, yet you can’t help but sigh in his arms. Surrender tastes cloyingly sweet in your mouth.

“I… Married.” You repeat, trying to get Aemond to see reason. You claw at his hands, trying to stop him from bringing you this overwhelming ecstasy that makes your body tense, and your thighs quiver. Your mind feels foggy, your wit reduced to half whimpers and softly spoken words.

“I'll wed you, and place my son on your belly.” He grins against your nape, contemplating his final triumph against Daemon. “My seed will take, where his never could. He is weak.”

“I am already married.” You repeat, a bit more firmly. Aemond laughs, rubbing at your pearl once more.

“Shhh, quiet. Quiet, Muña.” He whispers, pulling you to lie under him. He enters you in a single thrust, not giving you a moment of respite. You cry out, nails raking down his back. “I'll kill him. He is just an old man.”

You mutter something. Maybe a reply. Your lips move, incoherent, and you are screaming, the wave of pleasure finally crashing and pulling you under.

“That’s a good aunt. Squeeze your tight little cunt for me.” He grins, and you think this is it. The two of you are going to the Seven Hells.

[dizplicity-draws]

Happy asexual awareness week!

I wanted to celebrate with these aspec icons 🖤🩶🤍💜

Characters and their canon sexuality explanations under the cut!

From left to right:

Peridot - Steven Universe: canon asexual aromantic. Peridot was confirmed to be aroace by Maya Peterson, a storyboard artist for the show. She said in a post on Twitter, “She’s not about fusion. She’s the ace and aro rep.” And true to her words, in the episode Log Date 7 15 2, peridot was shown to have a disinterest in fusion in a scene where she backed out of fusing with Garnet. I know fusion isn’t a direct allegory to romance or sex, but as an aspec person, this scene was super relatable. Also, my personal headcanon is that she is in a queer platonic relationship (qpr) with Lapis :)

Perry the Platypus - Phineas and Ferb: canon asexual. Perry was confirmed to be asexual by Dan Povenmire, a co-creator of the show. He confirmed this in a comment on TikTok, where someone asked “Hey is Perry part of LGBTQ+”, to which he replied, “Does asexual count?” Some believe he only said this because he didn’t like the idea of Perry being shipped. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still claim him!

SpongeBob - SpongeBob SquarePants: Canon asexual. In 2002, Stephen Hillenburg, the creator of SpongeBob said, “I always think of [the character] as being somewhat asexual.” Technically, this was not said as a positive reference to asexuality, but in order to deny that the character was gay. However, Nickelodeon later posted a pride month post featuring a few lgbt+ characters and SpongeBob was included. A lot of people, including myself, chose to believe this was meant to be in support of SpongeBob being canonically asexual.

Zim - Invader Zim: This one is just my own headcanon, but I wanted to include him because he’s a character that’s very important to me and, as an ace, I have always related to. Also, it’s shown in episode 3, Parent Teacher Night, that irkens reproduce by cloning rather than any natural means. And while I know that doesn’t really prove anything, I think it does add to my headcanon :)

Alastor - Hazbin Hotel: Canon asexual aromantic. Vivziepop, the creator of Hazbin Hotel first confirmed Alastor as being ace when she posted a drawing for national coming out day in 2018, which featured Alastor holding the asexual pride flag. Later, she confirmed during a Q&A that he is canonically asexual. During season 1 of Hazbin Hotel, Rosie, Alastor’s friend, jokingly calls him an “ace in the hole.”

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Yandere JJK - Yuta Okkotsu

When you leave for a month long mission without telling your close friend and maybe crush, Yuuta. You come back and he’s cracked. 

It’d been two months since you left on a mission, only now being able to return back to Japan. When you arrived home to your shared apartment, you had expected a warm welcome from your kind and courteous friend, Yuuta. You imagined he’d tell you, “Welcome home,” ask how your trip was, and offer to make dinner like he usually did on days he felt adventurous enough to cook. The two of you lived pretty harmoniously together, both being capable sorcerers with similar demeanors and all.

What you didn’t expect was to be shoved against the wall of the flat’s narrow hallway kabedon style, body pressed flush against your roommate’s, who had a look on his face like he hadn’t been sleeping for weeks and just found out the cure to his insomnia was something ridiculously simple, bordering on relief and hysteria. 

“Where. Have you been.” He practically growled, your heart beating at an odd pace since he was barely an inch away from your face.

“Uhnn, on a mission. But great news-I’m back home and won’t be working for a bit, aha?” You broke eye contact, unable to withstand the cold intensity of his dark eyes. 

“And you left without telling me? Without telling anyone?” 

“Well, to be fair it was a secret mission! It wasn’t to be disclosed and even then I knew it’d only make you worry and you’d probably end up trying to tag along somehow. I didn’t want to distract you from your work, Yu.”

Your explanation didn’t do much to help calm his nerves. You could tell he was obviously worked up, he was breathing hard, his arms were shaking, and his newfound grip on your shoulders was soul crushing. You knew your friend was strong, but the fact that you couldn’t move at all from your position was impressive. 

“So you just up and left? That’s not fair,” His languid voice spoke with quiet rage. He was never one to raise his voice, not even now. “You don’t get to decide that. What if you had died? What if something happened and nobody from home knew anything about it? Would you be okay with leaving everyone behind? Leaving me?” 

“No…I mean…I wouldn’t want that. I mean hey, I’m here! We’re good now, right? I’m fine! We’re fine.” You said this last part with no confidence, “…Are we?”

Yuuta took a step back, staring at the wall next to you because he couldn’t stand to look at you. “No. We’re not.” 

He let you go, moving to turn back to his room. You grabbed his shoulder. “Hey-wait! I know you’re upset. I would be too. But please, don’t ignore me. I was so lonely on my own, now that I’m back I…well, is it too selfish to say I want you by my side? I missed you a lot.” Your abandonment issues were about to be the death of you.

“You trampled on my feelings, completely disregarding how I’d feel, and now you want pity?”

You deflated. “No. Just. I just want you. I’m sorry for hurting you, Yuta. I didn’t mean it, really.”

A minute of silence passed you both. You felt like you were about to cry. You sniffled. “I really am sorry.” 

He stared at the ground, muttering a soft curse before looking back at you, slowly opening his arms. He sighed. “I can never stay mad at you. I missed you too. C’mere.” 

And you nearly leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly. His scowl broke, turning into an ever so slight smile. 

Coming home wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

You thought the two of you were cool and were about to offer to order take-out when he threw you over his shoulder, went to his room, and threw you on the bed, locking the door promptly behind him. 

“Uhhhh, Yuuta?” You asked. “Watcha doing?”

He chuckled darkly. “You confessed to me before your mission, right? And then you bolted before I could even respond. Well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about how I should reply in the past months you were gone. And this is my response.”

Your face grew red. How could you have forgotten about that? 

He crawled on the bed after you, leering over you like a tiger would its prey. 

“I love you. More than anything in the world. And when I noticed you left and had no idea when you’d be back, or if you’d come back at all? I thought I’d go crazy. It took everything in me to not kill the elites that ordered you on the mission and drag you back home myself.” He had you caged between his arms again, voice dropping to something thick and heavy at his next words, “I decided that when you came back, if you ever came back, I wouldn’t let you go anymore. I want you by my side forever. And even then forever’s no where near enough.”

“Quite the romantic, are you big guy?”

He smirked at that. “I’ve had enough time to study up on the type of guys you like.” You shivered when you felt his lips glide across your neck, a rough hand slowly sneaking up your stomach, beneath your clothes. 

“You’re mine tonight. And forever.”

Tonight was going to be a loooooooong night. 

[pellucid-constellations]

Favoritism

Pairing: Line Cook!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel always seems to be working. Well, not always. Sometimes he's on the phone outside the restaurant with a massive smile on his face.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: None

a/n: Another little piece for this AU!! I'm loving building it up and including all the characters. I'm also loving characterizing Azriel!!! I can't wait for it to get more juicy and to add some angst in the near future ;) Thanks for reading!!!

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

“Here again, Azriel?”

“I picked up Lucien’s shift,” Azriel explained, moving the pan side to side atop the flame. 

Elain hummed, her hip against the counter. “You all have such weird names.” 

Azriel rose a brow. “Your sister’s name is Nesta. And Feyre isn’t very common either.” 

“Yes, well my sisters are included in my definition of ‘all’.” 

Azriel hummed, pinching salt into the pan and flipping its contents. The heat from the stovetop warmed his fingers as he went, calling his attention to the tan lines along his knuckles—rings he constantly needed to remove for work, an action that had been even more prevalent in recent weeks. 

Elain spoke up again. “I feel like I see you here every time I work.” 

“You call out every other shift. Of course you’re going to see me on the off-chance you come in,” Azirel droned, but there was a hint of a smile on his face that had Elain scoffing out a laugh. 

“Oh, ha ha,” Elain mocked. “But seriously, Az, you’re always in this kitchen. I know for a fact that Rhysand wouldn’t make his best friend work so much. What’s the deal?” 

Azriel knocked his head to the side as he considered Elain’s question. He plated the meal he had been working on—the one that would send Elain and her barrage of questions away—and set it on the counter she occupied. He gave his hands a quick wash, flipping a hand towel over his shoulder and crossing his arms. The waitress had not moved from her spot. 

“Money.” 

Elain did not budge. “Money? You? I know you can afford that house of yours without all of these hours. Rhys pays you far too much.” 

Azriel gave her a look as if to say that’s my explanation. Take it or leave it. 

Elain was not taking that explanation, clearly. Azriel watched her roll her eyes and let out another scoff before swiping the plate from the counter. 

“Always so stupidly secretive,” she huffed. “You are ridiculous.” 

Elain missed the small laugh Azriel breathed out as she left in a flurry.

Azriel then noticed the small break in orders that was typical for this time of day and used the opening as an excuse for his break. He called out to the others in the kitchen and then made his way to the dining room with his phone loosely gripped in his hand. 

A few taps on the screen and your voice came through. 

“Hi, Az,” you greeted, a smile clear in your words.

“Hi, baby,” he smiled right back. The earring on his right ear clicked against the phone as he licked his lips and continued. “You not in class?” 

“I tried to plan my schedule around your lunch rush. No class between the hours of two and four.” 

Azriel felt his face heat a fraction. “Right. Forgot about that.” 

You giggled. “So, how’s work? I didn’t expect you to go in this morning.” 

“It’s fine. Work. I was just picking up a shift as a favor. But I’ll be off in time to get you for dinner.” 

Azriel listened as something shuffled in the back of your call—bikers whizzing past you, he assumed. That damn campus always gave him a heart attack. You called out a small apology he was sure no one was listening to before speaking to him once more. 

“You seem to owe a lot of favors, Az. Are you causing that much trouble over there?” you joked.  A small pause. “Also, do you think we could eat in? I don’t really have the money for a restaurant right now. My financial aid is not aiding me in the ways it should.” 

Azriel felt his heart clench at the humorless laugh you released. You lived on campus and relied on the school’s dining plan which did very little for you nutritionally and emotionally. He had offered—countless times—for you to live with him or let him buy you groceries or just straight-up give you money, but none of that made you comfortable. 

So, Azriel found other ways to solve this problem. 

Azriel hummed in feigned contemplation. “We could. But the boss gave me a gift card to that new place downtown. I figured we could use it to celebrate.” 

“Oh yeah? And what are we celebrating?” 

“You.” 

“Me?” you asked with an incredulous laugh. “Why on earth would we be celebrating me? All I’ve done recently is complain and cry a few times.” 

Azriel couldn’t remove the smile from his face. He slotted his wrist in the crook of his elbow as he leaned against the wall outside the restaurant. Damn you and all the ways you made him melt in public. 

“You only cried twice this month. We should celebrate that record. Not to mention you were crying over chemistry which we established was an acceptable response to that class.” 

You gasped and began rambling about your chemistry professor. Azriel briefly checked his watch and relished in the fact that he had twenty more minutes to listen to you speak. He happened to miss, however, the waitress who was listening in just around the corner. 

Elain was furious. 

First, Azriel had a girlfriend that she had no idea about. Which was ridiculous because Elain considered Azriel to be one of her closest friends. And second—and perhaps most appalling—Rhysand was handing out gift cards to the staff and she had not been a recipient of this graciousness. 

Elain narrowed her eyes and glared and the stucco lining the building before she slammed her way through the restaurant and straight into Rhysand’s office. The man calmly glanced up from his computer upon her arrival, an amused brow raised at her apparent fury. 

“Hello, Elain,” he greeted. Rhysand leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers at his stomach. “You seem in high spirits.” 

“Where’s my gift card?” she demanded, closing the door behind her with a harsh click. “You’re giving out gift cards and I have yet to receive one.” 

Rhysand blinked. “I haven’t given out any gift cards.” 

“And now you’re lying—great.” Elain plopped down in the cushioned chair on the other side of Rhysand’s desk. “I just heard Azriel talking about a gift card to that insanely expensive place that just opened. Rita’s or something. And he was talking to his girlfriend—did you know he had a girlfriend?” 

“I did—” 

Elain hadn’t been looking for a response. “He said you gave it to him. If you’re playing favoritism I will call the Better Business Bureau. And I’ll tell Nesta. You know how she gets around you. Also, why does Azriel, like, live here? Aren’t there laws around overtime? None of his seems fair and—” 

“Elain,” Rhysand calmly interrupted. “May I answer any one of your questions? Or, perhaps, speak?” 

Elain bit the inside of her cheek and nodded in annoyance. 

“Perfect.” Rhysand crossed his ankle over his knee. “I haven’t given out any gift cards. If I do, I promise you’ll be the first to know. It’s possible that Azriel used me as a way to take his girlfriend out to dinner—as he has done countless times. If you were to meet her, you’d see why that was a necessity. She’s very much like Feyre in that way. In that explanation is also the reason why Azriel is always here, working.” 

Elain felt her vexation deflate, but some of it lingered. “And why are you so knowledgeable about this mysterious girlfriend?” 

Rhysand only shrugged. “Azriel’s private. Protective. He knows all of you are a bunch of gossips.” 

Elain scoffed for the countless time that afternoon, still pissed that there was no gift card to be had.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Little Love Notes | Bang Chan 

Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem!Reader  

Summary: Chan's girlfriend likes to leave him little notes.  

Warnings: It just fluffy. I have written a little drabble similar to this but wanted to switch it around so it's reader leaving him little love notes. This is a repost from my now deactivated blog. More of an explanation in my pinned post.

Word Count: 482 

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Chan's heart swelled with warmth as he read the little note once again. The words are written on a bright yellow post-it note which was stuck to his laptop lid. It was a simple sentence, but it meant so much to him.  

"Have a great day, my love. Don’t be too hard on yourself."   

The last couple day’s he’d been a little hard on himself because he couldn’t get a part of the latest song they’ve been working on right. No matter how he mixed it, with and without Changbin and Jisung’s help, he couldn’t seem to get it sounding like he envisioned in his mind.   

Taking a moment before he goes back to the song that’s becoming a headache, he remembers back to when Y/N left him the first note she ever left him. They had just moved in together when he found a post-it note stuck to the screen of his phone, with ‘I love you’ written on it. From that day on, Y/N made it her mission to leave him little love notes around their apartment. Some days they just said I love you and other days they’d be a small paragraph reminding him how loved he is, or how lucky she is to have him. Sometimes they would be sweet little reminders for him to take breaks, or to go easy on the guys and stuff like that. When he went away, whether it be in South Korea or overseas, the little notes would continue. He’d find them on in his bag, in the pocket of a random hoodie or pair of pants, and on his electronics. He even found one wrapped around his toothbrush, one time.   

The guys often tease him about the notes, but he doesn't care. He loves these notes more than anything because they are a physical representation of her love for him. It’s his and Y/N’s little thing they have that doesn’t involve anyone else. He loves it and would be sad if she ever stopped writing them.  

As he opens his laptop, he chuckles to himself when he finds another note in his girlfriend's handwriting. ‘Can we please have McDonald’s for dinner?’  

He puts the notes somewhere safe so he can add them to the growing collection, filling his desk drawer at him. Grabbing his phone, he pulls up his messages with Y/N, and types out his reply to her notes.  

‘You have a good day too. I’ll pick up McDonald’s on my way home tonight. I love you so much x.’  

He puts his phone to the side and boots up his laptop to get started working on the newest 3racha song.  

It doesn’t take long before his phone buzzes, notifying him that he has a new message. When he checks it, he smiles, seeing it’s from Y/N.   

‘I’ll message you my order later. I love you so much too, baby xxxxx.’ 

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©️ 2024 CRAZYFORMFICS. NO ONE HAS PERMISSION TO COPY, TRANSLATE AND/OR POST MY FICS ON HERE OR ANY OTHER SITE.

TAGGED: @staytiny2000 - @dancelikebutterflywings - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea - @rainydayteacups

[chevroletdean]

you always meet twice ── ✮⋆˙🥃📞

pairing: dean x gn!reader genre: fluff, dash of angst if you squint to note/warnings: set around season 10, mentions of the mark of cain, dean being a grumpy old man, cute first meetings, miscommunication word count: 2.8k

a/n: this is random, i just wanted to write more fluff, since you guys were so nice about the last one. thank you again, i didn't expect so much positive feedback!

He swore that that giggle of yours could soften a demon’s black heart. He should know, having been one himself not too long ago.

You flashed him one last mesmerizing smile and slid something across the counter before you turned around and left the bar. His eyes lingered on you until you were through the door and out of sight. Only then did he dare to glance down towards your little goodbye gift, which he swiftly grabbed and carried back to Sam’s booth.

“Seriously?” Sam scoffed, the crooked grin on his lips reflecting a mixture of disbelief and belittling. “What is this, the 2000s?”

None of that seemed to bother his older brother, who was all toothy, boyish grin and lit up eyes as he proudly flaunted the napkin in front of Sam’s nose. Numbers were scribbled on it in black ink, clearly a phone number.

Was it a little old-fashioned? Maybe, but didn’t that make it all the more charming? Dean certainly seemed to think so and even though it must’ve been about 10 years or so ago since he last had anyone write their number down for him like this, he thought he deserved a sliver of joy.

“They even wrote ‘xoxo’ next to it, dude,” Dean boasted. “What’s that mean again, love and hearts or whatever?”

“Hugs and kisses, Dean. It means hugs and kisses,” Sam corrected him with a sigh. His brother was a lost cause.

The little symbols were about as cheesy as the act of the whole number on a napkin thing and Dean was eating it up with a giddiness that could only be matched by a lovesick teenager. You’d think after about two decades of acting like a flirtatious heartthrob, he’d either mature or be harder to impress.

“Either way,” Dean beamed proudly, “I’m still in the game.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, but he refrained from any witty remarks and settled for a snort instead. It’s been a while since he’s seen Dean’s lips curled upwards – after a couple of rough weeks and many setbacks, it was good to see him smile again.

He’s been to hell and back, literally and figuratively, and after all the worrying about the Mark of Cain, recovering from being a literal demon, and the usual apocalyptic sense of dread, who was Sam to deny him his fun?

Turns out he’d have his little moment ruined hours later anyway, and not even by Sam or any of his teasing comments.

He must’ve slept horribly or maybe the lack of leads in this case was starting to frustrate him.

It was unclear what exactly caused the switch to flip, but the grin from last evening that had reached from one ear to another was nowhere to be seen anymore. Ever since they left the motel and drove into town, he was back to his grumpy self.

Sam nearly flinched as Dean slammed the door of the Impala shut a little harsher than necessary. Dean’s brows were furrowed in frustration as he practically stomped into the diner. His little brother followed suit, barely making it through the door while it was still open. They took a seat and ordered some breakfast.

Despite knowing he wouldn’t get an explanation, Sam tried anyway.

“What’s up with you today?”

Dean shot him a glare that not only signaled he’d refuse to answer, but could also suffice for straight up daggers. He took a demonstratively large gulp of his coffee. “Can we just focus on the case, Sammy?”

Focus on the case was rarely what Dean wanted to do, not when he had a potential fling going on anyway. Which could only mean one thing.

“No luck with your napkin sweetheart?” Sam teased, seemingly hitting a sore spot as Dean slammed the coffee cup back onto the table with a clatter.

“The case, Sam,” he repeated insistently.

Right on the money then. What else would rile him up into such an irritable mood?

Giving in — albeit he did a terrible job at concealing a gloating grin —, Sam booted up his laptop and went through the files. It was all pretty straightforward: Bunch of people went missing over the past few days, one of their bodies having turned up with their blood drained. Vampires, likely, though Sam and Dean had yet to find the nest or talk to anyone in relation to the victims.

“There’s this one college student that went missing two days ago, usually never misses a class or a shift at their part-time-job,” Sam spoke and turned the laptop around for Dean to look at the missing person alert. “We could split up, talk to one of their professors and a coworker.”

“Fabulous,” Dean grumbled, using his fork to stab holes into his slice of pie. His mind was clearly elsewhere. Presumably on a certain someone he had met last night – and was stood up by, apparently.

“Seriously, what happened?” Sam half-groaned, half-grinned. There was some genuine concern in his voice. Even if the situation was kind of amusing – it didn’t happen often that someone was able to humble Dean like this –, he knew his brother was on edge already.

Anger and bottling up feelings were always his specialty, but with the Mark of Cain still attached to his arm, they should probably not risk any major stress.

Dean grumbled something inaudible, half of his words swallowed by the coffee cup, the rim of which was pressed against his lips. Sam only thought he heard something along the lines of ‘wrong number’ and gave a confused “What was that?” in response.

“Whatever,” Dean groaned. “Any contacts, an address?”

Sam nodded and told him the address of the coworker. With Dean’s shitty mood, he’d rather not bring him to campus to scare away any freshmen. So, they separated for the time being, Sam heading to the university while Dean made his way to that address downtown.

On his way there, he fished for his phone again. And the napkin.

He had tried to dial the number earlier this morning and (much to his obvious dismay) the call had not gone through. He typed it in again, number for number, double-checking each digit individually. Maybe he had somehow gotten it mixed up in his half sleepy state earlier?

‘The number you have called is not available. Please check the number and dial again. The number you have called is n–’

Dean definitely didn’t get it wrong, comparing the number on his screen and the napkin again.

With a scoff, he shoved his phone back into his pocket, exchanging it for his F.B.I. badge instead. Grumbling to himself, his feet dragged him past a picket fence – each step heavy-footed – and up a porch, where he rang the doorbell.

As for why you’d trick him like that by giving him a wrong number, was beyond him. You could’ve just said no when he asked for your contacts, so why go through the hassle to be this mean about a rejection?

Unless he somehow had made you uncomfortable last night, although he could not for the love of it remember anything but your bright smile throughout the whole conversation. In fact, you had eagerly nodded when he offered to buy you another drink.

The soft creaking of the door disrupted his thoughts. By default habit, he already held up his badge, deciding to focus on the task at hand. Sam would be giving him a handful if he got too distracted during a case.

“Special Agent Murray, could I–?”

His introduction died on his tongue as his gaze fell upon a dazzling and oddly familiar smile. A heartbeat later and said smile vanished from those lips, which then twisted into a surprised O-shape.

“I don’t remember writing my address down,” you chuckled. Nervously. But not the kind of nervousness he would’ve expected from someone who had practically dumped him in the shittiest way possible.

The quip itself was somehow unfitting, considering those circumstances.

Who knew the coworker of the victim would be you, of all people, in a rather big town like this?

“Special Agent, huh?” Your smile was back on your lips, the intrigued spark in your eyes resembling that of last evening, and confusing him only further. “Am I in trouble, did I commit a crime?”

If handing out false numbers was a crime—

Dean cleared his throat and averted his gaze. He briefly fidgeted around with his badge, struggling to put it away again. Maybe that extra cup of coffee at the diner earlier was a mistake. As if it wasn’t already awkward enough. He wasn’t keen on making a fool out of himself further, so he decided to get this job over with as quickly as possible.

“I have a few questions about Daniel Anderson,” he said, tone dry as bone and honestly, rather hostile. “I take it you are his coworker?”

You blinked up at him, your smile fading once more. It was almost as if you were half-intimidated by his grumpy demeanor, but did you really expect a warm reunion?

“Uhm, yeah,” you mumbled, almost meekly, and opened the door further, stepping aside to make room for him. “Come on in, please. Would you like some coffee?”

Dean was led to the living room, where you gestured towards the seating options – a small couch and an armchair. Even though he just had about a gallon of it, he accepted your offer and settled on the couch.

While you were busy in the kitchen, he glanced around the room. A small but cozy living space and a pair of shoes kicked into the corner of the entrance that he definitely recognized. So you weren’t some lost twin of last night’s encounter.

“Excuse the mess,” you chuckled shyly, again with a warmth that exceeded his expectations. “I mean, you know how it is, I got home pretty late last night and have not had the chance to clean up yet.”

How come you were able to brush off this palpable tension with such ease? He was practically dying on the inside here while you, without hesitation, sat down next to him instead of the armchair and handed him the cup of coffee.

Dean once again cleared his throat, taking a sip of your coffee – as if somehow the caffeine could counteract his nerves instead of fray them further.

“About Mr. Anderson,” he began, clearly not wanting to dive into the topic of last night. If he didn’t know it any better, he swore he could see a flicker of disappointment in your eyes.

Your answers to his questions matched what Sam already found out. Your coworker was last seen coming to work three days ago, punctual as always, then wasn’t seen again. Apparently he had been the last to leave the office, which wasn’t unusual, since he’d often work overtime. A diligent guy, from the sounds of it, despite working only minimum wage and managing his studies at the same time.

“I thought I haven’t seen you around town before,” you hummed, eyeing him up and down briefly in a way that made him feel naked despite his suit. “No wonder, if you’re a federal agent working a case here. I gotta say, you can pull off a tie just as much as the flannel.”

That caught Dean off guard for several reasons. One being the fact that you were even more assertive when sober, apparently. The more obvious one, however, remained your previous rejection of course. He could not wrap his head around the concept of you flirting with him now.

You in no way looked anything remotely guilt ridden or embarrassed. If anything, your responses to his gruff attitude were mellow in fashion. And you still subtly brushed your knee against his despite everything. Were you messing with him?

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you mumbled, hesitant for the first time today. “You can show up at my doorstep, but you can’t give me a call?”

Huh?

His widened eyes and the deadpan silence in the room seemed to go straight over your head.

“Well, I guess you’re busy with work,” you sighed with a crooked grin on your lips. “You should’ve told me, giving a special agent your number is kind of embarrassing.”

That was your problem, his line of work? Well, in that regard, he couldn’t be too hypocritical. He was as much of a special agent as your number was real, after all. Still, he was done with your games.

“I did give you a call,” Dean huffed. “Or tried to anyway, but you already figured that, I bet.”

Now it was your time to look all puzzled, at least until Dean pulled out phone and pocket. He dialed your number and put his phone on speaker. If in some twisted joke the third time would be the charm now, he’d feel really stupid.

But as expected, the error announcement came through the speaker once more: ‘The number you have called is not available. Please check the number and dial again.’

The color drained from your face first, before a redness crept up your neck. Your gaze flickered back and forth between Dean’s phone and his glare.

Then you burst out into laughter. Your cheeks were flushed in a bright pink while you hastily scrambled to find your own phone.

“You think this is funny, sweetheart?” Dean sighed, damn near pouting.

You didn’t reply, just snatched the napkin out of his hands. Your fingers were warm against his, since you had them wrapped around your own coffee mug moments earlier.

“Double-awkward, I gave a special agent the wrong number, oops,” you giggled and facepalmed.

Oops?

Dean was about to retort something, clearly unappreciative of the way you were still trying to make up excuses.

But you remained unfazed. More than unfazed: You reached out to his lapel, those warm fingers of yours wrapping around the pen in his chest pocket. All he could do was stay frozen in place as you crossed out the last two digits on the napkin and rewrote them above – in reverse order.

“You switched them up,” he mumbled, more of a realization than a question.

“I get clumsy when I’m nervous,” you smiled softly, rubbing the back of your neck and nodding apologetically.

You did not fail to notice how Dean’s eyes lit up again. That scowl, the harsh line on his forehead, they melted away. Some of that boyish, cheeky grin replaced his gruff facade.

“Nervous,” he echoed and his smug smirk confirmed his returned confidence. He had made you nervous last evening, huh?

“What did you think I needed that second whiskey sour for,” you giggled with that gentle edge that turned his heart into mush.

He knew right away that he wanted to see you like this more often, flustered, because of him no less. Enough to give you trouble thinking straight.

“How about you run a test-call, just to make sure I didn’t mix it up again,” you suggested.

It took him a solid three or so seconds to process your words and then he flinched, fumbling around with his inner pockets in too obvious of a desperation. Once again, he cleared his throat, realizing this must’ve been the dozenth time or so you got him this flustered. You really knew how to keep someone on their toes, whether it was on purpose or not, huh?

Dean dialed the updated number and surely enough, the buzzing vibration of your phone eased his anxiety once and for all.

“And here I was, thinking you were trying to mess with me,” he laughed breathlessly, to which your smile softened into a pout. Clearly you weren’t fond of the idea of upsetting him in this manner.

At least for a split second, before it widened into a mischievous smirk.

“I don’t know if that would go against the law,” you hummed teasingly, “But I’m an upstanding citizen and if you were to arrest me, I’d hope it would be under different circumstances.”

With that and a wink, you took the empty cups from the coffee table and made your way to the kitchen again. Like last night, Dean was left letting his gaze follow you until you weren’t to be seen anymore. As he snapped out of it, he stood up and headed towards the entrance.

“Call me if you hear anything from Daniel,” you smiled at him as you hurried to open the door for him. “Or, you know, in general.”

Dean chuckled briefly, the first time he’s laughed properly today, and gave you a nod. On his way out, he practically skipped his steps down the porch, to which you couldn’t help but grin.

By the time Dean met up with Sam again, he was humming happily to himself. Sam raised an eyebrow at his sunshine-giddy brother, scanning him up and down.

“What happened to you?”

“I’m still in the game, Sammy.”

links/credits: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment with a green heart 💚if you want to be added to the dean x reader taglist from now on

[vbecker10]

I Don't Hate You

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: You've worked at SHIELD for years and you were severely injured by Loki when he escaped from his cell on the helicarrier. It's been a year since the attack on NY and one day you finally cross paths with Loki after a month of him actively avoiding you.

Warning: Loki being upset, Loki feeling guilty, Loki feeling like he deserves to be hated, brief mentions of Loki's torture, previous injury caused by Loki... this will have a fluffy end, promise 💚

You shift positions to get more comfortable on the couch then turn the page of your book. I might be able read this whole book tonight, you think excitedly. The Tower was quiet which was a rare occurrence, the whole team decided to go out for drinks so you have the library to yourself. After a moment, you turn the next page but suddenly you feel as if you aren't alone.

Looking up, you see Loki standing in the doorway as if he is frozen with anxiety. He briefly makes eye contact with you and turns to leave.

"Wait," you sit up, closing your book in your lap. "You can stay," you offer and he turns back to face you. "There's plenty of space," you gesture towards the other empty couch.

"I wouldn't want to disturb you," he says, shaking his head as he remains halfway between the hall and the room.

You sigh quietly, that's the first thing he's said to you in the month since you've been back from medical leave. Loki had become almost an expert in avoiding you, the closest you had come to being in the same room with him was during a briefing last week. As soon as you took your seat at the table, he excused himself and left.

He nods in response to your offer to join you but doesn't say anything. He quietly makes his way over to the large bookcases that line the wall and begins to search for a book. You try to focus on where you left off in yours but you can't seem to take your eyes off him. He seems so nervous around you and although you aren't sure what you expected from him, this wasn't it.

He selects a book and walks to the far end of the other couch, glancing towards you as he sits. You both quickly look away from each other and try to settle into your books. After a few minutes of silence he sighs and closes the book. You pretend to continue reading as you watch him return his book and begin the process of selecting one again.

"Can't decide what to read?" you ask after a moment.

He turns, his expression clearing showing that he doesn't expect you to speak to him. He shrugs, "I've read all of these..." He looks at the book he is currently holding, "Some more then a few times."

"Oh," you look at the tall, full shelves. There must be four hundred books in this room. "Wow," you react honestly.

"I read quickly," he offers a simple explanation.

"Why don't you get new ones?" you ask as if the solution is obvious.

He puts the book he is holding away and looks down at the ground, "I'm not permitted to leave the Tower unless its for a mission." He pulls a seemingly random book from the shelf and walks over to the closest seat on the other couch this time.

"Right, I forgot I guess," you suddenly feel awkward for suggesting it.

Loki was given strick orders not to leave the Tower after an incident a few months before you returned from medical leave. He had gone to a small Cafe with his brother in the morning and ended up on the news a few hours later. According to the reports you watched from rehab, he had been on line waiting for his order when a woman who lost her husband during his attack on NYC came in. She walked over to him and started screaming that he was a monster and should be rotting in a cell on whatever planet he came from. Thor tried to defuse the situation while Loki remained completely silent. Her rant finally ended when she threw some bystanders coffee at him and he left.

The two of you sit in silence for a minute then you suddenly get an idea. "Oh," you say and he looks up from the book he has no interest in.

"I think I have something that can help," you tell him. You limp slowly towards him as you unlock your phone. Sitting next to him, you feel self conscious when he shifts away from you, his eyes fixed on the metal brace supporting your leg.

His jaw tightens and his body tenses as he rubs his hands slowly together. You clear your throat, hoping to distract him from your injury and it works. He looks at you, "Here," you hand him your phone.

"What is this?" he asks.

"Its the New York Public Library," you tell him, "Well, their website at least."

He looks at you a bit confused. "What am I supposed to do with this? I'm not allowed to go to the library," he says.

"You don't need to go," you tell him with a smile. "They can bring the books here."

"I wonder why no one told you about this. They've had this for years," you say.

His eyes fill with excitement at the thought of being able to get new books. You explain the book delivery program then show him how to search for books by author, title or genre. His smile spreads as you sign him up for a library card then sit back to watch him scroll through a long list of poets.

The smile leaves his face and he admits, "I never told anyone that I had run out of books."

"Why not?" you ask.

"No one would care," he answers instantly.

When you don't say anything, he looks up from your phone and briefly makes eye contact with you. "I don't understand why you of all people would care enough to help me, to be honest. I have done nothing to deserve even the smallest kindness from you," he says as his eyes fall to your injured leg again. The joy you had seen on his face moments ago has faded completely and in a low voice he says, "I nearly killed you."

With a sigh, he nods, "I remember everyone I've hurt... or killed."

You're caught off guard by the sudden shift in topics but say, "I thought you remembered me."

"Can we just talk for a minute?" you ask, standing with him.

You gently reach out and touch his knee, causing him to jump at the sudden contact. "I'm sorry," he says as soon as you touch him. "I should go," he tells you and he gets up.

He shakes his head. "I'm not supposed to be alone with you," he admits. "Fury wants me as far from my..." he clears his throat, "victims as possible while I am here."

He looks torn about what to do but finally nods and sits down heavily. You sit next to him again but he doesn't look at you, his eyes are fixed on his hands. His knee shakes nervously and you realize he's waiting for you to lash out at him as so many people have in the wake of the attack.

"I- I didn't realize he did that," you say in shock. "I thought you were just avoiding me because of... well because of what happened."

He shrugs but doesn't respond, giving you the feeling that he might still have distanced himself from you even if he wasn't ordered to do so.

You bite your lip and say, "I'm sure Fury means well but... I just want to talk to you. If that's okay with you?"

You had imagined this moment so many times over the last year. What you would say to him and how he would react. You look at him even as he avoids looking at you and say, "I just want to to know, I don't hate you for what happened."

He shakes his head as if he doesn't believe you and says, "You should hate me, everyone does."

"I don't," you tell him simply.

He finally looks at you, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity in his eyes, "How could you not after what I did to you and so many others?"

You sigh and admit, "I used to hate you."

"But... but not anymore?" he asks.

You take a deep breath, this is the part you practiced telling him most often. "When I was in the hospital, I did hate you. I hated you more then I ever thought I could possibly hate another person. I wanted you to feel the pain and fear you inflicted on me when you were escaping. I wanted you to suffer after every surgery, after every fall I had in rehab, after every doctor told me I would never walk without some sort of brace," you tell him honestly and he nods as if he agrees with you.

You pause for a moment and wait for him to look at you again, "It was truly exhausting."

He doesn't say anything but he keeps eye contact with you. "It took so much energy to hate to," you tell him. "It was draining me."

"A few months after my first surgery, I had some of the agents I'm friends with being over your case files and I watched all your news interviews," you continue to explain.

"Why?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

"I wanted to know if you were as evil as everyone said, if you were really a monster from another world who deserved to be hated," you tell him.

"I am a monster," he says, his eyes lowering to the ground in front of him.

His body tenses as soon as you mention Thanos's name. His eyes widen in fear and he says, "What do you know about- how could you know that? My SHIELD files doesn't contain any information about him."

"No," you tell him, touching his arm lightly and he looks up at you slowly. "You're not a monster, you're a victim of Thanos."

You fidget nervously at his reaction and say, "I... I found the restricted files SHIELD has about you, the ones with your interview-"

He gets up suddenly, his voice laced emotion but you are unsure if he is angry, hurt or embarrassed, "You read that?"

You nod, "I'm sorry-"

"No one was supposed to be able to access that. Fury said it would be sealed, that was why I agreed to tell my brother what happened," he says as he paces. He turns to face you and you can see he is holding back tears, "You shouldn't have read that. I don't want anyone to know what he did to me."

You had read all twenty six pages of the typed transcripts and listened to hours of Loki detailing his torture to Thor. He spoke about being physically hurt but also about being mentally broken by the mad titan. He lost track of time, unsure if weeks, months or years had passed while he was under Thanos's control. By the time you finished listening to his account of what happened, you had lost every ounce of hate you once harbored for him. He was more a victim than anyone.

You take a step towards him and he takes a step back, shaking his head. You reach for his hand and he lets you hold it without pulling away. "Loki," he looks at you, the first tear running down his cheek. "I'm sorry Thanos tortured you," you tell him honestly.

He shakes his head as if he can't accept your words.

You take another step towards him, still holding his hand in yours. "I'm sorry he hurt you," you say again and this time he doesn't move away from you.

"No one..." he tries to take a deep breath, "No one has ever said that to me before."

Now it's your turn to be shocked, "Not even your brother?"

He shakes his head and without thinking, you wrap your arms around him tightly. His whole body stiffens in response at first but slowly, he lifts his arms to hug you back and his body relaxes against yours. He rests his head on your shoulder and you rub his back gently.

You hold him until he slowly pulls away. Taking his hand again, you lead him back to the couch.

"You didn't deserve anything that he did to you," you tell him. When he looks at you, you can't help but raise your hand, wiping a tear from his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into your soft touch.

He opens his eyes after a moment and quietly says, "Thank you Y/N. I'm so tired of everyone hating me. I never thought anyone would ever try to understand what happened to me."

You smile at him and quickly kiss his cheek, which is a surprise to both of you. "What was that for?" he asks, a small laugh escapes him.

He smiles and nods, "Can you do it again?"

"I don't know," you admit with a nervous giggle, "I just... It felt like something I should do. I'm sorry, was that okay?"

You smile and kiss his cheek again, "Is that making you feeling better?"

"For the first time in a very long time, yes," he says.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚

@soubi001 @michelleleewise @harlequin-hangout @ace-of-gay @xorpsbane @mochie85 @sheris532 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @kkdvkyya @animnerd @peaches1958 @peachyjinx @lokiandbuckysdoll @winterfrostlovetriangle @high-functioning-lokipath @winniewings @pics-and-fanfics @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @crimson25 @goblingirlsarah @janineb86 @simone818283 @tonystank8 @im-briana-stan @foxherder @chantsdemarins @catsladen @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @dragonmurray @honeydew3064 @malfoycassimalfoy @kneelingformyloki @newtomofgods @jiyascepter @eleniblue

[talktonytome]

Prompt: Buck taking Tommy's last name after they marry and being absolutely obsessed with being Evan Kinard 🙂

“I can take your order whenever you’re ready,” the new barista smiles cheerfully, as Buck steps up to the counter. At least he thinks she’s new, he hasn’t seen her here before. He and Tommy both have the day off and after an eventful night, he’d decided to surprise Tommy with coffee from their favorite place a few blocks from their house. He might have worn him out, because Tommy was still sleeping when Buck left. He blushes at the thought, but sue him- he just got married to the love of his life.

Buck quickly rattles off their orders and gets ready to tap his card to pay.

“Can I get a name for your order?” The barista- Buck glances at the name tag- Holly (she/her)- asks as she finishes typing.

“Buck,” he replies on autopilot. But that doesn’t feel quite right. “Wait, no, Evan-“

“Evan, got it; thank you!”

“-Kinard,” Buck finishes sheepishly.

Holly raises a quizzical eyebrow at him, verging on annoyance, and Buck doesn’t blame her.

“Evan Kinard,” he tries again, this time more steady and smoothly. “Sorry, it’s just, I got married recently and it feels good, having my husbands name, saying it out loud.” He knows his cheeks are red, the blush spreading down his neck as he rubs a hand down it.

Holly’s face softens at the explanation. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard all week! Not a problem,” she beams at him. “And congratulations, to you and your husband, Mr Kinard.”

Buck’s smiles wide, as warmth blooms from his chest, down his arms to the tips of his fingers, engulfing him from head to toe.

Mr. Kinard.

“Uh thank you,” he stammers, raising his card to actually pay this time, but Holly holds out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house!”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to-“

“Absolutely, think of it as a belated wedding present.”

“O- oh okay, well, thank you. I appreciate it,” he smiles shyly. “I’ll just wait down at the bar. Have a great rest of your day!” He tucks his card back into his wallet as he heads to end of the bar.

“You too!” Holly calls back to him, before turning to take the next person’s order.

Buck pulls out his phone to check for messages, as he waits for the drinks. He sees Tommy’s name on the screen and opens it up immediately.

My husband seems to be missing from our bed. Any idea where he went? :(

Yeah, Buck’s face cracks into a smile so wide his cheeks hurt.

Your husband will be there soon. Promise 😘

He locks his phone and looks up just in time.

“Order ready for Evan Kinard!” The barista making the drinks sets the two cups on the edge of the bar for him. He grabs them and waves to Holly as he walks out the door.

“Bye, Mr. Kinard!” Damn, he’ll never get tired of hearing that.

When he gets home, he finds Tommy curled on their couch, looking all cozy in his favorite sweatshirt and boxers. He’s got his reading glasses on and a book in his hand. And god he’s so gorgeous like this. Buck thinks he’s gorgeous all the time, actually, but seeing him all soft and rumpled does things to his heart.

Tommy notices Buck right away, and promptly saves his place in the book, before setting it down on their coffee table.

“There’s my husband,” he says smiling softly. “Hi sweetheart.”

Buck walks over to him and bends down to kiss him before sitting down next to him. “Hi, missed you.” He holds out one of the coffee cups and Tommy eagerly accepts it. “Coffee from our favorite place? You sure know how to treat your husband right,” Tommy smirks.

“And don’t you forget it,” Buck quips back.

Tommy raises the cup to take a sip but stops halfway to his mouth, as he notices the writing on the side. “Hmm, didn’t know they did last names at the shop now, Mr Kinard.” Yeah, Tommy’s smiling like a goof.

“They don’t,” Buck chuckles. “Uh, I kinda confused the new barista. When she asked for a name, I said Buck, like any other time? Except, it felt, I don’t know- lonely? And Evan Kinard? That sounds right, that felt right. It was the first time saying it to someone else out loud. So. Yeah.” Buck shrugs his shoulders, and takes a sip from his own drink.

Tommy sets his cup down and reaches out to tilt Buck’s chin up with two fingers, just like their first kiss. “I happen to agree, Mr Kinard. In fact, I love it. I like you with my name,” he murmurs before kissing Buck for it, sweet and soft. “And you know I’m as much yours as you’re mine, right?”

“Oh yeah, Mr Kinard?” Buck kisses Tommy, this time, right on the corner of his mouth.

“Oh absolutely, Mr Kinard.”

Tommy takes Buck’s cup from him and sets it down next to his. Then he pulls him to lay on top of him on the couch, finding his lips again. Their coffees will definitely get cold, but Buck can’t find it in himself to care.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

As the (for a lack of a better word) Ancient of balance and space, and being a halfa that is arguably immortal, Danny has the rare opportunity to reincarnate. Live again. Start over.

When Clockwork had originally told him he was immortal, he (understandably) assumed he meant he, Danny Fenton, could not die. He was wrong. As usual. Instead, it was that he, his soul, could not parish or cease to exist. Two very different things that he was forced to learn through experience when Danny Fenton died at the age of 64 from a car accident as mundane as that is, and ended up in the Ghost Zone to, presumably, ‘live’ the rest of his afterlife. It wasn’t until later when he fell asleep in his lair (first sign something was happening, ghosts don’t need to sleep) and woke up with his head fuzzy and body clumsy. He was a baby and it wasn’t until his mind was old enough to comprehend who he was that he understood he was living life again, this time as child in a different universe and different time.

And when he died again, this time very young from a sickness traveling through his village, he ended up in his lair again, as if he never left. The other ghosts understood after a brief explanation, but the process was still disorienting. Even if it happened again and again.

This time he was born into an odd place. He awoke from a large tube of green liquid. He had a mother named Talia and a Grandfather. He also had a father and older brother named Damian, but they lived in a different country and weren’t really on speaking terms it seemed. It also appeared he was born into a cult of some kind. Mother called it the League of Assassins and Grandfather called it his Legacy, the organization he built from the ground up. Oh and it all revolved around the green, bubbling pit below their home that had resurrection powers that may or may not make someone insane.

A connection to the dead in the basement, a family business, and a Frootloop with too much power. This was turning out to be a lot like his first life.

It’s the assassinations that bother him. He’s fine with killing to protect himself and to protect others. He’s even fine with mercy killings, but to kill someone who is unarmed and can’t even put up a fight is crossing a line.

Grandfather doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like a lot of what Danny does. He talks back too much, he doesn’t follow orders, he has too much of an imagination, he has a weak stomach and can’t see the big picture, he’s never good enough. He’s also compared to his big brother Damian a lot. He’s never even met the guy but knows he has a better fighting stance and climbed the mountain faster when he was Danny’s age. Danny doesn’t know if he wants to met Damian at all after hearing his name every time Grandfather criticizes him. The only thing Damian is to him is a standard to exceed.

And don’t get him started on his Father. Mother brags about him enough, but he’s obviously not here for a reason. He stole Damian from the family, Grandfather says, his golden heir. Danny is just the spare, filling in for his older brother who doesn’t want to come home. Of course, he takes everything with a grain of salt. Danny’s family also brainwashes and conditions people to follow them and die for them, it’s all twisted and manipulative. However, there’s bound to be some truth woven in there somewhere and it doesn’t look good for his biological father.

When Danny becomes the Demon’s Head, and with everything he’s been training for he WILL be the Head, the first thing he’s doing is cutting Grandfather’s head right off his shoulders and feeding it to the dogs. He’ll run this cult thing with actual morals and better management. Not too much change because then his position will be questioned, but over time he’ll bring about some good outcomes.

He does think his family believes they are doing things for the greater good, he just thinks they’ve lost sight of what’s important.

Danny’s not even bothered with not having a normal childhood. He’s lived it once or twice, it was quiet, nice, but ultimately boring. He enjoys the adventure and thrives on the action. He gets excited when he learns a new weapon and celebrates when he finally perfects that technique he’s been practicing. He’s proud when his mother compliments his precise aim in her own weird roundabout way of speaking and is awfully smug when Grandfather doesn’t say a word of criticism when he slaughters his opponents efficiently.

He has a crazy family, but it’s his. So it comes to no surprise that he feels a little unbalanced when his mother takes him to Gotham after some political tension between Grandfather and some group he’s not important enough to know.

He’s seven and has lived this entire life in Nanda Parbat, only visiting the other League locations a few times, where the weather is warm and the air is clean. Gotham is the opposite of his home. He remembers a life in Chicago, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the permanent smog covering the sky. Even if it was clear, the light pollution would hinder his view of the stars.

He already hated this place and was actively counting down the minutes until they could leave. Although he had a suspicion of why they were here. The tight lines beside his mother’s eyes gave away her reluctance, but her confident stance didn’t falter.

Danny watches as she meets with a man in a black superhero suit and what looks like a teenager in a different uniform. The pieces were finally coming together when Mother calls him to come out and he drops from the rafters to land on his feet like a cat.

Their two visitors stare hard at him and if he was in a different life he might have fidgeted under their intense attention. He does not.

“My son, this is your father and older brother.”

“Mother,” the teen- Danny’s brother, Damian, objects, “since when do I have a brother? Have you adopted like Father?”

In response, Danny pulls down the black mask to show the rest of his face and the clear resemblance between the two. Danny had more blue mixed with his green eyes to give a marbled effect and he had his mother’s jaw line but he still had his father’s lips and- actually that was all he could see, the cowl obstructing the rest of his features. Either way, there was no mistaking Danny and Damian as anything but brothers.

“Damian, meet your brother. I hope the two of you will get along and look out for one another.”

Like hell they will, Danny thinks bitterly. He’s spent pretty much this whole life being compared to the boy in front of him, there’s bound to be some resentment on his part.

“I thought he’d be taller,” he tells his mother, eyeing Damian up and down unimpressed.

Damian actually sputters.

“Talia,” his father says, demands, as if asking twenty questions in that one word.

“You will care for him while I’m away. It isn’t safe for him and I have work to do.”

Danny knew it was coming and yet he still felt the squeeze of panic and betrayal in his chest.

“Mother, don’t leave me here,” he almost whines but just manages to keep his voice steady. “I can stay in Switzerland or the Alps or somewhere else that is not here.”

Mother says his name with that amount of sharpness that lets him know she wasn’t changing her mind. He huffs angrily and glares at the two in front of him like it was their fault his was here in this disgusting city.

They don’t talk for much longer before Danny is following them back to a black suped-up car and Mother is nowhere in sight. The ride is silent, the others’ thoughts loud and leaving the vehicle suffocating.

Danny decides to make the process difficult for them, arguing when they ask for a blood sample to confirm, getting into things he clearly shouldn’t when he got bored, and being a little shit to anyone else that shows up in his path.

He knew nothing of this side of his family, his Mother only telling him how strong and honorable his father is and how proud she is of Damian despite his decision to not become the Demon’s Heir. This was his opportunity to watch and learn and maybe test their patience here and there. He didn’t want to be there, they didn’t want him there, so he was going to make this everyone’s problem and maybe formulate his own opinion of his father and brother in the meantime.

It doesn’t take much for him to tolerate the others Father has brought into his side of the family because he had no prior knowledge of them.

He respects Alfred, he can relate to Tim, Dick is a pun master that Danny can’t help but contribute, Jason is too cool not to like, Cass is kind, Steph is bubbly, Duke is probably the most normal, and Selina has a mischievousness to her that Danny can get behind.

Father is gruff. He always looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Danny isn’t used to that. Mother and Grandfather and even himself have the position of power to say what they want without much consequence. What’s stopping him?

It gets to a point where Danny snaps and demands he speak his mind or say what he’s feeling. It doesn’t go well but he thinks there might have been some progress in the days afterwards.

Damian is a different story. Danny doesn’t hate his brother, but he certainly doesn’t like him. He makes a point to show it through pranks on the older boy and trying to outplay him in competitions and bets the other sometimes doesn’t even agree to.

Danny can admire how passionate he is in his art and how devoted he is to caring for his animals, and even how much he reminds him of Sam from his first life, but it doesn’t erase the years of feeling less than the perfect first son.

This doesn’t really change until Damian comes back and goes directly to the medbay after a mission gone wrong. It takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s worried for his big brother. Damian is in pain and Danny does not like it. He wants to go out and kill the men who hurt his brother, make them pay for what they’ve done. He wants to be the one to stitch up his wounds and bring him soup.

It’s truly unfortunate that his obsession is protection, particularly around those he considers friends and family.

Danny tones down on the aggression towards Damian after that. He still pranks the teenager and teases him and challenges him to competitions and duels, but it’s more in a brotherly way than showing resentment. Damian definitely notices, but wisely doesn’t address it. Instead, Damian quietly talks about what he remembers and misses of Nanda Parbat when the two of them are alone, both of them actually having a conversation without raised voices or tense shoulders.

After a while Danny doesn’t even realize he isn’t counting the days anymore.

[miniwheat77]

Addict. (Nympho!Reader x König.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, reader is a nympho, slight switch!König, unprotected sex, p in v sex, MINORS DNI YOU’VE BEEN WARNED. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Summary: Nymphomaniac!Reader who has been unable to control her sexual urges, deciding to join the military with the hopes that the battlefield will calm her desire. Only to be put on the same base as König. *not edited*

“Y/N…”

Their words cut through you like a knife, it’s not something you ever thought you would hear. Your knee bounces uncontrollably. Just as it did in the doctors office that day.

Your gloved hands squeezed each other a little too hard.

“We think that you have something else going on.”

“What do you mean?”

Your innocent, 18 year-old self said, unaware of what awaited you.

“We think that.. the way you feel. The intense urges that you get, excessive desire. Everything you’ve described to us. We’re concerned that it may be Nymphomania.”

Your eyes widened, of course you’d heard of it before. “But I’ve never even had sex? How is that possible?”

“It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s excessive sexual desire, you told us you think about sex 24/7, concerned that it may be a sex hormone off in your body. But your hormones are fine. This is the only other explanation.” He tries to explain to you. You don’t want to hear it. “I’ve written you a referral to a therapist that deals with this kind’ve thing. I think that you should start seeing her regularly. So that you can keep this under control.”

You nodded your head, taking the note from his hands. As you left the office that day, you were nervous that everyone was looking at you.

Your doctor couldn’t have been more wrong. Because it wasn’t too long after that when you spiraled right out of control.

Your knee bounced relentlessly as you sat across from a couple of the other new recruits. Your hands were sweating profusely. You hoped that this would help. Prayed that it would bring you out of it. You thought maybe if you spent all of your time on the battlefield, fighting for your life, maybe it would go away. Maybe the urges would go away.

You had no idea what, or who, awaited you at your new base.

The helicopter came to a stop, and everyone inside awaited orders. Hearing a loud accented voice pierce through the radio. Right down to your core. You took in a deep breath, clenching your legs together.

Please let this work.

The ramp slowly began to lower and you awaited orders. “Alright, everyone off.” You all stood up, filing off of the helicopter. Your legs were already jello from the ride, but were even worse with the heat pooling between them. “Alright. Everyone, this is your new Colonel. This is his base, you’ll listen and take orders from him now.” You heard the man who’d brought you hear announce.

“His name is König.”

You looked up, eyes starting at his boots. Trailing up his body. You swallowed hard, his height never ending.

He’s huge, tall, massive. His hands are big, you can tell even through the gloves he had on, his hood left little to the eyes of his face, except for his piercing eyes. “Nice to meet you all.” He’s the one with the accent. You actually gulp.

You were fucked. Royally and not in a good way, fucked.

—

You avoided your Colonel like he was the plague. He was able to introduce himself to everyone, except for you. He caught on pretty quickly that you were avoiding him, for what reason? He had no idea. Maybe you were nervous, maybe he intimidated you. He had no idea. So he decided to put the both of you up in the watch tower for a couple hours. He thought maybe if you got to know him, your ways would change. Maybe you would be more comfortable around him.

He was up there first. Standing with his back to the door. He was mixing his cup of coffee, the coffee pot in the watch tower being the best idea a new recruit had had yet. You walked through the door and your eyes went wide, freezing right where you stood. He turned around upon hearing the door open, smiling even though you couldn’t see it. “Hi, Kaffee?” He says. He is so kind. Your brain thinks at a mile a minute. “Uh.. Hey. No thank you Colonel.” You nod. Closing the door behind you. For the next couple of hours, you were stuck. Stuck in this god forsaken watch tower with the most tempting human being you’ve met this far.

You sit in the chair furthest away from him, and he notices it. He moves a little closer to you, and watches you visibly swallow hard. “Do I scare you, Häschen?” He asks. Standing up and sitting next to you. He sees the visible confusion on your face. Unsure of what he’s just called you. “Sorry, Bunny. It means Bunny.” He laughs. “N-no. You don’t scare me. I’m just a little awkward because everything is new here.” You swallow hard. You can feel something building in your lower stomach. You’ve never felt this before, unsure of what it is. It feels familiar, but how?

“Oh. There’s nothing to be worried about. My men will welcome you with open arms, me too.” He says, reaching his hand out. He place it in your thigh, and you let out a silent hiss. It’s been months since a man had touched you, and you’d done so good. You want to fall apart. Force the massive man back and ride his cock until neither of you can breathe, but you made a promise to yourself. “Are you feeling okay? You seem pale.” He squeezes your thigh lightly. Right there is where you’re done. You clench your eyes closed, the knot thats formed in your stomach, wound up so tight. It snaps, and an orgasm pulses through you. Your eyes widen and you jump up. “S-sorry. I don’t feel well.” You mumble. He stands up too. “That’s okay. You can go rest up, I’ve got this. Just relax häschen, get some rest.” He mumbles.

Sometimes new recruits had a harder time adjusting, that’s what he assumed was going on.

Later that night, he decides to take a look into your file. There’s not too much information, other than a diagnosis he found buried within the papers. All of that time you spent training well. Building up your file to look good, being the perfect soldier. It was all to hide that one paper.

And your new Colonel had just come across it. His eyes widened as he read across the page. It was an explanation for everything. Your actions, the way you avoided him. But you only seemed to fuel the burning fire inside of himself. He was usually good at controlling himself, but he’d also not been around women in ages, the last time he’d been with one had been a few years back. His track record wasn’t always the best either. Becoming someone so high up in the military really helped with his image and helped him stay on track, he knows that’s probably what you were doing too.

He can’t seem to stop his feet as they carry him to your room. He’s got the paper in hand. He knocks at your door and you open it up. “We need to talk, Häschen.” His a voice is deeper than usual, stern. You step back, allowing him inside. You see the paper in his hands and look in confusion. Wondering what this was about. “Yes sir. Is something w-wrong?” You sit on the edge of your bed, hands fidgeting nervously. “so ein ungezogenes Mädchen.” He shakes his head. You don’t understand him. “I’m sorry?”

“Found this in your file.” He passes the paper to you. You swallow hard as you read across the page. “I…” you stutter. He closes the door behind himself. “Maybe this is something you should talk with your Colonel about before settling in too much.” He mumbles. “I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just.. I wanted to be normal.” The tears start streaming down your face and he almost feels bad for coming at you from the left field like this. Unbeknownst to you he was here to help, like a good Colonel would. “I thought that this would help, but it only made it worse. I’ll understand if you want me off of your base, I can pack my stuff.” You sniffle. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your long sleeve shirt. Hearing him laugh. You look up at him in confusion. He moves closer to you, kneeling down until his face is level with yours. Cupping your chin with his gloved hand. Wiping your tears with his thumb. “Liebling.” His voice is soft. “I’m not here to kick you off my base.” He laughs. “I’m here to help you.” He breathes. “Y-you are?” You sniffle again. “Mhm. I’ve got an idea, maybe something that will help.” He lifts your chin to look at him. “Only if you’re up for it, Süßes Mädchen.” He smiles.

He can see you melting into his touch. “Okay.” You nod.

He reached for his belt, seeing your eyes widen. “Wait- I’ve been clean. I haven’t done anything.” You shake your head. “You trust me?” He asks. Lifting your chin again. You nod your head. “We can get you addicted to me. You’ll be a good soldier and follow my orders, okay?” You nod your head. “From now on, you’re only allowed to be with me.” He forces your face up to look at him.

“Verstehst du?” You nod your head, you’ve heard that one before.

“Good girl.”

He continues to work at his belt. His large, gloved hands tugging his cock from its restraint. He’s massive.

The biggest you’ve seen. Nervousness flows through you. “Lay back.” He nods. You listen to him immediately. Obeying him without a complaint. He tugs your pants down your legs, exposing you to him completely. Hearing him groan at the sight of you. He moves himself on top of you. “I’ll make you think only of me. Nur von mir.” He growls. He presses himself at your entrance, and your eyes widen, staring up at him. You’re done for.

When he pushes inside, you fall apart. A moan leaving your lips, he clamps a hand over your mouth, laughing. “Relax.” He chuckles. “I’m sorry- I can’t.” You gasp.

“It’s okay.” He breathe, pushing deeper into you, seeing your eyes twitch as they roll back. You’re feeling so good. “Why did you leave in such a rush?” He asks.

Your voice is unsteady as he rocks his hips into yours, letting you get used to his massive size. “I.. your hand on my thigh. It felt too good, I couldn’t control myself.” You moan. “So ein böses Mädchen.” He mumbles. “Come on. Put these on.” He groans as he slides out of you, hearing you whine at the loss of him. “W-what?”

“We’re going somewhere no one can hear us.” He breathes. Zipping his jeans. You quickly put on your pajama pants again, following him down the hallway quickly. You’re much shorter than the massive man, trying to keep up with him. You speedwalk after him, his normal pace seeming hard to keep up with. He leads you out to a Humvee, making sure it’s a blind spot before opening the door for you. The cameras don’t need to see what he’s about to do to you.

“Here?” You ask, nervously. “Yes. Climb in.” He nods. You nod your head, not willing to disobey your Colonel. You’ve seen him angry.

He stares at your ass as you climb into the back seat of the humvee, and you wait on the seat. He climbs in after you, hunched over to avoid hitting his head as he reaches behind himself to shut the door. You can’t help but giggle at him. He’s too tall for the massive car even. “Something funny?” He rolls his eyes. “No sir.” You mumble. He moves himself between the two seats. “Thought so. Now get over here.” He nods to his lap. You quickly pull your pants back off once again. Moving yourself into his lap. He’s already got his cock out once again. Helping hold you up as you lower yourself into him. Your body shivers as you feel him seeping into your begging opening. He’s so big.

You whine out as he stretches you, more than you’ve ever taken before. You cry out when you rest yourself on him completely, feeling so full of him. You give yourself a minute to rest. Despite how much you’ve done this, you knew when to give your body time to adjust. It’s like the time bomb in your stomach starts ticking. That high that you’ve chased for so long is right at the end of this. You start to rock your hips back and fourth, feeling him gliding through your folds. You’re slick already, soaking wet for him. You moan out, resting you hands on his toned chest. Hearing him start to pant as you move against him.

The countdown starts, that same one in your subconscious, ready to fly back to that sub space you’re all too familiar with. You’ve missed this, missed that high. The more you move against him, feeling every inch of him, the louder you’re getting. He’s breathing hard as you start to fuck yourself on his cock, bouncing up and down onto him. He can’t help himself. He holds himself back from thrusting up into you, clutching hard at the seat. He finally lets himself rest, laying back. He grasps the hem of your shirt, pulling it up your torso and over your head, revealing all of you to him.

If someone told him a few hours ago, up in that watch tower that in a few short hours you’d be bouncing on his cock, he’d call them a liar.

He groans slightly, a gasp catching in his throat. You’re wet, he can see the ring of your arousal forming at the base of his cock. “F-fuck. Yes.” He breathes.

“Yes- yes Liebling. Yes! Use me.” He gasps.

You look down at him, and he can see the devil igniting in your eyes, he was done for.

His thighs are sticky from your arousal, absolutely drenching him. His skin sticks to yours with each rise of your hips, the squelch from his cock slipping into your soaked pussy is lewd. The muscles in his stomach contract, you’re reeling him in. He’ll be addicted to you too soon enough. “F-fuck. Du bist so gut, bitte benutze mich.” he cries. Eyes getting watery as you ride him. He starts to mumble more in German, you can’t understand it but he’s chanting something. He’s getting close. “Can’t take it.” He gasps. Wrapping his arms around your waist, thrusting up into you. His pace is rough, his skin meets yours with a loud slapping sound, his brutal thrusts working you closer and closer to pure bliss.

It’s right there. So close.

Your body shakes as you cum. It’s unexpected and so soon, feeling his cock twitch as he keeps his steady pace. Your thighs shiver violently on him, he finally lets out one last cry, your eyes widening as you feel him emptying himself inside of you. Filling you up completely. He lets his head fall back, panting hard as you stay on him. You rest your face onto the seat, skin flushed red and sweaty. It’s the first time you’ve ever been satisfied with just one round.

Your legs rest as you allow yourself to relax over him, keeping his big cock nestled inside of you. It’s a lot, it’s no wonder you didn’t last.

He looks up at you, eyes gleaming from the moonlight and you can’t help but blush. This feeling you feel, it’s different.

You stay there for a few minutes, cockwarming him. When you finally raise your hips up, you can’t help but smile at the gasp he lets out. “Fuck-“ he growls. The loss of you clenching around him makes him feel cold. You redress yourself, taking the waddle of shame back to your room so that you can clean yourself. König lagging behind a bit to see the way you flinch. He can’t help but laugh. Once you’re both cleaned up, you’re sitting on your bed again.

Something is different, almost contentment. You don’t feel the urge to jump his bones as he sits in front of you. Sure, that ache will come back. That arousal for him, will surely be back.

But it’s a nice break, to be soothed into normality. Something you’ve never felt before. Maybe somehow, your new Colonel would be your saving grace. You’d just have to find out in the morning.

Exactly how much of him would you need to feel completely normal?

[bloodywankers]

Trigger Warning! Implied Non-con! Forced Relationship! Yandere Husband!

Unedited | 1.26k Words

Andre was always rational, never unnecessarily cruel or emotional. That was the worst part about him, he was cold, left you feeling touch starved and alone even in his embrace. He was strict, he wouldn’t tolerate deviation from his routine or attempts to ruin the perfect image he had built for you but he wasn’t cruel. At the end of the day it felt like you only had yourself to blame for your misfortune. He wouldn’t criticise you for no reason but that meant that the instances where he did, he was probably right. He wouldn’t scream or yell but in turn left you feeling like a disobedient child.

His affection left much to be desired but you blame yourself for it rather than him, because Andre was perfect. He always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, never letting you want for anything but you had always felt so alone. There was an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter what he did because Andre was an actor.

Nothing about Andre was genuine because a character with no flaws is no character at all. He seemed above your childish tantrums and far too sophisticated to enjoy simpler things, lived in a world that was perfectly tailor made for him. But you weren’t Andre, you weren’t logical, or perfect, your acting was subpar at best and you didn’t fit into his world. You were emotional and living in his cold world devoid of any warmth was not something you could tolerate so despite every well planned argument he placed in front of you, you stood your ground.

“I want a divorce.” You tried your best to keep a firm tone, you were sure he would take advantage of any hesitation that you showed.

“Darling, as I’ve said already, I—.” He spoke softly, as always, interrupting you with his finely built arguments, ones that you were sure would work in any other situation. Arguments that you could reason with if you had not been as fed up as you were, filled with unadulterated hatred for the man you were supposed to love. This time you were set on getting what you wanted, you were sick of feeling like this.

“I don’t care for whatever bullshit reason you have this time, I feel miserable every day I spend with you!” You probably could have gone through with this in a more elegant manner but you were at your limit. Andre had always been rational but you couldn’t understand him this time. You were sure he wouldn’t have trouble remarrying someone better, it’s not like you lived in the Middle Ages where divorce meant your life was over. It probably wouldn’t affect his image much. So why was he so hell-bent on keeping you stuck in a relationship where both of you would be miserable?

You expected another well balanced counter argument, maybe a comment about how foul your behaviour was, how unbecoming it was. But instead he stood there, a look you had never seen before and a scowl that seemed so out of place compared to his usual poker face. You instinctively sunk into yourself, trying to avoid what you thought was his attempt at reaching for you, what for you? You didn’t want to find out. But instead he walked past you, stormed out despite still maintaining his obnoxiously elegant posture.

You thought it would blow over, that he would come back and pretend nothing happened, he didn’t seem like the type to acknowledge such arguments. But he didn’t return at his usual time, and instead you found all the exits to your house locked and your set of keys missing.

When your husband did return, he didn’t go to your shared bedroom as usual, instead went straight for his office, you just barely caught him. Slamming the door to his study shut before you said anything else.

“What the hell is your problem?! Where are my keys?! If you’re going to act like this at least let me leave!”

”You will do no such thing.” That’s it. No reason, no explanation as to why he decided on this, just a singular order. You had started to back up, this was unlike Andre. The atmosphere in the room had changed.

“And why is that? Who do you think you are to decide for me?!”

Andre himself didn’t understand. The logical thing, the right thing to do would be to let you go quietly, to not put up a fuss and part ways. He didn’t have any love in him when he chose you as his marriage partner (before you had ever officially met him), you were just the right choice, at the right place, at the right time and with the right background. It wasn’t him who was drawn to you out of all other potential candidates, you were just the best choice. He has a good memory, that’s why he remembered your birthday, and your wedding anniversary. It would look bad if he didn’t buy you the best present money could buy.

Sharing a bed was necessary for any married couple, not because he searched for your warmth, desperately clinging to it every night, whether intentionally or not.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge, brows furrowed as he came to the realisation. Love? He had come to love you? Has he always felt this way? For someone who boasted a memory as excellent as his, he couldn’t remember when it started. But there was no denying what this was, it was love, an obsessive love that ate at his insides every moment he kept trying to contain it.

If he told you that, you would understand, wouldn’t you? You’d forgive his past sorry attempts at being a good husband and give him a chance to prove himself, wouldn’t you? After all, you’ve always been understanding, despite your recent outbursts, you would try to understand him.

“Darling, let’s try to calm down.” That’s not what he wanted to say, he wanted to say he loved you, to scream it until his voice gave out but it wouldn’t come out, this in turn only irked you more. You looked ready to leave, too annoyed to even continue talking to him. He couldn’t have that, he’d beg if you wanted so please don’t leave.

Well, if he couldn’t tell you, he’d show you. After all, actions speak louder than words. So he grabbed your wrist before you could drift further from him and dragged you to your shared bedroom, ignoring all cries and protests from you. He made sure to lock the door behind him, you looked like you were ready to bolt out the door the moment he let go of you.

“You-! What are you doing, unlock the door now!” However, your protests seem to fall on deaf ears once more.

“You asked why I wouldn’t let you go? I’ll show you why.”

Andre had never been unreasonable or cruel but that night you realised he was as flawed as anyone else, as dirty as any other and as cruel as he could want to be. You realise how much you miss his distant and unfamiliar self, before you got to know him in so many different ways.

How unfamiliar he looked to you as he kissed you in places he didn’t dare to touch before, as his smile resembled that of a madman and his eyes reflected pure euphoria.

Your husband had always been unreasonable and cruel, you just never knew.

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